#I’m just. this I think one of their worst stances yet. and it’s fucking terrifying.

[samuraisharkie]

I feel so fucking sick knowing I have to act civil around my parents rn. I knew their beliefs sucked and that they were brainwashed but it’s really getting to me recently. Especially because I know they have the potential to change. They have the potential to get out of this. Whenever I managed to hound them into not watching Fox News constantly (or at least more discreetly) and have a political conversation they are SO much more receptive, but after they get a dose of Fox News they’re combative and manipulative and traumatizing to talk to. Idk what to do. It’s scaring me so much. It’s changing them so badly. I want to throw out the cable, throw out their phones and Apple Watches, I want to cut them off until they can fucking detox. I feel so helpless watching them descend. I feel so fucking sick to my stomach. My dad, the worse of the two (initially) actually hugged me once for bringing to his attention the Palestinian side of the story and saying I had a much more compassionate way of thinking than his black and white style, and then went right back to listening to Fox News and not one Palestinian person ever. My mom, who tends to avoid talking politics and tends to listen better, was the one to really fuck things up for me. She caught me crying about news from Palestine and treated me like I was some hysterical basket case not in control of my brain or my responses (she kept telling me I was hyper fixated in this very like… idk clinical tone?) and told me to stay away from all news for like three days. During that time, an ad for Israel came on and I got visibly uncomfortable and moved to turn the channel. I got a very disappointed and angry “do you hate Israel that much.” In response. An instigation for a fight. She took all day to acknowledge that she started it, even after I told her “you’re the one that told me to stay away from things”. I can’t tell them “yes I hate Israel”. I’m so fucking scared and full of grief watching any potential of a real relationship remaining for them being distorted and destroyed.

[catofoldstones]

The bemoaning of s@nsan's loss of popularity by shippers fascinates me because iv'e seen a lot of ancient fans stance on it was that sansa's flaw is liking pretty things/people so her lesson should be to marry the hound for humility yet not ONE of them look inside the text that all the men that attack/abuse/molest sansa all find her pretty or are infatuated with pretty women worst abuse them, the double standard of fans against sansa fascinates me as they ignore one of sansa's character traits is to treat people with courtesy,they also ignore every character has been attracted to pretty people even j0n yet not one person says that hes vain for liking val based on her attractiveness, the only person iv'e seen thats been as criticized is d@ny simply for her infatuation in daario and dismissal of quentyn and while we as readers didnt like that she did that she's also a teenager(and doesnt know quentyn) again there's huge double standard for girls and boys in this fandom yet no one saw it

im getting off track but basically s@nsan's loss of popularity shouldn't be such a surprise when there's a whole new generation of readers that might not have the same readings or bias from previous years especially when a lot of it was just misogynistic undertones

Has san/san lost popularity? It’s still heralded as one of the most iconic ships to come out of the game of thrones and late 2000s/ early 2010s in general, isn’t it? And the san/san posts I see have a good number of notes, always around and upwards of 400, which is a hefty number to me. But yes, it has definitely left major pop-culture discourse centres.

I have heard a lot about this “flaw” you are talking about and I consider myself extremely lucky that i didn’t join the fandom earlier. I absolutely cannot imagine being in the fandom from the 90s to 2018 as a Sansa stan, when hating her was the norm. I was just about to bring up this point you mentioned, that all men, who are full grown adults btw, lust after Sansa based on her looks. They consider her pretty and want them all for herself, and all the while she’s a 12 year old.

“Why should I be guilty? My wife wants no part of me, and most especially not the part that seems to want her.”

Tyrion VII, ASOS

“Give your Florian a little kiss now. A kiss for luck.” He swayed toward her. Sansa dodged the wet groping lips, kissed him lightly on an unshaven cheek, and bid him good night. It took all her strength not to weep.”

Sansa IV, ACOK

And these are just two people, with one out of many such instances each, among a hoard of men who think of her like that. A very simple answer to all of this is misogyny, in and out of the universe. Of course the entire san/san fandom has no hive mind, they were apparently the first ones to come up with the qitn Sansa theory while also coming up with the cottage theory, but shipping a 12 year old with a grown man who almost raped her at knifepoint is an open letter invitation for haters to find a settling point for making sansa suffer without actually getting called out for it. It becomes such a perfect cover for actively hating a 12 year old because even the haters realise how insane that actually is.

I think the “flaw rectification” argument was birthed to fuse the thought that yes, sansa did bad things, here’s how we can still enjoy her character while the undercurrent of unfounded hatred runs through the ship while we conveniently never acknowledge it. Obviously new readers came along who had never interacted with the fandom and realised “hey, what the fuck?” and had a different opinion of “that’s a defenceless 12 year old girl who actually did nothing wrong”. I’m sure there were voices who expressed such opinions before but were silenced. Internet is such a friendly place after all.

The “courtesy” thing is so true. She literally has no option but to respond the way she does. One wrong word and she might get beaten or killed. That girl is terrified and only trying to survive. Considering Sansa’s action as anything but survival mechanism is so superficial. This is so analogous to how women today are polite to men while because they’re scared that the men might hurt them/kill them. It’s the same shit, times ten, with Sansa. This also goes for when San/dor catches her during the battle of black water and demands a “song” from her (which is a thinly veiled euphemism for rape), and Sansa sings him a hymn of Mother’s mercy as a way to protect herself.

As for the Dany thing, I just want to say, what exactly is wrong about a teenage girl having a crush? Why is she termed as “lovesick” and “stupid” and “annoying” anytime she shows any interest in a guy? And it’s always the dudebros screaming this the loudest. Obviously, Daario is not a good choice and Dany herself acknowledges that.

“Daario might whisper words of love when the two of them were as one, but she knew it was the dragon queen he loved. If I gave up my crown, he would not want me.”

Daenerys VII, ADWD

I mean, the other shoe will definitely drop with this guy but this the first time we see Dany have a consensual relationship, which I feel is important to her arc - the relationship and the man she has the relationship with. Moreover, she has bigger fish to fry like her governance/dragons/moving towards westeros etc.

And berating her over Quentyn? Wasn’t she supposed to get married the next day to Hizdar? Didn’t she herself say that she’s not sure if Quentyn is the real deal or not? Moreover, she remembers Quaith’s prophecy about the “sun’s son” and double backs (Dany and prophecies are a whole another thing which we can talk about later) and solidifies her decision to go forward with her wedding with Hizdahr.

“Enough,” Daenerys said. “Prince Quentyn has crossed half the world to offer me his gift, I will not have him treated with discourtesy.” She turned to the Dornishmen. “Would that you had come a year ago. I am pledged to wed the noble Hizdahr zo Loraq.”

“The sun’s son. A shiver went through her. “Shadows and whispers.” What else had Quaithe said? The pale mare and the sun’s son…”

Daenerys VII, ADWD

Although, the Martells will not understand that Dany didn’t order Quentyn’s death and might antagonise her so that’s a chekov’s gun waiting to go off. Clearly, Quentyn was clearly the first leg of a bigger arc that we’ll likely see in TWOW (consider Quaith’s whole prophecy) and a part of a bigger theme Dany has to fulfill. Her decision to make Quentyn wait was not based on whether she found him ugly or not, it was based on being right in the middle of a political crisis with another volatile variable being added that has the potential to uproot a lot of what she has struggled to maintain (which ultimately does happen). Dany does have a knack of picking the worst option and that does not bode well for her governance/politics but that is not the point here. The point here is how dare a 16 year old doesn’t find a guy attractive and another guy too attractive (which is a part of a bigger theme btw) and sometimes, it’s a thin line between misogyny and valid criticism. Let’s stop flattening female characters into digestible one-dimensional beings, especially when it comes to teenagers. The fact that they have more than one motivation to act a certain way, makes them so much more enjoyable and interesting and honestly, human, like you and me.

Let’s also stop pigeonholing (12 year old) female characters into high-school mean girl clique leader trope who is so shallow and superficial that she needs to be assaulted by an “ugly” middle aged man to come to her senses. Also, that is called projection. The character that we are talking about isn’t like that at all. But whatever 🙄

Sorry I got carried away and got angry, things like these piss me off so bad. Never change, fandom, never change.

[theflagscene]

Oh Boss! You had us in the first half, I’m not gonna lie. Even Kan was feeling pity, and then you went with the ‘terminally ill people are worthless and deserve to die’ attitude and lost the upper hand. The eye roll Kan gave was so hard I think Nurse Onh felt jt from the closet upstairs.

Right in the back of the neck, nice Kan!

Save Nurse Onh! Yes! Good work Joe!

Oh, not her! She has the worst bedside manner. She’s so conniving! She’s stoking the flames of suspicion, I refuse to believe she doesn’t have a horse in this race! I refuse!!

Come on, Thiu, you love the man. Just let it go, you know that Kan isn’t killing people painfully. Boss is the murderer, Kan is just doing what the patients asked.

I love it, big ole ICU 1 on the door, yet the door is wide open. Um no, no, no. ICU’s have to be as clean and secure as possible, you don’t leave the door to an ICU room open to the hallway where anyone can just walk by and possibly make the patient sicker.

Jesus, just let the woman die! Why force her to live, she tried to take her own life because she couldn’t stand a pain, and instead you’re sitting on her as she screams in agony, trying to stop the bleeding whilst at the same time terrifying your poor son. Just be a good husband, hold her, stroke her hair and let her fade away from blood loss. I don’t get the moral grandstanding, I really don’t. If a person wants to die, just fucking let them die. It’s not about you, it’s about them.

I’m 100% with Dr.Kan, his beliefs are what I think are the most realistic ones for a doctor to have. Hmm, Sammon’s an MD, I wonder if this is her stance on euthanasia as well 🤔🤔🤔

[robininthelabyrinth]

for the prompts: NMJ/JC - Everyone with a functioning brain cell can see that JC just needs someone to tell him he’s doing a good job. And if WWX isn’t stepping up? Well, NMJ definitely will. (Preferably smut and/or fluff) Thank you! ❤️

Compliments - ao3

It started in anger, out of spite.

Traditionally, the world took this to be a bad thing, but in all honesty the vast majority of projects in the Nie sect were started that way – they inherited fiery tempers and spiteful personalities from their ancestors along with their saber cultivation traditions – and it didn’t always turn out badly. There were any number of buildings, techniques, or technological innovations in the Unclean Realm that had started life as a furious fuck you to someone and only turned into something worthwhile about halfway through, once the person involved had calmed down enough to think about what they were doing, realize they were already committed, and then shrug and carry on forward because there was no point in stopping a charge midway.

What Nie Mingjue meant was: there was precedent.

He liked to think it started with Jiang Fengmian, but if Nie Mingjue was being honest with himself, it started back in the Unclean Realm when Nie Huaisang had told him, quite casually over dinner, that he thought that the female cultivator in his class was very pretty and that he’d be happy to marry her.

“Uh,” Nie Mingjue had said, very intelligently. “Huaisang, you’re seven.”

Nie Huaisang had not seen the problem. Instead, he explained very forthrightly that it was only right that he start thinking early on about his marriage, as getting married and having children would be his great contribution to the sect on account of being useless good-for-nothing unfit for anything else –

“Wait,” Nie Mingjue said. “Who told you that?!”

Nie Huaisang claimed he had deduced it.

Nie Mingjue claimed that Nie Huaisang was full of bullshit, and also that he wasn’t good-for-nothing even if he wasn’t good at saber, and anyway even if he was a total good-for-nothing he was still Nie Mingjue’s good-for-nothing and no one had better say a single damn word against him or Nie Mingjue would bite them.

“I meant stab them!” he explained, far too late; Nie Huaisang was already rolling around laughing to the point of tears. “I have a saber. I can stab people! I’m actually very scary, you know!”

Nie Huaisang hadn’t believed him one bit and had carried on, seemingly at peace and forgetting everything, but Nie Mingjue had gone seeking advice from all of his elders and counselors and the more dependable senior disciples of his sect, abruptly terrified that he was permanently damaging Nie Huaisang by raising him the wrong way or something. Didn’t children need encouragement at that age? Weren’t they all young and tender peaches liable to be bruised at the slightest glance or young sprouts that needed to be sheltered from the harsh wind lest they grow up crooked?

Everyone assured him that children were hardier than they appeared, flexible and capable of bouncing back from just about anything. He'd pressed, though, pointing out that even the most flexible wood would eventually form a crack in the face of a vicious hurricane, and in the end they'd admitted that it was better to avoid applying too much pressure at too young an age, that a child squeezed too hard or not hard enough might develop neuroses that would hinder them in the future.

They mostly tried not to look at him when they said that, presumably thinking to themselves that Nie Mingjue was little more than a child himself and had already been subject to the worst pressures possible, which would undoubtedly result in who knows what future issues, but he hadn’t paid that part any mind. As far as he was concerned, his life was already a loss – he had sworn to take revenge for his father, to make that ancient monster Wen Ruohan pay with his life for what he had done and furthermore he'd sworn to pay back the blood debt in full before any of that burden passed to Nie Huaisang.

Letting Nie Huaisang grow up happy – that was what mattered.

Letting him be insulted when Nie Mingjue wasn’t looking played no part in that plan. If Nie Huaisang were going to be insulted, let it be by outsiders who he wouldn’t need to care about! Within their Nie sect, at minimum, he should be doted upon and honored, or else those responsible would have to explain themselves to Nie Mingjue.

Those dark thoughts still lingering in his mind, he had gone to the Lotus Pier for a discussion conference, and that, perhaps, was where it really started.

Rumor had already made the entire cultivation world aware that Jiang Fengmian had found the orphaned son of Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze, and that he had taken him into his home as his ward, allowing him to become a Jiang sect disciple – treating him almost as one of the family, even. That much was known, so it didn’t come as much of a surprise when Jiang Fengmian proudly introduced him or even more proudly showed him off, praising him to the high heavens.

What did come as a surprise was how little he praised his own son standing beside him, despite them being only a few days apart in age. It was as if Jiang Fengmian had simply forgotten that such a creature existed, much less that he had himself contributed to its spawning, and the constant looks of hope – invariably crushed – the child sent him made it clear that the present situation had been going on for some time.

Fuck you, Nie Mingjue thought, seeing red, seeing instead Nie Huaisang in his failed saber classes, struggling so desperately to keep up with the rest even though his body wouldn’t allow for it, being told he was useless and a good-for-nothing and fit for nothing but marriage. Fuck you, Jiang Fengmian.

He couldn’t say that, of course.

So instead he said, “Excellent stance,” to the child, who'd received the courtesy name Wanyin but seemed to be universally called Jiang Cheng. “Do you know the others in the set?”

Jiang Cheng, staring at him, very slowly nodded, and demonstrated them.

“Absolutely perfect,” Nie Mingjue said loudly, drawing attention to himself with his over-loud voice that everyone would automatically forgive on account on him being both a Nie and a young man. “You can see how hard you’ve worked at it, and it has paid off handsomely. You are very lucky in your son, Sect Leader Jiang.”

“…thank you,” Jiang Fengmian said, a little bemused at being interrupted. He’d been talking yet again about Wei Wuxian’s brilliance at picking up the sword again after years of living on the streets without practice, even though at the moment the smiling boy's admittedly impressive skills were still largely wild and undisciplined.

Nie Mingjue nodded, and said: “When exactly did you say the opening festivities would be starting?”

Jiang Fengmian had clearly forgotten about that in his enthusiasm, so he quickly hurried back to the actual subject at hand and the discussion conference was started in earnest.

It was almost enough to allow Nie Mingjue to forget the matter and put it behind him.

Or, it would have been, if only Jiang Fengmian hadn’t continued to insert praise for Wei Wuxian at every possible instance – it was as if he were the man’s first-born son, rather than another person’s child.

Irritated beyond belief, Nie Mingjue started complimenting Jiang Cheng every time Jiang Fengmian said something nice about Wei Wuxian, and he made sure to keep his compliments accurate: he was a hard worker, dedicated and sincere, thoughtful, clever, not overly arrogant…

“Wei Wuxian came up with his own ideas for a sword style already,” Jiang Fengmian claimed at one point. “You can see him on the training ground now, practicing it – take a look!”

Nie Mingjue picked up a stone and flicked it over with his fingers, making Wei Wuxian jump half a chi into the air and nearly fall on his ass.

“Weak foundation, and he over-commits,” he analyzed dryly, because it was true, and because no one else was saying it. He didn't make it any harsher than it had to be: he had nothing against the boy himself, of course; it was only that he knew from experience that it was much easier to be the one being complimented than the one not. “He’s got his head so high in the clouds that his feet are barely touching the ground – the weakest fierce corpse would knock him flat as a pancake with a childish style like that. He’d be better off sticking with orthodox or he’ll end up in real trouble one day.”

“Sect Leader Nie, really,” Jiang Fengmian said disapprovingly. “He’s only nine.”

“Old enough to pick up bad habits,” Nie Mingjue retorted. “Your son’s the same age and he’s as steady as a rock. If Jiang Cheng keeps going as he is, he’ll have a strong enough base to outlast the fiercest storm.”

“A rock has no imagination,” Jiang Fengmian said, and was he actually arguing that his son was inferior? Out loud, in front of outsiders? Did the man have no shame? “Mingjue, you’re young, but you must know that my Jiang sect prizes freedom and creativity as the highest virtue –”

“Would you rather build a house using a firework or a foundation stone?” Nie Mingjue asked, doing his best not to outwardly bristle at the condescendingly intimate use of his name by someone who might be technically his elder but legally his equal. “Tell me, Fengmian, does your Jiang sect’s acclaimed ‘freedom’ only allow for people to be as fluid as the river and not as steady as the earth?”

Jiang Fengmian faltered, clearly not knowing how to answer that.

Nie Mingjue raised his hands in a sarcastic salute: “As the leader of a sect whose style is based on a grounded foundation, I would be very happy if you would educate me in your wisdom. No doubt my peers would benefit as well.”

Perhaps it was at that point that Jiang Fengmian realized that his words could be misinterpreted as an insult to all the sects whose styles were less free-flowing than the Jiang – just about all of them except for maybe the Lan and their subsidiary sects, given their preference for techniques modeled on the wind over the water – and moreover that this was a discussion conference, where every word was political, and that a great deal of people were glaring balefully at him. He hastily moved the conversation onwards, and left the subject of his sons for another day.

Later that evening, Madame Yu came over to where Nie Mingjue was nursing a bowl of very fine wine that he didn’t especially feel like consuming. Before he could start worrying about the Purple Spider’s intentions, she said, voice stiff, “Your words regarding my son are too kind. His skills are still inferior; he has a great deal of progress yet to be made.”

“He’s only nine,” Nie Mingjue said, feeling mortified that she’d noticed his little temper tantrum, which he had belatedly realized was probably extremely obvious. “Anyway, I wasn't lying. He has a good foundation; he’ll be a fearsome cultivator one day, there’s no doubt. I only said what I saw.”

“You didn’t comment about Wei Wuxian,” she said. “You must have noticed his genius.”

“Geniuses don’t need to be praised overmuch,” Nie Mingjue said. He himself had been termed a genius by his teachers, and he’d hated every single moment of it – couldn’t he just be good at things without having people fall all over themselves to compliment him? He’d enjoyed it at the start, but after a while it had started to wear on him; he was expected to be a genius in all things, and being simply ordinary was suddenly seen as failing. “It’s the ones that have to work hard that do, or else they’ll be discouraged…comparing someone to another person’s child works as a spur to a certain extent, but after a while it loses its potency as a tool.”

Your husband is a fucking idiot, he didn’t say. It’s his own son! How could he speak like that about him? Shouldn’t he be holding him in his palms like a gentle flame, protecting him from the wind and rain? How can he bear to scold his son when he hasn't shown that the scolding is meant for his benefit?

“Perhaps,” Madame Yu said, but it was clear on her face that she wasn’t about to start taking parenting advice from a half-grown sprout like Nie Mingjue. “Nevertheless, your words were kind.”

She swept away after that, much to his relief. He shook his head and daydreamed about a magic tool that would make this whole nightmarish experience go by that much quicker.

In the end, it went by at the same speed it always did. It could have ended there, but Nie Mingjue kept up the habit of blatantly complimenting Jiang Cheng in future sect conferences as well, if only because it clearly irritated Jiang Fengmian – less because Nie Mingjue was praising his son and more because it was so obviously meant as an indirect critique of Jiang Fengmian’s skills as a parent or sect leader, and moreover it reminded all the other sects of that unfortunate interchange and made them less inclined to listen to him – and of course, because, well, once you’ve started a charge, you had to finish it even if you came to your senses about halfway through.

He made sure to keep it proportionate, of course, since there was nothing worse than false praise. He didn’t really mean anything by it, other than the half-formed thought that someone ought to be doing it – that the boy should know that someone looked at him and Wei Wuxian and remembered to praise him first. Nie Mingjue praised Wei Wuxian too, of course, since the boy often deserved it; it was only that he made a particular point not to forget about Jiang Cheng, either.

(He also made sure the other sect leaders saw how well the technique could be used to fluster Jiang Fengmian, an intrusion into his personal life that could be masked in perfect politeness, and several of them picked up the same tact, though less consistently than Nie Mingjue – Sect Leaders Jin and Wen, naturally, always looking for a weakness, but interestingly enough also Lan Qiren, who was normally above such petty maneuvers. Possibly he was actually just complimenting Jiang Cheng because he sincerely approved of him.)

He didn’t think much of it.

Nie Mingjue didn’t think much of it during the other discussion conferences, or when he came to the Cloud Recesses to pick up Nie Huaisang, who had – amazingly – actually managed to pass this time, although the expression on Lan Qiren’s face suggested the pass might have more to do with the other sect leader’s desire to never see Nie Huaisang haunt his classroom ever again.

“You know what, don’t tell me. Tell me….hm…how did Jiang Wanyin do?” Nie Mingjue asked, hand over his eyes as if it could forestall the headache. “He’s a bright boy, and knows how to put his mind to something when he wants. Tell me about him instead, it’ll be less depressing.”

