#I will now sink back into sketches like God demanded

[paper-lilypie]

within reach

[thinkinonsense]

THE BOY IS MINE✮

Logan Howlett x fem!reader

C/W: cursing, obsessive behavior, and slightly sexual content (mostly flirty behavior except at the end)

Word Count: 980

A/N: this is inspired by the song and video for the boy is mine by ariana grande. kinda just wanted to write about someone being obsessive and crazy. if you haven't seen the music video, I would suggest it. it's pretty short so I hope you enjoy <3

ִֶָ 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆★⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

Missions weren't always as exciting as they might seem; bosses were demanding and cruel. The danger was inevitable but you needed to eat so there wasn't much of a choice in finding other work. This would have to do for now but sometimes a girl needs to create her own excitement in life.

Which is exactly what you did when you met the Wolverine.

It was a quick first impression but God, it was one to remember. You were sent to settle a deal with a couple men upstate when a strange man pins you to a wall in the hallway; pressing his hips to the front of your black skirt and a hand over your mouth. He smelled of cigar smoke, wood, and mint. Without hesitation, you sink your teeth into the meat of his flesh until he moves it.

"Who the hell are you..?" You hiss.

"Stay here." He ordered.

The man walks away; metal claws shoot out of his hands as he attacks the businessmen at the table. You had never been so furious. The last thing you needed was for some stranger to come and take your credit. This was your job; not his.

Despite being livid with the stranger, you couldn't help but notice how attractive he was. The man sunk his claws in all their guts; you watched them fall one by one until only the two of you were left in the warehouse. Once you snapped out of his trance, you swiftly reached across the table for the paperwork. His hand lands on top of your latex glove, stopping you.

"I can't let you take that, princess." He says.

"I don't take orders from animals." You put on your best fake smile.

"Really? Because it looks like you did just a couple of minutes ago."

He had you there.

You notice a pair of dog tags dangling against his chest. One of your hands grabs them, pulling him to you. The side shown to you says, Logan while the other says, Wolverine.

Cute name.

Over his shoulders, you saw more men running in. A pleasing smirk spread across your face, leading him to turn around and see what you were smiling at.

"Since you handled that last group so well all by yourself," You swiftly knock him down with a heel to his chest, catching him off guard. "I'll let you take the next ones too, Wolvie."

Just as the men entered, you snatched the paperwork and booked it out the window to return it to your boss.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It had been months and still no run-ins with Wolverine. It was beginning to drive you insane; flashbacks of him pushing you up against the wall with his hand over your mouth replayed in your mind almost every chance it could. Your days were spent sketching pictures of him so you wouldn't forget his face or searching for him.

It felt sickening how much you needed to see him again. Your apartment was decorated with sketches of him. He took up every inch of space in your head. This wasn't like you. Normally, you don't entertain the men you encounter but something about the Wolverine was intoxicating. This wasn't some schoolgirl crush. This was a full-on obsession, and you knew it.

The only thing you could do was make him just as obsessed as you were; making him yours.

It took weeks but you finally managed to create your potion for the Wolverine. Now, all you had to do was find him. You asked around to see who he works for and it didn't take long until the name Charles Xavier appeared. Before you knew it, you were back in your latex apparel and standing on the roof of the mansion. The potion was strapped to your belt as you crawled down the brick walls and into his bedroom window.

Almost everyone was out on a mission that evening except for Logan and a handful of students downstairs. You knew if you came any other day, Xavier would have seen you coming and you couldn't have risked that happening.

It was late, midnight by the time he came upstairs. You sat on his bed, waiting perfectly for him. The second you heard his heavy footsteps, your heart almost pounded out of your chest at the thrill.

When the bedroom door opens you are greeted with the scene of the man of your dreams in a white tank top, blue jeans, and a beer in his hand. Instead of running like you assumed he would, Logan stands still with a smirk on his face.

"Didn't think I would see you again," Logan said. He wasn't moving as fast as you would like him to, so you used your whip to bring him closer until he's knees hit the front of the bed.

"It's simply meant to be, Wolvie."

Quickly, you pull the red potion from your belt and pop the lid open. One hand snakes its way up to his jaw, holding him still while the other moves closer to pour. He stops you by pulling off your lacey black mask, finally revealing all of your pretty face to him.

Logan knew exactly who you were. He had been looking for you too; searching every abandoned warehouse and sketchy alley in town. No one knew your name so he thought it was a lost cause and tried to move on. He should've known that you would show up at some point for him again.

Honestly, Logan thought it was cute that you brought some sort of love potion. Little did you know, you had been haunting his mind ever since that night. He wasted no time in smacking the potion out of your hands; laying you back and inching closer until his lips ghosted over your throat.

"I don't need a damn potion."

[xwingsandohs]

‘Haunted Beauty’ | Spencer Reid

prompt: ‘Person A likes to sketch, and B catches them sketching, and asks what they are drawing. Person A had been drawing B, so they stutter out an excuse while slamming their sketchbook closed.’

word count: 2.3k

content warnings?: none. fluff

a/n: this is the beginning of a renaissance where i come back to tumblr. bare with me while i reformat stuff and checkout my recent posts if ya can

When you reach eleven days without being called out to the field for a case, there’s a lull in the BAU that leaves everyone bored and irritable.

Morgan sits at his corner desk twiddling his pen, spinning on his chair and occasionally ripping up small pieces of paper to aim at someone’s (usually Reid’s) head. His aim is terrible, only because the small, rolled-up balls weigh so little, so you can watch with suppressed giggles until Reid finally notices his game. A hit to the head leads to an irritated “Hey!” - While you and Morgan laugh openly.

Morgan walks over to ruffle the messy hair of your colleague and picks up the small mess he’s left on the floor around him- Spencer shuts the small notebook he’d been working in at the disruption.

You spin around on your chair to see Emily not-so-subtly looking for cheap flights on her laptop- one of her favourite ways to guarantee her time-off is approved is by booking the trip before she even puts in the request. There’s no need for the efforts really, Hotch has never denied a PTO request since your jobs are so demanding, though it doesn’t hurt to be sure.

JJ comes up behind Emily waving an empty mug, asking if she wants another coffee too. She nods, groans into a “God, yes please.” - before JJ begins to ask about her vacation plans and where she hopes to go, pointing at her computer.

Coffee sounds like a fantastic idea, so you stand from your chair and do a lazy spin towards Morgan - “Yes please, mama.” - and taking the empty cup from Spencer’s extended hand too before he even gets the chance to ask. You smile at him warmly- and before you even get a chance to lean over and see what he’s been working on, he’s slammed his notebook shut again and said “Actually, I could do with a break too, I’ll join you.”

You nod and shrug acceptingly, and Spencer jogs across to JJ when she shouts to make enough for everyone, and grabs the two mugs from her hand as well. “Thanks, Spence.”

It takes you only a minute to prep the coffee, replacing the filter and dumping in some grounds and Spencer has swooped in to fill up the water jug before you get the chance. You thank him, and watch as he turns to the sink in the small kitchenette, flicks the tap on and watches as the water fills its container.

He’s wearing a comfortable-looking navy cardigan, it’s well-fitting and you’re acutely aware of how he’s allowed his own sense of style to come through in his working wardrobe over his years in the BAU. You allow yourself an indulgent look at your co-worker while his back is to you, grinning slightly as you enjoy the view.

“How’s the case files?” He asks as he finishes loading the machine and presses the button to let the coffee drip. His hands glide in their motions after so long of using the machine most days.

“I finished all my consults, now it’s just an endless pile of cold cases to keep me busy.” You drag out a few vowels as you speak, teetering close to yawning in exasperation but the easy nights at home have kept you well-rested.

“Me too.” He shrugs, gently pushing the tub of sugar closer to the mugs to use when the coffee has finished.

“What are you making notes on?” You ask, and lean your body comfortably against the countertop.

“Notes?” He scrunches his face.

“You’ve been scribbling in your notebook for the past half hour.” “Oh!”

Realisation washes over his face, and you wonder if there’s a reason for his unusually cloudy brain. You laugh just once and raise an eyebrow in confusion at him.

“Nothing in particular, just some musings to keep me busy.” He shrugs.

There’s an old metal tin sitting on the side, some cookies that an agent had made and brought in for everyone to take from. You reach across and open it, looking closely for the biggest one before taking it. You snap it in half and present the biggest piece to the man beside you.

“Thanks.” He utters, before taking an indulgent bite.

“What kind of musings are keeping Dr Reid busy on this fine Thursday afternoon?” You ask with a glint in your eye.

He shrugs, and begins to mumble through his cookie-filled mouth before pausing to actually swallow before he speaks. His action makes you giggle. “I was asked if I’d like to do a guest lecture on profiling for the FBI Academy and I’m not really sure if I want to do it.”

“Why not?” You ask sincerely.

“I think a lot of my stories about the job might change their mind about working here.” He smiles, you both laugh, and then he shakes his head. He’s not wrong. “No, I’m kidding. I’m just not sure if I’m ready for doing something like that alone, I think there’s a lot of pressure for lecturers to be engaging and informative, and I tend to go off on a tangent.”

“I love your tangents.” You reply honestly and with a smile, which he returns appreciatively, and a little rosy in the cheeks. “But I know what you mean, I’m a profiler for a living but I don’t think I could get on a stage and give a good lecture on it.”

“I, um,” He smiles wistfully and nods his head as he speaks, something he frequently does. “I’d love to run my own classes at the Academy or maybe Georgetown one day, but I’m not ready for that kind of responsibility yet.”

He’d be a fantastic professor, you know this. And you’re sure he’d have a lecture full of hopeful psychology fanatics just like you both once were. “Maybe a guest lecture is a good trial run, even if it’s a little out of your comfort zone.”

“Yeah.” He smiles, then begins to pour out the coffees. Each mug is almost identical- white or navy with some variation of the FBI logo on, but somehow he knows who’s is who’s, and leaves enough room for cream in cups that need it. “Which case would you choose?”

“For a guest lecture?” He nods. “Um…”

It’s difficult, while every case is important you know that a balance needs to be found in a case chosen for an Academy lecture- it can’t be too standard, it wouldn’t show off why your jobs are so important or might even struggle to keep the audience interested. But you can’t choose one of your worst cases either, some of them can be particularly heavy even for you all to think back on.

“Maybe the zodiac imitator?” You suggest with a shrug. “You can go through how you deduced it wasn’t the real zodiac, looking for messages in online articles, Garcia going through MENSA records, you could even talk about navigating all the reporters and public attention.”

“Y’know, I was thinking about that one.” He agrees and you tap his arm playfully. “The trainees always enjoy the imitator cases.”

“As much as you can enjoy this kinda thing, right?” You laugh humorlessly. Spencer knows everyone’s coffee preference off by heart, you know that, but it still makes you feel a little hot when he perfects your drink and holds it out to you.

“Maybe ‘interested in’ would be a better way to put it.” He corrects himself with a similar chuckle. You nod in agreement.

You both take a small moment to enjoy a sip of your drinks before taking the rest of the mugs to the members of your team- Morgan grins at Reid as he passes his mug, and JJ and Emily thank you when you bring their drinks too.

“What do you think,” JJ calls you by name. “Where would you go for a beach holiday?”

“Beach?” You say and laugh lightly. “Wherever Morgan’s not going.”

They both grin and laugh, and you hear Emily begin to say “Y’know I’ve seen those pictures of Morgan’s Jamaican resort…”

You head back to your own desk, you have Reid right in front of you and Morgan at a table across from you both, it makes for easy conversation and sharing of the sweet treats you bring in when you try to hide them from the rest of the team- more for you that way. Every so often you stop on your way to work and fill up a pick ‘n’ mix, you know by now that Spencer’s favourites are the chocolate jazzles and Morgan loves anything sour.

Emily shouts for Morgan to help her find a holiday destination, so he shakes his head playfully and taps you on the shoulder as he walks past you.

The coffee is perfect as you sip it, just slightly hot, not too sweet and not too strong. You cradle it between two hands as you step past your desk and stop in front of Spencer’s, leaning gently against the table. He looks up at you, mid sip, and raises his eyebrows to ask what you need from him.

“Can I see what you’ve been writing?” You ask innocently, pointing at the small brown book that sits central on his desk. A pen sticks out of the top of it to hold the page he was using, and he seems unusually shocked by your question.

You’re profilers, though Spencer is a surprisingly good liar, you have a feeling he wasn’t pondering a guest lecture for the Academy.

“There’s nothing important in there.” He shakes his head and instinctively goes to pull it out of reach.

“C’mon, Reid!” You giggle, putting your coffee cup down in a space on his desk. “I just wanna know what’s been keeping you occupied. You’ve been scribbling in it all afternoon, so secretively too.”

“I-I’m not-” He pauses, stuttering and puts his own mug down and out of reach before pulling the pen from between the pages of his notebook. He leaves the brown pad where it is. “being secretive, why do you want to see?”

“I’m just curious.” You say, bowing your head in apology. “I didn’t mean to pry, I’ll just leave you to it.”

“N-no, wait,” He stops you, seeing your small change in demeanour and immediately washing with guilt. Your body language changes just slightly, not quite closed off but a little less open and maybe a smidge of your own guilt for possibly upsetting him. He’s not upset, and he certainly does want you to be. “I’m sorry. I-I’m just, um,”

You turn back to him, offering another apologetic look. It’s not necessary, and he holds the notebook tightly in his hand, looking at it while he thinks. “Would you like to see?”

“Only if you want me to.”

“Why not?” He hums, gently passing the small brown book to you. You take it, just as gently, curling a finger into the gap created by the pen to hold the open page.

The brown book is worn on the edges, creased from opening so many times and his recent page is over half way through. You’ve seen him scribble in it frequently, and you’ve seen the way he slips it into his satchel at the end of the day- it’s important to him, you know that.

You open the page and it’s a drawing, a sketch in black biro. You’ve seen some of Reid’s drawings before- wavy lines, shrunken eyes and wiry hair, it’s his own unique style of illustration and you love his hidden passion for it. His drawings have been of imaginary characters, animals, even halloween decorations; they have a haunted aspect to them and you admire his talent for capturing the way he sees the world. This one is adorned with small wavy lines bouncing off the central figure.

“It’s-” This one you recognise, an unhidden smile and the shape of the hair. “-me. You drew me?”

“Um… yeah.” He smiles, but it doesn’t hide his nerves as he shifts in his chair while you look over the lines he’s made.

It’s today, you know the top you’re wearing today and one wiggly line for the chair you’ve been perched on. Your hair is styled as it is today, but you haven’t smiled so brightly today, you haven’t had the reason. That part, you realise, is from his memory. You like that he thinks of you as a happy person- the lines show that too, they add a bright, liveliness to the illustration of you.

There’s small flowers on the page adjacent- lavender, daisies, chrysanthemums, with what you assume is the scientific name underneath. They dot across the page like a printed pattern, but with the handwriting you know of Spencer all around. Underneath the drawing of you, though you’re not sure if it’s meant to describe both pages, it says “Beautiful”.

“Wow, Spence- I mean- Spencer,” You stutter over your words, grinning and feeling flushed at the thought of him spending his afternoon drawing you so dearly. “It’s amazing, you’re really good at art, y’know.”

“Thanks.” He replies sweetly, face unabashedly pink and smiling from ear to ear. “It’s um, really tempting to draw you when you’re sitting right across from me. I wanted to try and capture your smile but my drawings have given you more of a… haunting beauty.”

You don’t know what to say, still smiling and stuttering over nothing at all as you look over to him, to the drawing, then him again. His pride in his work makes his face light up in a way you rarely see on the job. “A-and Spence is fine, if you like.”

“Thanks for letting me see, Spence.” You say, dancing lightly around the last word, an affectionate nickname you know is only reserved for the special few. It feels good to be special to him. “I’ve never been very good at drawing.”

“I don’t think skill matters when you’re passionate about what you’re trying to recreate on the page.” He says with a simple smile, then bites down on his bottom lip to stop it from being too bright.

“You think so?” “Yeah.”

—

a/n: and just for funsies…

[keouil]

i'd bleed for anything (if it held me right)

"gojo wouldn't let shoko near curses for half a year," yaga explains. "you really think he'd be okay with this?" 1k. gojo/shoko. angst. also on ao3.

"Gojo wouldn't let Shoko near curses for half a year," Yaga explains. "You really think he'd be okay with this?"

“I don’t care what Gojo thinks,” Nanami grits his teeth, hands fisting at his side. “I need a medic.”

Yaga looks over at him, eyes piercing but not unkind. He glances briefly at the request form laid out on the table, hurried scribbles of on-site medical assistance haphazardly sketched in. “Why now?” he prompts. “You never did before.”

“That was before—” Nanami starts, voice rising an octave. He remembers and rights himself, looking down at his fisted hands and forcing his heart to settle. He was already displacing enough of his anger on Ijichi, lashing out at his principal wouldn’t do anyone good. “Before all—... that. I just—I can’t right be alone now. It—it can’t happen again.”

Haibara, Yaga surmises darkly. Because who else could this unraveling be about?

“I’ve been the principal of this school for over a decade,” Yaga replies instead, folding his hands in front of him and sinking back further into the chair, his graying age, his ire. “You really think I just casually listen to 18-year-olds making demands?”

Nanami doesn’t know where he’s going with this, but he’s thankful for the change in topic nonetheless. “Well,” he shrugs. “He’s a Gojo.”

“But still eighteen,” Yaga emphasizes, a bite to his tone Nanami can’t quite place the origin. “To the jujutsu world’s eternal. I don’t care if he was the Crown Prince himself or his incarnate, I don’t make it a habit to let someone barely legal dictate school protocol.”

“And yet.” Nanami cocks an eyebrow, irately. He’d been trying to access medical aid for two missions now, all promptly and viciously rejected with no explanation. 

Yaga waves a hand over easily. “He offered to fund another wing in the clinic. I said I’d chop his head off if he insulted me like that ever again,” he stops, mouth forming a sneer. “But the kid’s got balls, I’ll give him that. More cunning than I thought he’d be. After I threw him out, he went straight to the higher ups.”

Nanami stiffens.

Yaga nods his confirmation. “I was personally monitored to ensure her name was off the active roster until construction for the wing concluded. And what do you know?” his sneer widens, maniacal now. “Bastard just keeps adding more rooms.”

Nanami has to force his teeth not to grind together. “Surely,” he says slowly, breathing lowly. “Ieiri-san wouldn’t approve of this.”

This time the look Yaga levels him with betrays none of that cold nonchalance he so readily associated with the enduring principal of one of jujutsu’s premier teaching schools. Instead he just sees a teacher, and maybe even a father figure, parented out.

“Why do you think they haven’t talked for months?”

-

Gojo was hovering.

Shoko eyes him from the corner of her eye, trying not to let her irritation show at being shadowed so deliberately again. She barely says more than ten words to him weekly, but God forbid he let her out of her sight for more than five minutes. Gojo was always a touch neurotic about boundaries, but Getou and Haibara all but drained his sense of logic and rationale. He tethered, so often and unapologetically. It was suffocating.

“Move.” 

That’s one.

But really. Certainly, there were limits.

Gojo doesn’t even budge from her sharp tone, six eyes absentmindedly going over the transfigured corpse laid out beneath them. He was noting the different moving fibers and she could see the veins in his eyes working overtime to catalogue the body of wires. Shoko doesn’t even think he heard her. She nudges him at him with her side, with a little more force than necessary. 

Gojo blinks. “Ah,” he says, backing away a step as his eyes flicker towards her. “Sorry, I—”

“I don’t care,” Shoko replies dismissively, snapping the latex gloves as she got to work.

That’s four more words than she ever intended. So maybe she let it slip with a sharp bite she couldn’t let wither inside along with the rest of her frustration because really, truly, she gets it. She gets it so bad, actually, that she didn’t bat an eye when not a week into Getou defecting he went on a manic killing spree and obliterated half of Asakusa’s curse-rampant neighborhoods. She didn’t so much as blink, too, when he showed up outside her room bloody and bruised. Shoko understood it all, really, she did: because wasn’t he her bestfriend too?

She just wished the same grace for grieving had been extended to her.

“You can’t keep ignoring me,” comes a deceptively casual drawl at her side. Gojo sat on one of the stools beside her like he always did, arms crossed in front of him as he tracked her movements. She can feel him glancing at her hands—now only just slightly trembling—before travelling up to the side of her face. “You know I’m right about this.”

Shoko fights off a wave of deja vu and ignores him for the rest of the day.

-

“Tell me you’re joking.”

What was it Gojo said when she was so rudely taken off yet another mission for the third time that week and she took all her anger out on him? Maybe it’s for the best? Yaga was strangely sympathetic, clearly seeing past her stoicism for the frayed nerves it was that were itching to go and be useful after weeks of atrophy. 

“I’m sorry,” Yaga repeated, genuinely, she felt, all the good it did. “But someone filed an anonymous complaint to the school. You know we can’t just let this slide, human or not.”

Shoko was seething, eyes trained on a fixed point between Yaga’s papers and his pens. She couldn’t look at him just yet, or anyone. She was trying hard not to writhe as much in her seat, trying to labour her breathing so it wouldn’t spark fire in the school and damn them all to hell even more than they already were.

“It was a fucking nick in his arm,” she managed to get out lowly, staring down at her shaking hands. She clasps them together to at least subdue the tremors. “It’s not like I meant to fucking stab the kid.”

She felt Gojo stiffen by her side. 

“No,” Yaga replied somberly, and she feels more than hears, the weight of his next words. “You just accidentally used RCT on a six-year-old civillian that overwhelmed his body he’s been in the ICU for 2 weeks. Our pro bono clinic is effectively and permanently closed because of this.”

