#When I’m presented with a man who acts like him however. I squint a bit. Because to me it’s a ��oh you want someone to be good enough

[heliomanteia]

As much as I like the dynamic where Solas has an upper hand in controlling Rook, I also like it when he’s a whimpering dog in need of guidance. Felassan needed to remind him of his purpose and standing in an almost-gentle way but Rook wouldnt be soft. What I’m saying is, muzzled and leashed Solas when? Solas is begging to be brought to submission against his better judgement for the better half of the gameplay and you’re telling me he wouldn’t want to be collared by Rook? He’s a prideful dog but a dog nonetheless.

[igotanidea]

Retaliation: Jason Todd x plus-size!fem! reader

“You should not be staying here alone.”

“Hm?” Y/N was more focused on the chocolate pudding in front of her than the words her boyfriend shot her direction.

“You should not be staying here alone” he repeated rolling his eyes at her obliviousness.

“I’m not alone.” she licked the spoon before continuing “Alfred is here. Besides, I believe that Wayne manor has all sort of crazy technology protection measures, right? Some of them of my invention?”

“Still, I don’t like the idea…..”

“Come on, Jace.” She took a step forward, dessert in her hand. No matter what she was not willingly giving up on her piece of sweet “it’s not the first time and most definitely not the last. Why are you getting paranoid now?”

“Not sure…. Maybe it’s the instinct.”

“Maybe it’s the urge to avoid patrol with Grayson.” She smirked

“I’ll ditch him within ten seconds from the start of it and you know it. I think it’s rather the urge to not leave you alone with that chocolate thing.”

“Get the hell away from my pudding!” she yelled and rushed through the door to save herself from Jason’s greedy hands .

***

It wasn’t unusual for Y/N to stay at the manor for the night. Sometimes, she was accompanying Oracle in the batcave, some other working on her tech stuff, but still she was present there. This time however, she needed peace. Of course it was hard to focus on anything while Jason was out in the field, going full crazy with his guns and stuff, getting himself in danger, but Y/N had to force herself to try and get some rest. So instead of staying in the four walls, she decided to take a bit of fresh air. If you can even talk about fresh air in Gotham City. Still, grabbing her jacket and a pair of favorite fingerless gloves she sneaked a peek into the kitchen when Alfred was busy baking.

“Alfred.”

“Miss Y/n”  the butler turned around from the counter and smiled at her. “Going somewhere?”

“Just gotta clear my mind. A lot has been going on lately.”

“Surely it did. But please, don’t be long. I may need help with preparations.”

“The feast for our fearless protectors?” the girl smiled wildly, a chuckle escaping her mouth.

“that’s one way to describe them.” Alfred smiled back lightly

“ Are you preparing your cookies?”

“I do.”

“Then I will be back in a heartbeat. That’s the only way to ensure I will get at least one of it.”

***

She did not come back in a heartbeat. She did not come back in an hour and after that time Alfred became a bit worried. Trying to keep calm he went down to the batcave to consult with Barbara, who being herself, immediately took the action, searching long and wide for any sign of Y/n. The thing she found was far from good news.

***

"Who the hell is she?"

"I don't really know. She was in the manor so....."

"You idiot!" the first man smacked the first one on the head "Were you thinking at all?!"

"Relax, Denver, maybe we can actually benefit from it. If she was at the manor she probably has some value to Wayne or one of his sons...."

"Denver ?" Y/N couldn’t help a single laugh despite the bag on her head blocking her vision and the fact that situation was far from funny "Have you guys been watching Money Heist much?"

"You shut up or I'll help you" with a single harsh move her vision was back and she squinted trying to prevent eyes from the light.

"Let me guess" her gaze focused on the man in front of her. "If you're Denver, since you really act like the most impulsive one, than he "she motioned towards the man by the wall "must be Marseille, the intermediary between you two" . And you....." she looked at he one acting like the leader of the group "let me guess, you're Berlin? Or did you go straight for the name of Professor?"

"You talk a lot for someone who's just been captured....." the leader took a few steps forward "But you're good, I'll give you that. I go by Berlin, indeed. Now, let's see the pretty face Marseille got for us.... Oh, fuck....." the sudden change of tone and unexpected word got his accomplices on high alert.

"What happened boss?" the man who called himself Denver stuttered.

"Do you know who she is? Do you freaking now who that fucking one is? You've captured Red Hood's girl!"

"Wait.... How do you know....?" Y/N stuttered

"We got our ways, sunshine. Now, this is not going to be nice for you....." he smirked reaching for the knife resting on the nearby table and his wild face expression made Y/N shiver.

Oh, no.......

***

“Red?”  getting in touch with Jason to drop the news to him was far from the preferred way to spend the night, but Babs really had no choice in the matter if she wanted to save her friend. 

“Kinda busy here, Oracle.”

“this is rather important.”

“Everything is rather important. I can’t really do three things at once. You got four vigilantes running loose so why don’t you…..”

“It’s about Y/n.” she specified. Time was of the essence in this case so she was trying to use as little words as possible only to get Jason going. Of course that informing any other member of the family was an option, but eventually Red Hood would find out what happened and flatten everyone and everything for not letting him know first. After all, Y/N was his girlfriend. No one else’s. And it wasn;t like he was underlying it proudly at every time possible.

“What about her?” for a moment the only sound echoing through the comms were bangs and some screams, clear sign that a single mention of her name and possibility of her being in danger got his mind spinning and his action more violent.  And then Jason came back “What happened?” 

***

It was getting harder and harder to breathe.

The guys who captured her were surely not the ones to joke around and make empty promises. Once they realized who she was they tried everything to get her to talk and spill Red’s secret identity. Not that she was going to talk of course, but the price to pay for silence was extremely hard.

“Damn it, you bitch!” Denver yelled and punch her straight in the face, hitting an eye and she could feel the bruise forming. “You better talk right now or….”

“Denver.” Berlin spoke calmly “Please, the girl is our guest. Is that how you treat your guests? I don’t really think so. “ he took a step towards her, grabbing her swollen face in his hand and making her look at him “it would be a shame to mutilate such pretty face…..”

“Screw you” she spat but it only made the man laugh

“You see, gentlemen. This little one has to be taught some manners. It’s a shame Joker is not in town tonight, he would show you the real meaning behind the words “big mouth.”

“Screw you ….” She repeated, but this time it came out weaker. Maybe it was because of the fact that for whatever seemed like an eternity now she was tortured with the use of every tool and every method possible. She was tied to the chair, her hands bind behind her, wrist swollen and purple because of the cut of the blood supply. She had sprained ankle which hurt like hell and many deep cuts on her legs which allowed the blood to drip freely making her feel hazy and dizzy. She also had countless bruises all over her arms and possibly dislocated shoulder. And now, also a black eye. Her head was hanging low and she was losing all the motivation to fight, not that she was going to show it to them.

“You are so stubborn, aren’t you? why don’t we start again then?” Berlin reached towards the table and grabbed something that looked like  giant nail clippers “Step by step. First, you tell me who is the Red Hood. Then I’d like to know about the Nightwing. And last, but not least, Batman.”

“There is clearly something wrong with your priorities” the sudden hit in the chest made her cough and much to her terror she saw some blood coming from her mouth.

“every time you refuse to cooperate I will pull one of your fingernails.” Berlin moved closer to the chair and twisted her arm painfully, placing her finger between the claws.

“He’s going to get to you, you know…..” she whispered “he’ll find you and then…..”

“Then what, sunshine?” Marseille, silent until now joint the discussion pulling her head back and squeezing her already hurt neck, putting another knife to it. “You still think he can save you? You watch to many movies….”

“What good will it come to you if you kill me?” she panted, her heartrate picking up significantly “you still won’t know who he is underneath that mask. You’ll be left in the dark, so what is the whole point of….Auch!”

“You still don’t get it, doll, do you? We’re just sending a signal here. You see, your loverboy interfered with some of our business and let me tell you, there were consequences for us. Not the kind you like. So this…” Marseille motioned towards her broken figure “is just a collateral damage. You are a collateral damage. A lucky coincidence we captured you since it was not planned. But it will get to Hood. And when he comes….” He laughed viciously “we’ll be ready.”

“Screw…..”

“You said that before and it got you nowhere, sweetheart. Again then. Who is Red Hood?” once again the clipper got really close to her finger and Y/N gulped loudly.

“Why don’t you just ask the object of your interest?” familiar, yet modulated by the helm voice reverberated from the right upper corner of the barn the men were keeping Y/n.

“Look who decided to drop by.” Berlin smiled wildly, especially when he noticed the gun pointed at him. “now, now, Red. We all know you are way past your killing days, don’t you.”

“I can make exceptions” Jason’s gaze travelled towards Y/N who was now almost unconscious on that fucking chair, blooded, bruised, exhausted, tortured.  And still with Marseille’s knife at her throat. Jason had to be extremely careful now.

“You want to add to your girl’s trauma? Poor thing has been through so much….. Believe me, we have very vivid imagination when it comes to retaliation.”

“I can assure you, it could never compare to mine.” Jason took a step forward, now almost having the gun at Berlin’s forehead “Easy, Hood. One wrong move and Marseille’s going to cut her throat without any inhibitions. “

“What do you want?” Jay’s voice broke slightly

“Take off your mask and expose yourself or… you know” Berlin made a very unambiguous gesture. “You can’t win this round, you know it. There are three against one, even you are not that good.”

“I’ve dealt with worse….”

“But not when the life of someone you love was at stake.”

Jason hesitated. He could easily take all of the men down, but could he be fast enough to save her as well? He knew Marseille, that one was a devil in disguise, the most unpredictable opponent, never acting like he was expected to. Once again, his gaze travelled to Y/N and his heart clenched. For a while her consciousness was back and he looked him straight into the eyes, her own filled with tears, fear and so much pain. She shook her head slowly, silent begging for him to not surrender for her sake, but Marseille pulled her by the hair and she stopped. It was the moment Jason could not take it anymore. His brain stopped functioning. Let them know who he was. Let them. If it means that Y/n would be kept safe he would go for it.

“Fine….” He muttered reaching up to remove the helmet.

“No! No, don’t, please, please!” Y/n yelled and the second that voice came from her things happened too fast to comprehend.

Nightwing and Red Robin came out of nowhere, heading straight towards Marseille who immediately yanked Y/N up using her as a shield.  At the same time Robin went at Berlin from behind, tackling him to the ground. In such circumstances Jason fired a single shot into Denver’s leg eliminating him from the equation for good. However, the other two were not so easy to give up. Berlin got up from the floor and attacked Jason, showing unusual fighting skills, which were a bit surprising yet still not sufficient to beat Red Hood. It only took a couple seconds when he was back on the ground being beaten to death by the anti-hero.

“You hurt her!” he yelled “You should die for that!” at this point Jason did not care where his punches and kicks landed. In all his blind fury, the only image behind his eyes was Y/N, broken, scared, injured…. This only fueled his rage and made the motions more violent and powerful. He was so oblivious of what was happening that it took Dick’s interference to bring him back to reality.

“Hood!” he yelled

“Fuck off, Grayson!”

“She needs you!”

Those three little words worked like a magic spell. Jason immediately dropped unconscious Berlin, whose face was now more like a bloody pulp than anything else and looked about. Marseille was down as well, now getting tied up by Damian and a few meters further he noticed Y/N’s limp body, her head resting on Tim’s lap. The boy stood up abruptly, pushing away Dick and fall on his knees next to her, slowly and gently getting her in his arms, careful not to cause any more damage. It only took him a second to notice the deep cut on her throat and a pool of blood. Her blood.

“y/n…. no, no, no, no….” Without hesitation he took the cape Tim handed him and was trying to use it to block the bleeding “Baby, please, stay with me….Please” he sobbed noticing her breath getting more and more shallow.

“Jay….” She stuttered reaching for his cheek and cupping it gently, her hand so limp when he put his own bigger over hers. Limp and cold and pale just like her whole face.

“hush, baby. Save your strength. Just hold on to me, all right? It’s gonna be all right. You’re gonna be alright. Just don’t let go….” His grip on her grew stronger and stronger while she was becoming more pale and weak and started coughing.

“I’m….. I’m sorry…. Jay…..” she closed her eyes and took a desperate breath “I…. I love you…..”

“No, no, no, no! Don’t you dare dying on me! You hear me? I forbid you!” his hands were stained with her blood. A stain he knew he could never clean, no matter how hard he would try.

“Bossing me…. around…. Huh?”

‘I know you like it when I do that…” he brushed a strand of hair from her bloody face and rested his forehead on hers, closing eyes in silent desperation. Don't leave me, don't leave me, don't leave me.

“And yet, I never….. “ she coughed “never listened”

“Make an exception this time” he pleaded, tears falling from his eyes. “I can’t lose you…. Y/N, baby…..”

“Jay…” she whispered, eyes blurry, losing contact with reality. All the light that her gaze usually held slowly dying with each faint heartbeat. If only he could ......

"Jason...."

“I told you to fuck off Dickhead!” he spat at his brother, not caring what the oldest had to say at the moment.

“The help is here” Dick motioned towards the paramedics rushing through the warehouse door. “Come on, let them work, it’s not too late….. Jay?”

 The view of big, scary Red Hood kneeling next to the girl who was the love of his live, holding her close to his chest, while sobbing, rocking back and forth and repeatedly kissing her forehead muttering some incoherent words was heartbreaking for everyone. And there was nothing either of the boys could do.

“Miracles like this don’t happen…..” Jason sobbed while Y/N’s body was practically ripped off his embrace by paramedics and put into the ambulance, while his brothers held him back, preventing from beating the medics. “I lost her….. I lost Y/n…..”

Possible part 2 - let me know if you want another part of angst, mourning and heartache.

@jasontoddsthickbabe

[aimless-imagines-for-fun]

Heat Up

Pairing :: Rick Flag x short/petite fem!Reader

Warnings :: 18+ Content, NSFW/SMUT, Size Kink

Word Count :: 2,439

Summary :: Rick isn’t too happy Digger tries to tease you

A/N :: I was gonna make a fic about someone else, but then I saw The Suicide Squad trailor and goddamn Joel Kinnaman. I love that tall beautiful bastard. Also, I’m not super happy about the title, but it was all I could come up with, meh

As Amanda Waller’s assistant, you had to deal with a lot daily. It wasn’t just about making sure she got her black coffee right when she walked into the building and managing her scheduled meetings. You had to ensure everything, and one, was in order for her. If someone told you they were running late, you forced them to be on time. You carefully inspected each report and corrected them before turning them into Waller. You got her any top-secret document she needed and kept it hidden. Hell, you even helped her with Task Force X, going through the list of criminals and writing down a thorough analysis of each potential member’s abilities.

Despite working for a woman who was heartless and calculating, you were as timid as a mouse. You rarely spoke to others unless you needed to. After working for Waller for several years, you found it best not to make any personal relationships with the people you met. She warned you most didn’t last very long and very few could be trusted.

One person who had stuck around though and  Waller seemed to even trust Colonel Rick Flag. You two started working for her around the same time, and yet, you could barely hold a conversation with the man. 

When you first met him, you constantly felt overwhelmed whenever you were left alone with him. It didn’t help that he appeared rather intimidating, with a serious expression almost always on his face, and towered over you. He was 6’2’’, and even in your favorite pumps, which added a good three inches to your height, you were still, smaller than him in frame.

However, regardless of your inability to speak around him, he continuously tried to start conversations with you and be friendly towards you. His constant attempts helped you grow used to him, but your face always heated up and you grew ridged when he got too close when you were alone. You didn’t understand the feeling, nor did you didn’t hate the feeling. It confused you.

-

Rick was absolutely perplexed by your meek behavior, especially since he’d witness before how assertive you could get when it came to getting something done for your shared boss. 

So it was no wonder he worried about you whenever Waller brought you along to see the Task Force X members. They were psychotic criminals, and you were like a slab of meat to some of them. You almost always wore a skirt or dress with a pair of pumps or oxford flats. Rick would be lying if he said you didn’t look perfect every hour of the day. 