“He’s very bright,” Lan Qiren agreed. “Very thoughtful, and very thorough. He sometimes errs towards conservatism out of fear of giving the wrong answer, but that’s just a matter of confidence; his thinking is very good. He’s very clear-sighted as long as the matter is logical, rather than emotional.”

“No surprise,” Nie Mingjue grunted. “He’ll be a sect leader worthy of respect, in his time.”

When he’s rid of that father of his dragging him down, he thought ungraciously, and he saw Lan Qiren bob his head in a sharp nod of unspoken agreement.

“All right,” he said. “I’m adequately fortified now. Tell me about Huaisang.”

Lan Qiren gave him a look of profound sympathy.

It wasn’t until much later, during the Sunshot Campaign, that it was first called to his attention – by Jiang Cheng himself, oddly enough.

“Why do you keep doing that?” he hissed, having stayed behind after one of their meetings.

Nie Mingjue blinked at him. “Doing – what?”

“You – you said – about me…!”

Nie Mingjue tried to recall what he’d said during the meeting just now. “That you – were doing an excellent job while facing much higher level of obstacles than everyone else?” he hazarded, because he had said something like that. “Or was it the bit about how if any of them had needed to rebuild their sect and fight at the same time, we’d all be doomed because they couldn’t multitask for shit?”

Yeah, it was probably that one.

“I didn’t mean any offense by referencing what happened to your sect,” he said, hoping to explain. “It was only –”

“I didn’t take offense,” Jiang Cheng mumbled. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine, but – it happened, everyone knows that it happened, not talking about it isn’t going to make it not have happened. That’s not what I meant…why do you keep saying such nice things about me?”

Nie Mingjue blinked at him. “Because they’re true?”

Jiang Cheng’s cheeks flushed red. “You’ve always said nice things about me. Ever since I was a little kid – every time you saw me, at the discussion conferences, or the Cloud Recesses, or even in your letters to my father…”

He had in fact done that.

“I just want to know why. Is it – my father’s not around, you can’t be doing it just to piss him off, even though I know that was part of it. Why me?”

Nie Mingjue coughed a little, having not realized that Jiang Cheng had noticed. Or possibly even overheard, in regards to the Cloud Recesses. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept of the other person’s child,” he said, and Jiang Cheng nodded his head sharply, clearly thinking of Wei Wuxian. “You’re Huaisang’s.”

“Me?” Jiang Cheng seemed unduly vulnerable when he asked. “You compare him – to me?”

“It’s amazing he tolerated you at the Cloud Recesses,” Nie Mingjue said with a sigh. In fact, his brother had all but declared war on Jiang Cheng in absentia on account of all Nie Mingjue’s comments, only for his first letter home from the Cloud Recesses that year to be I see why you like him! He’s cute! A perfect match for you! because he’d apparently decided that Nie Mingjue had a crush on the boy.

Which he certainly hadn’t – at least not when he’d been that age, anyway. Jiang Cheng had grown up to embody every single one of the compliments Nie Mingjue had paid him when he’d been younger, especially with the maturity and natural aura of command that came to him after his personal tragedy.

“But why…you knew Wei Wuxian about as well as you knew me.”

Nie Mingjue snorted. “And that would have helped Huaisang how, exactly? If I wanted to compare him with someone who picked things up the first time they saw it, I wouldn’t need to go outside the Nie sect for that – I was also considered a genius when I was young. It’s no failing to be born without a vast and unending natural talent; Huaisang’s issue has always been his unwillingness to put in the effort.”

Jiang Cheng stared at him.

“Anyway, your father was so blinded by his adoration for Wei Wuxian that he overlooked your merits, which are different but no less impressive,” Nie Mingjue added. “As someone who was trying to figure out how to raise a child, it irritated me; I thought someone ought to make it clear to you that you were seen.”

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng said, his voice strangely hoarse. “Yes, you – you succeeded.”

He paused for a moment, meeting Nie Mingjue’s eyes intently, and then abruptly said, “I’ll be leaving,” and dashed out.

Nie Mingjue wasn’t entirely sure if that meant he should stop or not. Jiang Cheng had said he wasn’t offended…anyway, it was a fixed habit by now. He’d been doing it for over half his life! He couldn’t stop that easily! It would be like trying to stop his temper, or a charge – there was nothing for it.

Jiang Cheng would just have to live with a few compliments.

“Wow, you’re an idiot,” Nie Huaisang said when he told him about the incident, months later while he was lying in bed, recovering from the disaster that had been the end of the war. “I’ll fix this.”

“Fix what?”

“I’m going to tell him you’re dying,” Nie Huaisang decided.

“You’re going to do what?!”

“Stay in bed, da-ge! Doctor’s orders!”

The Nie sect chief doctor was an extremely terrifying person. Nie Mingjue stayed in bed.

Some time later, Jiang Cheng stormed in, face pale.

“Huaisang’s a rotten liar and I’m going to be fine,” Nie Mingjue said at once.

Jiang Cheng stopped mid-storm, and abruptly deflated. “Really?”

“Really. I would’ve stopped him, but I’m stuck in bed for the moment.”

Jiang Cheng took a seat next to him. “That sounds serious. You shouldn’t underestimate war wounds, especially given your sect’s tendency towards qi deviations...”

“Compassionate as well,” Nie Mingjue teased. “I’ll have to add that to the rotation of compliments.”

Jiang Cheng flushed red. “You’re…planning on continuing?”

“For the rest of my life, however short it might be,” Nie Mingjue said, because he was an honest person, even when it was inconvenient. He was going to explain about the habit, and the concept of stopping mid-charge, but he didn’t manage to start before Jiang Cheng grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up into a kiss.

After that, he figured that maybe explaining that part of it wasn’t necessary. He might be slow on the uptake, but he wasn’t actually stupid.

[moistmailman]

SCP AU part 2

*Jaune is pushed into a room with a bag over his face before the door shuts on him*

Jaune, slightly muffled: H-HEY! I SAID LET ME GO DAMNIT! *cautiously reaches for bag and touches it before ripping it off*

Jaune, immediately turning to the door and banging on it: I SWEAR TO GOD YOU GUYS BETTER LET ME OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW! WHAT KINDA FUCKED SOCIAL EXPERIMENT IS THIS?! *continue banging*

Jaune, continuing his assault on the door: MY MOM’S A LAWYER BY THE WAY! SHE’LL SUE YOUR ASSES, I SWEAR IT! SHE’LL SUE YOUR ASS SO HARD THAT WE’LL GET FINANCIAL CONPENSATION FROM YOUR DAMN GRAND KIDS! *bangs louder* YOU HEAR ME! HELLO.....IM SERIOUS.....nobody can hear me, can they?

Pyrrha: I can hear you.

*Jaune squeaks loudly before getting in a karate stance while turning to see a tall redhead girl around his age with vivid green eyes sitting on a bed*

Jaune, internally: What the fuck?! How long has she been here?!

Pyrrha, awkwardly waving: Hello.

Jaune, awkwardly waving back: Uh..hi.

*an awkward silence fall on the two, with the blonde slightly blushing and the redhead staring at him with interest*

Jaune, internally: Holy shit, she’s pretty. My god, she absolutely stunning. She has got to be the prettiest girl I’ve seen in my li— Wait Wait, Jauney-Boy, you're getting side tracked. What the fuck is going on in here, and why did those guys put me in a room with a very hot girl with really long and smooth legs— GAH, HORMONES THERE ARE MORE IMPORTANT MATTERS TO ATTEND TO!

Pyrrha: *giggles while slightly blushing*

Jaune, terrified:......w-was I t-talking out loud?

Pyrrha: Hmm? Oh no. *smiles teasingly* Why? What were you thinking about?

Jaune, voice cracking: N-nothing. Nothing at— *clears throat* H-hey, I’m Jaune.

Pyrrha, smiling: Pyrrha, charmed.

Jaune, internally: Wow, even her name is pretty.

Pyrrha: *snickers cutely*

*Jaune looks around to see what she’s snickering at to see nothing*

Jaune, shrugging it off: So uhm....they tricked you with the social experiment, huh?

*Pyrrha thinks for a moment, before a coy smile gets plastered on her lips*

Pyrrha: Yeah, you can say something like that.

Jaune: Damn. Who the hell are these people, and you have any idea what they even want from us?

Pyrrha, shaking her head: Your guess is as good as mine.

Jaune, sighing: Great. Isn’t today just wonderful. Should’ve known that offer was too good to be true. *slide his back against the wall until he’s sitting* Teach me not to read documents people tell me to sign.

*MEANWHILE, SOMETIME LATER*

Cinder, sighing: Wow, great plan, Roman. We are learning things about her so fast.

Roman: This takes patience, Cinder.

Cinder, frustrated: The boy haven’t even said anything to her for the past 5 minutes! He’s just sitting his ass on the floor. The boy is socially handicapped!

Roman: That’s not my fault! You're the one who pick him!

Cinder: Well you were the one to make this stupid plan in the first place! How will the boy even ask her about her powers in the first place if he doesn't even know that he needs to ask?!

Roman: Geez, I don't know! How did I know about you being an only child?

Cinder: Be—

Roman: Because I asked you as a curious person who wants to know about my friend! Now believe it or but if I got under the assumption that you started reading my mind, you bet your ass I would ask you about it, especially if I was trapped in a small room with you!

Cinder: But why would SCP-312 answer the question if she knows what we're trying to—

Roman, urgently: Hush! Something's happening!

*MEANWHILE*

Jaune: *has been moving uncomfortably on the floor for the past 5 minutes*

Pyrrha, scooting in her bed: Hey, you wanna sit next to me? The floor looks pretty uncomfortable.

Jaune: Really? You're alright with that?

Pyrrha, smiling warmly: Of course. The bed's large enough. *Pat beside her* Here.

Jaune, slightly blushing: O-oh, Uh, sure then. Thanks.

*Jaune walks over to the bed before sitting down, his cheeks crimsoning*

Pyrrha: There, is that better?

Jaune: Y-yeah. T-thanks.

Pyrrha: Youre welcome:

*Once again the room fall to silence as the boy looks everywhere but at the very attractive girl he's shoulder to shoulder with*

Jaune, internally: God, what's wrong with me?! I just got kidnnapped yet I'm more worried about this super hot girl sitting next to me! I can barely form coherent sentences around her! Damn, my hands are all sweaty too! She's so close! I can feel her body warmth! Just calm down, Jauney. Calm down already. Take a deep breath, and try to strike up a conversation with her. This silence is deafening.

Jaune, taking a deep breath: So, what—

Pyrrha: *Facing Jaune with a warm smile*

Jaune, voice wavering: —y-y-your.......*turns away in embarrassment*

Jaune, internally: For god sake! I can’t get used to that smile! It’s like beautiful personified. God damnit. I need to keep a conversation going, at least until those guys come back! Okay think! What did mom tell me about talking to girls?

A memory starts playing inside Jaune’s head with his mother’s voice: Remember Sweetie, women love wedding rings, but they love babies more.

Jaune, internally:.....is...is that it?! Really?! That’s literally the only advice my mother has ever given more for girls. How the hell is baby propaganda supposed to help me in this situation?! What kinda— okay, calm down. I have another parent. What did dad tell me?

Another memory starts playing in Jaune’s head, this time with his father’s voice: Son, I have absolutely no idea how I managed to make your mother fall for me. I am not the man you should be asking. You’ll probably have a better shot asking the stars that question.

Jaune, internally:.........I’m going to die alone, aren’t I? My parents managed to make the opposite sex so completely alien to me, despite me having 7 sisters! What he actual fuck?! This is an absolute disaster! This can’t get any worst!

*Jaune then remembers one crucial detail of the predicament he’s in*

Jaune, internally: OH GOD! I FORGOT I WAS ALSO KIDNAPPED! WHAT THE FUCK EVEN IS TODAY?! I’M PROBABLY GOING TO DIE IN HERE AND I CANT EVEN STRIKE UP A CONVERSATION WITH THE GIRL WHO WILL POSSIBLY DIE WITH ME! I AM A DISGRACE TO EVERY ARC TO EVER LIVE! I CAN FEEL MY ANCESTORS LOOKING AT ME WITH DISGUST! OH GOD! WHAT THE—

*Suddenly Jaune’s nerves instantly drop and a calm aura surrounds him, almost like it just completely disappeared and got replace with an warm and inviting energy*

Jaune, confused: Huh?

*The weight on Jaune’s hand then became evident, as he looked down and found Pyrrha’s hand gently lying on his, almost reassuringly*

Jaune, slightly blushing:.........

Pyrrha, in soothing tone: So, tell me about yourself.

Jaune, no longer feeling nervous for a reason he doesn’t know why:...........well, I just graduated from college.

*MEANWHILE*

Cinder, frantically: WRITE THAT DOEN, WRITE THAT DOWN!

Roman, equally as frantic: I AM! I AM!

[yoonpobs]

to the touch | pjm

pairing: park jimin x oc (ft. brother yoongi)

genre: mutual pining, fluff, cute crushes, brothers best friend

warnings: JIMIN that's it

words: 5, 216

summary: he's back

“You’re … you’re here?” You squeak and it’s not one of your best moments even if you were sure Yoongi would argue otherwise and that you rarely had average moments, to begin with. But there was something about spontaneity and surprise that threw you off in the worst way possible and made your brain short-circuit to the point where you’re unable to throw coherent thoughts together. And this was definitely a surprise, one that you’d never expected to happen because—

“I am,” Jimin says curtly, tossing you a firm nod of his head when he pushes you aside and steps into your apartment like he’s been year a thousand times. But in reality, it’s his first time standing at your doorstep, first time knocking on your door, and definitely the first step he’s ever had the chance to get a glimpse of how your living room looks like.

You’re still gaping at the entrance with the door open and you’re sure if any of your neighbors were to step out of their homes, they’d just see a lone girl outside that looked a little too unnerved to bother. When you snap out of it and turn your body to face your visitor, he’s already made himself comfortable on your couch and it’s hard to piece together the fact that Jimin was quite in fact in your living room, and lounging on your couch, staring at your television like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“W-What—how?” You croak because there are about ten million different thoughts running through your head but the most pressing one is how Jimin looked … different.

A good difference, for sure. He’s always been handsome and unreasonably so. Especially with the way that he’s dyed his hair back to black and the gentle fluff of how it lays atop his head. You note that he still kept his style despite him going MIA for three years and wore slacks that shaped his legs (and butt) beautifully with a casual shirt tucked into the waistband of his pants. It was unfair how effortlessly good-looking he was on a spontaneous occasion while you looked anything but, especially with your sweats and old tank top.

But Jimin had always been a little hard to read. Terrifying and brassy all at once but never obstructive—although you’d argue that his presence was the obstruction as it is of how distracted you feel whenever he was around you years ago. It’s like you never learned how to accommodate his presence because he happened to fill every space with just his body even if he wasn’t that tall.

“I thought I’d pay a visit. Your brother gave me your address.” He says, finally turning his head to face you, and its still blank like every expression you remember made towards you. You expected nothing more or nothing less than the way he stares you over and makes you feel like the outsider in your own home.

“Yoongi …” You grit, cursing your brother mentally and hoping he’d make use of that stupid sibling telepathy power he claims he has to receive your gripe.

You clear your throat as you awkwardly shuffle closer towards the couch and hover awkwardly by the arm of the sofa to keep your distance. It’s been years and it’s still a little unfamiliar to see Jimin right in front of you, and not someone you kept at the back of your mind.

“You could’ve called …” You say softly while fiddling with your thumbs. Jimin just raises an eyebrow at you and you feel stupid for saying that already.

Some things don’t change and it’s proven when your heart still beats the same when he’s around you. You cursed at yourself for being weak-willed because you thought time would help you get over your silly crush on Jimin but you also long acknowledged the fact that it wasn’t just a crush. It was more.

You hated falling for the cliches of crushing on your brother’s best friend, especially one that was just emotionally reserved and detached ninety percent of the time. The only conversations you remember having with Jimin were the ones that you were blushing at him when he looked at you a little longer than usual, or when he drove you to and from school when Yoongi left for university.

But then he disappeared, without saying goodbye and you only found out from his parents that he got into a dance program abroad and packed his things and left. Obviously, twenty-year-old you was devastated because you somehow convinced yourself that he enjoyed your presence even if he was huffing and puffing every five minutes when you’d fall into a ramble of your own.

He changed his number and he wasn’t a social media person so you had no idea what he was doing or how he was, besides the occasional mention of his name in conversations you had with your brother. It sucked. Majorly. Because you really liked him even if he was cold because you knew that Jimin was a good person. A cold and shitty person wouldn’t pat you on your head before your wisdom teeth extraction and mumble it’s okay if he wasn’t kind.

“The place is nice.” He ignores your statement and glances around your apartment and you feel smaller. You do feel a little relieved that he approved of the place, and you did spend hours browsing through catalogues and going through roommates until you decided that this was perfect. Granted, it was a little pricey but you valued comfort and a decent workplace to really get you motivated.

“Thank you.” You mumble, still shifting on the balls of your feet and Jimin just raises an eyebrow at your impersonal stance. You know he wouldn’t point it out because he wasn’t that kind of guy, but his face often spoke for him so you swallowed all the concerns you had and took a seat at the edge of the sofa, as far away from him as possible.

“Do you live alone?” He asks. You’re about to respond but he doesn’t let you.

“It’s dangerous if you do. Do you really just answer the door for anyone without checking who it is? You’ll get yourself into some serious trouble if you aren’t careful.” He chides you.

You want to scoff at him because you were an adult and you’ve learnt a few things along the road to adulthood. Jimin was always a little on edge most of the time and you knew he was just bad at expressing his emotions so you never faulted him for it. But now, you were a little older and not as naive—but unfortunately still very much into him.

“God Jimin, it’s fine—”

The door opens and both your heads immediately turn to the source, and Jimin is sharp with his movements and you try to not allow your heart to flutter when he tugs you closer to him and hides your body with his own as if he thought it was an intruder. But you knew better, so you knew it was—

“Tae. You’re back early.” You greet your roommate who only eyes the man on the couch who has you situated behind him like he was your personal shield. His bag is tugged over his shoulder and you see a few of his art supplies threatening to fall out so you hop off the couch to help him with his belongings, and Jimin’s gaze just burns harder onto the back of your skull.

When you’re close enough, Taehyung leans in and gives a brief glance over at Jimin who is still piercing him with a fierce gaze.

“Why is your booty call staring at me like I’ve murdered ten kittens?” Taehyung whisper yells and you glare at him, pinching his hip because just because he thought he was being quiet didn’t mean that he could easily get rid of his naturally loud voice.

“That is not my booty call!” You respond equally as agitated, “That’s … Jimin.”

Taehyung’s eyes bulge out of his socket when he looks over your shoulder once more to still see Jimin glaring at the two of you.

“Why is he so fucking scary? You said he was nice!” Taehyung hisses.

“He is nice!” You weakly defend, “He’s just … scary looking?”

You know it doesn’t convince Taehyung because he’s sighing and dropping his belongings to the floor, offering Jimin as sincere of a smile as he can muster even though you’re fully aware that he’s terrified of the man on your living room couch.

“Hi! I didn’t know _____ was having guests over. I’m Taehyung.” He smiles brightly at said guest but Jimin just blinks at his cordiality and then looks over to you.

“Is he your boyfriend?” The question throws you off guard and you can tell that Taehyung even more terrified when Jimin completely ignores his presence even though he was the tallest person in the room.

You splutter for a response even if the answer to that was obvious. But Jimin had a shitty way of interrogating people, even if it probably would work in legal settings because he was just terrifying enough for you to stumble over your words and make you look guiltier than you were.

“Unfortunately not.” Taehyung thinks he’s saving you when he lightly jokes with Jimin. And you want to facepalm because Jimin was aloof and impartial to everything, and had horrible skills of reading the room because you were sure that Jimin thought that Taehyung wanted to get in your pants.

“Tae, would you excuse us for a second?” You smile stiffly at Taehyung who is quick to oblige as he darts into his room.

Jimin now has his arms folded across his chest in a manner that makes him look more hostile, but you knew him well enough that you suppose he just had a lot of questions.

“Did you really have to be like that?” You ask irritably as Jimin scoffs at you.

“Please, do enlighten me. All I did was ask you a simple question, which you couldn’t even answer. What was that about?” Jimin responds equally as displeased but you had so many questions and you didn’t need to deal with his mini tantrum right now, especially between the walls of your own home.

“Don’t turn this on me! You turned up to my house unannounced after three years of no contact and you expect me to bend at your will? What do you take me for? A puppet?” You retaliate with petulancy and you can tell Jimin is slowly getting more annoyed by the second but won’t blow up just yet. Or probably because you had another person in the house.

“Am I not allowed to visit?” Jimin raises an eyebrow.

You scoff at his audacity because Jimin was seriously so bad at reading emotions. You weren’t even sure why you liked him but your heart never made reasonable decisions for you.

“We haven’t spoken in years, Jimin!” You throw your hands in the air, “I didn’t even know where you were or what you were doing because you disappeared like you were running away from a crime!”

“Did I need to update you on my whereabouts?” You know his question is genuine even though it was posed a little rough and you want to pull at your hair because obviously, you wanted to know! Jimin was the person you spent the most time with, outside of school, and one day he wasn’t anymore.

“Of course! I thought we were—I thought … why did you just disappear?” For some reason, it was hard to say that you and Jimin were friends either because the only reason why he’d ever tolerate you in the first place was that he was a good friend to Yoongi and you were just someone that came with it by association. He never outwardly said that he hated spending time with you but he never said he enjoyed it either.

Jimin raises an eyebrow and stands up, and you notice that he still towers over you. He walks towards you slowly, and you feel all the hotter under his intense scrutiny that you just want to retreat to your bedroom and forget this ever happened.

“You don’t need to know.” He says and you feel yourself deflate, “I wanted to visit because your brother’s worried about you.”

The confession just annoys you because you knew to a certain extent that Jimin wouldn’t be here from … wherever he was … if it was only for your brother. He had to give a shit somewhere deep down in him enough to make an effort to get your address from your brother, then turn up on your doorstep unannounced with his usual impassioned stare.