Shoko flinched out of instinct, not used to Yaga being as brazen with her as he usually was with Gojo. She wrung her hands. “I-I didn’t—”

“No one does,” Yaga had cut her off, gentler. There he was. “Someone should have been monitoring your volunteer hours. But you know as well as I do how understaffed we’ve been since… well.”

Gojo chose that time to speak up.

“It's for the best right now, Shoko.”

And really, it was the way he said it, so thinly triumphant next to her obvious leering, that made her glance at him. The look in his eyes was remorseful, possibly the most understanding she’d ever gotten him to, but all the same that undercurrent of cunning shot through and doused her in her own moment of understanding.

She looked at him, eyes glassy and voice trembling.

“It was you.”

Gojo didn’t even so much as flinch.

-

“You’re killing her.”

They’re checking and resetting the wards around school, strips of moonlight blanketing the compound in a soft glow this late into the night. Ijichi was somewhere north of them—still within Gojo’s direct line of sight, he insisted—but far enough so accidentally eavesdropping on an obviously charged conversation between his seniors wouldn’t traumatize him even more than he already was.

“Say that again?” Gojo asks thinly, not tearing his eyes away from the growing purple glow of the concealment seal he was casting. His expression was frighteningly calm.

Nanami eyes him warily, hands coming up to siphon his own cursed energy beside him. “You know what I mean.”

“Hmm?” Gojo hums impassively, glancing at him from the corner of his eye. “Not sure I do.”

Nanami let his cursed energy slice through a precariously woven seal on Gojo’s side, effectively ruining all his effort for the past hour. It’d take him less than ten seconds to rebuild it again anyway.

“I didn’t know you knew how to be immature, Nanami-kun,” Gojo lets his hands drop as he pockets them, turning his body just so. The look he gives Nanami is clear, open; if not glaringly bright against the backdrop of the night. “Isn’t that my role?”

Nanami’s eyes sharpen. “You already turned me down twice.”

“And I’ll do it again and again,” Gojo turns leisurely, striding past the stone path with ease as his eyes go over the wards. Plotting and assessing and looking for the needle in the gaps. It was part of his nightly neurotic routine now. “And again and again and again. Get the point yet?”

“Does she know?” Nanami calls after him, tone accusing.

Gojo stops dead in his tracks, hands still in his pockets. His body was laid out in casual lines of moonlight, not a single shadow out of place. Ephemeral. Unmoving. Unyielding.

“Does it make any difference?”

Nanami stared at him. He just didn’t understand. He needed to, he thinks, if he really was going to subject Shoko to anything as close to horrific if the degree which Gojo was isolating her warranted any of it. Gojo tended to operate on the extremes, and without a grounding force, he had them all the more worried he’d tip over the edge without reason and drag them all down with him.

“Why?”

The cicadas make a round of their nightly lullabies around the forest twice before Gojo sharpens like a whetstone on a katana, straightening his shoulders back and peering at him from the side. His eyes were drowning in cerulean.

“Not sure if you noticed,” he says, the ghost of a smile on his face. This late at night the shadows made him look more haunted. “But she’s kind of the only one I have left.”

Nanami blinks. He wasn’t expecting that.

“You’re still killing her,” Nanami insists, stepping closer, shaking his head in disappointment. Forcing his hands to settle because shaking Gojo out of this wasn’t a physical thing, now, and perhaps more dangerous; no one knows how to get inside his heart anymore. Shoko’s given up on trying. “You know that, right?”

The lines of his face morph into a grin as his eyes twinkle with the moon. Gojo doesn’t even flinch.

“At least she’d still be alive.”

[mochegato]

Jasonette Protection Program

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Marinette pulled her coat closer around her as she made her way from the bus stop to her apartment.  She had made the brilliant decision when she moved here not to get a car because… Gotham.  The likelihood that it would get damaged or destroyed in some kind of attack was ridiculously high.  The likelihood the bus would get blown up or taken over, while definitely still present, was significantly lower.

But today she was regretting that decision.  It meant she couldn’t isolate herself like she wanted to.  It meant she was exposed to anybody and everybody at the bus stop and on the bus and on the sidewalk and any one of them could have been the one to drug her.  She eyed the people around her as she walked.  Okay, maybe not the woman who looked like she was in her 90’s and could barely walk… and dropped her knitting out of her bag.

Marinette rushed over to her and paused right before reaching her. She twirled around and scanned the faces around her.  She could feel somebody watching her.  She could feel their eyes scrutinizing her every move.  She studied the shadows and the windows, but couldn’t find anyone watching her.  She frowned slightly and shook her head.  She was getting paranoid.  She was seeing and feeling things that weren’t there.  

She sighed and turned back to the woman, crouching down to help her put her knitting back in her bag.  The woman smiled in appreciation, which Marinette returned with a shaky one of her own.  She walked the remaining few feet to her apartment building and took a cautious look up and down the dark street before turning into it.  She made sure she heard the click of the door latching before continuing up the stairs, not that it would do anything.  Logically she knew that, but her anxiety still demanded it.

She kept her eyes on the stairwell as she made her way up to her apartment on the top floor, eyes hyper vigilant for any movement, her ears hyper sensitive to any sounds from the stairs.  She got to her floor and paused for a few moments waiting to see if any sounds or movement indicated someone behind her.  She let out a relieved sigh when there was no noise and turned to her apartment before letting out a muffled screech.

Jason jumped, dropping his phone he had been scrolling on, in his rush to hold up his hands in a placating motion.  “Just me.  It’s okay. It’s just me.”  He watched her for a few seconds.  She was starting to breathe hard, her eyes were boring into him. “Although I just realized you may not remember me.  So this was actually an incredibly stupid plan.”  He took a few steps away from her door, his hands still held up to let her know he wasn’t a threat.

Marinette continued to stare at him for a few more seconds, forcing her breathing to slow.  “You… you’re Tim’s brother, right?  You… you were…” she squinted at him, “you were in my bedroom?”

Jason grimaced and looked down to the floor as he rubbed the back of his neck.  “Yeah… that doesn’t make me sound too good, does it?”

She eyed him suspiciously.  “What are you doing here?”  

He perked up slightly and gave her a small, reassuring smile. “I wanted to check on you and see how you’re doing today.  It can hit a day or a few days later sometimes.  And I’m a security expert.  I consult on it for people and companies.  I wanted to offer to check your security for you so you’d feel safe, at least when you’re at home.”  He turned to her door and knocked on the doorframe.  “I can already tell that you need better locks.  I could have broken in easily, but I didn’t think you would appreciate finding me in your apartment.”

She raised an eyebrow at him but let out a quiet chuckle and looked away after a few seconds.  “You would be right.”  She looked back up at him and tentatively walked over closer to her door.  “But, I don’t think I can afford to hire you.”

Jason waved off her concern.  “I wouldn’t let you.  I’d charge Tim for it.  He can afford it and he’s worried enough that I’m actually kind of surprised he hasn’t contacted me already, but I suppose that has something to do with him not wanting you to meet me in the first place.”

Marinette quirked her lips to the side and studied him.  The longer she watched and talked to him the more memories came back and the clearer they became.  She was slowly starting to get bits and pieces of the night before, not enough to create a coherent picture, just incredibly short scenes, a word here, a smile there.  Regardless of what she could remember though, this was Tim’s brother and although Tim didn’t want them to meet, he trusted him, not that she would ever be allowed to say that out loud to either of them.  

She finally nodded and pulled out her keys.  “Well, I can at least offer you dinner while you’re here. If you’d like.”  She gave him a small smile as she passed him into the apartment taking off her coat and dropping her bag on the small dining room table.

Jason raised his eyebrows in surprise.  After the way she had reacted when she saw him, he honestly didn’t think she would talk to him let alone let him into her apartment.  He was starting to understand how she could have gotten drugged so easily if she was that trusting.  But then again, Tim had said they all were being careful. Her even more so than the others. So why was she so trusting now?  “I would never turn down free food,” he said slowly.

He closed the door behind him with a quick glance at the inside part of the lock, confirming his original suspicions.  Standard issue, not particularly secure.  He could have picked it in all of three minutes when he was only eight.  He didn’t have to lean down to study the doorknob to know it was in worse condition. One good kick and the door would be wide open.  He sighed. If anyone wanted to get into her apartment, it wouldn’t take them very much effort.

He turned back to the apartment, letting his frown morph into a smile.  Her apartment was cozy and lived in and very much her.  There were touches of her everywhere along with some touches that he wouldn’t have expected.  He shook his head at the condition of the apartment.  It wasn’t terribly messy but it also wouldn’t count as anything close to clean.  He could see why she and Tim got along so well.  Neither could clean up after themselves to save their lives.  

There were bits of fabric and half completed sewing projects scattered around along with random pages of scientific reports.  He raised an eyebrow at that.  Odd combination.  His eyes caught on men’s shoes by the door.  He scrunched his forehead in confusion.  If she lived with someone, where were they?  Where were they last night?  Why hadn’t Tim mentioned him?  “You live with someone?  A boyfriend?”

Marinette looked up from the refrigerator.  “No.  Well, yes, but no.  I live with my best friend,” she explained quickly, “but he’s visiting friends this week.”

Jason nodded.  That was good at least.  She wasn’t living alone.  There was someone else with her usually.  That makes it less likely someone could just break in and attack her.  He moved over to the window and sighed again, more deeply this time.  It was worse than the door.  “No curtains. You should probably get some, preferably lined ones.  This lock is ancient too.  It wouldn’t take much to jimmy it.  We’ll get you new locks for your windows and your door.”

Marinette looked at him wide eyed as she set a bunch of grapes and a jug of filtered water from the refrigerator on the counter.  She hadn’t been expecting the locks to be that bad.  She knew it wasn’t amazing, but then again, she hadn’t really been too concerned about being specifically targeted here.  Nobody really knew who she was, or rather used to be.  She was just an average citizen here.  

She stared at the window for a few seconds, her head cocking to the side and her eyes unfocusing as her mind wandered through the possibilities of what could have happened and what still could.  She was no longer safe, not even in her own home.  But then again, she never really had been had she?  She had just thought she was.  She thought she was safer after they’d defeated Hawkmoth, but she’d just traded one danger for another.

Jason watched as her face morphed from one expression to another, her eyes distant.  Her face clearly displaying each and every emotion she was going through, no matter how flitting.  Jason could guess where her head went.  When her eyes started shimmering, he opened his mouth to bring her out of it when her phone rang.  She jerked back violently, knocking over the jug of water.  

She cursed as she tried to stop the jug’s descent only to knock it further away, further spreading the water.  She gave a defeated groan and grabbed a towel from a nearby drawer to start sopping up the water.  Jason jumped to grab a few more towels to help.  It took a few minutes, but they were finally able to clean up the water with a minimum of damage to papers left on the counter.  Luckily, none of Marinette’s sketches were on the island anymore but Adrien was definitely going to have to reprint some of his papers for research.

Marinette gave Jason an appreciative smile and threw the papers in recycling and the towels in the sink.  She let out a deep frustrated sigh as she leaned against the counter.  After a few seconds, she ran her hands through her hair and laughed.  Jason frowned at the sound.  It was short and mirthless and sounded utterly wrong coming from her.  He could see her starting to spin but didn’t know her well enough to know how to help.  God, he really hadn’t thought this through.

Jason very slowly started reaching for her so she could see his hands coming.  Shen she didn’t shy away, he set a hand on her arm to ground her.  She looked up into his eyes, panicked eyes meeting concerned eyes. They both jumped when her phone started ringing again.  They both chuckled quietly at their reactions.  

“Sorry…” she started but was cut off by another ring.  She shook her head at herself.  She hadn’t even noticed the original call had dropped.  She checked the caller id and smiled at the phone. “Hey Tim.”  She paused to listen to him.  “No, I’m fine.  I just… I knocked something over and was cleaning it.  Sorry for scaring you.”

She gave Jason an apologetic smile as she listened to Tim.  “I’m doing okay, I guess.  I think I’m just jumpy… and getting paranoid.  I could have sworn someone was watching me walk home, but when I looked nobody was around or rather nobody was paying attention to me.” She missed the slight grimace Jason shot toward the floor.  “No, thank you though.  Actually, your brother is here already.”  She smiled at Jason again and put Tim on speaker.  

“…that so.  That’s very thoughtful of him,” Tim quipped in a clipped tone.

“Yeah, he’s checking my locks,” Marinette continued, seemingly oblivious to the tension in his voice, or attributing it to his concern.  “Apparently my door and window locks are pretty bad,” Marinette frowned at the thought.

“Uh huh.  Well it’s just so great that he came over then,” Tim gritted out.

Marinette did a double take when Jason’s phone dinged repeatedly with an extended series of text notifications.  She blinked at it a few times before looking questioningly at Jason. He rolled his eyes and turned his phone off.  He met her eyes with a shrug and a wink as he sat at her island.

“Tell him I say hi and remind him he has plans with Bruce soon,” Tim continued tightly.

Jason huffed.  “Tell him to tell B, I'm not going on patrol until Demon Spawn calms down.  And tell him I’m sending him the bill for this.”  He motioned vaguely around them.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Tim conceded easily before his voice turned harsh again, “And tell him…”

“You two do realize you can hear each other and you two both know you can hear each other and I know you can hear each other and I’m not an owl!” Marinette admonished them sharply.

The room was silent for a few seconds before Tim started chuckling.  “Sorry, Hermione.”

“Thank you, Harry.”  She nodded at the phone even though he couldn’t see her.

“Hey!  That makes me Ron?  What the fuck?” Jason objected raising up from his seat in offense.

“Oh come on, you’d look good with red hair,” Marinette teased him lightly.

“You better fucking not be Ron,” Tim growled.   “You’re more like Draco anyway,” he continued flippantly.

“Fuck you, Pretender,” Jason growled.

“Yeah, this is making me feel better,” Marinette sighed, leaning against the counter.

There was a guilty pause as the men took in her words.  “Sorry,” Jason finally spoke up after a while.

“What?”  Marinette gave him a curious look until realization set in.  “Oh!  No, I was serious.  You two remind me of my friends.  It feels comforting, normal.”

Tim waited a second before speaking up cautiously. “So… you’re okay for tonight?  You feel safe?”

Marinette smiled at the phone again.  “Yeah, Tim.  I’m okay.  Thanks for checking on me.”

“Of course.  Let me know if that changes.  I’ll be over in three minutes flat,” he promised.

Marinette grinned mischievously.  “Do I get a free pizza if you take longer?”

Tim huffed out a laugh.  “Absolutely.”

“Sweet.  I might test it just for that,” she teased him.  “Night, Tim.”

“Night.  And tell Jason to turn his phone back on before I do it for him.”

Marinette rolled her eyes.  “Still not an owl,” she singsonged before she hung up.  She looked over to Jason with a concerned smile. “Do you have to go?  It sounded like you already had plans?”

Jason waved her off and took the battery out of his phone before leaning against the counter near her.  “I have plenty of time.  Like I said, if I show up now De… Damian is going to attack me.” Marinette’s eyes widened in concern but Jason waved her off again.  “It’s fine. He isn’t as tough as he thinks he is. He wouldn’t be able to hurt me, but Bruce would yell at me for it and Dick would give me his disappointed in you lecture.  It’s better for everyone if I stay away for a few days.”  

He grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Tim just doesn’t want me stealing his friend away with my superior looks and charm.”

Marinette scowled lightly at him.  “Tim is very handsome and charming,” she insisted defensively.

Jason shot her a devilish smile.  “But not as much as me, right?”

Marinette scoffed at him and rolled her eyes.  “You certainly seem to think so.”  She rinsed some grapes and set them in a bowl between the two of them. “But he’s the only reason you’re here right now.  If you weren’t Tim’s brother and we hadn’t met last night when you were fairly respectful of me in my… state…”

“Fairly!?” Jason squawked.

“I’d have called, well, not the cops, but Tim, to take care of you,” she continued over him.  She grabbed a grape and chewed on it while she watched him appraisingly as she leaned back against the counter opposite him.  “Do you make a habit of stealing his friends?”

Jason shrugged and grabbed a few grapes.  “No, we generally move in different…” he searched for a nice way to phrase it, “circles.”

She hummed in response.  “And yet here you are, willingly entering in a circle with one of his friends.” She eyed him pointedly.  She quickly broke their eye contact to look down and cross her arms over her chest protectively.  “Thank you for breaking into this particular circle to help me out. Last night spooked me more than I want to admit.”

“Did you want to talk about it?  Or pretend like it never happened.  I can help with either,” Jason offered.

Marinette stared at the grapes for a while without talking. Jason was certain she was about to start spiraling again when she spoke up quietly.  “I was keeping an eye on my drinks.  I only took my eyes off of them when I was around people I trusted and we weren’t exactly close to other people for someone to just slip something in.”  She frowned and looked at nothing in particular. She poured herself a glass of water and held the rim of the glass against her lips without drinking it as she remembered the night before.  “I don’t know which scares me more, that someone was that good to get it in with all of us there or…”

“That one of the people you trust might be responsible,” Jason finished for her after a few seconds of silence.  When she looked up to meet her eyes, she looked so shaken and uncertain, he wanted to pull her into a tight, reassuring hug, but after the night before, he wasn’t sure a virtual stranger’s embrace would be the most reassuring.  He settled for moving to lean against the counter next to her so their arms were almost touching, but she still had her personal space.

“Yeah,” she said wrapping her arms around herself and rubbing her arms.  

“You think you were the intended victim?” he asked curiously.  He and Tim had already discussed the night and decided that she had to be, but he was curious what her thoughts were.  “You don’t think it was just opportunistic.  You think whoever was with targeting you.”

She shook her head and looked down, frowning at the floor.  She gripped her arms tighter.  “I don’t know.  I was never alone and I only drank with my friends at our own table away from other people.  I mean someone at the bar could have drugged it before it was brought over when the waitress brought drinks but…”

“How would they know who it would go to,” Jason finished again.  “Seems unlikely they’d risk the drug like that if they didn’t know who it would go to. If they didn’t have a plan to get the person out.”

Marinette looked up at him anxiously and nodded.  She studied him for a few more seconds before she shook herself out of her daze.  She looked up at him with a fake smile.  “So what are you feeling for dinner?  I can make some pasta.  I can do stir fry.  I can whip up a casserole.  What do you want?”

“I’ll be happy with whatever you feel like having tonight,” he assured her with a smile.

“I don’t… really… feel like eating,” she mumbled, looking away again. “This is more something for me to focus on instead of last night.”

Jason gave her a gentle smile and lowered himself to her level, trying to gain her attention.  “Look, I know you don’t know me but why don’t we order take out and we can watch a movie, or if you want to be alone, I can leave.”

“I don’t want to be alone,” she answered quickly, instantly looking over to him with a desperate look in her eyes.

Jason nodded slowly and gave her a gentle smile.  He rested his hands lightly on her arms to reassure her he was there and not going anywhere unless she wanted him to.  “That’s understandable.  I wouldn’t want to be either.  Do you want me to call Tim over?  I know you probably feel safer with him and when he can’t be here in three minutes, you get a pizza.”

She gave him a wan smile.  “No, I trust you.  And I’m not really feeling pizza right now.”

Jason smiled back.  “I want to joke and say that’s a terrible decision, but now doesn’t seem like the best time.” She gave him a deadpan look that made his grin widen.  “I’ll save that for later,” he finished with a wink. His expression quickly turned serious as he watched her.  “You should eat though.  What kind of food do you want to try?  There’s a good Indian restaurant around the corner.”

She looked away.  “I don’t want to order out.  I don’t want food that I…”

Jason nodded and moved closer again.  “Yeah, that’s reasonable.  Let’s make something together, yeah?  I saw some eggs and milk in your refrigerator and there’s bread on the counter.  How do you feel about breakfast for dinner?  French toast sound good?  I think you call it Lost Bread?  And how do you feel about Clueless?”

“The movie?” she asked confused.

“Yeah, adaptation of Jane Austen’s Emma.”

“Fan of Alicia Silverstone or Jane Austen?” she teased weakly.

“Both,” Jason answered with a wink.

Marinette snickered and nodded.  “That all sounds amazing.”  She moved away to start getting the pan and bowls out, watching him while he got the ingredients prepared.  “Thank you, Jason.  You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“No problem.  We’ll get things figured out so you can feel safe, or at least as safe as you can feel in Gotham,” he assured her, and himself.  They were going to find who drugged her and make her feel safe again.  Whoever it was messed with one of Tim’s friends, one of the few he really trusted, that means whoever it was messed with his family and nobody messed with their family.

Tags:

@jasonette-july-event @maribatserver @aespades @demonicbusiness @read-fantasy-to-escape-reality @jayjayspixiepop

[insufferablelust]

Cockwarming Don Reid with his men in the next room

Warning : Cockwarming, mob boss! Spencer, Mean dom!spencer, mention of killing, degrading name calling, filthy.. so fucking filthy, exhibitionism, literally almost fucking in front of people, mention of sub space, d/s theme obviously, and yeah.. 18+ please.

MASTERLIST HERE.

“Princess, come here.” Spencer pat his lap with a burning gaze directed to the cute little thing sat ontop of his office couch like a queen. Work days usually means no playing around, for Y/N it’s one of those days where she’d usually spend at her apartment doing her tasks or paint something for the young don.

But on rare occasions such this, where all the workload of responsibilities upon responsibilities piled on his shoulder, he’d bring her in, he’d tell her to sit all pretty, and continue to study unless daddy calls and that’s exactly she has been doing for hours now, sketching the wooden figurine on his shelf with her legs up the table and her back rests against the couch. She looks prettier than usual he thought, not that his butterfly never look anything less than amazing but she just radiates that softness, that gentle and tender touch which he often depraved himself of— being in the mob especially as the leader, he has to be on the rough rugged edge all the time, he cannot be tender and soft but he can certainly have you as his own personal reminder that not all things in life is as bad as what he has seen.

