#MAN FACED OFF AGAINST GOD AND YOU CHOSE RED'S TEAM IN THE END??

[plugnuts]

I think Gold deserves a Pro Team Omega spin off he deserves it

[sailorsenshishitposter]

Raiden hires you for group therapy with Desperado

This started off as a joke, became serious and then was a joke at the end. I can't considered it a crack fic though because to be honest, the characters would probably act this way,

Your friends couldn't understand why you chose psychology for a career path but you were so interested in what made us human and you loved to help those in need. You worked as a therapist at a well renowned psychiatric hospital in Denver, your certificates proudly hung against the wall. You were usually reserved for what your co-workers liked to call "special cases". You were often sent the very worst of patients that others couldn't handle, deeming them "a lost cause". You felt that every case was different and required a new approach then what was tried previously. You had a high success rate and it was nothing short or a miracle that you could manage to fix those who seemed beyond repair.

Today was going to be an unusual case even for you. You were no stranger to working with PTSD induced PMC's but you could not imaging the phone call you would be receiving.  It was one of your previous clients, Jack. He asked if it was available to book an emergency group therapy session and you told him that he had made so much progress that you were happy to agree to a rushed appointment. If only you knew what was in store for you.

You receive a call that your patient had arrived but it would take some time before you could meet up in the building. Supposedly Jack was hoping to reform some captured terrorists, meaning security would be even tighter than usual and procedures were being put into place so that they wouldn't pose any threats or escape. You nervously swallowed your morning cup of coffee. "God, please let everything turn out alright!"

Fourty five minutes later and you had security notifying you. A room had been set up to accommodate the situation. It was stark white and contained no windows. There were only plush chairs, a precaution should a fight break out. Anything that could be considered sharp or used as a weapon was removed. A SWAT team was placed outside of the room in case Jack failed in keeping the criminals complacent. You tried not to let your fear show as you slowly opened the door.

You were stunned at the sight in front of you. You knew Jack but you were unsure what to think of the others. He greeted you and shook your hand, presenting all the prisoners. The first was a man named Samuel Rodriguez. To be honest he looked almost like any other normal man so you assumed that Jack was going to make his way up to the worst. The handsome man winked at you and you did your best to maintain your composure.

This is where it got tricky. Jack told you he was unaware of the names of the remaining people but told you they had codenames that you could refer to them by. The first he motioned to was a woman known as Mistral. You took notice of her hunchback like protrusion. At a closer glance you could see several arms connected together that were each handcuffed behind her back. Just what had you gotten yourself into?

The woman gave a huff. She seemed rather non chalant for a supposed terrorist. Next was a man who Jack informed you was referred to as Monsoon. While he didn't share the octopus like arms of the previous patient, something still bothered you. He wore a large mask over his face and you felt that even through all that red that he was still staring at you. Watching intensely like a predator. He started to cackle and you felt a chill run down your spine.

"Alright, who's next?" You didn't know how the last person could get even worse but you knew that Jack had saved him last for a reason. He was a bald man who was chained down to his chair, covered in many locks. You figured that this was the reason for all the heightened security. "This is Sundowner..." You noticed Jack's face turn into disgust. All of a sudden the man spoke up. "Do you happen to work with kids?" You were taken aback by this but answered truthfully. "Damn! I bet those kids are all sorts of cruel huh?" You weren't sure how a man could ask a question like that so bluntly. "These children are highly traumatized. They aren't to be blamed for their actions!" The man let out a laugh. "Oh I know. But it's so much fun watching them commit acts of atrocities!"

You held your hand to your mouth, doing your best not to vomit. Well at least you knew why Sundowner was chosen last. You made your way over to Jack. "I can't help but notice that only two of them are restrained..." He told you it wouldn't be a problem. "Sam's already on his way to being reformed and has no interest in leaving. Monsoon on the other hand..." You saw the mans face change from one of smugness to shame and watched him grit his teeth in anger. "He knows if he acts up then I'll just use one of these on him. Here, catch!" You looked at what Jack had thrown you. "Electromagnetic grenade...?" You weren't sure what this had to do with anything but you thought it was best to not question it.

"All right. Would anyone like to tell me why they're here?" Suddenly it became very loud and it reminded you of a classroom. "One at a time please. How about you?" You pointed towards Sam. He mentioned how his father was killed when he was a child and how he sought revenge. Even after he still felt like nothing had changed and was suffering from depression. "You weakling!" It was Monsoon. "I believe it was Samuel's turn to speak?" Next thing you know, Sam waived his hand. "No, no. By all means tell me what you meant by that?"

The silver haired man chuckled. "With pleasure. War is a cruel parent but an effective teacher-" suddenly the rest of the group let out a collective groan. Sundowner started screaming something about how he had had enough of this meme bullshit. "Fine, I'll skip ahead! You're weak because you're letting your father's death control you. He's passed on Sam so stop acting like a scared child. My family was massacred before I was ten, only making me stronger. If you can't survive then you deserved to be killed by someone stronger. That's just how nature is!"

"May I say something?" It was Mistral. You decided to allow it. "I do not think Sam is weak at all. After all, I butchered the fuckers who murdered my parents. I say you should wear it as a badge of honour." You weren't sure what to say so you let the group continue. "Why thank you Mistral. I'll keep that in mind. That reminds me, Monsoon. Did you ever get revenge on those who took your family away?" Judging by the silence, he had not. "Well I guess we know who's truly the tougher individual then." Suddenly there was shouting, the other man running towards Sam crying "I'LL KILL YOU!"

A second later and there was a flash of light. Monsoon was now motionless. Jack walked over and placed him back on his chair. "C'mon bud, you've been warned."

After everyone had settled down you asked how Mistral was doing. Like Sam, she had also killed the people responsible for her losing her family. She started talking about how afterwards she would participate as a soldier but would still feel alienated. "I slaughtered dozens in Afghanistan and Iraq. To be honest I found it to be quite dull."  Sundowner let out a huff. "That's it, you ruined it!" You had no idea what the man meant but would try to take control of the situation. "What do you mean by that?" He gave you a look as if the answer should be obvious. Not hearing the answer that he wanted, he looked around to his fellow captives. "We're waiting Sundowner."

He started to blush. "C'mon, don't make me spell it out for you!" You were now only more confused. "ARGH! I meant she killed my mood..." It was suddenly starting to sink in. "EW!" and "THAT'S DISGUSTING!" could be heard. "I figured ya guys knew! Hell, why do ya think I named my weapons bloodlust?" Everyone began to shame him. "Y'all are just a bunch of prudes!" Mistral looked the man dead in the eyes. "If you ever talk about being aroused by my suffering then I'll make sure that you'll never see your "sun" rise again if you catch my drift?" Sundowner gulped. "Understood!"

Now it was Monsoons turn. He went on about how he had survived the genocide in Phnom Penh as a young boy only to join the Cambodian Mafia when he was older. Sundowner was starting to become aroused again but everyone decided that it would be best to ignore it. Monsoon then mentioned that he lost his sight in a shooting. "Oh thank God!" It was Sundowner. The other man then turned around to face him. "I have artificial vision now you idiot! And even if I didn't, my hearing abilities are more than capable of hearing your filthy moans! If I had my sais then you would have already been castrated!"

At this point everyone was having enough of the man's behaviour. "Alright Sundowner. Let me ask you this. Why do you think you are here and do you believe that you can be reformed?" The man grinned. "Reformed? Is that what Jack told you? That's a bunch a bullshit! I'm only here because I've been forced to. Believe me, I'd rather be at my job right now." You were curious. "What is it that someone like you does for a living?"

He chuckled. "War is my specialty of course! Got a taste for it in the army and now I'm hooked!" Jack walked over. "I'm going to stop you right there. The reason he's here is because he was trafficking children's brain and teaching them to become soldiers." You were mortified. Before you could even ask, Sundowner had read your thoughts. "Kids are cruel, and I'm very in touch with my inner child!"

You turned to Jack. "I'm sorry but I think that even I'm not able to help them." He sighed. "Figured. It was worth a shot at least." As you began to exit towards the door, Sundowner used the opportunity to cut away at his chains using a shard of bloodlust that he had managed to keep hidden (who knows where? Some say the prison wallet). He broke free and then charged at you, beating your body to death. All that was left was a puddle of blood soup that the man was now playing in.

"DAMN IT!" Sam turned to Raiden. "Don't worry, I'll handle this." He took his chair and began to bash Sundowner over the head repeatedly. Mistral and Monsoon were ecstatic, the two of them both cheering him on. It was like an episode of Jerry Springer only they were shouting "SAMMY! SAMMY! SAMMY! SAMMY!" Soon Raiden teamed up and began trying to cut the man into hamburgers. "HOW MANY TIMES DO WE HAVE TO TEACH YOU THIS LESSON, OLD MAN!"

[xxswagcorexx]

oooooh you wanna talk about fallen angel ash and red soo badly /nf

omg so i got 2 asks about them, so i’m gonna split my ramble into 2 asks ^_^ starting off with red and ash respectively and how they’re paradise lost coded! (get ready for a longgg post under the cut)

ok so i’m gonna. tldr paradise lost for a second but basically paradise lost is about satan’s fall from grace (but this is. literally bible fanfic so basically it explores more themes than the actual bible does) but red is soooo adam coded and ash is (semi) lucifer coded to me .

starting off with adam: the reason he ate the fruit from the tree of knowledge is because he loved eve so much that, in that moment, he couldn’t even begin to imagine the tragedy that was about to happen because of that. even if he knew it was wrong. the only thing that mattered in that moment was himself and eve and he the fact he was willing to do anything for her. and that was the tragedy of the fruit being eaten. because right after he ate it, all of the love he had for eve seemed to disappear away and be replaced with hate and bitterness. (and the love wasnt enough)

so uh. tying this back into reddoons. his guy is willing to follow people to the ends of the earth, even to the point of self destruction. so just. the idea of red being a fallen angel who just wanted to do what was right. but what he thought was right wasn’t the “right” choice because he wasn’t following the orders of god. he just did hat he thought was right in the moment, but it wasn’t really right. and as a result he lost everything he ever knew and became the thing he swore never to be. also insert team chaos parallel here and i am SOOOO bonkers over this ver of fallen angel red u DONT UNDERSTAND!!!

now. on the other hand, ash being a fallen angel is because of an entirely different reason. in my brain

i mentioned he’s (semi) inspired by lucifer and. well tbh a lot of themes Do match up with a lot of ash’s mantras and i just find it sooooo fascinating. MOVING ON basically the reason why lucifer was created even though god knew he was going to rebel and being his beloved humans into sin was because lucifer represented free will and without free will there wouldn’t be love. so like. his creation was kinda a needed sacrifice as a result. anyways eventually when gods son/jesus was created (dont. question the timing btw god is above time so Ignore the time) lucifer was extremely jealous because although he was the most powerful angel, he wasn’t Exactly on gods level. (also bc of this he invents sin and later death but that’s irrelevant to the inspiration i get for ash)

but eventually lucifer caused a rebellion and upon god INVENTING PAIN TO DEFEAT HIM, satan decided to jump off of heaven instead of facing god himself. (also bc he represents free will he Chose to fall as well as rebel against god which is very. ashswagcore. to me)

but yeah i am just. bc of that the idea of ash being a fallen angel by choice and as a rebellion against god is just. very Him i think yk? the jealously. the willingness to do the impossible because of his ego. the way he’s very tied into themes of freedom and rebellion i think. (basically all of lucifer’s only positive traits because. mfer invents sin and death and caused humanity to fall. uh)

so ya! thats the ideas of both of them i have rn. i have a Ton of thoughts abt their relationships which i will elaborate in the next ask but. man they make me soooooo. i am ill in the head abt their themes and how paradise lost plays into it . man.

[ginjusttalkaboutnothing]

@onewingedsparrow

Unfortunately, I was only able to get through once ALBW because my brother crashed my 3DS (RAVIO BEST BABY!!!!!)

I still want to find a way to replay this part.

And after that, all I could do about Zelda was read about it. And, how happy I was when I got a brand new Swich with BoTW in 2019! It was a new breath of fresh air for me!..... But I still miss ALBW. That game holds a special place in my heart. And when I started going through ALTTP.... God, my emotions were unbelievable. Seeing the places... I literally cried.

But. Since you gave me the go-ahead to talk about the four swords, listen up.

I... Damn it. I really love absolutely everything about her. I love that they made Red emotional and soft, although more often than not it's the other way around, because red is the color associated with aggression. Man, Red is an incredible bun who I love(as much as anyone else), and honestly.... I feel a little sad that I so rarely refer to him in my text. (I'm sorry, Red. But one day, I promise! Your big moment will come!)

Blue stood out to me as a sudden character as well. And to be honest... Hell, yeah! He's adorable! This is one case where the character is flashy, but there's a special charm to it.... Oh, and their fight with Green over Elne... So ridiculous and funny, but shows them off so well... I'm straight... I can't! It's just too beautiful.

Oh! And I absolutely love the moment when Red found Blue frozen in the ice. "I thought it would be best for him to stay like that for a while..." Man. I love Red. A bun is a bun and sometimes so cocky.

Green is the main character, which makes sense. I love the fact of his growth from an egotistical lone hero to someone who knows how and can fight on a team alongside others. I like the realization that he started to think differently towards the end.... That's great.

And now we move on to my two arguably favorites.

Let's start with Vio. Best. The best boy. I'm truly convinced that his betrayal was deliberate and he was already thinking about how to further take out Shadow from the beginning. Really, as time went on... Okay, no. My headcanons are my headcanons, they don't have to crawl in here.

But yeah. When Shadow called him 'friend', some tension was evident on Vio's face. I like to think that in that moment, his confidence in needing to kill Shadow shook. And, hell. His whole plan, and the way he learned the information, wormed his way into his confidence, "killed" Green... Damn! He's unbelievable!

And I also parallel myself with him because of his rather cold (in life) disposition, unemotional nature, and love of reading.

Oh, and Shadow, where would you go without him. Arguably the one who got the best developmental arc. Literally from villain to hero. How proud I was of him when he, after betraying Vio, still helped them, literally at the cost of his life... He cannot be underestimated. He's a hero who CHOSE this path, and man. He deserves to be happy...

And their dynamic with Vio... I've written so much on them already. And there's more to come. They are what keeps my mind captive for now, and I can't say I'm against it. Because they're beautiful.

And "the legend of amour"? Why...?

Me.

[kuroos-babie]

falling in love with a single mom hcs

INCLUDES: nishinoya, tsukishima, yaku

you spent a good part of your childhood with nishinoya, chasing away the dogs that had a penchant of scaring your best friend shitless, climbing trees and playing treasure hunt

it was funny, to say the least, seeing how he grew from such a scaredy-cat to the energetic and confident noya everyone knows

throughout highschool you watched him chase girl after girl and he watched you turn down guy after guy

the dynamic you two had was that of a feral gremlin child and its chill owner holding the leash and everyone, including you two, thought you would always be together

everyday was fun with nishinoya's energy hanging around you, no doubt

but when he asked you to travel the world with him right after graduation, he was met with a hesitant refusal

"i'm planning to go to college, yuu"

"it'll be fun, y/n! like going on an adventure!!"

"visit me once in a while"

his heart clenched at the way you smiled at him with teary eyes, "i can't change your mind can i?"

with a soft shake of your head, he sighed

he leaves in three days

the first few months of him being away were filled with calls and pictures of his trips, smile seemingly wider and brighter than before and a part of you regretted not coming with him

but college starts in a week, and with that came missed calls and ignored messages

at some point, neither of you just remembered to hit the other up, caught up with the stresses of your own life and before either of you knew it, 5 years have passed

he came to visit home for the first time in years, no longer the boyish noya you knew but he still had that warm aura around him

you were the first thought to come to mind the moment he step foot in town, his whole body buzzing with excitement at the mere thought of seeing you again

so of course he went straight to your house, feet taking step after memorized step and hands clutching bags of things he got from his travels

"Y/N!!!!!", he calls out as he enters your house which was answered with a harsh shushing

turning a corner he saw you in the living room, lovely as ever-- he thought, and with a baby sleeping soundly in your arms, "the baby's sleeping, yuu"

"whose...?"

you laughed at the cracking in his voice, "mine, who else's?"

man, he looked like he was about to cry

he quietly approached you, careful as to not wake the baby

"for you", he mumbled while handing you the bag of snacks and stuff

the room was filled with silence after you hummed a short thanks

he was looking at the child's face, it looked like you, he thinks

he asked when you got married, "you didn't tell me, didn't even invite your best friend to your wedding", he whined

"i didn't, i'm not married"

his eyes were wide as they looked at you

you told him about getting pregnant shortly after college graduation and getting ditched

he thought of himself selfish as he heaved a sigh of relief

"it's fine though, my parents are helping me a lot", he notes how you looked at your baby with such fond eyes and his heart swelled, he felt like crying

you chuckled at the look on his face, "hey don't look so sorry for me, can't be happier to have her"

"what's her name?"

you looked at your daughter's face and pet at her cheek with a finger, "yui"

nishinoya couldn't hold it in anymore and so he let himself cry and pulled you close

and for the nth time since the day of your college graduation he asked you again, "come with me, y/n, let's travel the world" but you have a child "i'll stay with you here until she's old enough", he said while kissing the tears that slipped down your cheeks

"then we can all go travel the world together"

he liked working at the museum, he really does

at least that's what he tries to tell himself as he led the group of preschoolers through the sendai museum

they were cute, yeah, but also very chatty

especially this one little boy with the frog hat

"what's this called?"

"it's a fossilized remain of--"

"how about this one?"

"it's--", and before he could answer, the child was already running to the other side of the exhibit

he just sighs

the tour ended and he was getting ready for his lunch break, proceeding to the cafe by the entrance as he always does

his eyes almost caught the flurry of green that passed beside him but he chose to ignore it

but of course it wasn't long after he sat down with his order when he heard a familiar bubbly voice

"mama that's the dinosaur guy!", he heard the little boy whisper loudly, "he's so tall, like a brachiosaurus!"

he couldn't supress the chuckle at the child's remark and he turned in his seat, "so you were listening, i thought you were just bouncing all around the place"

"oh sorry, did he give you a hard time?"

your voice drew his attention and he smiled at the sight of your worried face, something that surprised even him, "not really, no"

he invited you two to sit and eat with him and he listened to your son ramble all about dinosaurs and prehistoric animals

"a smart one, i like him"

your son really liked him too and asked you to take him to the museum again and see tsukishima

and so it became a habit for you to visit the museum every friday with the little boy, waiting for the tall blonde to get off work so you three could grab something to eat

and every time he sees you in the little cafe by the entrancne with your son, tsukishima couldn't help but smile a little and pat at his chest to calm the subtle fluttering as he push the door open

it was a weird feeling he never knew would come so naturally at the mere sight of you two

he bought your son picture books and and figurines and copies of the "walking with dinosaurs" documentary

"we should watch it this weekend..." his eyebrows shot up for a moment at your meek suggestion

of course the little boy was elated, excited to have him over at your house "yes! let's go now! i wanna watch it with tsukki now!!!"

tsukishima returned his gaze on you, "if it's not too much trouble then i'd love to go now"

and so the rest of the friday night was spent on your couch with all the lights turned off and a narration of al the allosaurus' life

you looked over at the other side of the couch to see your son laying on tsukishima, eyes fluttering shut with the man passed out and lightly snoring

he must've been tired

you draped a blanket over the two of them and waited for sleep to visit you too and it soon did

morning came and you woke up to the smell of coffee

"i borrowed your coffee maker, i hope you don't mind", his voice was still low, trying not to wake the little boy

"yeah, sorry i didn't wake you up last night... you looked tired"

he chuckled as you walked over to the kitchen to take out two mugs and prepared some toast, "i don't mind, it was the best sleep i've gotten in a while. i hope it wasn't too much of a bother for you though"

you leaned on the kitchen counter as you took in his appearance; hair ruffled and eyes puffy with sleep, "i don't mind it one bit"

he huffed a laugh and looked over to the sofa where your son still laid

"he likes you a lot"

"so it seems, i hope you do too", his face was smug but you didn't miss the red that tinted his cheeks when you told him "of course i do, in fact i was thinking maybe we should do this more often"

his smirk grew, "just say you want to wake up everyday to the sight of me and leave it at that"

you rolled your eyes at his comment but smiled nonetheless, "oh shut up"

he had just come back from the nekoma volleyball team reunion, head lightly buzzing from the few bottles of alcohol kuroo forced down his throat

making his way through the carpeted hotel hall, he could barely make out the sound of little feet hurriedly padding on the floor and quiet sniffles

taking out the keycard to his room with the blissful thoughts of finally sinking into the soft mattress was interrupted by a soft bump on his thigh, a muffled thud and a small "ow..."

it took a few moments before the sight of the little boy on the hotel floor registered properly in his brain

it was well past 2 am... why the hell is there a child running around the halls

"uh... hi?"

big bright eyes looked up at him and he can't help but sigh at the sniffles increasingly growing louder

"where's your mama, little guy?", yaku crouched to the little boy's level, careful to keep his balance as the booze and exhaustion was catching up to him

however, at the mention of his mother, the little boy's eye filled up with more tears and was ready to burst anytime, "mama..."