“Oh fuck off, will you? I’m not a little girl anymore. I can take care of myself.” You bite back.

Jimin shoots you an unimpressed stare at your snappishness and he won't lie and say that he was pleasantly surprised to see you after a long time. You were always pretty, in an unconventional way, he supposes. You never made an effort to look nice but just did with the way you approached life, even when you were younger. But now that you were standing in front of him with a bite that you didn't have when he left, he's intrigued.

"You weren't so rude before I left." He smirks at you.

His gaze also makes you burn and you avoid his eyes when it searches for yours. You hate that his tone makes you feel funny and that you wanted him to be a little mean.

"Yeah, well—that's what happens when you don't see someone after three years with no contact or notice. They change. They get a little annoyed because someone is just too emotionally constipated to ever make any effort to keep in touch." You narrow your eyes at him.

"Why are you throwing a hissy fit? Needed me to keep you company?" He prompts.

You flush but still glare at him.

"Whatever, Jimin. I just would've appreciated it if you called. Or at least have done something to let me know that you were alive." You mutter.

Somehow, he's managed to cage you in with his body against the back of the sofa, and your breath hitches when you feel his broad chest pressed on yours. You didn't realise it happened until he places his arms by your side, effectively leaving you with no room to leave. You gulp because this is the closest you've ever been to Jimin and you feel dizzy. He smells fresh like laundry and flowers. It's a huge juxtaposition to his demeanour, but he smells good and you want to nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck.

"Why would I? You're Yoongi's sister. Not my girlfriend." He smirks.

You huff and roll your eyes. The reminder stings a little and you know he's baiting you.

"So? Were we not at least friends?" You snap.

He wants to laugh because you're obviously annoyed at the casual way he referred to you as Yoongi's little sister. You're frowning but attempting to pretend that it didn't bother you.

Jimin would be lying if he said he was never interested. Because he was, undoubtedly so. But back then when you were still navigating your way at the beginning of adulthood with Yoongi constantly breathing down his neck, he would have never done anything to compromise his friendship with your brother; or lead you on. But now you were standing in front of him, soft and sweet with a little edge to you that draws him in.

"Do you usually have crushes on your friends?" He pushes.

Your eyes widen and snap up to look at his teasing expression. His smirk is apparent against the rest of his face and you feel absolutely mortified that he's so close to you when he called you out.

"W-What? A crush? I didn't have a crush on you!" You rebuff him with a stuttery voice and you weakly try to push him away.

But he locks you in position with his hands around your wrist as he leans down and crowds you further with his presence.

"You didn't?" He feigns hurt, then he pulls away abruptly and you're immediately chasing his warmth, "Shame. I would've liked that a lot."

You gape at him when he shuffles away, putting some distance between the two of you as he dusts his hands on his slacks, giving you a curt smile; one that never reached his eyes but that was still Jimin being friendly.

"Y-You what ...?" You squeak.

Jimin shrugs and walks towards your door and you're half-terrified and half-relieved at the prospect of him leaving. But you're more terrified because you don't know if you'll ever see him again and with your current interaction you don't think you'll ever get over him.

"Usually a cute girl crushing on me would be a huge ego boost ... but you didn't, so ..." He trails off.

You bite your lips as you play with your hands. You know he's teasing you and you didn't know when he's gotten so forward, or good at this game. But you suppose Jimin has always been charming too, even if he was bad at emotions. He was good at playing them. And the way he rakes his eyes over your body only to bite his lip makes you burn in want.

He's about to turn the knob of your door but you reach out to grab his wrist before your mind can tell you it's a bad idea.

"W-What if I ... what if I ..." You mumble, hands wrapped loosely around his wrist as he turns around, leaning against the door the way boys do that was super hot for no reason.

"Speak up, bunny."

The nickname only makes you blush harder because it reminded you of all the times he's ever called you that stupid childhood nickname that somehow followed you up until adulthood. But you had to admit the way that Jimin uses it makes you feel ...warm. Like you want him to call you bunny for whatever reason he does so.

"WhatifIdid ...?" You mutter quickly and softly that Jimin leans in to get a better listen, also prompting you to speak louder.

"Couldn't hear you." He sing-songs.

You grit your teeth and swallow your pride because even after three years, you were soft and pliant for Park Jimin even if he was hot to the touch. You just wanted to please him.

"What if I did?" You say a little louder, braver, with determined eyes, "What if I did have a crush on you?"

He grins at you in Jimin fashion that was still a little reserved but warm because you knew him. You knew that was what he wanted to hear. So, he rests his body against the door and gestures his finger in a come-hither motion to get you to step closer, which you oblige. It should've been offensive that he could summon you so easily, but Jimin was a lot of things but he would never take advantage of your passiveness.

"I don't know. What would you have done if I hadn't left? Play friends? Family maybe?" He teases.

You scrunch your nose at the prospect of playing family with him because you've heard that phrase way too many times. Your parents at one point kept on saying how you had two older brothers instead of one because Jimin was always there, but they were blissfully unaware of your crush and the way you'd frown at the suggestion.

"We would've hung out more ..." You mumble.

Jimin snorts but cocks his head for you to continue.

"What's the point of this?" You huff, shutting your eyes when you can feel his gaze on you.

"You tell me. You were the one with the crush."

You want to correct him and say am the one with the crush, but you bite your tongue.

"You're the one who wants to know." You respond with indignation.

He chuckles, low and deep before he tilts your chin upwards with his index finger.

"You're still a little girl, aren't you ______?" You think it's the first time Jimin has called your name the entire time he's been here and you almost whine with the sultry look he's giving you.

Jimin applauds his self-control because you were a sight to behold. Even if you were in sweats and a tank, with your glasses drooping slightly down your nose and tangled hair, you still were so appealing even if you didn't know. You looked comfortable, homey and it did make Jimin burn with an ugly monster to know that 'Tae' could see you like this daily.

"Am not." You growl, but he only thinks you look like an angry bunny.

"You are. You don't know how to ask for things, hm?" He hums, tracing a finger up your jaw to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I so do know how to ask for things that I want. I do it all the time." You retort petulantly like you had a point to prove but Jimin only chuckles darkly.

"Then what do you want right now?"

Jimin's question is expected but it also throws you off-guard.

"R-Right n-now?" You stutter.

He tuts as if he expected your bewildered and shocked expression.

"When else but now, bunny?" He whispers as his gaze has you locked in a trance when your eyes dart to his lips when he drags his tongue over it. You're entrapped in him because his mouth suddenly looked really inviting.

"I really wanna ..." You mumble, ears flushing a pretty shade of red and you lean into Jimin's hand when he cradles your cheek gently.

Jimin was capable of being gentle, even though he chose not to. But he never was, though there was something about you that made his territorial, made him want to fight. He didn't know when he started feeling this way but he supposed it was a flurry of emotions and the accumulation of the times he's spent with you throughout the years. Three years didn't do him justice and only made him think of you more. He knew he was hard to read, and frankly even harder to understand. Jimin also knew that you were fully aware of this fact. But that didn't deter you in trying to get to know him, to prick yourself against all his edges that were harder to accept.

You were sweet and naive, a type of person that Jimin would usually scoff at. But your one-dimensional and idealistic view of the world was fresh to him, even if that meant you were living in your head most of the time. It never took away from the fact that you were kind and understanding. The type of person that cracked all of Jimin's harshness made him want to try.

But it didn't mean he wasn't going to have his fun. He liked seeing you like this, gentle and warm, close to him as you look at him with a hazy expression.

"Wanna do what?" He prods, reaching his hand to the back of your hair to tug your face closer to his, but maintaining enough distance to prompt you to make the first move.

Jimin would do it. But he wanted to be sure that you wanted this, and not the idea of him. Sure, he was giving you hints and nudging you, but he also was aware of the fact that you'd never say or do anything that you didn't want. You were always clear-cut about this type of thing.

"You know ... that ... thing ..." You mumble, shifting on your feet as he glances down to your face.

You still looked unsure, but you leaned into his hold regardless, and Jimin took that as a good sign. You just need a little push.

"You know I'm not that bright. You need to tell me, bunny." He says gently.

You can't stop the small whimper in the back of your throat at the nickname and it's taking everything in Jimin's willpower to not take you against this wall. He would, but you deserved sweet things and he wanted to try be that for you.

"I ... I wanna ..." You whisper, "Wanna ... kiss you."

You clutch his t-shirt in his hands and when you glance up he's grinning widely as if he's won the lottery.

He nods his head ever so softly, and you take that as a cue to lean in.

When you do kiss him, you already feel your knees buckling because it's like everything you dreamed and more. Jimin was the right amount of assertive and gentle that makes you chase his mouth even if you were pressed up against him. He takes the lead eventually when his hand cups your jaw to angle your mouth deeper into his, and your body flush against his.

You feel like a teenager again having your first kiss, but it may as well be because you've always wondered what it was like to share your first kiss with Jimin back in high school.

"Is that all?" He whispers against your lips, but before you can respond—

"Oh fuck, I'm sorry!" You hear Taehyung squeak and that makes you pull away from Jimin, highly embarrassed to be caught making out with him against your door like a horny teenager.

You want to curse at Taehyung but he's already ducking into the kitchen before you can get any words out.

Jimin doesn't look affected, if anything, he looks pleased. The moment you shared a clear testament of who you belonged to and Jimin loved the fact of people knowing it was him.

When you look at Jimin, you're equally parts flushed from the kiss but giddy too. You give him a shy smile, and Jimin just chuckles lowly at your bashfulness.

"I'll see you around, ______," Jimin smirks at you when he reaches for the doorknob to leave. You follow him out, wanting a little more privacy even if it was in the hallway of your apartment complex.

When Jimin steps out and with you behind him, you swing on your feet as he observes your next actions. You clear your throat, even though you were confused and glad—because that was the closest thing you could get from Jimin that was affection so you'd take it.

"So ... what does this ..." You mumble, before shaking your head.

Jimin raises an eyebrow.

"What did I say about asking for what you want?" He berates you as if he was speaking to a child, but his tone is still curt and a little detached, but very like Jimin. You know that it's him and you like that anyways.

"Don't make me say it ... it's already embarrassing as it is ..." You whine, burying your head into his t-shirt.

Jimin welcomes the sudden closeness and pats you softly on the head. It's a little stiff because he still isn't used to physical affection that wasn't 'intimate', but he did say he would try for you.

"Again: I'm not that bright." He teases.

You roll your eyes, but then bite your lips when you see he's waiting for a response.

"... what does this mean for us?" You ask softly.

Jimin smiles at you and decides to grant you a gentle kiss to your forehead. A kiss that was so domestic and soft that you feel your heart soar.

"Check your phone." Is all he says when he waves you goodbye, as you stare at him dumbly, heart still fluttering and cheeks burning.

When you return back into your home, you lean against your door as you press a hand to your chest to feel the way your heart beats rapidly against it. You feel weak in the knees but so blissful that you let out a squeal into the palm of your hands.

Once you've calmed down, and offered Taehyung a look that said you'll explain later—you rush to check your phone, only to smile at what lies on the screen.

Unknown Number [17:21]: hi bunny

Unknown Number [17:21]: save my contact

Unknown Number [17:21]: make sure that when people see it they'll know you're mine

Unknown Number [17:22]: see you soon

Unknown Number [17:22]: if you're still a little slow ... it's jimin

Unknown Number [17:25]: ❤️

You notice the heart emoji was sent a few minutes after the rest of his texts, which showed you that he may have contemplated whether or not to send it. You feel your heart flutter, as you plop back onto your bed, a wide grin splaying on your face.

extra scene

"I'm sorry ... what?" Yoongi chokes on the piece of meat he just shoved into his mouth as he stares at his best friend in the face as if he'd grown another head. But as usual, he seemed to only attract people that were vastly similar to him, and Jimin's face is unreadable as ever. But Yoongi knows he's serious and not fucking around because he's looking intently at the older boy for a response.

"So?" Jimin says casually, leaning into his seat and Yoongi needs to chug down a glass of water to ensure that the food goes down all the way before he can say anything to the question Jimin just posed him with.

"You want my sister's address ... to ... I'm sorry, correct me if I'm wrong but I had a fall and I may have a concussion so I don't know if I'm hearing things right," Yoongi deadpans but Jimin just rolls his eyes at the older one's dramatics before nodding his head for him to continue.

"You want her address to ... confess to her?" Yoongi says hesitantly and Jimin nods his head as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

But it wasn't. Because as long as Yoongi's known Jimin, he's been all detached and broody, uninterested in everything and everyone. He's never shown the slightest interest in anyone and usually opted for casual hookups than actual relationships so clearly, Yoongi is a little skeptical.

"Are you okay?" Yoongi asks baffled.

Jimin nods, folding his arms across his chest.

"Yes. I went for a medical check-up that day and my doctor said he's never seen results as impeccable as mine." Jimin says blandly.

Yoongi scoffs.

"You're just not ... the dating type, you know? Much less ... with my sister?" It sounds weird to even Yoongi's ears. He grew out of his childish mindset and had no problem with Jimin dating you, but it was still weird to see his best friend showing interest in you.

"I like her. And I respect you. Which is why I came to you before I did anything."

Yoongi gapes at his best friend, who looks much softer than he usually does.

"Wow ... I just ..." Yoongi exhales, "Damn."

Jimin offers a small smile before gesturing to their food.

"At least we can really be brothers now." Yoongi jokes, sliding a piece of paper with your address on it to Jimin.

Jimin smiles fondly at the paper before tucking it into his shirt jacket.

The image of you in white, smiling and looking only at him drives him to see you the next day.

[cyber-searcherao3]

Hermit Tommy: Mycelium War

@petrichormeraki have some more hermit Tommy. Honestly I wanna see how he’d deal with the whole Resistance vs HEP

Everyone found it funny that both blonde gremlins who wore read and loved pranks got along so well. Grian himself always felt a bit of humble thankfulness in the fact that Tommy was willing to open himself up to him first. It was a lot; there were so many battles, countless scars and deaths that the kid had to endure on his home server. But Tommy was making progress.

Though every so often, he’d be faced with a hard reminder that this sort of thing doesn’t change easily. Be it overnight or weeks.

Grian found Tommy inside their base for the Mycelium Resistance, leaning against the stone pen and feeling sheaves of grain to the sheep dressed in suits. He saw the other blonde perk up - shoulders stiffened, hand hovering over his axe - before he turned and grinned when Grian smiled back.

“Oh thank fuck, this is the actual base.” He sighed. “Still can’t believe I-man made an entire goddamn replica of this place. You’re all nuts.”

Grian leaned beside him, staying comfortably out of arm's reach. “Hey, us nutty nuts need to stick together.”

His joke was the perfect instance for an innuendo and Tommy’s knew it. “We’re a buncha’ sticky nuts then?”

“Pft, absolutely. The stickiest of nuts.”

The two laugh. Grian tentatively raises a wing and waits for Tommy to lean into it. Grian was more than happy to let the kid swear and make lewd jokes. It was better than the destructive trolling he had only just begun to dial back on.

“How’s the war goin’ G-man?” Tommy asked. His shoulders were still slightly tense.

“Don’t worry, they haven’t found us yet. And I think I’ve found a way to counteract their wolves.”

“Fire?”

“No.” Grian snorted despite himself. “Llamas actually. They scare off the wolves so they don’t hurt the sheep.”

“So we need those furry, long necked fucks to save the other furry fucks?” Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Fire’s still faster.”

“Yea but wait till you try leading one of those jerks. It’s the worst. Worse than working with villagers sometimes.”

The teen sighed, stringing out an impressive string of curses that nearly made his ears bleed. Grian asked for some grain to play with the sheep until he felt Tommy flinch under his wing. He pulled the limb back and saw his fingers gripping the handle of his axe.

“Somethings exploding above us.” Tommy bolted down the hall and Grain followed, panicked at the shaky tone in his voice.

He wasn’t sure how Tommy sensed it, but soon Grian heard it too. The growing sound of TNT blasts grew closer and Tommy was already in a fighting stance.

“Don’t panic. Someone’s probably just mining or maybe it’s Decked Out.” Grian tried to soothe him.

Tommy said nothing. In his offhand, he was already holding his axe.

The next explosion made Grian jump as a hole was blown through the concrete. Scar peeked his head through, his eyes wide with surprise and success. Near the back, the builder though he saw Bdubs running beside him.

“Wait, Mumbo?” Grian realized. “Why are you with them? Wh - the mycelium! Emergency meeting!”

He slammed the button, nearly breaking the wood with the pressure.

“Grian!”

“Tommy don’t w - “

His words were stolen when he suddenly found himself stuck in the stasis pods and dropping onto the table. Everyone else landed in a messy sprawl, knocking over chairs with dazed expressions.

“They found us!” He shouted. “Get the mycelium! Go! Go!”

Everyone else was yelling, but they couldn’t help but smile at the surprise of Scar finally finding their secret base.

Grian turned to fly back to the vaults - back in the direction of the break in - but paused when he saw the hall lined with scattered tools.

Tommy was duling Bdubs and Mumbo, the former barely able to hold his sword with his other arm broken in a gruesome angle and a bruise forming over his right eye. Scar was already dead and there was a small web of cracks against the ground and a red stain.

The teen dodged a messy swipe from the redstoner, elbowed his chest and swung at his neck.

There was a thin splash of blood on the white concrete before Mumbo burst into smoke and dropped all his tools.

Grian threw himself forward just as Tommy slammed Bdubs to the ground and pinned him by the neck. He raised his axe just as the other blonde grabbed his arm.

The man wrestled to try and loosen his grip. “Tommy! Wait! Wait, it’s not a real war!”

He may have outweighed the teen by at least a dozen kilograms, but Tommy knew how to fight and he fought dirty. He smashed his forehead into his nose and Grian knew it was broken. His mouth soon filled with iron and he barely remembered to duck as Tommy swung his axe again.

The builder caught flashes of his eyes between messy parries and slices through his shirt; anger made them glow like hollowed glass housing a candle.

“I’m Grian, Tommy! My name’s Grian.” He shouted, moving back towards the main meeting room.

The next swing caught his wing. Pain flared down his shoulder and down his spine, knocking him to his knees as he dropped his sword.

A bright red, yellow and blue feather spun to the ground between him. Grian leaned heavily against one of the chairs, heaving his breath as Tommy slowly lowered his axe. It clattered to the ground, sharp and echoing into the silence.

“Ph - Grian?” He sounded terrified.

“It’s me. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

He extended his good wing out, trying to keep it from shaking as pain still coursed down his back. He held out his arms and caught the boy as he fell, clutching his jumper and hyperventilating.

“Breath with me. Just breathe with me Tommy. In. Out.” Grian rubbed his hands down his armoured back. “Just breath.”

He thumbed them straps for a moment, but decided against it when he felt Tommy press harder into his chest.

“ Don’t worry. You don’t need to keep fighting. You’re safe here. I’m here.”

[winter-soldier-vibes]

What’s going on with you? (Bucky x reader)

What is going on with you?

Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 2633

Warnings: Purging, restricting, depression, anxiety

Summary: the reader is a part of the avengers, and has an eating disorder. It used to be worse, but whenever she feels like she makes a mistake r gets into an argument, she slips up. Bucky discovers this one day and tries to help her.

A/N: It has BEEN A BIT. I am home for the semester, and therefore have much more time. I should be able to write more, but I don’t want to get overwhelmed. I’ll make a separate post about what happened. Take care of yourselves!

You stood up on shaky legs, leaning against the sink for support. Your heart was still racing and your head was pounding. You flushed the toilet and looked in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes, tear-stained face, and sweat-slicked skin. You looked like you were sunburned and had just had an intense crying session. That or something much more likely.

You looked like you had just been throwing up. Which was the case.

You sighed as you turned on the water, cold. It helped with the redness. You washed your hands first, then cupped them to bring to your face. Ideally, you would shower, but you were too exhausted for that right now. Plus, you had a meeting to get to and this round of purging had taken longer than you had anticipated. Damn pasta nearly choked you on its way back up.

It was methodical. Wash your hands, then your face, make sure your eyes aren’t as bloodshot. Blow your nose 20 times, stick your face in a towel and sigh, take your hair down and make it look more presentable, like when you had come in. finally, when everything is presentable, spray the air freshener and practice your fake smile.

God, you hated this.

You tried to stop. It wasn’t like you enjoyed puking your guts out. But you felt like your say in the matter was long gone.

You either didn’t eat anything or ate and vomited everything. 

Thankfully, no one had picked up on it yet.

You sighed again as you turned off the lights and exited the bathroom. You felt lighter and calmer, although your heart was still racing. Family dinner with the Avengers is always the worst. No excuses to miss, no reasons to not eat, therefore, you just had to take care of it after.

Usually, it wouldn’t have been too bad - you hadn’t eaten anything in days aside from a few apples. But you had fucked up. You were sparring in the gym with Natasha and you kept missing your mark. You were weaker, unable to focus.

God knows why.

Nonetheless, it was a horrible training session and you got your ass beat. Not just normal Natasha-Romanoff-beats-everyone beat, but if-this-was-real-you-would-have-killed-me beat.

Not that that was too undesirable at the moment.

See, usually, you were able to just get away with not eating without trying too hard. But whenever you made a mistake, you felt that urge. You wanted to just eat everything. You don’t know why or where it came from, but you just wanted to eat everything in sight. Just so you could barf it up along with all your negative feelings about yourself.

You had tried to get over your issues with food for so long and it never really worked out. You had gone to therapy and hospitals as a teenager and they would always give up on you. The hospital staff knew your name by looking at you, you were the revolving door patient. Any discharge and goodbye really meant see you at your next admission when you relapse in a few weeks.

It wasn’t really about you recovering. It was about keeping you alive until your next relapse. 

It was better now. You used to be skin and bones, on the verge of dying. Then you started eating and vomiting your feelings. Now you were a healthy weight, no matter how much you tried to lose it. You missed being skin and bones. You wanted to get over this, but you wanted to be thin first. 

You weren’t dying but you weren’t living either. Your eating disorder was better but still was the silent shadow on your life. The only difference was now no one saw it or asked about it. So when you went longer without eating or purged more times, no one noticed. Because no one realized there was something to notice.