Y/N, the darling butterfly happily obliged as she stood up after placing her sketchbook down the table and make her way to where he sits on the large chair— colored burgundy red. The soft knitted knee high socks that clad her feet anxiously drags her to the edge of his desk with her fingers fumbling on the hem of her flower dress, no matter where and when, or how and why— he always intimidates her in ways that seemed to flutter her insides with pure wanton yet desirable lust, all for him.

Encased in a black suit, he sat up straight as he holds her hips before placing her down atop his lap with her back against his front, his perfect little princess. “Dressed so prettily for daddy. Haven’t seen this one before pet, did you buy them just to impress me hm?” if it were any other man, talking to you like you owe them you would flip their asses off and beat them to pulp— but when he says it, demands it, caress your soul with it— you couldn’t refuse nor deny.. not that you would ever want to anyway because yes, yes you did buy them to impress him, to make him as weak as she is for him.

She nodded shyly with a small “yes daddy” before squirming gently ontop of his lap whilst Spencer caress her inner thigh— calloused rough fingers brushing up and down her god glowing skin, intensifying all the tension that builds inside of her. Her skin prickled with heat as he inches his sinful fingertips up up up creeping upon her clothed dripping wet cunt, causing her to mewl lowly in frustration, grinding her ass back against his growing crotch.

“Daddy has so many things today pet, so many fucking things to keep you happy, to buy dresses like this one.” He whispered onto your ear, his lips pressing against your temple with his curls gazes against your heating cheek as you nod and shut your eyes tight— feeling his knuckles graze right against your clothed aching swollen clit, making you buck up your hips as he laughs behind you, chest rumbling with triumph.

“Jesus petal, haven’t done anything and you’re soaking my pants already? are you always this needy? fucking hell.” He shook his head as he keep on laughing condescendingly, whilst you writhed and squirm on his lap, your face nudging against his neck. “Please d-daddy..” Oh how he loves your mewls, your sweet sweet moans just sent all the blood from his head rushing down toward his cock— making him all dizzy and dying to feel your clutching heat.

“Shh you want Morgan to hear you, is that it? want my men to hear your filthy moans, bunny?” His words sent tingles up your spine, through your bloodstream as his fingers skillfully tear your panties apart, with you gasping— eyes as glassy as ever and mind absolutely mush with tension and pleasure. “Daddy asked you a question.” He growled, before slapping your bare wet soaking cunt few times which you respond with loud cries and squirm on his lap.

“Sorry daddy! f— please i... oh mmh!” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you feel his thumb grazing innocently to your little nub of pleasure numbing nerves, flicking his thumb up and down it focusing on the rhythm as he might as well play you like his favorite instrument. “All needy and you can’t even get a proper word out, such a mindless baby.” He scoffed before slapping right on your clit multiple times.

“Ah! Ah oh! daddy!” You screamed, having no care in the world if his men heard— you knew in the back of your mind that they heard and that alone sends a new surge of adrenaline throughout your body, leaving you pliant and in need for daddy— daddy’s cock, fingers, anything just anything. “Here’s what you’re going to do, pup. You’re going to keep daddy’s cock warm whilst i do my job, if you behave like a good little girl then i’ll let you cum, but if you decided to think with your cunt and move i swear to god i’ll edge you six fuckin ways to sunday, you hear me?” You felt him fumbling with his zipper as he took his cock out, with you whining— babbling ‘yes yes yes daddy’ against his skin, eyes all droopy and fucked with your neatly applied mascara drip down your cheeks.

“Up you go pet, slide daddy in.” You shakily stand, bunching the hem of your dress on your hips before you straddled his thigh and looks down to get ahold the base of his well endowed cock— pulsing with need and heat. “Fuck, go on.” He urged you as he grab ahold of your hips before you lined him up with your sopping wet entrance and sink down slowly— down his massive throbbing length that has you moaning, panting.

“You can do better than that slut”

Smack!

“N-no! daddy please help! please i— ungh you’re too big!” You shook your head as you tried and tried to take him, all of him but everytime you sink another inch— your body felt like it’s been penetrated into a whole new level as if it hadn’t this morning or the night before, “Fucking helpless baby, look at you, pathetic and needy.” He growled before thrusting up inside you at once, forcing his thick length to slip fully inside your pumping dripping heat causing you both to moan out.

“Oh! oh mmh daddy.. shit..” You felt him deep, deep deep inside you, the tip of him grazing against your spot oh so deliciously, whilst you pant and convulse against him, clutching his cock like a vice. “Perfect little cunt, such a perfect doll for me.”

—

You’re convinced that if god was real, at this moment god must hate you for existing, must hate you so much that the universe sent you this adonis of a man to torture and blur the line of sanity and lunacy for you, torment your pleasure in mockery and sarcasm of how he stayed calm with you perched on his godly lap, panting like a puppy in heat as his thick length penetrated your insides as if it belongs there— forcing every bit of your self control over the teetering edge. You’re loosing your mind, that you’re sure of.

It has been no longer than 30 minutes but your toes have curled and uncurled themselves for eternity, your walls grew slicker and slicker each time he ‘shift’ accidentally, as you mewl and bit the skin on his neck, by the last minute of the long 30– you were trembling in order to resist yourself not to move, for the last bit of your working mind still recognized how severe the punishment would be if you were to move, the don is not one to fuck around with— oops.

Just as he stretches his hand, the knock of the door sent you into a spiraling mess, looking up to Spencer with wide eyes— all glassy and doe as you shook your head, “Daddy, d-daddy n-no..” Shivers runs deep and thrumming lively on your bloodstream as you saw his devilish handsome smirk.

“Be good and quiet, pup.” He whispers

“N-no! no daddy please! i—“

“Come in.” The sound of his voice and door cracking open has you shutting your eyes as tight as you could, face buried on the crook of his neck as he grips onto your thigh. You took a peek at the tall standing figure on the middle of his office, recognizing so clearly that it’s in fact Hotch not only that Emily and Morgan were also present, fuck— you’re fucked as you clenched hard causing the don to hiss and slap your thigh.

“What did i tell you about behaving hm? are you going to behave or should i let them deliver your punishment for you little one?” He growled in your ear, making you let out a pitiful whimper, trying as best as you could to resist the need to look at your patrons and to stay still. “No please, i’ll behave.” you muttered meekly, panting at the raging burning release that has been coiling inside your body.

“No please what? you know better, minx.” He shook his head before grasping your neck with his palm as he take a look at your messy figure. “No daddy p-please..” you bat your eyelash at him as he went in to kiss your lips with a small ‘good girl’ before getting back to his business.

“What is it?” He muttered coldly, one hand on the whiskey glass that he took a sip off every once in awhile and the other secured tightly around your lower tummy— you knew what he’s doing, the game is clear, you knew he likes to feel how you can feel him inside of you, pressing against your sweet spot and your slick canal tried so hard not to clench at the thought.

“The shipment hasn’t arrived yet to midtown, it supposed to days ago but we just heard from Garcia that the Kingsley’s hadn’t even reached out to her in weeks.” Although confident, you could tell there’s a hint of fear and worrisome latched behind Hotch’s voice, one does not fuck with your dom, one does not absolutely delay the shipment of his drugs— no no those cannot do.

“Have you traced it back to them?” The voice that rumbled against your back was eerily calm and deeper, resisting every urge inside his body to lash out— you know that very well. His fingers tighten and tighten its hold onto the glass which you could clearly see his knuckles turning white, you just hope that the poor glass won’t break.

“Yes don, Walker and Alvez went to their base and it was empty, looks like they left in a hurry.” You could feel it before you even see it, heard it, the way his blood pumps just even faster before a lound cracking of the wood sent fear and adrenaline through everyone’s bloodstream, “I don’t fucking care how many, and who’re you going to kill, but i want that fucking shipment arrived to midtown by dawn or i’ll pluck their own eyes myself.” His voice somehow rise and fell deeper at the same time, rumbling deep inside his chest which send shivers on everyone’s spine as they nod with a small uniformed ‘yes don’ before heading out hurrily— no one questions him, no one dared to speak against him, even if they know they’ll have the bloods of people (though bad) on their hands by nightfall.

His threat lives like a venom that stuck on their throat as they pursued their mission— one don does not get his hand dirty let alone going round plucking some low life mob’s eyes— or the end result could be.. would be catastrophic. These Kingsleys have one hell of a problem heading their way.

and you.. you have one hell of a raging frustratingly mad Mob boss in your hand.

—

Y/N’s head couldn’t even process the whole thing before she screamed in absolute pain when he pulled out harshly and bent her over his desk, knocking his whiskey glass onto the floor, clattering with no care in a world. Your mind begs for you to soothe him, soothe his anger yet your cunt aches and throbs with the need to let him use you— take the anger out to you, and ruin you for eternity. You’re his, and you’re ready.

“Stay fucking still.” Spencer slapped your ass harshly, causing you to jump in the position, your legs curled up for a moment as he gripped your hair tightly and grasp your neck with his unoccupied hand, “You’re going to stay still and be a good cocksleeve for me, i’m going to use you like you’re my toy and i won’t stop unless you say your safeword, got it?” His breath fans over your heated skin as you shake and tremble, your mind fuzzy with needs and mush of pleasure— blurring your absolute senses and submitting yourself fully to the mercy of his hand— his cock.

“Use your words, dumb little slut.” He hissed, choking your neck even tighter, with much force and you cried out, “Yes! yes sir, use me, i.. i’m yours..” just as you muttered out, your walls involuntary clenching at the intrusion of his cock plunging deep deep deep inside of you in one go, making you scream out in absolute pleasure and pain.

Spencer might’ve seen red— but when he delves deep inside of your tight heat, he saw the absolute heaven on earth as he begins to thrust in and out of your cunt in a brutal space, knocking his desk toppers off, and making you mewls and screams.

“Fucking tight little cunt— mine huh? isn’t it fucking mine pup?” He slammed into you over and over again as his balls hit your clit in an antagonizing pleasure whilst you writhe below him, forcing your eyes to stay open with all the power in your body looses control. “Its— mmmh ngh fuck! it’s y-yours sir! yes yes yes!” Your moans filled the entire building but neither of you care as Spencer drove his cock home everytime he sinks inside your tight pussy.

“Being such a good whore, letting me use you as my personal fucktoy, just to let my anger out.” He laughs maniacally, pistoning his hips as you clench your walls tightly to elevate the pleasure for you both, causing the room to tremble as you moan and cries out loud, “ungh yes! yes yes your whore daddy— mmh fuck me!” You could feel all the drool drips down your lips as he fucked you stupid atop of his desk but neither of you care nor have the patience to even pay attention because in his mind— the messier the better.

“Won’t be able to walk for days, pet. Fucking cunt going to drool for me everytime you see all the marks i fucking left on you.” He growled, bringing his palm over your ass before giving it a smack over and over again as your body lunges forward trying to get away with how all the friction is causing you to went into over sensitivity. But being the mean dom that he is, Spencer laughs as he pulled you back towards him by your hips. “Where are you going, bunny?”

“Please p-please let me cum, sir... ah!” You arched your back perfectly when the tip of his finger move down down down to where your swollen sensitive clit was, rubbing quickly in a fast pace just to send you over the edge, testing you, daring the orgasm out of you. “Wanna cum petal? hm wanna make a mess on daddy’s cock?” He whispered, one hand continues to rub your clit as the other focuses on holding you against him whilst his hips drives up deep— so deep that the tip grazes against your cervix.

“mmhh ah uh uh uh!” Your eyes lolled back trying to find a cohorent sentence— anything you can say to him but no matter what you’re trying to say was rendered to sinful moans and cries instead as you were right on the brink, “You can do better than that, c’mon bunny, beg daddy to cum.” he stills for a second, pressing in deep as he slaps your cheeks not once but twice— bringing fresh tears flows from your eyes.

“I.. ungh please daddy please! let me cum! been so good for you, please— want you to fill me up too.. fill your baby up, daddy!” Your high pitched voice rang an alarm through the circuit of his lust and anger laced mind, you’re slipping into your space and you’re slipping fast with your eyes just glazes absolutely flying through the realm of pleasure sensitivity.

“Good girl butterfly, such a good fucking girl, wanna cum? c’mon cum..” He whispered, before thrusting his hips in and out slowly, feeling the bliss of your overly wet and tight cunt engulfing him— milking him to cum inside, “Cum for daddy, princess, that’s it.. ohh... that’s it baby, good girl.” You cried out silently as you cum hard around his cock, muscles clenching so tightly that you sent him to release himself inside of you, thick ropes of cum paints your inside as you both moan and tremble.

“My good girl, shh thats it— best cunt ever.. that’s it, so so good for me.” He whispered softly, backing down to where his chair was pushed aside, bringing you with him before sitting down. You groaned out a loud scratchy, “daddy..” As you feel his cock shifted deeper inside of you, your eyes closed as he holds you and calms you down.

“Shh shh princess, just stay here like this. such a good girl, gonna keep me warm while i wait for them aren’t you?”

Although your cunt practically ache and scream for you to not say yes, your love and lust filled mind fogged with utter desire— just nods whining an agreeable mumble— just for him.

This will be a long long day and even a longer night.

[earliebirb]

nosedive

steve/tony, fluff, (newly) established relationship, 3250 words

Tony stares absentmindedly out the airplane window as he puts his phone up to his ear, watching people run back and forth, performing last-minute engine checks. Some of the guys look sweaty and out of breath.

From the comfort of the air-conditioned Stark Industries private jet, he feels a slight twinge of sympathy for the people having to suffer in the humid summer heat.

He loosens his tie and sinks deeply into his seat, closing his eyes with a massive yawn as he listens to the ringing tone. He hadn’t been able to sleep very well throughout his five-day stay in Tokyo, too anxious about the contract to rest properly. 

The ringing tone goes on for a few more seconds before ending with a click, replaced by an achingly familiar voice greeting him in his ear. 

“Hello?” 

Tony’s eyes spring open. Outside, an aircraft marshaller walks by, speaking rapidly into his walkie-talkie.

“I had a blueberry muffin for lunch today. One single blueberry muffin.”

“...What?”

“It didn’t even taste that good. I couldn’t finish it. Too dry.”

“Tony, that’s not good. Is that all you had for lunch? You should really eat—”

“The meeting went well, by the way. Mr. Watanabe finally signed the contract, everything went as planned. My ride to the airport, however…”

“I told you things would go smoothly, you had nothing to worry about. You’re a brilliant negotiator—”

“The traffic? Fuck. I had to keep shifting in my seat to avoid pins and needles.”

“That sounds awful, are your legs okay—”

“Did you know that Tokyo is number nineteen on the list of cities with the worst traffic congestion in the world? I know that, because I looked it up on the way to the airport. But boy, did it feel like it deserved the number one spot. I think I lost feeling in my ass.”

“I did not know that. And, uh, is your ass okay—”

“Thank God for my private jet. These plush seats are the best things I’ve ever spent my money on.”

“That’s objectively not true, and you know it—”

“Then again, I think these seats in particular were Pepper’s choice? We remodeled the airplane’s interior like… two years ago. I couldn’t be bothered to meet with the airplane seat people and I just told her to pick whichever looked best. I had much more important things to tend to, like sewing up the holes in JARVIS’s Christmas stocking.”

“I am concerned about how you sort your list of priorities—”

“Hm, that’s right. I think it was around two, three weeks before Christmas and I didn’t want JARVIS to be upset about the whole stocking thing, you know?”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t have—”

“Also, you’re right, the single blueberry muffin was a bad idea because now my stomach won’t shut up. So I’ve ordered some pasta for my in-flight meal. Robbie’s making it, you’ve met Robbie—”

“I’ve met Robbie, yes, he’s—”

“Larry’s replacement after he resigned. Gotta say, I was sad to see Larry go. Guy worked for me for seven years. But then there was that thing with his grandma, and he had to leave, so… But! Robbie makes a mean carbonara, maybe even better than Larry, don’t tell Larry I said that—”

“I don’t even know Larry like that, how would I—”

“Mr. Stark, we’re ready to go.” The pilot—Paul—emerges from the cockpit, staring at him in anticipation.

Tony nods and makes a few rapid gestures with his free hand that he supposes Paul is only able to interpret perfectly after years and years of working for Tony. The gestures roughly translate to something like “Copy, I hear you, just let me wrap this up and then I’ll let you know when I’m done. Capiche?”

Paul—bless him—just gives him a curt nod and retreats back into the cockpit. 

“Anyway,” Tony takes a deep breath and puffs his cheeks out with the exertion of his exhale, “I called because… I got a feeling, Steve.”

“A… feeling?”

“Just— A gut feeling. A feeling in your gut. Inside of me. Like a hunch?”

“Okay,” Steve says patiently, his voice low and warm, “what are you feeling?”

“I… got a bad feeling. Today. A few hours ago. The feeling came to me when I was sitting in traffic, and I just— I feel like something bad’s gonna happen today, Steve. I can feel it in the air. In my heart. In my gut. In my joints.”

“Your joints? Like… the feeling old people get when it’s about to rain?”

“Okay, maybe not in my joints. Also, are you calling me old, grandpa?”

“I did not, you told me you felt something in your—”

“Anyway, so yeah. Where was I? Oh, right. Feeling. Bad feeling. Like, like, I don’t know, something bad’s gonna happen. Like an accident. Like a plane crash.”

“God, please don’t say that. You’re scaring me, Tony.”

“And I guess, I just called because I… I feel like I need to do this before the plane crashes and I die a violent and fiery death.”

“Nothing bad’s going to happen, Tony—”

“Like, if I didn’t do this today, maybe I’d never get to do it, you know? And, uh, okay, I’ve honestly been ranting to stall for time, but the longer I keep it in the more nauseous I feel, so maybe I’m just gonna do it now so I can die in peace—”

“Do what? And stop saying that—”

“Look, I’m trying to be brave and honest here and— Wait, actually? Maybe I’m being a coward because if the plane actually does go down, I won’t have to face the consequences of my actions, so I guess I’m just going to say fuck it, and say that I love you.”

“The plane is not going to— Wait, what?”

“I, uh. Love you. I’ve known it for a while now. And, uh, I know we’ve only been dating for like, a week, but—” Tony blinks. They’ve only been dating for a week. 

“...Fuck.” Tony can feel his own pulse starting to race. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Tony?”

They’ve only been dating for a week. What is he doing? What the hell is wrong with him? Normal people don’t do this. 

“Fuck. Shit, I mean— Uh, I’m sorry. That was super weird, huh?” Tony laughs nervously. He closes his eyes, gritting his teeth and cursing his stupid brain. Of course it’s weird. He always gets too attached to people way too quickly. No wonder Pepper was his only long term relationship. She was the only person who could put up with him—everyone else just got weirded out. “Uh, see you tomorrow? Or not. Fuck, sorry, I’m just gonna hang up before this gets—”

“Tony, wait.”

“...Yeah?” Tony says, hyper-aware of how breathless he sounds. His heartbeat is ringing in his ears. Everything is going to be fine. Right? Right. The worst thing Steve could do is… break up with him.

Oh, God, that is the worst case scenario. He really should’ve just kept his stupid mouth shut. 

“Tony, are you freaking out? I feel like I can hear you freaking out from all the way over here.”

“No, I’m not, of course I’m not. Who says I’m freaking out? You have no proof. I am calm, I’m calm as a clam, is that the saying? Did I get it right? Or was it happy— Anyway, I am absolutely calm, I’m the calmest I could possibly be. Any calmer and I’d be asleep. I’m—”

“Tony. Breathe.”

Tony forces himself to drag in a slow breath as he grips the arm of his seat with his free hand, focusing on the soothing hum of the airplane’s engine.

“Look, Tony, I—”

“No, listen. I’m sorry I jumped the gun, I hope I haven’t weirded you out or anything. You really, really don’t have to say it back to me. I mean it.”

“Tony—”

“No, in fact— Please don’t say anything. It’s fine. Let’s just pretend this never happened, okay?”

“But—”

“Drop it, Steve. Please?” Tony pleads. Clearly, his brain hadn’t been firing on all cylinders. That is the only reason that could explain his temporary lapse of judgment. “Look, I feel like talking about it more right now is going to send me spiraling into a panic attack.”

“...Okay. Fine.”

“Thank you. Uh, I’ll see you when I get home. If I get home. If the plane doesn’t crash. Haha.”

“Would you please stop saying that? It’s not funny.”

Tony latches onto the change in topic like a lifeline. “It is objectively true, you know. In order for me to be able to see you tomorrow, the plane has to land safely, and unfortunately, some things are just beyond my control. Like, who’s to say the plane won’t explode mid-air and—”

“The plane is going to land safely and you’re going to come back home to me in one piece. This is non-negotiable, Tony. You hear me?” Steve demands, his voice all hard authority and no-nonsense, like there will be Consequences should Tony fail to comply. 

As if he could ensure Tony’s safety with the force of his willpower alone. 

Come back home to me. 

That sounds good. Really good. Tony closes his eyes and pictures Steve’s baby blues in his mind’s eye. Warmth flowers in his chest.

“I hear you.”

“Great.”

“Awesome. I, uh, I gotta go now.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

Tony hangs up and lets Paul know that he is done with his phone call. The jittery feeling left over from his call with Steve refuses to leave him, however, so he pulls up the drawing application on his phone and begins sketching something just to give his brain something else to fixate on.

He tends to lose track of time when he is hyperfocused on a project, so he isn’t exactly surprised that the next time he becomes aware of his surroundings, the plane is already well up in the air, his sketch of what looks like a flying coffee pot is almost finished, and Robbie is placing a plate of spaghetti carbonara on the table in front of him. 