"oh no no no no"

yaku's too tired for this

so with a sigh and a groan, he took the boy in his arms and entered his room

"let's look for her in the morning, okay? i think i still have some cookies in my room, would like some?"

the little boy nods his head, earning a relieved sigh from yaku

the rest of the night was spent with cartoons playing on the large hotel room tv, yaku leaning against the headboard with the little boy snoozing away while being tucked in his arm, cookie on his hand and crumbs all around

morning came and panic surged through your body the moment you realized your 3 year-old son was nowhere inside your hotel room

your hurried to the security desk to report and hopefully make an announcement, head reeling and aching with the sudden rush of adrenaline first thing in the morning

with your head in your hands, you let out a groan while trying not to cry at all the possibilites flashing through your mind

your wallowing was cut short with an "excuse me, i found this child last night"

turning your head back to the security desk, you see a man in his pajamas and slippers, hair ruffled from sleep and a sleepy little boy laying on his shoulder

"oh my god"

the whole conlict ended when you came up to them and introduced yourself, the little boy quickly recognizing your voice and whipped his head over to you, "mama!"

your son reached out for you and yaku couldn't help but notice how pretty your glossy eyes were despite how disheveled you looked

"mama, yakkun gave me cookies and we watched cartoons aaaaall night!"

yaku's eyes widened at the little boy's words and let out a nervous chuckle, "you make me sound so suspicious"

he turned to you and explained how your son bumped into him at 2 am and he was just too tired to bring him down to the security desk

"my tired tipsy brain thought it was a better idea to just let him sleep in my room and look for mama in the morning", he ended with the tips of his ears tinged red

you laughed at his nervousness, "well we can talk more about it over breakfast, what do you say yakkun? my treat"

with the way you were smiling at him, how could he even refuse?

the rest of the morning was spent with coffee and waffles, juice and fruits and chatter

he learned you and your son were in town for a few days, "i wanted to go see the fishies in the aquarium!", the little boy quips

with the new volleyball season just around the corner, yaku knew he'd have practices but he offered to tour you two around tokyo

he wanted to see you two again

briefly taking care of the toddler last night and having breakfast with you, he realized, were very much a welcomed change of pace in his hectic pro volleyball life

"are you my dad? mama told me daddy was working in tokyo" he remembered your son quietly mumbling last night, "i haven't seen him though, not ever"

the rest of your stay in tokyo was spent hanging out with yaku, your son growing more and more attached to him and slept over at his room every night

as promised, he took you and your son on a tokyo tour and even brought you to practice, introducing you to the national team and teaching your child receives

of course your trip eventually reached its end, promises of meeting again drowned in the little boy's tears as he tried to reach out to yaku

"we'll meet again, little guy", he says while ruffling the boy's hair, "i'll even go visit you and we'll play lots, okay?

of course he made a point of contacting you frequently, often video chatting during meal times and bedtime and a few more hours after, relishing in the time he could spend talking alone with you

"i can't wait to see you two again", he always says right after "good night"

taglist: @churochuu @bakarinnie @faithieeee @strawberriimilkshake @paulazockt @pattys-got-cakes @hidden-otaku-stuff @haikyuubabie @sachirou-senpai @your-local-abyss @stcrryskies @toosaltyforacookie @mrs-kuroojinguji @shawkneecaps @miyastrology @galacticstxrdust @wakaushi @boosyboo9206 @sugawara-sweetheart @threeconsecutivefs @chichibia @diyosku @curiouslilbeast @cowbeboppy @tsukkaria @yyvveess @kirakirasaku

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[archetypal-archivist]

Grian- Boots for the Rain Gone Cold

Kind of a story idea for Ex-Watcher Grian, 3500+ words. This is what happens when you listen to the song Welly Boots on repeat for a couple hours. The premise is that Grian and the Hermits aren’t quite as nice as they seem, and when Grian has to flee Hermitcraft to keep his friends safe from the Watchers, his friends do some malicious compliance to take care of him while he is away.

------

A story in which the hermits take care of their own, even beyond borders they should not be able to cross.

Take a standard story about Watcher Grian. See him come to Hermitcraft, lost and alone and afraid. He has been through Evo, killed a dragon whilst alone and afraid, was taken against his will, watched his friends Pearlescent Moon and Taurtis die. He knows how to take care of himself, but nothing more than that.

Hermitcraft changes that, for him. Standing outside a portal that is unlike any he had ever seen, even during his time as a watcher, seeing a team of 20+ walk out is terrifying. But they had seen him, looked at each other, then rushed forward to claim him as their own. In the beginning he is left alone until he tentatively reaches out, saving Scar's stuff after he has died. An action unlike him, but he had appreciated their kindness in letting him stay, so he does his best to repay that.

Tit for tat is something he understands from the Watchers, even if this is a kinder variant.

Grian watches as people start to reach out to him, watching him with admiring eyes as he builds his first shops, offering items he's never needed or touched before now. (Conduits are so cool and he'll deny the shiver of excitement that crept up his spine when Xisuma first handed him one to his dying breath.) He watches as they smile and laugh at his antics, rather than come at him and his with sword and shield for his pranks.

He watches. He is good at that. He is significantly less good at returning their kindness, a trouble-maker to his core, intentionally or no. But he tries, and in the eyes of the Hermits, that is all that matters.

Iskall feeds him, sometimes, when he is sick and delirious, screaming at the shadows in the corners. They do not let him starve himself to death. (He learns to hide half stacks of golden carrots in their chests, just enough to replenish their supply, but not enough that they'd notice.)

Mumbo is patient with him when he comes crashing into his base like a wrecking ball, sometimes plowing into the taller hermit's redstone face first in the process. He just helps Grian up, smiling and laughing, helping him brush the red dust away. (Grian learns that Mumbo cannot sleep without noise, too used to the ticking of redstone clocks and firing pistons to sleep in quiet. He learns to fly in on late nights when Mumbo's base is still lit up and talk with his friend, chattering away until Mumbo can find it in himself to turn the lag machines off and fall asleep to the sound of Grian's voice.)

Xisuma watches the world with all the focus and patience that Grian once used when designing stars and bedrock towers. For Xisuma, Grian will watch the world too and ease its updates when he can- one less burden for his admin to carry, taken and handled with silent, secret grace.

Joe reads and reads and reads, spinning tales of his finds to all who stand still long enough for him to pin down for a bit. For Joe, Grian will bring out some of his old high school textbooks for him on the days when the man runs out of books to read.

Zedaph lives in a cave, warm and dry, but without color, the only life being the experiments rattling around in the background. For Zedaph, Grian will sneak in mushrooms and moss, encouraging them to grow in the shadows until the cavern blooms with them.

For the hermits, Grian is kind. For the hermits, Grian will learn.

Then one day it all comes crashing down, perhaps in the face of a bedrock tower springing from nowhere, perhaps in violent, screaming outburst of purple fire, perhaps in the face of a friend he once thought dead. The Watchers had tried their damnest to stamp out his heart and they nearly succeeded, but just as they could not stamp out his free will they also could not stamp out his humanity, and people- regardless of shape or size or color or race or species- are born to love and be loved.

Grian loves his Hermits. To protect them, he must leave. And so he does, quietly and in the dead of night, the faint echoes of screams ringing in his ears. If he has it his way, never again will he hear his hermit's pain, imagined or otherwise. It would be best to just forget.

Grian settles in a rainy little single player server that turns out to not be as single player as he would like. It seems instead to be an abandoned multiplayer server, lost dogs and empty houses abound in the distant corners, and every once in a while a new player stumbles in, running from something, settling in long enough to call the server home. Sometimes, these new players stay. Sometimes, whatever is chasing them catches up and they are forced to leave. Grian refuses to care for these fellow vagabonds, even as he watches from under the eaves of his perfectly constructed rustic house, rain dripping down and obscuring him from their wondering, pained eyes.

Grian has given up on having happy ending, and if the ending the narrative seems to want to give him is a tragedy, then he will seize it with both hands and rewrite it himself. What he does not take into account, however, is that the Hermits don't take kindly to being abandoned.

Grian was once a Watcher, and while watching and mimicking are perhaps some of his better skills, he was still new to the server and as such there is much about his Hermits he never had a chance to discover. Their pasts in large part remained a mystery to him, as he had learned to mimic kindness too well from them to ever pry. (They would have told him, if he had asked. Love was another thing he had learned from them, and if he had been seen and not just watched, he perhaps would have noticed how strongly they cared for him too.)

But yes. Though Grian was perhaps the only one of their number on the run from literal gods, he was not the only one with a tragic back story.

Xisuma, who watched the Hermitcraft server with all the vigilance of a soldier who had watched his fellow troops and their enemies weaponize glitches against each other, to the mass extinction of both. Evil X, who ran from it all, only to end up in a place where nothing violent simply became nothing.

Joe, who read and read and read, devouring knowledge the way he once devoured worlds, eyes flickering white on the nights when hunger panged in his stomach worse than usual. Cleo, who also knew the pain of consumption, from both sides of teeth like knives.

Zedaph, who popped into existence one day, whole and unsullied, with a vast, empty void where his past ought to be, who forgot sometimes that people are supposed to have likes and dislikes and colors and an instinctual obedience towards the laws of gravity. Tango and Impulse, who watched their friend and each other with eagle eyes to keep their trio from slipping back into old, self-destructive habits. (Overwork, overclocking, over-stimulation. All were equally killer.)

Grian, who's first and best skill, even before his building, was causing mischief and creating fun. A welcome distraction from old pains.

They loved him, the Hermits. In whatever flavor they chose, they loved him. They knew his darkness, though perhaps not the exact nature of it, and they knew that he loved them back. And then he left them.

The Hermits were powerful with love and sorrow and determination. Grian thought he could leave them so quickly, uproot himself from their hearts like a ghost in the night? Ha.

As. If.

It begins like this- Grian wakes in his little spruce house in the middle of a mostly abandoned town. The rain is pouring outside as it nearly always is and the rushing of wind through the trees puts him in the mind of his old ship-in-a-bottle base, warm and safe from the wet outside. He wakes up, stretches, thinks of eating. Steps outside and-

a brand new pair of bright red rain boots, almost glowing in the grey mist of early morning. They are in his colors, Grian just knows they would fit him perfectly. A welcome sort of gift, perfect for a world drenched in rain. Perfect for him, gifted with thought, with care. His stomach curdles and he just knows he won't be eating breakfast today either. A curl of a finger and the boots go up in purple flames, the scent of burnt rubber joining the petrichor of the air. He goes back inside. Goes back to sleep. Tries not to dream.

The boots are back the next day, shining red and a little closer to the door to better keep them out of the rain. He burns those too.

The boots keep appearing. Always bright red, always perfectly sized to fit him- squeaky new rubber, perfect for keeping out the rain. In the face of that, red boots like clockwork, is it any wonder that Grian gets tired? His front porch stinks of burnt rubber and there are new planks wherever he had to remove the scorched oak. Perhaps it's the burning that causes a new pair to appear- if there are no boots, a new pair comes to replace them, so perhaps a different method of disposal is in order.

He throws the next pair into the river. A new pair comes back to him the next day, alongside the old ones, dripping with sea grass and mud. Hmm.

(Cleo has friends in the rivers and oceans. It's easy enough to call in a favor or three to get the boots returned.)

Creepers next. A loud hiss and an even louder boom has him flinching back, phantom burns dancing across his fingers, but the boots are naught but ash. Three pairs of boots next time, one of them a dark swirling grey rather than the traditional red, as if mocking their scorched past.

(Doc's work. He's had enough experience with accidentally blowing up his own tools to know how to make a blast protection charm strong enough to keep his clothes and armor safe in the case of an unfortunate accident. The grey starbursts left over the material are just a neat bonus.)

Lava. Concentrated spider venom. Flattened by pistons. Dropped into the void. Left under a lightning rod. Thrown up into a tree. Fed to a guardian.

Each and every time, the boots come back, usually with some change in pattern, color, or marking that signals just what they have been through. All in perfectly usual condition, even the pair he cut in half with an axe.

(Stress had a field day piecing that pair back together, using molten honey and mending enchants to stick the halves together again. She always had loved a challenge.)

Eventually, Grian's front porch is covered in boots in all manner of designs, and fed up with the mess, he sets the whole mess on fire again with his signature purple flame, the only thing sure to reduce the number of boots permanently. He sets his house on fire in the process. Hmmmm.

There's an influx of new people into Grian's world all of a sudden. A pair of twins jump in, bloody, battered, and exhausted, and not a week later a roughed-up blond boy joins, snappish and hurting. All three lack shoes.

Now, Grian very firmly does not want to interact with any of them. He had found true friends among the Hermits and if he can't interact with them, then he certainly doesn't want to interact with a trio of traumatized children- however, he does have a pair of boots to give and dropping them on the children's doorstep requires no interaction at all. The female twin puts them on, marveling at how big the red boots are on her while the other kids stand watch suspiciously. Grian watches this from his front porch, hidden by the mist but eyes glinting purple in the gloom so he can see comfortably. The male twin seems to spot this, shouting and pointing, and Grian goes back inside to avoid the mess.

The next morning, the boots on his doorstep are rainbow-striped and several sizes smaller, perfect for a child's feet. Grian stares down at them, something hurting and tremulous in his heart, but his face remains blank. These boots are placed on the trio's doorstep as well. The male twin wears these, and the last child ends up with a pair of blue and black spotted ones.

(False had had fun with the patterns, feeling a little bit of relief that she could hunt down some rubber in a pattern other than plain red.)

Rumor spreads of a purple-eyed monster in the woods that gave people boots to keep them safe from the rain, although Grian very carefully avoids such stories. The children begin leaving trinkets for their monster in hopes to repay him, and Grian ignores these too until one day, the children somehow manage to get an old red dog collar to give him. Upon spotting this, Grian's heart gives a squeeze as it reminds him of Rendog, and he pockets it to put on his rather empty bookshelf. Other things also get picked up, all things that remind him of the friends he had to leave behind.

An allium, pressed into a book of galactic picked up from a stronghold. A jar of electric blue ink dried into a gelatinous cake. A tiny knight figurine, scuffed and missing an arm. A handful of spicy red jellybeans. Eventually, as time passes on and on and the rain bears down harder on Grian's tiny world, a trio of heartfelt, thankful cards appear on his kitchen table, all three drawn in crayon and filled with cheerful scribbles.

It rains harder, and the world shrinks down to just Grian and the three children who call out into the gloom every morning, grateful for the boots and the glimpses of purple eyes and feathered wings in the dark that tell them that they are not alone. The boots stop coming.

In their place, new things appear.

A toaster. Firewood. New sweaters and combs and soap. Little things designed to make life easier, many of them children-sized or painted in rainbow stripes or blue polka dots or a shade of red just off from Grian's favored color. These too go to the children, and the number of gifts Grian receives increases, many of them built from the material that he gives the trio of children.

(If the Hermits cannot gift things to Grian directly, then they will gift them to people who will transform them into something their wayward friend would accept. They do so with equal parts love and spite, angry to have been rebuffed but unwilling to let Grian feel himself forgotten. The trio of kids end up with a rather odd assortment of things. Tango, for example, is fond of the easy-bake oven he sent them that always burnt the food it made. Grian got nothing but his favorite chocolate chip cookies for a week, all of them scorched.)

In time, Grian does his best to drive the children off, building traps and leaving weapons on their doorstep to scare them. The stories of the monster in the woods increase in number and many more children join the server, encouraged by tales of purple-eyed, winged beast that taught its charges to be wary and gave them tools to defend themselves. Grian's cabin remains hidden in the mist, but many more wooden structures join it in the forest.

New boots appear on his doorstep. They aren't made to fit him.

(His heart aches, but his eyes remain dry. Morning dew condenses on Grian's cheeks.)

It comes to a head like this- no world, no matter how small or safe, is fully protected from the Watchers' gaze, and in the end, they find him. Only now, there are people here that cannot leave, that Grian cannot leave behind.

The children scream for their monster to save them. He rises from the mist, eyes heavy and wings heavier, dragging upon the ground and leaving trails in the brick red mud. They think they are saved. They are wrong.

Chains shoot out from the mist, forcing Grian to his knees as a huge female Watcher, Astrid, stares down at him, mouth turned down into a tiny frown and the rest of her figure still as stone even as she floats in the air, white robes fading into the surrounding fog. The purple emblem on her mask glows like a brand. Grian watches her with purple eyes glowing dim and dull, resigned to his fate but unwilling to flee if it means the deaths of those who do not deserve to serve his sentence in his stead.

He thinks, quietly, that he will die here. He wonders if this- any of this- is worth it. He thinks, yes. Yes it is.

He is wrong.

A figure coalesces before him, clad in yellow armor and arms crossed, the very picture of annoyed defiance. It tilts its head back, hard light construct featureless but practically radiating scorn, and from the mists a voice echoes.

"You are going to leave him alone. He's not for you." Astrid hisses behind her mask, galactic crackling and vile from between her lips, and the sound of wingbeats thrums like a heartbeat through the clearing, bass-heavy and loud in Grian's ears. He winces, closing his eyes as more chains shoot out from the ground to attach to Xisuma's- for what else could it be but his admin projected across time and space (that stupid, crazy, wonderful man)- construct. They coil around it, doing their level best to drag it to the ground, but the figure remains still and hovering before Grian, entirely unmoved.

"No. You will leave him alone." Xisuma's voice again, commanding and stern even from a figure that looks more like a glowing yellow armor stand. "I'll ask that you don't test me, it took a while to put this projection together and it will not dissipate until it fulfills its intended purpose." Astrid merely hisses again, this time with an underlay of static beneath it, and Grian's wings are suddenly pulled back tight and away from his shoulders- all three pairs of them, not merely those he prefers to wear.

The sound of flesh and feathers ripping through one plane and into the next has Grian feeling sick. Wrong, his mind repeats on loop, screaming. Wrong wrong wrong. Xisuma's figure freezes at his pained squeak before unfolding its arms and going carefully still. It tilts its head to the side, considering and cold.

"Is that your game? You do realize that that is death sentence, right? We would never let you survive it." Astrid nods. The chains rise up again, clinking softly as they loop once, twice, three times around Grian's outermost pair of wings, the ones most used to the physical plane and with the most nerve endings besides. The damp air is cold and aching in his lungs.

A rip. A scream. And then everything shrinks down to a flicker of brilliant yellow light, the shrilling of broken violins, and the long, drawn-out death wail of a Watcher unused to pain. A computer crash in slow motion complete with a harsh base note as Astrid's wings fall to join Grian's in the mud.

The world expands again, overwhelming. Agony. Silence.

Chains clink to the floor, broken, as Xisuma's hard light construct comes forward to stand before the Hermits' erstwhile server mate, slumped over in a pool of blood but conscious, something in his purple eyes bent, if not a little broken.

A voice, hoarse, achingly loud in the quiet of the glade. "You didn't stop her."

"No."

"...Is this my punishment then?" A moment of quiet and then the figure stoops down to gather Grian into its arms, its featureless gaze doing little to ease his fear.

Then, gently, ".....No."

Grian slumps, the last bit of tension seeping from his limbs as the pain in his back begins to register, sapping at his will and leeching into his voice.

"I'm sorry, you know. I- I'm sorry. I didn't want to go. It just- it hurts. Hels it hurts, so much. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"I know. I know." Xisuma's figure stands up, hoisting Grian a little higher up against its chest so that hiss remaining wings don't drag on the ground quite as much, then turning to face the cowering children. Eventually, a little girl in bright red rain boots stands up to meet its gaze.

She blinks back tears, scrubbing at her face to hide them, but her expression is brave. "Where are you taking him?"

The figure clutches the children's monster close, looking just as fierce as any dragon in a fairytale. "Home. Will you stop me?"

The girl pauses, considering. "No. Don't think I could, really."

"Will you try?"

"To keep going? Yeah, of fucking course, sure as my name is Clementine. To stop you? Not bloody likely, I like my head right where it is." Xisuma's figure nods, satisfied, and with a blink, it and their monster are gone.

Notes:

[quiet-onset]

New Suit

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Black!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k+

A/N: it’s been forever since I’ve posted, but I have been writing since I was stuck at home with covid 😅 Hopefully I can post something else next week too! ANYWAYS, this fic does not have any TFAWS spoilers and (as usual) does not give a fuck about Endgame, meaning our favorite dysfunctional couple Tony and Steve are alive. Steve simply passed on the mantle. Enjoy!

So Sam was Captain America. And he was proud of that fact. 

The day that Steve decided to retire and give him one of his most prized possessions was a day Sam would never forget. A whirlwind of emotions had swelled in his chest. Shock, unworthiness, gratitude. But after talking it over with Steve — and surprisingly enough, with Bucky — Sam agreed to take in the role.

The thing was, no one knew yet. At least, no one outside of the Avengers facility.