You didn’t think it would get better so you stopped hoping it would. You stopped trying. You were an adult now, so you were free to make your own choices. No parents or therapists in your way.

You made it into the common area, where Steve and Bucky were waiting. There were a couple of empty chairs - one for you and one for Sam. you had a mission briefing, and since it was urgent you would be leaving tonight. 

Great. 

You sat down - well, you more fell into your chair - and leaned back and closed your eyes. Bucky, who sat next to you, turned your way slightly and laughed nervously. 

“You okay there, doll?”

You opened your eyes and turned towards him. “Just a little tired I guess. Haven’t been sleeping well.”

Bucky chuckled. “You and me both.” He laughed a little, but you knew it was a touchy subject. Nightmares would keep Bucky up for days on end, and the dark circles under his eyes right now told you this week had been relentless for him. 

Steve, ever the one to care about his team, inquired, “Are you okay to do this mission y/n? I can get someone else if you need to -”

“I’m good Cap. Really, I’m fine.” you interrupted, sitting up and flashing a fake smile. 

He smirked a little. “There you are.”

Bucky was a little less convinced. “You sure you’re -”

At that moment Sam burst in and sat down. Steve perked up. “Finally. Alright, everyone’s here, let’s start.”

You caught the first few things that Steve said but began to zone out. You couldn’t focus. You kept your eyes on the files in front of you, but it looked like an entirely different language to you. You pretended to read but your eyes just glossed over the pages and pictures. All you knew was it was a HYDRA base you were going to. But that was a given.

Bucky shook you out of your trance, only for you to realize everyone else had left. You looked at him and he furrowed his brows together. “You sure you’re alright? You totally spaced out.”

You laughed. “Yeah, I’m good, sorry. Just tired I guess!” you said lightly, hoping he didn’t hear the nerves in your voice. You stood up and your vision went black for a few moments, so you leaned on the chair with one hand. 

Bucky was by your side in an instant. “I don’t think you’re fine. What’s going on?”

You shooed him off of you and flashed him another bright (fake) smile. “It happens all the time, I swear. It’s fine.” and before Bucky could protest you walked away to get ready to leave. 

You knew you should eat something. You’d only kept down a few apples in the past few days. But you were doing so well, and you didn’t have time to purge should you eat too much. You felt like you were about to pass out though…..

No

You shook the thought out of your head. You had gone longer on less food doing more exercise before. You would be fine.

You put on your uniform and went to the roof to get into the quinjet. Bucky was there as well, Steve up at the front getting ready to pilot. Once again, you were waiting for Sam. no surprise there.

You flashed a small smile to Bucky, and he gave you one back, but you could see the concern on his face. Silence was all there was aside from Steve up at the front. After a few awkward minutes, Sam came jogging in, and with that, you were off. 

“Shouldn’t take too long,” Steve called from the front. “It should just be a small base.”

*skip to the battlefield*

Boy, was Steve wrong. 

You hadn’t known what to expect, but from what Steve said (and how everyone was fighting), it was well over double what they had anticipated. You were with Bucky and Sam was with Steve, everyone fighting HYDRA agents on all fronts. Luckily, they were taking all of the hits. For now. 

As you were fighting, stars swam through your vision. You kept shaking your head trying to reorient yourself, but you were starting to get nervous. Your offensive and defensive moves were both delayed and weaker than usual. Bucky was covering your ass and both of you knew it. 

When all fronts were secured Bucky turned to you, slightly angry but also concerned. “What the hell is going on with you?”

You were panting and your heart was racing. Widened your stance nonchalantly to try and regain some balance, and placed your hands on your hips. “I don’t know…..What you mean…” you said between breaths. 

“You could’ve gotten us both killed! You’re lucky we didn’t all split up y/n. I don’t know what’s gotten into you!” 

You swallowed thickly and blinked back the tears. You tried to speak again, but your mouth went dry and you couldn’t speak. You saw Bucky’s eyes widen as he saw your face go white. He reached his arms out just in time as your knees gave out and you were unconscious.

He didn’t hesitate to pick you up and carry you back to the quinjet. Over the coms, he said “Something’s wrong with y/n. I’m bringing her back to the quinjet.”

Steve immediately asked, “What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know but she’s unconscious.”

A pause.

“Stay with her, Sam and I will finish this.”

Bucky laid you down across a few seats and scanned your body for injuries. Maybe a HYDRA agent had sliced you somewhere he hadn’t seen. But he found nothing and didn’t know what to think. No injuries, just a racing heartbeat, a white face, and shallow breathing.

And he was fucking terrified.

He’d never said anything, but the super-soldier had quite the feelings for you. He was always too shy, feeling damaged, and like he didn’t deserve you. He didn’t want to hurt you but what he didn’t realize was you were hurting yourself more than he ever could. 

And he still didn’t know. 

You came to after a few minutes, disoriented. You looked around and your eyes fell on Bucky, who sighed in relief. You tried to sit up but Bucky gently but firmly pushed you back down.

“What happened?” you asked groggily

“You passed out y/n.” he deadpanned

Your eyes widened. Shit…

“Does that also happen ‘all the time?’ Or is there something else going on?” he asked firmly, still worried about you but you mistook it for anger.

You felt tears prick your eyes and your face heated up with shame and embarrassment. You put a hand over your face, hiding your eyes. “I’m fine, Buck,” you said, but your voice cracked and you knew you didn’t sound convincing at all. 

“To hell you are! What the fuck is going on with you?” he nearly yelled, causing you to flinch. Bucky softened a little, and you started letting out small sobs, shoulders shaking. Bucky helped you sit up and pulled you into an embrace, hushing you and rubbing your back. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” you kept mumbling and Bucky just held you tighter. 

He was terrified. He had a feeling that something was wrong but he didn’t know it was something this bad. He didn’t even know what was wrong yet. “Please, y/n. Tell me what’s wrong. I just wanna help you.”

You shrugged. “No one can help me anymore.”

Bucky stiffened at your words, oh too familiar to his own thinking. But what could possibly have you feeling that way? You were the kindest person he had ever met. What could have you feeling so down? “Please tell me what’s going on y/n.”

You opened and closed your mouth a few times, unable to find the words to say. “I just...Sometimes I….and it’s just hard…..I don’t know what…” you exhaled, unable to form a coherent thought. After taking a few deep breaths, you closed your eyes and tried again. “I throw up sometimes.”

Bucky pulled back and looked you in the eyes with concern. “Are you sick? Why didn’t you say something, we could have brought you to medical -”

“It’s not like that Buck.” you cut him off and looked to the side. “Not exactly.”

He furrowed his brows and cocked his head. Why would you be throwing up if you weren’t sick?

You took another deep breath. “It’s a long story, and it’s depressing and I’m sorry. It’s just...I hate myself and I just need to lose weight and I’ve done this my whole life and I try to be healthy and sometimes I don’t eat for days and then I eat and I can’t stop and then I hate myself more and then I just need to get rid of it and I throw up and I can’t stop and ithurtstobadijustneedittostop-”

“Hey hey, breath…” Bucky said as he pulled you in, and you realized how you were hyperventilating. You tried to calm down and focus on Bucky’s heartbeat, trying to follow his forced deep breathing patterns. After a few minutes you felt yourself calming down. Still locked in his embrace, Bucky began to ask questions softly.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Since I was a teenager.”

“Why did it start?”

“‘Dunno.”

Some silence passed between you. 

“When was the last time you ate?”

Silence. 

You sighed. “Technically a few hours ago, but I didn’t keep it down.” you said softly. “Before that an apple a couple days ago.”

You felt him inhale sharply and swallow, wrapping his hands around you a little tighter. “Y/n…”

“I know, I try to stop I really do but it’s so hard.” you said, voice cracking and fresh tears filling your eyes. 

More silence passed between the two of you. Eventually Bucky took a deep breath before asking, “Can I try and help you?”

You let out a dry laugh. “I’ve tried getting help for years Buck… It never really sticks. It never gets better. I stopped hoping that it would.”

Bucky’s heart shattered. He’d never seen you so defeated before. And it scared him how much you sounded like his own thoughts surrounding his nightmares. “It can always get better doll. Please don’t stop trying. Please, let me help you. Talk to me, talk to any of us...But you can’t keep doing this to yourself. You passed out y/n, and it could get a lot worse...I can’t watch you do that to yourself. I care to much about you. We all do.”

You looked up at him. “You sure you wanna get involved in this? I don’t want to disappoint you.”

He smiled back at you. “You could never disappoint me with this. You’re trying your best, that’s all I can ask for.”

You smiled a little, still skeptical but nodded anyways. Maybe he really could help you. Maybe things could get better. 

And it was hard. There were days you slipped up, days you broke dishes, snapped at Bucky, locked yourself in your room, and found yourself bent over the toilet again. But there were also days that you couldn’t stop laughing, you enjoyed movie nights with the team, and family dinners weren’t so hard. It was a long journey, but that was exactly it - there wasn’t a destination. It was all a process. One that you had help with now. And you wouldn’t trade that for anything.

[starbuckie]

𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤

challenge: time travel challenge by @justagirlinafandomworld​

prompt: “we’re divorced?” 

pairing: sirius black x reader

words: 5.7k words

warnings: FOURTH WALL BREAK!!(sorry im very excited about that), lots of angst, almost smut(hehe), sirius lowkey has a breeding kink, sirius is an asshole for a bit, the smallest bit of fluff, fix-it, and the same time travel theory as back to the future

summary: an unnatural occurrence lets a woman go back in time to try and change everything she’s known for the past twenty years.

a/n: wow, i normally don’t write for harry potter so this was a nice change. anyways, this is for yvette’s time travel writing challenge, and everybody say HAPPY BIRTHDAY YVETTE! i’m so sorry this is late, it got deleted and i needed to re-edit, but i truly appreciate your friendship and your lovely, amazingly beautiful self, and I’m so so glad that we became friends :)  this fic is not beta-read at all, so if you see any mistakes tell me, but otherwise i really hope you enjoy this fic<3

main masterlist || harry potter masterlist

It still wasn’t over. After all she had lost, more specifically everyone she had lost, and the shitty cycle that she had to call her life, it still wasn’t over. The people she had watched the life drain from, the screams of those suffering from the loss caused by the Dark Lord, and yet life still hadn’t had its fill of torturing Y/N. Grimmauld Place felt empty without the kids, without the Weasleys, but they had gone back to their home and soon enough she would have to as well. Harry had gone back to Hogwarts with Dumbledore, though she’d argued to hold onto him just a bit longer after-

After Sirius had died. 

Time had passed, maybe two or three weeks, but no matter what the woman couldn’t bring herself to get out of Sirius’ old bedroom, simply staring at the ceiling with her tears at bay. Her and Sirius had been a complicated thing, to say the least, a topic nobody had brought up since 1983, when she had banned it. Not as if there was much to talk about after the divorce and Sirius going to Azkaban. After Lily and James had died, after she had fought with Dumbledore for custody of Harry, after she had become a professor at Beauxbatons and moved to France without a second thought. Sirius had been locked up after he’d hurt her in the worst possible way, and Y/N’s heartbroken soul found no other reason to return to England. 

But, she pushed those bad memories to the back of her mind. It seemed so trivial, looking back on it. Not the broken house, of course, that had been his own mistake. But Y/N had many regrets, all of them seeming to revolve around the mischievous black-haired man who she had fallen in love with as a teen. The night it went down, the night their relationship had fractured at the seams and fallen down, was her greatest one however. It had been so stupid, so, so stupid, but they’d both gotten caught up in the moment, and Y/N had let him die without knowing how much she was sorry for that night that they let their fears consume them. 

The cries that she had tried so hard to contain finally broke free from the restraints of her heart. “I’m so sorry, Siri,” she whispered into the air, “I couldn’t save you this time.” As the hot, salty tears ran down her cheeks, Y/N shuffled across the room, letting her feet drag her to the old Black family room, the dark green walls embracing her rainy emotions. 

A little gasp escaped her lips as she looked at the portraits among the wall. The Black family tree was faded along the age-old wall, but what she was really looking for was the burned out image of her raven-haired love. There, right next to Regulus, was a black spot, scorned and scarred by the prestigious family for being a blood traitor. Y/N smiled and traced the burn with her finger, remembering their fourth year when she had accompanied him home for the holidays so he wouldn’t be completely alone in the hellhole he had to call his house. Sirius had snuck them up to this room and spent the night talking in hushed whispers sworn secrets. “I’ll be yours forever, Siri, and I’m sorry for fighting with you. I wish-” she sniffled, glaring at the spot in the wall as she tried to garble out her words, “I wish, I could go back in time, and just fix it. Just me and you, and that stupid night, with the bloody fight about children because you deserve it all, darling.”

“Ah, I think you can.” 

Y/N turned around, her eyes wide with fear. That was not Kreacher’s voice. There stood a younger woman, around nineteen, a scroll of paper and a quill in her hand. There was a whisper of a smirk on her face, brown eyes glittering even in the dimness in the room. “Who the hell are you?” Y/N looked at the door, which was still closed as she left it. She cast her wand out, pointing it at the stranger who did nothing but smile. “How did you get in here? Are you with the Lord?”

“With Voldemort?” The woman simply laughed. “Dude, I’m not with ‘the Lord’,” she added with air quotations. “Also I’m not really even here, so don’t you worry about that. My name’s Malia.”

Malia held her hand out, but Y/N kept her guard up. “You’re American. What brings you here? Are you a muggle?”

“Oh, nope, not a wizard, I’m just the author of this story.” Malia confided. “I’m here to tell you that you can fix this.”

“Fix… what?” Malia just rolled her eyes and sighed, staring up towards the ceiling as she spoke.

“God, did I write you to be hard of hearing now, too? I ought to fix that when I get back.” The woman blankly stared at the strange girl, wondering what the actual fuck she was talking about. “I can give you the chance to go back in time, Y/N. It won’t be for long, it’s really not gonna be interesting for more than two hours at most, but that should be enough time to tell the gang about what’s to come with Voldemort.”

“Like... time travel?” Y/N asked. The only way she knew how to time travel was the time turners. “But all of the ti-”

“Time turners were destroyed in the Department of Mysteries, I know, I know. Trust me, I’ve read Harry Potter more times than I’ve said ‘I love you’ to my parents.” Malia smiled. “I’m the author, I make the rules, and my rule is that I’m giving you two hours in 1978 to talk to Sirius so he can fix the emotional fucking mess left behind by J.K. Rowling.”

“Who’s J.K. Rowling?” Malia shuddered at the name.

“A raggedy-ass, transphobic bitch who wrote y’all into existence, but she’s not of importance right now.” She checked the small, rectangular box in her hand, which glowed and provided little light in the darkened room. “Let’s see, it’s currently eleven-forty, so you have until one-forty to find the Marauders and fix this future. It may not be fixed in the books in the future, but if you are able to do it here that’s all that matters.” Malia’s brown eyes were downcast, her bright and loud personality dimming for just a moment before returning to Y/N’s confused gaze once more. “Try not to screw up too much while you’re there, just enough that you defeat the Dark Lord the first time. Tell Sirius all you know and that should be enough for him to fix all the mistakes, but do not under any circumstances let him or anyone else know who you are. I wish you luck, Y/N, it was nice to meet ya in person.” 

And with a peace sign in front of her face, she disappeared into a flash of neon pink light. 

“Bloody hell! Fix my future? Talk to Sirius? If this even is time travel, then how am I supposed to get there- AH!” Y/N’s body felt like it was turning inside out, her guts being torn from her stomach and back into it again. A delirious giggle arose from her lips in the black void she was pulled into, and a soft chatter could be heard, like voices at the end of a tunnel. 

“Blimey, looks like we got ourselves a nutter on school grounds.” Y/N’s arms flailed around, desperately seeking some sort of grounding surface to hold on to when her back hit a rough surface. There was an audible crack somewhere in her body, but she felt so sick that she couldn’t tell where. 

“Are you okay, ma’am? You just appeared from the sky and hit the ground.” Warm, brown eyes met Y/N’s, a familiar mess of black curls resting atop of the boy’s head. Large, rounded glasses sat perched on the tip of his nose, and an impish smile, one she used to know so well before he died, met his lips. 

“James,” she sighed. The boy stared at her strangely, and only then did she notice the three other boys and girls each behind them. Remus, Peter, Sirius, Lily, Marlene, and Alice. 

Sirius.

The sight that met her eyes made her nearly emotional. It had technically been only three weeks since she had seen him, but here was the young boy she had fallen in love with. The one who charmed her with his smart words and witty retorts to her brush-offs, who used to hold her in his arms in the most intimate and gentle ways. His grey eyes sparkled with curiosity, the infamous Marauder mischief swirling within the silvery pools.  

Seeing him so young tugged at her heartstrings, and though she wanted nothing more than to hold him in her arms and never let go, a small, niggling feeling at the back of her head held her back. Was there something wrong?

“You know me?” Oh right, she was currently thirty-five. Looking around she noticed that she was outside the quidditch pitch, and there were other students, staring at her with widened eyes. No one knew she was Y/N L/N, their fellow schoolmate and probably one of the very few of them that survived the Death Eaters attacks. None of them were aware how it ended, or how it was currently going for them back in 1996, and in this time there was the first Wizarding War going on and they had every right to be terrified for their lives.

James now took a more defensive stance, standing tall and holding his wand out. “Who are you?”

She couldn’t give him the answer, instead letting her mouth gape open as she stared at him with wide eyes. Y/N looked across the grounds for the nearest exit, which was down by Hagrid’s hut and into the Forbidden Forest. It was her only choice at this point, to hide in the dark, creepy space, maybe just until the students went away so she could find Sirius and talk to him alone. It’d be hard to separate him from the boys, but if Lily were occupied with James it sure would be easy. 

Her younger, seventh-year self didn’t seem to be in the audience, thank Merlin, and with that knowledge, she got up and ran, ignoring her screaming muscles. That time travel really did a number on her. 

As she ran through the crowd, shoving people aside, she heard the students mutter, too much in shock and disarray to stop the crazy, old woman who knew James Potter.

“This is dodgy.”

“Someone ought to tell Dumbledore about this.”

“She kinda looks like Y/N L/N.’

“Don’t insult the poor girl like that, that wonker is ages old.”

“Come back here! Who the bloody hell are you?” Y/N’s heart beat quickly in her chest, threatening to burst out. Only three minutes in the past and it was all going straight to shit. “Stupefy!”

Shit. “No, James, please don’t-“ Her body hit the ground and her eyes closed, the last thing she saw being the pumpkin patch by the hut.

-

“I see you’re awake now, Ms. L/N.” Dumbledore stood above Y/N in the hospital ward bed, his grey beard dangling in front of her face. Her first instinct was to start blaming him for everything that had happened, starting from Lily and James’ deaths to Sirius’, already opening her mouth to call him an old, senile cow, but then she realized that Harry hadn’t been sent to the Dursleys yet, much less been born yet, so none of it would have an effect on him. Y/N’s second instinct was to question how Dumbledore knew who she was in 1978, but her former Headmaster started to speak before she could do so. “I must admit, it’s very courageous, that stunt you just pulled. I don’t think Ms. Louie will be too happy about that.” Y/N sent him a questioning stare. “Malia, the girl you met earlier. Malia Louie.”

“Headmaster Dumbledore, how did you know it was me?” She was dressed in a white gown that went to her knees, and behind him she could see her blouse and jeans folded and clean. Ah, the Hospital Wing. She had brought the boys here more times than she could count in her years at Hogwarts. “I don’t exactly look as young as I used to.”

“Ah, don’t worry Ms. L/N, you’ve kept your good looks quite nicely, even in your older age.” He stroked his beard thoughtfully, his wrinkled eyes sparkling with joy. “And speaking of young, if you are still worrying yourself about your younger self, you can put that to a stop. I am aware that you are not able to tell anyone who you are, and time travel is exceptionally dangerous if you are seen by the other version of yourself. I’ve already told the students that you were just a stray witch, misguided in your ways and that you were well taken care of. However, I think that brings us to the question of what your intentions are in the past, Ms. L/N.”

“Headmaster, I don’t think I can tell you about my business here. I’ve already messed up by letting the school see me by letting everyone see me, I don’t know why that girl even sent me here, it’s clear that this was a mistake.” Y/N sat up on the headboard, feeling her eyes fill with tears once again. The tall arches of windows let the sun in the room, and she could see the specks of dust swirling around in the golden light. It had to be close to the end of the year for them, maybe sometime around April or May, near the end of N.E.W.T.s at least. She could imagine that it’d be easy for her to get out of Hogwarts for the day, with all the students studying for the stressful exams in the library, maybe she'd make her way to Hogsmeade and walk around or visit Hagrid under a false name to have some tea. He was always open for a nice cuppa with strangers on any free day he had. “Thank you Headmaster, for your kindness, but I really ought to be going. I-it was nice to see you.”

Y/N started to help herself out of the bed, swinging her feet over to touch the cool stone ground. Bones cracked with pain and fatigue, her muscles stretching sluggishly. Merlin, that she was not expecting that much hurt from the fall, but she should have never underestimated James Potter. No one ever should if they want to keep their good mind and sanity. 

Dumbledore handed her her clothes, cracked lips set in a straight line as he nodded solemnly. “I hope you accomplish whatever it is you are here to do, Ms. L/N, but I have no doubt that you will.” With a sly wink, he added, “You were always one of our most ardent and bright students.”

Y/N let herself smile, and with a wave, swiftly brought herself to the door. “Thank you, Headmaster.”

After slipping outside, she ran down the corridors, echoes of her feet ringing lightly behind her. The courtyard proved to be empty and she quickly ducked behind a column and tugged her jeans on hastily, making sure that no professors came walking past. Though the sky proved to be bright and cheerful, a slight breeze carried through, making her fall off balance and fall on the cemented ground. 

“Are you okay, darling? You look like you’re in need of a little help.” Y/N looked up to the speaking figure, one that she both loved and dreaded to see. 