“Spaghetti carbonara. With extra cheese.”

Tony’s mouth waters as he eyes the mountain of grated Pecorino Romano sitting atop the pasta. He sighs dreamily and smiles up at Robbie.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Enjoy, Boss.” Robbie grins and slips back into the kitchen.

He only realizes just how truly famished he is after taking his first bite, and proceeds to finish the rest of his meal with gusto. Afterward, he spends the majority of the remaining flight time sleeping, the result of post-carbonara food coma and his sleep-deprivation finally catching up to him. 

It’s well past two in the morning when Tony finally makes it to his floor in the Tower, which is why he is surprised to see Steve sitting on his couch, one of Tony’s fantasy novels open in hand. 

“Steve, what are you doing here?”

Steve’s head snaps up at the sound of his voice. Tony frowns. “Actually, why are you awake at all?” He is usually an early sleeper, unless—

“Nightmare?” Tony gives him a sympathetic smile. It wouldn’t be the first time. In the early days of their friendship, Tony and Steve would sit together in the living room whenever they had trouble sleeping, talking to each other until the sun came up.

Steve shakes his head, closing the book with his eyes still trained on Tony. “No, I was just… waiting for you.” Tony blinks. 

“It’s…” Tony glances at his watch. “Half past two. In the morning.”

“I know, I just…” Steve stands up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. He ambles over before coming to a stop right in front of Tony. “I wanted to see you.”

Tony stares at him uncomprehendingly. “You’ll see me later anyway.”

“I couldn’t wait any longer. I didn’t want to go to sleep without seeing you first,” Steve says, low and earnest. His gaze wanders around Tony’s face, as if he were cataloguing each and every facial feature and trying to locate any changes he might’ve missed during his absence.

“Oh.”

Steve steps closer, arms snaking around Tony’s waist and pulling him close. His next words are whispered against Tony’s shoulder.

“I knew you’d make it home safely.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You were wrong.”

“I was… wrong.” Tony swallows. “Uh, turns out the bad feeling completely disappeared after I woke up from my nap on the plane, so I suspect that perhaps the bad feeling I got was due to my severe hunger and sleep deprivation. I mean, I’ve heard about hallucinations caused by hunger or exhaustion, but this was—” 

Steve presses a soft kiss to the column of Tony’s neck, effectively cutting off Tony’s ramblings.

“Tony,” Steve whispers against his skin.

“Yeah?” Tony squeaks.

“Please don’t call me before a flight and say that you think the plane is going to crash, ever again.”

“Right. Noted. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Steve says, pulling away slightly and loosening his hold around Tony.

Tony allows himself to relax, letting out a quiet sigh. This thing with Steve is so new and delicate that every single physical contact still sends his heart fluttering, butterflies going crazy in his stomach.

Which makes, in retrospect, his abrupt love confession—as truthful as it was—that much more insane. God, Stark. Never do that again.

Except, it turns out that Steve only pulled away to slide his hands down the back of Tony’s thighs, wrapping his hands around them, and then lifting him up without warning.

Tony yelps, and in his alarm, promptly locks his ankles around Steve’s waist. When Steve begins moving, Tony quickly wraps his arms around Steve, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

“Uh, Steve?”

“Hm?” Steve says, calm and nonchalant, as he begins walking away from the elevator. 

“Um— Wait— My suitcase—”

“Leave it. It’ll still be there in the morning.”

Tony blinks, staring dumbfoundedly at his lonely suitcase, abandoned by the elevator. It becomes smaller and smaller with every step Steve takes. 

“Where are we going?”

“Your bedroom.”

“Why are you carrying me there?”

“Because I want to.”

“You know it’ll be faster if you just let me walk, right?”

“Maybe. But you won’t be in my arms.”

“Um.”

“Bear with me, will you? I missed you.”

“I, uh, missed you too.”

Steve hums, satisfied. Tony lets himself settle more comfortably in Steve’s arms.

When Steve has successfully carried him to his bedroom, Tony fully expects Steve to deposit him on the bed. 

That is not, in fact, what happens. 

Instead, Steve turns around and begins walking backwards towards the bed before sitting down on it. Tony, still seated on his lap, swallows and pulls back slightly to look at Steve. 

“Look, Steve, as much as I’ve missed you, I’m kind of tired right now. I mean, don’t get me wrong. This whole carrying thing? Great. Very romantic. Ten out of ten. But I’m just not in the mood for sex, you know? Like, I’m not even sure I would be able to get it up if—”

“We’re not going to have sex.”

Tony blinks.

“We’re not?”

“We’re not. I’m just here to tuck you in.”

“Oh.”

Steve reaches up and begins undoing his tie. After setting it aside on the bed, he begins to unbutton Tony’s shirt. He takes his time, one button at a time.

“So…” Steve begins with a deep breath as he unbuttons the final button. “Did you mean, uh, what you said to me? On the phone?”

Tony closes his eyes, feels his own cheeks heating up. “Steve—”

“I’m sorry, Tony, I know you told me to drop it. But— I feel like if you did mean what you said, I owe it to you to… set the records straight.” When Tony opens his eyes again, Steve is looking up at him, blue eyes solemn.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… We have only been together for a week. Well, eight days. In fact, we’ve only been on one date. And it was interrupted. By giant lizards.” Steve chuckles incredulously. 

Tony remembers that day very well. They were in the middle of dessert at Tony’s favorite Italian place when they received the call to assemble—something about giant lizards wreaking havoc in Central Park.

The lizards had green, gunky blood that got into the nooks and crannies of the suit. It had taken forever to clean.

“But Tony…” Steve gathers the material of Tony’s unbuttoned shirt in both of his fists, pulling him closer until their noses are only inches apart.

The second their eyes meet, Steve smiles the sweet, lopsided smile that never fails to make Tony’s stomach flip.

“I need you to know that… I didn’t have to date you to know that I loved you. I figured that a long time ago.”

Tony stills, breath frozen in his lungs.

“I guess, what I’m saying is… I love you too. I’ve loved you for a very long time, Tony. Even way before—” Steve breaks eye contact, looks down as he clears his throat. When he speaks again, his voice is tight. “Way before we got together. I’m talking… years before.”

Tony still finds it hard to breathe. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, the word more breath than sound. He meets Tony’s dazed gaze. “So you don’t have to worry about… jumping the gun. Not with me. I’m in it for the long haul.”

“...Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Tony feels a lightness growing inside of him, spreading outwards to his extremities.

“Good.” Steve smiles, warm and impossibly fond.

“...Glad we’re on the same page.” Tony’s gaze drops down to Steve’s lips.

“We are.” Steve inches closer, nose brushing Tony’s. He then tilts his head ever so slightly and takes Tony’s lower lip between his, kissing him so tenderly Tony’s heart feels like it’s about to burst with it.

Steve’s warm hands slide up Tony’s naked back under his open shirt, sending goosebumps breaking across his skin. Tony buries his hands in Steve’s hair and relishes the feeling of the soft strands caught between his fingers. They stay caught up in each other for a few moments, capturing and releasing each other’s lips until the need for breath becomes too unbearable.

They break apart eventually, accompanied by soft chuckles. Steve smiles up at him, lips slick and cherry red, courtesy of Tony. He reaches up to caress Tony’s right eyebrow with the pad of his thumb, fleeting and affectionate.

“Get some rest, okay? You must be really tired. I should probably go to bed, too.”

Tony looks down at his lap, clearing his throat. “Uh, I know that we haven’t done this before, but…”

Steve waits patiently for Tony to gather his thoughts, hands stroking up and down Tony’s sides.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?” Tony finds the courage to meet Steve’s eyes, holding his breath.

Steve’s blue eyes are gazing at him intently, looking at him like he’s the only person in the world worth his sole, undivided attention.

Tony swallows. “No sex. Just to sleep. If you—”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“I would like that very much.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Tony feels his own lips slowly curve up into a smile, wide and unbridled. 

“Good.” Steve nods, lips twitching, his eyes never leaving Tony’s. 

Tony grins, feeling near giddy with delight. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“We are, sweetheart.” Steve looks up at him, blue eyes fond and smile radiant. “We definitely are.”

[imhereformr]

"Tell me why you did it" "Because I'm in love with you"

I had a prompt request for this an eternity ago (sorry...) but I think I deleted the ask 😬 Here's the prompt anyways.

It made no sense to her. One minute she’d been staring down Lord Darkar with the most courage she could muster – thankfully her stubbornness helped her there – and having death threatened. Next thing she knew, there was a body between her and the skeleton-man (could he be considered a man?). A loud no had echoed through the cavernous space accompanied by a flash of magenta-topped blue. She’d been so stunned by the action that it took her a moment to register why the voice was so familiar.

Riven.

He’d jumped in front of her.  

He’d saved her life.  

He’d risked his.

For her. 

After that, everything was a blur. Somewhere in the back of her mind she’d been aware that the Trix had shown up and helped them. She knew that that distraction had broken Darkar’s spell; the one that had kept her, and her friends frozen in place; the one Riven had somehow broken through to save her. She knew that thanks to that distraction Brandon and Helia had managed to get to Riven and bandage him up, bringing an end to the blood that she swore – though her memory may be faulty – was spilling endlessly out of Riven’s abdomen and temple. All those details had barely managed to make a scratch in her mind – as if they were happening somewhere else to someone else - as she stared at his closed eyes begging the gods – any gods - to let her see that violet she loved so much; that violet that had tinted her dreams since she’d met him.  

Nothing. At least not between the brief moment when he’d flickered into consciousness after she reached him and called out to him and when he’d woken for an even briefer moment on the flight back to Red Fountain.  

Musa knew that, in some twisted series of events, it was thanks to the Trix that Riven was still alive. She refused to acknowledge it, though; refused to acknowledge that it was thanks to them that she’d been able to spend every free moment by his side as he recovered. Not that there were many of those, or, at least, as many as she’d like. Apparently helping to save the entire universe didn’t count as a valid reason to miss finals in Griselda’s mind so Musa made her to way to Red Fountain’s infirmary every day after classes. She’d spent so much time there that she was on a first name basis with the nurses; they even let her use their coffee machine now so she wouldn’t have to go down to the cafeteria to get some. She’d set herself up on the empty bed across the room with her books sprawled out in front of her, trying - and mostly failing - to study. She knew she wouldn’t fail any of her classes – she had nearly perfect grades in all of them – but she wasn’t too keen on failing her finals considering they were worth a quarter of her final grade. It didn’t matter how much she forced herself though because her eyes always seemed to wander away from the books over to Riven.  

Musa arrived at Red Fountain today with a bag full of books that she intended to get through. Three classes to study for and just under five hours to study. She needed to get through the books or else she’d be kicking herself tomorrow when she was trying to take those exams. Whose bright idea had it been to schedule three exams in one day anyways?  

He slept through the first few days; she’d expected that. What she hadn’t expected was for him to sleep through the entire first week and a half after the mission. According to the nurses, he had woken up a few times but mostly when no one was there. Timmy had spoken to him once, albeit very briefly. Musa hated the thought of Riven waking up to an empty hospital room. He deserved to know that his friends were checking on him; that they cared. That she cared. That his friends were checking on him. When she’d arrived yesterday, Brandon was set up in the room with a set of weights (the nurses had complained but Brandon shrugged them off). Sky and Timmy had been there the day before that and Tecna and Flora had accompanied her the day before that.  

She strode into the infirmary, greeting Doris, the nurse at the front desk, with a nod. Musa was vaguely aware that the nurse tried to tell her something, but she had headphones on and too much on her mind, so the movement of the nurse's lips only registered after she’d passed the desk. Upon turning to question what she’d wanted to say, Musa found that Doris had had her attention diverted by a phone call, so she shrugged it off and continued to Riven’s room. Her bag slid off her shoulder, dropping to the floor a mere inch from her toes when she entered his room.  

It was empty.  

Nobody hanging around in case Riven woke; nobody on the bed; no book or flowers (courtesy of Flora) on the bedside table; nothing. The bathroom door was wide open, revealing a pristine shower, sink and toilet. No Riven. Musa poked her head out of the room, checking the number beside the door. Twenty-one: she had the right room. Where was he?

“He was discharged about two hours ago” Doris, a sweet older woman with greying brown hair and bright green eyes, informed her, coming up behind the fairy.  

“B-but he’s barely woken up in the last week?” Musa managed to stammer as she turned to face the woman. Doris shrugged. Apparently Riven had woken up late last night – just before midnight, two hours after she’d left to make Alfea’s ten PM weekday curfew – and stayed awake all night. When the doctor had checked him that morning, his vitals were good and Riven was in functional condition. “We knew him already; he spent enough time in here last year after all the fights he got in-” Fucking Riven “-so the doctor agreed to let him go as long as he promised to come in everyday for a checkup and to take it easy for a bit.”

No. She would go back to Alfea. She needed to study. If she went to see him now she’d be too tempted to demand answers and that would lead to her getting absolutely zero studying done. But then again... if she went back to Alfea to study she’d never be able to focus knowing that he was awake and she could be talking to him.

Take it easy? The man had jumped in front of a death blow without a second thought, and they expected him to take it easy? He clearly had no sense of self-preservation! “Oh... okay, thanks” Musa mumbled, picking up her bag and slinging it over her shoulder as she walked away. She stood outside the main infirmary door watching blankly as students in unnecessarily tight blue uniforms walked past her. What now? She hadn’t ever considered the possibility of showing up with him gone. Did she just go back to Alfea? Find Riven? And say what? What the fuck were you thinking? Why would you do something so reckless? So stupid? So... so... so... romantic???  

“Musa?! Hi” Helia gasped, opening the door before she could knock. Musa lowered her arm, grasping at her bag’s strap tightly. “Looking for Riven?”

Musa was surprised to find that she’d started moving, and that her absentminded walking had led her right to dorm 307 – the guys’ dorm. Her subconscious had decided for her: she would go see him. Musa raised her arm to knock, but she hesitated. What if he thought it was weird that she’d shown up right after his discharge from the infirmary? Or that he was freaked out by the thought of her being by his side every day? No, he’d risked his life for her. He’d be happy that she was there with him. …That you’ll come back, you’ll come back... to me. That’s what he’d said before their groups had split at the cave entrance; he would be happy to see her. She’d knock. Just one deep breath and...

Musa nodded dumbly. She didn’t know why she’d suddenly lost the ability to speak; it wasn’t as if the entirety of Magix wasn’t aware of her feelings for the angry specialist at this point. They’d already gone on a date for crying out loud.  Her eyes had drifted down to the dark brown sketch pad in Helia’s hand as she nodded, but she forced them back up to meet his. “Yeah... Is he here?”

“No. I think he’s in the back courtyard.” Musa thanked Helia and began to make her way back down the corridor. She turned to ask Helia if Riven had said anything about, well, anything, but her in particular, but the artist was already halfway down the hall in the opposite direction. Not that it mattered; Riven wasn’t the kind to talk about stuff and the odds of him feeling particularly chatty when he was in pain were not good. Logically Musa knew that the odds of him explaining why he’d jumped to her were minimal too, but she needed to ask anyways.  

Her pace sped up to just short of running as she made her way down to the back courtyard. Red Fountain’s new building had three courtyards. The most magnificent one, the front courtyard, was at the top of the school overlooking the forest with the city of Magix visible in the distance of the Southern side. The central one was halfway down the building inside the four gushing waterfalls and contained nothing but training fields. The back courtyard was at the base of the building at ground level. It was made up of the ruins of the old Red Fountain and where the students mostly hung out when they stayed on campus. What could be salvaged of the old brick building had been turned into courtyard décor – picnic tables, benches, stools – and, most notably, the large wall that ran along the edge of the forest. Tecna had questioned if the wall was structurally sound when they’d first seen it, but Sky assured them it was.  

When she made it to the crowded yard, her pace slowed a bit. She wasn’t worried about missing him – there was no doubt in her mind she’d be able to pick him out in a crowd – but she didn’t want to appear like she’d been searching for him frantically when she did find him. She took a quick look through the crowded parts, opting instead to search the more secluded areas thoroughly. She knew Riven; he wouldn’t want to be in the packed areas.  

She found him in the front corner closest to the forest, next to one of the gates that led to one of the many footpaths that meandered through Gloomy Wood. He was seated atop the wall, leaning back on the arch of the gate. Musa’s eyes flitted to the open iron gate, wondering what the purpose of the gate was if they were just going to leave it open. Then, just as quickly as her eyes had traveled to the gate, they were back on him. It seemed natural at this point to be watching him if he was in the vicinity. No matter how hard she tried not to spend all her time admiring and observing him, she seemed to be eternally doomed to have her eyes find him. It wasn’t her fault he was so fucking beautiful. Especially right now, sitting there with the back of his head leaning against the wall and his eyes closed. His arms rested on his stomach where he’d been hit – she could see the bandage poking out under his shirt – and one leg propped up while the other dangled off the wall. He looked so comfortable and peaceful. It was unfathomable how easily he made her stomach do flips, it –

Wait a minute.  

What the fuck was he doing on top of the wall? There was no way to get up there except to boost yourself up. That wasn’t ‘taking it easy’.  

“Hi” she said loudly, butterflies having turned to annoyance. It was bad enough that he’d risked his life jumping in front of her, did he also have to risk worsening his injuries?!

Riven’s eyes snapped open and when he looked at her, it was obvious he hadn’t been expecting to see her. Their eyes met briefly as he stuttered out a M-Musa… Hi. He lowered his leg, trying to hide the way he flinched in pain at the movement. Musa dropped her bag and stepped forward to help him as he slid himself down, but he brushed her off. Stubborn ass.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine, you know, considering…” he shrugged, motioning towards his abdomen.

“Right…” Musa fiddled with her ring – a cheap mood ring she and Bloom had gotten at the fair a few months back – as she tried to formulate a coherent thought or sentence. How was it that she still found herself stupidly tongue-tied around him? He knew how she felt; she knew he felt the same. They’d already kissed and gone on a date. They would’ve gone on another already if fucking fake Avalon hadn’t kidnapped Bloom. Logically, there was no reason for her brain to turn to mush anymore.  

Her eyes snapped up to Riven’s face. The bandage that had been around his head wasn’t there anymore, leaving the scar and bruising on his temple visible. His mouth was drawn as his eyes raked over her. He was assessing her; she could see his mind working as his eyes roamed over every visible inch of skin. “How are you?”  

“Good. Completely unharmed... thanks to you.” You fucking moron. He should know by now that her fairy form offers her an extra layer of protection that non-magical beings don’t have. He should know that the skimpy outfit is deceptive.  

He brushed it off. Riven. The cocky asshole. He brushed it off. Like risking your life – quite literally almost sacrificing it – was nothing more than passing the salt at the dinner table. “Really. Thank you. You didn’t-“

And he laughed at Timmy for being nervous around Tecna. What a goof. “I’ve been here everyday…”

“It’s nothing. Not for…” Riven trailed off. She wished he would finish the sentence, but she knew where it was going. You. Not for you. Would it kill him to give her any sort of sign of liking her? She knew he did, but was it really so hard for him to say: It’s no big deal, Musa. I’d do anything for you. “I, uh, wasn’t expecting to, um, see you h-here…”

If she could burn the memory in her mind and pull it out whenever she felt down, that would be the most incredible thing. The way his eyes widened in surprise only to soften drastically a few seconds later. The small smile that played on his lips that he tried – and failed – to suppress. The redness in his cheeks. He was perfect. “Oh?”

“I wanted to know you were… okay.” Gods, the way he was looking at her made Musa want to close the space between them and never let him go. But she needed to know. It would eat at her until she had an answer, so she dove. “Why’d you do it?”

“Huh?” He cocked his brow curiously. He couldn’t possibly be that daft? What could she possibly be asking about besides him using his body as a shield?  

“Why’d you jump in front of me?” she demanded, her patience already starting to thin.  

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does! Riven, you could have died! You…” almost did. Musa stopped herself from saying it aloud. She didn’t know if Riven knew he’d been on the brink of death and, frankly, she didn’t want to think about that. One of the advantages – and occasional disadvantages – of having sound-based powers was that her hearing was so much stronger than the average person’s; she could hear the faintest of sounds with enough concentration. Like a heartbeat. Like his. Loud and erratic at this moment, but faint and barely existent after he’d fallen. Musa had no idea how he’d survived, only that somewhere in the background the spell that had been put on Bloom went away, there’d been a bright glowing light in Musa’s peripheral vision and then Riven’s heart had started to gain strength.  

“So could you. Just let it go, Musa” he bit back. The fucking goddamn stubborn asshole.  

“No! I need to know.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Riven started to walk away from her, but she was determined not to let him. She would have her answer. She needed her answer. Maybe that made her as stubborn as him – no, it definitely did – but she was known for being stubborn and she was fine with that. Musa stepped in front of him, blocking him from the path that would lead back to the courtyard.

“It does matter!”

“No.”

“Yes, Riven. We... I...” Her voice started to break and it took a few seconds before she managed to finish the sentence. Musa would usually do everything she could to avoid someone knowing how sensitive and emotional she really was, but frankly, she was past caring now. Riven had already seen her break before anyways. And she wanted him to know how much she cared and how worried she’d been. “I could’ve lost you.”

“Well, you didn’t” he dismissed with a shrug. There was no way he could be so careless with his life. It infuriated her to think that being moments away from death was something he took so nonchalantly.

“But I could have!”

“But you didn’t so it doesn’t matter.”

“Why are you being so fucking stubborn? I just want to know why you thought that jumping in front of me was-”

“Musa! For fuck’s sake. Just drop it” Riven snapped. She’d never had him snap at her before – Stella, Brandon, Sky (multiple times), even Timmy once. Never her. His snapping didn’t scare her, but rather fueled her and made her more determined to get an answer.