Immediately after Thanos, there weren’t really any Avengers level threats. Most threats could be handled by one team member, and it was usually one of the newbies — Peter, Scott, even Wanda. That being so, Sam didn’t have much of a reason to even make public appearances. So he didn’t.

Sometimes, he’d stand in the training room, the red, white, and blue shield strapped to his arm, and just stare in the mirror. Something felt wrong. Out of place. Like the reflection before him was almost right, but he still couldn’t tell what was wrong. Tony had caught him one time as he stepped into the room, a sports bottle full of ice cold water in his hand. “Mid-life crisis?”

Sam jumped at his loud voice and almost scrambled to detach the shield from his arm, like a kid caught with his grubby little hand in the cookie jar. “My bad, I’ll just—“

“No no, keep it on.” Tony waved a hand. “I gave it to Steve, he gave it to you. It’s yours, no give backsies.”

Sam nodded but took the shield off anyway. He decided that he didn’t need to train anymore and headed toward the door. “I’m just gonna go put this back.”

“What is going on with you, Wilson?”

“What do you mean?”

Tony raised a brow, “What do I mean? You staying cooped up in this facility. Barely training with the shield. Opting out of assignments. That’s what I mean.”

“There’s not much of a need.”

“There is. You just don’t see it yet.” Tony walked toward him. “Look, I know being the new Cap has you freaked out—“

“I’m not freaked out.”

“Sure. But Steve chose you and that should be good enough.”

“It is.” Sam huffed as he turned the shield in his hands. “I don’t know, man. I just… It’s just hard to believe. Hard to put in action, I guess.”

“Well, seeing is believing.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Head to room 626 when you get a chance.”

“What’s in room 626?”

“You’ll see.”

—

Sam exited the elevator on the sixth floor to loud muffled music. Looking around, he realized he’d never even been to that part of the facility before. The white walls and obscure art seemed strange and misplaced in a building full of superhumans. Too clean, too elegant. 

Each of the rooms seemed that way too. Sam paused in the hallway, glancing through some of the glass doors with people’s names painted neatly at the top. Hardwood floors and marble countertops in each room. So impeccably clean that even dust bunnies wouldn’t dare step foot inside. 

Yet, when Sam approached room 626, he realized this was where the loud music was coming from. Different from the other rooms, this one was messy and colorful. He slid the glass door open, flinching at loud volume. 

He recognized the track — his father used to listen to it all the time when he was growing up. He could almost hear his dad’s deep voice teasing him: “You don’t know nothin’ ‘bout this, son. This was before your time.” Of course Sam knew the song. His dad was the one who put him on. Still, Sam’s dad always got a kick out the playful fight he put up. 

The long, seemingly endless hallway was painted a blinding white. He could make out a peculiar smell as he walked toward the end of the hall. Wet paint or fumes, he wasn’t really sure. He just pulled his shirt over his nose and kept looking for… well only God really knew. 

Finally, he arrived in the main room and saw you and your controlled chaos. You had ten or twenty different fabrics pinned to one wall and sketches of different outfits pinned to the opposing one. Against the back wall were mannequins wearing your works in progress. And just in front of Sam on a large wooden desk were schematics and what looked like engineering tools. Soldering iron, wires, circuit boards, and the like.

Everything seemed like a tornado of colors, clothes, and fabric. But you? You were as cool as a cucumber with your expensive looking spray painting mask strapped on as you sprayed the back of a jean jacket with bright pink paint. Sam chuckled when he heard your muffled voice sing along to the song, not noticing his presence. “Sherry bay-yay-by. Sherry, wontcha come out tonight.”

Sam pulled his shirt back down with a small grin on his lips, debating whether he should disturb you. In the end, he decided to save you the embarrassment, but by then, you’d already moved on to the next verse. You dropped your voice down low in an attempt to sound just like Nick Massi, singing, “Why don’t you come on.”

Sam let out a loud laugh, only covering it with his hand as you jumped, finally realizing someone else was in the room. “Sorry.” Sam chuckled. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your concert.”

You pulled the mask over your head, revealing a nervous smile. You jogged to the desk and grabbed the remote to switch off the stereo. “Concert’s a flattering choice of words.”

“Well you were really nailing that Massi.”

You raised a brow as you set down the can of spray paint. “You listen to Four Seasons?”

“Growing up, it was a staple in the Wilson household.” He offered his hand. “I’m Sam, by the way.”

“Y/N.” You shook it, an impressed smile on your face. “So what can I do for you, Sam?”

“I’m actually not sure. Tony just kinda sent me up here.” He raised a brow when you gasped, amused with your excitement. He smiled as the cute squeal that pushed past your lips. “I assume you know what that means.”

“I’ve been asking him forever if I could design your new suit!”

“New suit?”

“I mean, if you’re okay with it.” You added.

“I just don’t see why I need a new suit is all.” Sam shrugged as he looked around at all your work. He knew, way deep down in the rational part of his consciousness, that he needed a new suit. There wasn’t anything wrong with his Falcon suit, but wearing a new suit seemed too definite. If he put on a new combat suit, it meant that he was fully stepping into this new role. That he would be Captain America in more than just name. People would look at him, at his suit, and recognize that he was the Captain America.

“How about this?” You stepped toward him, prepared to bargain. “Let me make you a suit. If you don’t like it, I’ll just give your Falcon suit an upgrade. Deal?”

He let out a nervous chuckle at your offer. He had nothing to lose, really. Either way, he got upgrades. Still, he looked over at you and decided he couldn’t be the one to snuff the ambitious look in your dark eyes. He shook your hand, smiling softly at the triumphant grin that broke across your face. “Deal.”

“Great!” You were bouncing on your toes when he agreed. You practically raced back to your desk and started shuffling through your sketches and until you found the folder you were searching for. You handed them to Sam, “You can come back tomorrow morning so I can take your measurements. Till then, look through these sketches and tell me what you like.”

“So you’ve been working on this for awhile?” Sam asked, briefly flipping through the many colorful sketches.

“Ever since Tony told me about you.”

He let out a breath of amusement through his nose. Of course it was Tony, trying to set things in motion before Sam was even sure of what he wanted. Still, he knew Tony was trying to help. Sam gestured with the folder. “I’ll take a look.”

“Cool. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

— 

When Same woke up the next day, he found himself immediately thinking about meeting with you later. He felt weird. Nervous, even. Whether it was due to the idea of a new suit — of being Captain America — or seeing you, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he felt like a swarm of butterflies had flown from his stomach to his throat and decided to make a home there.

After stepping out of the shower, which took twenty more minutes than usual, he fumbled around for something to wear. What was he supposed to wear to fitting anyway? Sweats? Jeans? As his mind wandered, he thought of you. Rather, he thought of how you would see him. Maybe I should wear the green shirt, he thought. Girls always seem to like the green shirt.

He paused. Why was he thinking that?

He’d just met you. He knew a total of two facts about you: your name was Y/N and you listened to Four Seasons. That was hardly enough for Sam to be worried about how he looked for you. Yet, there he was, slipping on the dark green shirt that seemed to stretch ever so slightly across his broad chest. He settled on a pair of dark jeans before heading down to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

As he stepped into the communal kitchen, Bucky was already sitting at the island, back facing Sam. He had just returned from his daily run, still in his sweatpants and white T-shirt with a cup of coffee in front of him. “There’s still fresh coffee in the pot.” Bucky mumbled into his cup as he flipped to the next page of the newspaper.

“Thanks.” Sam walked past him, slapping the newspaper into Bucky’s face as he walked by. “Why are you reading a newspaper?”

“To keep up with the news. Like a normal person.”

“There are these great new things called cell phones. Most people read the news on those now.” 

“Well, I’m not most people, am I?” Bucky lowered the newspaper and furrowed his brow at the sight of Sam. “What girl are you trying to impress?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Green shirt.”

“What about it?”

“That’s your ‘I want a girl to like me’ shirt.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sam scoffed as he poured a second cup of coffee. “This is just a shirt.”

“The shirt.”

“I’m not having this argument with you.”

“Not much of an argument when you know I’m right.” Bucky smirked. “Who’s the second cup for?”

Sam paused as he realized he’d been caught, but quickly recovered with an eye roll. “For me. So I don’t have to come back and hear your annoying ass voice.”

“Mhm. Tell the girl I said hi.” 

“Screw you.” Sam left the kitchen to the sound Bucky’s chuckles, reluctant to admit that he was right. Moments later, he was waiting for the elevator, tapping his shoe to distract himself from the butterflies that were starting to flutter around again. When the doors slid open, Tony briefly greeted Sam before stopping and pulling off his glasses. “Green shirt?”

Sam stepped past him. “Shut up.”

Every step closer to your workspace had him jittery. Not only was he forced to deal with these unfamiliar feelings for you — if that’s what they were — but he was finally being confronted with his new position. One step closer to replacing Steve. To being Captain America. Yet, he couldn’t deny, he could envision himself in some of the suits you had sketched for him. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

When he entered 626, there was loud music playing once again. Another old song he recognized, Van Morrison. He smiled at the thought of you dancing around your space again, singing along to Brown Eyed Girl. It wasn’t so much about him catching you in the act. It was nice, a privilege really, to see the natural you. Eyes closed, arms up, hips swaying. Seeing how you act when you believed no one was watching was like strangely endearing.

And there you were, almost matching his wandering thoughts to a tee. You were setting up for work, once again not noticing Sam’s arrival. You danced across the room as you moved things from place to place. You began to sing out the words as you prepared to lift your tri-fold mirror. Sam broke from the trance and called out your name. You jumped and placed a hand over your heart, laughing quietly when you saw it was only him. “Caught me again.”

“To be fair, you seem pretty easy to catch with the way you get lost in music.” Sam smiled, placing the coffee cups on your desk, far from any of your papers. “Let me get that for you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“It’s no problem. Just tell where you want it.”

You stepped away from the mirror, tossing a stray braid over your shoulder with a smile. “Just over there, in front of that pedestal. Thanks.” When he went to lift it, your eyes were drawn to his arms, watching his biceps flex. You caught yourself before you could begin to stare, heat rising to your cheeks as you went to look for your measuring tape.

“Oh, by the way, I brought you a cup of coffee.” Sam mentioned as he set the mirror down. “You know, if you drink it? I didn’t know what you put in it, if anything, so it’s black. Is that okay?”

“That’s perfect, actually.” You sighed happily. “I’ve been trying to replace coffee with loud music in the mornings, hence the dancing.”

“Of course.” He chuckled in response.

“And while I love to blast Morrison at nine in the morning, it’s not the same without a hot cup of coffee.” You took the cup he offered with a smile. “Thanks for thinking of me.”

Sam couldn’t help how his heart skipped a beat. “Don’t mention it.”

You took a sip, “So, you ready to get measured for your new suit?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Great, just step onto the pedestal for me, and relax.”

“Got it.”

It was quiet as you brought the tape measure under his arms and around his chest. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but Sam was sure his nerves had to be radiating out of him. The butterflies were beating against his ribcage as you pulled just tight enough on the tape measure. You took note of the number and bent over to write it down on your notepad. Being so close to you, Sam felt himself tense up as you measured around his waist. You chuckled and looked up at him. “You gotta relax.”

“I’m relaxed.”

“If you don’t loosen up, your new suit is gonna be super tight in all the wrong places.” You joked. “Talking usually helps.”

“About what?”

“Anything.” You shrugged. “Like why are you so opposed to a new suit?”

Almost as if it was a reflex, Sam tensed up again with a nervous and playful chuckle. “Way to get me to relax.”

“I’m just saying.” You laughed, adjusting the tape once again. “It’s not like you’re not qualified. I mean, Steve chose you.”

“Yeah, he did. I wish it were that simple in my mind.” He admitted.

“What’s your mind saying?”

“What isn’t it saying?” Sam rolled his eyes at himself. “It’s just… I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t want to put that on you. That’s not your job.”

“It’s not.” You agreed with a chuckle. “But that’s not why I asked. You can tell me.”

Again, with a wave of confusion, he felt the tension melt away. He didn’t know why he felt this way, like he could tell you anything and everything. There was a familiarity about you, like you were someone he’d known his entire life despite only meeting twenty hours ago. His father probably would’ve called you an old soul. Maybe in some other lifetime, in another universe, you knew each other. Or maybe, this was just fate coming to pass. Destiny finding, not two halves, but two wholes — putting them together like some sort of experiment to see what would come of it.

“It’s just… how am I supposed to follow after Steve?” He asked. “He has such a huge story, this legacy just hanging over my head. He’s been saving people since before either of us were born. And now here I am, some dude from the Air Force that met Steve completely by accident, about to take up his shield. It just seems unbelievable. Literally.”

You nodded as you measured around his left thigh. “First, let me say that your feelings are completely valid.”

“Why do I feel like you’re about to decimate everything I just said?”

“Not decimate!” You laughed. “Just gently prove wrong.”

“Oh, in that case.” He smiled down at you.

“Shut up.” You snapped him with the tape measure before measuring his other thigh. “Steve is not the only one with a story. I mean, Sam Wilson, the guy who grew up in Harlem, lost his parents and his best friend, and still managed to not give up? The guy Steve Rogers trusted with his life almost immediately after meeting him? The same dude who stole a top secret government project and used it to become a superhero? I think that’s pretty badass.”

Sam considered your words with a small smile. Sure, he may have seemed normal — maybe even mundane — to himself, but the fact is that he had also been through a lot. Just like Steve, Sam realized that his life was no walk in the park. Not many people couldn’t have lived Sam’s life and come out the other side not just okay but strong. He wasn’t Steve Rogers, but that didn’t matter. He was Sam Wilson, and maybe that was okay. 

“You’re good at that.” He commented quietly, looking down at you. He just about caught himself staring at you. The bright smile across your ruby shaded lips, the almost childlike excitement in your eyes. And your eyes — jesus. They were the same color as his, a dark brown. Yet, he couldn’t help but find yours so much more interesting.

“At what?”

“Talking to people.”

“Not everyone. Just...” You shook your head as you stood up straight. There was something indecipherable in his eyes — or maybe you wanted to believe it was. Still, it was there. Admiration, confusion, gratefulness? You weren’t sure. But the intensity of his stare made heat spread across your cheeks one more, and you ducked your head, moving to the side to measure the length of his arm. “Just people like you.”

Minutes later, you finished his measurement and moved on to the designs. You and Sam went through each and every one, noting his likes and dislikes. As time went on, it became very apparent that he was ready to be Captain America. Even if he wasn’t sure yet, you were. Much too soon, every detail of his new suit was planned out, and it was time for Sam to go. 

“If I make this my top priority, I can have your new suit finished in two weeks, tops.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Sam said bashfully. “I’m sure you have other work to do.”

“None as exciting or as important.”

“Now you’re just stroking my ego.” He joked.

You scoffed painfully, “Like you need me to do that.”

You walked beside him, down the hall and to the elevator. He couldn’t help but wish he had some sort of excuse to stay, but leading the Avengers meant a mountain of responsibilities. Still, he wanted to see you again. Not for work and not for designing a new suit. He wanted to get to know you away from the fabric and tape measures. He wanted to find out how someone as sweet and breathtaking as you could even exist in a world filled with such evil left and right. So, he rocked back and forth for a moment before turning to you. 

“And um, Y/N?”

“Yes?”

Sam fully intended to ask you out just then. But he felt like he couldn’t move. A feeling of nervousness he hadn’t gotten since he was a teenager, he was frozen. Staring at you like a deer in headlights, his brain screamed at him: Just ask her, you dumbass! Then, the elevator announced its arrival with a ding and broke his concentration. He cleared his throat and smiled nervously. “Thank you again. You’ve been a huge help.”

You blinked in confusion but stammered out, “Glad to be of service.”

It wasn’t until a few days later that Sam had gained the courage to do what he should’ve done in that moment. 

The city was in danger — some high-level Hydra threat — and the Avengers were needed. Everyone rushed off to suit up, including Sam. That’s when he saw it. You had just finished his suit, and it was more than Sam could’ve ever imagined. A shiny white breastplate with red decals on the torso, blue pants lined with bulletproof material, and to top it off, his signature red wings. That was something he wanted to keep. They reminded him of his humble beginnings, of what made him the man that Steve chose to be Captain America. 

And Captain America he was. 

Sam was aware of all the stares he got as he fought the Hydra agents and ended the crisis with the rest of the team. He knew it would take some getting used to. But he was pretty sure — no, extremely sure that he could do this. He could be the symbol that the public needed. 

He strolled back into the Avengers Complex, handing a handcuffed Hydra agent off to be questioned, when he saw you. You were usually there waiting, ready for feedback on your new toys and inventions. But what Sam said surprised you. 

“Hey Sam,” You started. “Did your new suit fare well? I was already thinking of some modifications based on —“

“Would you like to go out with me this Saturday?”

You blinked, lowering your clipboard in shock. “What?”

“Would you like to have dinner with me on Saturday?” He smiled wide and unabashedly. Then, with no hesitation, you smacked him on the arm with your clipboard, making him bark out a laugh. 

“Took you long enough.”

[spencersawkward]

switchblade faith//spencer reid - chapter 9

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her new friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid. (Baby Spence)

pairing: Fem!OC x Spencer

word count: 4.1k

content warnings: tattooing/tattoo aftercare, mostly fluffy!

A/N: hi! it's been a while since i updated this series, but i love it too much to leave it behind and i'm also always going to be obsessed with sub!spence. anyway, all my tattoos are stick and pokes atm so if some of the tattoo stuff if a little off, i'm sorry!

masterlist

it's really a matter of principle that keeps me bound to the promise. if I were a weaker woman, I would back down from the chair, would have shaken my head and told JJ that no, actually, I will not be getting something permanently inked on my body purely for the fulfillment of a bet.

but with most of the team around me and a couple flutes of champagne flowing through my veins, I give in. it's going to be small, even though I'm not going to see it until it's done. Penelope and Morgan being in charge of the design scares me, though. I start to get nervous that I'm going to end up with a unicorn tramp stamp.

"where are you gonna get it?" Garcia nudges my shoulder once we get inside the tattoo parlor. her eyes are traveling over all the intense artwork, which I can already tell is very much not her style. the walls are covered in intricate prints from past customers.

I think to myself for a moment. if I'm being completely honest, there's one place I've been meaning to get a tattoo, but never have. it's easy to hide, which is good. as long as the design they choose isn't horrifically embarrassing, I'll do it.

"I'm thinking..." I pull the waistband of my jeans down a little until it's right below my hip bone. "there."

"sexy." she says suggestively. I laugh.

"depending on what you guys have decided to give me, yeah." I angle for a hint, but Penny isn't caving.

"are you ready?" Morgan asks, having returned from the front desk area, where he's been talking to the artist. I take a deep breath, peer around at the rest of the team. we look like an odd bunch in here, an assortment of ages all gathered in a dark tattoo parlor.

Spencer's watching me with a concerned expression and I realize that I've been staring around for a decent amount of time. he doesn't say anything, although I've noticed that he's got a certain face he makes right before he does-- and he's making it.

"Clea, are you sure you wanna do this? you don't have to." JJ touches my shoulder suddenly. I realize that they think I'm genuinely worried and I let out a laugh.

"yeah, I'm fine," I turn to Morgan. "lead the way, handsome."

the tattoo artist has me lie down while he preps all his tools, snaps on his gloves. everyone sees me on my stomach and Emily gasps.

"are you getting a tramp stamp?"

"what? no," I giggle. "I'm gonna get it here." I show them the spot I just showed Penelope, and Spencer raises his eyebrows. Prentiss whispers something in Morgan's ear and the suave agent smirks.

"you're gonna like this." Penny grins. I glance at the tattoo artist to see how he reacts to that statement, but he's got a good poker face, unfortunately.

"are you being serious or are am I gonna hate all of you?" I ask.

"maybe a bit of both?" Spencer says in a slightly higher pitch, looking pleased to be in on the joke. I stare at him in disbelief.

"he knows what I'm getting, too?" I point disdainfully. Morgan laughs at the attitude.

"I told him on the way here."

I shake my head slowly and turn my attention to the boy genius, who is hiding a proud smile. there's a boyish quality to it that makes me feel a little better. I have to pull the side of my pants down as I turn on my side for the artist, and a peek of my black underwear makes Prentiss let out a whistling noise. my cheeks turn pink.

"shut up."

"are you ready?" the tattoo guy asks me. it's only then that I notice we're close to actually getting this done. I have no idea what's going on my body-- but there's no time like the present, right?

"sure."

it's the buzzing of the machine when he finally touches the needle to my skin that surprises me more than the pain itself. I feel myself resist the urge to move away, but I'm still enough for him to keep working.

"how's it feel?" Emily asks.

"like getting a tattoo." I wince. Penelope softens, looking between her coworkers guiltily.

"oh no," she complains, then comes over to me and grabs my hand in hers. "is this better?"

I squeeze tightly at the stinging sensation across my thigh, but she doesn't pull away at all.

"yeah." I smile. everyone is watching me intently, so much so that it puts me off a bit. "can we talk about something, maybe? it doesn't help when you're all staring."