He used to wonder if you were actually as innocent as you acted outside of work. Then, he saw you run as fast as you possibly could when Harley tried to give you what she called ‘wholesome safe dating advice’.

Since then, Rick did his best to make sure you were at least arm’s length away from any psycho. He even went as far as stepping right in front of you when someone got too close. Somehow, standing either beside you or a bit in front of you had become a habit of his when he noticed you were uncomfortable. 

Like now.

-

Waller sent you and Rick to a hidden ARGUS base hidden in the woods. Rick was obviously there to lead the team. You were there to give them their mission and an extensive overview.

There was a row of chairs for each Task Force X member to sit in. You stood in front of them with a large screen behind you, displaying various diagrams and photos for the mission. Rick stood off to the side, just behind all the seated members.

You looked away from your presentation, the projector turning off and the lights on. “So, are there any questions?”

Harley’s hand shot up. “Did you want me to continue giving you dating advice now or would you prefer I write it all down and give it to you later?”

Your eyes squinted and your lips curved downward just a bit. “What- no. That has nothing to do with the missions and I don’t need your advice…” Your voice trailed off, at a loss on how to deal with Harley.

Rick took a step forward. “Harley, stop it,” He warned her.

The blonde rolled her eyes. “Fine, but only because I think someone has a major crush on you (Y/N) and I wanna see if he makes a move.”

You were silent for a moment, processing what she had said before your eyes widened upon realization. Surprised, you couldn’t stop yourself from confirming what you had heard. “What did you say?”

“Nothing!” She sang, springing up from her seat.

“Hold on, now I’m interested too,” Floyd chimed in. “Now just who do you think it is that has a crush on lil ol’ (Y/N). I mean, no offense,” He glanced at you before turning his head back to Harley, “but she’s too skittery.”

Digger hopped up from his seat, shaking his head. “Nah mate, that adds on to her appeal.”

He started walking towards you and instinctively you started to back away until your back was against the wall. As he was getting closer, Digger’s hand started to extend, reaching out for you.

“See, it makes it fun to try and catch her.”

You shut your eyes, ready to scream the second he dared touching you. Instead of feeling what you thought would be cold dirty fingers, you heard Digger begin to plead.

“Woah! I was only joking around! Let me go!”

Eyes now wide, you saw Rick hoisting the Aussie up in the air by the collar of his shirt. If looks could kill, Digger’s head would be gone. 

“What are the rules?” He asked in a cold tone.

“No escaping and no disobeying,” Digger said quickly.

“Oh! Also no annoying or vexing you!” Harley added.

Rick still held Digger up. “And?”

Confused, Digger looked at Floyd for help who nodded his head towards you. “And-and no touching or teasing (Y/N)?”

Rick released Digger, throwing him towards the door. “Everyone out. We leave at zero one hundred hours.”

All of the criminals walked out of the room. Rick followed to make sure the door was closed once they were out, and locked the door.

You stepped away from the wall, straightening out your black pencil skirt. “Thank you for earlier Colonel Flag.”

“Rick. We’re alone,” He corrected you.

Around others at work, you addressed each other professionally: Colonel Flag and Ms. (L/N). Alone, Rick had started trying to get you used to calling him his name to be more comfortable around him.

“Right, thank you, Rick.”

You were about to clean up and reorganize your notes when you noticed Rick still seemed upset. He had the same annoyed expression he had when the criminals were around and his arms were crossed over his chest.

You cocked your head to the side. “Is something wrong?”

“What were you going to do?” He started walking forward.

“Pardon?”

“What were you going to do if he touched you?”

Your brows furrowed. Why was he asking this?  “Most likely yell at him and push him away.”

“And then?”

“And then what?” Now, you were starting to get annoyed.

Rick stopped a foot away from you, eyes piercing down at you. “What if he didn’t stop?”

“He wouldn’t dare continue.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’ll keep me safe.”

Quickly, you realized what you said and turned your head to avoid his gaze. With a blush creeping onto your cheeks, your heart started to beat faster when he took one step closer to you.

Rick gently grabbed your chin with his thumb and index, turning your head to face him. You looked up at him with your large (E/C) eyes and that odd tingling feeling started up.

“What if I’m not there to keep you safe?”

“You always are.”

Like a flip was switched, Rick suddenly knew why he constantly wanted to make sure you were always alright. You worked for a harsh realist like Waller, but still naively believed good always prevailed. He wanted to make sure you never lost the blissful joy most did when they faced the harsh reality of the world.

His head lowered towards yours until his lips were pressed softly against yours. It was a simple kiss at first. Rick was unsure of how far he could go until you gently returned the kiss. Your hands went up to his chest and he lowered to your waist to pull you closer.

Wrapped in his arms, the odd tingling feeling turned into a warm little flame. You wanted to stay held like this forever. 

When he pulled away, you lightly gripped his shirt and tugged. “Rick, I want more.”

“Are you sure, because it might be sweet now, but if we keep going-”

Without letting him finish, you pressed another kiss against his lips. Again, you two sweetly kissed for a few minutes. Then, you felt one of his hands lower down to the round of your ass. A small gasp escaped you upon being lifted, your legs wrapped around him for support. Your skirt bunched up revealing your thighs as a result.

Rick pulled away from your lips, begging to trail down kisses to your neck.

You knew what you two were doing, more importantly, where, was inappropriate. Though with your mind clouded, you didn’t care. You only wanted to make sure you two wouldn’t be disrupted.

“The-the door,” Your murmured,

“Already taken care of,” He said, lips pressed against your neck.

Rick started walking slowly, carrying you over to the row of chairs. Before he took a seat, he put you back down on your feet.

Suddenly, the world spun and you were now seated on his lap, back pressed firmly against his chest. His arms hugged you close to him while he continued to kiss your neck.

Due to your skirt bunched up, you could feel his denim jeans below you. With heat growing in you, without thinking, you started to move your hips in his lap.

A small chuckle left him. One of his arms released its hold on you to start trailing up and down the side of your thigh. “Is this why you’re always so tense when we’re alone?” His hand moved to your inner thigh, coming closer to your core.

Your hands shot up to cover your blushing face. Was this why? You never quite understood why before, but it was starting to make sense now.

Rick’s other hand pulled your hands down. When he wrapped his arm around you again, he made sure to keep your arms down as well so you couldn’t hide your face.

“Come on now, don’t be shy. It’s just us.”

“Mmm!”

You bit your lip feeling him begin to rub your clit through your damp panties. You started to squirm a bit, a clear bulge forming and pressing up against you. He pushed the fabric to the side, inserting only one finger. You moaned softly, your legs spreading open and welcoming him. 

Rick pushed in his one finger as deep as he could before pulling it completely out and sticking it back in. This time, his finger curved in you and you felt your cunt tighten. When it did, he stuck a second finger in you. His fingers pumped at a consistent pace, and you kept your moans at a low volume. 

You could feel his hardened erection through his jeans pressing firmly against you now. With his fingers still pumping, you started moving your hips along to feel his covered length.

Rick let out a quiet curse, the tightness of his jeans too much. He let go of his hold on you to unbuckle his pants and release his cock.

“I tried to get you ready, but,” He pulled his fingers out completely, both hands now gripping your hips and lifting you up, “this might still hurt a bit.”

He started lowering you down on him and your eyes widened once he had gotten just the head of his dick in. The further he pushed in, the more pain you felt, your eyes growing glossy as a result. He lowered you until you were seated on him again and he was fully filling you up.

You could feel your pussy aching and tightening around him, never being filled up this much before.

“Christ you have a tight little cunt,” Rick gritted out.

Honestly, he surprised himself you managed to take all of him in, but he knew you were in pain. He wanted to give you time to adjust to his length, even if your clenching walls were driving him mad. Though, you could tell by his tight grip on your hips, staying still was driving him mad.

To distract yourself from the pain, you turned your head back to look up at him and pulled him down for another kiss. This time, his tongue slipped into your mouth, exploring the wet space.

During the kiss, you finally started bouncing up and down in his lap. He helped guide you, keeping you at a steady pace. 

With your tight pussy squeezing around him, Rick couldn’t keep the pace you had set. He started thrusting his pelvis up and moved you down on him faster. Eventually, you were no longer in any control while he fucked you. Then, he pulled you out completely and rammed back into you, slamming you down.

“Rick!” You screamed, a sensitive spot now hit.

He did it again and again, your screams growing louder each time he hit your sweet spot. 

Each of your breaths was growing heavier, and his fast pace was now ragged. He hit you once more and your head fell back against his chest, a loud moan leaving your lips. Your cunt clenching and finally releasing around him.

With just a few more thrusts, Rick’s hips bucked into you and he held you still for one moment so he could cum inside you. You felt his cock pulse with each hot spurt in you, causing a shiver. 

After, he moved you only a few more times slowly for you each to ride out your climaxes. Once done, he pulled you off of him and stood up.

Rick wrapped an arm around your shoulder, holding you close to him as you each steadied your breathing.

“So, I take it you’ll start acting normal now when we’re alone?” He asked you.

“I’ll probably heat up thinking about this.”

“I’m fine with that too.”

[fanfic-scribbles]

Crash Pad

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: You’re just minding your own business when the Winter Soldier crashes into your life. Literally.

Quick facts: Romance – established past Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes leading into Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff, slight mention of blood

Words: 7801

A/N: I started writing this a few months ago and almost finished when my life got fairly shook up. Still, I’m quite proud of being able to eke out an ending. For anybody who only cares about this story, feel free to skip this note, but for anybody following my other stuff: writing is going to be slow for the time being. My mom died and things are pretty topsy-turvy right now. Writing is still a comfort, but head to hands isn’t working the same right now. Thanks for your patience; I hope this is a pleasant read for you in the mean time <3

  ~

 You’re getting ready for bed and have just turned off the living room light when you hear a clatter on the fire escape. You haven’t gotten over to shut the window yet and you wince at the thought of maybe coming face to face with a giant rat, or a raccoon, although you haven’t yet seen a raccoon and you’re pretty sure they don’t live in the city but it would probably be better than a rat the size of a raccoon–

What you get is much, much worse as a fully grown man falls through the curtains, knocks over a side table and potted plant, and crashes onto your living room floor with a wheezed (but emphatic), “God damn it!”

You freeze, unsure of whether to run or yell or maybe both. However the man flounders on the floor, unable to otherwise move much as he holds his side and– is that blood on your floor?

“Are you okay?” you ask despite everything.

He yanks his head back to look at you and grimaces. “Fuck, I–” He tries to get up, slips in what you are almost positive is blood, and slumps over with a little sigh and a handful of muttered curses that might be in another language. “I am really sorry about this,” he says lowly, like he's embarrassed to be bleeding out in a stranger’s living room. Then he shifts a little more and moonlight gleams on his arm. His very…shiny…completely metal arm, and you find a whole new way to be concerned.

You should have known the reasonable rent was a goddamn trap.

You take a few steps back, barely avoid hitting the counter, and flick the light back on without taking your eyes away from the man on your floor. He squints at the brightness and shows you a face that is, both fortunately and unfortunately, familiar. Fortunately because Captain America and the Avengers somehow got him pardoned for potential war crimes and treason even without him being present for any of that circus of a trial. Unfortunately because…war crimes. And treason. And that is definitely blood.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out and looks a little woozy. “There were sheets– I thought the building was empty.”

“The sheeting is for the building right next to us,” you say and sigh. “I’m going to guess you are not in favor of me calling an ambulance?”

He just blinks at you a few times. Maybe he is secretly a raccoon.

“Please don’t,” he says, some life returning to his eyes, and he looks you up and down. The rubber duck pajamas must put him at ease because, while he is still tensely holding his midsection, his shoulders relax a little. “I’m so–”

“Sorry, yes, I know.” You point at the bathroom. “I’m going to get the first aid kit and hopefully I won’t have to explain to the coroner’s office why Captain America’s boo bled out on my floor.”

You’re just opening up the cupboard that hopefully contains at least some band-aids when he calls out, “What the hell is a ‘boo?’”

~

Two old t-shirts, one and a half rolls of dusty gauze, and his own homemade stitch kit later, the man is finally all patched up. “How are you not passing out from blood loss?” you ask, eyeing the mess on the nice hardwood that has definitely just lost you your deposit. But there’s no corpse to deal with, so at least things aren’t as bad as they could be.

“I’m built pretty hardy.” He sits up a little more and groans. Before you can beg him not to split his side again, he extends his hand. “James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky.”

You shake his hand (gently) and tell him your name. “Do you let everybody call you Bucky, or just the people whose floor you bleed all over?” Something moving catches your eye and you sigh at the sight of your inexpensive (but still nice) curtains blowing slightly, showing off their new stains. “Floor and drapes…”

“I’ll clean it,” he says. “I can get blood out of anything.” He winces. “I…that sounds worse than it is.”

“I imagine getting blood out of anything is a good skill for an international spy-assassin to have,” you say.

Bucky scowls. And, you think, blushes a little, though how he has enough blood to do that you don’t know. You look at the spot again. It looks big to you but maybe you’re making a fuss over nothing. No, wait, there’s still dried blood on your floor. You’re allowed a fuss. “So you know who I am.”

“Your boy made it hard to miss,” you say.

He grumbles to himself, then says, “He’s always such a drama queen. I didn’t need to be pardoned.”

“Really,” you say and look at the bloodied handkerchief wrapped around a bullet he dug out of himself. “Looks like at least one other person disagrees with you.”

“This was Steve’s fight, not mine.” He huffs. “Story of my goddamn lif–”

He suddenly falls back and you reach out instinctively to catch him. He recovers quickly, wild-eyed and stiff and you scoot back just in case. He takes a few deep breaths and seems to force himself calm. It doesn’t look very effective and you’re honestly starting to worry. “You really–”

“I did not faint,” he snaps and maybe he has more blood than you thought, or maybe absolutely all of it has come to collect in his face.

“I was going to say you really need a hospital,” you say. “But yeah, you did.”

He grumbles under his breath and then, as if predicting your protests, stands up quickly enough to waver. Serves him right, you think, but when he scowls at you, you wonder if maybe he’s psychic too. “Try not to pass out on your way home,” you say, because if he wants to leave there’s really nothing you can do to stop him.

“Funny,” he says. He clears his throat and adds, much more sincerely, “Thanks.”

For the t-shirts, for the first aid kit, for not calling the cops, for not calling the Avengers so Captain America can hone in on him like a cartoon hound, for not bitching about the floor too much– the list is many and varied and so you give him a simple nod and hope you can get even a little bit of sleep tonight because work tomorrow is going to be hell without it.

He goes back to the window and before you can point out you have a perfectly good door, Bucky slips out onto the fire escape again. You shrug to yourself and go over to firmly flip the lock. You’ve done your part– in the event he slips and hits his head, someone else can be the good Samaritan. You’re going to bed and tomorrow this is going to feel like a weird dream, if there is even a single good deity in existence.

~

You’re not sure if it’s proof of or a mark against the existence of said single good deity when Bucky shows back up in your fire escape the next evening and taps politely against your open window before he lets himself back in, scooting your new plant just an inch out of the way.

“I have a door,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

“Your hallway’s too well lit,” he says, much more hale and hearty and obviously not suffering major blood loss. His hair even looks like he just got out of the shower, all soft and shiny and bouncing a bit as he twists his upper body to start pulling stuff out of a backpack hanging off one shoulder. “I got stuff to clean the floor, and a replacement first aid kit. You outta keep it better stocked, so I got you one of the good ones.”

“O…kay,” you say, for lack of anything better. There’s a hysterical laugh building up in the back of your throat as the Winter Soldier brings out some rags and a cleaning solution for your bloodstained hardwood floor, but you cough it out and say, “Thanks,” when the formerly-feared international assassin looks at you like you’re crazy before he gets on his hands and knees and starts scrubbing.