“No! Just fucking tell me instead of shutting me out. You risked your life for me. Why? I need to know; I deserve to know. You have no idea how much knowing that you could’ve died for me has been eating at me. How much-”  

“It’s because I’m in love with you!” Riven’s eyes went wide as soon as the words slipped out. He opened his mouth to speak - to backtrack or explain – but no words came out. Musa was so surprised by the outburst – and more specifically, it’s content – that she had to take a step back to steady herself. Her jaw dropped and she tried to form a coherent thought, but she couldn’t.

He loves her.  

He’s in love with her.  

Riven is in love with her.  

“I... I have to go.” Riven took off through the gate at much faster speed than she’d anticipated from someone who’d been seriously injured not even two weeks ago. Musa allowed herself a few seconds to blink away the residual shock, something that she regretted once she realised that he was out of her line of sight by the time her head was clear.  

“Fuck” she muttered before taking off after him. She followed the path for a few hundred meters before deciding that she wasn’t going to find him on foot; that, knowing Riven, he’d probably strayed off the path specifically to make it harder for her to find him.  

Ignoring her frustrations with Riven and his inability to face any potentially emotional or uncomfortable moments, Musa took to the skies. She forced herself to focus on what he had said – even if it had been blurted out. I’m in love with you. The butterflies in her stomach still fluttered to life every time she thought about it – and she’d been replaying the moment in her mind the entire time she’d been walking.  

It shouldn’t have surprised her that she found him sitting at their spot. A small clearing in the middle of the forest – about a half hour walk from both Alfea and Red Fountain – with a ledge that overlooked the lake. Musa had found it last year after a fight with Stella that had resulted in her storming away. Riven had known about it for years before, using it as sanctuary anytime he needed peace for most of his teen years, if not all, she wasn’t entirely sure. They’d met here multiple times over the last year. Most of the time it hadn’t been on purpose, they’d just both happened to need space from the people around them. And what better way to be away from others than together.  

Musa landed behind him as quietly as she could. She wanted a few seconds to admire him. She wanted to admire the broadness of his shoulders and the sculpt of his body. The way his maroon hair slicked back and the baby hairs tickled the nape of his neck. She admired his high cheekbones and angular chin. Finally, his soft, full lips. Gods, she wanted to kiss those lips so badly.  

The lips of the man that loves her.  

“Riven…” Musa stepped forward tentatively, changing out of her fairy form and back into the loose black pants and baggy cropped red t-shirt she’d thrown on haphazardly that morning. She saw the way his shoulders tensed, but he didn’t answer so she sped up. When she reached him, she sat in front of him, folding her legs under her. “Riven?”

His hands were balled into fists that he tapped on the ground nervously as he refused to meet her eyes. Musa reached her hands out and grabbed his, forcing them open so that they would hold hers back. She requested that he look at her. When he didn’t, she pulled her hand out of his grip – he’d been surprisingly quick to take her hand given how adamant he was about avoiding her gaze – and gently turned his head to look at her. “Look at me, Riven” she said in a forceful voice that denied the gentility of her touch.

“I-“ he started.

“I love you, too.”  

“Really?” The surprise in his voice nearly broke her heart. She knew Riven came with a whole slew of issues, but she was still surprised that cocky, arrogant Riven didn’t deem himself worthy of being loved. But regardless of what he thought, he was loved.

By her.  

She loved him.  

She was in love with him.

“Gods help me, yes, really. I love you.” Saying it felt like a weight lifted off her shoulders. She’d been in love with him for so long now and, until recently, she never thought she’d get to tell him. Part of her wanted to the moment they first kissed in the Wildlands, but she knew how comfortable he was with emotion – that was, not at all – and she didn’t want to scare him away so she said nothing.  

Riven’s hand pulled away from hers and he brought it up to touch her cheek. He’d given her no sign of relationship – they had to be in one now, right? – in public, so she was always surprised when he was soft in private. Especially the first kiss – after she’d confessed her feelings for him in what, she was willing to admit, was probably the worst timed confession ever – when they were packing up their stuff on the beach. She’d pulled him aside, driven to talk to him about the confession by Brandon’s silent nagging, but realised when she had him in front of her that no words would explain her feelings properly, and it certainly wasn’t the right moment for a song. So, she kissed him. He responded positively, so she took that as her sign to pull him in more. The kiss was wonderful, but more so was the way everything about him softened – his eyes, his touch, his posture, everything. Like he had so much love to give, he just needed someone willing to receive it.  

This time was different. Riven was the one to initiate; he was the one to use his hand to bring her head forward. There were no words to describe the way she lit up when they kissed – her lips, her mind, her heart, body and soul; all of her felt like it was coming to life after an eternity of nothingness.  

The hand on her cheek slid into her hair, deepening the kiss. Riven’s other hand slid out of hers and landed on the small of her back. With very little effort on his part, he pulled her more and more into him until she was straddling his lap and pressed up against him. Musa brought her hands up to rest on his chest, sliding one of them up to wrap her arm around his neck and pull him closer, if it was even possible.  

When they pulled apart for air, Musa rested her forehead against Riven’s. Violet met blue in the sweetest gaze. Musa offered Riven a gentle, sincere smile that he returned, making her heart turn to love-struck mush. They stayed like that for a few minutes until he spoke.  

“Did you mean it?” he whispered so low that she almost missed it.  

“I do. I love you, Riven.” Musa planted a kiss on his forehead that made him smile even wider. His arm moved down her body to wrap around her waist so that she was fully locked into his embrace. Riven had never looked so genuinely happy and at-ease in the two years she’d known him and it warmed her to know she was the one that made him feel like that. His forehead and eyes found hers once more as he whispered: “I love you, Musa.”

[timelesslords]

baby, just say yes

Read on Ao3

Summary: 

“Okay, then. Marry me.”

Annabeth waited a beat before rolling over to stare at him. His face was dead serious, but Annabeth still thought he might be messing with her.

“What?” she asked. It seemed the safest thing to say.

“Marry me.” he said, again, simply.

Annabeth never appreciated New Rome as much as she did on Sunday mornings.

They didn’t have class, homework could wait until later, there was no chance of a monster attack, and, best of all, Annabeth didn’t have to get up at the crack of dawn to slip out of the Poseidon cabin before anyone noticed she had spent the night. She and Percy could just lounge around together and be lazy for half the day, before one of them finally got up and made breakfast.

It was starting to get a little late, but Annabeth couldn’t bring herself to get out of bed. It was comfortable and Percy was there. Plus, they were deep into a discussion about the architecture of the city, which only made Annabeth happier and more unwilling to move.

There was one temple in particular that Annabeth had only seen photos of, but it looked incredible. It was Juno’s, which was unfortunate, because Annabeth would really love to sketch the ceilings for her design class. 

“We should go see it,” Percy said, “It sounds amazing.”

“I wish,” Annabeth sighed, “But Juno loves to torture me. Nobody can go in unless they’re married.” 

“Okay, then. Marry me.” 

Annabeth waited a beat before rolling over to stare at him. His face was dead serious, but Annabeth still thought he might be messing with her.

“What?” she asked. It seemed the safest thing to say.

“Marry me.” he said, again, simply. 

“Are you being serious?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be serious?” 

“Uhh, I don’t know,” Annabeth said sarcastically, starting to count out reasons on her fingers, “We’re barely 21, we’re not even done with college, we’ve barely even  lived  together—” 

“We’ve known each other since we were 12, college is dumb, and we’ve made it two months living together and we’ve barely had any problems, so—” Percy said, folding each of Annabeth’s fingers down with each rebuttal.

“College is not dumb.” Annabeth countered. It was his weakest argument, but unfortunately it was also her lamest reason. 

“Okay, fine, college isn’t dumb,” Percy said, waving his hand dismissively, “but waiting to get married because we’re still in college is dumb. It’s not like we haven’t experienced the real world or whatever, we’ve been doing that since we were kids.” 

“Yeah, but that real world is different than like, being an adult, with a real job and a real apartment and bills and—” 

“How could that be harder than fighting in two wars and literally crawling through hell?” Percy asked, only he was grinning now, because he knew he had her. She hit him with a pillow in retaliation, and he laughed.

“You’re impossible,” she said, trying to sound mad, but it wouldn’t quite come out angry.

“You just don’t like that I’m out-logicing you,” Percy said, a little smug.

“You are not  out-logicing  me,” Annabeth huffed. 

“Okay, give me one good reason why we shouldn’t get married, then,” he said. That dead-serious look was back on his face. Annabeth would have preferred him to be smug. 

“Well, first of all, you don’t have a ring. What kind of lame proposal is that?” Annabeth said, knowing she was just stalling for time. 

“Who says I don’t have a ring?” Percy asked, straight-faced. The look on Annabeth’s face must have been extraordinarily panicked, because he sighed, looking defeated.

“I don’t actually have a ring ‘Beth. You can put off your heart attack.”

“Oh thank gods,” Annabeth sighed, covering her eyes with her hands. That really would have been too much too soon.

“But I can  get  you a ring, so that’s really a non-issue,” Percy continued, undeterred, “Next reason.” 

“Everyone’ll think I’m pregnant,” Annabeth grumbled, hands still over her eyes. That made Percy laugh.

“They’ll just assume that we’re crazy for each other and also madly in love,” Percy said. 

“And also that you knocked me up,” Annabeth added, moving her hands to her forehead and looking over at Percy. 

“In which case it would be my fault, and we would share the embarrassment equally,” Percy said easily, grinning. 

“That’s not even how it works,” Annabeth complained, “It would be way more embarrassing for me. Even though it's not true.” 

“We can print ‘Annabeth is not pregnant’ on the wedding invitations,” Percy said, because it was his turn to make her laugh. 

“Yeah, that’ll shut up the rumors,” Annabeth said, trying to ignore how the thought of wedding invitations made her stomach turn. 

“Okay, I concede that pregnancy rumors are at least half-way a valid reason. But I’m going to need at least one more,” Percy said. 

“At least?” Annabeth protested, “Is my potential humiliation not enough for you?” 

“Mm. Not quite. I’m sharing at least 25% of the embarrassment, so it cancels out a bit.” 

Annabeth wanted to argue that 25% was too high a percent, but he had chosen the number well. It was, to Annabeth’s calculations, fairly accurate. 

“Why can’t we just wait?” Annabeth asked. She hadn’t meant for the words to come out as seriously as they did, but she saw Percy’s expression shift from joking to sincere anyways. 

“If you want to wait, we can wait. Forget I brought it up” 

She knew he meant it, and she was really tempted to take up his offer and forget about it. They had talked about marriage before, in an abstract way, and Annabeth hadn’t exactly been  opposed, but he’d never asked straight up either. She had been clear that she wanted to be with him for the rest of their lives, but they’d never discussed a timeline for when they wanted to do things. 

But it had slipped out so easily, and so sincerely. He really did want this. The least Annabeth could do was talk about it with him.

“But  you  don’t want to wait,” Annabeth said, rolling onto her side to face him more directly. Percy shrugged with one shoulder.

“I love you. I want to be with you forever. Why wait?”

“If you want to be with me forever, why do it at all?” Annabeth asked. Percy frowned, little lines appearing between his eyebrows. 

“What do you mean?” 

Annabeth hesitated, unsure how to put her feelings to words. Marriage had always given her a kind of weird feeling, nervous and a little repulsed. She was sure a psychologist would have a field day digging up why, but she didn’t really care to know. It was only the prospect of doing it with Percy specifically that made it tolerable to her at all.

“I love you,” she started, slowly, “And I want to be with you forever. But why do we have to put this weird stipulation on it? Why can’t we just be with each other?” 

“We could. I’ll be with you however you want to be with me,” Percy said, reaching out, and brushing a stray curl behind her ear. Annabeth tried not to sink too much into his touch. She couldn’t afford to be distracted now.

“But you want to get married,” Annabeth protested. 

“Yeah. I do.” 

“Why?” 

To Annabeth’s relief, he didn’t look at her like it was a weird question. It would have been fair, it was a weird question. But he could tell what she was asking, what she was  really  asking. 

“I dunno, I can’t really explain it,” Percy admitted, “I guess I just want to make that promise to you, that I’ll always love you and always be there for you, sick or healthy and rich or poor, or whatever the words are.” 

Annabeth couldn’t help but laugh a little at the end of his statement, and his own lips turned up in a smile.

“You’ve already promised me all that, though,” Annabeth said. 

“Yeah, but this time it’s official. Something bigger than just you and me,” Percy said. 

And maybe that was it; the wrinkle that wouldn’t let her just dive in and say yes and get married at 21 like every other lovesick young adult. Promises. Because a promise made was just a potential promise broken and the more official it became, whether in a prophecy and a knife or a ceremony in front of all their friends, the worse the fallout would be.

“What’s wrong with just promising it to ourselves?” Annabeth asked. 

“Nothing at all.” 

“But you really want this,” Annabeth sighed. 

“Don’t say you’ll do it just because I want to do it,” Percy said. 

“But you really want it?” Annabeth asked. Percy took a second to answer, biting his lower lip the way he did when he was really nervous. 

“Yeah. I really want it,” he admitted. 

Annabeth studied his face, every earnest line marking his expression, right up to the crinkles in the corners of his sea-green eyes. 

She tried to imagine being married to him,  really  tried. Not just in an abstract sense, but what it would look like, what it would feel like. To her surprise, it didn’t seem that different from what they had now. Maybe even better, in some ways.

They were already so much more than boyfriend and girlfriend, they had been for a long while. Soulmates was a cheesy word, but she did honestly and truly believe Percy was hers. And while the thought of actually  getting  married was a little horrifying still, the thought of  being  married to him was a little exciting. Having people understand, at least a little bit, what they meant to each other made her feel warm inside.

And he wouldn’t break his promises to her. He was the only one who had kept every single one, and a stupid piece of paper at city hall wasn’t going to change that. 

“Okay,” Annabeth sighed, finally. 

“Okay?” he asked, a hopeful smile creeping onto his face. 

“Okay, I’ll marry you, you dumb idiot,” she said, unable to keep a smile off her face either.

Before she could continue, he leaned over and kissed her. She could feel how happy he was through his lips, and it was supremely difficult to break away, but she knew she had to or she would get lost and her stipulations would slip out of her mind, never to be seen again.

“I have demands, though,” Annabeth said, finally pulling back. Percy laughed, loud and earnest.

“I would expect nothing less.” 

“I don’t want a big wedding. Actually, I don’t want a wedding at all,” Annabeth said, trying to suppress the shudder that crept up on her at the thought.

“Easy. We can elope. Next,” Percy said. 

“Really?” Annabeth asked. She had thought that might be a bigger deal to him, but he just shrugged. 

“I want to be married to you, it doesn’t matter to me how we do it.” 

“Even if I say I wanna go to Vegas and get it done with an Elvis impersonator?” Annabeth asked, only half joking. 

“Can we really?” Percy asked, his eyes flashing with excitement.

“Maybe? If we— okay, no, I have more demands, put a pin in the Elvis thing.” 

“I’ve pinned it,” Percy promised. 

“Okay. I don’t want a stupid gaudy ring, it's not practical, and diamonds are unethical anyways,” Annabeth continued. Percy nodded. 

“No diamonds, got it.” 

“I want to keep my last name, or hyphenate or something. And if I do change it I want to wait until we’re done with school.” Annabeth said. She was a little nervous about this one, but it didn’t seem to bother Percy.

“We could both hyphenate,” Percy suggested, “Jackson-Chase has a nice ring to it.” 

“Chase-Jackson sounds better, but we can deal with the details of that later,” Annabeth said, waving her hand. 

“Okay, I’m putting a pin in hyphenation order. Next.”

“I don’t want to send announcements or anything. People can find out when they find out,” Annabeth said. 

“Okay, but we have to at least call my mom and Paul,” Percy said. Honestly it was impressive he had gotten so far without even a small amendment to her asks. “And Piper is going to be really pissed if you keep it a secret from her.” 

“We can call your parents,” Annabeth promised. 

“And Piper?” Percy asked, raising an eyebrow. But the thought of telling her best friend besides Percy was getting less cringe-inducing by the minute. Annabeth actually felt herself getting excited about Piper’s potential reaction. She would absolutely freak out in the best way possible.

“She can be our witness. If you’re cool with that,” Annabeth said. Percy grinned. 

“That sounds great.” 

“Even if I ask her to make it as irreverent as possible?” Annabeth asked. 

“We’re getting married in front of Elvis, I’m not sure how it gets more irreverent than that.” Percy said. 

“We put a pin in Elvis,” Annabeth corrected, “But I’m positive Piper can somehow make it even more irreverent if she puts her mind to it.” 

“Never thought I’d know an Aphrodite kid so willing to ruin a wedding,” Percy said fondly. Then an excited look flashed across his face.

“Plus, she won’t be able to stop herself from talking about it, and then we won’t have to tell anyone.” he added. He sounded so triumphant Annabeth had to laugh. 

“You’re right, that’s perfect. So, when are we doing this?” 

The smile on Percy’s face faltered slightly. 

“Are you sure you want to do this? Because we really really don’t have to.” 

Annabeth hesitated slightly. In truth the idea still scared her a little, even with Percy’s promises that they could do it in the most goofy, non-traditional way possible. But his insistence that he would stand by her with or without getting married was the thing convincing her. If she asked him to drop it now, he would, and he wouldn’t bring it up again, even though it was a big deal to him. 

And really, it wouldn’t be such a big deal to Annabeth as long as they didn’t make it feel so official. Breaking a promise you made in front of an Elvis impersonator felt much less disastrous than breaking a promise you made at city hall. But it didn’t even matter, because Percy would never break that promise anyways, no matter where he made it. 

“I want to be with you. And you want to be with me,” Annabeth said, “It’s a little weird for me, but if you want to do it, I’m down.”

“Okay. Cool,” Percy said, letting himself smile again. It was so radiant it just about chased away every last shred of lingering doubt Annabeth had. Not to mention the few added advantages to being married that had popped into her mind in the last few minutes. 

“Plus, we’ll get a better tax refund,” Annabeth added, and Percy collapsed into laughter. 

“I love you so much, I don’t even care that you’re marrying me for the tax benefits,” Percy said, rolling over and kissing her again. Annabeth let this one last longer, let herself sink into it.

“We’re getting married,” Annabeth said breathlessly, when they finally separated. 

“We’re getting married,” Percy agreed, grinning. 

So, maybe the institution of marriage was weird and a little sexist in origin and reminded Annabeth of old prophecies and old promises. But that was in the past. Percy was the future,  her  future, and wanted to have every single moment possible with him. 

They were going to go to Vegas, and hire a random guy dressed as a 50s rockstar off the street and have Piper make the whole thing as ridiculous as possible. And then they were going to live the rest of their lives together, maybe as the Jackson-Chases, (or if she had her way the Chase-Jacksons), and she would finally have a word to describe Percy besides “boyfriend” which had been woefully inadequate for years.

Plus, her rebate next year was going to be  awesome. 

Annabeth grinned. Maybe marriage wasn’t so bad after all. 

[magnoliabloomfield]

Possession 13

Nikola spent a lot of time in her room until her period was over, the boys were just too loud even when they didn’t mean to be annoying, and she was still a bit too embarrassed to face Gally. Not only had he helped her clean the blood from her sheets while he was shirtless, she’d also made that weird, hormonal declaration to him from her balcony. But she wouldn’t take it back either because it was true, Gally was just about the sweetest person in existence even if he did have a hardened exterior, or didn’t express himself with tremendous amounts of warmth. The things he did were always just right in his own unique way.

The attention most boys gave her felt meaningless since she was the only girl. It was hard to feel special without other options to be chosen from. Did they like her personality? Did anyone like her with their brains or their heart, or just their hormones?

She wanted to think Gally cared for her beyond the superficial, but she feared the day another girl would show up that he might like better than her, or they got out and there were so many to choose from, what if he didn’t really want her but was settling because she was all there was? But that’s how life was. A small world with one girl and one Gally.

She was supposed to work on some mending that day and went to Gally’s work bench for a pair of scissors. He wasn’t anywhere in sight even as she scanned extra hard for him. She did notice Shawn looking her way and quickly averted her gaze. She grabbed the scissors and looked for a scrap of paper to leave a note on. Gally didn’t like his things going missing, so she was going to let him know she had them and where she’d be if he really needed them back. As she searched she noticed something.

Moving some things out of the way she saw drawings, somewhere between a sketch and a doodle, and it was all of her. She was shocked at how good the drawings were, but even more shocked by how beautiful the artist seemed to think she was. She’d caught some glimpses in rusty mirrors and still water, she didn’t really look that good. She couldn’t fool herself, this was Gally’s table, Gally’s stuff, so it had to be Gally’s drawings. Honestly if he saw one of his builders doodling away he wouldn’t stand for it or keep it around.