"sure," JJ grins. "so..."

the pressure to start a conversation kills any potential for one, and then Spencer clears his throat. "anybody wanna see a cool magic trick?"

I snort and the rest of the team lets out a chuckle as the genius pulls a deck of cards out of his pants pocket. Morgan pats his shoulder. "I hope it works this time."

"it worked last time!" Reid protests, but his cheeks have taken on a slightly rosy hue. I watch him shuffle the mysterious deck and do some fancy tricks that I've never seen before, the corner of his mouth quirking with a sudden air of confidence.

Penelope is still holding my hand, and I can feel the metal of her sparkly rings pressing against my fingers. I choose to focus on the theatrical movements that Spencer is definitely using on purpose instead of the strange, sharp pain.

he fans out the cards and shows them to me, smiling. "pick a card, any card."

"hmm..." I tap my chin thoughtfully and stare at the bright red designs covering the back. I wonder if it's a rigged deck, or if he actually knows tricks. he doesn't seem like the type of person to be into magic. but then again, Spencer is full of surprises. I grab a random one in the middle, pluck it out and memorize it. a red six of spades.

"alright, then..." he grins and slams the deck back into one neat pile, then does some weird shuffling move again and shows the fanned-out deck to Morgan this time. "your turn."

Morgan's gaze flickers between the cards and Reid's face, which is trying to suppress a smile. the dimple on the right side of his cheek twitches once. when Derek taps a card near the end, Spencer nods and does the same thing that he did when I picked one.

except this time, as soon as he's got the whole deck together, he taps them a bit too hard and they go flying. fifty-two-pick-up style, Queens and Kings and Jokers tumbling to the linoleum floor in a defeated descent. my eyes widen and second-hand embarrassment rolls in, followed by the team's stunned silence.

I even feel the tattoo artist falter a bit in his work.

"oh." Spencer says. JJ puts her hand on his shoulder.

"Spence, it's fine."

"no, no, it's not-- I practiced this, like, fifty times last night--" his face is bright red as he drops to his knees. Penelope glances once at you and you return her stare with a pitying expression. Emily goes to help him, then Morgan and JJ.

"let me just..." he gathers up the remaining cards that they hand him, putting them back together into the pile again. I watch as he goes through them, somehow counting at lightning speed before frowning. "we're missing one."

everyone looks around, but it's obvious that there aren't any more stray cards lying about. I feel bad for him, not only because it didn't work but because he practiced it so much. I've been wondering what he does on the weekends-- magic tricks never even crossed my mind.

then Spencer's face lights up.

he comes over to me and gestures to my side, right by the spot where the tattoo artist is working. "may I?"

"uh--" I glance down at where he's pointing, the small patch of bare stomach. "sure?"

his fingertips graze beneath my tummy, between my skin and the smooth leather of the tattoo table, and snatch a card out from under me. it's barely a touch, but my breath hitches in my throat. my fingers tighten just slightly around Penelope's.

he holds up a red six of spades. the enormous grin on his face gives him away. "this wouldn't happen to be your card, would it?"

I gasp and nod, amazement on my face before it's wiped away by the sharp pain of the needle. Spencer displays the red six of spades to the whole team, then basks in their surprised applause.

Emily's smiling in disbelief. "you really had us going for a second."

"wait, wait--" I poke his leg and Spencer turns to me. "how did you do that?"

there's no way he could have hidden it there without me knowing; if he had slipped a card beneath my bare skin, surely I would have felt it. but the magic man just shrugs and shakes his head at me.

"a good magician never shares their secrets, Clea."

this time, the blush spreads over my cheeks. he's cocky right now, and I'd be lying if I said I'm not enjoying it. he's in his element, I realize, even if it is an unexpected one. and as he puts the cards into his back pocket, the group erupts with questions.

he's done magic before in front of them, but they seem to be awestruck by his performance this time. admittedly, I think the whole klutz act really added a nice dramatic element to it.

I'm mostly quiet for the rest of the tattooing process, although everyone else is chattering about the trick and how well the ink is going to turn out. I'm still wracking my brain for ideas of what they chose, but I honestly don't know. I've been banned from peeking.

maybe this was a mistake-- I've only recently joined this team, and already allowed them to decide what's going to be on my body forever. at least it's small. and maybe I'll actually like it; who knows?

when the artist lets out a satisfied sigh and turns the needle off, however, I find myself twisting around and staring frantically at the new design.

"oh my god."

it's a tiny airplane, with two dotted loopty-loops behind it. just small enough to be adorable.

"what do you think?" Garcia asks, eyeing it herself. they all gather around to admire the new design that sits on the outside of my upper thigh. I giggle.

"I love it."

"don't sound so relieved." Emily laughs. I can't help the bubbly excitement in my stomach.

"sorry, I just didn't know what to expect."

Spencer is staring at the ink when he turns to the tattoo artist. "how long until you think it'll be healed?"

the guy stands up to get treatment stuff for it. "I'd say about two weeks, but it varies from person to person." he leaves to grab cling film.

"I thought for sure you'd be the one to know that." I smirk at the genius. he shoves his hands in his pockets, makes sure the artist is out of earshot, and then looks back at you.

"I do know." he scoffs.

"uh huh." I laugh.

"actually, for the record," he lowers his voice. "I'd recommend at least three weeks instead of two. the last thing you want is infected flesh."

"yum, Spencer. thanks for that image." I smile with wide eyes and he shrugs.

...

it's quiet when I shut the door of my apartment shut behind me. I've got a bag full of supplies with me to clean the new art, and I'm feeling lethargic after getting lunch with the team. because Rossi wasn't around to foot the bill, I made the mistake of offering to pay.

we've got the day off after the most recent slew of cases, so I've determined to spend the rest of my day well. I could curl up with a nice documentary, or I could scrub my kitchen and do a little tidying up around here. god knows the film of dust on my bookshelves needs to be wiped away.

oh my god.

am I boring? maybe. possibly.

I shake the thought from my head and bring my things into the kitchen to organize. after spending a few hours cleaning up, I go out grocery shopping, then come home to sit down with a book. my errands take up so much time, I don't even notice the DC sunlight sinking beneath the harsh lines of the city, drenching my apartment in a silky darkness poked through with lit lamps.

it's already 9pm and I kind of want to hang out with someone, but I doubt any of the team wants to spend any more time with me than they did before lunch. or they might have plans with their families.

well, I know one person who definitely doesn't have plans.

I pull out my phone and hit Spencer's contact before I can talk myself out of it, knowing full well that it's not a big deal but still becoming a little nervous. it rings three times before he picks up.

"hello?"

"hey, Spencer."

"Clea. what's-- what's up?" he sounds more confused than anything. probably because I just saw him about an hour ago.

"I know it's late, but do you wanna come over? I'm bored and I feel like you know more about tattoo cleaning than I do." it's a weak excuse.

"why would I know more about tattoo cleaning--"

"you know damn well why, Reid," I laugh. "don't fish for compliments."

there's a slight laugh on the other end of the line before he replies. "I'll be over soon."

I wait patiently, preparing two mugs of coffee in the meantime. I'm sure we'll both want the caffeine, because I have no urge to turn in early tonight. my stomach twists a bit when he calls to tell me he's here, and I go to let him in. I'm not nervous.

except I actually am a little bit nervous when I open the door and there's Spencer with a shy smile and a coat that's a bit too big for him. it hangs off his narrow frame, and I realize that it must have just started raining. his hair is wet and there are dark spots on his clothes where the water has seeped through.

"get inside, my god." I move aside so he can come into the apartment and warm up. he walks in, looks around at my walls. I realize that he's never been here before. "welcome to my humble abode, Dr. Reid."

"it's nice." he compliments without much emotion. I lock the door and turn just in time to see his hand shaking at his side.

"thanks. let me take your coat." I glance out the window, where I now notice the rain pelting the glass.

Spencer shrugs off his jacket and hesitantly lets me hang it on the hook by the door before turning to him with my hands on my hips. "so, how are you?"

"I'm good," he smiles a little and runs a hand through his hair. "I actually read an article on the way here about those psychedelic mushrooms we were discussing the other day."

"is that, like, our thing, now?" I joke and gesture to the couch, where two mugs of hot coffee rest on coasters. he sits down gingerly on the cushions, sitting at the very opposite end of the couch from me.

"I can send it to you, if you'd like." he smiles.

"please do. I've been hoping for some titillating reading, recently." I hand him the mug and he stop before taking a sip.

"how many sugars did you put in this?"

"relax, genius, I'm not out to get you--" I catch his eye. "yet."

he giggles and takes a sip, then another. the smile tugging at my lips is too obvious for my liking; I'm just glad that I got the amount of sugar correct. it would have been funny to ambush him with a sweetness attack, although I think making him come here in the rain was punishment enough.

"have you ever had oat milk?" he asks out of the blue. I frown.

"yeah, why?"

"just wondering. I'm lactose intolerant and was considering trying it."

"you're lactose intolerant?"

"mhmm." he nods enthusiastically.

"I watched you eat three yogurt cups in a row yesterday." I chuckle at the memory of it. he eats so much and remains as skinny as a telephone pole.

"I love dairy." he shrugs it off. I pull my legs up beneath me on the couch and give him a serious expression.

"well, personally, I think oat milk tastes horrendous and it makes me want to vomit, but you should try it."

"noted."

we start to talk about various nondairy alternatives for coffee and it ends up being a surprisingly fun conversation. talking to Spencer has its own charm-- it's not just a conversation, it's a fully immersive experience. from his ambitious vocabulary to the unconscious gestures he makes, all of it keeps me hooked.

I rest my cheek on my palm, elbow leaning against the back of the couch while I nod along to him talking about almond farming. he's got a disdainful expression on his face as he brings up its environmental consequences, punctuating every few sentences with another sip of his coffee.

the rain is still pouring outside. thunder occasionally rolls over the sky and shakes the windows in their panes. my eyes flit from his face to the view when a flash of lightning catches my attention.

"--sorry, we should clean your tattoo." he seems to catch himself mid-thought, realizing that he came here to help me and not just rant about the business of almonds. I smile.

"no worries. this stuff is interesting to me, too."

"there's this documentary out now about it, too, that I've been meaning to watch."

"really?"

"yeah!" his face lights up. "if you want, we can--" he clears his throat. "we can watch it together."

he blushes as he says it, and I can tell that he's worried about how his intentions will come off. he can't take it back, so he runs the pad of his index over his middle finger and fidgets in a subtle way.

"that sounds like fun." I don't want him to feel weird. we've only hung out a few times, and I'm sort of looking forward to it.

"great," he straightens and adjusts his shirt, which has gotten slightly rumpled from his curling up on the couch. his tie is crooked, too. "where are the cleaning supplies?"

"in the kitchen."

"perfect, we should be doing it in there anyway." he stands, pushes a bit of his hair behind his ear while he waits for me to follow-- and I do, albeit with a wince from my tender side. it doesn't hurt as much as I expected.

he follows me into the minuscule kitchen and doesn't hesitate to start going through the things the artist gave me to take home. there's some foam wash and special moisturizer for it, not a lot. it's small enough that the care will be minimal, which is reassuring.

it's only when Spencer's washing his hands that I realize I'll need to unbutton my pants again in order to reach the tattoo. which means this is about to get at least slightly awkward for the both of us.

he turns around just in time to see me unzipping my jeans and his eyes widen.

"how else do you expect to clean it?" I laugh, and he gulps, visibly. his Adam's apple bobs in his throat and he nods in understanding.

"y-yeah, of course." his eyes are everywhere but on me. suddenly, my kitchen walls are incredibly interesting.

I shove down the waistband of my pants until they're just below my upper thigh, then I sit up on the counter and clear my throat. "I can cover some of myself if that makes you more comfortable."

"no, no, that's okay--" he speaks too quickly, then recognizes his mistake. "it's okay. this shouldn't take very long, anyway."

without another word, I shrug and watch him delicately peel away the film. his fingertips are back to barely touching my skin, just like when he pulled that card out from beneath me, and I stop breathing for a moment.

there's also a gel-like substance under the covering, which he tells me is just standard petroleum jelly. Spencer moves with a near surgical (and altogether unnecessary) precision. his eyes are glued to my skin as if forcing them not to stray to my now exposed panties. it doesn't feel sexual at all because it's not, thankfully.

when he uses the foam wash and begins to rub it into my skin, he frowns with concern and looks up at me. "is this okay? you can do it yourself if--"

"it's fine, Reid," I answer too quickly this time. heat rushes to my cheeks. "I honestly thought this was going to be a more complicated process than it really is."

"it's pretty simple, especially for something this small." he shrugs. "obviously, you don't want to get it infected, so I'd just think of it as treating a cut."

silence in our respective positions at the moment makes me nervous, so I change the subject.

"magic tricks, huh?" if anything, I need to distract myself from the way his hand is rubbing over my skin in a totally nonsexual and platonic way.

he relaxes a little, lifting his gaze to mine with a somewhat pleased countenance. "yeah, I love magic."

it's like peeling back a corner of wallpaper and seeing a shade of red beneath; not a lot, but enough to pique my curiosity. "a man of science?"

Spencer shakes his head at the air of faux sophistication I pour into it. "the world needs some wonder."

he says it in an offhand way, although I feel the weight of it from the way he runs a damp paper towel over the last of the cleansing foam. his touch presses into me and his eyes are lowered in a slightly distant way.

"how long have you been into it?" I fight the urge to ask a million questions at once.

"since I was a kid," he jerks back to attention. the grin on his face tells you just how special this is to him. "I used to buy all the books and practice for my mom constantly."

"did you ever do the trick with the never-ending string of handkerchiefs?" I recall one of the only classic moves I know. Reid laughs.

"that one's easy."

"what about the coin behind the ear?" I throw out another one.

Spencer straightens, doesn't even bother to set down the paper towel, before reaching up behind my ear and pulling away with a shiny quarter set between his thumb and forefinger. "you mean this one?"

there it is again, that confidence I saw in the tattoo parlor. he's standing just close enough for me to notice, and I grin as I snatch the metal out of his hand and set it on the counter beside me. "thanks."

"no problem." he laughs.

"you should do that more often."

"the coin trick? I'd go broke." he jokes. I laugh at the rare appearance of Spencer's playful side, hoping to get a bit more of it before we have to go back to being serious at work.

"magic in general, I mean. I think it would brighten up the office a bit."

he thinks about it for a moment, washing his hands again. the sound of the faucet reminds me to put my lotion on my leg. I get to it while he thinks of what to say.

"yeah, maybe you're right."

"I still find it funny that you're into that kind of stuff." I say honestly. of all the things for him to nerd out about, this feels almost comically unexpected. but Reid only gives me a shy smile before replying.

"it always made my mom laugh when I was a kid."

"is she also good at it?"

"tricks? no," he chuckles. there's a washcloth between his long, slender fingers that he's been using to dry them for the past two minutes. at this point, I think he's doing it to keep from fidgeting. "she says it's an old fashioned thing, and that only made me wanna do it more."

"well," I cap the bottle and set it down on the counter, pull my jeans up and lean against the counter with a smile. "I like old fashioned."

Spencer gives a friendly smile. "me too."

taglist (add yourself here or message me to be added/removed!): @reidsconverse @donald4spiderman @awritingtree @gingeraleluke @bewitchedbibliophile @multixfandomwriter @xoxomgg

[archonssun]

Uhm.....Hello!i love your writes,can i request little sister headcanons for Childe, Xiao, Noelle, and Mona....?

Of course! 

Little Sister HCs

characters: Childe, Xiao, Noelle, Mona

notes: oh. my. god. I got so carried away with Childe’s and Xiao’s, then Noelle’s and Mona’s are so short 😭😭😭  again, I AM SO SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG TT^TT I’m worried I didn’t write Noelle or Mona well, so I’d appreciate it if you guys would let me know what you thought about their parts 👉👈

CHILDE:

Ajax is the Shit-head Elder Brother, but everyone knows it’s all done with love is it tho

He spoils you

archons does he spoil you

like him, you’re the middle child (only two years younger than Ajax himself), and in his mind you two have to stick together against your older and younger siblings

And with your Cryo vision ...

well, let’s just say that when the two of you are fighting, Ajax ends up frozen more than once

as your older brother, he has a knack for pushing your buttons, inciting violence in his sister that is usually the most passive of people -- and he lived for it

On more than one occasion he would scare away potential lovers -- they all knew what that red mask meant and chose to stay away as soon as they saw it

You were his only younger sibling that knew of his Harbinger status, and for good reason -- having been blessed with a vision from the Tsaritsa herself, you had been recruited into the Fatui around the same time as your brother

Surprisingly, it was the Tsaritsa herself that taught you how to utilize your vision, showing you how best to call forth ice and snow and testing you with various weapons before you ultimately chose to fight with a bow like brother like sister kajslhdfs

As soon as Ajax rose to Harbinger status, you were placed under his watch more like you had to watch him, and had even traveled to Liyue with him

and when the whole Golden House incident happened?

You had never wanted to kick his ass so much

which is exactly what you did after he failed to summon Osial: you took him to a field far from the harbor and thoroughly handed him his ass

"Slow down, would ya?!” Your brother parried every strike you sent his way, which only proved to enrage you further. You scowled at the man, picking up the pace and striking him faster than he could counter or dodge.

“You are a verifiable dumbass! Did you really think that the Qixing and the Adepti would forsake the city they pledged their lives to protect?!” Your scowl deepened into a snarl as your fist connected with Ajax’s cheek, sending him tumbling to the dirt. “Or were you so blinded by your loss to the Traveler that you weren’t thinking?”

“Now that’s a little much, dontcha think, sis?” Ajax smiled. It was a smile you had seen thousands of times before, and it took you no time to know it was fake.

You leveled him with an icy glare, and he actually felt his body grow cold.

Oh wait, that was the ice you were currently encasing him in.

“You will be stuck here, frozen, until I deem you have learned your lesson,” you said simply, stuffing a hand in your pants pocket as you slipped on your Fatui mask and turned your back to your brother.

“Aw, come on, lil’ sis! That’s so cold!” Ajax whined, and you had to take a few deep breaths before you looked at him over your shoulder.

“That’s the idea, dipshit,” you growled, reveling in the fact that he flinched at your tone. With that, you turned back around to head back to the harbor when your brother’s whispered words drifted to your ears.

“You’re just as cold as Signora. How could I have let this happen?!”

Ajax yelped as a shard of ice thwacked him in the forehead, blood trickling down into his eye. He managed to catch the dangerous look on your face before you disappeared from view, and he swallowed past the fear he felt rising in his throat.

Uh oh. Think I might have teased her too much.

XIAO:

he is the Over-Protective Elder Brother

he is immensely bitter that he missed such a substantial portion of your life, losing the chance to watch you grow up into a strong warrior

Xiao was taken from you when you were barely old enough to wield a weapon properly, so you grew up without him, until Morax had liberated your brother

before that point, you had survived under Morax’s watchful eyes, and the god was the one to teach you how to fight, even gifting you a Geo vision to wield as your own

when Morax freed your brother, you were the first person Xiao asked about. It had been many years since he had been taken from you, and he could only hope you were still alive.

“Xiao.” The sound of your voice had the Yaksha jumping to his feet, wide amber eyes meeting your own. Although you hadn’t grown up with him, you knew he wasn’t one to let emotions get the better of him. And yet, you noticed the tears welling in his eyes as you stood before him.

You approached him slowly, as if he were a scared animal, a gentle smile tugging at your lips. You stopped just a few feet in front of him, about to speak when your brother’s body barreled into you. His arms wrapped tightly around your back, the fingers gripping the back of your shirt trembling.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, the two of you sinking to the floor, just holding one another. You could feel his tears soaking into your shirt and you lifted a hand, running your fingers through his hair. It was something Guizhong would do to calm you when you were a child, and you r actions had Xiao sobbing even harder.

Xiao rarely let you leave his sight after the two of you were reunited

he was adamant that he go with you, no matter where you were going or what you were going to do

he knew you were a capable fighter, wielding a pole arm and a Geo vision much like your teacher

but he had already lost so much time with you

he didn’t want to lose any more time

Xiao would train with you, fight by your side, would listen raptly to all the stories you had been a part of while he was gone

he made promises a lot: promises to protect you, to stay with you no matter what

you were the only one other than the Traveler that he willingly stayed around

when you would wake from nightmares, Xiao was there to help chase them away

but when your older brother was the one suffering from nightmares, it was always you that helped ease the pain, whether it be by singing a soft tune or training with him to get his mind off of the nightmare

when Rex Lapis, ahem ... “died”, it had fallen to you to make sure Xiao didn’t completely shut himself off from others

and suffice it to say that when the mortal Zhongli appeared at Wangshu Inn three weeks later, you had immediately recognized your teacher.

“Xiao!” You beamed, tugging at your brother’s sleeve as a wide smile split your face. “Xiao!”

“What?” he growled, sharp amber eyes flitting to you. But your gaze was set on something else, something in front of the both of you, and when Xiao looked he felt his breath catch. Standing before you was a man Xiao would recognize even in death.