It’s not fair no one would believe you. You’re not quite sure this isn’t an elaborate daydream, but then, you like to think you’d imagine something more fun than this. You clear your throat. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thanks,” he grunts, glaring at the floor and rubbing at the stain like it has offended him personally. It’s a little worrisome when he goes at it hard enough to maybe rub a hole right through the floor– you’d rather deal with the stain– but there’s a hard edge to his eyes that make you think maybe it’s a good idea for him to work it out in a productive, non-violent way. And if it turns violent, hopefully he has some home repair skills to make up for it.

You busy yourself with making tea, using the nice pot and the nice cups you never get to break out, and by the time it’s almost done steeping Bucky isn’t rubbing quite so hard and, in fact, seems to have made the stain do a disappearing act.

“Nice,” you say. “You want some tea? I made plenty.”

He lifts his head and tilts it as he squints at you, like he’s still not sure of you. But he shrugs, says, “Sure,” and stands up, rolling his shoulders. He looks down at the floor and nods appreciatively before coming to sit on the other side of the counter. “It’s almost gone; just a little bit more and it’ll be like I was never here.”

That last part could have been a decent joke, but he said it so seriously you just clear your throat. “Thanks,” you say and start pouring. “My landlord is going to have to find some other excuse to try and keep my security deposit.”

Bucky snorts but otherwise makes no noise. At first it’s nice, if a bit awkward, as you don’t really feel the need to fill the silence, but it becomes clear by the way Bucky glares at the plant sitting in front of him on the counter that something is eating at him. You’re not sure whether or not to pry, but it seems polite to at least ask, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he grunts and leans even lower to the surface of the counter.

You stare at him. “I appreciate what you did, but you didn’t have to come back,” you say gently, because a pissed-off former-assassin isn’t really a problem you want to have on your hands. “I’m not awful enough to actually expect you to clean up your own blood the day after you nearly bled to death.”

“What?” He blinks and then scowls and shakes his head. “No, it’s not that; it’s…” He picks up his cup and downs all of it, despite the fact that it was still steaming. Tentatively you pour him another cup, to which he says, “thanks,” before loading it with sugar again. “It’s good,” he says and this time he sips it.

“It’s one of my favorites. Very soothing,” you say. “Normally.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I wish anything was soothing. You know Steve almost ran into a goddamn minefield today?”

You didn’t know that, you don’t think anything the Avengers do is any of your business, really, and where does one even find a minefield in New York City– you don’t say any of that, but you apparently don’t need to, because Bucky is off like a shot saying more words than you’d have thought possible for him. All of it is ranting about what a reckless dumbass Captain America is, and a Brooklyn accent increasingly comes through, egged into existence by sheer aggravation. You sit and listen, transfixed not so much by the details (they’re too fleeting and sparse) but by how annoyed Bucky is with Captain Amer- with “Steve goddamn pain in the ass Rogers” and you’re never going to be able to see him again without snickering.

Bucky sighs heavily and rests his chin on the table. He looks very tired, all of a sudden. Maybe a relaxing tea and enthusiastic rant wasn’t the best combination. Then again, he also looks less tense, so perhaps it’s fine. “Why don’t you stop for the night and go get some sleep,” you say and take away his cup. “You can finish up tomorrow.”

He squints at you, squints back at the floor (that you honestly can’t tell is any different from the rest), and looks back at you. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” you say and stack the cups. “When you come back refreshed you can tell me why Steve Rogers can never walk past that animal shelter without ducking his head in shame.”

Bucky’s smile is lopsided and he shakes his head. “Maybe,” he admits and hops off the chair. “I’ll just…leave the stuff here then, if that’s okay?”

You nod and he quickly picks up and puts the supplies in the empty bottom space of your side table. He goes for the window.

“I have a-!”

And he’s gone. You roll your eyes. If Steve Rogers really is as much of an asshole as Bucky says he is, then those two deserve each other.

~

For all that the Captain America mythos has been debunked for you, you’re still brought up short when you suddenly encounter Steve Rogers the next night.

On your fire escape.

He knocks his head against the railing in his scramble to simultaneously get up and face you, curses, and lifts his hands defensively. “I can explain.”

You rub your face with both hands. They definitely deserve each other. “I doubt that,” you mutter and sigh heavily. Thank goodness there haven’t been any actual fires; you don’t know how you’d get out with all these buff superheroes hanging around outside your window. “Have you lost something?”

Captain America looks at the ground for a moment, and then flashes you a smile. “…Yes?”

God, he is a smartass. “Do you want to come inside or do you want to risk some Nosy Nancy from the building across the street seeing a big shadow and calling the cops?”

That would never happen, but he slips inside almost immediately and then there he is, in all his uniformed, shield-holding glory. It’s too weird to think about, and you step back to give him (and you) space while you close the curtains. “Thank you,” he says politely and looks around. “Your apartment is lovely; it’s very…green.”

You’re not sure why he hesitates, until you see him looking at your yellowing majesty palm. “He’s coming back,” you say and go to adjust the plant for lack of anything else your nervous hands can do. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thank you,” he says and stands with his feet shoulder wide and his hands clasped down in front of him. It is perhaps the least comforting thing he can do and for one ridiculous moment you wish Bucky was here to be in between you. You wish the Winter Soldier was here. To protect you. From Captain America.

You clear your throat. “So,” you say and grab yourself something. “Do you lurk outside everyone’s apartment at some point, or am I just special?”

For all his military posturing, Captain America squirms like a schoolboy. “I swear I wasn’t– okay, I guess I was but not intentionally? I was…looking. For something.”

“Something you dropped?” you ask him.

“A person,” he says, staring elsewhere. For a moment you have a paranoid thought he’s staring at the space where Bucky had fallen in that night, but no, he’s just looking at the window. At least you remembered to change the curtains.

“Pretty sure you can see one of those without squinting into the grates,” you say.

“He might have passed through on his way somewhere else,” Captain America says. “Have you seen a man outside?”

“Other than you?” you ask. He blushes even harder than Bucky does– and think of the devil, you have a moment where you’re not sure what you should say, but quickly come to realize that whatever is going on between the two of them, you do not want to get stuck in the middle.

You’re prepared to lie your ass off, but he apparently takes your response as a rebuke. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to make you feel unsafe.”

“It’s fine,” you say. Despite his previous answer, you lean into the fridge to get him a bottle of water. “I’m pretty sure Captain America isn’t going to murder me. And if you decided you wanted to, well, there’s nothing I could really do about it.”

He chokes on the drink he’s just taken. You instinctively lean in so you can slam his back but after a couple of hits he covers his mouth and waves you off. “Sorry, sorry,” he says and grabs a nearby dishcloth to wipe up what he just spit on the counter. “That was just…really dark.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not the one lurking on fire escapes,” you say.

He rolls his eyes. The nerve. You laugh and he actually grins. Asshole. His smile softens though and he says, “I’m really–”

“Sorry,” you finish for him.

“Am I that predictable already?”

You shrug. You want to tell him it’s because he and Bucky seem very much alike in that respect. You want to but…you don’t. Whatever Bucky’s problem is, he seems to want to deal with it himself, and it’s not your place to get in between them and start snitching. “You seem the type. Don’t worry about it so much. You…look pretty worried. I’m not going to hold it against you.”

“Thank you.” His lips turn into a sad sort-of smile and he takes a slower drink. “I guess I am pretty worried. This man I’m looking for, he’s…important to me, and he’s been through a lot, and I just want to know he’s okay.”

You stare at him. He looks down. And looks down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to babble like that,” he says and glances at you with a strained smile. “I don’t normally do that.”

“Hm.” You stare at him for several seconds and notice he is blinking an awful lot. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m a little tired,” he says, quietly, and some of the posturing seeps out of him and he lets himself slump a little more. He suddenly shakes his head and sits up straight again. “Thanks again for…” He looks around and settles for shaking his water bottle.

You hold back a laugh. “Sure. I uh…do you need me to call you a cab?”

He shakes his head firmly and, to his credit, he’s pretty excellent at pretending to be okay. You almost believe him. “I can get home all right.”

“Well, please make sure you do. I can think of a lot of people who’d be sad to think of you collapsing on the way home because you wore yourself down to the bone,” you say. “And from how you seem to worry about your friend, I bet you can think of at least one.”

He blinks, like he’s surprised, but a smile curls onto his face, warm and true. “Good night,” he says, and because you’re so nice, you don’t stop him when he goes back out the window. At this point, it’s beginning to feel like a lost cause.

~

“What did you say to him?”

“I know you don’t like the door,” you say, not even turning away from the plant you’re watering. Any time you put down the canister you forget where you left off and you are not going to kill these plants by overwatering. Not again. “But maybe you could at least tap on the window when you decide you’re going to enter my apartment.”

“Why do you leave your window open?” Bucky huffs. You can hear him sit at the counter behind you. “You know what kind of creeps can take advantage of that?”

You finish watering the last plant and turn to stare at him. “I’m starting to get an idea.”

Bucky scowls. “I’m not a creep,” he mutters.

“Polite society encourages doorways instead of windows,” you say. “It’s okay. Captain America, apparently, is also a creep.”

Bucky sits up straighter. “What did he say?”

“Not much,” you say. “He was squatting on the fire escape like he could make you spontaneously materialize. I invited him in for an explanation and after a little while he went on his way.”

“After a little while,” Bucky repeats and squints at you suspiciously.

You shrug. “He likes to vent to complete strangers, apparently. But I didn’t tell him anything about you, it doesn’t seem fair to tell you anything about him. If you want to know, I get the feeling you can go ask him.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but he stands up and stretches. “You said I bled on the drapes?”

“I already scrubbed that out, if you can finish the floor,” you say and go for the tea pot. “Do you like green tea?”

“As long as you do it right,” he says and starts scrubbing again. “I hate it all bitter.”

You go for the good matcha and start preparing it while he works out his frustrations on your floor. You glance at him a couple of times but he seems fully focused on his task, until you finish the tea and call him back to the bar.

“Steve Rogers is a pain in the ass and don’t let anyone tell you different,” he grumbles, but it’s soft and there’s a troubled look on his face as he takes his cup.

“Do you miss him?” you ask and blow gently across your drink.

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Just as you're about to apologize for overstepping, though, he speaks. “It’s hard to go back when you’ve done the shit I have, you know?”

No. You have absolutely no idea what it’s like to live as a free man after decades of literal objectification and being used as a murder weapon for fascists. But it doesn’t seem very helpful to say that, so instead you say, gently, “I can’t even imagine.”

Bucky bobs his head and takes another sip of his drink. You’re delighted he seems to be drinking it fairly quickly, but also a little dismayed because a good matcha latte takes a decent amount of work and it’ll take a little time if he wants another cup. “I want to go back but I can’t yet. I wish he wouldn’t be so goddamn stubborn about it is all. Just because he thinks I didn’t do anything wrong doesn’t make it true.”

You nod, like any of this makes any goddamn sense to you. But maybe– maybe it doesn’t have to. Maybe Bucky’s saying all this because you’re an outside entity with no personal stake in, or knowledge of, what counts as treason, or what’s needed to lack culpability, or what it means to be an absent friend.

He rambles, a little bit, and though about half the words are proper nouns you don’t recognize, you nod along, and when he finishes his latte you make him another one, and when he leaves, you don’t mention the door. Even though you want to.

~

You’ve actually forgotten how nice it is to have someone come through the door. Case in point–

“Um, I hope this is all right,” Steve Rogers, dressed in casual civilian fare and holding a small pot of flowers, says as you can do nothing but stare at him. “I just wanted to stop by and thank you again for being so understanding. May I…come in?”

That snaps you out of your funk and you quickly stand aside. “Of course; sorry, I just…wasn’t expecting you.”

“I was just going to leave the plant with a note if you weren't here, but I’m glad you were,” Captain Rogers says and walks in, and sets the pot down on the counter.

You walk over to the fridge. “Would you like something to–” As you turn to finish the question you see him glance furtively at the window. Ah, of course. He looks down guiltily and you can’t help but roll your eyes and laugh. Well, he did come through the correct entrance and brought some pretty flowers. “All right, you did knock on the door this time; go sniff around the fire escape all you want.”

“I’m just checking something I forgot,” he says quickly and goes to the window. He’s only outside long enough for you to brew some tea and he comes back in just as you’re pouring his cup. It isn’t until he’s about to take a sip, however, that he says, “Oh– I know it looks bad, but Bucky– sorry, James Barnes– I swear he isn’t dangerous.”

“I know. I saw some of the trial stuff,” you lie. Well, you did see some of it, but it wasn’t until you heard Bucky mutter “Martha Stewart was right,” while fussing at some of the blood on his shirt that you felt safer. Strange as it is to think.

Steve relaxes his shoulders like some of the weight is off of them. “You have no idea how good that is to hear. You wouldn’t believe some of the things people say to me. I can’t really punch people anymore because I’m so much stronger now but it’s so tempting sometimes. At least when it’s online I can mime punching them.”

His annoyed tone allows you to laugh a little. “Maybe imagine the block button is a punch in the face?” you suggest.

He grins. “My friend Clint suggested printing out the most irritating comments and taping them to a punching bag. It didn’t really work but the thought was nice. The block button as a punch to the face though…”

The guy doesn’t really need more violence in his life, but he genuinely seems pleased with the idea, so you let it be. And when he starts ranting in detail about some of the comments he gets about Bucky, you make a new pot of tea– chamomile. For the both of you.

~

You don’t know how the flowers are dead already– it seems like Steve just brought them and they were so pretty you immediately looked up care instructions and followed them to the letter. Or so you thought. But now, only days later, you have a pot of dirt and withered petals.

And Bucky sulking at your counter.

“I told him I was fine,” he says petulantly.

You sigh and bring the pot over to the sink and think about what to do. “Did you tell him in person?”

“In a letter. He knew it was from me.”

The soil looks nice, so you’ll dig out the remains and try to plant some replacement seeds. Maybe that was the problem– maybe the flowers were sick or something. “Well reading and seeing are two different things.”

“He knows I cover him in fights.”

You slowly look at Bucky. His oh-so intelligent response is to bristle like a cat and go, “What?”

You roll your eyes. “He’s desperate to see you, knows you’re near when he’s fighting, and you wonder why he’s “so goddamn reckless?’”

Bucky just glares. Yeah, these two morons absolutely deserve each other.

You hope Bucky figures it out sooner rather than later.

~

He doesn’t, but he keeps coming by, as does Steve, and you resign yourself to hosting two pining idiots who keep dancing around each other.

Bucky drinks anything you give him without complaint. However he drinks the lattes and almost anything green tea a little quicker, though he tries to hide his cup from you when he does. Whether he’s ashamed of going through them so fast or embarrassed you don’t know, but you start to give him bigger cups, and that seems to help.

The first time you give Steve a cup of apple pie spice, he gives you a severe glare– which he then completely undermines by liking the blend immensely.

“I swore the next person who offered me apple pie would get popped,” Steve says, an amusing mixture of half-bluster and half-shame as he sips from the classic teacup you hope not to regret handing him.

“Lucky for me it’s not actually apple pie,” you say. “Do people really make that joke?”

The eyeroll Steve gives that is 200% sass. “You have no idea,” he says, deadly serious, “–how funny people think they are.”

~

This becomes…oddly normal. Listening to Steve talk about anything that’s on his mind, giving Bucky new tea blends just to see how he reacts to them; your apartment is no longer just you and a bunch of greenery that seems to wilt more often than not. Everything seems warmer, and better– even your plants seem healthier. (For that, though, you suspect Bucky is giving them a special mixture of something after you catch a glance of him messing with one of the pots. You want to ask him what he’s doing, but you don’t want to admit that he’s better at taking care of them than you are.)

It’s so normal, that you feel the silence only after the first few nights without a visit. They don’t visit every night, but they visit often enough that you know they’re off somewhere even without them telling you. For a couple of weeks you try to pretend the quiet doesn’t bother you, but you check the fire escape twice every night, and then once more before you go to bed.