She bit back a huge smile before she covered it back up and looked around for his to-do list, maybe that would tell her where to find him. But what would she do when she found him? Say ‘hey, I saw your drawings of me,’ …then what? She just wanted to see him, just be around him, even without a reason. When she did find him he was in the dead heads with the other builders looking for any trees that could come down, or branches for fires or tools. He was busy and there was no privacy, she couldn’t play off going to see him as anything but going to see him just because she wanted to.

~~~

At dinner Gally got a huge surprise. Nikola was sitting at his usual table. It felt like his heart did an extra big thump when he saw her there in the evening glow. He saw Newt make a dash for the table as fast as his limp would let him, looking ready to be entertained by Gally who he claimed was ‘totally whipped’, whatever that meant. They were saying hello to each other as Gally sat down across from her.

“Hey,” she greeted him with a smile in front of all the other boys. “Did you get my note about borrowing your scissors today?”

“Yeah, I did,” he nodded, glancing at Newt who was watching them like they were a compelling tennis match. “Thanks for putting them back.”

“I saw your sketches,” she said innocently enough but there was flicker in her eyes that made him freeze.

The sketches. The sketches of her, she saw them, oh crap.

“They’re really good, I think you could make a perfect greenhouse if you had the glass for it,” she went on, but her eyes told him she wasn’t really talking about the greenhouse. Strange too was that she didn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest.

Gally swallowed despite not having taken a bite of food yet. “Thanks. I like to plan ahead for future possibilities.”

“You never planned for this possibility,” Newt smirked as he pointed at Nikola.

Gally shrugged. “You can’t plan for everything.”

“Very true,” Newt admitted. “I mean, you were quite worried about the effects a girl in the glade might have, but nothing terrible has happened yet and you seem to get along thick as thieves.”

Gally gave Newt a hard stare.

“He does like to keep the chaos organized, doesn’t he?” Nikola conspired with Newt, a well meaning tone in her teasing. “Honestly, what would you do without him?”

“Better question is what you’d do without him,” Newt countered. He had spent enough time with her to realize who she fancied, no matter how stoic and subtle she tried to be.

“Oof,” she got a thoughtful look on her face. “Well, I’d be homeless.”

Newt laughed and even Gally cracked a smile.

“I might be under someones thumb, too,” she went on. “Without Gally advocating for me to get on the council. I wouldn’t have my swing!”

“Yeah, I heard about that,” Newt said looking right at Gally with an almost taunting grin.

“But all that sounds pretty terrible,” she waved it off. “It’s not just about the things Gally has done for me, or what I’ve gotten from him. He’s my best friend.”

“Is he now?” Newt asked in surprise that sounded more genuine than teasing. Meanwhile Gally could feel that he had gone absolutely, unsubtly red.

“He is,” Nikola smiled, looking at Gally as she answered Newt’s question, watching him adoringly as he bashfully avoided her gaze with red cheeks and ears as he pushed food around on his plate.

“I have bad news for you, love,” Newt sighed. “Gally’s best friend is me. Isn’t that right, Gally?”

Gally looked at him with one raised brow but didn’t say anything which Newt found very amusing in itself. But then Newt gave a sigh as if the fun was over.

“I know it’s- well actually I can only try to imagine how hard it is for you being the only girl here, and how there are so many normal and fun things you should be able to do… but this place is anything but normal. I get it, I don’t mind the fun and the teasing, but there are some who might. I know it’s not fair, but try to be a bit more careful. I really would hate to see either of you get hurt if someone got the wrong idea.”

Nikola looked thoroughly chastised even though Newt had spoken so soft and kindly.

“Right. You’re right,” she nodded as she looked down at her lap and bit her lips. She looked back up with just a ghost of the smile she was wearing before. “I guess I got away from myself there. I’ll have to work on that.”

Gally felt his heart sinking in his chest. He knew Newt was right but he didn’t want her to become reserved and shy away from him just to try and keep peace with some jealous shanks. She’d done all this just because she had seen his sketches of her, had he made her that happy to begin with?

“I guess I’ll go ahead and turn in then,” She said with a shine to her eyes that he hadn’t seen on her before, but he recognized it still because even boys cried.

She said goodnight and took her plate to the kitchen before heading to her house without looking back. It was all going on behind Gally’s back and he couldn’t look at her without making it obvious, but he watched Newt watching her, his longer hair hiding his gaze from others around him.

“I’ve gotten it all wrong haven’t I?” Newt sighed after Nikola disappeared from his view.

“How’s that?” Gally asked, suddenly not so hungry anymore.

“I think you’re the one who has her wrapped around your finger,” Newt clarified making Gally blush again against his will.

“I don’t,” Gally tried to argue quietly and just earned a disbelieving look.

“You best be very careful,” Newt warned. “No one says anything around you because they know you’re protective of her, and you can beat them to a bloody pulp, but there are some boys who would be very sore if she was taken. I know you can take anyone one-on-one but I don’t know if you could take them all at once, and I’m afraid it could come to that.”

“Who is saying what about Nikola?” Gally demanded.

“Oh god, it’s mutual pining,” Newt sighed to himself tiredly as he rubbed his face. “I’m not going to tell you that because you can’t act like you don’t know and you’d end up in trouble any way. For her sake and yours just tread carefully.”

“I don’t want things to go backwards. She trusts me, she knows I’d do anything to protect her,” Gally spilled without meaning to.

“If you’re willing to do anything than do this, just back off a bit when others are around,” Newt suggested.

When Gally didn’t say anything to that Newt just shrugged and took his dishes back to the kitchen. Gally sat there at his table alone, deep in thought and murky, unhappy feelings. He stayed there so long, Fry came over himself to take his dishes to the wash. He sat there till all the others had gone to bed, knowing his thoughts would keep him awake anyway.

~~~~~

A few days passed where Nikola and Gally did the last thing on earth they wanted to do and kept their distance most of the time. But when they did get a chance to interact they both made an effort to subtly assure the other that it wasn’t personal, that nothing had changed between them.

Nikola was sitting up in her house with various scraps of things arranged on her floor and was figuring out how to recycle them into something useful when Newt called up to her. She went out on her balcony and frowned when she saw his face.

“I need you to come with me,” he said apologetically. “It’s a gathering… of sorts.”

Her heart plummeted. She was shaking as she tried to go down her ladder and it made it difficult. She didn’t say anything as she walked with Newt, her mind racing with so many things at once and her stomach feeling twisted beyond untangling.

When she stepped inside she saw Alby, Gally, and Shawn. She narrowed her eyes slightly at the latter even though she was trying very hard not to give any of her emotions away. Gally didn’t seem happy with him either and Alby just looked completely impatient. Nikola just looked at him, not willing to say a word until she knew what was going on.

Alby reached out and handed her a piece of paper. “Did you write this?”

She looked at him doubtfully as she plucked the paper from his hand and then looked down to read it, immediately seeing it was not her handwriting before she took in what it said. “No, not my handwriting,” she said quickly and passed it back.

“Read it, will you?” Alby said as he pushed it back.

She sighed but complied.

“It’s time for me to wash my sheets, why don’t you come and help me get them real good and dirty first? It was so fun last time.”

She hid her disgust and tried to morph it into confusion instead. She looked at the boys standing around her. “What the shuck does that mean?” she asked Alby like it was Greek to her.

“Shawn says he saw you and Gally washing your sheets very late one night, and Gally wasn’t fully dressed. Said you seemed very… close,” Alby explained, glancing at Shawn who had clearly orchestrated this whole thing.

“And the first conclusion you jumped to was that we were screwing?” She asked Shawn directly, as flat as possible. “No wonder you faked a note, if that’s all you’ve got to support that theory.”

“She didn’t deny it,” Shawn pointed out smugly to Alby.

“Right, because I was up late one night, I was washing my sheets, and Gally was helping me,” She admitted easily. “That all happened because I started my period in the middle of the night and had to clean blood off myself, my clothes, and my sheets before the stains set.” Everyone but Gally looked uncomfortable as soon as she said period. “And before he tells you he saw me write this note to Gally, I did write Gally a different note about taking the spare scissors when I did the mending. I can get the med journal and show you an example of Shawn’s hand writing and my own if you want, but Newt also heard me talk to Gally about the scissors that day as well.”

Newt nodded to that and Alby threw an unhappy glare at Shawn’s now pale and unamused face. “I think we’re good here, you two can go,” He said to her and Gally, his gaze still fixed on Shawn.

Gally had fixed Shawn with a glare of his own and didn’t seem to be going anywhere, even as Nikola headed toward the door.

“Gally,” Newt said with a warning tone.

Gally let his arms uncross themselves slowly, eyes fixed on Shawn for as long as he could before walking away and following Nikola out the door.

She was out there squinting in the sun waiting for him.

“At least that was easy right?” she commented as they fell into step with each other. “I know that means it’ll only be worse the next time though. I’m sorry Gally-“

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” He blurted, some of his anger at Shawn coming out in his tone with her. He stopped in his tracks and took a deep breath to calm down, then looked up to see her anxious face staring up at him. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he repeated more softly, “And neither do I. He’s an idiot, and I don’t care what else he does, you’re my friend and I’m yours and I won’t allow any amount of childish jealousy to change that.”

His fists were clenched and his heart pounded in his ears. Nikola’s eyes were wide and he saw her swallow before she nodded vigorously.

“Yeah, absolutely,” she agreed. “Same here.”

Neither of them realized what it would take to keep that promise to each other.

Masterlist

@frequentlychangingfandoms @quackquackbi @poulterjonas @crazysheeplyca @pre-google @gladerscake @neilox @thesuitkovian @carp3d1em @cottoncandy-dreamxd @emilyhadenbaker

[notalittlebutalottie]

ʟᴏᴛᴛɪᴇ ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ᴋʟᴀʀᴏʟɪɴᴇ!ꜰᴜꜱɪᴏɴꜱ (7/?): The Devil Wears Prada

Caroline had had every intent to collect the sketch for Esther's dress and leave all in time to, for once, stop flaking on Stefan. No matter how many times she had attempted to soothe him, to promise things would get better, the world of fashion was sucking her into its vortex with reckless abandon. She was seriously screwed. She knew it. Stefan knew it. Elena and Bonnie knew it. And yet, there she was, standing in the middle of a party accosted by a handsome stranger. The lilting English accent and sandy blonde curls had taken her off guard. The accent, especially. She had been so used to hearing it by way of demand from Esther that the compliments the stranger offered felt out of place.

He outstretched his hand, his dimples sinking into his cheeks as he introduced himself, "Klaus Lloyd."

Her eyes practically bulged and her mouth ran dry. She exclaimed, "Klaus Lloyd? Seriously? You write for every magazine I love!" With the folio in one hand and a half-empty glass of champagne in the other, she attempted to juggle them. He appeared patient, though his eyes curved at her pathetic attempts to gain composure. Finally, with her shoulders back and head held high, she shook his hand. The sudden contact, the warmth of his skin against hers, left her words a rasp as a result, "I did a college essay on your work."

Klaus' eyes, blue in colour (she was sure Esther would provide her with another lecture on the matter), lit up, refusing to leave hers. She averted her gaze but found it settling on his lips for longer than could be considered a glance. He was unfairly pretty. More than she had anticipated him to be. She had seen a couple pictures, grainy and printed in black and white, but had never paid mind to them. She shook herself alert when his low voice interrupted those thoughts, "The Lloyd part is just a pseudonym. Klaus, too, if you want to get technical, though my family prefers to call me Nik."

She let her hand slip quickly from his, found her mouth was now dry in more ways than one. She had heard the name tossed around in a wide manner of tones. Brittle, from Esther, irritated from Rebekah, and disapproving from Elijah. Never did his name escape someone's mouth in a positive manner. She never pressed why; Katherine had scolded her for inquiring when Esther was out of the office.

It took her a second to realise she was staring, jaw hung open. When she finally managed to speak, the words struggled their way past her lips, "Oh my god...you're Nik...as in..."

An amused breath left him and his eyes flitted down before peeking back up at her. "Niklaus...Mikaelson," he offered with a gentle tilt of his head.

"You're...her son?"

Klaus let a chuckle out. "Yes, but it's in both of our interests keep that a well-known secret within the industry." He took a step inwards, his voice falling to a light-hearted hush, "I hope I can trust you to keep it that way, Caroline?"

Her lashes fluttered in surprise. "How did you—?"

Another chuckle left him. Just like his looks, the way the sound of his laugh made her feel was totally not fair. He tipped his head forward and grinned. "You really think my mother would keep silent about the plucky blonde intern with a sole interest in hard-hitting journalism? I'm afraid they never mentioned she was quite so stunning, though." Caroline parted her lips, whether to protest or question further, she wasn't sure, but he swiftly interrupted any train of thought to add, "Can I interest you in another glass of champagne, love? Or perhaps my own experiences with the devil herself?"

He was just another Mikaelson, surely just as vapid and insincere as the rest, she had to remind herself. She swallowed hard as her eyes found his once again. Crap.

Review Here

[ironmandeficiency]

falcon, falcon, goose!

pairing: sam wilson / reader

word count: 3547

summary: there were reports of geese leading people to their soulmates spanning centuries, and it seemed like a cool concept, but why did it have to coincide with you coming out of your writing slump?

warnings: cursing, geese, dumbassery, implied happy au where the avengers get along, iw and endgame who?

a/n: this is an older piece i wrote a couple years ago, decided to brush it up and repost it. and the reader works for snl bc why the hell not? keep in mind that the original was written before everything went to shit w iw & endgame. posted from mobile yet again yall what is wrong w me

it was a sunny day outside, and deciding that you had been cooped up for far too long, you brought your laptop to the park a couple blocks from your studio apartment.

being a writer for saturday night live wasn't always so peachy, what with the lack of a social life outside of your co-workers and constantly explaining your job to confused relatives. you had been in a slump for the past couple weeks, the fact most of your sketch ideas not making the cut for the next episode continuing to throw you off your rhythm.

this week, you were going to change that. Your headphones were playing your concentration playlist full volume and you were hyped to the max. with your laptop on the picnic table in front of you and a warm cup of tea beside it, you were ready to blow the producers away with your next idea.

"honk! honk!"

you felt something nudge your leg, but you were too engrossed into what you were typing to care. after getting through a few more lines, it happened again.

"honk! honk! honk!"

you couldn't hear the sound but the feeling on your leg got a little bit rougher, more demanding. you moved your headphones to the side for a minute and took a moment to look around you. there was no kid running to get their ball back or any squirrels nearby that dropped a nut.

strange.

but you put your headphones back on, trying to keep your groove alive while hoping the interruptions are finished.

"HONK! HONK! HONK!" the goose honked louder, pecking at your leg harder than it had earlier.

you were getting frustrated and a little pissed. the creativity was flowing through your veins for the first time in what felt like ages and this — whatever it was — decided that today was the best day to annoy you.

you kicked your legs out with a strange flail and when you came into contact with something large and solid you nearly screamed.

"ow! motherf- oh my god!"

standing on the ground beside your table was a goose. it honked yet again with impatience (geese could do that?) and nipped lightly at your thigh closest to it. looking to the pond nearby, it was nearly an entire gaggle of the damned things.

so here was this goose honking at you and nipping at you like you were supposed to know what the hell it wanted from you.

"i don't have any bread, dumbass. go find someone else to bother." thinking it would leave if you ignored it, you turned away and continued your work.

"HONK! HONK!" it continued to honk and decided to peck you before flapping its wings, landing itself on the table next to your computer.

"get outta here, ya damn goose!" while you were trying to shop it away, it expertly evaded you. "go! shoo! leave me alone!"

it just stayed over on the bench, expertly dodging your attempts to get it to leave.

a few people nearby had heard your altercation with the infernal bird. one of them was an older gentleman that laughed as he sat across from you, the mirth in his eyes glinting as you give him a sarcastic side eye while trying to deal with the current issue.

"that bird won't leave you alone, you know." At his voice, the goose calmed down and waddled a few feet away from your arm's reach.

that was the first time the thing had been seemingly calm since he showed up at your little table.

"what do you mean he won't leave me alone?"

he pauses, part of him enjoying the irritation in your tone. he remembers someone talking to him like he was to you many years ago, and it made his heart smile at the idea of repaying the favor. "have you ever read about soulmate geese?"

"hey we're gonna go for a run, wanna join?" steve’s offer was given with a smirk. ever since reuniting with bucky, the two supersoldiers found so much humor in doing laps around sam every time they went out jogging.

it annoyed the shit out of him, the "on your left" comments from steve and the newer "on your right" jabs from bucky, but it also pushed Sam to work harder during his runs. ultimately he knew his non-enhanced body didn't stand much of a chance beating them, but he enjoyed when he was able to close the gap between their times just a little bit.

"sure, just gimme a few to eat breakfast and I'll join you guys." the blond nodded and turned back to the elevator, having woken up far earlier than sam and therefore already ate.

he hummed otis redding as he laid the bacon flat into the pan, shoulders moving along with his created rhythm while changing the grounds in the coffee filter. this was how he spent most of his mornings, barring the occasional hangovers and missions where he couldn't afford the distraction.

he ate, got dressed, and told FRIDAY to let bucky and steve know he was ready to go. h had his water bottle in hand, giving his body a pep talk in preparation for the run. they met in the common room and soon, the trio was off.

"on your left!"

"on your right!"

"oh, come on!"

he knew it was gonna happen, but for some reason it felt like it happened sooner than normal. either they were trying really hard to mess with him today, or he was off his game. but regardless, he pushed his body harder than he probably should have because when there was something obstructing his path, he didn't pause. no, he charged it straight on through and fell hard.

steve and bucky had seen this from a distance and immediately rushed to get to their friend.

sam rolled onto his back, exhausted and now in terrible pain from the fall. he closed his eyes and just let it all sink in. when he opened his eyes at the sudden foul smell flooding his nostrils, he could feel the palpitations, thinking he was about to have a heart attack.

"holy shit!" sam sat up like a rocket despite the way his body was throbbing from the fall.

the goose stared at him curiously and turned its head toward the pounding footsteps from the approaching brooklynites.

"sam! What happened?" steve was concerned, inspecting sam while bucky noticed the bird. The brunet bent down to meet the goose eye-level and was somewhat surprised that it didn't run away at the close proximity.

"did you trip the dumbass? was it your fault sam landed on his face? Huh, little guy?"

"honk! honk!"

"i thought so. good job, man." bucky pats the animal on the head gently before turning to help steve get sam off the ground.

"nothing’s broken but there's probably a sprain, can't really be sure until we get to cho." sam and bucky lift their friend from the pavement and they have no problem supporting his weight.

they began the walk back to the tower in silence. well, almost silence. there was a faint pitter-patter of tiny, webbed feet behind them that sam and bucky weren't paying attention to.

steve noticed the goose slowly waddling behind the trio and looked at sam with a smile. sam responded to steve’s happy face with a glare, not enjoying any of the situation he found himself in.

"look behind us, guys."

both men took turns looking behind them and see the goose waddling behind them patiently. sam wasn't particularly happy about the culprit from moments before trailing behind him, but bucky thought it was hilarious.

"do you know what this means?"

sam rolled his eyes because he thought the blond was about to make some sort of poetic comment about one thing for another.

bucky had paused to think about the implications of a random goose for a moment before gasping. "dude," bucky nudged sam softly, being conscious of his friend's injuries. "you’re gonna meet your soulmate, man!"

"a soulmate goose. man come on, are you out of your mind?"

"steve got his goose back during the war, i think we know enough about it."

sam had only heard vague reports of soulmate geese throughout his life, but now that he thought about it, it did make sense. the goose showed up randomly in the middle of his routine, completely throwing him off, and was now refusing to leave him alone.

"well if this is my soulmate goose, then somebody’s gotta tell tony about our newest avenger." they laughed at the implication, viciously eager to witness tony’s reaction to the newest resident of avengers hq.

it has been three days of dealing with your goose, and you were now teased at work as “bird brain”, walking into your office to see several loaves of bread covering the desk. your goose, that you had named piper once you got home, was excited at the prospect of more food, but you planned on donating most of the bread to local shelters, only keeping a couple loaves for the house.

the guest host that week was mick jagger, and he had emerged into the room “i dream of jeanie” style, startling both you and piper, who honked at him in irritation.

it was time for you to work on the song for your little sketch with him, and you had only two more days before performance night (it was thursday) to finish writing it. after settling down and getting into the right mindset, the writing process had begun.

"alright let's see," mick murmured. "let’s all go to the picnic, let's all have a drink. what rhymes with 'drink'?"

you thought for a moment and said quietly, "think?"

you weren't prepared for the absurd response you received from the man, his accent making him round mean as he barked out a loud "NO!" with an unnecessary hand gesture.

piper just about lost it. she was honking and flapping around your office in a tizzy (but staying away from mick because the man was seen as a stranger she wasn't comfortable with).

you racked your brain for another solution, something else to rhyme with 'drink' and you eventually found it: "sink?"

mick thought about it for a moment before replying with a much lighter "yes!" also paired with unwarranted pointing.

‘motherfucker, is this how you write songs?!'

thursday and friday came and went, and soon it was time for your piece to be performed by mick. du to an accidental ankle twist someone else suffered, you were forced to perform a skit live for the first time in your career. it would have been great, but there was one teensy problem: piper blatantly refused to leave your side when it was time to perform, and she would honk and bite anyone that tried to keep her from you onstage.

even poor bobby, who she had grown fond of, was taking the brunt of it. she was not allowing you to be more than a couple feet away from her, and it was almost endearing if you weren't being broadcast on national television.

apparently, piper would also be making her debut appearance on saturday night live tonight as well.

saturday had arrived, and it was sam’s day of rest. he spent the day doing the bare minimum, eating junk food and watching almost everything on netflix he could find.

he didn't stray too far from tradition, not really. it was just that now he had a goose accompanying him the entire time, honking at this and that and eating occasional pieces of popcorn that sam didn't want to share.

he didn't mind his feathered companion, he was actually quite fond of his goose at this point. whitewing (not to be confused with redwing) was the most calm goose any of them had seen, no biting or nipping and especially no honking at ungodly hours of the night.

steve was perplexed. "Are you sure whitewing hasn't done anything bad? no waking you up at night or bites when you don't feed him soon enough?"

sam would chuckle and shake his head, proud to have such a calm goose. "why are you so keen to see him misbehave? aren’t all soulmate geese like this?"