“It is good to see the both of you doing well.” Morax gave the both of you a delighted smile, resting a hand on your head. You were vibrating from the excitement that seeing your teacher -- alive -- brought, an excitement that, for once, was reflected in your brother’s smile.

NOELLE:

you were just a few years younger than your sister, and just like her you had been blessed with a vision

you couldn’t remember your parents; for as long as you could remember, it has just been you and Noelle

you worked with Lisa in the library, mostly organizing and reorganizing books and papers, as well as practicing using your Electro vision with the librarian

but every day, without fail, you and Noelle would meet for lunch. sometimes you had to drag your older sister away from work, but it was the one thing that never changed as you grew older.

you would help her get into the Knights of Favonious after all you had a few connections ;)

it wouldn’t happen right away nothing ever does :( but you wouldn’t give up until Noelle had a place with the Knights as something more than a maid

the two of you would be fiercely protective of one another, and would gladly maim someone if they were to endanger you

more often than not, it is Noelle’s Geo shield that protects your team from your haywire Electro manipulation

“Noelle!” You shouted over the thrum of battle, and in an instant everyone on the team had been shielded by your sister. Just as quickly, a wicked smile adorned your face and you coated your pole arm in Electro as you charged the gang of slimes.

In the time it takes someone to blink, you traversed the entirety of the battlefield, striking every enemy as you went. That is, until you hit one of the Pyro slimes, the resulting explosion knocking you from your feet. 

You cursed yourself, readying your weapon just as Noelle’s shield disappeared and the slimes that hadn’t been culled attacked you. You locked eyes with your sister, giving her a nod as she shielded herself and your teammates. You breathed a sigh of relief before steeling your nerves, coating your weapon in Electro once more.

Electro crackled in the air around you, bolts of it arcing off of you and your polearm and traveling to the ground. You didn’t have long, and so you struck the remaining enemies quickly.

As soon as the tip of your weapon touched the first slime, Electro energy exploded forth from your body and touched every slime surrounding you. You willed the energy to keep shocking the slimes until they had disappeared, and by then you could feel your skin prickling; could see the jagged markings appearing on your hands -- no doubt they were present on your legs, as well, but you didn’t have near enough energy to keep yourself standing.

Noelle was the first to reach you, one hand grasping your shoulder and helping you sit up. She frowned at the dazed look on your face, and immediately pulled you onto her back as she and the rest of the team made their way back to Mondstadt.

“You did amazing, (Y/n).”

Your eyes struggled to stay open, your brain fried from using too much Electro, and so you barely heard the praise fall from your sister’s lips. But it had a small smile tugging at your lips before you drifted into darkness.

MONA:

Oh boy...

Okay, so: both you and Mona were taken in by her master, but only Mona decided to learn under them. you were content as you were

you weren’t blessed with a vision like your older sister, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t fight: you had learned how to wield a blade by watching others around you

You would frequently travel with Mona when her master sent her on errands, chattering and laughing with her without a care in the world

but every time the two of you would run into trouble, the both of you would fall silent as you battled

There was only one time in all of your travels where you had come close to death

You had elected to jump between Mona and a Cryo slime, taking a hit to your side that momentarily made you freeze, and the slime had taken that opportunity to charge into you, sending you flying backwards into a tree

“(Y/n)! Are you alright?!” Mona was at your side in an instant, her gray eyes wide with worry. You tried to laugh, to alleviate her worries, only to fall into a coughing fit.

Your sister became increasingly worried as her eyes drifted down to the ice covering your wound. Just as she reached to touch it, something caught the sun and blinded her for a split second.

“(Y/n), what is that?” As your sister pointed towards your closed hand, you finally registered the cool feel of metal on your palm, and as you unfurled your fingers you were greeted by a Dendro vision.

A tired smile tugged at your lips as you looked down at the pulsating vision, a wry laugh falling from your mouth.

“Huh, guess nearly dying does have it’s perks,” you chuckled, delirious from both the cold and the hit to your head. You heard Mona screech at your words, and you could only chuckle as you turned to meet her eyes. “Don’t worry, Mona. I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t joke about dying, you stupid little sister!”

-----

Masterlist

-----

Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list for Genshin Impact!!

@anatthesavage

[heyitssmiller]

Mills!! I got a little burst of inspiration from your reblog this morning 👀 hope you like it!

Finn didn’t know how Remus and Sirius had persuaded the bakery to allow a whole hockey team to help them pick a cake.

He’d never been to a wedding cake tasting before, but he liked weddings, and he loved cake, so it seemed like an ideal situation.

He was holding Logan’s hand in his, swinging it back and forth giddily as they walked. Logan smiled at him. “Excited much?”

“So much. Aren’t you? It’s a wedding cake tasting, Lo!”

Logan laughed. “Not for our wedding!”

“Not yet,” Finn corrected with a kiss to Logan’s cheek.

He held open the door to the bakery for his boyfriend, and a small bell alerted their entrance.

“You made it!” Sirius exclaimed, waving at them over their teammates’ heads. “Come sit, we’ve got some options out already.”

“Hey, don’t start without me!” Finn shimmied his way to the table and into a seat. “What tastes good, guys?”

The team launched into a play-by-play of frosting and fillings, and Logan watched his boyfriend fondly. Then someone bumped into him. “Désolé,” he excused himself, turning to find a very tall, very cute blonde balancing a new tray of cake slices.

“Non, non, c'est ma faute, désolé. Salut, Je suis Leo.” The man smiled, and the dimples on his cheeks seemed to impossibly soften his expression.

“Je suis Logan. Tu veux de l'aide?” He gestured at the tray.

“Non, Je l'ai, merci.” Leo’s accent was different from his, but he liked it. It was slower - and sweeter.

“Êtes-Vous sûr? Je Sui's fort.” Logan winked at him, and Leo blushed.

“Oh, Je suis sûr que tu es.” Leo shifted the tray to his other arm, a shadow of a smirk crossing his face. “Mais Je l'ai. Excuse Moi,” he said as he squeezed by Logan to the table.

Logan followed behind him and sat next to Finn, who promptly handed him a fork.

Sirius put his arm around Remus. “Got any favorites yet, mon loup?”

“I’m thinking this red velvet one or this chocolate lava one.” Remus pointed.

Cheers went up from the team, obviously favoring those flavors too.

Leo unloaded the cakes he was carrying. “Well, hold your horses. I got some more options here for y’all.”

Finn looked up at him with wide eyes. “You’re like, an angel. A cake angel.”

Leo laughed. “Something like that. I’m Leo, I’ll be helping y’all out here today. Tell me which ones y’all like best.” He started naming each piece. “Now, we’ve got chocolate espresso, Oreo, strawberry shortcake, caramel crunch, coconut, and lemon raspberry.”

Remus surveyed the new choices gravely. “I’m not sure we’ll be able to choose.”

“That’s what we’re here for, Loops,” Kasey said as he picked up a slice of coconut.

Finn reached for a slice of caramel crunch and he and Logan dug in. “Uch, too sweet.” he pushed the plate more towards his boyfriend.

“Non? What are you talking about, it’s delicious.”

“Your teeth are gonna rot out of your head one day, Tremzy.”

Logan took a bigger bite of cake.

“Loops, Cap, this oreo one is heaven on a plate!” Talker whooped. “You gotta pick it.”

“Nuh-uh, small cake best,” Evgeni decided.

Jackson snorted. “You mean the shortcake?”

“Is same thing.”

Finn bumped his shoulder lightly against Logan’s with a grin. “You’re my favorite short cake.”

“Fuck off, O’Hara.”

The team kept eating, commenting on each, and arguing over which should be the winner. Eventually, only crumbs were left on some plates, and Finn decided to make room for more.

He stacked the dishes and smiled at Logan before wandering away from the group.

“Everything tasting okay?” Leo asked him at the counter.

“Everything’s tasting fantastic. I’m Finn, by the way. Where should I put these?”

“Oh, I can take 'em.”

“Did you make all these samples?”

Leo nodded.

“They’re really good. Like, really good.” That got a small, modest chuckle out of the blonde.

“Thank you, I try.” His voice had a hint of something southern, and Finn thought it suited him well.

“Where are you from?”

“Where are you from?” Leo countered.

“New York, baby, born and raised.” Finn spread his arms with a grin. “You ever been?”

Leo looked up from the dishes, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Sweetheart, I’m from Louisiana. Gryffindor’s bout as far north as I can get without freezing.”

He laughed, hoping Leo didn’t see the blush creeping up his neck at the offhanded way he had just called Finn sweetheart.

“Harzy!” James startled him out of his thoughts with a clap on the shoulder. “Hanging out with the baker to try and smuggle some cake home?”

Finn jostled James sideways. “I’m making friends, Potts. Now, if that happens to come with some sweet benefits,” he glanced at Leo and smirked. “Who am I to say no?”

“Alright, alright, but let’s make friends later. The men of the hour need our final verdict.”

Leo watched as Finn was dragged back to the table. The redhead made his way back to his seat, and then turned to…

Kiss Logan?

Leo blinked.

Finn had kissed Logan, and then they’d smiled at each other.

What?

Leo didn’t know what was happening anymore. Wasn’t Finn just flirting with him? Wasn’t Logan? Sure, they were both super hot and definitely seemed out of his league socially, but he could flirt a little any day - except he hadn’t seen this plot twist coming at all. Honestly, he felt a little disappointed.

He watched the Lions methodically draw some sort of list or chart on a napkin about which cake to pick, and was so distracted that he didn’t even notice when one of them approached him.

“Your cakes, they’re very good.”

Leo smiled at the older man. “Thank you. You got a favorite?”

The man shrugged with a grin. “How can I chose?”

“I know the feeling,” Leo sighed.

The man’s eyes flickered for a second back to his team. “You don’t have a favorite?”

“Oh, I’ve got a couple,” Leo said absently as he dried the clean dishes. “Like you said, though. How can you chose?”

“But you can have more than one, at the same time, non?”

“Well, you know, some people like having more than one flavor. Not everyone, though. It can be tricky when what one person wants doesn’t line up with their partner wants.”

The man hummed thoughtfully. “It all works out eventually, though, non? Everyone ends up happy?”

Leo smiled as he stacked the last of the dishes. “I guess that’s true.”

“Dumo!” Sirius called. “What did you think of the oreo cake?”

The man Leo had been talking to gave Sirius a thumbs up before turning back with a smile. “See? Everything’s already working itself out.”

Oh my god oh my god oh my god

*SCREAMS*

Y’ALL COME READ THIS 😍😍😍

Characters belong to the lovely @lumosinlove 💕

[sableflynn]

Felivy - The Choice

Soooo after a solid week of constant gushing about this au with @whumpopology I decided to try writing a bit of it! I'm uh pretty much completely obsessed with this au at this point, the amount of brainstorming we've done is incredible and soooo much fun.

Very brief context: AU where Felicia and Ivy both end up at Volkan's mean man estate together. The girls bond, Volkan is mean, the teams try to find them. Volkan decides to spice things up, contacts the teams and tells them they can choose one girl to have sent home and he'll keep the other. This is the timeline where they choose Ivy to come home.

cw: drugging, noncon kiss/touch, general noncon implications (none happens), whumper pov. ao3 link here.

---

The girl was strapped into a chair, thick leather cuffs tight on wrists that strained against the imprisonment. Even with the needle still in her arm, the drug coursing through her bloodstream, she fought; she had fought from the moment he first showed her just how he planned to transport her back to her team.

Red, Harrison had called her, for the striking color of her thick curls, but her hair color wasn’t enough to set her apart here. That fighting spirit, though; that was something his healer lacked, a tenacity bordering on feral that kept things interesting in a way Felicia couldn’t. And yet all it took was one wandering touch, one comment dripping with innuendo, one look, and she fell apart. Beneath all her bluster and bravado, Ivy was a scared little girl, and he was happy to remind her of that every time.

Her head began to droop and he thought that was it, until she snapped back to full alertness with fresh fire in her eyes. “You’re—” Her words were slurred, the effort to get them out visible in her face. “You’re fucking sick.”

He smiled and inclined his head in acknowledgement. “You should relax,” he said, and just to make sure she couldn’t relax, he leaned over her where she sat, one hand rising to brush strands of hair from her face. “Just let this happen. Next thing you know, you’ll be waking up in your boyfriend’s arms.”

“Nuh—” Despite the determination blazing in her eyes, she shuddered. A thin sheen of sweat broke out across her forehead, and he imagined he could see the drug working its way through her body, slowing her nervous system until she succumbed. Yet she still fought it; she couldn’t not, not with the needle still in her, and the knowledge that there wasn’t a single thing she could do to stop him from taking anything he wanted.

He leaned in for a kiss, and she was still awake enough to snap at him. Pulling back with a grin, he watched the terror dancing in her eyes, drank in the soft hitch of her breath as his hand caressed her cheek before traveling down further. His second kiss dipped lower, lips tracing the curve of her neck, sucking hard enough to bruise until he pulled a weak sob from her. Her pulse was racing beneath his tongue; every touch from him would send the drug through her body faster, which would make her more and more vulnerable to his touch. A delicious feedback loop of her suffering.

He lifted his head to meet her gaze, and the fire he’d seen there moments before was snuffed out. She was breathing heavily, eyes glimmering with unshed tears, mouth working as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t push the words out. He took her in another kiss and she whimpered against him, and god, he was going to miss this. Her fear was so different from Felicia’s, tinged with frustration at her own helplessness, and he could spend months drawing it out, showing her again and again that she was small and weak and nothing. But he had made a deal, and he was a man of his word. Better to leave her a sweet memory to remember him by, then.

When he pulled back from the kiss, he let his hand drift lower, until his thumb fretted with the fastenings of her pants. He hadn’t thought she could become more despairing than she already was, but at that touch she let out another sob, her head shaking weakly, slurring out words that might’ve been stop, please, no, don’t. He didn’t particularly care what they were. Fingers deftly undoing the button of her pants, other hand rising to press a harsh thumb into the bruise he’d kissed into her, he took her mouth in his one more time. She had no resistance left, and his tongue touched hers, his teeth dragging along her lower lip as he tasted her once again.

Her cry left her in a rush of air, and she slid into oblivion.

He studied her face, hands still on her body. In sleep, her features softened, the panic and desperation of moments before dulled to the slightest downward curve of her lips. So different from the wild thing who’d spat blood in his face, laughed under the threat of his knife, fought against him with everything in her. So much more fitting for the weak, terrified girl she became whenever he began to undress her, the lost thing he knew she was deep inside.

Refastening her pants, he took his hands from her body and began undoing the leather cuffs holding her in place. She had somewhere she needed to be, and it wouldn’t do for her to be late.

***

Felicia blinked, and stared at the bare white wall of her room, and fought a losing battle with her emotions.

One of us is going home. Volkan had dropped that bomb on them, and then dragged them off to their separate rooms before they could fully process. Before they could think to ask a single question. Before they could say goodbye.

She couldn’t hope. She couldn’t dare to hope, because if she went home, that would mean Ivy was staying here, and if Ivy stayed here alone she would be dead within the week.

She couldn’t hope, because she wouldn’t be strong enough to survive if her hope shattered and Ivy went home and she was left here, alone, with him.

There was no solution; only branching paths that ended in different flavors of heartbreak. Even when he offered them freedom, he twisted it into a weapon against them. Her heart raged against the unfairness of it all, and she crushed that feeling down, closing herself off, a few stray tears leaking from eyes squeezed shut.

The door to her room creaked open and she gripped the edges of the cot she sat on. He filled the frame, silhouetted against the hallway lights. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, and yet she knew she had to. His expression was unreadable. Maybe she just didn’t want to read it.

“Come with me,” he said, and walked away without waiting for a response. She rose and followed him.

He brought her to his lounge, all dark leather and polished wood and a fire crackling in the hearth. At a gesture from him, she sank into the couch and he poured two glasses of amber liquor, handing one to her. He sat across from her, and in his eyes she saw that look, that fucking look that meant he was savoring the anticipation of breaking her down in some new way, and that was how she knew to prepare herself a heartbeat before he said, “Why do you think they chose her over you?”

She pressed her lips into a thin line and willed herself not to feel. From the moment she had woken up in his office, some part of her had always known she was going to die here. This changed nothing. At least Ivy was safe. She could take this.

He gestured at the glass in her hand, the drink within untouched. “Drink. It’ll help you relax.” She stared through him, setting the glass on the table without a word, and he took a sip of his own liquor. “I just want to talk tonight. I know you must have a lot of mixed feelings right now.”

She shifted her gaze to look him in the eye, and his face crinkled with a genuine smile. “I wish I could’ve been there for the discussion,” he mused. “What do you think was the deciding factor? What was it that pushed them over the edge, made them realize that Ivy was worth more than you?”

He wasn’t going to let up. She bit down the urge to say they made the right choice—self-deprecation was only playing into his hands. And she couldn’t do it, couldn’t dwell on what sort of conversation must have taken place, so she said, “I don’t know.”

“No theories at all?” He raised a skeptical brow. “You have no idea what might’ve led your girlfriend to look me in the eye and tell me that she was choosing to leave you here with me in favor of a stranger?”

Elyse. Her face flashed in Felicia’s mind, and shit, a few tears welled up before she could close herself off to the feeling, and then her chest ached with longing and grief and despair, and her fingers dug into the leather of the couch as her breath hitched in a sob, and then another.

Volkan shushed her with a faux-soothing hum, his hand like fire against her skin as he tucked her stray strands of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry. I know this must hurt.” Through the haze of tears, the smirk on his face was infuriating. “If it helps, I think their choice makes sense.”

“Nothing about this makes sense, and you know that, you—” Now that she’d started, the sobs kept coming, racking her body with shudders. “You know, because you rigged this fucking game from the start, because that’s what you do, you—”

“Shhh.” He pressed a finger to her lips as he shushed her this time, and she flinched. “You’re getting emotional. Try to think about this logically. I’m sure your team did when they made their decision.” He sipped his drink again, considering. “Ivy’s a strong girl. A much better fighter. She doesn’t just roll over and submit at the first threat of pain. Although,” and his smile turned mocking, conspiratory, “you and I both know she’s not as tough as she likes to pretend. For a girl with two boyfriends, she sure fell apart quickly as soon as I—”

“You don’t know a goddamn thing about her,” Felicia lashed, stomach churning. Her skin warmed with the memory of Ivy’s touch, the only kind thing about this place. Ivy’s beautiful fierceness as she fought Volkan in every way. Ivy’s smile, and her tears, and her whispered promises in the night. “She’s—she’s so brave, and she’s good, and she’s not going to just leave me here.” Please.

Volkan’s eyes sparkled with delight. “Adorable. She already did.”

The flash of Ivy’s hazel eyes, wide with shock as she was dragged to her own room to wait for a decision to be made. “She didn’t leave. You took her.”

He chuckled. “Technically, you’re correct. Would you prefer she was still here with you?”

“I—” Felicia hated herself, then, for how close she came to saying yes, and she hated him even more for the slight quirk of his lips as he saw the indecision play across her face, as he read her like a book. “I’m glad she’ll be safe now,” she managed at last.

“Safe is a relative term,” Volkan said, setting his empty glass down on the table. “But I’m sure we can both agree she’s in a better place than you are.” He leaned in closer to her, pressing her against the couch, and his arms surrounding her were the jaws of a trap closing in on her.

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Dogwarts Angst prompt: With so many out for his blood, Martyn needs power and protection so, what does he do? Mutiny, he slays his king in a way that gets him no suspicions and claims it was another faction (prob the desert given they have a gunpowder farm). Then, uses Ren as a martyr and symbol ("for our fallen king!") to gain the loyalty of the Red Army...HIS army...

this was so painful to write asdfghjkl not because it’s bad but bc i love loyal Martyn too much and the idea of him betraying Ren is horrible lol

...

It’s nearing sunset and Martyn and Ren are out for a walk near their base. Martyn is sweating a little; he has a plan and everything has to go just right or his life will be over. Ren has already asked a few questions but at least he seemed mostly satisfied with Martyn’s answers.

“You alright, there, Martyn?” says Ren after a while. “You seem to be looking around a lot.”

“Having a bounty on my head is making me a little nervous,” responds Martyn. “I love being wanted but it really makes a guy paranoid.”

Ren smiles sympathetically at him. “Understandable. I never thought-.”

“Wait!” Martyn gasps involuntarily, spotting the thin tripwire he set up, only just visible through the trees. “I-I think I see someone. Quickly!”

He takes off towards the trees, with Ren just behind him. Hopping over the tripwire, he hides behind another tree a few blocks away until he hears Ren yelp, “Martyn, I just tripped on something!”

Martyn immediately dashes for cover, leaving Ren behind.

The last thing he hears is Ren yelling his name, before the world explodes around him.

Luckily, Martyn is far enough away that the explosions only knock him lightly off his feet. Hurriedly getting back up, he rushes back the way he came, to find Ren lying in the centre of the large crater on his back, a small puddle of blood under his head.

Martyn kneels down beside Ren and cradles his head in his lap. Despite his plans, he can’t help feeling a twinge of guilt.