~

The next time you see Bucky is during one of these checks. There was no tapping, no noise to otherwise alert you, he’s just suddenly back, sitting next to the window, hunched over in black clothes nearly blending into the darkness and staring out at nothing in the night.

“What’s wrong?” you ask and crawl out to kneel next to him. “Are you hurt again?”

“No,” he mutters and continues to glare at some imaginary point in the distance. “Steve was, though.”

It’s a little harder to swallow. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbles and buries his mouth further against his arms. “He’s fine, strutting around the hospital like a- like a- …” He huffs and sits back to wave his arms before he curls back in on himself. “But it was close, and he’s an asshole.”

“Mm,” you say. “Chamomile mint?”

He sighs heavily but he gets to his feet and starts to enter, only to stop and hold open the curtains for you.

“Thank you sir,” you say with only a hint of sarcasm and go on ahead to get the tea started. Bucky snorts but doesn’t say anything and you use the time the water needs to heat up to take care of some of your plants.

“Stop it.”

The snap comes so fast from Bucky you immediately stop what you’re doing. He doesn’t look as angry as he sounded, but he’s frowning pretty hard. “You're overwatering that one; jade plants are succulents. You don’t need to drown it.”

You look at the plant and set the watering can down. “Oh.” You knew that. You think. You’re just nervous. “Did you see him? In the hospital?”

“Briefly. I didn’t talk to him; just made sure he was all right,” Bucky says. “And he is. I wouldn’t leave him if he wasn’t.”

That does assuage some of your concerns. Steve is nice. You want him to be okay. And Bucky is– also nice, but god, they’re both so fucking frustrating. “You couldn’t have just–”

“Don’t start with–”

“I’m just saying–”

“And I’m telling you not to say–”

“I pay the rent for all that you sublet my fire escape; I’ll say what I want,” you manage to finish to Bucky’s consternation. You lift your head proudly and he frowns to one side. And then he…smirks. You’re not sure you like that.

“Crappiest space in the city,” he says and sits up. “You could at least get a chair.”

You roll your eyes and dole out the tea, fixing it the way Bucky likes. No sugar for this one, but plenty of honey. “If I ever have to leave for an actual fire, I’ll be in enough trouble trying to get around you.”

“Nah. I’d carry you out,” Bucky says and lifts his cup in a silent ‘cheers.’ He takes a sip and the sigh sounds content, so you assume you did it right. For a few moments a comfortable silence settles between the two of you as you sip warm drinks surrounded by greenery (that is mostly green) and life goes on in faint sounds outside the confines of your home.

Bucky sets his empty cup down with a sigh. “Do you think, if I show up to throttle him, that he’ll actually start watching his own fucking back?”

You give that some serious thought. “Will you give him time to moon at you first?”

Bucky sighs with disgust and flumps back onto the counter. “This is stupid. This all feels so stupid.”

You open your mouth because you do have a lot of opinions about honest communication and using innocent civilian apartments to dance around each other, but Bucky shoots you a glare to let you know that a, he knows, and b, he doesn’t appreciate it. You roll your eyes and go back to drinking your tea. It is a very good blend, and you’re not going to let it go unappreciated because two early 20th century boys can’t get their shit together.

Not that you’re complaining, really– you’re starting to feel like less of a disaster by comparison. Or maybe letting two strange men into your apartment makes you just as bad by default. You rub the bridge of your nose. Yeah, no one is getting out of this looking sane. You feel like that should bother you more than it does, but it’s just a fleeting thought before you go back to worrying about Steve and pouring Bucky’s cup back to full.

~

The next night when someone knocks on your door, you’re only mildly surprised to see Steve on the other side. And most of that surprise is because you can see fading bruises on his face, and also because he is holding a fairly big potted plant with tall green and yellow-edged leaves.

“Hi,” he says and lifts the pot slightly. “I got you a present.”

“Uh, wow; thanks?” you say and quickly step back to let him in, momentarily forgetting he can probably carry it around with ease. Steve places the plant on the floor near the end of your couch, where it actually looks fairly nice. He gestures at it proudly. “It’s a snake plant. The man at the nursery said it’s very hard to kill.”

“You’re not funny,” you say but you look at it appreciatively. It is nice, and you could do with ‘hard to kill’. Speaking of– “Should you be up? You look like you should be in a hospital.”

He shrugs and his face goes neutral. “I’m healing well enough that there’s nothing a hospital could do for me. And I felt so…restless.”

You nod. “Want some tea?”

“Please. I really like what you make,” he says and immediately takes a seat at the counter. Oddly enough, it’s not the one Bucky always takes. You don’t realize you squint at the space for too long until Steve looks curious and asks, “Is everything okay?”

You squint at the countertop. “Yeah, just…trying to figure out if that’s a stain or a spot.”

Thankfully there is a spot of spilled something and you quickly grab a towel and wipe it away. You think it’s a pretty good save, but Steve looks at you with a raised brow, like he’s figured something out. You freeze. “What?” What are you going to say? How is he going to react? What will you–

“Was that a coffee ring?”

You blink a few times, and then roll your eyes as your chest practically deflates. He smiles and winks. “I can’t believe you.”

“I am a layered human being who can drink many things,” you say defensively. “And if you want coffee you’ll have to ask another time. I’m not giving you anything with caffeine in it when you look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Train,” he corrects absently. “It barely clipped me.”

You sigh and go for the sleepy blend. One of you is going to have to bow out of this conversation due to exhaustion and at this point you don’t care if it’s you. However it might truly come in handy as Steve keeps looking out the window and shaking his foot. You set the cup in front of him and before you can ask what’s wrong, he takes the cup in both hands and blurts out, “I think I saw him.”

You look at the window and squint. “Seriously?”

“Not here.” Steve rolls his eyes. Like you’re the crazy one. He blows gently across the surface of the liquid and says, “Though it’s strange you’d think I saw Bucky out of your window.”

“Isn't that why you started showing up here in the first place? I distinctly remember someone with a big red, white, and blue shield lurking on my fire escape.”

“Oh, right,” he admits sheepishly, hunched over his cup. His eyes glimmer with mischief as he looks up at you through long lashes and asks, “Did I ever apologize to you for that?”

You’re brought up short by the amount of boyish charm this giant walking wall of muscle manages to pack into that look and you have to find your tongue to say, “I– y-yeah…”

Steve chuckles to himself and you give yourself a mental slap on the face. “Troll,” you mutter and sip from your mug. The liquid is piping hot and burns your tongue, giving you an excuse to grimace when Steve flashes you a beautiful smile.

~

You’re in trouble.

Not physically, not immediately, and perhaps someone on the outside might say you’re being dramatic about it, but they wouldn’t know shit about the situation. They wouldn’t know about how your hands felt as they slid over Steve’s when he handed you a new small pot of flowers; they wouldn’t know about the feeling of serenity that settled over you when Bucky abandoned some of his oh so careful control and rested his head on your shoulder for four long seconds; they wouldn’t know how it feels like you’re missing something until someone shows up at your door or taps at your window.

You’re falling in love with two people who have always been, and still are, desperately in love with each other.

Isn’t that just your luck.

~

In the end, Bucky takes your advice more to heart than you ever expected he would– you and Steve are quietly enjoying each others’ company, with you standing in the kitchen and Steve sitting at the counter as per usual, when the curtains move dramatically for Bucky to slip in, which makes Steve whirl around, and your hands jerk so hard from all the sudden surprise that your cup slips out and crashes to the floor.

“Shi-” You forget to watch your step and immediately catch a jagged shard that embeds itself right under the ball of your foot. “Ow, fuck!”

Your name is said in different voices but very similar tones of alarm and you suddenly find yourself gathered into Bucky’s arms, bridal style, and he carries you over to the couch. “Wh-” You swallow at the close proximity to Bucky’s chest and the way he holds you so effortlessly but so securely. “I’m fine; it’s just a little–”

Bucky sits down on the couch and doesn’t move you, which means you are basically sitting cross-wise in his lap. This is not something you need after your recent revelation, and it doesn’t get any easier when Steve comes back with the heavy duty first aid kit Bucky got you and gingerly takes your foot to examine the injury. His sympathetic look towards you gives you the warning you need to brace yourself before he pulls the shard out. It doesn’t hurt too terribly and he’s almost tender as he cleans your foot.

“Look at us, matching blood and all,” Bucky says lightly.

“It’s my floor I’ll bleed on it if I want,” you grumble, but you’re too distracted by how focused Steve is on fixing you up. “You…seem to be taking this well.”

“I knew he had been here since the first time I came,” Steve admits as he rolls the gauze around your foot. “There was a bloodstain on your floor still.”

“Seriously?” You had thought Bucky was being overdramatic about the supposed stain and humored him, but it…makes sense. Why else would he come back the next night. Why else would Steve continue to come by. And because Steve had kept coming, Bucky had kept coming, and…they won’t need to come back anymore, will they? They now have what they’ve wanted. Each other.

Someone says your name and you force yourself back to neutral as much as you possibly can. Steve looks curious though and Bucky says, “What’s with that look?”

“There’s no look,” you say. “And if there is, it’s only because you two have devised the weirdest meet-cute ever– decades after you actually met.”

“Hm.” Bucky continues to stare at you, but doesn’t say anything else.

~

They come back. And they both use the door.

You don’t know what you’re more shocked by– that Bucky and Steve, having come back to each other, are still coming around to you, or that Bucky is actually walking through the designated threshold. You don’t have a lot of time to think about it though because the place is…a mess.

“What happened here?” Steve asks as Bucky’s shoulders go up to his ears and he looks around the place like he’s going to find something unpleasant.

“It’s not that bad,” you say and glance around. You’ve cleaned out a few of the pots already and stacked them away in the closet, but some of the plants are still…slightly alive, for a little while. A couple are even doing fairly well– one of which being the snake plant Steve got you.

“What happened to the jungle?” Bucky asks, looking around shrewdly. You don’t like the sound of that. It feels so…probing, and raises your hackles. Why should he care?

“I wasn’t keeping them alive for very long.” You flick a yellowing leaf and keep your tone light. “I just got tired of it. What are…what are you doing here?”

You don’t look at Steve, but he clears his throat and his tone is similar to Bucky’s when he asks, “Is now a bad time?”

“For what?” You square your shoulders and face them. Like an adult. Like an adult who had two other adults just sort of crash into their life one day and start sharing space until such time as the two window-crashers decided they…didn’t need to come around anymore. “I’m happy you both found each other. You didn’t have to come back.”

Steve looks…well, he looks hurt. You don’t know any other way to describe it; it doesn’t show in his face so much as in his eyes, in the feeling you get watching the line of his shoulders lower. But before he can say anything, before you can explain yourself, Bucky speaks up.

“It isn’t like that,” he says.

You look down. It’s easier than looking at a man who feels rejected, and a man who has you completely pegged.

“What?” Steve asks.

“It’s okay,” you say, in perhaps the biggest bald-faced lie you’ve ever told.

“That’s not– no,” Bucky insists and lifts your chin. His fingers are warm and gentle and linger too long.

You pull back from his touch before you can embarrass yourself further. “You guys were literally circling each other.”

“Please.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “I don’t need to keep coming back here to be near Steve. I know where he lives.”

“And I leave my window unlocked,” Steve says. He aims a cheeky grin at Bucky and adds, “Guess I should have left it open though.”

“Shut up,” Bucky tells him but looks at you and says, “Point is: we weren't using you.”

Steve blinks. “Oh– no, of course not!”

“It’s all right,” you say, trying as hard as you can to assuage their discomfort even though you can’t put much into it. Even though you did very much want this meeting to happen, somehow you don’t feel very ‘all right.’

“No,” Bucky says and takes your hand in his. The flesh hand, which he runs up to the middle of your forearm. His touch is gentle and light, even when he grips. You can break away, but you don’t– you let him pull you in, close and closer, until there’s barely any room between you.

Steve crowds from the side and puts one arm behind Bucky, and one arm behind you. “If you only think we’re here because of each other, then it’s not all right,” he says softly.

“I know it isn’t– I know you weren't ‘using’ m–” You swallow hard. “And I know it’s not–”

They both swoop in for a kiss– for a kiss with you. Somehow they avoid bumping heads and the lip-lip-lip contact is barely there, with Steve at the corner and Bucky barely catching one side of your upper lip, but they're both there for a glorious moment that leaves you stunned.

“Oh…” you say, dumbly. You try to fight it, but a smile pulls at your lips. “Oh.”

“That good already, huh?” Steve asks quietly, slowly forming a small smile of his own.

You let out a little sigh that is immediately undermined by an uncontrollable laugh that swells from a bubble of relief at the base of your throat. “Bucky’s right, you are insufferable,” you say but you reach out to sweep your fingers in a gentle touch down Steve’s cheek and under his chin.

“You get used to it,” Bucky says.

You think about that. Even with how you’ve been, entertaining these two rotating planets over the last however many weeks or months, this would be an entirely new normal.

You think you can’t wait to get used to it.

[tommyspeakycap]

Hi love, I adore your writing so much! And as you just asked for some ideas/concepts here’s mine for Jack Grealish from prompts list 2: fluff #11 where he’s asking her (she’s his best friend) to go for a walk cause there’s so much going on in his life and he just needs to talk. fluff #36, angst #31 and a happy ending please? Basically a Best friends to lovers thing as I’m a sap for that…thank you!! xx

Fluff #11; “I know it’s 2 in the morning but do you want to…”

Fluff #36; “because I fell for you, isn’t it obvious?”

hope I did this justice for you!

Fell for you

“Jesus god,” you grumbled with hands aimlessly palming across the mattress for the blaring sound of your phone from its place charging somewhere on the bed. Your next move is an elongated “Ahhhhh,” sound, fatigue still holding tightly onto your body in a way that seals your eyes shut even as you try to shut off the sound your phone was deafening your with. In a wakened state, you might’ve noticed that it was your ringtone that had interrupted your sleep. However as tired as you were you ruled it as your alarm right away and moved yourself into seated position with the duvet still wrapped tight around you and your eyes still shut.

You were suspended in that space between being asleep and being awake, still sitting up when the offensive sound came screaming through your phone once again.

This time, your eyes snapped open in fright and the fatigue-blurred letters of Jack Grealish’s name popped up across the top of your screen.

“How is it morning already?” You protest down the line, a heavy sigh passing your lips to follow. Jack’s chuckle can be heard through the line, “It’s not.” He replies simply, prompting you to pull your phone away from your ear to hold out in front if your face.

02:17am

“Then why on earth am I up?” You mumble, a question more posed to yourself than the man on the other end. “Wait, why are you up? And why are you calling so early?”

“I’m outside your door.”

“You’re what?!” You throw back your duvet and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You’ve hung up the phone already by the time you reach the front door at a tired shuffle. His hair is tousled when you see him, like he’s been running his hands through it over and over, you imagine that he has. He does that when he’s stressed. You have to squint against the street lights and his car headlights outside, still on as it sits running on the street. “Can we go somewhere?” He asks, his voice as desperate as his eyes look when he speaks, begging you to agree. Not that he would need to beg. You’d do anything for that man. Even if it did mean dragging yourself from your bed at 2 in the morning.

“Course.”

No question, no pressure. He loves that from you. He knows you’ll ask him later and when the time is right you’ll force him to tell you of course. Now is not that time yet and you’re nowhere near awake enough to do so much anyway. “Let me just grab my-“

“I have a hoodie in the car and your shoes in my boot.” He cuts in, tugging your arm gently out the door of your house. He knows you better than any other person in this world, so he knows full and well that there’s not much you are going to do in the way of protesting when you’re so soon out of sleep. He’d often teased with layers of worry deeper beneath that he genuinely worried for you living on your own. You open the door to people far too easily, and he will not fail to bring that up sometime tomorrow. For now, he steps into your doorway where you had stood moments before, grabs your keys from the cabinet and pulls the door closed behind him with a click of the latch locking behind him.