"for lack of a better word, most geese are assholes. i don't know how whitewing is so well behaved," steve balked at the very idea of all geese being so mellow and decided it was story time.

steve’s goose from the century before was the most rambunctious animal anyone had ever seen. he recounted the first and several occasions following where his soulmate goose, jimmy, fended off the blond man's alleyway attackers.

sam was extremely grateful that whitewing had less feral and goose-like tendencies. whitewing was extremely well behaved and had an almost human way about him, the way he honked in reply to sam or the rest of the team when they talked to him.

it was late in the evening when clint decided to plop down onto the couch and flick the channel to nbc, where tonight's host was mick jagger.

"why are we watching this?" sam was enjoying his sitcoms before the other bird man had showed up.

"i haven't watched it in ages, plus mick jagger is on tonight."

"alright, whatever you want."

the intro played like usual, and whitewing was perfectly complacent. they laughed in the right places with the occasional honking from the bird, and everything was great.

"hey man, look!" clint interrupted, keeping sam from being able to hear the punchline. "i think that's a goose!"

"why is there a goose? The skit has nothing to with-"

sam and clint seemed to come to the same realization at the same time as whitewing, the goose beginning to honk incessantly. he was going absolutely berserk, flapping his wings and hopping off of sam’s lap and onto the coffee table, occasionally pecking at the tv where he saw the other goose.

he was going absolutely bonkers.

"whitewing! whitewing, no! calm down!" sam scrambled to calm down his goose, but he was having none of it. the whole entire skit, whitewing was honking and flapping and being a general nuisance.

he found his soulmate.

whitewing kept at it until the screen went to a commercial, his soulmate off of the screen.

"y’know," clint spoke around a slice of pizza. when did he get pizza? "if you hurry, you could go to the studio and meet your soulmate. the show is about halfway over."

before sam could think over the proposition, tony’s voice was heard from the corridor. "somebody shut that damned bird up before I pay ramsay to cook it!"

"i’m taking care of it!"

with that, sam heads to the armory with whitewing on his tail to get his wings. once he's equipped, sam heads to the window and jumps, immediately setting his course for studio 8h and his soulmate.

you’re released to go back to your office once you finish the skit alongside mick and piper, the show almost over. you’re gathering your things lazily, knowing that you have no other responsibilities for the night.

just as you lock your office and piper is waddling beside you without a care in the world, you see kyle running towards you with a look of fear in his eyes. that fear seems to only triple when his eyes land on piper beside you.

"kyle! what’s-"

"there’s another goose on the set! no one is safe!"

wait, was he bleeding?!

you were going to try and help your friend but one look at piper sent him off the rails, the lanky man nearly falling on his ass in an attempt to skid the corner. you hoped that someone would help calm your panicked friend, seeing as you were literally the worst person for the job at the moment.

without further incident, you are able to say goodbye to cecily and mikey before you're stopped in your tracks by michael, who gives piper a funny look.

"wait, so the goose that attacked kyle wasn't piper?" You shake your head in confusion. "dude, your soulmate must have come to the set!"

piper must have either understood what your co-worker had said or she could sense a change in the studio, but she began to honk erratically and run away from you. the last thing new york needed was two feral geese running around attacking people, so you did what anyone would do and ran after her.

"piper! piper, come back!" michael laughed as you chased after your goose. while you were running, you nearly died when you heard a honk that you knew wasn't from your piper. hers were carved into your brain, and you were positive that you could pick hers out of an entire gaggle of geese, so there was indeed a second goose in the studio.

to your dismay, piper did not stop and wait, she just kept on honking and flapping and scaring people in pursuit of the other goose, poor old you having to chase her.

there was another voice you assumed was yelling at his goose since you didn't know of anyone naming their kid whitewing. your eyes were not looking straight ahead when you suddenly bumped into someone, immediately stumbling a bit before regaining your balance.

piper had stopped her honking and that scared you. did someone hurt her? was she-

her and another goose were making muted honks to each other. they sounded like affectionate honks, which is one of the weirdest sentences you ever constructed in your head. but it was true! they were cuddling close to each other and making really quiet honking noises at each other, and if that wasn’t affectionate then you didn’t know what would be.

so if piper found her soulmate, that means yours was-

"i hope comin' to your job was okay. whitewing wasn't gonna give up until I left, so here we are." your eyes were dragged from the touching scene of piper and her special goose to a pair of dark brown irises that radiated warmth and a promise of happy days.

you were absolutely dumbstruck. your mouth was unable to form coherent words, so you decided to take in the appearance of your soulmate. he was wearing a soft grey tee and sweatpants, and socks without shoes. did he realize how unsanitary the streets of new york were?

but upon further investigation, you realize that he probably didn't walk to the studio. on his back was what you would normally call a jetpack, but when you recognize the face your mind completes the puzzle: your soulmate is sam wilson, otherwise known as the falcon. holy shit.

"uh yeah of course, i guess you flew here? no sane person in new york would walk around barefoot in the street." did you really just say that?!

sam nodded and then remembered that he was in his pajamas in front of his soulmate without any shoes. "yeah, he wasn't gonna stop attacking the tv once he saw uh…"

you realized he was asking for your goose’s name, and so you hastily gave it to him.

"yeah, once he saw piper, he went wild. caused more chaos in five minutes than he did in five days!"

you laugh, the nervousness falling away as you recount the story of you first meeting with piper.

people are staring at the pajama-clad avenger and his soulmate, their geese finally satisfied. after all, it wasn't every day so many people were able to watch soulmate geese (and their people) meet for the first time.

sam gently took your hand, his thumb smoothing the skin on the back of it, just listening to you talk. you asked him a question about whitewing and he was in the middle of telling you when he cut himself off. "i just realized i don't even know your name!"

in most scenarios you’d be slightly put off by this, but you didn't have an issue because of the specific circumstances. if he weren't an avenger you wouldn't have known his either, and plus, no one really pays attention to the little rat writers. you give him your name and smile when he introduces himself, his voice even helping show off the brightest smile you’ve ever seen.

with impeccable goose timing, piper and whitewing honk at you to hurry your introductions and leave the studio.

"do you want to fly back to your place , or can I drive you?" it was a risk to ask him such a question, but you were genuinely concerned. you hoped he wouldn't think you were trying to jump his bones only minutes after meeting him so you used (terrible) humor to show your intentions. "you shouldn't fly so late at night without headlights, no matter how high up you get."

sam’s laughter was infectious and soon you joined him, your geese about to get more irritated with their humans.

"yeah, I'd like that. lead the way, soulmate." piper and whitewing honk as the two of you head to the lobby hand in hand, the birds waddling behind you just as happy as soulmate geese could be.

[izazov]

This prompt has been on my mind for ages. Today, the inspiration struck, resulting in this ficlet. The ending was supposed to be less angsty and without the dark overtones, but here we are. 

The cot was narrow and hard, and the stone wall uncomfortably damp and cold. After having been stripped of his armor, Obi-Wan was left wearing only thin cotton tunic, loose leggings and boots. It was a poor protection against the chill that was slowly but surely seeping into his very bones.

 Obi-Wan shifted on his small cot, trying to find a more comfortable position. It wasn't an easy task, not even for someone who has spent the majority of his life sleeping under the open sky.

But that was the purpose of a cell, was it not? To leave one bereft of comforts as well as freedom.

Dragging his fingers across his face, Obi-Wan pushed those morose thoughts to the back of his mind. It would do him no good to sink into self-pity. He had made his choice, and he had done it knowing what the cost would be. To lament his decision now would be futile, but also a sign of a weak and fickle character.

He had already lost almost everything, he had no intention adding dignity and integrity to the list.

The sound of metal scraping against stone, followed by heavy footsteps made Obi-Wan stiffen involuntarily, his gaze flicking toward the iron bars of his cell.

Obi-Wan tried to remain calm, but it was a doomed battle. His stomach twisted into a tight knot, his fingers flexing where they were resting on his knees.

Have they already reached a decision? It has been barely a day since Obi-Wan had been thrown back into his cell, after refusing to accept guilt or plead for mercy for having disobeyed his orders.

Obi-Wan swallowed the bile that had gathered in the back if his throat, helpless anger flaring inside his chest as he recalled Palpatine's voice, accusing him of treason.

Treason. After fighting and bleeding for the King and his country his entire adult life, that was what he would be remembered for; the act that had earned him the moniker The Traitor General.

As if the real treason would not have been razing an entire town to ground and spilling innocent blood, all in the Prince's name.

Even if Obi-Wan had been capable of going against his morals, he would rather have slit his own throat than tied Anakin's name with the slaughter of the innocents.

Even those who were supporting Dooku.

Not that it mattered to Palpatine and the majority of the Royal Council. Quite the opposite. Obi-Wan has long suspected the Lord Regent's... less than favorable opinion of himself.

Obi-Wan could only imagine Palpatine's satisfaction with Obi-Wan's fall from grace. Now, there would be no one standing between him and the Prince. No one to lessen his malignant influence.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and grit his teeth, his hands balling into fists as impotent fury blazed its path through Obi-Wan's veins.

There was nothing Obi-Wan could do about it now. No way to prove he had deliberately been set up to fail. He had been stripped of his rank and title, his reputation and honor tarnished. His word meant nothing. He had nothing. Only his life.

Soon, maybe not even that.

The steps grew louder as they drew closer, only to halt abruptly.

"General," the familiar voice called, low and urgent, making Obi-Wan's eyes snap open.

"Rex," Obi-Wan said, rising to his feet and walking over to the cell bars. The sight of Rex dressed in the formal uniform of the Captain of the Guard still seemed faintly surreal to Obi-Wan, even if it has been six months since Rex had assumed that position. Obi-Wan frowned, glancing warily at their surroundings. "You should not be here."

"With due respect, General," Rex said, squaring Obi-Wan with a flat look. "That's probably the stupidest thing I've heard you say." He paused, the corner of his mouth lifting faintly. "And I've heard you composing lyrics while drunk."

Obi-Wan felt his mouth draw into a smile. "Ah, yes. That hadn't been my most dignified moment."

"Maybe not," Rex said, growing serious. "But there's not much demand for dignity while you're out there, freezing and covered in mud, waiting for the enemy. Camaraderie, respect... That's what matters. And you showed us both, General. I- We will never forget it."

"I-" Obi-Wan's voice faltered for a moment, his throat burning with a myriad of emotions. He swallowed thickly, composing himself. "You should not call me that anymore. I am no longer your general."

"You will always be my general," Rex said, solemn and without a moment's hesitation. A shadow crossed over his features. "Cody would say the same if he were here."

Obi-Wan looked away as guilt churned in the hollow of his chest. "It hadn't been my intention to drag Cody down with me. He should not have been demoted because of my actions."

"Cody doesn't blame you, and you shouldn't blame yourself," Rex remarked, pulling out a key from the inside of his jacket. "What you did was right, and the men know it."

Obi-Wan made a step back, his eyes widening in alarm. "Rex, I am not-"

"I'm not here to break you out," Rex cut in, unlocking the door and pulling it open. "I'm here to take you to the Prince. We don't have much time, General, so save the martyr act for some other time."

Obi-Wan blinked, caught between amusement and concern. "What does Anakin have to do with this?" Crossing his hands over his chest, Obi-Wan gave Rex a sharp look. "You were supposed to discourage his reckless behavior, not go along with it."

"Right now, General, you're the one with the problematic attitude," Rex said, frustration giving his voice a sharp edge. He squared Obi-Wan with a flat look, gesturing at the open door of his cell. "Like I said, we don't have much time. So you can cooperate or risk seeing what the Prince would do if I don't bring you to him on time."

Obi-Wan pressed his mouth into a thin line. "I don't think Anakin has been a good influence on you, Captain."

Rex shrugged. "Since you're the one who recommended me for this position, you have no one but yourself to blame, General."

Obi-Wan sighed, but made no further protest. Rex was right. Whatever ridiculous plan Anakin had concocted, Obi-Wan had no choice but go along with it. Or risk pushing Anakin into doing something incredibly foolish.

Striding out of the cell, Obi-Wan gave Rex a pointed look, arching an eyebrow. "I concede, Captain. Now what?"

Rex pulled out a pair of manacles, looking uncomfortable. "I- I'm sorry, General. It's just-"

"I understand, Rex," Obi-Wan cut in, extending his wrists. "You have my permission."

Rex let out a sigh of relief. But he still looked uncomfortable as he closed the manacles around Obi-Wan's wrists.

"Now," Obi-Wan said, grimly determined. "Take me to Anakin."

***

Obi-Wan had half-expected someone to stop them.

But, as they were walking the mostly empty hallways, Rex's hand firmly around Obi-Wan's bicep, no one had spared them more than a curious look.

Despite that, Obi-Wan could not relax; his stomach was tied into knots, while his lungs seemed unable to draw enough air.

It was nothing new. Anakin has always been the only person capable of completely shattering Obi-Wan's equilibrium.

Though, this was the first time he had done it when he wasn't actually physically present.

Obi-Wan's confusion and alarm grew further when, instead of taking the right turn, Rex took him up the narrow stairs that led to the east wing of the palace.

"Where are we going?" Obi-Wan demanded in a low voice. "This wing has not been opened since the Queen's death."

"I have my orders," Rex answered curtly, making it clear he wasn't going to elaborate further.

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw, but remained silent.

"We're here," Rex announced, stopping in front of large mahogany doors. He tapped the doors twice in rapid succession, then took a step back. "The Prince is waiting for you."

"You are not coming inside?"

Rex's mouth curled faintly. "Like I said, I have my orders."

"Orders, of course," Obi-Wan remarked drily. Rex merely shrugged in response.

Taking a deep breath, Obi-Wan pushed open the doors, only to find himself enveloped in a tight embrace as soon as the doors clicked shut behind him.

For one moment - precious and stolen - Obi-Wan relaxed into Anakin's embrace, allowing his eyes to fall shut, the entire world narrowing to just the two of them.

"Obi-Wan," Anakin murmured into Obi-Wan's hair, his arms tightening around Obi-Wan's shoulders. "Thank the Gods you're finally here."

Obi-Wan inhaled sharply, painfully aware how there was no other place he would rather be in than Anakin's arms. And equally aware that it was the one place where he shouldn't be.

Silently cursing his own weakness, Obi-Wan forced himself to step back, out of Anakin's embrace. It took far more strength of will than Obi-Wan was willing to admit. Even to himself.

Ignoring Anakin's confused, dejected expression, Obi-Wan sketched a low bow, purposely clanging with his manacles. "You left me no choice, Your Highness."

Anakin blinked, confusion quickly morphing into frustration on his face. "Now is not the time for your poor humor, Obi-Wan."

"Believe me, your Highness, I am in no mood for jesting."

Anakin's eyes flashed. "Stop calling me that," he bit out. He let out a frustrated noise, dragging a hand through his already messy curls. "What is wrong with you? Don't you understand how precarious your current position is?" Anakin's voice broke on the last word, his expression turning desperate for a fraction of a moment.

Obi-Wan's resolve weakened as he took in Anakin's appearance: the paleness of his face, the dark circles underneath his eyes and their almost frantic gleam.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan sighed. "Being seen with me now can only harm you. You know that."

Anakin's lips curled over his teeth, his eyes flashing dangerously. "I may not be king yet, but I am not about to cower before the Council like a scared child in my own blasted home, Obi-Wan."

"Is that why we are meeting here and not in your quarters?"

Anakin opened his mouth, only to shut it, his cheeks coloring.

Obi-Wan frowned, unease forming a tight knot in his abdomen. "Anakin?" Obi-Wan said, trying but failing to keep his growing alarm out of his voice. "What are you not telling me?"

Anakin took a deep breath, straightening fully. "The Council has decided on your sentence."

Obi-Wan swallowed, his breath stuttering in his chest. He made himself smile. "And? What have they decided?"

"Exile," Anakin replied, voice barely over a whisper. He looked away, his hands curling into fists. "Some- Some members of the Council were insisting on execution but Palpatine made them reconsider."

"Did he now?" Obi-Wan said, more to himself than Anakin.

Anakin snapped his gaze up, scowling. "I know you dislike the Lord Regent, but he was the only one defending you." Anakin rubbed at his forehead. "Except Yoda."

"So this is goodbye, then?" Obi-Wan asked after a moment, faintly surprised how steady his voice was.

Anakin shook his head vehemently. As if mere thought was too horrible to contemplate. He crossed the space between them in two long strides, gripping Obi-Wan by his upper arms, his eyes gleaming fervently. "No, because you are not going anywhere. I won't allow it."

Obi-Wan let out a deep breath. "Anakin, there is nothing you can do. Even if you were-"

"Yes there is," Anakin cut in, deadly resolve etched onto his features.

Obi-Wan smiled, a soft, sad smile. "You are my Prince and my dearest friend, Anakin," Obi-Wan said. "I would have given my life for you a hundred times over, but I won't allow you to tarnish your honor and what little has left of mine on a fool's quest."

Anakin closed his eyes briefly, his face contorting into a pained expression. "That is not your decision to make, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan felt a shiver of dread crawl down his spine. "What do you mean?"

Anakin released him, then turned on his heel, striding over to a nearby table. He stood there, unmoving, for one long moment, his shoulders sketching a rigid line.

"There is one law that goes beyond the Council, an old tradition no one would dare dispute," Anakin said, voice barely over a whisper. A moment later Obi-Wan could hear a faint click of a latch being opened. "The one thing that could save you and keep you here. With me."

Unconsciously, Obi-Wan made a step back. "There is no such law, Anakin. You should-"

Anakin turned around, fixing Obi-Wan with an unwavering gaze.

Obi-Wan broke off abruptly, his eyes widening at the sight of the gold collar in Anakin's right hand.

Obi-Wan knew that collar. Knew what it meant. But he refused to accept the implications.

Not now. Not like this.

"Yes, there is," Anakin said, striding forward. Obi-Wan felt frozen in place, his thoughts shuddering to a stop when he felt Anakin's fingers brush against his neck in a feather light caress. "I have the right to choose a consort. It can be anyone. And I have chosen you, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan blinked up at Anakin, unable to move or form a coherent thought even as he felt the collar close around his neck.

"This is not the way, Anakin," Obi-Wan managed to force through the tight clench of his throat. "Take it off."

"There is no other way," Anakin said, tipping his forehead against Obi-Wan's. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, the soft click of a latch echoing loudly in the silence of the room.

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

The Unexpected Perks of War | Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!OC

Part 3

Summary: Allys Baratheon is the only trueborn daughter of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister. After the explosion of The Sept of Balor and the death of Tommen, Allys grew tired of the ghosts that hung in Kings Landing and set off to Dragonstone, hoping to find a semblance of safety.

Note: Masterlist for this series here🤍

The seconds tick by, time ebbing and flowing in its usual pace. Guard rotations shift, the evening meal is prepped, and the sun slowly lowers as the moon prepares to take its place. Yet, every passing moment feels like a century to Allys as she impatiently waits for the keep to go to sleep, everyone except Daenerys of course. 

She wandered through Dragonstone, gripping onto any distraction that would come with an iron tight hold. Her footsteps echoed through the ancient halls, fingers tracing along it’s walls so many times she’d be able to accurately sketch the keep from the inside out. She floated through conversations like a phantom, mind always halfway in the clouds. At one point, she’d ended up in the library, bundled in a corner with a book that looked moments away from falling apart. Her eyes scanned the ink, flipping the pages and actually managing to read through it, but she couldn’t tell you the first thing about the book, not even the title. But eventually, light turned to dark; the moon brilliantly glowing in the sky as it glistened off the waters surrounding Dragonstone. 

The soft sand sinks beneath Allys’ slippered foot, and for a second she contemplates taking the delicate silk shoes off, eager to feel the sand between her toes. She longs to feel like a child again who was too wild to be proper, always frolicking about the shore surrounding King’s Landing, not jaded by the atrocities of the world. Not stained with the knowledge of the horrible things her mother and uncle have done, the sins her grandfather committed in the name of a golden legacy. Momentarily lost in her melancholy, Allys almost does it, if only to feel like that naive child again, but the fearsome roar of a dragon pulls Allys from her reminiscing. 

Flying high above the ground, Drogon lets out a ferocious war, the sound reverberating in Allys’ ears and she could swear she felt the ground beneath her feet tremble. The dragon was massive and terrifying, in shades of red and black, the colors of House Targaryen, but he was beautiful in a dangerous way. And if the sun wasn’t already hidden away while the moon shines bright, he would no doubt blot it out. She’s captivated by him, as she is with all the dragons, but Drogon demands her attention. He’s the largest of the three, named after Daenerys’ late husband Khal Drogo, and if someone told Allys his very soul resides inside Drogon, she would believe them. All of the dragons fiercely protect their mother, but Drogon does it with a ferocity that only a Dothraki warlord could possess.

Her gaze however moves to the form on top of the dragon. She knows who it is without needing to see her face, there’s only one person here that could ride Drogon so freely. Drogon begins to lower towards the ground, and Allys subconsciously moves to meet where he’d land. She grabs onto her skirts, lifting them up as to avoid dirting anymore than necessary, and just walks, any nerves and fears about being burned alive banished from her thoughts. Daenerys would never let any of them do that to her.

Crash.

Drogon’s large form lands on the sandy ground, red eyes locking on Allys, opening his massive jaws and showing his razor sharp teeth that could rip her apart within seconds. But she’s not afraid. She continues her approach, the dampened sand squishing under her feet, water seeping through the silk shoes and onto her skin. Her eyes flit to Daenerys sitting on Drogon, looking every bit like the regal Dragon Queen she is. 