She gathered herself quickly, her mind running fast and heart beating out of her chest as she tried to get out. “Yes, I am okay, thank you for asking. I think I’ll just get up and going now, I don’t need to take time out of your day like this-”

“I know who you are, Y/N.” 

Y/N came to a full stop, going against her brain that screamed at her to run away. Sirius looked downtrodden, his grey eyes watering despite the small hint of a smirk on his face. Though he was always one for playing around and not taking anything seriously, she knew when it was time to stop pretending and get real. “How’d you know it was me, Sirius?”

“You really don’t look bad for your age, darling.” He offered her a hand to help her up and she took it graciously, eyeing him nearly guiltily and forgetting about her promise to Y/N. But that was useless now, this moment with her first love was much more important. “Also you have the tattoo on your chest. I knew it was you the moment you landed on school grounds.”

She traced his gaze to her left collarbone, where a paw print, just barely visible beneath her low-cut blouse, sat. It was his, or Snuffles’, paw print, and at this point in time they had probably gotten it done about three months before. He had one for her too, a horseshoe for her horse patronus, right on his left side of his chest too. So they’d always be right next to each other’s hearts, as cheesy as it seemed.

But they were dumb, lovesick teenagers, and they acted the part well too. Their love was all-consuming, shagging in under the bleachers at the quidditch pitch and making out under the stars. It was fast, everything was fast, decisions, ideas, classes, all of them under the impression that they had to do everything right then or they’d be dead before they got to actually live. They had dreams of marriage, and a big, big family, obviously so far away from his family so they could never hurt their children’s lives the way they had hurt his. 

They were fantasies, Y/N had known that well enough when she and Sirius got divorced, but it was something that eighteen year-old Sirius Black held close to his heart. No matter how shitty his life got, he was always a firm believer in a happy ending. In their happy ending. 

“How am I right now?” They now stood over the Black Lake, staring into the glittering depths of the water where some mermaids could be seen sneaking peeks at the handsome boy and the strange lady who had fallen from the sky. 

Sirius stared at her questioningly for a moment. “How are you doing right now? I mean, I believe that I should be asking you that ques- oh, Merlin, I’m such a git, you meant your younger self.” Y/N laughed at that, her heart lifting with the goofiness of the old Sirius relieving an ache in her heart that she had had for so long. Not that old (it felt weird to say that) Sirius had been anything less than silly and snarky, but it was never directed towards her. It was nice to have the resemblance of their old relationship back, even if it was just for a fleeting moment. “I suppose that you’re okay. You didn’t see, well, your big moment on the field, but at this point Lily has probably opened her big, fat mouth and told you. N.E.W.T.s are just finishing up, so you’re much more light-hearted than during the study season.”

“I really did have a stick up my arse during exam time, you always told me to loosen up-” 

“Y/N, cut out the small talk, I think it’s okay for me to ask how and what is happening.” Sirius cut in.

So she told him. Y/N had always been upfront with people about everything. Or rather, she had learned how to be upfront with people after her and Sirius’ divorce. Without details of the deaths, she explained how she was sent back into the past to fix it in some conceivable way. However, she did tell him about the fall out. Maybe she wanted him to understand her pain, even though it was a younger him, but she had to admit to herself that it was because she just wanted Sirius, in whatever form life gave her to hear out her grievances and apologies. 

Since her Sirius was dead before she could.

“We’re divorced?” Sirius looked about ready to break down into tears, almost as if the concept of them breaking up or separating was foreign to him. “What exactly did we fight over, Y/N? That doesn’t seem normal for the two of us.” Sirius asked.

“Well, to be fair, it wasn’t a normal predicament for us. either…”

Sirius slammed the door shut, efficiently pinning her against it with his white button up ruffled up, navy tie hanging from his neck loosely. Y/N’s arms were held down tightly against the oak wood, the sensation of the cold door burning into her rather warm skin making her squeal. Her husband’s tongue worked its way through her parted lips, low groans rising from the back of his throat from the way she moaned in tandem with his hips pushing into hers. Legs wrapped around his tapered waist, the pink, floral skirt Y/N wore rising high on her thighs, revealing more of her flesh to the lust-filled man. Both of their giggles echoed off the hallway walls of their small cottage home, just four miles west of their best friends’. 

As the twenty year-old man threw his wife unceremoniously on the bed, he shed himself of his shirt and swiftly unbuttoned his slacks, throwing them haphazardly across the room. Merlin, Y/N looked ethereal laying spread out on the bed, panties around her left ankle, swollen lips parted with short puffs of air leaving them. “You just get right down to business, don’t you, Black.” 

Crawling over his body, his hot breath hit her neck as he growled against her skin. “Could say the same thing about you, darling.” Sirius’ lips made their way down every inch, every curve, nook, and cranny of Y/N’s body, smoothly slipping her clothes off as he did so. Her sweet gasps filled the bedroom, back arching off the bed to meet his chest. “I’m going to put a baby in you tonight, sweetheart, we’re-”

Y/N sat up straight, her eyebrows trained in confusion at her husband. “What? A baby?” 

Sirius’ heart pounded in his chest. “Yes.” He remarked in a clipped tone. “Is that not what you wanted?” 

Her mind recalled her words from earlier that day, as she chatted happily with Lily about the news of her pregnancy. “Siri, I said I may one day enjoy having a kid of my own. Not right now, of course, but later. After all, we only got married a few months ago, don’t you think we should hold off a bit on that? We’re twenty years-old, Siri, there’s so many years for that.”

Rage filled Sirius’ blood like a spreading fire. In all honesty, it wasn’t so much about his anger as it was his hurt and fear. Fear that she had realized how fucked up he truly was, fear that she realized what he had known all along- that she deserved better than him. “So you don’t want a baby with me?”

“I never said I didn’t want that, Sirius, I just said that I’m not ready!” Y/N yelled back. At this point both of them stood on opposite sides of the bed, faces hot with tears. “We’re in the middle of a bloody war, people we know, people we love, have lost their lives, and it is not the ideal environment to raise a child, Sirius! Just because James and Lily are ready to have one doesn’t mean that I am too!”

“When will you be ready, Y/N? When will it ever be enough time for you? When will I be enough for you?” The heartbroken girl tried to interject, but her voice was cut off by her husband’s quickly enough. Sirius climbed onto the bed, holding her chin harshly with one hand. “Tell me, did you ever want to be with me in the first place?”

“Yes, Sirius, of course I wanted to be with you.” His heart hurt looking at the love of his life in tears, but even that was able to melt his cold facade. “I love you more than anything in the world.” 

“Then fucking prove it, Y/N.” With that declaration, he removed his hand from her face and gathered his clothes, slamming everything in their shared room as Y/N quivered, knees ready to buckle on the spot. “I’m going out, don’t wait up for me.”  

As soon as the front door shut, she fell to the ground in tears, the laughter that once filled their home replaced with the sound of her shattered heart. 

Y/N had done her best to not tear up during her explanation of the events that had taken that night, but Sirius' eyes watered, refusing to believe the truth. “No. No. I didn’t do that. Y/N, tell me,” he gripped her biceps with trembling hands, “please tell me I didn’t really do that. I can’t believe that I-I, that I-”

“You were drunk, Sirius, I don’t think you truly knew what you were saying at the time.” She sighed, “But people always say that drunken words are just sober thoughts.” Y/N rubbed her arms, just shivering slightly in the Scotland breeze. “You came back two hours later punching the wall and breaking it, and that’s when I knew that we wouldn’t last.” 

The raven-haired boy’s head started to shake, even more mortified of the actions that his future self, the man he’d be in just two years' time, had done. “I packed up my things, not that there were many, we’d only moved into the house a month before, left, and I sent the divorce papers a week later. It was probably better that way, you would’ve divorced me if I hadn’t done it first.” Y/N had gotten used to telling her sob story to colleagues at Beauxbatons, to her family, but it felt different with pre-divorce Sirius. Of course, she had never thought she’d be in this citation either, so no one could really blame her for feeling weird. “You signed them easily, and my lawyer made sure that I never had to see you again.”  Until Lily and James died.

“Until…” Sirius led on.

“Merlin’s beard, Sirius, you’ve always been able to read my mind. Shouldn’t have doubted it for a second.” He smiled at the sentiment, gesturing for her to continue. “I can’t tell you, Sirius, I hope you can understand that.”

“Why, Y/N, what happens that can be any worse in the future?” Oh dear, Sirius, you really do not want the answer to that question. She needed any way out of this conversation, after all running away was what she did best, and her eyes already searched for several routes to which she could run. Not that Y/N could ever outrun Sirius in his animagus form, but it was nice to have the belief that she could. The boy sensed her distress and grabbed hold of her hand. “You don’t have to tell me, darling, but I have to admit that I am a bit worried, just in the slightest.”

Y/N let herself calm down, squeezing Sirius’ hand and noticing his watch. She had actually given him that watch, gold-plated and dark grey metal, but it wasn’t the beauty of the gift that caught her eye, but rather the actual time on it. One-thirty. 

How had that much time gone by so quickly? She was going to be sucked into the black void of time travel again in ten minutes, and that wasn’t nearly enough time to unload nearly twenty years worth of history onto Sirius. No, he would go insane from that much knowledge, which was exactly against what Malia had advised. 

“I don’t have enough time to tell you everything that happens in the future, Sirius. But what I am about to tell you is vital, absolutely vital for the good of all of us in the future.” Sirius nodded with a serious sort of smile on his face. “Don’t let Peter be Lily and James’ secret keeper. When the time comes that they move away, I’m not going to tell you where yet, do not under any circumstances let Peter be their secret keeper. I know he’s one of our best friends right now, and do not tell anyone about this, but he’s going to betray us in the worst way possible.” 

While Sirius was shocked, he nodded solemnly and ran a hand through his long hair. “I won’t tell anyone, Y/N. Can I fix us, Y/N? I don’t know if you should be letting the key to a happier future rest in my hands.”

“I full heartedly trust that you’ll do some good, whatever the outcome may be. As for fixing us, I hope you can, but depending on what happens we’ll just have to wait and see.” She sighed, “If you want my opinion on it, I think that we both should have waited longer to get married. It was right after James and Lily got married, but we aren’t and never will be them. We both had a lot of growing up to do, so I would take it slowly. Communicate your wants and needs in the relationship and in the end it may not even be us together. But I know you, Siri, don’t let this get in the way of your entire life. The most important part is that you tell James and Lily about Peter.”  

She glanced back up the school grounds where students could start to be seen leaving their classes. “You better get back to the castle, Sirius. McGonagall is going to come for your arse and this time the boys aren’t going to be able to cover for you.”

“If they knew where I was, darling, I don’t even think they’d believe me.” Sirius chuckled.

Y/N nodded in agreement and pulled Sirius into a tight hug. “You can do this, sweetheart, and even if you can’t, it will not stop me from loving you any less. Maybe the future wasn’t meant to be changed, but regardless of whether that is true or not, I know that you will try your hardest, Sirius. Just try not to die, okay?”

The boy was still clutching onto her tightly, his tears soaking her rose-colored blouse. “I’ll do my best, darling.”

With one last kiss on the forehead, she smiled at him. “I know you will, Siri.” 

-

Y/N’s arse hit the floor once again, her spine cracking once again. “What’s the year?” She yelled out, reaching for the walls of the black family room. 

But it wasn’t there. Upon opening her eyes, she saw James, Lily, and Sirius sitting at a wooden table in her old white cottage. A nice tea set, her grandmother’s as she realized later, sat in the center, along with a large stack of letters. “Y/N, what the bloody hell happened to you, I’ve been worried sick!” 

Her red-headed best friend scurried over to her, brushing invisible dirt off her shoulders and pulling her up abruptly. James fixed the glasses on his nose, cleaning them off with his striped jumper. “You look a little disheveled right now, Y/N, what ran you over?” 

“You know who she reminds me of right now, Jamie? That crazy witch friend of Dumbledore’s that made her way onto campus back in seventh year.” Lily giggled as she hugged Y/N.

“Merlin’s beard, you’re right!” James walked over to the woman of the hour, ruffling her hair with a smirk on his face. “If you were about twenty years older I’d have no trouble believing you were the same person.”

While Lily and James recalled their memories from the strange woman all those years ago at Hogwarts, Sirius pulled Y/N aside, an arm wrapped around her waist. The warmth radiating from his body was nice, embracing her in a comfort she hadn’t felt in so long.

“I’m going to go ahead and believe that I did something right?” Sirius grabbed her hand, and only then did she notice the coolness of metal sitting on her left ring finger. There sat the single band of gold, a small ruby encased in its plating. She had once joked that diamonds were too overrated, and he went out and got her the most vibrant gem he could find, claiming that it was just like her. But regardless of its shape, size, or type of gem, it was there.

“Yeah, Siri,” Y/N replied with tears in her eyes, “you did good.” 

“Oi, Blacks, stop making out and get over here, we got a letter from Minnie!” James yelled, making both wives chuckle. “Harry’s gotten himself in detention for punching Malfoy again.”

“Oh, thank Merlin, the boy deserves a few more good hits.” Sirius laughed. 

“McGonagall still talks to us?” Y/N asked in amazement. “You’ve got to get me caught up.”

“Don’t worry, darling, we’ve got all the time in the world.” Sirius gently placed his lips onto hers, and for once in nearly twenty years, Y/N felt at peace. There were no more hasty warnings of the future, no psychotic old men coming after her family, no young girls rushing in to tell her how to fix her screwed up life. Cracked, pink lips moving against her own, his tongue delving into her mouth, and Y/N knew she was finally off the clock.

[mydekuacademia]

OMG I LOVED UR RECENT!!! can u maybe do it with bakugou too?

Also requested by @pew-pew-bitch!!

This is Bakugou's version of "Problem Child" for those who dont know :) check that one out too

Spoilers for the Kamino arc. I'm not gonna type out the whole thing, thats way too much, so watch that episode if any details seem weird

Warning: injuries, blood

Dumbass

When Bakugou got kidnapped, your entire world froze. Your dorm felt empty without his presence, your thoughts far too quiet without his brash commentary. Despite having found him annoying at first, it felt fundamentally wrong to be without him. You didn't know when you came to rely on him so heavily. That's why when Kirishima approached you with an offer to join him and a few others to rescue him, you jumped at the offer.

Your job was simple enough: along with Kirishima, you were to do the actual extraction. There was no way in hell your boyfriend would accept help from Todoroki, Yaoyorozu, Iida, or Midoriya, but he trusted his best friend and his significant other. He saw you as equals. He had to accept the help.

When the time came to rescue your boyfriend, you were the most focused of the group. You donned your disguise the fastest and tried your hardest not to sprint to the location. Heart racing, your inatinxts carried you through the various unexpected twists and turns of the pseudo-mission until finally, it was time.

You stood behind Kirishima, arms locked around his middle. Midoriya and Iida were positioned on either side of you two, holding you both tightly and in a ready stance. At the signal, Iida and Midoriya propelled you all forward and up toward a thick concrete wall, which Kirishima shattered using his hardening quirk. With that, you flew into the air, revealing yourself to the enemy and Katsuki. You locked your eyes onto his face and gave him a quick once over - he didn't look injured, thank fucking god. Kirishima turned back to face him, stuck a hand out, and yelled, "Come on!"

You saw a manic grin grow on his face as sparks lit up his hands. Before the villains could restrain him, he set off a massive explosion, launching him into the air at a velocity matching yours. Your hand joined Kirishima's in the air, beckoning to your boyfriend, begging him to grab on and be carried to safety. You ignored Iida's call to hold back onto Kirishima. You needed to at least feel Katsuki's hand again.

Not a second later, your wish was granted. His hand smacked into yours and Kirishima's and gripped tightly. Your instantaneous relief was short-lived, however, as you felt yourself slipping. The force of catching Bakugou was too much for your one-armed grip on your friend, and there was no time to stop yourself.

With a desperate cry, you dropped and plummeted through the air, the ground - and the awaiting villains - approached at an alarming rate.

"(Y/n)!" Katsuki screamed in a wildly uncharacteristic tone. He sounded nearly broken, terrified, so completely un-Katsuki-like. Somewhere in your panic addled brain, you chuckled. All it took to get your boyfriend to ourwardly show concern for you was a life-threatening fall.

You vaguely registered Kirishima yelling at Katsuki not to go after you, but the roaring wind soon rendered you unable to hear their words. This is okay, you thought, at least Katsuki is safe. You didn't want to die, you weren't okay with it, but you had also come to accept the fact that there was no way you'd survive the fall.

Or so you thought, at least. Not a second before you were going to hit the ground, a flash of yellow approached you and knocked you off your downward course, sending you careening to the side at a much slower pace. You tumbled across the ground and slid to a rough stop a few meters away.

"Thank god, I wasn't too late," an elderly voice sighed. You glanced up to see a short old man clad in a yellow hero costume, though you were unfamiliar with him. "Hey kid, I'm Gran Torino. Congrats on not dying," the man said before bolting off to rejoin the battle.

Dazed and in shock, you slowly sat up and rubbed dust out of your eyes. You felt a bit shitty, sure, but you didn't seem to be injured. Just some bad bruising and a few scrapes at worst. Unfortunately, your shock kept you from hearing someone rapidly approaching you.

A searing, burning pain erupted on your back as your shirt crumbled away. You arched your back harshly and let out a strangled cry. The last thing you heard before you lost consciousness was a muffled chilling laugh.

--------------------

When you woke up, bright white light and a harsh antiseptic smell assaulted your senses. You squinted your eyes and tried your best to take in your surroundings. You were on a soft bed, laying on your chest with your face angled toward the door. Fluorescent lights and dim sunlight lit up the room. You felt a slightly constricting lresaure around your torso and a slight prickle made the inside of your elbow itchy and uncomfortable. An incessant beeping came from behind you. So, you were in the hospital?

Before you could gather your bearings, the door to your room quietly clicked open and revealed a haggard-looking Bakugou. He quickly spun around and shut the door behind him. When he turned back around to face you, he jumped at seeing that your eyes were open.

"(Y/n)!" he whisper-shouted as he rushed to your side, more frantic than you've ever seen him. "Dumbass, what the hell were you thinking?"

It took you a moment to remember what happened, and when you did, you reached out a hand to cup your boyfriend's cheek. "You're okay," you whispered with a sleepy grin.

"Of fucking course I am. Those dumbass villains can't do shit to me," he grumbled. "You're the injured one here."

You stroked his cheekbone. "It was worth it if you're okay." He scoffed and moved his face away from your hand.

"Scoot over."

Without waiting for you to move, Katsuki slid onto your bed and gently nudged his way under you so you were laying mostly on his chest. He placed his hand lightly on the small of your back and kissed the top of your head.

"Do you remember what happened?" he asked. You nodded into his chest.

"I fell, Gran Torino helped me, then I got hurt and passed out."

Katsuki nodded tensely. "That crusty bastard Shigaraki got to you. Dusted some skin on your back before Mt. Lady punted him away and got you to a medic. You have a wound the size of my hand on your mid back."

Your eyebrows shot up. "Shigaraki?" How the hell did you survive?

"Yes, idiot. Shigaraki." Your boyfriend paused and heaved a deep sigh. "I thought I was going to lose you. Not many people get away from him."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the door clicked open yet again, revealing Aizawa. His eyes flicked to yours, and he took in your condition in an instant.

"(Y/n)," he greeted. "How do you feel?"

"Tired, mostly. I'm okay." You paused and took note of the bags under his eyes. "Are you okay?"

Aizawa sighed and dropped into the chair next to your bed. "We- I almost lost you," he said. "Don't do that again."

You nodded and reached a hand out, which he instantly grabbed and clung to.

Your boyfriend furrowed his brow and glanced at your hand. You guessed you owed him an explanation.

"Katsu, Aizawa is my father," you told him. "I'm sorry for not telling you sooner, baby."

He sighed in annoyance and kissed your forehead. "Doesn't matter. But thanks for telling me, I guess."

You smiled at him then your father before you felt your eyes start drooping.

"Sleep, (Y/n)," your dad said. "We'll be here when you wake up."

With that, you succumbed to sleep, safe with the knowledge that you were surrounded by loved ones.

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

Free Fallin’

“Can we, uh. Drive?”

Cas turns to Dean Winchester, amused, yet not entirely surprised. The hunter’s standing in the doorway, the line of his lips slant. But he’s got his eyebrows raised in a pleading stance, his posture as unsettled as pinkening, flustered cheeks. He is, in spite of the hesitation, to the core of his being, endearing to Cas.

But Cas rallies to stay serious. There’s a chance Dean needs that right now. “If you’d really rather. Of course.”

If you really want to avoid this. 

Dean seems uncomfortable, still, though Cas just gave him an out. Cas can feel the restlessness in his guilty stare. 

It hadn’t been long since Castiel got his wings back. And this was the first chance he was going to have, post completely healing, to fly - trial runs (flights?) didn’t really count, because they didn’t have any destinations, and he’s actually been looking forward to flying with someone, because it’s been a bit of an eternity since he’s done it. Been of use, like that. So ever since the case popped up on their radar, courtesy of a small-scale hunter in Maine, who acceded to keep them updated, he’s been waiting. 

It’s too far away to drive, if urgency strikes. They’d have to fly. Especially now that they could.

(Sam set off for Texas with Jack six days ago - a newspaper article leading them to cremated ghosts with elite, mysterious family members, and a whole lot of them. It’s fairly tame, as far as salt-and-burns go, and Castiel trusts both Sam’s intelligence, and commitment to keeping Jack safe, enough to not have decided to follow, three days in.

Which means it’s just Dean and him.)

Cas knows he’s never been more enthusiastic on a personal level about the discovery of a vampire’s nest. And he doesn’t pin it to a hunter’s heart dripping gamelust - because he’s aware that the idea of flying across the country with Dean Winchester, after so long, is significantly more appealing than the intricacies of pretending, and ridiculous badges, when they get there. 

So alright, Cas’s been waiting for this. Packing, planning and leaving. With Dean, and Dean’s familiar duffel, and his wings - it’s been an exciting thought. No matter how little time it’d take, and no matter how many times he’s flown around the vast Milky Way in the entirety of his life as an angel - this had felt like something monumental for Cas to suggest, and for Dean to agree to, through a mouthful of dinner, and several thoughtful nods. It had felt like something special.