The cold paving stones beneath your feet make you shine in protest, shifting your weight between each one to ease the chill. In was in that cold that you look down and make the realisation, or rather come to remember the fact that you don’t have any pyjama bottoms on. “Jack!” You yelp, “I’m not wearing trousers!” You suddenly feel very exposed and rightly so, standing outside your home suddenly very awake in only a long claret and blue shirt that only extended down to the middle of your thighs. “Eh?” He whips around, “You what?”

It’s only now he really takes you in with rosy cheeks from embarrassment, your hair messed up from your sleep. His frantic eyes soften and his heart stops thundering in his chest finally. The sight of you there calms him. You’re there. Right there. His (y/n) is right there in front of him.

“What’s the rush, Jack? Is everything okay?”

Your gentle words and tired eyes bring him back to the ground, the flurry of his racing thoughts only now finally calmed. He often acts on impulse, but you are always able to slow his brain down a few paces. His sits heavily, "I know it's two am but...do you think we could go somewhere. My heads fuckin'... I don't even know." He dips back down to run that hand through his hair once again. His words stoke a bit of a worry in you, head tilted to the side in question. Jack doesn't tend to be the kind who gets himself panicked and all wound up like he has right now. That's more your half of the friendship. You did the worrying, he did the easygoing.

"It's okay, Jack. Of course. Come on then, let's go." You nod your head and he goes around the back of the car to get the shoes and socks he promised you. You very nearly choked up a lung when he presented you with a brand new Balenciaga box. "What the fuck, Jack?" You all but wheeze out, head whipping towards him climbing into the passenger seat.

"Got you a present 'cause I'm leaving soon." He shrugs with a jaw-dropping ease. You list open the lid and inside sit a pair of sliders that cost nearly £400. You physically gawp. "Oh my god."

"What?" Jack asks, drawing out of his parking spot on the street, "Heard you telling your mum you needed new sliders for the summer, do you not like 'em?"

His nerves would be clear in his voice if you hadn't been in such a ferocious level of shock. You're glad you weren't eating anything because it surely would have choked you to death. Of course you had seen Jack wearing brands like Balenciaga, Gucci, Versace and the likes, but you had never owned such an expensive piece of clothing. "I mean of course I love them, J but I meant from Primark or bloody amazon, you shouldn't have spent al that money on me." You protested, but Jack really pays it no mind. In fact, the suggestion that you don't deserve everything luxurious that this world has to offer offends him more than it does anything else. You should know that you deserve everything good that this world can give and he has the means to actually give that to you. He'd count himself an absolute fool not to.

"Gonna pretend you didn't say that." He mutters, eyes kept carefully on the empty road ahead of his car. Your eyebrows are furrowed, a part of you brain still very much trying to a) wake up and b) process the expensive of the gift he handed to you so casually. "Not arguing about it either." His voice cuts you off the second you open your mouth to speak, shutting down your protest before it even leaves you.

As the fatigue of your sleep wears off, your mind continues to be just as boggled as it had been the moment his name popped up on your screen at 2am, if not more boggled now.

"You're acting so weird, Jack. What the hell is going on with you today?" Your insistence is careful with your pressure. It's enough to try to open him up but not enough to make it sound like a confrontation. Neither you nor Jack like confrontation especially with each other. The words make him chew on his lip as he careens the large white range rover through a turn that leads up a gravel road that crunches beneath his tires. The stops when he's met with a with a large gate that prevents cars but a little slot for people to walk through. Jack leaves his door open when he leaves the car with a curtly mumbled "Stay here" as he does. He pushes open the gate with ease before he gets back in the car and follows the path up the hill further.

He stop abruptly in a very small gravel car park without any parking lines to abide and steps out, slamming his door behind him like he absolutely always does; you swear that man couldn't be quiet if his life depended on it. Which was another reason why you were so surprised by his silence. You clamber out after him with that same fear of falling flat on your face that always fills your mind each and every time you leave his car. But Jack is where he has been every time you step out the Range Rover since the first day he got it; standing by your door to hold your hand so you can jump out without a trip onto the gravel beneath. He shuts the door behind you and hands you a spare pair of his loose fitting track pants.

On an average day you might've teased the reason he hasn't worn them was because they wouldn't have squeezed the life out his legs. Today wasn't one of those days, so you slip them on without a word. Followed up by his way too big for you socks and the brand new black slides. Even wide awake, this confuses you to no end. Jack was never quiet and never elusive. He was boisterous, loud, open and confident.

The second you turn around, you realise why he brought you here.

The view of the stars, the sky completely clear. There wasn't a street lamp in sight. The moon provided the kind of spotlight hue that you kind of thought only existed in the enhancement of Hollywood movies. "Woah," you breathe, words stolen by its beauty.

"Yeah," Jack laughs, "Now you know how I feel every time I look at you."

You head turns to him so fast it sends your head spinning a little, or maybe that's just the shock of his words. You couldn't tell.

"What?"

He shrugs his shoulders, scuffing his feet along the gravel to meet up with where you stand. But he freezes before he gets the chance.

"Why are you wearing that?" He asks, a very sudden cold change in his tone that actually makes your body feel colder. "Wearing what? This?" You gesture to the claret and blue shirt you had thrown on in a haste to get to him standing at your front door a short while ago. You turn to see his unhappy scowl and the firm discontented cross of his strong arms. "Yeah that," he grumbles, "And where'd you even get it." He adds with a flare of his nostrils. He looks adorable angry like this, like he's trying so hard to look angry when his emotions lie truly elsewhere.

You look down at the shirt with furrowed brows, before you shift your shoulder forward, crane your neck and pull the material around to view the back as best you could. "What's wrong with it?" You ask finally, attempts to defy the natural state of your body failing to allow you to see your back.

"It's Ginny's." Jack states as if its the most obvious thing in the world. You just look at him bewildered. "And?"

He huffs as he takes a few more heavy steps up to you, looking like he had a lot of things to say without any way of being able to get them to coordinate from his brain to his lips. "Why do you have Ginny's shirt though?"

You breathe a little bit of laughter at him, shaking your head softly. "it was just a joke. I saw him after a match waiting for you so I jumped out at him and pretended to be a fan for a video and he signed it and gave to me as a joke. I just threw it on when you showed up at my door in the middle of the night. Wasn't exactly a fashion statement."

Jack still grunts in dissatisfaction at your answer, refusing to meet your eyes. "You have plenty of mine to wear though, don't need his." His argues in a disgruntled grumble. You raise and drop your arms down by your side with a sigh. He was really testing your patience now. "Hm, last time I checked you couldn't give me yours anymore because your ex didn't like it." You protest with a wag of your finger, making him turn his head downwards with something like a shudder running through him at the mention of her name. "Yeah well there's a reason she's my ex innit." He mutters under his breath.

"What the hell is the problem with you today Jack?" You exclaim, his eyes jolting to you in surprise. You don't often snap.

"First you show up at my door in the middle of the night and drag me out of my house and then you won't actually speak to me and now you're picking a fight about John M fucking Ginn?" You snap, the anger and confusion he had stirred up showing in your emphatic hand gestures that only come out when you're telling him a passionate story or going off your head at him. "He's your best mate, why would that even bother you?!"

"I'm sorry, I-"

"I'm not done, Jack!" You yell, holding out a hand. "You haven't even spoken to me all week. I found out you made the England call up on fucking twitter Jack, twitter! And your mum told me about you dumping your girl and I can't even get through to you and now you're buying me gifts and bringing me here? I don't know if I'm coming or going here Jack, you have to give me something. We're meant to be friends." You voice breaks on the last syllable and a lump forms in Jack's throat that he can't just swallow away. Any pain, any hurt and any slight sadness of emotion that appears in you shatters his heart. He thought that was a normal reaction until two weeks ago when he realised it only happens to him when its your upset he witnesses.

"I'm sorry." He says, his voice thick and wavering with the same level of emotion. "I really, really am." He stands right in front of you now, so close you're basically chest to chest, faces merely inches apart.

"And I'm scared." He admits, sending a pang through your already aching heart. "Scared because I'm leaving and I can't take you with me." His words tickle your lips as they leave his, clouds of air puffing above the two of you as his hot breath meets the cold night air. "You've done it before, J. It'll be fine." You soothe, hands gently raising to reach up and brush the hair out of his face. His let's forth a content sigh of relief at the feeling of your touch. "That was before though." He confesses with a slight shrug. He watches that furrow sow itself back into your brows.

"Before what?"

"Dance with me?" He suggests, his arms finding their way around you with ease, much less fumbley than you remember from your high school prom. Your head tilts in that adorable confused way that makes a grin form on his cold lips.

"Why?" You query, eyes slightly narrowed in suspicion. He laughs softly. "Because the music is slow and the sky is gorgeous and because I love you."

Before you get the chance to recognise, process or even understand what he said, he's swaying you around the gravel under the stars.

"Because you what?" You squeak, your eyes desperately searching his as you look for any reason this might be some kind of a joke or one of pranks that makes you want to throttle him. He just smiles at you with those crinkled eyes and the love shining right there in his eyes for you to see. Your stomach flutters like the teenager you were when you fell in love with him. His lips dip down to capture yours in the best kiss that your being has ever felt, his hands ringing your hair, stroking down over your cheeks with those warm hands of his.

"Because I've fell for you, isn't it obvious?"

[fangirl-creates]

The Most Unlikely Thing

A Stolitz Wedding One-Shot

Inspired by this lovely art by @sator-the-wanderer on Instagram (Link at the end)

(Note: This is my first time writing with Helluva Boss Characters—I was worried they wouldn’t be in character, but I hope you enjoy!!)

Most would say a night like this would never happen. That it was one of the many outlandish and downright ridiculous thoughts that appeared within the mind of anyone who knew them. If you said it outloud, you’d get a quick laugh out of the person you told, then the subject would be changed in an instant-as if it was never said at all.

Moxxie had that thought once. Right around 2AM he woke up from an uneventful dreamscape, and processed the thought with every ounce of his intellect. Even after that, it still made no sense. He turned to Millie’s side, taking a deep breath before he spoke.

“Millie? Are you awake?”

His wife stirred for a moment, a small yawn before she responded. “Yeah, Moxx?” She mumbled.

“I...had a weird thought..” He sat up, running his hand through his snow-white hair, soon scratching the top of his head.

“What was it?” She sat up a little, both curious and worried about what he might be thinking.

“Well-” He paused for a moment, giving the room a good look around before he continued. If a certain someone was here, listening, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. “It’s about Blitz and uh...Prince Stolas.”

Millie’s golden eyes widened as her tail started swishing like a curious cat. Any worry she had was gone, now she wanted to know all the details surrounding this. “Well?? Don’t keep me in suspense!” She smiled eagerly, shaking him by the arm a little.

“So like...and this is just a hypothetical..” He chuckled, smiling nervously for a quick second. “I just wondered for a second...well..” At this moment their eyes were locked, Moxxie’s face now torn between smiling or frowning. He had no idea what to feel. “Do you think they could ever...end up like us?”

Millie tilted her head, raising a brow. “Ya mean like...married ‘n stuff?”

Moxxie nodded a few times. “Yeah, Yeah! Do you...do you think-?”

She put a hand on her chin. “Well...I don’t think it isn’t possible. I mean...I’m pretty sure...excluding their little agreement...maybe they do like each other..”

“Do they though?” He started to lay down again, now staring at the ceiling. “I mean clearly Stolas likes him to the point where he won’t stop gushing over him. But...Blitz?”

“Who knows, hon. Blitz hardly talks about how he really feels. Maybe he does. And maybe one day they will…” The last thing didn’t sound so sure.

Moxxie turned his head. “But?”

“All relationships are complex, Moxx. And those two? Hell, it could take them years before they even think about something like that. But then again…”

“What?”

“Sometimes the thing you least expect might happen sooner than you think.”

Moxxie blinked a couple times, squinting a bit. “Sooo...you do or you don’t think they could-” He was interrupted by Millie giving him a kiss on the lips. She turned the light off next, shifting back into her sleeping position.

“Goodnight, Moxxie.”

Moxxie sighed, slowly closing his eyes as sleep began to cloud his mind again.

He still couldn’t believe he actually thought that. Although it wasn’t the worst thing in the world, it still surprised him no less. But despite how much he just wanted to forget it, it made him think about what Millie said.

It was true Blitz was starting to show a small glimmer of affection towards the Goetian Prince, especially since the rescue from a few nights ago. The concern and sudden display of power through a demonic transformation was enough to make Blitz gawk at the sight of it. And the way Stolas gently cupped his face asking if he was alright afterwards made everyone else in the room stare, Blitz feeling slightly embarrassed by the whole situation.

Yet it still made him think that maybe...just maybe something like that could happen. But that wasn’t up to him. Whatever they decided would leave this idea, this thought, completely within the hands of faith itself.

And with that, Moxxie fell asleep.

———————

Three years ago, it was never spoken of outside of that one night. And neither of the two had ever acted upon such a decision until much much time had passed. But now the stars were in their favor.

The sky was a dark, beautiful crimson that had mixed with a captivating wine purple. The stars were scattered, dusting the sky and turning it into a dazzling display of twilight.

They had kept it small, the only ones being present were close friends and family—which was basically four people. But it didn’t matter how many people were there, or where they did it. All that mattered was that it happened—which had ended up on the roof of I.M.P’s office building.

The vows had been short, with a few important bits here and there; Moxxie having to be both the one to wed them and the best man to the boss himself. He wasn’t sure he had the exact authority to do so, but both explained it was better than having someone else they didn’t know. Because once this got out, they’d have a whole other thing to deal with. But that was a future problem they would solve when it became relevant to them.

Blitz was given a stepstool so he could reach Stolas without having to stand on the tips of his toes. He didn’t want the stepstool, saying that he’d look like a complete joke. But if Stolas had to lift him up for this part, he would be unable to think clearly from the embarrassment.

Stolas didn’t seem to care how many people were present, or where they decided to host the reception. There was only one thing that mattered in this moment, and the smile of genuine compassion refused to leave his face the entire night. Blitz looking up with him while trying to contain himself only seemed to make him smile more. He was adorable.

Both eagerly waited for Moxxie to finish up, Blitz trying to keep himself from falling off the stool by how much he was moving. Of course he stood perfectly still once he heard the last few words out of Moxxie’s mouth.

“You may now kiss—”

Blitz practically jumped into Stolas’ embrace, quickly locking lips with him as the two slowly started to get lost in intimacy.

The four clapped while giving the newly weds smiles of congratulations. But those quickly faded away when they noticed the two weren’t paying attention anymore. The passionate kissing lasted for almost two minutes before Loona had to break them away from each other.

“Hey, lovebirds. Maybe wait till none of us can see you.” She rolled her eyes, putting Blitz down after basically pulling him off of Stolas.

Blitz put a hand on his head, taking a look around. “Oh shit, I forgot we were doing this.”

Stolas bent over with a light chuckle, booping Blitz’s nose. “-and aren’t you so glad we did, Blitzy~?”

The Imp pushed his face away as he blushed a bit more. “Yeah yeah just…don’t make it a bigger deal than it already is..”

“Looks like someone’s trying to pretend he can’t be romantic for once.” Moxxie smirked, making Blitz turn around in retaliation. His face was now a different form of red.

“Well you know what, Moxxie?! You—!” Then he stopped, biting his lip as he put his accusing finger away. “You…did..a good job…tonight..” He mumbled under his breath.

Moxxie kept smirking, raising a hand to where his ear would be. “Oh, what was that? Could you repeat what you said a little louder?”

Blitz shifted uncomfortably, hoping this was the last time. None of this was like him. And in front of his entire friend circle too!

“You…didagoodjobtonight..” He said it louder as per Moxxie’s request, just a bit faster than normal. Now everyone heard him…however-

“Maybe a little louder…and slower?” He leaned in closer.