“M-Martyn…” coughs Ren, eyelids fluttering. “Wh…”

“I’m sorry, My Liege,” Martyn starts quietly, before abruptly changing what he was going to say. “I shouldn’t have left your side.”

“It’s okay,” Ren whispers, giving a weak smile, as he reaches up with a shaky hand to touch Martyn’s shoulder. “T-Take my crown. D-Dogwarts is yours, o-okay? Take c-care of it.”

Martyn nods as he carefully takes the crown from Ren. “Of course.”

Ren’s eyes slowly close for the final time and his body disappears.

Renthedog blew up

Martyn sits back on his ankles, allowing himself a minute to cry. He doesn’t hate his plan - he chose this path after all - but he does hate not being honest. He’d been planning to reveal his treachery to Ren just before he died but when it came down to it, he just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t quite force himself to admit that he’d betrayed the man who gave him shelter, a purpose, and the position to be able to take control of arguably the most powerful alliance on the server.

He has made the decision to let Ren go to his grave believing that his dedicated friend was loyal to the end.

And now Martyn must live with that.

He stays there for a while, until he hears a distant voice yelling his name. It’s a friendly voice, so Martyn doesn’t move. This is his chance to start the performance of his life.

Sure enough, Skizz soon appears through the trees, followed closely by Etho. The two skid to a halt as they register the scene: Martyn kneeling in the crater with Ren’s crown in his lap.

“No!” Skizz gasps, rushing to Martyn’s side. “Oh no, are you okay?! What happened?!”

“I… The D-Desert Alliance must’ve trapped the area,” Martyn croaks, forcing himself to act shell-shocked. “I was stupid; I-I left Ren’s side to scout ahead. By the time I heard the TNT hissing, it was t-too late to save him.”

“Oh my god…” Skizz hugs Martyn tightly. “I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?”

“N-No, I was far enough away from the explosion.” Martyn clutches the crown as if his life depends on it. “I… What do we do now…?”

“Now, you gotta take over as the red king,” Skizz says, exactly as Martyn hoped. “Ren gave you his crown, right? He wanted you to take over for him.”

Martyn clears his throat. “Yeah… you’re right. We have to avenge Ren.”

Skizz nods, his eyes flashing red. “They gotta pay for what they did to our king, Martyn. I need to make them pay.”

“Me too,” responds Martyn. “For Ren."

…

When they get back to Dogwarts, the sun has long since set. Martyn is standing on the altar, holding Ren’s sword. He can’t stop thinking about Ren, as he’s sure none of his team can. But he knows it’s for very different reasons.

“Hey,” says Skizz’s voice gently from behind him. “You should get some sleep. It’s been a rough day.”

Martyn nods slowly. “I know, I just… I’m a little nervous.”

Skizz moves to his side and places his hand on Martyn’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Martyn. You know we’ll all protect you, right? You’re our new king; we’ll protect you with our lives, no matter how many stupid bounties are on your head.”

“Thanks, Skizz. I appreciate that.” Martyn can’t quite manage a smile. “Get some sleep. We’re gonna attack the Desert Alliance tomorrow at dawn.”

“Really?” Skizz stares at him. “Do you have a plan?”

“I’ll address everyone properly first thing in the morning.”

“Okay. Night, buddy. I mean… My Liege.”

Martyn carefully watches Skizz go into the building, before heading out towards the gate. His plan is working better than he could have ever imagined. Nobody suspects him. The only person who would even have the capacity to suspect him is-.

“Hey, Martyn.”

Martyn freezes as he hears Etho’s voice. Turning slowly, he spots his ally leaning against the wall, arms folded. “Hi. You startled me.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Etho’s expression is friendly but there’s something underneath, something that makes Martyn uneasy. “I just had a question for you, if that’s okay?”

Martyn turns fully to face Etho. “Shoot.”

“Did you see anyone around when you and Ren were out there, just before the trap went off?” Etho asks. “Anyone at all?”

This feels like a trap to Martyn. The easy thing to do would be to say yes, to tell Etho that he saw someone lurking around. But at the same time, maybe Etho is expecting him to say no. Either way, Martyn risks elevating Etho’s suspicions.

After taking a few seconds to think, he replies, “I thought I did, but I can’t be sure. That’s part of the reason I went ahead; I thought maybe someone was waiting to ambush us.”

“Right, I see.” Etho seems neither satisfied nor dissatisfied with his response. “So. An attack on the Desert Alliance at dawn, huh?”

Martyn nods, realising that Etho heard what he said to Skizz. “My reasoning is they’ll probably be expecting us to be weak and have to spend a few days to regroup after Ren’s loss. They won’t expect an immediate attack.”

“I see. That makes sense. I guess we’d better all get some rest, huh? Including you.”

“Yeah, I’ve just gotta do one thing before I turn in. But by all means, you go ahead.”

“I will,” Etho says. “Night, Martyn.”

“Night.”

Martyn watches Etho go back inside, before heading out to the grave Skizz made for Ren. He kneels in front of it and lays a flower on it.

“Sorry, Ren,” he murmurs. “There’s a new red king now.”

[lastxviolet]

Madripoor is for Lovers (Zemo x F!Reader) - Ch. 2

Summary: Y/N is a SWORD agent recruited to help Sam and Bucky track down Karli and the super-soldiers. When Helmut Zemo joins the team, he takes a special interest in her. The friendly union is wrought for disaster, but then things take a turn for the worst when Y/N is taken as collateral. Will Zemo keep her forever? Does she even want to escape? And what happened in Madripoor that made the whole thing so complicated?

Warnings: 18+ / eventual smut / kidnapping

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32878015/chapters/81589774

The plane completed its descent, jolting you awake and away from the dream of what happened next.

His hands inside your dress and the moment in the evening that stopped feeling like an act.

“We are here,” he confirmed, gripping your hand and leading you from the plane.

The air wasn’t cold anymore and smelled like spring. It was May in the states and DC had felt the same so it was possible that you were still in the northern hemisphere. The United States and Canada weren’t options for the criminal, neither was Germany.

Italy?

He spoke to the driver in German and although you recognized the words, you had no clue what they meant. A short drive later and the car stopped. He untied the blindfold and you took in the sight of a lone chateau at the end of a lavish driveway. He opened the door and motioned for you to follow.

“No gun,” you questioned, eyeing his relaxed demeanor.

He smiled. Although you were angry and the sun was too bright, you were glad to finally be able to see something again.

“Not necessary,” he nodded at the rolling hills around them. “Where would you run?”

You glared at him, letting him know that this was still against your will and that any familiarity you’d had, was gone.

“You’re very confident that I prefer your company over death,” you hissed, eyeing the wilderness.

“You’ve come with me this far.”

Your eyes met his. It was impossible to know what he was thinking beneath the stern exterior.

“You could’ve screamed for your comrades,” he shrugged.

“There was a gun aimed at my temple.”

“Or jumped out of the plane.”

Again, you glared at him. If looks could kill.

“This way,” he said, clearing his throat. “Please.”

You followed him, debating if you could make it to the car or even out of the compound before Zemo shot you or caught up.

The terrain was unfamiliar, and now you were in a foreign country, alone and uncounted for.

Zemo slowed and matched your snail’s pace, signaling that it was time to hurry up. You moved slower despite his hand on your back and he clicked his tongue. You made the journey last as long as possible until there was no choice but to cross the threshold.

“Your room is up the stairs and to the right,” he said, eyes on your face.

You stormed up the wooden stairs, making each groan with your anger.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” he called after you.

You slammed your door in response. The wall shook and you half hoped it’d bring the whole house down, taking you and Zemo with it.

An hour later, you entered the small and intimate dining room. A round table sat in a nook surrounded by windows, looking out onto the cliff-like drop below. You didn’t even glance at the food before you. There was only Zemo, and convincing him to let you go.

“Is your room to your liking?”

You scoffed. “My cell is fine, thank you.”

Unfortunately, your warden was fond of conflict, and difficult people. The words only seemed to intrigue him further. His eyes danced over your face, glancing down towards the exposed skin on your chest and then up to your lips.

“They say a pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity,” he mused.

“I’m a pessimist because of intelligence,” you quoted.

His eyes twinkled again, he knew, as you did, that it came from an Italian philosopher. It was applicable but also, a guess.

He raised his glass towards you before finishing the quote. “But an optimist because of will.”

In true Zemo fashion, he neither confirmed nor denied your suspicion. You lifted your glass of red wine towards him with a scowl.

You ate in silence for a while, you, staring out the window, Zemo, eyeing you. You made it half an hour before the weight of his stare became unbearable.

“So what’s your game plan, with all this,” you asked, waving your fork to yourself and then to him and the house.

“Do not ask questions you already know the answer to,” he chided. “It is beneath you.”

“My life for your freedom.”

He sighed then, almost like he didn’t like that answer either. It was the right one, you both knew that but it looked like it pained him. Seeing that flicker of humanity hurt more than you wanted to admit. It'd be easier if the man beneath the mask wasn't real. It'd be easier if he'd been lying and there weren’t two versions of him. You wished that there wasn’t a charming and passionate man beneath the evil Baron facade, but there he was again.

“Prison is not an option for me,” he admitted, laying down his fork. “But I am sorry that it had to be you.”

You nodded and scoffed, rolling your eyes for good measure.

“I do hope to make you comfortable, in the meantime — ”

“Before you kill me,” you interrupted.

He clicked his tongue again and glared. It was the plan he orchestrated and yet, he didn’t seem to like it.

“I may not have to,” he corrected.

You laughed then, with little care for his strained expression. “Have you met the Dora Milage? They’ll go through whoever they need to, to avenge their king. They don’t know me nor do they care about me. You don’t have the winning hand that you think you do.”

“You are forgetting about your colleagues. They've lost one of their own. If not loyalty, then pride will make them come for you,” he corrected.

Again, you smiled at his miscalculation. “I’m a foot soldier, not an avenger; not a super soldier; not one of them.”

"There is no such thing as small people, only small — ”

“Great,” you bellowed. “More wisdom! Your riddles and literature are useless now. You should’ve spent more time studying negotiations while you were incarcerated. Why didn’t you take Bucky? Or Caps little assistant? The US would’ve been at your feet for them back. You could’ve gotten a pardon and a reward!”

“I have no need for a reward,” he spat.

Your chest was heaving, out of anger, out of nerves, but most of all because the man in front of you was once again, impenetrable.

“Or a pardon from the great United States,” he continued, almost in a whisper.

Your eyes snapped to his but he avoided your gaze. He swirled his wine and stared off into space before inspecting you again. Something was missing, something that didn’t make sense.

The glimmer of humanity returned, despite his best efforts to hide it.

He’d been the main orchestrator of his outbreak from jail. He had private homes, apartments, transportation, weapons, cars, everything. He could run forever but he didn’t need you to do it. How was this life any different than what it would be if he was free? He watched you come to the realization and winced as it clicked into place.

“Why am I here,” you whispered, squinting.

He was silent and looked back to the window.

“Zemo,” you whispered. “Look at me.”

Funny enough, he followed the order.

His lips moved in silence but words didn’t escape.

“Why did you choose me?”

He pursed his lips in exasperation. It was no secret that he liked having the upper hand but he’d shown you all his cards a moment ago. You wondered why he hadn’t bothered to lie.

“I chose you because they wouldn’t — they won’t.”

He stood up and leaned against the sill, sipping wine in small swigs and staring out at the greenery.

“You would die for your country, Y/N,” he explained. “I find that admirable — heroic even but the problem, for me, is that they would let you.”

“Let me?” You repeated the phrase slowly, trying to understand the point.

He let out a huff. “If you caught a grenade in the name of bettering America, what would happen?”

You cocked your head in question. “I die? Maybe get a Purple Heart?”

“And then what? Would they bat an eye before rejoicing you — celebrating you and your sacrifice? Encouraging others to do the same in your name?” He paused and stared at you.

“No….no they wouldn’t because your death would mean that their wars are working. Another name in the long list of people that they were willing to gift to the god of war.”

“That sacrifice is what I signed up for — it’s my choice,” you explained, confused about where he was taking this.

He nodded and yet made no amends or clarification. The angry veins in his forehead receded and his gaze flitted away like he couldn’t bear to continue. You suddenly wondered if he'd even sent a ransom note, or whatever kidnappers do. The look in his eyes, told you no. The tone of his voice told you that he might not ever.

“Then you are doing your duty as a prisoner of war here, with me.”

He smiled and your anger dissipated. You lunged to grab onto any remaining frayed piece of it but there was nothing left. All those years of training and fighting, all to succumb to an evil man in a fitted turtleneck. You hardened your expression in an attempt to remain vexed.

“Your circumstance could be worse,” he concluded.

“And what of your circumstance?”

Silence ate up space between you. His gaze was set on you once again and then it seemed like you were the only two in this room, this home…the world.

“Better than it has been in a long time, schatzi,” he sighed.

“How so,” you asked, pushing for information.

He shrugged. “I am free and I am alone….with you.”

You winced and shook your head. “Don’t,” you whispered.

His brows furrowed. “In previous interactions, you did not seem to resent my…affections, Y/N.”

Butterflies ravaged your sternum, bringing memories of the night at Sharon’s with it. If it was different, if he had turned over a new leaf, then it would be easier to admit your feelings.

“Is this your version of affection? Holding me hostage?”

“Yes,” he breathed, coming to sit next to you, so close you thought he might touch you.

“Let’s not…talk about it,” you whispered, trying to push away the longing in your chest.

“I would like to,” he pushed.

All you could do was stare. The memories should've stayed in Madripoor. It should live in your brief collective drunk past. But you could see that it weighed on him as heavy as it did on you.

“That is fine,” he sighed. “I can talk if you will listen.”

You nodded once. The residual affections plagued you and it was impossible to keep your heartbeat at bay. The thought that he might feel the same was exhilarating and terrifying.

“It was you who assisted me with my escape plan. You who tracked Karli. You who guessed that I’d betray you on countless occasions. You who ensured that we evaded Captain America as long as we did. You who played your part so well that everyone in Madripoor thinks I have taken a wife.”

“Your point,” you hissed, deadpan.

“The super soldier solution does not increase intelligence, as you know. Nothing does. Even all the books in the world cannot alter what is already there. Either you are born with the glorious burden, or you live in ignorant bliss,” he explained.

He reached up and brushed his thumb along your forehead. “I know your burden, Y/N, because I share it.”

A stuttering breath left your chest. Compliments were the easiest forms of manipulation. You’d studied it, known it, resisted it in many years of training but this felt different. Everything he did and said, felt different.

“I do my job Zemo, that’s it.”

“You excel,” he corrected. “You make the rest of your colleagues look like newborns and yet they don’t...value you. Not like I do, Liebling.”

“If this is about the incident at Sharon’s,” you said, recognizing the nickname. “It was a mistake.”

He chuckled. “An optimist would call it a happy accident.”

“I’d call it life-ruining,” you said, trying to decipher the feelings of anger and something warm inside your chest. “If it led you to this.”

“I understand if you hate me,” he explained. “But you should know that living here with your hatred will be akin to breathing, for me, if it means you are safe. Natural and life-bringing.”

Your face gave nothing away but he’d stunned you.

“The evil baron is becoming less and less of a character.”

“They say hate itself is a version of love,” he mused, ignoring your words and staring at your lips.

The word knocked thought and common sense back into your head. This wasn’t love. This was ownership and selfishness. A myriad of terrible things that had tangled you both in this mess. It’d spurred from fascination and proximity but for love to grow, there has to be more. There has to be more good than bad. You looked around the home, owned by the man in front of you. Both beautiful, breathtaking even. But not enough to trade your freedom for.

“How convenient for someone with so many enemies,” you hissed.

His eyes squinted then and the Baron who commanded respect in Madripoor returned. There was this side of him too, you reminded yourself. And it seemed to be winning over the side who loved books and witty conversation.

“Are you my enemy, Y/N?”

For the first time, you didn’t know what to say. Before this, it wasn’t safe to call him anything other than an enemy but now? He ruined any chance of normalcy or redemption. The question lingered between you and it struck you how close he’d gotten. It would take almost nothing to start a repeat of the night at Sharon’s. But this was a different man.

“I didn’t have to be,” you breathed before breaking eye contact. You gave him no time to answer before fleeing back to your room.

[quirklessidiot]

Title: coward :: pretty girl Pairing: Y/N x Miya Atsumu Genre: angst, romance, and very slow burn [ex to lovers au] Warnings: Cursing, alchohol, mentions of unprotected sex, unplanned pregnancy, and mentions of abortion

Synopsis: : In which you finally meet the perfect girlfriend of Miya Atsumu and he starts to slowly accept the fact that whatever happened between you two is long gone (or is it?)

authors note: 

here to give my thanks again, literally feels so surreal with how much love this story is getting despite the angst sjjsdjsjd i-

also ive released the prologue for my first ever smau! its a more lighthearted one compared to this one between sakusa and an older gn!reader, if you’re into that check it out here uwu

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You’ve never actually seen Miya Atsumu and his girlfriend.

This was your first time today during Sugawara’s house party, Daiki had forced you to go and insisted that the three of them needed to have their manly bonding time (it actually only consisted of stuffing themselves with junk food and watching shounen animes), “...Also don’t you want to bond out with your ex-boyfriend that you chose over me? I’m hurt, I didn't know you like fake blonde volleyball players.” he fake-sniffled, in which you replied with an arched brow.

You didn’t know how he ended up knowing about Atsumu, you were expecting a talk from him but he simply shrugs it off and says, “No matter how much I tell you that you should tell him, you won’t listen. So I won’t bother wasting my breath, just know that you’re being selfish by denying these boys the right to have a father and you're denying that blonde shrimp to be a dad too.” 

“Y/N-san, I’m surprised you came!” Sugawara grins.

“Daiki took charge of the kids.” You replied, fiddling with the keys in your hand.

“He looks very reliable.” the teacher exclaims, handing you a drink in which you completely deny because you weren’t very good with alcohol, “You guys would make a great couple!”

“Oh,” You voiced, you were very familiar with those words, many people had always thought you and Daiki would make a good pair. It was definitely a shock to many when they found out you were pregnant and that the basketball player was not the father despite being there most of the times, “I’ve never seen him that way.”

“He did mention that, he even openly confessed to Miya-san that he’s jealous of how he was your first boyfriend.”

You choked on your saliva, that fucking sly bastard-

“Anyways, make yourself comfortable! I have to go say hi to my old friends from college!” he exclaims, patting your shoulder. You immediately turn around to find Miya Atsumu cozying up with a beautiful girl in his arms.

Ah, that must’ve been the beautiful model with legs for days.

“You’re kind of staring.” comes a very familiar voice.

You want to roll your eyes but you decided against it, “I didn’t know you and Sugawara-san were close, Inunaki-san.” you greeted your annoying senior.

“Suga-san’s a friend to the whole team…” he grins, “Also, I’m just here to warn you that Osamu might be here later, he’s not as nice as Atsumu towards you.”

“You don’t have to remind me.” 

“Come to think of it,” Shion Inunaki paused, tapping his chin in deep thought, “Atsumu still follows you around like a lost puppy. He’s been spending his off days with you instead of his girlfriend. I’m actually surprised he even brought her here today.”

“What are you implying?” You reply, feigning ignorance.

“Ah, L/N-san. I love how you still don’t care about my kohai’s feelings up till now.” He grinned, sarcasm oozing out of his sentence.

“Don’t be silly.” You glazed,“What feelings would there be but hatred?”

“It’s anything but that, L/N-san.” he turns to you, hand on his hip, “Even I don’t get why he’s so into you after all this time and the shit you put him through. He’s got someone better in front of him. Physical looks and emotionally speaking, Ri-chan’s a whole lot better than you… No offense…”

You knew he was rubbing salt to the injury but you couldn’t really bring yourself to argue with him, after all, he was right at the most part (you technically considered yourself as the big bad villainous ex in Atsumu’s life) 

“You sound like those girls who used to threaten me back then when I was dating Miya-san.” You replied coolly, Inunaki even notices the amusement dripping in your tone, it's as if he hadn’t insulted you right at the face and called you a lesser being, “It’s almost pathetic.”

You ended up on the balcony right after, so much for trying to socialize, who were you kidding? It’s good you manage to escape the scene before Osamu could see you there, you couldn’t handle Inunaki and the grey-haired twin together. Thank god that Aran wasn’t around the area.

“Figured you’d be here.”

You turn to find the one and only source of all your problems these days, Miya Atsumu, you narrow your eyes in annoyance, “You should leave, people will get the wrong idea.” You simply replied, “I’m not in the mood to be in the middle of that.”

“I just came here because I wanted to apologize about that night with your brat.” the blonde casually leans against the doorway, “It was my fault for riling him up.”

“Yuuto has a temper, he’s more of his otosan than me.” 

“What was he like?”

“Who?”

“The bastard that you miss, those brats father…”

You tilt your head and press your lips together, surprised by his choice of words, “Special.” you openly-confessed as you gaze at the very man in front of you. Oh, the irony of it all. 