But now, if Dean’s in enough discomfort to come out and audibly hint at it, it’s harder for him than he let Castiel believe - in the past, or even the night before yesterday. Cas knows he’d never impose on Dean. Or reinforce the multiple, exceedingly valid arguments he hadn’t had to use the first time, in favor of flying versus driving. Dean has the right to retract his agreement, his consent at any moment, and Cas instantly resolves to not let it show that this had meant something, because Dean would end up shouldering all the guilt Cas had no resolve to create, and absorbing it to the deepest crevices of his mind, to let himself fester in it.

Cas stays impassive. Ever proficient at dormancy. 

Still, Dean picks up on it. Guarded walls come up to shelter something akin to fear. “You wanted this.” It borders on inflammatory. A tinge of accusation, but it doesn’t feel pointed at Cas. 

“I did.”

“I’m sorry, Cas.” Dean grimaces, entering the room with a streeled step. It’s as if Cas’s earnestness knocked a few layers off his shield - and reduced the distance between them, literally and metaphorically. Truly, honesty is the strongest axe Cas swings at Dean’s unhealthy defenses, with.

“Dean, you needn’t be.” Cas assures him, and he means it, although the disappointment within him is giving way to a sullen sense of despondency he doesn’t wish to indulge in, so he deflects by concentrating on Dean instead. 

Dean shifts, raises his eyes from the floor to meet Cas’s, and they linger in a stare of depthless confessions. 

It’s unlike them.

So when Cas tries to render a small smile, because it felt like the silence needed to be reacted to - needed one of them to pull off, there’s no way for him to know that it’ll push them over the edge. Dean wrenches away from him, and Cas sees the strings holding him stoic, snap.

“Sonuvabitch, Cas -”

Dean storms up to him, glaring. He’s angry, it almost radiates off of him - just not, per se, at Cas. 

“- we’ve all come such a fucking long way!” He growls, and Cas meets his stare uncertainly, thrown off. This is unpredictable, to say the least. Dean’s positively glowering at him - except it’s through him, like he’s been hollowed out. “We saved the goddamn world, man. Died a combined total of a hell of a lot! Sam’s gone from being an angry teenager to a kickass, new-age Bobby Singer. Dammit Cas, we lost your wings and got them back.”

We lost your wings.

Cas nods, faintly. He still isn’t sure where Dean’s going with this. 

“Back then? You would’ve put two angelic fingers on my forehead, and zapped me the fuck to India, or something.” Dean grits out, edging towards his worst temper. Cas can hear him trying to restrain himself. “But now, you won’t - now, you listen, and you try - because you’ve grown, Cas. You’ve become family, and I -”

Cas doesn’t think about the fact that if Dean isn’t angry at him, there’s no reason to be yelling. Instead, he thinks about the rare haziness in intense, green eyes, and the pain in his crushed voice.

“And I haven’t fucking changed.” Dean ends abruptly, inflicting a scornful glare at the floor, and -

Oh. 

“Dean,” is all Cas says, because he isn't sure Dean’s done yet. They’ve always jumped to conclusions, and realized they were wrong later, but Cas really doesn’t want to interrupt right now. 

“Ten years, we’ve known each other.” Dean looks up again. There’s too much in his eyes. “Forty years, I’ve been hunting. And I’m still the goddamn same, Cas. Angry, pissed-off, worthless. The hits just keep on coming, and all I do is bury myself in the losses, and then Sam or you screws my head on straight and we pull a miracle out of our asses, but end of the day, I’m this fucked-up, hurting piece of shit, and -”

Emotions shine at the corner of Dean’s eyes; years of keeping it all down, finally overcome. With the surfacing ruinness, Dean lets out a strained sound, and lets his head fall. Chin buried in his chest, at last, he forces out. 

“- and I’m still too afraid of flying.”

“Dean.” Cas loses what remained of his reticence, and if Dean has more to say, he can say it with Cas close, hovering near with his hands featherlight along Dean’s arms, wanting to comfort, but not knowing how. Cas wants to be there - but he’s never gotten a chance before. He has no idea how. “Dean, look at me. Please. It’s not like that, Dean, you’re not those things - Dean, you’re one of the best men I know, just, please -”

Cas knows he isn’t doing the most articulate, or efficient job of reassuring the volatile, shaking hunter - almost - in his arms. None of it seems to seep through, however hard he tries. It’s years of repression. Like the other shoe dropping, the facade of being okay just crumbled - and it’d been the most convincing one yet, one Dean’s been hiding under since God was sent away. 

Instead of listening to Cas, Dean’s lost in his head. He scrubs his face with his hands, and then fists them in his hair, screwing his eyes shut. It hurts Cas to be so helpless right now - because no words seem to make a difference.

“I’m scared of it, Cas.” Dean repeats, voice breaking mid-sentence, and the heels of his palms pressed to his eyes.

Cas looks at him, terrified. He wishes he could hug Dean - wrap himself around him in a tight embrace, and not let go until Dean stops shaking, because right now, he’s trembling, but Cas has no idea if he’s allowed to do that. Dean is - well, from what Cas interprets of the situation, he’s having a panic attack, and Cas doesn’t want to cross boundaries. 

Cas just wants to brush off Dean’s tears, which have never been there before, and run his hands through his hair, and caress his temple, and he wants to soothe Dean’s knuckles with his thumbs, and he wants to tell Dean how wonderful he is, again and again until he believes Cas, and then calmly, he wants to take Dean’s hands, and -

That’s probably exactly what Castiel needs to do. 

Dean’s too out of it to register Cas gently plucking Dean’s hands from his face, freeing his hair of their assault - or maybe, he just can’t comprehend Cas holding his hand so tenderly, like it’s some kind of a precious thing, and Cas’s hands curl around his fingers, pushing Dean’s palm against his. 

Dean’s hands are colder than his, so Cas squeezes till Dean’s feel warm, and he looks at Dean as he does it, and Dean’s noticed now, and he’s staring at their hands, held between their chests, and he’s looking such awe - this delicate, beautiful wonder which makes Cas demand from himself why he hasn’t done this before. 

Somehow, as the seconds pass, Dean quietens. 

And as Cas holds on - simply holds on, running the pads of his thumbs on Dean’s skin, Dean’s chest stops heaving. He still looks dazed, and is breathing heavy, when Cas moves insufficiently closer, swaying into Dean’s space. 

“Will you let me try again?” Cas asks, in the same voice he’d have asked, do you trust me, and Dean understands it. 

He keeps looking at their hands. 

“Will you let me take you flying?” Cas says. “And we can hold hands, or if you’ll let me, I can hold you, and I promise it’ll be alright.”

There’s nothing, for a while. 

And then, Dean’s right thumb twitches, tracing the second knuckles of Cas’s fingers, and Cas feels a shadow of solace go through him, nervousness mingling with grace in his veins. 

“I’d let you take me anywhere, Cas.”

Cas feels his heart swell. Dean looks up slowly, seeking out Cas’s eyes, and Cas holds his gaze, and just like that, they’re back to saying things without any words. 

You fell from Heaven. Pulled me out of hell. We’ve been to purgatory together, so believe me, I’ll go to the corners of the world with you. 

“Maine?” Cas ventures, with growing confidence, for a smile - history assures him that Dean’ll join in, and he almost does. Only a wisp, but it’s there. 

“Yeah, but fucking hold me, okay?” Dean huffs, and it’s such a relieving sound of mild exasperation, more than a reach for normalcy, and Cas adores it. He knows Dean isn’t alright - not yet, and he doesn’t know how long it’ll take in the long run, but he knows he’ll be there for Dean. Through all of it, and on the other end. 

This is the farthest they’ve gotten, too. Dean’s hinted at these issues before, but he’s never had a breakdown in front of Cas - or anyone, and he’s never not backed off into a shell, after. This Dean is trying, and it’s wonderful. And it’d be growth, if Cas had ever looked at Dean Winchester, through the lens of an all-knowing immortal, like he’s not the most incredible being in the world, but a specimen, an experience - a phenomena to be analysed. 

Cas looks on, trying to dissect the way Dean’s eyes stay glued to his, unconsciously, and trying to read Dean through them. He can sense faith, and hope, and his resolve is renewed. 

“Well, we’d have to let go, first.” Cas points out, slow, and Dean tentatively does it first, ending up with his arms on his side again. Circling back to awkward, and adorable in his nervousness. But Cas doesn’t let him fold in, and retreat into himself, because now that he’s got Dean saying yes, and Dean asking him to, of course he’s putting his arms around him. 

Of course, he’s putting a hand on Dean’s hip - and drinking in the subtle responses of his body to Cas guiding him closer, and his other hand goes to rest on it’s eternally demarcated place on Dean’s left arm, as he looks up at Dean with all of the admiration and reverence he feels inside, trying to coax it into his eyes, and it’s not even a fraction of a millionth which makes it there, but Dean still blushes, so maybe for now, it’s enough. And then Dean’s hand grazes against Cas’s elbow carefully - because Cas hasn’t asked Dean to touch him yet, (so he doesn’t), but oh, how he wishes he would.

“How are you, Dean?” 

“I’m going to close my eyes.”

“How would you know you’re not scared if you closed your eyes?”

“How do you know I’m not going to be scared?” Dean throws back, still vulnerable, but a lot more himself. It’s a challenge, a flame disguised as a rhetoric, but Cas treats it like a question. And answers, as plainly as he can.

“Because now, you believe in me.”

It’s not a lot of words, and not the most eloquent Cas has ever been, but it conveys so much that it almost stuns Dean again. He nods, jerkily.

I’ve always believed in you.

Dean waits.

Trust is not the same as belief.

Cas decides it’s not worth this moment wasted, to stop for supplies or guns. They can circle back for them. This is it. Dean’s ready right now, and Cas wants to show him how beautiful it can be - and how with Cas, Dean never needs to fear flying.

Castiel would, and has given up his life for Dean Winchester. He’s charred, ruined, and lost his wings. Yet now, the angel shall show him how to live, on those very wings. Life is a string of poetic ironies, threaded together by choices. Love is the first pearl, and courage is the last.

“Cas.” Dean breathes out, as Cas starts to dissociate, focusing himself deep within. Dean stares openly, for Cas’s eyes are closed now, as he reaches through the realms to gather himself. “Of course, I believe in you.” Falls from his lips in an awed whisper, and the sound of his voice is still too much for the frailty of the moment.

That’s when it happens.

“I love you.” Cas lets out, because it seems far too important that Dean knows, and there’s limits to implications which can’t hold him back anymore. They’re going to fly together. 

Dean’s eyes widening is the last thing he sees, before he needs to concentrate his grace again. It feels like giving in to an old habit you’ve had to live without, more than a lover you’ve moved on from - and Dean’s hands grabbing onto him don't even register as they take off. His grand, celestial wings flap, and time hurls them out of their reality. 

Everything fades, and with the sounds, borders, and colors, so does Castiel - once again, heavenly. Everything goes away, stripping their hearts bare and momentum flickers on their skins, as ethereal, sky-like wings render the only one who remains, speechless.

Beholding the magnificence of his angel, love resonating through his ribs, Dean keeps his eyes open. 

*

It never takes too long.

Dean holds on to Cas, with arms clinging around his neck, until the end. It feels like he’s gliding - but somehow also like he’s driving hands-free in the clouds, though he’s surrounded by too much of everything for it to be the sky. He’s not terrified, but he’s overwhelmed, and he’s goddamn living- hell, he’s never lived this much in a breath, because the second he’s trying to replace the oxygen in his lungs, he finds the chasm of warped space start to dissipate. 

The ground under his boots returns, just like that.

He breathes in air - cold, real air, in the middle of a field which is certainly not Kansas, with a full-blown smile on his face which he’s not even thinking about. It still feels like he’s floating, to some imaginative part of his consciousness. It makes his heart slower, and shoulders lift, and he’s unjustifiably happy, and peaceful, and to hell with being afraid, he feels content.

Dean Winchester feels brave again. 

Maybe it’s because of Cas’s words. Maybe it’s because his arms are still fastened around him. Or maybe it’s because, Cas. He’s everything. Dean's been an idiot to have been trying to ignore the things he feels, because if he’d gotten here sooner, he could’ve had more of Cas looking at him like that, and Cas’s hands planted warmly on his sides, and Cas just smiling at him from this close. 

Now, he’s determined to make the most of the time he’s got. 

When Castiel slowly opens his eyes, looking composed again - and a little proud, definitely pleased, almost too lovely, Dean doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t wait for the voice in his head to catch up, and start second-guessing what he’s wanted to do forever. Dean just lurches forward, grabbing the trenchcoat lapels to reduce the gap, and kisses him. 

Cas responds almost right away, pushing back into the kiss, and Dean, with all of himself, and letting both arms circle Dean’s waist and shoulders, ending up impossibly close. Dean cups Cas’s face, tilting it towards himself, as he kisses him with everything he’s ever felt. There’s gratitude, and apologies, and need, and want, and then there’s the love, and that’s where he stops thinking. 

“Cas, I -” Dean pants, running out of breath. They’ve stopped kissing, and are simply paused in the moment with their foreheads leaned into a reassuring touch. Dean’s waiting to hear himself say it, and he hopes Cas is, too. “I - god, Cas - I love you too.” He takes a full breath. “I love you so much.”

And then Cas breaks into a smile, chest heaving as well, with the corners of his eyes wrinkling, and lips pulling up, and Dean gets to lean in and kiss him again, and he gets to tell Cas he loves him, and tell Cas he loves him every morning, and every time he feels like it’ll burst out of his chest if he doesn’t, and he gets to want Cas to hold him, as they fly, and -

Goddammit, he gets Cas. 

And that’s a happy ending, if Dean Winchester’s ever dreamed of one. 

[amberskywrites]

Trust Me

AO3 Link || Masterpost 

Notes: Takes place in the “This Love” collections au thing I made, however! This one was a request for IOnlyWantToRead1 and isn’t completely connected to the other ones (the other ones are planned stories I had in like, the same universe; requests for the au aren’t completely connected).

Fandom / Genre: Nanatsu no Taizai (The Seven Deadly Sins) / Hurt/Comfort? I think?

Pairing: QPP Meliodas/Ban 

Warnings: Mentions of a character death, a character feeling shitty, and I think that’s it? Lmk if I should add anything else!

The sun’s setting, and they’re still just standing there. Neither of them have moved an inch since Fraudrin was killed. Since Meliodas had killed Fraudrin. Ban stares at Meliodas’ side, the captain refusing to look up from the ground.

Ban’s trying so hard to keep out the sliver of doubt crawling into his mind. Estarossa revealed that Meliodas used to be the leader of the Ten Commandments, and Ban had thought he knew his stance on that. He thought he was so sure he trusted the captain completely, trusted his judgement and trusted that Meliodas wouldn’t hurt any of them.

But seeing Meliodas fight like that… seeing his partner be so cruel with killing that demon… it forced the unease he had shoved to the deepest parts of his mind to come crawling back out.

He heard Escanor approach them, catching Merlin’s attention. Good.

Ban took the moment to approach the captain, not too quick in case he startled him. He stopped just in front of Meliodas, placing a gentle hand on Meliodas’ shoulder. He felt Meliodas tense under his touch, and that confused Ban. Meliodas could probably slaughter the immortal if he wanted, and yet it seemed like Meliodas was… scared. Scared of Ban touching him. Ban frowned.

He didn't know what to say at first. Ban could feel Meliodas' arm start to tremble, just slightly. He bit his lip before sighing.

"I'm glad you're okay," then, a bit quieter just to be sure only Meliodas heard, "let's talk later, alright?"

The demon barely nodded, lips pressed tightly together as he stared at the ground. Ban wished he would look up. He waited another second before removing his hand from Meliodas' shoulder and walked away.

Meliodas took a deep breath as he listened to Ban's footsteps fade. His eyes stung, and his hearts were pounding so hard it was all he could hear. He tried (and failed) to blink away the tears, the fear grabbing a hold of him.

Ban wanted them to talk later.

Meliodas wanted to rip his hearts out all over and just die again.

There had been nothing wrong with Ban's tone, he had even sounded… gentle. They had been queerplatonic partners for awhile, and Meliodas had seen Ban concerned over him before. But Ban had never spoken gently, never whispered to Meliodas like that unless it was serious.

He vaguely heard Escanor about to call him, before Merlin shushed him. Meliodas sighed as another few minutes passed.

When he glanced around, it was just him and Merlin remaining. She walked over to Meliodas and patted his head gently.

Then Merlin walked away, leaving Meliodas alone.

Well, he was already planning on being alone for the evening.

Stepping over the broken shards of glass and the splintered wood, Meliodas made his way around the destroyed tavern. He barely noticed when he cut his hand reaching into one of the cupboards to grab a bottle of beer.

He plopped down in front of the small fire he had made, and rested his head on his hand. Meliodas watched the flames for awhile, not really having an appetite just yet. The smile after defeating Fraudrin was still on his face.

His hearts squeezed as he remembered Ban wanted to talk. He really hoped Ban didn't come looking for him right now.

It was weird, to feel so anxious and overjoyed at the same time.

He startled as a branch snapped, and when he looked away from the fire the tension didn't leave him. On the contrary, Meliodas closed in on himself more.

Ban stepped into the remains of their home, whistling lowly as he took in the irreparable damage. He plopped down next to Meliodas without asking, but didn't touch him. Meliodas appreciated that right now.

"How'd you…?" Meliodas trailed off.

"Princess told me you ran off here."

Meliodas cursed under his breath, turning away from Ban completely. The joyous feeling from defeating Fraudrin completely vanished, and now only fear and guilt plagued his mind. It reminded him of the last time they were in a similar situation: when Ban had found out he was a demon.

He didn’t want to think about it too much right now.

"Do you remember," Ban started, and Meliodas could feel his eyes burning into Meliodas' back, "what I told you when I found out?"

Meliodas drew his knees to his chest. But he hummed that yes, he remembered. How could he forget?

"What did I tell you?"

The demon hated that Ban's voice was soft. Caring. Worried. That was the last thing Meliodas wanted Ban to feel right now. Worried over him. Ban shouldn't even have to waste his time on Meliodas after what he had done-

"Meliodas…"

His throat closed as Ban trailed off, and it was getting harder to breathe. He rarely ever called Meliodas by his name. Ban very carefully placed a gentle hand on Meliodas' shoulder.

Meliodas took a deep, shaky breath. "You said that you trusted me. And that you would stand by me. No matter what." His voice cracked as he spoke, and Meliodas winced.

"Exactly."

In an instant, Meliodas was buried in Ban's side, sobbing. Ban moved so he sat on the ground and he pulled Meliodas close, holding him tightly. Ban let himself rest his head against Meliodas', taking advantage of the moment to just be glad that he could hold Meliodas this close again.

"You have questions," Meliodas muttered through his sobs, which had been quick to quiet down. Ban nodded. Meliodas' arms around him squeezed tighter before Meliodas joined him on the ground. He settled on Ban's lap, face buried in Ban's chest instead of his shoulder.

"How are you here?"

"Cursed," Meliodas sniffled. "Can't actually die."

That was good to know. And it eased Ban's worry over his partner, just a little.

"What was that back there?"

Meliodas tightened his grip again before slumping into Ban's hold, the tears silently trekking down his cheeks. "Consequences for dying."

"That's definitely not too vague," Ban deadpanned. Meliodas snorted. He quieted again.

"Lots of pent up anger."

Ban nodded, arm curling around Meliodas' shoulders to pull him just a little closer. "What happened?"

Meliodas didn't answer. Ban didn't push. Not right now.

They remained quiet for awhile.

The demon traced the marks on Ban's chest, his finger as light as a feather. "Why didn't you leave?" Meliodas finally asked.

"Hmm?"

"Why haven't you left?"

"Where'd I go?"

"Anywhere that's not where I am."

Ban blinked down at Meliodas, brows pinching together in confusion. Meliodas sniffled before looking up and for once meeting Ban's eyes.

"Why would I leave you?"

Meliodas turned away again.

"It's just… Ban… I don't- what happened today, it's not the first time." He took a deep breath. "I want it to be the last but it won't be. I'm-" he laughed dryly, and Ban frowned, "I'm literally one of the worst things that could be in this world right now. And I'm so confused why you don't seem to realize that and just leave-"

His words stopped immediately as Ban grabbed his hand and gave it a light squeeze. Meliodas squeezed back, and Ban tilted his face up so that Meliodas would meet his gaze. Ban rested his forehead against Meliodas'.

"You've made mistakes," Ban summarized. Meliodas made a strangled sound at that.

"Not simply mistakes-"

"-Everyone makes them," Ban swiftly cut off. "Doesn't mean they're the worst thing in the world."

"I said one of the worst things."

"Doesn't matter, that's not you."

Meliodas muttered something before pulling away from Ban and tucking his head under Ban's chin. Ban huffed softly. "Do you want to know why?" Meliodas finally mumbled.

Ban hummed.

"I started this war. Three thousand fucking years ago. Because I was selfish and we thought we could put an end to the war between demons and the other races but then it backfired and I ended up hurting so many people I care for." Meliodas pressed a hand to Ban's chest, right over the mark that represented Meliodas. "I don't want you getting hurt. I'm scared to lose you."

"I'm immortal, remember?"

Meliodas didn't laugh.

"I didn't mean like that."

"Then what did you mean?"

"I'm scared to lose what we have. I'm terrified of turning into what I once was but I have to in order to save her but I would lose you in the process." Meliodas was crying again and Ban pushed him away just enough to see Meliodas' face as Meliodas continued. "If I turn back then this isn't possible. It won't be able to continue and I don't want that to happen. I love you so, so much but I also love her and I promised her but I can't save her without losing you and-"

Ban started to shush him gently when Meliodas began panicking, rubbing the demon's arms soothingly and trying to calm him. It didn't work too well.

"You're not going to lose me," Ban whispered. Meliodas shook his head but Ban repeated himself. "You won't lose me. I promise. And whoever this 'her' is, you'll save her too. I promise."