“Goddammit, Moxxie! I already held back insulting you just let me have this!” He snapped a little, making everyone else just laugh in response. Moxxie put a hand on his shoulder, his smile genuine.

“Thanks, Blitz.”

———————

The rest of the wedding had lasted a couple hours. Since the group was so small, dancing and talking underneath Hell’s strangely unnatural starlight felt more meaningful.

Eventually, M&M had to leave. But they wished the two best of luck, the wedding present they got the only thing left of them from tonight. Octavia and Loona decided to head inside the office to give their dads space. Now that they were legally sisters, hanging out would feel more genuine. Like you had someone else there looking out for you. Loona now was able to shout anything about being her big sister to anyone who tried to mess with them.

Up on the roof, Blitz and Stolas were laying down on what used to be the tablecloth to the buffet, staring at the stars. Blitz had taken advantage of using Stolas’ chest as a fluffy pillow. It was so comforting, like he could just lay there forever and never get up. But then…something did make him get up. He sat and hugged his knees close, his expression somewhat distraught. His eyes turned briefly to the owl demon, feeling strange.

“Stolas?” He finally broke the silence.

Stolas had already taken note of Blitz sitting up. But he quickly sat up when next he saw his partner’s face.

“What’s the matter, Blitzy? Are you feeling alright?” His questions were genuine, making Blitz feel worse.

“Is this…is this what you want? Do you really want…me?” Something in his voice cracked and that made Stolas’ heart feel a strike of pain.

“Of course I do! Tell me, what brought this on?” He held Blitz’s chin in his hand gently so their eyes met once more.

“It’s…It’s just how we started out. And everything after that…I don’t know why it took me so fucking long to actually admit that I…” He paused. “…felt this way.”

“And?”

“And…I didn’t think that you would actually..! You…You said yes.” His eyes started to water. “Why the hell did you say yes?!”

Stolas pulled him in close, caressing his back. “Because I love you, Blitzy…And you being there all those times, even when I didn’t truly feel this way—it still meant something to me. And I know it meant something to you.”

Blitz let out a crying sound, something he would never do. At least, not in public. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, but he just felt so vulnerable now…and he hated it. Stolas quickly responded to this by cupping his face and lifting it up so they were at eye level again.

The Imp’s lip was quivering and his eyes were bloodshot enough to almost blend in with his eye color. The tears were staining his cheeks, big droopy ones making him look like an absolute wreck. He looked even more embarrassed now than he did before.

Stolas wiped some of the tears away with one of his hands, a comforting smile. “Oh, Blitzy…do you think we’d really be here if I didn’t feel this way?”

He sniffed, trying to contain himself before he responded. “No..None of this would be…” He took a deep breath. “I guess I’m so used to pushing people away I never thought you’d actually stick around.”

Stolas gave him another kiss, shorter than before, but something about this one felt even more emotional than the last. Something about this one made Blitz want nothing more than to be with him. No matter what his fears were telling him.

“I love you, Blitzy…” It was the third or fourth time he had said it tonight, but this time it felt deeper.

“I love you too, Stolas…” He returned the kiss, both landing back down on the floor.

It was at that moment they refused to let this feeling leave them. For even though the memory of this magical night would fly by, they would never ever forget it.

End.

https://www.instagram.com/p/CSwKEoNLU9O/?utm_medium=copy_link

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Sator Rotas (@sator_the_wanderer)

[goldenkirstein]

She lives in daydreams with me

or alternatively, when jean and you visit Ikea

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

pairing: jean x fem! reader

wc: 1.5k+

tags: fluff, modern! au, female reader, language, mentions of food.

a/n: I was inspired by this post, also I just like Ikea, I think Jean would to tbh. am i living out my own daydreams with Jean by writing this? potentially. i love him lol. Feedback and any criticism encouraged lmao.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Your head tilted as you stared dead-on at the boy in front of you.

“Jean, what is that?”

“What are you talking about baby, this is a-” He squinted, looking at the tag, of what you assumed to be a night light?

“An-garna.” Jean looked back up at you, grinning widely.

You had come earlier to Ikea, needing to buy some storage baskets for your room, and yet here you were standing in a miniature model of a child’s room, staring at the six-foot three-man holding a children’s night light, that had...Was that panda face design on it?

“Jean, my love, my dear, we don’t have kids; why on Earth would I need a children’s night light?” The toothy grin quickly disappeared from his face, quickly replaced with a stern expression.

“Just because something is marketed towards children doesn’t mean adults can’t buy it, and anyways I was merely suggesting it, knowing how you can’t sleep after watching horror movies.” It’s more like when he can’t sleep after watching, but his ego would never let him admit that.

You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend, “put it in the cart, Kirstein.” He flashed you a smile, coming over and placing a kiss on your cheek before mumbling a small thank you.

As much as you would act annoyed or unamused when it came to Jean’s antics, it was more or less a front. You loved it when he would let his guard down in public with you. He wasn’t always like this; the Jean you met years prior would be caught dead before expressing his affections in public. He would get easily flustered, blush to sport his face if anyone he knew saw him admiring and doting on his girlfriend. It wasn’t something that deeply upset you; in a way, you were able to keep a tiny part of Jean to yourself, the goofy, tender side of him that he only let out when he was with you. However, watching him become more confident in himself and expressing his love for you outranked any desires that you had to keep Jean bottled up for your gratification.

He walked in front, long legs carrying him practically miles in front of you until he turned a corner and found himself situated in a living-room model. You followed shortly after and saw that he was making himself comfortable on a charcoal-grey couch.

“Mm, come sit,” he patted gently on the cushion next to him, gesturing to you to join him on the sofa. You raised your eyebrows and let out a giggle, situating the cart near a side table before accompanying him.

“What do you wanna watch babe,” Jean tilted his head, signalling to the fake flat-screen in front of you. You thought about tormenting the boy; however, you opted to play along with him this time.

“Oooh, I don’t know, check if the new Grey’s episode is out.” He smiled at you, appreciating your willingness to get lost in this daydream with him. His smile quickly shifted into a mischievous grin as he poked your side.

“Heyyy, what the fuck was that for!” You recoiled, shrinking away from him, but before you could get far enough away from him, he pulled you back into his side. You tried squirming away from him, only for his grip on you to get stronger, and you were met with a chuckle—the noise reverberating around the tiny living room.

“Really? Greys? On a night like this?” You shifted your body, turning your head to look at the “window” covered with sheer beige curtains, overlaid with opaque maroon ones. Outside, or rather you should say the wall was painted white, so you began drumming up a scenario in your mind. That was tonight, a spring evening, stars visible in the night sky? Or a cold and snowy winter’s night? The purple tinge of the atmosphere apparent through the translucent curtains. Jean stared at you intently, wondering what you will come up with, his gaze shifting as the corners of your lips upturned; you had settled on an idea.

“Oooh yeah, it’s practically pitch black outside; I can only see the streetlights in the distance. We should really do something about that pesky tree, though. Its branches keep tapping on the window; it’s frankly quite annoying.” A rosy tinge was present on his cheeks, hazel eyes twinkling at you.

You placed a hand on his chest, your focus entirely on the love-struck boy in front of you, “You know what? We should totally watch a horror movie!” Just as you began to immerse yourself in the daydream, Jean shot up from the couch, leaving an indent where he was sitting behind.

“Alright, enough dilly-dallying, we should go home now.” He clapped his hands together, moving to grab the cart to leave the store display.

Dilly-dallying? Did he really just say dilly-dallying?

“What’s wrong, Jean-boy? This is our home! Oooh, don’t tell me you don’t wanna watch because you’re scared.” You fell back on the couch, beaming, elbows propping you up as you teased him.

“Am not. I just decided that I’m in the mood for cinnamon rolls and fro-yo.” He placed his elbow on the handles of the cart, head resting in the palm of his hand. He gave you an unimpressed look.

“Oh really? Who’s that night-light for again? I seem to have forgotten.” This time it was his turn to roll his eyes at you. Without saying anything, he placed his hands back on the cart’s handle and began to leave the “living room.”

You swung your legs over, a giggle leaving your mouth as you walked over to your boyfriend. You wrapped your arms around his middle, resting your cheek on him. “Babe, I was just joking; I didn’t mean to upset you,” you mumbled into him.

He let out a sigh and stopped in the middle of the aisle. You watched as he brought one of his hands down to grasp one of yours that had taken hold of his waist. Jean turned to face you, head tilting as a slight smirk overtook his face. “That’s what I was waiting to hear.” He placed a soft kiss on your forehead before turning around to continue rolling the cart forward to his destination.

His arm extended behind him, motioning to you to hold his hand. You obliged, your palm sliding in his, fingers curling around your knuckles as his. “Whatever,” you grumbled, choosing to turn your head to observe the variety of rugs that were hanging on display. He tugged at your hand, an amused expression painting his face.

“You want those cinnamon buns or not, pretty girl?” The pet name almost made you choke. He knew what it would do to you. He would use it sparsely, only to coax a reaction out of you, but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of letting him know the hold he had over you.

You whipped your head back to face him, confident to quip back at him, but it all melted when you saw the way he was looking at you; a lop-sided smirk, his tongue peeked out to wet his bottom lip before capturing it between his teeth. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for what you had to say.

“Yeah, I do.” You managed to slip a few words out. He had won this one, using his charms to debilitate any assuredness you had. He brought your linked hands up to his lips, tenderly kissing the back of your hand, humming in delight.

“You know, we should come here more often, live out our domestic daydreams together.” The smells of cinnamon buns were getting stronger as you walked on.

“Sure, but you could also just move in with me.”

The tips of his ears went red, and you paused, realizing what you just said, the weight of what you just said. You had thought about asking him to move in with you, but you didn’t mean for it to slip out in the middle of a random conversation; in Ikea nonetheless. “I- You don’t have to. I was just joking. I don’t know why I said that.”

Your voice dwindled to merely a whisper as you completed your sentence. Jean stopped the cart once more. “Yes. Yes, I’ll move in with you.” His expression was earnest as he looked at you, eyes glittering with adoration as he waited for your response.

“Whoa, whoa, hold your horses cowboy. We can talk about this after you get me those cinnamon buns you promised.” you wiped any sense of embarrassment from your face as you tried to suppress your laughter, which was caused by the zealousness your boyfriend had just shown.

However, there was no doubt that your heart did grow in fondness for Jean, and you were relieved that he wasn’t off-put by your haphazard confession. He was absolutely whipped for you, and you couldn’t deny that you were head over heels in love with him either. You desired to continue to share your life with him, and moving in together would be the next step in your relationship.

“Yes, Ma’am” His voice broke you out of your thoughts as he placed his hand to his forehead to salute you. You giggled at his actions.

“Lead the way, Kirstein.”

a/n: lol, this was practically for my own self-indulgence. and i feel like this was a tad bit ooc idk. Anywayssss, I would like to mention that I'm working on a navigation page with taglists and such and thinking about requests. I wanna branch out write for more aot characters as well as jjk and hq. Again, I'm very new to this so it's gonna take some time. I would love to know ur thoughts on all of this lol.

As always, please leave a like/reblog (i love reading tags makes me happy heh) if you enjoyed this, I appreciate lots <33

[hugespace]

Therapy helps rhett realize that all of those "I'm dead" UFC moves were actually just a way to fulfill his need for physical intimacy at a time in his life where he didn't feel it was acceptable to ask for it, especially from another man. Now that they're both adults and completely different people than they were in college, rhett decides it's time to explain it all to link and let him know that he actually misses that physical contact with him.

It took me a really long while, but I finally finished this one! I really loved that prompt, so thank you so much for giving it to me, lovely Anon. I was initially going to write it as a platonic/romantic friendship kinda story, but it seems I'm determined to write a hundred different first kiss + feelings realisation scenarios, I simply enjoy those way too much.

*** 2,5K ***

Let me hold you

He’s done it again.

Not so long ago, Rhett promised himself not to bring it up in front of cameras or a microphone unless he talks it out with Link, privately.

Especially not as a joke.

And he’s failed already, he scolds himself short after the Ear Biscuits episode is recorded and they’re both out of the room, heading back towards their office.

He thinks he could have just omitted it, shouldn’t have mentioned anything. It simply wasn’t necessary to mull over it again, even with the topic of the episode revolving around their college experience. It wasn’t a big deal, he said it himself, countless times. Every time they talked about it on the show.

So, every time.

There’s never been a conversation in private about that incident or anything that preluded it, never in the absence of people to entertain, never not around at least one recording device. Because why would there be? It wasn’t a big deal. A funny story, s’all.

He’s also never been able to just let things go, though, and thanks to that inability, the lore of wrestling and the “I’m dead” move had to live on. It was an innocent story, a funny albeit embarrassing one – their unofficial brand after all, an easy misunderstanding and a fun little anecdote, not his carefully curated version of what happened, nor a watered-down one, not just a part of the entire story devoid of any feelings associated with it, not a big deal-! And most of all, not… true. Not true.

Rhett isn’t sure if Link has been consciously going along with that wordlessly agreed upon version of what their UFC phase looked like, repressing the truth behind it, or… simply never realised what it meant for Rhett and genuinely thought of it as a humorous yet insignificant part of their friendship in the past.

Most likely the third option, he has to assume. After all, why would Link attach any meaning to it? It’s not like anything actually ever happened, not outside of Rhett’s mind at least. Frankly, he himself went decades without understanding his own motivations, more than once confused by why the memories of wrestling with his friend and laying on top of him felt both shameful and deeply comforting. Why even long after they grew up, stopped being kids, and as a result retired all their UFC moves, the only way he could describe what he felt thinking about that time was longing.

Until therapy happened.

Just like with many different things in his life:

There was something in the darkness, and then therapy shone a light on it.

It was like there were countless situations he navigated solely on instinct, without paying much thought to the reasons behind why he acted a certain way, and once therapy equipped him with the ability to do so, he unearthed an entire deep layer of feelings and emotions that were always there. Just hidden, even from himself.

The wrestling being one of those things.

So, he thinks Link doesn’t know.

And he’s finally determined to change that.

Why now, when he’s had so many chances to talk to Link over the years ever since he started being more in touch with himself? He doesn’t really have an answer; it’s just that after talking about it with such levity again, after repeatedly making a joke out of it, it feels like he might explode if he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t confess to Link what it was really like. And most of all, it feels like the yearning has become stronger lately, and the conversation yet again playing it all off as them being young and silly only ignited it, made the flame inside of Rhett burn brighter, threatening to make his heart combust.

“I need to talk to you about something that’s been on my mind.” Rhett says easily once they’re in the office. It’s not an unsure statement or a nervous plea with words tumbling out of his mouth before he can lose his cool and change his mind. It would have been all that and more a couple of years ago, sure.

But he’s a different man now. He’s not afraid to tell the person who’s been with him for almost the entirety of his life what he feels.

Link, however. He does look unsure, a bit alarmed even, when he looks at Rhett and responds.

“Sure-? What is it? Do you wanna talk now?”

It’s just like him to worry. Run a hundred different scenarios in his head, most of them negative, trying to prepare himself for every possible outcome of a serious conversation before it even began. It’s an anxious survival instinct that makes Link resilient to even the worst that life has to offer and able to face it all head on. But right now, it’s nothing scary. Rhett doesn’t want his friend to be worried, so he quickly says as much.

“Don’t worry, s’not bad. Just something we talked about on the podcast today.” The blonde sits down on the couch and pats the cushion next to him, hoping he appears to be as calm as he truly feels inside and that it might dissolve some of Link’s concern, still written all over his face.

The other man takes his place on the sofa and looks at him expectingly.

“Right. So-“ Rhett’s calmness doesn’t completely evaporate once Link gives him his full attention, but it’s suddenly laced with some nerves. “About the wrestling. You know, in college. And before that. And- Especially about my ‘I’m dead’ move. I’ve been thinking about it, and-“

“Rhett, I swear, if you made me sit down for a talk only to tell me you’d like to make it a part of our conflict resolution again, then ha-ha. Very funny. I’d like to go get myself some coffee now.” Link cuts him off with an unamused look in his eyes and almost makes a move to stand up.