Her silver hair is pulled back into a series of braids, something Allys learned is a part of Dothraki culture, each strand curled and cascading down her back and spilling over her shoulders. Her bright purple eyes are already locked onto Allys, the harshness usually present in her War Room meetings replaced with a softness more akin to a child. Her pale skin glows in the moonlight, the stars casting beautiful highlights on all the right spots. Instead of her usual black and red attire, she’s wearing a dress in a light shade of blue, the fabric thick enough to fight any chill from the night air, but still breathable. Her signature three headed dragon broach is still pinned to her dress, holding in place her shimmering cloak that looks like dragon scales. A smile rests on her delicate face, filling Allys with all sorts of warm feelings.

She’s beautiful, by the Old Gods and the new, Allys is mystified by Daenerys and everything about her. 

Maintaining eye contact, Daenerys effortlessly slides off of Drogon’s back. Her feet hitting the ground with a soft thud. She moves towards Allys with the natural confidence she exudes, the easy charms she possesses always her biggest asset, only second to her dragons. In what feels like an eternity, Daenerys closes the distance between them. She’s close enough that Allys can clearly hear each breath she takes, but far enough away to be proper. And while she is only less than an arm’s length away, she feels like there’a a gaping canyon in between them.

“Thank you for meeting me tonight, Lady Allys,” Daenerys says, her voice like silk. 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Your Grace,” Allies said, a teasing lilt in her voice. Her lips pull into a smile, bright enough to even blind the sun. The smile on Daenerys’ face widens as well. And if Allys’ smile is the sun, then Daenerys is the moon, captivating everyone with her soft and ethereal beauty.

“Shall we?” Daenerys says, guesting behind her towards Drogon, still in his same position, although he’s no longer baring his teeth and burning into Allys with his eyes. Her eyes widen a fraction, unsure what else to do.

“You mean we’re going to…?” Allys whispers, pointing at Drogon, hand low at her side as if she’s afraid the dragon in question will see. Daenerys looks behind her and then back at Allys, amusement brimming in her eyes, and she laughs. Not the quiet chuckle you give to Lords or Ladies from noble houses that you don’t want to offend, or the awkward squawk you make when in an uncomfortable situation. This is a real laugh, the kind that makes you throw your head back and close your eyes, that brings a pain to your stomach from laughing too hard. It’s loud, being carried away by the wind to every corner of Dragonstone, and it’s beautiful. 

In that moment Allys decides it’s the best sound she’s ever heard, that no minstrel, no matter how talented, could ever play a tune sweeter than this. 

“Yes, we’re going to ride Drogon.” Daenerys reaches out and grasps Allys’ hand. While Allys hands are cold and dry, her skin not accustomed to the weather, Daenerys’ are warm and soft, as if the fire in Drogon runs through her veins.  She turns and walks towards Drogon, pulling Allys, who doesn’t put up a fight, with her. Her heart is pounding against her chest, a blend of anxiety and excitement coursing through her blood. 

A dragon, a real dragon. She’s about to ride a dragon. 

She’s in a daze as Daenerys approaches Drogon, reaching her hand out to caress Drogon’s scaled face. He nuzzles into her touch, a pur similar to that of a cat coming from him as he nudges closer to her. The startling size difference between Daenerys’ hand and Drogon snout is enough to make Allys stop breathing, yet he isn’t acting like a terrifying beast. In fact, he’s more like a domesticated pet looking for attention than a fire breathing serpent, and that’s what keeps Allys in place. 

For a moment, she has a burst of bravery, a need to impress Daenerys, which causes her to step forward and reach her left hand out to Drogon. He turns his attention to her and huffs, the breath feeling like summer heat against her skin, but to her surprise, he leans his head forward. The feeling of his rough scales under her fingertips is…odd, he was as hot as Allys imagined he would be, similar to touch the barrier between a roaring hearth. Allys is at a loss, unsure of where to move her hand now that it rests on him, then she feels something soft and cool in comparison to Drogon over her hand. 

She glances over and meets Daenerys’ gaze, her smile isn’t as large and beaming anymore, instead it’s weeter, more delicate, as if she’s afraid that this moment could disappear. Allys knows because she feels the same. 

“Here, gently pet him here,” she says, guiding Allys’ hand in the center of his face and in between his serpentine eyes. She guides her hand down, as Allys’ nails lightly press into Drogon, who purs in delight, until her hand reaches the tip of his nose, inches away from his teeth. The tip of his nose is soft like that of a dog, but not as wet. It’s nice to feel a sensation that is familiar to Allys. 

“I can’t believe it, I’m petting a dragon!” Allys exclaims, nearly breathless from excitement. Her eyes are wide and wild, beaming with the radiance of the sun. Daenerys laughs, this was softer than her previous laughter, but just as sweet. 

“What would you say to riding a dragon?” 

And Allys can’t speak, her brain refusing to work hard enough to think of something to say. So instead she squeaks like a mouse, nodding her head far too enthusiastically to be proper. But Daenerys just laughs, taking the hand of Allys’ she still grasps, and leads her to one of Drogon’s wings, Daenerys getting on first and then holding a hand out to help Allys up. The feel of the leather wings are strange, similar to walking on the carpets and rugs in The Red Keep, but tougher and with a better grip.

Daenerys helps Allys get onto Drogon, making sure she is situated behind her. Instinctively, Allys wraps her arms around Daenerys’ waist, placing her chin atop Daenerys’ shoulder, the warm fabric soothing her frostbitten face. A flush appears on Allys’ face from the proximity, but just snuggles further into Daenerys, the anticipation of actually flying turning her stomach into knots. 

“Sōvēs.” 

Allys lurches forward, the sound of Drogon’s heavy footsteps beating into the beach. And they’re moving, slowly at first, but then quicker and quicker as Drogon picks up more momentum. Allys squeezes Daenerys just a hair tighter as Dany throws her head back, laughing in delight - the sound being swallowed by the howling wind. 

Just when they are about to hit the ocean surrounding Dragonstone, Drogon lifts his great wings and soars into the sky. The wind is cold and unforgiving, but Allys can’t bring herself to care, as the wind whips through her hair, instantly tangling it. The higher and higher they fly, the smaller everything looks below them. And Allys can’t help the shout that leaves her mouth, the sound mixing with the winds around them and the powerful roar Drogon releases. 

                                                       o0o0o0o

They fly around on Drogon for the next hour and Allys never wants it to end. But eventually, they begin to get closer and closer to the ground until Drogon lands with a thundering thud. Daenerys slides off of Drogon with ease, holding her hand out to aid Allys off of the dragon. When her feet finally touch solid ground, they wobble and shake, and if not for Daenerys holding onto her, Allys surely would’ve greeted the ground with her face. 

Flushing bright red with shaky hands and a racing heartbeat, Allys looks up at Daenerys. And Daenerys looks at her, cheeks stained red as well.  

“That was-- amazing. Thank you, so so much,” Allys says, still attempting to catch her breath, something highly unlikely with how close Daenerys is.

“It’s my pleasure.”

And then Daenerys takes one step closer, Allys mimicking her movements. Then suddenly they’re only a breath away from each other. And for the first time Allys truly notices how short Daenerys is compared to her. She always carries such a strong presence, Allys imagined her 9ft. tall in her mind. But she doesn’t mind. It makes Daenerys seem real, something difficult to picture for the woman who brought dragons back into the world.

“Well, I should probably return to my room,” Allys says, but makes no movement to move away. 

“Yes, it is rather late,” Daenerys says, the corner of her lips tugging into a smirk, mischief dancing in her purple eyes. 

With a second surge of courage, abandoning any fear and worry that lingers in her head, Allys leans forward, connecting their lips together. 

Kissing Daenerys is like taking a bite from the sweetest fruit. Euphoria rushes through her veins, her head growing lighter with each second. Her lips are soft and warm and oh so inviting to Allys. And if kissing Daenerys is like eating from the sweetest fruit, then her lips taste like nectar from the gods themselves. And Allys get pulled under, deeper and deeper into the ocean, not fearing that she doesn’t have the faintest idea on how to swim. 

And it's soft, gods it’s so soft Allys melts into her, getting as close as possible.

Daenerys weaves one arm around Allys and her other hand into the tangled mess her hair is, and begins gently untangling it. Allys puts one hand around Daenerys’ neck, as if she’s afraid she’ll disappear, trailing the other one from her waist up her side, then her collarbone, and finally up her neck, with a touch lighter than a feather. 

It’s pure bliss in that moment and in her haze Allys decided she must be dead. She must’ve died at some point and her heaven is every moment spent with Daeenerys. 

“Would you care to join me tonight, Lady Allys? I’m afraid I’m not used to the cold of Westeros and would welcome the company?” Daenerys is only a hair away from her, but even that feels too far. Too far gone in her euphoria, Allys forgets all about her pride, chasing Dany’s lips as she groans at the loss of contact. Daenerys allows her to kiss her again, laughing against her lips as Allys’ mouth swallows the noise. 

“Do you even have to ask?” Allys asks, still keeping their lips pressed together. “We should go now, while I’m still thinking semi clearly,” Allys mutters, but makes no movement to untangle herself from Daenerys. 

“Then let us make haste before we die from the cold!” Daenerys exclaims, pecking the corner of Allys’ lips before pulling her towards the entrance to Dragonstone. Allys laughs, the sound so foreign to her own ears, the sound nothing like the grief stricken tones she spoke with. They both nearly tumble to the ground far more times than either could keep track of, laughing louder and harder with each fumble. Neither of them seem to notice the sleeping people in the rooms they pass. They’re too drunk on each other to possibly care, only focused on the other. 

‘Perhaps we should be more quiet?” Allys suggests in between her laughter, small giggles bursting in the seams of her question. 

“It would be respectful of us, but I’m too happy to care!” Daenerys exclaims. And her eyes are bright, like two stars plucked from the sky and painted purple. It would be easier to liken her eyes to amethysts, but they wouldn’t do justice to their vibrancy.

And she’s beautiful when she’s like this, so carefree and glowing like the moon.

Eventually they reach the end of the hall, standing before two double doors. Back to the door, Daenerys leans forward, pressing a faint kiss against Allys, fumbling as she opens the door behind her. It clicks open and she presses her body against it to push it wide open, the loud creaking swallowed by their laughter. Daenerys pulls Allys into the room, the lock clicking close behind them. 

Maybe the dragons coming back to Westeros isn’t such a bad thing. 

                                                    o0o0o0o

Tags: 

@historicallydysfunctional​ | @stuckupstucky​

[goodlucktai]

If you're up for it, could you write something with natsume and taki? I love their friendship and especially the way you write it

x

“For the last time,” Madara barks, “get out of here now!”

It’s a less forceful demand to make in this lucky cat body than it would have been in his real one, but he has to give Taki the benefit of his narrowed eyes and pointed teeth since she wouldn’t be able to see them otherwise. 

She and Natsume were both thrown from the bridge into this dry riverbed. She cut her face on a rock, and Madara’s unlucky charge bounced his head off one.  He’s still out cold, and Taki has an arm around his shoulders, his cheek pillowed carefully against her collar. Her stubborn scowl puts Madara in mind of Reiko at her absolute worst.

Taki doesn’t even seem to notice the fresh graze above her eyebrow, still dripping a tacky line down the side of her face.

The sight of the blood makes Madara’s hackles rise.

The violent ayakashi is still lurking nearby, hungry and watchful. It is not nameless, only opportunistic; this far up the mountain, relatively few humans would have made a meal of themselves by wandering across its bridge. 

Madara shines his light, and the ayakashi recoils, curling in on itself, but doesn’t disappear. 

As close to feral as these things can get, probably half out of its mind since its river ran dry. The light has barely faded before it’s creeping in again, feathered edges inching forward like wisps of sun-starched cotton.

“I won’t tell you again,” Madara snarls.

Without missing a beat, and with a bit of a snarl herself, Taki snaps, “I’m not leaving him!”

“I’m not asking! Move or I will make you!”

He should have known it wouldn’t be so simple. The girl’s eyes go steely and her mouth twists into a frown, even as she surrenders her protective handfuls of Natsume’s jacket and lowers him carefully to the ground. 

It’s only after she’s climbed up the crumbling bank to relative safety that Madara transforms. Showing all his teeth, he says, “You’ve ruined my afternoon, weakling. I hope you realize that.”

The ayakashi doesn’t have the good sense to back off even then. Its eyes track Taki’s retreat for a moment, and then sink back to the more readily available Natsume, laying still and quiet and prone. 

It’s not as though Madara cares about these children, not really. What a waste of time that would be. He’s not foolish enough to have formed some sort of attachment to the boy lying at his feet, to the girl who had to be forced to leave even when her life was in danger, because that would be sentimental and stupid and human.

But he stands there between Natsume and the creature that means him harm because it really doesn’t occur to him to do anything else. He’s reluctant to dash too far ahead in attack and give the slippery thing an opening. He wants, with the same reckless urgency that compelled him to attack a harvest god not even a full year ago, to keep Natsume safe.

And perhaps unsurprisingly, Natsume’s friend feels exactly the same. 

“Hey!” Taki shouts. 

Madara and the ayakashi turn sharply to find her standing barely a stone’s throw from the empty river, a seeing circle sketched crudely into the earth by her feet. 

There is no one left to stand between Taki and the spirit. Madara can’t do it without surrendering Natsume. She was supposed to have run away. Anger-- it must be anger-- sends Madara’s heart racing. 

“Stupid brat! I told you to leave!”

“Don’t call me names,” Taki says. Her hands are shaking, so she balls them into fists. “I told you I wasn’t leaving him.”

It takes about two seconds for the ayakashi to decide to pounce. It tears towards her with inhuman speed, and Taki simply lets it come. She takes a step to the side, standing behind that damn circle as if it might somehow protect her. Madara’s muscles are coiled to give chase, when suddenly the ayakashi stops cold.

It’s caught in the circle. It screeches and tests the lines immediately, throwing itself against the barrier, but it can’t get out.

Taki smiles. 

She steps around the hostile creature, and climbs clumsily back into the riverbed. Her eyes peer around for Madara in something like polite curiosity, entirely unbothered by his invisible form. It’s only a small comfort that she doesn’t see the way he’s gaping at her.

“I’ve been studying grandpa’s books,” Taki says simply. “I’m tired of being helpless. From now on, anything that tries to hurt my friend will have me to deal with.

“Now,” she goes on, hands on her hips. “Are you going to carry him home, or do I have to do that, too?”

Humans are self-serving and stubborn and loyal to a fault. They will do downright stupid things for each other, as if their fleeting lives aren’t short enough already. They tend not to let abstract concepts like reason and common sense stand in their way. They are fundamentally predictable. Madara has been around long enough to know that for certain. 

He wonders when they’ll stop surprising him.

[hyperion-moonbabe-art3mis]

Caught In Between 33. Debrief

Summary: Athena Dumont has finally found a place to call home after many years of foster homes and traveling. She had finally tamed her supernatural side and just wanted to live a normal teenage life. She quickly discovers that there is nothing normal about her hometown, Mystic Falls and gets sucked right back into the supernatural world.

Post Date: 02.09.21

Word count: 1.3k

Based off: 04x15 “Stand By Me”

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The next morning Caroline and I head back over to Elena’s to clean up the mess. As we were scrubbing the floors Elena and others walk-in.

“Hey, you’re home,” Caroline says as I continue scrubbing the floor.

“We were trying to clean the burn mark where Kol--” I start before we both notice Stefan carrying Jeremy’s body. “We couldn’t get the spot out,” I say quieter.

“Come on. Let’s get him upstairs,” Elena says. Caroline and I look at each other confused before we start to clean again, giving them their space.

“How long has she been like that?” Caroline asks Stefan as he makes his way into the kitchen.

“Ever since we found his body. She hasn’t said anything except that she’s waiting for him to wake up,” Stefan explains while helping.

“But he’s not going to wake up. She knows that right?” I state. Stefan puts his finger to his mouth and moves to the sink to turn the faucet on.

“Look. Deep down, I think she has to, but we’re talking about Elena here. She feels grief more powerfully than anyone else. I think her denial is the one thing protecting her from letting it all in,” Stefan explains.

“She can’t stay like that forever,” Caroline says.

“I know, but I don’t want to be the one to break her out of it, not until we know that bonnie is safe, not until we get Damon over here too, you know--,” Stefan trails off.

“Use the sire bond to convince her that everything is ok?” Caroline finishes for him.

“I’m not in denial,” Elena says and Stefan turns the water off. “I know that he was supernatural, but did you see? His tattoo is gone. The tattoo had the spell that opened Silas’ chamber. Maybe it being gone means that he fulfilled his supernatural destiny. Maybe he’s back to normal, it’s possible right?” Elena suggests.

“Elena--” I say.

“It’s possible, Athena. There’s a chance. It may be minuscule, but it’s hope, and I’m gonna hold on to that hope with everything that I’ve got because there’s no way-- there’s absolutely no way that my brother is dead. I’m not in denial,” Elena states before walking away.

I continue to finish cleaning while Stefan and Caroline step outside to make a plan. After a little while, I start to smell something. “What’s that smell?” I ask making my way to the porch.

“It’s his body. He’s starting to decompose,” Stefan says. “Tell your mom to get Dr. Fell over here,” Stefan says to Caroline.

Dr. Fell came over to inspect Jeremy’s body, but as she inspected it I heard a commotion from upstairs. Elena was freaking out over Dr. Fell saying that Jeremy was dead. I head outside since it was a family matter that I don’t think I should involve myself in. As I wait for Dr. Fell to finish, Caroline arrives at the house on the phone with Bonnie and Damon arriving shortly after.

“Thank god,” Caroline says.

“We were so worried,” I say as we take turns hugging Bonnie.

“I’m ok,” Bonnie says.

“Could you get Stefan out here?” Damon asks.

“They said that she knows what to do,” Caroline says.

“Caroline, I need to talk to my brother,” Damon demands.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. I head back inside with Caroline and Bonnie to talk about what happened. Me, Bonnie, Caroline, Elena and Matt all sit at the table.

“It’s called an expression triangle. I need to complete it for Silas,” Bonnie explains.

“What? Bonnie, you can’t kill 12 people,” Matt says.

“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s the only way to get enough power,” Bonnie says.

“To do what?” I ask.

“Once the veil is dropped, the other side doesn’t exist anymore. There’s nothing separating us. We’re all just one,” Bonnie explains.

“Bonnie, you are talking like a crazy person. You are not killing 12 people, and you sure as hell can’t invite every monster who has every died back in this world,” Caroline says.

“Caroline, I think she knows that,” Matt says.

“No. I can do it. I have the power. I can bring everyone back-- Jeremy, Alaric, Vicki,” Bonnie says.

“Bonnie, stop it you can’t just say these things,” Caroline says before a phone rings.

“I’ll get it,” Elena says.

“Hey, look. I’ll get it,” Matt offers.

“I said i’ll get it,” Elena says moving to the phone. As she answers the phone Damon and Stefan walk in. “Jeremy can’t come to the phone right now. He’s not...I’m sorry. He’s dead,” Elena says before hanging up. She then heads upstairs leaving us a bit clueless.

A few minutes later Elena comes back downstairs, “Where Bonnie?” She asks.

“We told Matt to take her home. We thought it’d be best,” Stefan says.

“Ok. Guess we’re gonna have to do this the old fashioned way,” Elena says.

“Do what?” I ask.

“Put his body on the couch,” Elena says.

“Elena? Elena, you need help finding something?” Caroline asks.

“Got it,” Elena says immediately dumping gas onto her kitchen countertop.

“What are you doing?” Stefan asks.

“We need a cover story right? You think I didn’t hear you guys talking earlier? Well, what are we gonna say--animal attack, tumble down thw stairs? No. We burn the house down with him inside of it,” Elena says dumping the gas all over her house.

“Elena, stop it,” Stefan says.

“Why, because you want me to not be in denial? You want me to face the truth? This is the truth, Stefan. I don’t want to live here anymore. I don;t want these sketches. I don’t want this x-box. Not gonna need this bourbon anymore. Alaric’s not here to drink it, i mean, unless you guys are willing to bring back every supernatural creature on the other side to get him back. Would you? I know you want your drinking buddy back. Would you, Damon? Because I wouldn’t. I don’t know. I mean, does that make me a bad person? I have no idea,” Elena rants while spreading alcohol around the room and on Jeremy. “He’s not gonna need that anymore,” She tosses Damon the Gilbert ring.

“Elena, stop it. You’re scaring me,” I say.

“What else are we supposed to do with the body, Athena? I mean there’s no room in the Gilbert family plot. Jenna and John took the last spots,” Elena says lighting a match.

“No,no. Elena stop,” Stefan says.

“There’s nothing here for me anymore, Stefan. Every inch of this house is filled with memories of the people that I love that have died--my mom, my dad, Jeremy, and Jenna, and Alaric, John, even John. I mean they’re all dead. Everyone is dead. So what and I supposed to--I mean how am I--I can’t even--There’s nothing left for me. Ahh!” Elena says and drops the match but Damon catches it before it hits the ground.

“Elena I need you to calm down,” Damon says.

“No, no, no. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I--. No It hurts. It hurts. Just make it stop. Please make it stop. It hurts,” Elena sobs.

“Damon...help her,” Stefan says. Damon quickly kneels next to her and embraces her.

“I can help you. I want you to let me help you. I can help you,” Damon says.

“How?” Elena asks.

“Turn it off,” Damon says.

“What? No, no,” Stefan says under his breath.

“Just turn it off, and everything will go away. That’s what you have to do. It’s what I want you to do. Just turn it off,” Damon says and just like that Elena was no longer sobbing.

After everything seemed to be sorted, even though none of us wanted Elena to turn her humanity off. I decided to head out. I went back to the Salvatores to grab my stuff before making my way to my own house.

A/N: I know the scene at the dining table is a bit awkward, there was three convos stitched together in the show….so i hope it makes sense. I may or may not skip the next few eps in case they don’t have much of an impact on Athena’s story. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.

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