Meliodas couldn't meet Ban's eyes. "Do you trust me?" Ban asked, and that promoted Meliodas to glance up.

Meliodas nodded almost immediately. Ban smiled reassuringly. "Then believe me when I say that it'll work out."

"You don't know that-"

"No, but I can damn well try to make sure it all works out."

Ban pulled Meliodas close again, and Meliodas stared at the mark on Ban's chest through watery eyes. They remained quiet for the rest of the night.

[agent-breakdance]

(Icarus Ch. 1) - Game On

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F! MC (Olivia Anika Cohen)

Word count: 1.3k words

A/N: Hey everyone! This is the first ever chapter I’ve written so saying that I’m terrified is a huge understatement. This series will be pretty fast paced and severely ANGSTY so I hope you guys like it! A huge thank you to my beta @deliciouslydeafeningstarlight for putting up with my ridiculous ideas and rants!

Warning: Language

Disclaimer: PB owns characters. There’s lots of Grey’s Anatomy and Friends references with some dialogue borrowed from Open Heart.

Tag list: @deliciouslydeafeningstarlight @drethanramslay @ohramsey @theeccentricbibliophile @justanotherrookie @kaavyaethanramsey @batgirlassociationofgothamcity @tyrilstarfury @lilypills @juneiswriting @fleur-de-jasmin-fdj @mvalentine @sanchita012 @choicesstan1 @junggoku @aylamreads @whatsamottowithyou @utterlyinevitable​ @openheart12​

Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Song: Eye of the Tiger by Survivor.

She stepped out of the car and her eyes swept over the tall imposing structure in front of her.

Johns Hopkins University.

As she walked across the sprawling campus, she thought about the events of the previous years. She felt her chest tighten. Her heart started to race and fill with guilt. Her thoughts took her right back to the battlefield.

The campus was a different side of the same coin. The battlefield wasn’t new to her whatsoever. She had to work hard to survive. She couldn’t afford to fuck up. 

Not then. Not now. 

The consequences were the same. If she fucked up, people died. 

The only difference? 

There, she faced immediate repercussions but here, they would be long and drawn out, haunting her for the entirety of her career as a doctor.

 Her mind flooded with doubt as she started to question her own competence but before she could shake herself out of it, she collided with someone. She managed to catch herself just before face planting and looked up to see a tall, stone-faced figure looming over her with a copy of Harrison’s Principles of Internal Medicine. He had been so engrossed in the book that he had failed to see her coming. 

He looked at her with slight concern, his brow creasing almost imperceptible to most but her sharp senses picked up on it. He immediately schooled his features to a scowl and snapped at her, “Watch where you’re going. I suppose I should have listened to my father when he said the admissions standards are in decline here.” He gave her a withering look before he stalked away. 

She muttered under her breath…. “Jerk.”

Picking up her bags, she made her way to the dorm. She got her phone out and quickly checked her room number. She stood outside the door to her shared room and chanted softly, almost like a prayer…… “Please don’t be a bitch…please don’t be a bitch.”

Apparently, the walls (and door) were thin because a cheery voice called out to her from inside, “You know, I was just thinking the same thing about you…”

Olivia cursed under her breath and opened the door with a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I didn’t know the walls were so thin.” 

“That’s quite alright. I was just praying that you weren’t a shark.”

“Excuse me?!” 

“We students gotta stick together right? This whole program was designed to push us to our limits. We won’t get through unless we have each other’s backs! Sharks only look out for Number 1. But what they don’t realize is that there’s safety in numbers. So let’s be dolphins!”

Olivia burst out laughing. “So long as I don’t have to make dolphin noises.”

She held out her hand. 

“Olivia Cohen.”

She was quickly smothered in a hug by her roommate. 

“So nice to meet you! I’m Sienna Trinh.”

As they pulled out of their hug, Sienna fetched a box and held it open for Olivia. 

“Chocolate chip cookies!”, she said. 

Olivia gave her a broad smile. “Oh we’re gonna get along just fine...”

***

Seeing as how Sienna had already been there for a week, she offered to give Olivia a tour of the campus. Olivia agreed though there wasn’t a single part of the campus or the university that she hadn’t thoroughly researched.

As they wandered through the campus, she spotted him. He seemed to be engaged in light conversation with another person. As Olivia looked on, details caught her eye. The reasonable space between them and his relaxed, unguarded stance would suggest that he was with a friend. “So he does have friends… surprising, considering the stick up his ass”, she thought to herself.

“Who has a stick up his ass?”, Sienna asked. That shook Olivia from her thoughts. “Wait…did I just say that out loud?”

“Have you guys met already?” 

“Yup. Mr. Stick up his ass was actually the first person I met here.” She quickly explained their encounter.  

“Whoa… he’s a Grade A Shark for sure.”

They both laugh. Olivia glances over at him, only to be greeted by his stern narrowed eyes staring right at her. Sienna grabs her hand and pulls her along, away from his gaze.

***

He walked around campus completely absorbed in the book he was reading when he heard a familiar voice call out to him.

“Ethan Jonah Ramsey, do you ever not read?”

Ethan looked up and saw his best friend of three years, Tobias Carrick. They had done pre med together. Tobias and Ethan were always complete opposites. Tobias had always been the fun-loving one and Ethan, the wet blanket but Tobias had managed to lead him astray once in a while.

“And what, end up like you? Not a chance.”

“You’d be lucky to end up like this.” He gestured to his body. 

“Anyways, did you meet anyone else yet or are you determined to keep your total friend count at 1 forever?”

Ethan’s eyes shifted slightly as he thought back to his morning encounter but he focused back into the present and smirked. “If it were up to me, it’d be 0, Carrick.”

“Call the doctor, I’ve been wounded. I suppose that’ll be us soon enough… Still we should try to find you some more friends.” Tobias starts pointing at random students. “What about him or her or her?” 

Ethan’s eyes follow his finger as they land on the final person he points at.

 It’s her. 

He narrows his eyes at her and regards her disdainfully as her eyes meet his. His frown starts to dissolve just as she is dragged away by her friend. A flash of regret passes by his face but it’s gone just as fast as it appeared. 

Tobias seems oblivious to this exchange as he keeps rattling on.

***

Soon enough, it’s time for orientation.

Sienna and Olivia make their way to the auditorium which was filled to the brim with the excited chattering of med students.

Amidst the horde of people, Olivia spots a handsome guy waving them over. There’s an air of confidence around him. Sienna leads them over and they take the two seats next to him. 

He extends a hand, giving her a playful wink. “Bryce Lahela aka the hottest med student here.”

Olivia rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but smile at his confidence.

“Olivia Cohen.” 

Sienna chimed in. “Hey Bryce, where’s the rest of the gang?”

“They’ll be here soon. Went off campus for breakfast.”

“Wait. You two know each other? And there’s a gang? How late am I?” 

“Relax Liv. We all got here way too early and bonded over our soon to be med school debt.” 

“Liv? Nicknames already?”

Bryce winked at her. “I work fast.”

Soon, the rest of the gang arrived but before introductions could be made, the Dean, Dr. Paul Rothman took the stage and a hush settled over the entire crowd.  

He started to speak. “This is the beginning for you. The four years you spend here will be the best and worst of your life. More will be demanded of you than you’ve ever experienced. You will be pushed to your limits and your job here is to soak every ounce of knowledge like a sponge. But, medicine is never limited to what is taught to you. You must be able to think for yourself and use what is taught to you as a guide and not a rule book. The human body is unpredictable. You must be willing to alter and adapt yourself to groove with it.

Some of you will buckle under the pressure; some of you will quit.  But some…some of you will thrive. 

This is your starting line. This is your arena. How well you play? That’s up to you.”

As soon as the speech was over, the students looked around familiarizing themselves with their competition. 

Olivia turned to her right and she saw him regarding her with his piercing blue eyes, almost as if he was assessing her threat level. A smirk formed on both their faces at the same time, like they were thinking the same thing…

Game on.

Chapter 2: Rookie Mistakes

[delicrieux]

queens, half past ten | p.p.

pairing: peter parker (as spiderman) x reader

summary: walking home alone at night is terrifying with your phone being dead, but, heh, spiderman is on patrol and you’re really craving starbucks.

warnings: nothing! fluff and pinning only xx

words: 2.2k

author’s note: this is part of my social media au BE MY VALENTINE! but it can also be read as a standalone fic!!

feedback is always appreciated xoxo

masterlist | buy me coffee☕. previous. next.

heading home from a concert under normal circumstances would be an adventure-esque movie/music clip where you’d listen to music and stare longingly out the window and into the shadow shrouded streets, faraway blinking lights from either cars or buildings. you’d imagine what it would be like to be a lead singer, or a drummer, or better yet the guitarist, and what all of that would entail. how you’d perform and smile and scream the lyrics along with adoring fans, how you’d get free drinks (when you’re legal), and how you’d have many bowie-esque backstage shenanigans.

alas, your phone is dead and you are stuck in confining silence, with nothing but the occasional whine of a passing car making you jump. the night is cold; smoke leaves your lips with each breath and you are eerily aware how loud your breathing is. the streets are bare —work night, no one really hangs around this late — and you feel like the only person in the world, but in a bad way. normally you’d call mj or jess and chat away about your experience at the concert, smile so hard your cheeks would hurt. now you hurry down the streets, itching to get home as soon as possible. not safe. pepper spray is grasped inside your pocket, but knowing you, if an attack (god forbid!) would happen, you’d probably spray yourself in the face and be doomed for. how did you forget to charge your phone? your friends must be worried sick. your mom would probably be too, if it wasn’t for the fact that you told her your at mj’s and she thinks you’re eating snacks and gossiping at the moment. instead you’re walking home alone with no means of communication. oh my god, no one would even be able to find you if you disappeared.

scaring yourself to death won’t help, nor make the walk shorter, or so you concluded. alas, you can’t help being on edge. if you saw a person now you’d probably burst into tears.

worst fears come true. the night had been amazing but it seems that everything is going downhill when you pass a pub. some loiter next to the door and smoke, their eyes trailing you as you walk past. bad bad bad. not everyone is evil, but you never know! being a girl is hard enough without the crushing fear of going home alone. you quickly disappear around a corner, sharp turn, you’re really working up a sweat by walking so quickly. the worst has passed, you think, sighing.

then someone has the fucking nerve to whistle at you. you thought this only happens in movies, but no, reality is just as cruel. you keep your head down and pick up the pace, but before much else—

“hey!” you jump and snap your head to a nearby lamppost, eyes wide in horror, heart hammering in your chest, but relax once you see it’s just spiderman. he gives an awkward wave, sitting quite comfortably on the lamp, legs swinging, as if he’s bored. staring as him, you uncertainly wave back, “sorry, i didn't mean to scare you.” he says, his voice deep and strange and somehow familiar. “i just uhh— heard those guys whistle at you and figured you’d appreciate the company. not safe in this part of town.”

you really don’t know what to say as he makes his way down to stand beside you. you hadn’t prepared to meet a superhero tonight, and certainly not one you had been actively stalking on social media for a better part of the year. oh my god. he’s really next to you, isn’t he? had he noticed you liking all of his posts? dear god, you hope not. suddenly rooted in spot, breath spent, cheeks aflame, you are thankful it’s so dark outside.

“i’m uhhh spiderman.” he introduces.

you manage to give him a shy smile, “...hi.”

mj will freak when she hears this. you will too once you process what’s happening. worlds are colliding in your very eyes. you have a hopeless crush on him, though now... is it really that hopeless? it’s fate. you don’t believe in fate, but any other explanation escapes you. he awkwardly mutters for you to lead the way and you two fall into pace. yet you don’t feel much calmer, rather now you’re nervous, but in a good way. you trust him. instantly. there is something familiar about his stance, his demeanor, yet you can’t quite place it. you wonder what he looks like behind his mask and sneak a glance at him. there is no way to tell. but your guess? hm... couldn’t be anyone like timothee chalamet, spiderman has some bulk on him. evan peters? maybe, but the aura doesn't quite fit. ross lynch?

you glance at him again, smiling to yourself a little. could be like ross lynch — brown hair, kind eyes —...what if it is ross lynch? can’t be that far of a stretch, most superheroes are hot (you’ve seen captain marvel, or just, as most dub her, god). but if it really is, you’ll faint.

you quickly fix your hair, somewhat self-conscious. you must look a mess right now. how will he fall in love with you when you’re all red and sweaty?

“so... what have you been up to?” he asks. he’s interested. good start. you have to swallow down a manic giggle.

“i went to this concert with my friend.” you say, a bit breathless, “it was so, so much fun, i just forgot to charge my phone so...” you tilt your head to him, flash him your most lovely smile, “i’m glad you showed up.”

“just uhhh—“ he fumbles, “doing my job! yes.”

“i know you’re like super busy—“ you continue shyly, hooking a strand of hair behind your ear (you are too good at this. if it wasn’t love at first sight, it sure as hell going to be at second), “—fighting crime, saving people... so it means a lot that you... you know... are not doing that right now to make sure i make it home safely.”

most don’t know this (with the exception of mj, that is) but you are very sly and calculating when you need to be. so you, gracefully and absolutely ‘unintentionally’, step closer to him, walking side by side, shoulders brushing. he fidgets, anxious, and you can only assume he is a bit flustered under that mask of his. your heart skips happy beats. you wonder if you whined enough would he web-sling you back to your apartment. you’ve never flown before. it must be exhilarating.

“your safety is just as important, (n—“ he promptly shuts up, swallows, then clears his throat, “uh... what’s your name, again?” you introduce yourself with another love-struck smile, “haha, i’m spiderman...” he chuckles nervously.

you lean in. he freezes. “i know.”

“so, uh, anyway, anything else i can do for you?” he wonders aloud, his voice unnaturally deep. you wonder if his throat hurts from putting all that stress on his vocal cords. alas, his identity must be kept top secret -- if it really is ross lynch, you understand that his career as a heartthrob is more important -- and so you refrain from questioning him. though, now that you think about it, you are a bit parched. power walking home really takes a lot out of the body, and you could definitely use a sugary drink. probably not the best idea, but you still have a mountain of homework, so it’s not like you’ll go to sleep once you’re actually home. 

besides, the more time you spend with this, presumably, insanely handsome superhero - the better. 

“actually...” you say with a dreamy smile, “i’d go for a drink right now. like starbucks. oh yea, definitely starbucks.” as overpriced as their coffee is, the flavor is impeccable.

spiderman is quiet for a moment, possibly considering whether to dismiss you or not, or trying to locate the nearest starbucks in the map of his mind.

lastly, “sure.” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice, “there’s one a few blocks down...i think.”

“ahh...” you nod, looking down at your shoes wistfully. no, they are not uncomfortable, actually the opposite of that. but he doesn’t know that. this is your one and only chance to see the city from a birds eye view, and there is no chance in hell you’re missing out on it. you’ll scam your way into anything. 

“are you scared of heights?” he suddenly asks.

you jerk, startled, wide-eyed, in absolute disbelieve that your cheap tricks are actually working, “...no. why?” you narrow your eyes, all suspicious and pretend like. 

he opens his arms, “well...come here.”

“what?”

“we’re taking a shortcut. will be fun, promise.” he insists. you heart roars in joy. he is so in love with you. fighting a grin, you sling your arms over his neck, and his arm snakes it’s way around your waist, pressing you close.

“just...hold on tightly.” you can barely hear him over the drum of your heartbeat. and before you can prepare - physically and mentally - you’re shot into the air, wind in your ears, adrenaline in your veins.

the city goes in vertigo and you laugh, wondrous and scared out of your wits, but excited all the same. the glimmering lights, car beeps and snippets of conversation fade into an incoherent whistle. your eyes start to water and so you shut them for a moment, before opening them again and seeing queens from so far up before your vision blurs as you race forward.

when he sets you down, you’re on shaky legs, hair a mess, smile so wide it hurts your cheeks but you can’t help it.

“that was...” you start, breathless, “so...so awesome. best uber i’ve ever had.”

“five stars?”

“i’d give you ten if it was possible.”

starbucks is up and running and unsurprisingly empty of patrons and the two of you slowly walk over, mindful of your wobbly stance. he grasps your shoulder, steadying you, and you nod at him gratefully. being the true gentleman he is, he opens the door for you with a dramatic bow, and you giggle a you enter.

“yo!” the barista, a young college student, calls, “sup, spiderman?”

“hey, george.” 

“friend of yours?” you whisper to him.

“yep. two free coffees, coming right up.” he mutters back, stalking to the counter before you can stop him. your orders are usually complicated and absolutely bizarre, but you suppose something simple for this hectic night wouldn't be that bad--

your mouth falls open when he says the exact order of your favorite drink. word for word. even the pronunciation is similar. and for himself he picks peter’s go-to. the barista, you suppose calling him george would be appropriate, nods and goes to fix your drinks. you wander to spiderman, blushing.

“how...did you know my favorite order?” you pipe up.

“oh-uh... i’m good at reading people.” he explains quickly, “it’s uhh--...part of my superpower.”

“wow, that’s awesome, wish i had powers.” you say, “actually, you ordered peter’s fav.” you admit, “oh! uh, peter’s my friend.”

“he sounds like a really cool dude.”

“you...don’t know anything about him?”

“uh...it’s the name. peter’s a strong name. for a...strong cool guy.”

“he’s kind of a dork, to be honest.” you mutter with a soft smile, “but he’s really sweet.”

“so...you like him?”

“‘course i like him!” you say, just as george announces your drinks are ready, “he’s my friend.” you finish, quickly maneuvering past him to get your coffee.

“right...friend...”

there was a mutual agreement to walk back, since neither of you wanted to risk spilling your drinks on unknowing townies or yourselves. to your surprise, he had lifted his mask up, just a bit, to expose his jaw and lips and to sip his delicious drink. and yes, you might have stared excessively and shamelessly, and yes, you were almost convinced it was ross lynch himself walking you home, and yes, the urge to kiss him for this fantastic date came in waves. one moment you wanted to throw your arms around him and taste the coffee drops on his lips, but the next you recoiled and re-thought your approach. alas, your street came into view all too quick.

you stop, and so does he, and with a somewhat sad smile, you say, “well, i won’t keep you any longer. there’s probably a robbery happening or something, and i’m...” you turn away, see your apartment complex looming, “home.”

“uh—yea, totally.” he nods, “uhm...it was a pleasure to meet you, (name). i had fun.”

now or never.

instead of giving him some lame, forgettable goodbye, you throw your arms around him and squeeze tightly, smiling into his shoulder. he wraps his arms around you loosely, stiffly, as if uncertain whether it’s the right thing to do or not.  blushed like a rose, you tilt your head and land a soft kiss on the side of his lips, “that’s for good luck.” you murmur, smiling deliriously, lastly pulling a way and waving, “and for the record, i had fun too.”

he says nothing, too stunned to move.

you, in the elevator, your dead phone grasped in your hand, feeling like your heart might bust out of your chest, and he, sitting on a roof of a nearby building, watching, waiting for the light in your room to turn on as an indication that you’re finally safe, mutter: “holy shit.”

tags(i wasn’t able to tag the italicized!): @toospicy-peppermint​ - @badbitsh13​ - @hotshot-deserves-more-love​ - @bitcheekun​ - @songofcosplay​ - @magical-spit​ - @stxrtreatment​ - @kxssiewrites​ - @captain-lovemeplease - @myangelarcade​ - @goldenrunaway​

[lovelyirony]

“I trust you completely.” clint & sharon (CW). i love their brotp :)

Clint Barton and Sharon Carter were never supposed to be friends. Seriously, they weren’t. Coulson had a plan and everything. He thought they would balance each other out. 

Barton had been a new addition to SHIELD. They had brought him in from a circus, where he’d been dressing up in sparkly purple outfits and hitting targets for ten minutes, all with deadly accuracy. 

Of course on the side, he had been taking down some enemies that SHIELD was having trouble aiming at. 

But he was skittish. Quiet. 

People at SHIELD had thought that he was going to be a strong and silent type. 

They needed someone to reign in Carter, for at least a few moments. 

Sharon Carter is very good at her job. The main problem is that she knows it and she knows that she meets expectations, although not in the way that people want her to. 

(She knows they’re expecting a brunette with red lipstick and a will of iron, face of steel. But she can’t give that.) 

Clint Barton is introduced as a means of mellowing her out. 

He takes a look at her white jumpsuit and asks why once the agents are out of earshot. 

“People notice you, you get the job done quicker,” Sharon says with a shrug. 

While Clint isn’t as extreme, he requests his new SHIELD armor suit be made of dark purple. 

Coulson gets a feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“I better not be getting an ulcer,” Phil mutters to Maria. 

Maria Hill knows things. Like how Clint always smiles at Sharon’s funny commentary on missions, or how he writes everything in blue ink just to be different. 

“Is it going to make you feel better if I tell you that you won’t get an ulcer?” 

“No.” 

Sharon laughs when Clint shows up in the newly-purple suit. 

“Welcome, Barton. I think we’re gonna have fun tonight.” 

Clint is very surprised at how casually Sharon treats missions. They’re outside the bar that a man named Sawyer Camron is said to frequent. The problem is that they don’t know what he looks like, and so they are on surveillance duty. 

They’re sitting across at a diner, which in all respects is one of the worst/best places Clint’s ever been depending on your stance on health code violations. 

“And you’re sure that it’s that guy?” Clint asks. “No offense, but I’ve been seeing you paying more attention the appetizers.” 

“Of course I have been, there were mini corn dogs on the menu,” Sharon says. “But I do pay attention, all things considered. That guy hasn’t ordered anything but a single beer, and he hasn’t touched it since he got here. Now I don’t know about you, but beer that bad is usually only in New York City, and we’re nowhere near that level of shit yet.” 

Clint loosens up after that. He’s been too focused on doing things to the SHIELD standard, following Romanov’s lead and taking Coulson’s advice for what works for him to heart. 