Rhett is quicker though and grabs the brunette’s arm before he can really move, effectively making him stay in place.

“What? No. That’s not what I’m saying. Like, at all. I-“ He realises he’s still holding onto Link’s arm and instinctively wants to retract his hand, but that same feeling that led him to initiating this conversation in the first place makes him reconsider. “I’ve been thinking about what it all meant and why I did that, especially when we fought or you were angry with me, and-“

“Because we were young.” Link quickly answers what wasn’t even a question. “We had too much energy and neither of us really wanted to hurt the other by punching him or- or fighting in earnest. What else would it mean.”

“Link can you let me talk? I’m trying to say something important.” Rhett squeezes Link’s forearm. “So, as I was saying. I mostly did it when you were angry or I was feeling unsure, and I didn’t realise it back then, but- But I know now, that I just… needed reassurance. You know, physical contact.” He explains, looking straight into Link’s eyes and trying to interpret his reaction before it comes.

When nothing happens, and the brunette just stares back at him with a furrowed brow, he feels compelled to continue and elaborate.

“Like when people… hug after an argument-?” His brain almost challenges him to make a different comparison, presenting a parallel between laying half-naked on top of your best friend and another activity people often partake in to make up after a fight. But that’s not- It’s not what he’s trying to say. It’s not like that.

The face in front of him frowns in confusion, blue eyes squinting and mouth opening and closing again, only letting out a puff of air and no sound at first.

When Link finally responds, his voice is unsure, like he suspects that he’s not understanding something right. “Are you trying to tell me you wanted to hug me when we bickered, so you pushed me to the floor and laid on me till I was even angrier, instead…?”

That’s not fully what Rhett meant, but it’s close enough, so he nods.

“What the crap, Rhett-? You're not making any sense.”

“Okay, listen…” He decides to go for a different approach. “We still don’t hug after arguments. We never hug hello. I think I could count on my fingers how many times we’ve actually hugged each other as adults, outside of the show!”

“Yeah! That’s just not what we do! We’ve never done those things, it’s just not a part of our relationship- I still don’t know what you wanna tell me here Rhett.” Link throws his hands in the air in a gesture of resignation.

“I want it to be a thing we do, okay?! I always did, but I was afraid to ask for it so I just took what you could give me without talking about it. Can’t have actual intimacy? Make up a UFC thing so I can be close to you! Can’t hold you when I’ve made you mad? Better lay on top of you till you give up and have no choice but stop!” Rhett pauses to finally take a breath.

“That time that guy saw us- I’m sure you remember I stormed off right after-? I panicked, it was like him seeing us and thinking there was something else happening almost made feel like it was something else, and since I started it, it also felt like I wanted it to be something else. I got so angry at myself for even trying and I never did it again. I’m sure you remember that, too!” Words flow out of Rhett in a hurried and increasingly loud cascade, while Link’s eyes grow bigger and comprehension dawns on his face.

“I know how stupid it sounds. But you know how I was. We were well into our thirties when I still refused to get close to you. And it’s not that I didn’t want to, it was the opposite – I wanted it a lot, man.”

„But I thought...?” Link seems to be turning a thought over in his head. “I thought you just never liked it. That the wrestling thing was about you… asserting dominance. That’s what it felt like at least. Like you trying to act like an older brother or somethin’.”

“No- It was me wanting to be close to you and not knowing how to ask for it. My very convoluted way of expressing love, you could call it. And I’m sorry it took me-“

“What changed-? I mean, what made you wanna talk about it?” There’s urgency in Link’s voice when he cuts Rhett off.

“I… I realised I miss it. I told you, we still don’t really hug or get intimate, however that sounds, and I’m not gonna just topple you and pin you to the ground again. We’re too old for that. For once, I don’t think either my back or your shoulders would survive if we started wrestling every time I wanted to be affectionate. But also- We’re over forty, Link. What does it say about me if I can’t just ask a person I love and have loved for almost four decades to hold me when I need it and would resort to, well, aggression-? That’s not how it should work.”

Link ponders Rhett’s words for a few beats before opening his mouth again, only to let three breathy words escape. “You love me-?”

It seems like the wrong thing to focus on, Rhett just opened up to say he not only craves physical intimacy now, but also struggled with that same need when they were younger so badly, he had to invent an entire intricate system allowing him to be closer, and Link questions the one thing he knows already. Because of course he knows, Rhett’s said as much dozens of times, of course he loves him. But it appears he has to say it anyway, judging from the weird look in Link’s eyes.

“I do, of course I lo-“ The blonde begins, yet he doesn’t get a chance to finish and ask whether Link heard the other part of his confession at all, because at once, his mouth isn’t free to keep talking and there’s no air left in his lungs as the man who was just sitting right next to him plunges forward and collides with him, lips first.

Oh. Rhett manages to form one more coherent thought despite being startled and entirely taken aback. Link misunderstood. That’s why he got hung up on the love confession. That’s not what Rhett meant, that’s not what he was trying to say, it’s not like that-

He feels like he should clear things up as quickly as possible. Logically, he should be panicking, racking his brain for a way to straighten things up, to explain to Link that it wasn’t what he was trying to say without making things worse, without ruining everything and making his best friend feel miserable and embarrassed, until…

Until Rhett realises his body went rogue and started responding without his conscious decision, his lips are moving against the other man’s, one of his hands is cupping Link’s face, while the other strayed away and is caressing his back. And it feels like his heart is trying to break out of the ribcage with how hard it’s pounding in his chest, along with his stomach doing wild summersaults. And he’s not panicking, not at all. And it’s not a misunderstanding, how could it, when he loves Link with his entire soul, with his whole being- And exactly like that, it hits him. Starting this conversation, he thought he already understood everything, but he didn’t– there was still that last puzzle piece missing.

They come up for air, panting from the intensity of that first kiss, foreheads flush with each other. Rhett finishes the sentence he began before Link’s move changed everything. “Of course I love you.” He means it now, he means it exactly like Link took it and can’t comprehend how he didn’t think of it before, but it’s perfectly obvious now.

So he hugs Link. He encircles the man’s body with his long arms, squeezes, and holds him, feels his friend snuggle into him, nuzzle his face into the crook of his neck and breathe deeply, holding Rhett's larger body in return.

All he needed was ask for the closeness.

He asked, and he got it.

He got all he wanted and so much more.

So, so much.

[notnctu]

through the lens ❀ l.jn

❀ lee jeno x fem!reader ❀ genre - slow burn, smut/mature content, fluff (romance?), slight angst ❀ details - photographer!jeno, model!reader, college!au, shy!jeno but he aint shy in bed, strangers to fuckers!au ❀ word count - 8k (this is the longest thing ive ever written) ❀ warnings - nude modeling, swearing, oral (f/receiving), some sweet love makin’ ❀ brief synopsis - jeno asks you to model for his internship project, but little did you know, it was going to be a nude photo shoot.  

❝ jeno was too shy to hold eye contact, but he stared at you endlessly through the lens. ❞

❀ a/n - hihihi this is author doie❀ ! im bad at writing smut so pls dont hate me ah ha lol i tried my best i also dont model/do professional photography so really apologize if i butcher any terms lmaoo the only thing i am is that im in college and im shy

Jeno had applied to almost a hundred internships and almost close to none returned with an offer, even after a whole month of waiting. He absolutely needed to start building his portfolio before the beginning of his senior year of college. The embarrassment of possibly graduating without any experience loomed over the desperate boy. 

Photography had been more than a hobby to him, to the point where he wanted to take it seriously. His parents weren’t the most supportive of an Arts major, but that couldn’t stop him. Jeno saw the best through a camera lens. He had a special eye for beautiful moments and the impressing urge to capture it forever. 

It was too late to change his major, if he wanted to graduate with all of his friends. If he wanted to be successful, he had to act on it now. 

The swoosh! of a new email startled the sleeping boy. He stared at the brightly lit screen, reading the words over and over again to make sure it was real. Jeno was so enthralled with excitement that he scrambled out of bed to wake up his roommate, Jaemin.

He shook him so violently that the sheets fell from Jaemin’s warm body. “Dude! I got an internship!” He spoke with incredible glee, a wide smile couldn’t leave his face.

Jaemin groaned and had to hold Jeno by the shoulders to halt the boy from causing the room to spin. “Why--What is going on?” He dazely rubbed his tired eyes to blink at his giddy roommate.

The screen blinded Jaemin as it was shoved too closely to adjust. “Whoa--,” he pushed it away and shut his eyes, “--repeat what you just said one more time.” Jaemin held a finger up and Jeno grabbed it, jumping onto his best friend’s bed.

“I got an internship. Someone got back to me.” Jaemin returned the same excitement the moment he processed his words. He shot up in bed and hugged his friend tightly. 

“Wo-w, dude! Congratulations!” The two boys hurried on their feet to cheer together. There was no concern for the rest of their housemates, only celebration that roared throughout the entire night.

+

Truthfully, Jeno had no recollection of applying to this studio. It could have been a random link on a job scouting website, but he couldn’t be more grateful. An internship was long overdue and Jeno had been itching to get some recognition for his craft. 

“Hello, I’m Lee Jeno.” He bowed slightly at the receptionist, who had a stern stare that made him feel vulnerable. The first thing he noted about the office: white and minimalistic. 

Jeno’s specialty was landscape photography. His aesthetics consisted of black and white filters, city lights, dark mood lighting, and background commotion. He enjoyed capturing chaos the most, a scene where more than one thing was happening. The only reason being that there was more to look at. 

“Nice to meet you. The name is Lee Taemin, but you can call me what you please.” A young, lean man strolled his way towards Jeno with a wide grin and his hand for him to shake. Taemin was slightly shorter than him, but his stylish, expensive boots made up for his height. He had to be only a maximum of five years older than Jeno as Taemin appeared relatively youthful. 

Taemin’s firm grip pulled Jeno along inside the studio. A small gasp escaped from Jeno which earned robust laughter from the older man. “I hope you can break out of your shell soon. There is no room for timidness around here, Mister Lee.”

“Please, you can call me Jeno.” He smiled, quite awkwardly at the beautiful man. 

The tall glass windows, the concrete, gray floor, the white doors that lined the hallway, had to be all too predictable. Jeno envisioned this is what high class must look like. It was the pristine, bright feeling and the smell of vanilla that lingered distastefully. There was chatter behind the closed doors --- mainly directing, and high praises. 

The only off-put was that photographers worked behind closed doors. From the few studios he has visited previously, photographers often worked in open spaces due to lighting fractures or the ability to roam more freely. 

“I’m actually very ecstatic you signed up for the internship, since you do seem a bit on the younger side.” Taemin gestured toward the sofa in the middle of his massive office. Jeno sat across from him. Water was already placed on the glass coffee table that separated the two. A laptop was opened to face Taemin.

Jeno slyly rubbed the condensation from his palms on his jeans. Taemin’s stare bore deep into the shy boy, who had to break eye contact from time to time. “I know.” Jeno chuckled nervously, “thank you for getting back to me. I was really hoping to gain work experience through mentorship.” 

Taemin nodded at everything Jeno was saying. His face being completely expressionless. Jeno sipped his water to regain moisture in his dry throat. Taemin was more intimidating than he was anticipating. “Sounds great. Happy to have you here. It might be a small business, but the experience is worth investing in. Every photographer who has come in and out of my building has found their forte. Let’s say, it’s eye opening.” 

“That’s exactly what I was looking for actually.” As scared as he was of this mysterious man, he really enjoyed the comfort the environment radiated. 

Taemin leaned forward and squinted at the screen. “I noticed in the portfolio you sent that you don’t have any portraits or any people, in general, in your photos. Do you have any works with people? Since this is a studio of fine art nude photography.”

Nude. Jeno practically choked on the last remaining spit he gathered. Taemin acknowledged the boy’s shocked reaction and tilted his head curiously, “you did know that I specialize in contemporary fine art nude photography, right?” Unfortunately, Jeno did not. 

Jeno cleared his throat, “yes, of course. I wanted to challenge myself.” He had to lie, there was no other way to cover up his disbelief. This internship was the only hope left for him to gain something. Though, even the thought of shooting a naked body made him anxious.

He hated how timid he was. His friends and family say otherwise, mainly for the reason that Jeno automatically lit up behind a camera. In all honesty, he hid behind it. It was the only safe place that Jeno knew what he was doing. However when it came to real life situations without it, he lacked the confidence to be himself.

As ironic as it was, he hated being seen. He liked to be the background character in his own life, because the main character took too much of a toll. It could also be his deafening insecurities and lack of self esteem, but Jeno didn’t mind not being the center of attention.

“You like a challenge?” It was more of a statement rather than a question. Jeno caught a glimpse of the twinkle in Taemin’s dark eyes. “Then for your first task, I want you to show me that you can take on this role.”

Jeno scrambled for his phone to jot down notes. “Send me an emotional portfolio, model of your choice. They could be a friend of yours that you feel comfortable seeing naked. It must include a variation of headshots, full body, and body details. It must also be raw and unedited photos. I want to see if you have the eye for the art to capture these types of images.”

“When would you like it by?” He stammered, completely winded at the sudden project that unloaded on top of him. 

“Next Friday, and you’ll present it to me here in person. Feel free to use this studio if you don’t have a place of your own with equipment. All you need to do is book a room with the front desk. Any other questions?” The sound of the laptop shutting caused Jeno to look up at the brilliance in front of him. He needed Taemin to help him succeed. 

“Why do you take nude photography?” 

Taemin was unable to stop the laughter that erupted into the room. “I don’t run a pimp business or sell soft core porn, if that’s why you’re staring at me so funnily. What I make is an art masterpiece, it has nothing to do with physical features or desires. It’s the pure emotion that clothing distracts from. Clothing conforms the model into an aesthetic, and while that works for editorials, it won’t be a consistent thing here.” 

Jeno nodded understandingly. Overwhelmed and lost at words. He was unsure what he had gotten himself into. Where was he going to find a model on such short notice on such lewd conditions? He was really going to need to step out of his comfortable zone, in his photography and social skills. 

Taemin stood up and extended his hand once more. “I take pride in my art, so I hope you, too, start finding that in your own.” 

+

Jaemin held his stomach from the endless laughter, tears welling up in his eyes. “Nud-Nude photography? And you didn’t know?”

“Jaemin, keep it down.” Jeno whispered and cautiously peered around at the few people flooding into the small lecture hall. “I don’t want everyone in our club to misunderstand and think I’m some creep.”

His best friend straightened up in his seat and placed his hand on Jeno's slumped shoulder, “first of all, you’re a complete idiot for not researching. Secondly, it’s an art form. If you really got yourself a shady, rated R internship, I would’ve told you to drop it instantly.” 

His spirits were slightly lifted, but he was still struggling with who he should ask to model for him. As much as he’s already seen of Jaemin, being his roommate, he honestly would rather leave the rest to imagination. Jeno wasn’t purposefully searching the room for a candidate, but he could not stop his eyes from drifting.

He spotted the most attractive side profile that sat two rows below him. He shook his head to make sure he was seeing her correctly. Peering around, he looked for another possible face to shoot. But oh god, how she caught his eye every time she even slightly moved.

You smiled happily with your friends by your side as your club’s executive board members introduced this year’s goals and events to attend. It had to be the smallest amount of alcohol still running in your system that caused you to giggle every time guys tried to turn around and hit on you.

“Why don’t you focus on our club members instead?” You smirked at the smug older boy, who had poorly attempted to grab your attention. “I think this information is important to you. These events could help you develop your social skills to be much better.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but your girl friends scoffed by your side.

He got up in disbelief and quickly walked out of the room. There was a brief pause at the sudden movement, but the announcement carried on per usual.

Jeno impatiently waited for the club meeting to finally be over, so he could talk to you. The longer it dragged, the more his confidence was subsiding. “I’m heading to study, wanna come with?” Jaemin poked at Jeno’s knee.