How you wish it was that easy to let go of all your fears and anxiety, if you had told him six years ago about your pregnancy, would your life probably be different? What if you told him now? How would he feel?

“He’s lucky,” he admits, gaze fixed on you, “I mean - other than the part that he died  - he was a lucky guy, Y/N.”

It dawned upon you that moment that this had been the first conversation you had with your ex that held no hatred, malice, or anger. He seemed to be slowly accepting the fact that you wanted to do nothing with him. Like you, he had no choice but to move on.

“ ‘Tsumu! What the fuck you moping around alone for up there? You got a girlfriend here!” Osamu calls down from below. You both snap back to reality at his brother's voice, “Guess that’s my cue to leave, I’ll see you around, Y/N.” he uttered softly and as he turned away, you suddenly spoke out.

“I’m sorry.” He freezes in place, somehow this apology seemed different than the rest, “I know I’ve said that a lot these past few weeks and that night but I want you to know that every apology was genuine. I just, I’m not very-”

“I know.” He suddenly turns to you, the very familiar and warm grin that you're accustomed to decorates his features and you feel like its that night in fall and you're back in college again, “I guess I was so wrapped up in wanting to get an emotion out of you that I hadn’t  realized, it’s not you if you did that. You always had trouble expressing yourself naturally to people after all.”

You feel your insides clamp and your lips tremble lightly, you feel the air turn heavy around you. How is that he was always the one pulling the strings and doing all the work between you two? How could he forgive you this easily?

“Don’t be silly.What feelings would there be but hatred?”

“It’s anything but that, L/N-san.” 

“I’m proud that you’re trying hard for your kids though,” He chuckles, “Those brats are lucky they get to see all sides of you everyday.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight.” you muttered, watching his figure walk away and vanish in the dark, leaving you all alone in the night of spring.

“...I now pronounce you husband and wife…”

You stare at your father and his new wife looking at each other with complete love and adoration, something you never saw when you were growing up. It sickened you to the point that you turn slightly pale and feel the bile on your throat rise. You watch them exit the church as sakura petals fall, the idea of a picture perfect wedding and happily ever after like the fairytale books you used to scorn when you were a child.

You loathed it.

He even had the audacity to invite you and your mother. She ended up not going and was probably drowning herself in cheap saki at home.

You sat at the back during the reception, along with the people who were not exactly ‘close’ to the bride-groom. You feel like an utter fool, why were you even here? You should’ve gone home or attended that stupid party and get stupid drunk with people you barely knew like your mother.

Yeah, that’s right.

You’d rather be there than here.

“Ah,” you hear a glass clink, you saw one of your dad’s friends stand up, ready to make a speech, “First off, I’d like to congratulate my friend. Finally!” laughter resonates throughout the room but you don’t follow suit, instead, you hold onto the wine glass tightly as if you don’t like where this was going, “I know how unhappy you were back then but ever since you met Yui-chan, your life seemed to have become better. I could never be more proud!”

You could feel yourself getting sicker by the moment, especially after you heard the words you dreaded to hear the most, “Let’s not make anymore mistakes shall we?” he jokes.

All you could see was red right after, grabbing your clutch on the table as you made a haste exit. Was this the reason he invited you? To shove it on your face that you were a mistake made?

That you shouldn't have been born?

You ended up breaking a heel and tripping on your own feet soon after, shakily, you adjust your posture and sat at the concrete for a few moments, trying to gather yourself but desperately failing, "I didn't… I didn't ask to be born too, you know?" You murmured to yourself bitterly.

You let it all out, it shouldn't have hurt to be called a mistake. You were an adult already for crying out loud! Yet when they toss that word around like it was nothing especially at that wedding, you feel like you're eight years old again and you're hearing your own mother curse at you for being born into this world, the harsh words she said were as clear as the day, "if you probably hadn't been born, we would've been happier. We'd have better lives, Y/N. So don't go around and cry and think you got it bad, you hear me? Your sadness is nothing compared to ours. It's nothing, Y/N. So stop being ungrateful."

You ended up at the frat house that night, people would occasionally glance at your disheveled state but you just downed the alcohol, ignoring their stares as usual  and when you get a text from your mother asking why you left the wedding so early in such a manner, you feel the pent-up emotions bubbling within you again. 

Blocking her number and taking one last swig of the cheap vodka in your hands, you head up to one of the rooms upstairs. You hold it all in well, you don't want to showcase such things to strangers.You feel the alcohol and emotion about to hit you when you open a door that you thought would be your safe space for the next ten minutes but you're immediately greeted by two people on the bed, ready to hit it off and have a good time.

"O-Oh sorry… I-Wrong room...” you stammered, lips quivering and small tears escaping since you couldn't hold it in anymore.You immediately bolted out the door, So much for sobering up and crying by yourself for ten minutes, you might as well call Daiki, maybe he was available-

“Hey! Y/N!” a very familiar and a very unexpected voice calls out your name on the quiet street.

You hesitantly turn only to find your project partner and classmate standing there, a bit out of breath as if he had just squeezed through the very crowded party in a hurry, you're confused by his actions. You weren’t exactly close? What was he doing?

“Hey.” he softly says, taking out a handkerchief from his pocket to hand it to you. You hesitantly look at it and take it from his grasp as you try to get rid of the runny mascara. You're taken aback by his kind actions so far, although he had always been nice and tried to make conversations with you, you weren’t exactly very participative and it had always been one-sided on his part. 

When he suddenly stopped talking to you recently, you didn’t bother to initiate anymore because you didn’t want to get more involved with people like him.  It’s not like he was a bad person, per say, he just had such a loud presence that made everyone stop and stare. You weren’t exactly a big fan of those kinds of people (save for daiki since you grew up with him)

“Come on, Y/N.” the blonde sighs, taking off his jacket to place it on you, “Let's take you home.”

"You don't have to."

"You look like shit, Y/N. I’m not takin' no for an answer" Atsumu points out forwardly, "Actually, before we head home lets disinfect that wound, yeah?"

"Miya-san, I-" you tried to tell him you were fine but he didn’t seem to be having it.

"Atsumu." He corrects, despite his forwardness and brash attitude, you know he means well, "You let me call you by your first name so please don't call me Miya-san, sounds fuckin weird coming from ya."

You're thankful that he doesn't pry or ask questions about why you looked like this. He just mumbles throughout your whole journey that you shouldn't wear heels when you can't even walk on them.You also start to notice the slight accent from his tone when he got annoyed by your insistence that you were alright, you had always thought that he was a city boy with the way he carried himself.

When you arrive at the drugstore, he pays for the necessities himself despite you protesting again and even buys you a sugar-free treat on top of that, "You said you were diabetic one time." He shrugs off as he lets you sit on the concrete steps.

“Oh,” You faltered, “You remembered.”

“It’s one of the few things you said. You don’t talk to me that much so it's not hard to remember the things you say.”

“Sorry.” You tried to apologize, brows furrowed in deep thought and the only reply you got was a gleeful laughter from the blonde setter.

“You don’t really mean that do you?” he observed but he didn't look insulted by it at all, instead he seemed amused by it, “Don’t sweat it, Y/N. My twin told me I could be an annoying shit at times.”

“No,” you mused, “Not at all, you’re not annoying.”

Atsumu stares at you right in the eye, his corners crinkling just a bit as the amused smile never leaves his features, you’re starting to like it when you see him smile that way, it reminded you a lot of the youth you craved for, the problematic-free youth that you wanted and wished, “Is it safe to say that you don’t mind my company?” he guessed.

“Well, you’re here now and I haven’t left you.” 

He doesn’t reply,  instead he bends down to your level and takes the antiseptic and band-aids from your hands. Before you could object, the setter dabs it on your wound and as you seethe quietly in pain, he blows on it. You’re getting more and more perplexed by his actions tonight especially with the words he says next, “I may not be close with you to know what happened tonight but I hope I made you feel a little bit better, Y/N.” 

The next time you see the professional volleyball player is at work,You’re tasked to send out some documents to your boss again and it just so happens they’re wrapping up the shoot for the advertisement at the studio.

Something’s different now. 

After your little talk with him at the terrace, the air around you doesn’t feel tight, your anxiety around him seems to decrease, and your feet doesn’t get cold anymore. Of course, Inunaki would throw in a jab or insult but you took it like a good sport and didn’t bother with him.

“Ah, L/N-san! How are the boys?” Hinata jumps up and down excitedly as he sees you enter the studio, you still couldn’t get used to this big (small) bundle of energy.

“They’re doing fine, Hinata-san.” 

“Oho, L/N-san, you’re looking better these days.” Inunaki teased, you gave him a brief nod and just ignored the jab, Atsumu slaps his seniors back in retaliation, “You’re not the one she broke up with Inu-san.” he joked, “Hey L/N-san.”

“Miya-san.” You greeted.

“Does Yuuto still want to skewer me like a kebab?”

“He feels sad that he wasn’t able to say sorry to you before you left.” You replied, a hint of amusement laced on your tone as you recalled Yuuto frowning on the dinner table the night before because Sugawara had informed the club members that Hinata and Atsumu wouldn’t be visiting as much because training was about to start.

“Shame, wanted to see that brat say sorry too.” He let out a grin, your conversation is cut short though when a new presence joins the room.

“Oh, Riku-chan!” Inunaki calls out.

You lick your dry lips as you see the very beautiful and tall raven-haired woman approach you, wow, Miya Atsumu outdid himself with this one. You recalled her being on Vogue magazine once and on tv a few times as a fashion model of an underwear brand.

“Oh, hey babe.” Atsumu greets, you note how stiff he became. He probably thought this would be an uncomfortable situation. The woman, unlike you, was very open with her affection. She gave him a brief kiss on his jaw.

Hinata greets her and you’re left wondering if you should excuse yourself before you could make Atsumu more uncomfortable by your presence but Inunaki, being an asshole, decides to make the choice for you, “L/N-san, this is Miyazaki Riku! I’m sure you know her, she’s a supermodel!” he introduces you to her.

“Good day.” You greet the model.

She tilts her head slightly, “Have we met before? You look very familiar.”

“She was my kohai back in Uni and Atsumu’s classmate!” Inunaki grins, patting your back, you hold back a glare since you didn’t want to make it more awkward than it was.

“Oh?” she chirped, immediately letting go of Atsumu’s hand, she grabbed onto yours, “What was he like? I bet he was so cool and chic back then too!”

Chic and Cool?

Memories of a rather clumsy and corny Miya Atsumu in college slowly wormed its way to your head and out of nowhere, you burst into a low chuckle. Inunaki was startled by the sudden reaction and Atsumu feels his insides mush up when he hears that very rare sound, “Yeah,” you croaked, shortly after recovering from your small laugh, “Definitely chic and cool.”

“That’s so cool! I definitely want to hear stories about you back in college, baby!”

“Maybe some other time,” you voice is back to its smooth and cool tone, realizing that you needed to leave from this uncomfortable conversation and start your job, “I have to finish up my work here and get home early.”

“That’s a shame, I could definitely tell you guys were close.” a frown tugs her lips as she notices how quick you were to say goodbye to her, “Bye, L/N-san!”

After that rather dry and one-sided enthusiastic conversation, you finish your work quickly and Daiki messages you just in time that he and the boys would pick you up, you say your goodbyes to your director, the staff, and the volleyball team. You don’t notice the lingering gaze of Atsumu as you left nor do you notice Inunaki telling him that he’s got his girlfriend right in front of him and he shouldn’t look your way.

They shortly wrap up right after and they’re ready to go home. After deciding that they’d all grab a good meal together (much to sakusa’s dismay), Atsumu feels his mood lighten up as they exit the studio to see you standing there along with Yuuto, unwrapping his onigiri. As he’s about to call the brat to talk to him and even drop in to say hi to you, he sees a familiar tall figure emerge from the convenience store with Youta in his arms.

The blonde decides against it.

“...You always had trouble expressing yourself naturally to people after all.”

He watches the interaction from afar and notes how easy it was for the man to interact with you, he even catches on an amused smirk from you as the man tries to tell you a joke, “Is that L/N-san?” he hears Riku ask, “I didn’t know she had a family, that’s so cute!”

Atsumu doesn’t really know what to say as he watches the domestic scene unfold in front of him, he was trying to move on, wasn’t he? Yet why can’t he look away? 

“Baby? You alright there? You’ve been staring at the empty space for a while.” Riku calls out, sounding a bit worried as she snaps him out of his daze. You were already gone, probably far off with that scrub and the brats.

“I’m good.” he tried to affirm himself, wishing it was true, “I’m good.”

taglist [closed]

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[forthehpfanboys]

Quidditch and T

Pair: Ron Weasley x Reader; he/him; transmasculine reader.

Summary: Harry surprises Ron with tickets to the Quidditch World Cup after the war, after Hermione and after finding out Ron has a crush on the first professional trans masculine the Chudley Canons or the World Cup has ever seen. 

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol, tiny amount of transphobia?? super long, focuses on Ron more than it should, super long and probably really bad.

Notes: Trans masculine reader again! We love to see it- No one asked for this but I liked the idea. Also, Ron has long hair because I love him and Harry is a good friend. The bestest of friends.

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

-

Even with the second wizarding war years behind them, everyone struggled to regain control over themselves. Loved ones were lost far too soon, strained relationships came crashing down and businesses all but shattered like glass, but that was a year or two after. Families were beginning to recover and move forward, but some struggled. It was only natural, that was why the Ministry decided to bring at least a tiny bit of normality back to everyone's life with the Quidditch World Cup. They thought it would bring some light in the barely lit times everyone lived in.

While life for some was morphing back to a semi stable state, times were transitioning to a new era. Of course, no one batted an eye or fought against her when the Hermione Jean Granger demanded rights for wizards, witches and sorcerers who were, for lack of a better word, different. Not after everything she’d done for the world with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley and especially not after S.P.E.W.  The world really was shifting for the better.

She created two acts for equality. If house elves can have it, why can’t magical humans who just- feel different. Hermione called it S.P.L.A.T.E.R, also known as Sorcerers Lover Protection Against The Everyday Routine, and it was meant to protect wizards and witches who desire relationships with the same sex against discrimination. The talented witch went on to create a similar movement against portraying gender and identity; The Sorcerer’s Typical Identity or Gender May Alter Shield, better known as S.T.I.G.M.A.S. Both were very welcomed by the public, which happened a good year before the game would be returning, and that led to you gaining your dream job.

You were able to join the Chudley Cannons, your dream team despite their reputation. You were naturally talented on a broom and weren’t afraid to pull some risky stunts to get the golden snitch, plus it fueled your ego to hear the crowd gasp, go silent then cheer loud enough to be heard from Mars. The team and their fans didn’t care that you were the only trans masculine player, in fact, they loved you! The team was very proud to have you be their seeker and it was even better when the Cannons got into the World Cup. You basically carried the team, and they fucking knew it.

Your face made the front page almost weekly, quoting comments from your games and showing off your merchandise like it was no big deal. While you caught the attention of many wizards, witches and magical humans in between, there was one who was absolutely fascinated, maybe borderline obsessed, with you. You somehow stuck in his head, causing him to repaint his room in his shared flat bright orange just like his childhood bedroom. The ex-auror even went as far as getting your newly printed poster. He would glance at it when he was writing letters to his mother, but then would spend a good few solid minutes staring at it, daydreaming about meeting  you and lose track of time. Life got a little harder with the moving poster in his room. Of course you had no idea the famous Ron Weasley was a die-hard fan of yours.

The youngest Weasley son ended up being the first out of three up everyday just to read the newest info about (Y/n) ‘Point Breaker’ (L/n) and the rest of the team. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew enough about you to be considered a borderline stalker and couldn’t help but spew facts about you to his twin brothers. Those very twins would tease him about his newly found crush but were secrealty very happy that he was getting over his heart break.

Ron and Hermione, more Hermione, had decided splitting and remaining friends was better for them, leading to the poor bloke locked in the spare room of his older brother's flat for a solid week. They told everyone it was mutual, but it was clear to Fred, George and Harry that it was most definitely not a decision that they were both fond of. Harry could still remember the frantic howler he got from Fred and George saying their little brother all but stopped functioning as a human.

He only started eating and showering once he heard the team was up and running again. He figured that was why Harry showed up to the flat one afternoon with tickets to the sold out game. When Ron asked his best mate how he got them, he just smiled and said something about knowing people and favors being exchanged. The ticket was more like a bandage encased in clear plastic and stuck to a lanyard, which is what Ron was fiddling with the day of the game when his best friend suddenly appeared in the middle of the flat.

“Bloody hell, Harry!” Ron screeched out as he steadied himself in his chair. His hand gripped at the shirt on his chest and chose to ignore the head rushing to his cheeks. “Could’ve sent me a warning!” He let out a slow sigh, trying to steady his rapid heart beat. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Harry laughed out. The professor had his hands in his jacket pocket, a sly grin across his face. “Come on then! Game’s gonna be starting soon!” The raven haired male all but yaned his freckle covered friend out of the chair.

“Ok! Ok, sheesh. Let me grab a jacket.” The red-head knew this was going to be a game that leaked late into the night. Both teams were itching to get the trophy and forget about their troubles- It was gonna be absolutely beautiful. 

Grabbing his coat and reaching into the pocket, Ron pulled out an elastic band and put his hair up into a messy bun quickly before tucking the jacket into his arm. He walked over to Harry, who was gazing at the photo-covered walls of the flat.

“If you want, I can take ca-” Harry was cut off by Ron grabbed his hand.

“No, it’s fine. I like it like this.” Ron shook his head back and forth causing the messy ball to swap back and forth. “Come on. You were the one rushing us.” Harry let out a simple chuckle before apperating them to the field. 

“Tadah!” Harry did a fancy little wave, gesturing to the crowded field and began to make his way down the hell, passing by the old boot. Ron looked down at it as they passed before looking back at his best friend.

“Damn, it has been far too long.” Ron sighed out. A smile broke out across his face when he saw little kids running around with paint covered faces and happy couples sharing tea outside of their tents. “Do we have a tent?” 

“Nope, won’t be needing one this time around.” Harry shoved his hands in his pants pocket.

“No ten- Blimey, Harry, this is a game! This is going to go on for hours-”

“Ron-” 

“Won’t need it my arse. Hours, Harry. Where are we going to sit? The damp ground?” Ron was flaring his hands about.

“We get to spend our time in the Minister’s Box, Ron, relax.” Harry shook his head in mock disapproval before adjusting his glasses and moving forward. 

“Minister’s Box-” Ron’s voice stuttered out.

“Yeah! Isn’t that cool? We’re gonna be in the middle of the action!” Harry waved to a child who had recognized him with a smile.

“Ministry box-” Ron was’t used to such luguries, even after working with his brothers at their shop. Harry figured he’d never get used to being spoiled like this. It made him choke back a soft snicker.

“Yes, Ronald, the Minister’s Box, now hurry up! I told them we’d get there before the game started so we can chat.” Harry grabbed the lagging boy’s wrist and proceeded to maneuver through the crowd with him. 

“How did ya score this, Harry?” Ron all but yelled over the crowd. Once Harry dragged them through the crowd and to the front doors of the stadium, he spoke up.

“Remember when we went on that assignment to stop LeStrange again? Just before her Dementors Kiss about a month before we quit?” He handed the ticketier his lanyard to check over. Ron did the same before they both entered.

“Yeah? What about it?” Ron’s blue eyes glanced across the crowded inside. Gods, it really had been a while since he’d been here. It felt normal, like he almost hadn’t lost Fred to an explosion, like Harry’s life wasn’t on the line everyday, like every day wasn’t terrifying. Ron turned his attention back to his friend when he spoke up again.

“Well just before that, I went on a loner mission. This one involved taking care of some dark witch who was claiming she could bring back the dead and threatened to bring back Voldemort and the Death Eaters, so they sent me down to check it out.” Harry led him to an elevator, where the gate opened allowing the pair to step in. There was an exhausted looking male standing in uniform, most likely a worker from the Ministry himself. “Ministers Box, kind sir. Thank you.” The gate closed with a shuttering rattle and soon they were moving upward. Green eyes turned back to blue to finish the story. “Anyway, turns out she was actually trying to resurrect the noseless twat, but instead of over time or promotion, I asked for this and the best seats in the house. Figured this would be a good gift for you.”

“Gift? Harry, bud, mate, my fuckin best friend.” Ron placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You didn’t have to do this for me. You’ve already done your fair share of helping me. Blimey, I’m not worth this.”

The gate opened again, allowing the two ex-aurors to step out but not before tossing a few sickles to the poor man who looked bored out of his mind. Ron casted him a short wave before he was sent back down.

“You deserve more than a crummy game and a nice seat, Ronnie. You literally helped me destroy Voldemort.”

“I didn’t do that much and besides it’s not a crummy game!” Ron took his hand away from Harry's shoulder. They walked down the short hallway to the door leading to their seats, but paused just before opening it. “That’s fuckin wild, isn’t it?” Ron grumbled out. “Was she smooched by a Dementor in the end?” 

“Yup. All her research was swiped and burned. Anyone and everyone she knew was obliviated. Now enough talk about old work, let’s relax.” Harry spoke before opening the door and allowed Ron to walk in first. 