He’s not...Clint’s a wack job. A nut, if you will. When he’s alone in his apartment after work he trips over shoes he forgot to set aside, barely knows how his own oven works (which isn’t his fault, the numbers have worn off on the dials, but still...) and he’s about one episode of Seinfeld away from losing all semblance of self and eating soup for four days in a row. 

Sharon Carter is remarkably similar, which is both a surprise and expected as Clint sees her furrowing her brow at an app on her phone. 

“What are you doing now?” 

“I have a hydration tracker. Maria made me get it because I keep forgetting to drink water. I can’t remember the last time I drank water.” 

“You have that problem too?” 

“Yes,” Sharon says. “Maria will never stop giving me shit for it.” 

“Natasha keeps getting me water bottles and I keep losing them.” 

They laugh together, then turn to the scene at hand. Sawyer’s on the move, and his bill wasn’t even paid. 

“Bastard gets a sub-standard beer and he still doesn’t pay the four bucks,” Clint mutters. “Thirteen, what’s the game plan?” 

“I’m gonna go by his car, see if I can plant a tracker. Cover me?” 

“How so?” 

“Just wait.” 

Sharon Carter is a master at giving a man a “oh hello there, I think you may be cute” look. Sawyer’s looking at her like she’s the answer to every single problem in the universe in about two minutes. 

Clint’s in awe. He wants to know how. 

“Teach me how to get a man to potentially get me a car now.” 

“It involves so many things,” Sharon says. “So many.” 

Clint Barton comes out of his shell. 

While is a good thing, SHIELD cannot help but regret it. 

Because Clint declares that he has “dibs” on seducing the next mark, it’s not fair that Sharon and Nat get to do it all the time. 

“I’m not saying that you can’t, but I do want to know why,” Phil asks. 

“Because I’m sexy and therefore relevant,” Clint says. “Also Sharon taught me how to look into a man’s eyes and get him to give me his wallet. Not related to this, I now have a wallet and sixty dollars. Pretty bitches always win.” 

“Why did you teach him that phrase,” Coulson says to Sharon, who shrugs. 

“You denied my file claim for a better printer.” 

“It’s not in the budget.” 

“Well maybe if you stopped buying high quality pens we’d be fine.” 

“Do you like having the worst pens available?” Coulson asks. “Do you like having rage in your everyday life?” 

“Of course!” Sharon says brightly. “But none of us deserve high quality pens. What you should do is give them in a reward system so that everyone knows that SHIELD runs on favoritism and they’ll have to fight for the good donuts.” 

(Okay so Sharon’s right about this and Coulson knows this but like. He doesn’t want to tell her that she is.) 

- 

Sharon invites Clint over for brunch with Nat. 

Clint thinks it’s kind of nice to have friends. He hadn’t really had any before, besides the kids his age in the circus that he would sometimes mess around with before the show. 

Sharon makes him try different breakfast foods and go to thrift stores with her to find the worst options available. 

“I think this is it,” Sharon says, pulling out a shirt that had a horrible stock image of an old man fishing with the caption: Born to fish, forced to work! Clint laughs, looking at it. 

“This is the future the liberals want.” 

Sharon cracks up, adding it to her basket. 

She fully encourages Clint’s habit of buying terrible art to hang in his apartment. While Natasha and Maria groan when Clint hosts dinner and they have to see the terrible art that he buys. 

“Is that supposed to be Dwayne Johnson? In a clown suit?” 

“Yes, so shut the fuck up and eat your noodles,” Clint says. 

“I love it!” Sharon declares. “I think it’s telling me that I could be killed in my sleep!” 

“See? Sharon gets the vibes,” Clint says. 

- 

This isn’t to say that neither of them can’t be serious. They both can, and it’s absolutely terrifying when they are. 

They’re going up against an old enemy of Clint’s. A guy who wasn’t the best to kids in the circus, often made people “disappear.” 

Clint hates him. Doesn’t talk for a while. Sharon recognizes this, puts a hand on his shoulder. SHIELD has wanted them to proceed according to a very stupid, undercover plan that is entirely unnecessary. Clint could easily knock him with an arrow and be done with it. In fact, it’s what would be preferable. 

They have a babysitter placed on them, essentially. SHIELD knows that Sharon can and will and has encouraged Clint to go beyond their parameters. 

“I trust you completely,” Sharon says. “And will be backing you up should we have to go to Fury’s office. Fuck the plan. I’ll distract the other agents, you go.” 

The guy goes down with an arrow to a shoulder. 

The overhead agent, of course, is furious. 

“He was supposed to be brought back unharmed,” he seethes. “What part of that don’t you understand?” 

“That wasn’t an option,” Sharon says coldly. “The undercover work would have taken an extra two weeks, and I know you were bitching about missing your son’s basketball tournament. So take it or leave it. Hawkeye and I will deal with it.” 

Fury, spectacularly, doesn’t give two shits how they got the guy. 

“As long as he doesn’t escape custody the fuck do I care?” Fury asks. “Quit wasting my time, Rumlow already does that. Just sign off on the paperwork and go bother somebody else.” 

Sharon grins victoriously at Clint as they’re out of the office. 

“Thank god for Fury.” 

“Don’t let him hear you say that, he might ask for things,” Clint stage-whispers. “Thanks for having my back, Carter. I owe you one.” 

“We’re friends, you don’t owe me one for missions,” Sharon says. “Now drinks on the other hand...you owe me a trip to the grocery store so we can make frozen margaritas.” 

Clint grins, pulling Sharon’s arm along. 

“Race you to the car.” 

“Oh, you’re on.” 

[anoutlandishfanfic]

Metamorphosis AU: Ch. 24, Pt. 2, Convalescence.

Huzzah! Finally an update!! Thank you all for your patience.

The Premise: What if Claire had conceived on her wedding night with Jamie?

You can find previous chapters here or over at AO3.

Its a bit of a long one, so everything is below the cut.

January 22nd, 1744.

“Jamie, this is amazing,” I sighed, trying to take in the wonder my husband had just introduced me to. Rows upon rows of books surrounded us, bookshelves housing tomes of history, poetry, and — the section I was standing in the very midst of — medicine.

My fingers reverently brushed across the spines of the books before me. English, French, and Latin titles bespoke of anatomy and physiology, the beginnings of cardiology and the cardiovascular system. They were far from what I considered the latest break in medical advancement, I was sure a good portion of the information they held within would be entirely incorrect, but the value of such a collection in my day would be priceless. 

“Aye,” he grinned proudly, professing, “I thought you might like it. Murtagh brought me several to read before I found my feet again and now I find myself coming here often… ‘tis soothing, somehow.”

I nodded, knowing the feeling well, but he continued, his focus shifting to the tomes in front of us. 

“Micrographia… Institutiones Medicae... A Directory for— Sassenach look a’ this!”

Jamie eagerly snatched the book from the shelf, rattling off its name and contents as fast as his lips could tout them. 

A Directory for Midwives or a Guide for Women in the Conception, Bearing, and Suckling of their Children. 

“The Anatomy of the Vessels of Generation, The Formation of the Child in the Womb, What Hinders Conception, What Hastens Conception… Christ, everythin’s in here!”

I peered at the open page before him and scanned the rest of the table of contents. 

A Guide for Women in their Labour. 

A Guide for Women in their Lying-In. 

Jesus H Roosevelt Christ

My gut clenched and nausea threatened to over take me at the antiquated phrase. 

Their bloody fucking lying-in. 

This phase of a woman’s pregnancy — the one I was now in the very midst of — often spelled her demise. What, with weeks spent confined to her bedchamber and doted on by the backward practices of an uneducated physician, mothers dropped like flies in this century and their infants soon followed, if not predeceased them. The thought of the entire book being filled with monstrous diagrams made my head spin as I pushed it against Jamie’s chest and staggered out of the row of bookcases. 

“Claire?”

My husband’s voice floated over my head as I careened towards the large fireplace at the other end of the room. I heard him follow me, but didn’t acknowledge his presence as I reached my destination and grabbed for the back of a sturdy wooden chair before the fire. My knuckles turned white as I gripped it, my chest tight as I gasped for air. 

“Are you alright, mo chridhe?” he asked from somewhere behind me. 

“No,” I bit out, my jaw clenching as my head gave a decided shake, “I’m fucking terrified.”

Jamie paused only for a moment before stepping around and coming to stand before me. His face was awash with complete understanding, his eyes alight with his own fears… for he knew first hand the dangers involved in the travail ahead of me. 

“Aye,” he murmured softly, my frantic heartbeat evening out beneath his steady gaze. 

“Forget about the book, mo nighean donn.”

I shook my head as sanity and coherent thought slowly began to creep back in, his nearness steadying me. 

“No, you should read it,” I swallowed hard, tramping down the bile rising at the back of my throat. “We should read it… go through it together.”

Jamie offered his hand over the chair and I took it gladly, continuing as he guided me into his arms. 

“I need you to know what’s going on… I need you to protect me… protect us, should the midwife try any funny business.”

“Funny business?”

“Yes,” I muttered emphatically, albeit muffled by the front of his shirt as I buried my face in his chest. 

He contemplated this foreign phrase for a moment, his whole body rumbling in good humor as he asked, “Did the midwife a’ Lallybroch try any funny business?”

“No,” I shook my head against him as I reckoned back to that fateful day at Lallybroch. 

“No, she knew what she was doing… so did Jenny.”

What I wouldn’t give to have Jenny here. 

Jamie’s sister had been confident in her midwife, in her own capabilities, and in the knowledge that should the worst happen — a very real possibly as her baby had been breach — her young family would be safe in the care of their father and secure in her ancestral home. 

I had no guarantees of any of these things. 

I was incredibly wary of anyone in this century who claimed to have any sort of medical knowledge, unsure of my own body’s limitations — say nothing of strength of those who lived within me — and entirely unwilling to let myself even think of what would happen to Jamie and our children should I die in childbirth. 

A shiver ran through me and Jamie’s embrace tightened, his head tipping forward to rest atop mine. His lips moved amid my curls and his voice brought me out of my thoughts. 

“You liked the midwife a’ Leoch, aye? Mebbe we can find one in France who isna sae bad.”

The bitter taste of dread filled my mouth as I contemplated our impending voyage and subsequent overland journey to Paris. It would take weeks and I wasn’t sure just how many of those I had to spare. 

What if my time came before we reached our destination?

I moved in Jamie’s arms, twisting until I could see his face. I needed to see the surety in his eyes, the strength that somehow still remained after all he’d been through. 

“And if she is?”

His lips hovered above mine, his blue eyes true as he promised, “I willna leave your side, mo chridhe… not for a moment.”

I kissed him soundly, taking him at his word, needing his presence and support more than any guidance a midwife could give me. 

Jenny’s labor had been almost instinctual, a dance orchestrated by the movements within her… I knew myself best while I was within my husband’s arms, intune to the inner workings of my womb and that of my heart. I could let the world and its worries fade away and focus on him… on us. 

Maybe mine could be the same.  

He kissed me again, making my heart soar and my head spin. His good hand slid down my back, settling on my hips for a moment before dipping even further to firmly grasp my bottom. He lifted me ever so slightly as he pressed himself against me and revealed a need as mighty as my own. 

Electricity ran up and down my spine and I took hold of a fistful of his hair as his tongue slipped between my lips. I moaned around his intrusion, my hips bucking against his, and I felt his lips smile around mine as he slowly retreated. 

“Jamie,” I hissed. 

“Aye,” he purred, “I ken.”

Another, foreign voice echoed my husband’s name from somewhere in the distance, completely interrupting the first truly intimate moment I’d had with him in months. 

“Jamie?”

“Go the bloody hell away,” I muttered and pulled Jamie’s lips back to mine. 

He chuckled at this and the deep vibrations of his delight sent me reeling towards the point of no return

“Jamie?” The voice tried again, “Are ye within?”

I plunged my hands between us, tugging at his shirtfront and entirely untucking as I groaned, “Not just yet, but he will be in a moment.”

Jamie’s smile spread into a full on grin as he kissed me quickly, but then — to my complete dismay — he broke away and settled me back onto the ground. I blinked up at him in confusion as he called out to our disturbance. 

“Aye, over here, lad,” he guided, tucking his shirt neatly back into its place. 

Guilt overwhelmed me as I back peddled, letting him move towards the general direction of who I assumed to be Willie. 

He isn’t ready, you bloody fool. Do you really expect him to hop right back into your pants now that he’s regained basic function of his extremities?! Give him time!

Jamie took hold of my hand before I could move away much farther and pulled me back to his side, murmuring low, “We’ll see wha’ news he has, then send him on his way, aye?

I nodded without comment and he squeezed my hand. He tipped my chin up with one finger to look at him and his eyes communicated all I needed to know and then some before he kissed me once more. 

Soon… I promise. 

I sighed as he pulled away and forced a smile for the unofficial go-between to Jamie’s uncle Dougal. I refused to speak to the bloody man and as he and my husband were at constant loggerheads over our flight from the Highlands, Willie had stepped into the position with gusto. 

“A good evenin’ to ye, Mistress Claire,” his genuine and warm greeting was soothing, even as his presence was the last thing I wished for right now.

“And to you, Willie.”

Jamie’s stance shifted, unable to stay still as he anticipated the news to come, “Did you find him, then? The captain of the Demeter?”

“Nae, I didna,” the boy’s face fell. “It sailed wi’ the tide last morn… but the innkeeper thought it’d be back in three weeks time.”

“Nothin’ before then?” Jamie sighed.

“No’ that I could find… but I’ll keep lookin’.”

“Aye,” Jamie nodded, having to accept this. “I thank ye, lad.”

Willie stood a little straighter at his, his admiration for my husband growing by the day, and insisted, “‘Twas nothin’. We’ll find one yet.”

The boy made a move to leave, but then remembered something.

“Oh, Mistress Claire, Father Anselm asked if ye’d come to the kitchens… Brother Josef has a wee burn tha’ needs a bit of tendin’, if ye’re up to it.”

His face was expectant, knowing my answer before I said it. These men of faith had done so much for me and my own that it would be incredibly rude of me to not see to the wound, say nothing of unethical.

“Of course,” I tried to smile.

Jamie saw my reticence and grinned as he fanned the flames within me, picking up the book we’d found and giving me a dismissive whack on the behind with it, “I’ll bring this back to your rooms, then, Sassenach.”

“Wait for me, mmm?” I gave him a look before moving away, telling him exactly what I thought of that.

“Oh, aye,” he grabbed my hand, bringing me hastily back to his side as he dipped his head, purring a directive for my ears alone. 

“Hurry.”

…

The act of caring for Brother Josef’s minor wound had cooled my head, but the heat of what awaited me in my chambers still burned deep within me as I bid the small gathering of monks goodnight. I assured them I could find my way on my own, not wanting their celibate presence along side me as I wrestled with what this stage in Jamie’s recovery would mean for the both of us. 

Was he really ready?

Physically, my husband was certainly healthy enough for intercourse — provided he was smart about the use of his right hand — but it was his emotional state that I was worried about. 

Jamie had remained silent over much about what had happened in that hell hole, but I knew for certain that the sadistic bastard hadn’t kept his hands to himself. The psychological scars were plain for me to see, even with my untrained eyes, and I had no idea how to proceed. 

Would my touch echo his?

I sighed, making the executive decision to let Jamie’s needs guide my own, and turned my thoughts instead to my own physical state. 

I hadn’t been with Jamie in eleven weeks and I’d be blatantly lying if I said I hadn’t kept track… or that I wasn’t self-conscious about my pregnant form. I was swollen and stretched to my breaking point, yet my hormones had me strung so high that I was ready to jump him at any and every possibility. 

It wasn’t long before I reached my destination and was forced to face quite another reality. 

Was I ready?

My hand hesitated on the knob, my lower lip tucking between my lips as I chastised myself. 

Pull yourself together, Beauchamp. 

I opened the door before I could think of a reason not to and stepped through. I found Jamie in my favorite chair before the fire, reading the book we’d found together. 

His head lifted at my entrance and I found all of my doubts disappearing into thin air at his smile. It warmed me to my toes, setting the dull throb between my legs into fine frenzy as he set the book aside and rose to his feet. 

He reached out his hand, taking mine as we met in the middle of the room and greeting me with a kiss that took the very breath from my lungs. 

“Do you ken what I just reading about, mo chridhe?” Jamie purred, his lips hovering just above mine. 

“What’s that?” I hedged, any coherent thought blissfully drowned out by his intoxicating presence. 

“Your anatomy.”

“Mine specifically?” I found myself grinning like an idiot as I settled more comfortably in his arms, “Or female genitalia in general?”

“Genitalia,” he tested out the word, rolling it around in his mouth with great satisfaction for a moment before pronouncing, “You have verra fine genitalia, Sassenach.”

His hips shifted against mine and a shiver of anticipation ran down my spine, but still I found myself hesitant. I gave a wordless response, neither agreeing or disagreeing, and he caught this, intuitive as ever. His brow furrowed as he studied my face, moving his away as his head tipped to one side in contemplation. 

“Do you think I’d find you anythin’ but beautiful, mo nighean donn?”

I shook my head slowly as one shoulder lifted in a feeble shrug, my gaze flicking away.

“Ach, mo gradhe,” he murmured, completely deflated. 

My jaw clenched as tears burned at the back of my eyes and I slid them shut as his warm hand lifted to cup my cheek. 

“You’ve taken such care of me,” his thumb gently wiped away my tears. “Will you let me care for you?”

I sighed, turning my face to place a kiss in his palm, but he stopped me, slipping his fingers beneath my chin and tipping it up. 

“Claire,” he coaxed, kissing me gently.

His right hand lowered to the obvious presence between us, his good arm siding around my hips as he pulled me closer. 

“Do you remember what I told you a’ the first?” he murmured. “When you were beginnin’ to show an’ worrit I wouldna find you attractive?”

I shook my head, but opened my eyes, unable to speak and yet needing to see my husband’s face. A warm smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, remembering back to those early days of my pregnancy. I was sicker than a dog, unable to keep much of anything down, but his care for me had been devoted and constant, never wavering. 

“I said that I loved the glow you seemed to have about you… tha’ the more our children needed of you, the more beautiful you become.”

His eyes were bright, the faint sheen of his own tears making them sparkle in the low light. 

“I thought I meant it then,” Jamie’s voice deepened into a sensual purr, his nose a breath away from mine, “but, now… a dhia, Sorcha, the very sight of them thrivin’ so within you…”

He kissed me then, long and hard, until we were both gasping for air, desperate for more of each other. His fingers clumsily tugged at the fastenings of my skirts, but effectively reached his goal, sending them into a heap at my feet. He paused for a moment, his hands trembling slightly as they lowered to frame the growing swell of our children.

I brought my own to rest atop his as I kissed him once more, moving his left hand to the place where they stirred within me, eagerly responding to their father’s greeting. 

“They’re safe,” he murmured hoarsely, burying his face in my neck. 

I nodded, slipping my arms around him, my fingers splaying wide across his back. I could feel the raised scars against my palms, stirring up memories of their infliction and the more recent injuries he’d experienced at the hand of the same sadistic madman. 

“So are you,” I echoed.

Sliding my hands between us, I deftly unbuckled the belt around his waist, sending his kilt cascading down on top of the heap of my skirts before taking hold of great bunches of his shirt. I pushed the material up and he eagerly tugged it over his head, entirely willing to be the first to bare himself and stand naked in the middle of the room. 

His eyes found mine after surfacing from the swath of fabric, deep pools of arousal echoing that of his firm stance below, and I quickly began to melt under his gaze. The warmth in my cheeks quickly began to spread as I loosened what constituted as my stays, my bodice gaping open. I moved to shrug it off, but he stopped me, his hands keeping my sleeves on my shoulders. 

Jamie’s good hand slid between my shirtfront and thin shift, his palm savoring the fullness of my breast. The other soon joined it and his thumbs began to gently caress my sensitive nipples. They stood on end in an instant, but he kept up his coaxing repetition, making me squirm as I struggled to get closer to him, the bulk between us entirely getting in my way.  He acquiesced with a smile and lowered his mouth to mine as he stripped me down to my final layer. 

This done, he took my hand and led me towards the bed. My head spun with emotion and arousal, but, still, I stopped halfway there and dropped his hand. Jamie paused with me, concern growing between his brows as he tried to gauge my thoughts. 

“Wait,” I murmured, biting my lip for a moment as I fought indecision, but then brought my hand to the drawstring at my neck. I quickly loosened it and let my shift slip off my shoulders, sliding it over my belly and decisively discarding it on the floor. 

A low rumble of delight started at my husband’s toes and rose up the length of him, morphing into a growling moan as it hit the back of his throat. He had me in his arms again before I could register his movement, swiftly guiding me to sit on the edge of the bed and then lying against the pillows a moment later. 

I blinked up at him in surprise — such activity usually requiring quite a bit more time and effort on my own — and let out a rather undignified giggle. 

Jamie’s prideful smile hovered above me for only a moment before his mouth got down to business, finding my own again first off, then lowering to the base of my neck as he settled himself over me. I slipped my fingers into his curls, taking hold of a fistful and inhaling sharply as he once more found my sensitive breasts. 

A low rumble of delight sounded from deep within him and I groaned, trying to pull his lips back up to mine. He only grinned, brushing a kiss across my sternum as he moved from one breast to the other.

This addressed, his hands drifted down to my belly and he took a moment to greet his children. His fingers skimmed across my skin as his lips placed a reverent kiss just above my navel, then traced a direct line to my pubic bone. He shifted then, leaving his good hand between my legs while returning his lips to mine. 

“The wee book says ‘tis the clitoris tha’ gives you pleasure,” he purred. “Delight in copulation, I believe were his words.”

A wordless moan escaped my lips as he gave the area in question exquisite attention, my hips bucking as I demanded more of him. 

“Tis true, then?” Jamie cheekily asked, knowing full well the answer. “Tha’s one thing Culpepper’s got right.”

“Damn the bloody book, Jamie!”

He kissed me once more before removing his hand and settled himself into position. I lifted my knees, gripping him tightly as my arms slipped around his neck. His brow pressed against mine and his eyes slid shut, his lips trembling slightly as he hesitated. 

“Come find me,” I crooned softly. “Come find us.”