The room was bigger than Gred and Forge’s flat, Ron was sure of it. It had silvery blue walls and a huge open window in the front, showing off the screaming fans and showed the entire field which held the perfect view. He couldn’t help his eyes from darting across the fancy black leather seats and the buckets of ice holding expensive bottles of wine, flasks of firewhiskey and glass pitchers giggle water and suddenly Ron wanted to cry and simultaneously brag to Malfoy. Sure, he hadn’t seen the blonde in a year or so but it’d be nice. The red-head didn’t realise he was drifting toward the giant window until someone spoke up, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

“Ah! Mr. Potter! Mr. Weadley, I’m so glad you could make it!” A wizard dressed in a suit came scurrying over, his chapeign glass almost overflowing with foam.

“It’s Weasley, actually.” Harry didn't hesitate to speak up. “But of course! I was thrilled when Ron decided to come with me! I couldn’t have caught that witch without him. Anyway, where will we be seated?” Harry was using his Auror Voice™ while Ron stood there, trying to recall how on earth he helped his best friend with a case he wasn’t even on.

“I did wh-?” Ron was interrupted.

“Ah. My apologies. Of course, of course.” The man in the suit adjusted his tie before gesturing to the window in the front with his glass.. “Front row, just as you requested.” He took a sip from his glass before walking off to the seat he came from, talking to the witch next to him. 

Harry thanked the man before grabbing Ron’s wrist and bringing him over to their seats. He sat Ron at the seat right in the middle of the big opening. Harry could actually see his friends blue eyes gloss over with tears, causing Harry to chuckle into his hand.  It was so worth fighting that witch and staying in St. Mungos for a week with a concussion, broken hand and a stupid spell that nearly killed him.

“Bloody fucking hell, Harry. What did you do to get these seats?” Ron’s voice did little to hide his excitement. Harry released a chuckle over his friend's excitement, but the sound got louder when Ron literally threw his jacket haphazardly onto the seat only for it to fall to the tiled floor.

“I already told you. Don’t worry about it.” Harry took his seat as he grabbed a bottle of wine from the ice bucket on the coffee table at their feet. He examined the label before nodding his head and popping open the cork.

“Wish I had a camera. Ginny would’ve loved this.” Ron walked past the table to the window, resting his hands on the railing and leaning over, looking across the field.

“Ron, she’s a professional coach-” Harry rolled his eyes, testing the wine with a small sip. He set the dark, tall bottle down on the table with a clank.

“Fred and George then.” Ron turned back to his friend and walked over, plopping himself down in his seat with confidence. Harry snorted, almost dropped his drink all over himself. This was therapeutic; he got to spend time with his best friend without the ever looming death threat of Nose-less Snakey Man breathing down his neck. 

“Yes, I’m sure their jealous tears could flood the shop.” Harry’s voice was filled with sarcasm and it had Ron laughing too. Harry checked his watch while the giggling red-head grabbed an empty glass at the table in front of them and poured himself a shot of firewhiskey. “It’s about 5:53. Game should be starting at 6 something.” He turned to Ron, casting him a smile while he brought his glass to his lips. “Wanna talk about your newest boyfriend or should I ask him for the details myself?”

Ron almost spat out his drink, his hand coming up quickly to catch the dribbles falling off his lips. Blood rushed to his cheeks, ears and before he knew it, he was bright red. He wiped his hands on his jeans, his bottom lip drawn between his teeth.

“I’m sorry, my what? Harry, I’d be lucky if he gave me the time of day let alone be my boyfriend!” Ron ran his hands through his hair, his eyes cast downward into his drink. “I mean, have you seen me lately?” He gestured to himself. “I’m a bloody mess. He could do better anyway.”

“You’re not a mess, Ron, anything but. In fact, you’re probably more put together than I am. Ginny would beg to differ, but I’m sure it’s true.” Harry shook his head in disapproval before taking another sip from his glass. “Besides, you’re a good guy. You did get Mione to fall for you and you are kinda well known, aren't you? I say you got a better chance than most.” Once the niorette male finished, he turned to look at his friend who nodded his head in silent agreement before deciding to change the topic.

“How is Gin, by the way?” 

Harry answered with a long explanation that she was good, but one of her chaser’s kept giving her trouble and didn’t believe Ginny was good for the team. The Harpies would be starting their first game soon and Ron made a note to buy a ticket. The questions came around to his brothers, of course, so Ron 

“Hey! Good for them!” Harry refilled his drink once it was finished and put the glass back in the ice bucket. “And good for you.” Harry checked his watch again when it beeped out, indicating the change in hour. “Game time!” 

The room went silent as the minister walked over to the window, doing his usual speech, but no one was really listening. Ron's legs were bouncing with excitement while his eyes looked across the white, green and orange fans waving flags. Ron should’ve known it would've been the Kenmare Kestrels duking it out against the Chudleys Cannons.

The crowds were going absolutely ballistic over the Kestrels and the screaming only seemed to get louder once the Cannon’s made their appearance. He watched the players zoom past the window, felt the air rush past him and before he could control himself, Ron was back at the railing, practically leaning over. His eyes bounced around the orange and black colored players for the new seeker.

“Harry!” Ron gestured pathetically behind him. “Harry! Come here! Look-” Ron pointed across the field to the seeker who was taking circles in the middle, taking in the crowd. He couldn’t help but stare at your confident smirk as you pulled the goggles over your eyes, casting the crowd a wink. The red-head basically melted.

“Godric, your smitten, aren’t you?” Harry was leaning against the railing next to his friend, his glass still in hand. A smirk came across his lips when his friend turned red again.

“Shut it.”

“You a Cannon fan, Mr.Wealsey?” 

The two ex-aurors turned to see the man who approached them earlier coming to Ron’s free side. The man held a cocky grin and a new drink in his hand, most likely giggle water. The red-head turned back to the game once the whistle sounded.

“Yeah. Have been for years.” Ron didn’t take his eyes off the field.

“Huh, even with their sour reputation? I’m more of a Bats fan, myself. Wouldn’t count this game in favor of the Chudley’s though, new seeker and all.” The man scoffed before sipping his drink. “Good seekers are hard to find. Hogwarts was lucky to have you though, Mr. Potter. Should’ve played Quidditch professionally, if you ask me.”

The two males shared a look with each other and came to the conclusion it’d be better to not fight the man on his clearly biased opinion and clear ass kissing. The pair gazed on, ignoring the crowd forming behind them the longer the game went on. Ron almost shoved his friend over when the announcer yelled you spotted the snitch. Ron blinked and you were standing on your broom, balancing perfectly, leaned over, golden snitch just a few inches from your fingertips.

“He’s a risky bloke, isn’t he?” Harry spoke up, hands going to his chaotic locks. “Gdoric, he’s gonna fall!” He squealed out when your foot shifted just a little too far on the broom.

“He’s bonkers.” Sir Pompous sneered out over his fancy drink, causing Ron to audible groan. 

“Sod off, will you?” Ron was so fucking sick of this man. “Stop bein’ pissy he has more balls than you and he was born without them.” He shot the suited wizard a glare before turning back to the game.  He let out a cheer when you finally grasped the snitch, plopping yourself down on the broom. The freckled male turned to Sir Pompous and smirked. “So.. Wouldn’t put this game in their favor, huh?”

The wizard turned on his heel, grumbling what the two friends assumed to be insults as he walked shamefully to his seat. Harry and Ron clinked glasses, giggling like school girls as they took a victory shot. They sat back in their seats, discussing games and just over all basking in the win. 

“Godric, I could get used to living like this.” Ron sat back, spreading his legs and just feeling confident. Harry rolled his eyes.

“I can’t afford to do this all the time, Ron.”

“I can dream, can’t I?” Ron didn’t blink twice when the door to the ministers box opened or when two voices spoke up. He was busy relaxing.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Coach Dorkins! The Chudley’s have always been my favorite-” The same kiss ass from earlier, spewing the same pompous bullshit as earlier. Ron was gonna fake a gag, but he hesitated. Coach Dorkins? Coach of the- of his favorite team? 

“Ah, well, thank you, but I’m just here to drop off Point Breaker.” As your coach went on with his arm now wrapped around you. Ron whipped around, his jaw was dropping to the floor. “Got a favor to fill in for an old friend. Ah, there he is! Potter!”

“Nice to see you again.” Harry stood up and shook hands with the coach. Ron’s blue eyes bounced between his old friend, his favorite coach and his favorite player. What the fuck was going on? Ron shrunk into his seat when you glanced over. He was acutely aware of his messy outfit and hair and- did he brush his teeth? “Ah! I should introduce you to my good friend, Ronald Weasley-” Harry waved over to his friend, a smile on his face. Ron stood up as well, but almost fell into his chair when he saw you shaking hands with his old friend and suddenly everyone was turning to him.

“Uh-hi-” When did his voice get all high pitched and creaky again. He cleared his throat, wiping his hands on his jeans before shaking hands with the coach. “Sorry, big fan.” 

Dorkins shook his head, saying how he understood between deep chuckles. The male then turned to you, who was standing by his side. He introduced you to the red-head while you held a similar, nervous smile on your face. You held your hand out as you spoke up finally. 

“I know all about you, Mr. Weasley. Well, no not- Wait, not everything like.. Like everything everything, like um- I.. well- Ok, let me start again.” You cleared your throat, shaking the ex-aurors hand. “Hi, I’m (Y/n). I’m a fan, Mr. Weasley.”

Ron was just kinda shaking your hand, confusion filled in his brain. He was just running over your rambling and was so confused. 

“You’re a fan of me?”

“The famous auror? Of course!” You were grinning now and he found himself just staring at you. The two of you missed how Potter and Dorkins were chuckling about star struck fans and wondered somewhere else in the room.

“You played great today-” Ron almost blurted out, his voice turning prepubescent again.

“Thank you! You don’t think it was too much? Too flashy?” 

“No, no, I’d say it has the perfect amount of flash.” Ron shot you a lopsided smile. The smile allowed you to relax some, the star struck tension between the two of you almost dispersing completely as you joked back and forth. You soon found yourself sitting in Harry's abandoned seat, chatting away like you had been friends since your school years. 

“So then- then- hold on, stop laughing-Haha! No, shh! We stole my dad's car just to save him! My brothers didn’t even try to talk me out of it! The only thing my older brother said was “yeah, get the car. We’re gonna find out if it’s considered kidnapping if we’re children"! Mum really chewed us out when we got back that mornin’!” Ron finished his 7th story that night while you were enjoying a nice glass of cold water. You couldn’t get over his terrible impressions of his brothers. More than a few times his stories led to you almost choking on your drink or just letting out a loud laugh.

You told him some stories about your life at home too and only got encouraged by his snickering behind his own drink. You were so open with him, telling him stories of quidditch practice and the strange gifts you got from fans, his favorite being a bra with your face hand painted on it. 

More time passed by as you chatted, finally coming around to just playing 20 questions just day to day stuff. Now, it was your turn to ask a question and honestly, the game shouldn’t even be called 20 questions, it was more like 500 questions.

“Ok. Ok. Is it true that you had a thing for Krum?” You grinned when his cheeks turned red. “I heard from a chaser that you were here when we got on the field and our  keeper was willing to bet his life on this rumor that you had a fling with Krum.” 

“N-no, no fling! Just uh- more of a sexual awakening, if you will.” Ron snorted out, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes turned away from yours for the first time that night, casting his gaze out across the empty field.

“Ooh! What is the great Ron Weasley’s sexual preference?” You leaned forward, your grin turning to a teasing smirk. You put a hand on his shoulder when he started stuttering over his words. “Come on! You can tell me! I don’t spill secrets.”

“Would hot quidditch players be an acceptable answer?” Ron was playing with a spare ponytail holder on his wrist now, his face turning redder.

“I’d say so.” You smiled, setting down your water glass. 

“What about you?”

“What?”

“I told you mine. It’s only fair, Point Breaker. Spill it.” It was Ron’s turn to get cocky as you blushed. 

“May or may not be hot ex-aruros, but who’s keeping track.” You were not going to admit you’d been fanboying over the red-head since his face came across the Daily Profit. While he knew a lot about your game stats and quotes, you knew about the dark wizards he fought against, how he helped Granger and Potter and decided fighting was too much.

“Oh really?”

“I said maybe. Don’t get cocky. Besides, I could mean Harry-”

“I have a feeling you don’t mean him.”

“Well, what are you going to do about it?”

“How about a date?” Ron leaned back in his chair, gauging your reaction. He mentally sighed when you didn’t appear grossed out or scared.

“Hmm, let me think. “ You pretended to count stuff on your fingers before smiling at the red-head. “Leaky Cauldron?”

“Sure! Tuesday?”

“I’m free after 6.”

“Done.”

[bre-meister]

This is gonna hurt, but “Why can’t you just look at me for one god damn second!” and/or “Let go of my hand” for cleon :’)

So this story is completely self-contained and is not affect/doesn’t affect any of my other stories or the “canon” universe that I have created in my own little brain.

It does take place in the time period after Leon’s mission at the beginning of Vendetta but before his mission with Chris.

He’d known about her upcoming mission for a while now. He should have had time to come to terms with it. All things considered, it wasn’t that bad. Terrasave’s work was mostly done after all the fighting and bloodshed had ended. With the amount of armed, trained guards patrolling the area, Claire probably couldn’t be safer. And yet, his mind still ran rampant with images of monsters and men and traitors. All of them always end in the same way - Claire bloody and lifeless on the ground.

So, when it came time for her to leave that night, Leon couldn’t find it in him to let her go.

“Stay” he’d said. One simple word that held so much weight.

“Leon, you know I can’t. I’ll be back in no time.” She’d responded candidly, leaving a gentle kiss on his lips before attempting to pull away.

Claire was used to dealing with a pouty Leon when leaving for an assignment. She assumed this time was no different. He’d complain, they’d go back and forth for a bit, she’d kiss him and then he would let her go so she could do her job and return to him. Sweet and simple. This time, however, was neither sweet nor simple.

This was the part where Leon was supposed to let go, except he didn’t. Confusion flooded Claire’s features while Leon’s hardened with seriousness. 

“I’m not joking Claire. Stay. Don’t go. It’s dangerous.”

“It’s always dangerous Leon but that’s never stopped us before.”

He was resolute both with his words and the way he was holding her - like if he loosened his grip at all she’d be ripped away from him forever.

“Well, maybe it should.”

 Claire stepped as far back as his tight hold would allow. Looking up at his face Claire saw a look in Leon’s eyes she’d never seen before. Hearing the great Leon Kennedy talk this way was unsettling.

“Leon, you don’t… you don’t mean that. You’re just tired from your last mission -”

“No, Claire, I mean it.” his arms moved from around her waist and up her arms until he was holding her just below her shoulders. 

His grip was tight, squeezing as if he could forcer her to understand without words.

“I’ve never meant anything more in my life.”

“Leon,” Claire began slowly as if talking to a wounded animal and, in some ways, Leon was.

“Leon, let me go.”

“Not until you tell me you’ll stay.”

“Let me go.” was all she repeated.

He huffed but let go of her. Immediately she turned her back to him and, for some reason, that only seemed to agitate him further.

“You know I have to go. It’s my job to help..” 

“Then help from here. Help from home. I mean, stuff like this probably comes with a shit load of paperwork right? Why can’t you do that? Stay here where it’s safe - where I can keep you safe! Please”

Claire turned to speak over her shoulder but she still wouldn’t look at him directly. Leon could feel a part of himself breaking - he knew what was coming next.

“You know that’s not possible Leon.” Claire sighed, “ We all know it’s more than just a job,” Leon knew that the all she was referring to were the people that made up their little family of survivors, “It’s a duty. It’s our duty to put an end to this. This assignment is my duty, Leon. You know I have to go. I can’t believe you’d ask me not to.” 

Claire began to move around the room gathering her things. Leon watched silently as she put on her signature red jacket and a pair of sneakers. He called her name when she moved to grab her purse, checking it for her phone and keys. He begged her to turn around but she only made to move towards the door and the small suitcase that awaited her there. 

“That doesn’t sound like you, Claire. That sounds like something Chris would say.”

Claire paused at the mention of her brother but still refused to look at the broken man behind her.

“And what if it is. If Chris said it or not it doesn’t make it any less true.”

At that, he snapped.

“Look at me Claire, look me in the eyes and tell me this life is what you want and not what Chris is making you believe you want.”

She didn’t turn around. Instead, she continued to stare at the door as if it were personally insulting her. 

“Why can’t you just look at me for one goddam second!” His cry was loud and desperate. He saw her flinch at the severity in his voice and, quite honestly, he’d scared himself a little too. He’d never talked to her that way before.

That seemed to be a recurring theme tonight.

“I can’t look at you, Leon, because I know if I did I’d be too weak to do what needs to be done.”

“You mean to leave. You’d be too weak to leave. The world doesn’t need you to save it all the time Claire. Please, don’t go.” 

At that, Claire turned to look at him. He’d hoped when their eyes finally met there would have been love and understanding flowing through those blue irises. Instead, it was a burning determination, and immediately, Leon knew he should have chosen his words more carefully.

“ Oh, so the world doesn’t need me? But you and my brother, it needs you? You get to keep risking your life, right? It’s ok for you but not for me. “

Claire abandoned her spot at the door and made her way towards him still firing off questions she had no intention of allowing him to actually answer.

“Why are you so adamant I stay Leon? Hmm? I never try to stop you when you get a new mission. I never tell you how much it hurts to see you walk out that door every time never knowing if it will be the last time I see you. I never tell you because I know how much your job means - to you and for, well, everyone! So I let you go despite how much it scares me, despite how much it hurts!

“I thought you were proud of me Leon, I thought you supported me! What happened to what you told me during Harvardville? Why -”

“Because I just lost my whole team, Claire, and I can’t lose you too!”

The sudden outburst sent her into a bout of silence.

“I can’t - “ his voice broke, “I wouldn’t be able to survive it.”

He felt heavy and tired. Leon couldn’t hold back the tears anymore as he fell to the floor, crumbling in on himself.

“I can’t” he whispered over and over, “I can’t.”

“Leon,” in an instant Claire was at his side.

“Is that what - you never told me. I knew it was hard but…” Claire didn’t know what to say.

“I didn’t want you to know. How could I tell you I failed, Claire. How could I tell you I let all my men die when I’m supposed to keep you safe?”

“Leon.” His voice was solid, the pillar that he needed right now to lean on. 

Claire grabbed his face, pulling him up to look at her this time. 

“ I’ve never doubted one moment that you wouldn’t do everything in your power to keep me safe. But it’s also my job to keep you safe. Let me help you, Leon, open up to me.”

“I’m sorry,” was all he managed to get out through the tears.

“It’s ok.”

Leon opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a shrill sound coming from Claire’s bag by the door.

“Shit!” she cursed, as she got up quickly to silence the offending object.

“Fuck, it was Neal. He’s probably wondering where I am.”

“It’s ok. You need to go.”

“Leon,” Claire turned to see Leon was now leaning against the couch, still on the floor but now upright.

“I can’t. Not right now.”

“The world needs you.”

“You need me!”

Her protest died at Leon’s signature smirk. It didn’t look quite right on a face red and swollen from tears.

“Funny how the tables have turned.”

“I’m serious, Leon. This is serious. I’m going to call Neal back and tell him that something with family just came up and I can’t go.”

“No, you’re going to call Neal back and tell him that you’re running a little late, but you’re on your way.”

The look Claire gave was unamused. Leon knew she wouldn’t want to leave him, not after what had just happened. But, she was right earlier - this was her job, her duty. She needed to go.

After a long moment, Claire seemed to have come to the same conclusion. With a sigh, she made her way back to him.

The kiss they shared was long and slow, filled with all the thoughts and emotions that were both said and unsaid. When they broke apart, Claire rested her forehead against his. Leon closed his eyes, relishing in her presence as long as he could before she inevitably had to leave.

“I love you, ok?”

“I know. I love you too, Angel.” Leon felt more than heard Claire sigh at the use of his favorite nickname for her.

“I’ll be back. I promise. And you better be here when I get back.”

“I promise.”

They shared another kiss before being interrupted by Claire’s phone again.

Claire was able to answer this time, repeating the message Leon had told her to earlier. When the call ended, Claire made her way back to the door.

“See you later, Leon,” she called as she turned the knob.

“See you later. Claire” he answered before the door closed behind her.

Neither mentioned the fact that Claire chose ‘see you late’ over ‘goodbye’. They both knew why though, and Leone was grateful. He wasn’t sure he could handle a goodbye; see you later was just bearable. And still, neither mentioned how, as Leon promised, he couldn’t look Claire in the eyes. 

Eventually, Leon made his way to the bathroom to clean up. When Claire did return because that was the only option - when - he’d never be able to admit that he couldn’t even look himself in his own reflection as he called Hunnigan. Some time away would do him good. At least, that’s what he told himself as he requested Hunnigan make him a reservation somewhere far away and secluded. Somewhere no one would be able to find him.