“Yeah, but you can go ahead first. I need to talk to someone.” His voice was shaky and his throat went so dry. Jeno’s shifty eyes scanned the room, hoping no one saw how nervous he was acting.

Jaemin’s eyebrows lifted suspiciously, “who? I didn’t even know you talked to anyone who came today. Donghyuck and Renjun aren’t here---”

“--her, Jaemin... her. I’m going to ask her to model for me.” Jeno motioned his head. His heart beating faster at seeing a small grin appear on your face from a comment someone made.

Jaemin hummed, “good luck with that, bud. I’ve got two shoulders for you to cry on after.” The extra hint of sarcasm only made Jeno sweat nervously. He was seriously doubting his decision, but it wouldn’t be a challenge if he didn’t do it. He knew he’d regret it more if he didn’t just ask you. 

Once the meeting was dismissed, you wanted to get out of the room before the heavy rush into the hallways. Unfortunately, a few frat guys pulled you into their conversation and chatted up a storm. Your friends played into their foolery, but you stopped paying attention when they asked for your numbers.

There was a faint tap on your shoulder and you turned to see who the culprit was. You didn’t seem to know him, because you would’ve remembered such a demeanor. His eyes were glued to the floor behind you and his shaky hands ran through his brown locks. His shyness was quite endearing, yet alarming since you weren’t sure why exactly he had approached you.

“Yes?” You asked curiously.

The moment Jeno heard your delicate cadence, he melted like a popsicle left out in the sun. He peered up, but quickly reverted his eyes to the white tiles when he noticed how beautifully you stared at him.

He counted his breathing to calm his rapid heart beat. He cleared his throat to introduce himself, “I’m Jeno. I’m a third year Arts major, um-- I was just--- I know we don’t know each other. I wanted to ask, uh-” Jeno was horrified at how he stammered over his own words. His cheeks burned with a red glow, and if he couldn’t look you in the eye before, he definitely couldn’t now.

“Hey, see you later.” One of the bulky frat guys called and you waved back weakly. 

A guy who had been chasing you endlessly scoffed at the pitiful sight and smirked at you, “see you at my house tonight? Been missing you in my bed lately.”

“Thought you would’ve guessed the reason why I stopped coming around.” Jeno heard the sting in your remarks and the disbelief in the male. 

You honestly could have left, Jeno knew that. But you stayed and waited patiently for him to finish. Jeno could tell how strong you were just by your intimidating aura that practically suffocated him by standing in close proximity to you.

You sighed and reached to grab your jacket on the folded seat, “look, Jeno. It’s nice to meet you and all, but I gotta get going.” 

Shockingly, the shy boy reached out to stop you by your fingertips. His touch lingered before he dropped your hand quickly. “I’m sorry. Are you free this Monday?”

“Uh, that depends. If you’re asking me on a date, then I’m busy.” Rolling your eyes, you weren’t sure why you still stayed to listen to what this random stranger had to say. If it were anyone else, you would’ve walked away the moment he asked if you were free. However, you acknowledged his timidness and the courage he must have mustered up to approach you.

Jeno shook his head violently, completely in shambles from that type of misunderstanding. “Not a date. I need someone to model for my portfolio photos that my internship assigned. It’s actually very important to me because it’s the first internship that responded back to me when I had applied to so many a whole month ago. Basically, I really need this and you because I think you’d be perfect to take pictures of. Oh-- wow! That sounded very bad --- uh --- what I meant is that your facial proportions are perfect and---”

“I’m free Monday.” You cut off his endless ramble and gestured toward his phone. He handed it to you without any hesitation and you typed in your number. “Text me the time, place and what I should wear.” 

“Oh actually, it’s a nude photoshoot.” Your eyes doubled in size, completely offended by that statement.

Jeno felt the sudden shift in the air and brought his hands up to block himself, “to be more clear, it’s a contemporary fine art nude photography studio. The pictures are pieces of art and to be seen as that only. I have no intentions or ulterior motive to sleep with you, see you naked or sell, leak your nudes for the profit of your body. But, I understand if you no longer want to do it because it sounds super strange now that I am explaining it.” 

Your shoulders relaxed and the fist that formed unraveled. You exhaled deeply, “I’ll do it. We can talk more about it on Monday and I get to leave on my own accord if I don’t feel comfortable. We work on my conditions.” Picking up Jeno’s chin, he was absolutely petrified at the forced eye contact and your incredible, powerful gaze. He was mesmerized by the fire in your eyes, and if he stared any longer, he could’ve lost himself in them. 

“Of course.” With that, you dropped his face and left without another look back. Jeno looked down at his phone and the new contact name, (Y/N). It had slipped his mind to even ask what your name was and he slapped his face in utter stupidity. “Do better, Lee Jeno.” It was a remainder to himself to, hopefully, be better the next time you two speak.

+

Monday, 3:03 PM. 

Jeno paced back and forth in the brightly, lit white room. He was trying to find any blinds or curtains to cover the tall windows of the high rise building. It should not be too much of a problem, the extra lighting was a positive. Jeno was only worried for your comfort of the openness. 

There was a soft knock before Jeno practically tripped to open the door. His breath hitched at the sight of your bare face. This time, you were the vulnerable one. Jeno only saw purity, yet impressed at how your tired eyes still managed to bid him a soft smile. He admired your uneven complexion, and the sparse moles that dotted your skin. 

“Okay, so you want to see me naked now or later?” Filled with jokes, your voice was light and airy this afternoon. There was a bit of a contrast from the first time you two met. Softer, enchanting, almost ghostly. 

Everything in the room was white. The mattress on the floor had a white comforter and white sheets. The backdrop. The walls. The hardwood floor. The only color was the blue sky that the tall windows let in.

“Here’s a robe. You can change in the bathroom.” Jeno scratched the back of his neck and his eyes wandered everywhere, but your’s. 

“Would you be okay with me just taking off my clothes in here?” You saw the light tint of pink cover his face, and spread to his ears. You examined more of the shy boy’s embarrassed face, finally getting a really good look at him. Jeno was very attractive, and you could only imagine how beautiful he must look if he fully faced you.

Jeno fiddled with his camera strap, “only if you are okay with that.” Clearing his throat, he stood next to the window to give you some privacy. “I’ll go over what I plan on doing. I’m going to take photos of your face details, parts of your body, full body, and portraits. You can lay down on the bed and I’ll direct you in poses. Have you modeled before?”

He was scanning the bustling city below his feet. Cars zoomed quickly and crowds of tiny people flooded the streets. He brought his camera up to his face, not being able to resist the urge to capture such a thrilling sight. 

“If Instagram counts, then yeah. Professional model gig would be a no. Nude photography is a definite no, unless we are talking about being filmed during sex.” Jeno chuckled, while also holding the camera steady and stealing a few moments to keep for himself.

For a strange reason, being naked for a non-sensual reason felt even more vulnerable. Laying on the soft fabric, you felt oddly exposed and slightly more reserved. You’ve had countless strangers see you naked. Men were sexually desiring to see a sexy picture. You were always lusted after, but this feeling of nakedness was special.

“Are you ready?” Jeno gulped, finally setting the camera down. 

You hummed cheerfully. Your heart was leaping out of your chest as the boy shifted slowly to face you. As he turned, you noticed he had his eyes sealed shut, which caused a small laugh to erupt. “Jeno, you have my permission to open your eyes and to look at me.”

Holy shit, he was trembling with an inexplicable fear. The camera was slipping from his sweaty hands. His mouth was as dry as the desert. Jeno’s pounding heart was loud in his ears. 

Jeno has seen his past girlfriends laying naked in bed, but this situation was too different. When he saw you laying there in absolutely nothing, he was overwhelmed, yet astounded at how graceful you appeared.

There was no exchange of words and no exchange of eye contact. He towered over your lying figure and shakily brought the camera to his eyes. He selfishly wanted to capture your elegance. Through the lens, he saw all of you: the curve in your eyelid, your curled eyelashes, the small mole next to your soft lips, the sharp color of your eyes, the way your hair frames your face.

This was the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. You were comparable to the arts found in popular museums. Your body lines were enticing and an impressive shape. Your breasts pooled on your chest, the round nude nipple in the centers. Your details had to be sculpted by gods, who took their sweet time making you. You were a true masterpiece. 

Confused, Jeno felt a huge mixture of emotions. Was he aroused? Was he infatuated? Did he just fall in love with a complete stranger? He recognized the same thrilled feelings he felt taking landscape photos. With each click, he grew more excited with how beautiful the photos were turning out.

“Sit up and rest your chin on your left hand. Lean your weight on your right leg.” Jeno’s direction was clear and firm. There was no evidence of a smaller tone he usually spoke in. Sitting up, you placed your elbow on your upper thigh to steady your chin. Jeno had already gotten down to floor level to you. 

Without the camera that separated you two, it had to be the first time he faced you completely in such close proximity. There was so much to admire about Jeno. He remained concentrated on his craft, but it was actually very sexy to see his dedication. It was almost like he was a whole new person, like all the shyness drifted away. 

Jeno couldn’t take his eyes off of you. It wasn’t simply your beauty that amazed him. Your confidence made everything easy. There was something about your blank stares, when he asked for an emotion, you portrayed it perfectly.

“Can we talk while you shoot?” Your sudden voice startled the photographer. He lowered his camera and his gaze automatically wandered off behind you, which didn’t go unnoticed. He nodded after a short pause and the shutter noises continued.

“Why did you choose me as your model?” 

Jeno peeled away from the device, “because you’re you.” He didn’t even know what that statement meant. It wasn’t like he knew you before the first time he asked you to model for him.

The corners of your lips dipped down, drawing an evident frown. Click. Jeno loved that image especially. It was a simple way to get real, authentic facial expressions. He marveled at the photo, but registered the reason behind it. “I wanted to ask you the second I saw you. I just knew that I wanted you.” 

“But you don’t know me.” 

Jeno looked through the lens once again, welcoming a full view of your stunning attributes. He spoke in a low voice, “then, let me know you.” Click. 

It would be the biggest lie to say that you weren’t aroused by Jeno at the moment. He was cool, without trying to be. He really did shine when he had a camera to work with, like a star to a dark night. While he had a distinct demeanor off the bat, you enjoyed unraveling the rest of him. He was, also, the first man you met that didn’t seem sexually driven by a naked woman in his presence. 

You had to resist every urge to push the camera away and share the few seconds of his entire gaze before it wandered away. You wanted to rock his world, he was so innocent and beautiful. You wished to wreak havoc on him, have him show you how much he wanted you. 

+

You anticipated an awkward photoshoot, but Jeno made you feel safe and comfortable. He made sure to adjust the temperature when goosebumps rose on your arms and when your nipples became painfully hard. He never touched you or came too much into your personal space. He always asked for your permission. 

Nude modeling was a new experience for you, but you were surprised at how much you liked it. or how much you liked Jeno taking your photos. He sat next to you on the bed when you put on your articles of clothing and panned through several shots to satisfy your curiosity.

Leaning close, your head ducked to see the photos. A gasp escaped your lips when you saw just the first few. “Is that really me?” The pictures made you feel an abundance of emotions, you felt what they reflected. Sadness, melancholy, happiness, confidence. You didn’t know images had that much power to make you feel that, especially photos of you.

Jeno nodded, smiling so wide that his eyes turned to moon crescents. He was so in love with the results. He found respect for Taemin’s craft and he was right, he might’ve found a new forte to experiment with. “I can send you the photos digitally too, if you want them.”

“Maybe I’ll print them out, frame them, and gift it to every horrid man who has tried to flirt their way to my body since they want to see it so fucking bad.” 

Jeno peered over and saw the tiny glimpse of pain in your orbs, “why would you give horrible people what they want?”

“So they can finally shut up and leave me alone. Plus, this is art and if I tell them it’s actually me, maybe it’ll change their minds to start treating me like it.” 

He held his palm up and almost immediately, your fingers filled the spaces between his. “I’m going to need you to start treating yourself as fine art.”

“Keep taking more photos of me and I just might start thinking I’m Mona Lisa.” Your laughters blended nicely into each other. There was mutual mental acknowledgement of the happiness you were both feeling.

Jeno never let go of your hand, and there was a short moment of comforting silence where you two sat in each other’s existence. You were the one to break it, “are you doing anything after this?” 

He shook his head. “Well then, you’re mine for the rest of the night. We’re going to pretend we’ve been close friends since first year and eat take-out on my bed because that’s what I need at the moment.” 

+

“I know you respect my body and see this as an art form, but I’m genuinely surprised that you didn’t feel aroused at the slightest.”

Jeno didn’t even realize how much time had already passed being you. You two ate and chatted as if you’ve known each other forever, as if the friendship wasn’t established several hours ago. It felt safe and right, like you two belonged in each other’s existence and nowhere else mattered.

He felt warm inside from your hearty laughter and courage, like he was watching a painting come to life or a photo in movement. You were smitten over how endearing and complex he was. He was more than what meets the eye and that alone drew you towards him.

“Okay, I’ll admit,” Jeno paused to watch your reaction, “in the most respectable way, I was somewhat turned on. But! Before you trail blaze me for being just like every disgusting male in your life, I genuinely didn’t have any sexual thoughts during the photoshoot. That was all professional and it will continue to be like that.” 

Getting up from your bed, your mind was working at lightspeed to process his confession. Jeno was fast to pick up someone’s personality, what stood out and what was kept hidden. He knew quicker than anyone else that you were not someone to offend because you were a strong, straight forward woman.

His personality breakdown went like this: you knew what you like, you knew you were going to get what you want, you enjoyed flirty banter (with people of your choice), you weren’t afraid to be blunt, or kick someone’s ass. You carried yourself with confidence that graced your every step, which makes anyone attracted to you instantly. Bold, confident, sexy had to be what came to mind whenever he thought about you. 

Nonetheless, he really liked you as a person. He could pat himself on the back all day long for just approaching you, but he knew the real reason as to how this all happened. It was you saying yes to a stranger’s odd photoshoot. You made him the luckiest man in the world. 

“Continue? Are you looking for excuses to keep seeing me?” You smirked and Jeno’s voice grew small. 

“I--- uh, well,” there goes the nervous stammering, “I know the conditions were a one time thing, so I understand if you don’t want to do it again.” As the night had progressed, Jeno gradually began to hold eye contact and actually looked at you directly without the help of seeing you through a lens. This was the first time he broke it. 

“Hey now, I’m messing with you, Jeno.” He had been sitting on your floor, at the end of your bed. You crawled on your elbows to reach him, and to hold his chin to face you again. Deja vu. “I’d love to get naked for you again, and again, and.. as many times as you want me to.” 

He stared at you with his mouth hung open in disbelief. His eyes scanned your beautiful face to see your lips pull back into a mischievous smile. Gulping, he swallowed every ounce of courage he had left. “You don’t have to say it like that.” He tried to remove your grip, but it latched onto his hand. 

“You’re finally looking me in the eye, sweet thing. I don’t think you realize how much I had been wanting that from you.” You caressed his cheek, rubbing small circles on his texture. 

“What else do you want from me?” His implication sounded suggestive, even if his curiosity was innocent. 

Your hot breath brushed against Jeno’s lips. “I can show you.”

Jeno, the one and only college guy who has seen your naked body in a non-sexual context. Jeno, the shy, sweet boy who appreciated and recognized you as a form of art. Jeno, the talented and skillful photographer, who consistently made sure you felt comfortable. Jeno, the only person in the world who you’d model nude for. Jeno, the dazzling character behind the camera who you wanted more than anyone else you’ve ever met. Lee Jeno.

He seemed like he was inching closer, already tilting his head to fit your’s. You smiled to yourself, seeing that your words were received well. Diving in, your lips swam together fervently. 

The poor boy found himself lost in your enchanting, alluring gaze. He let the trance consume him, selfishly kissing the art he admired so dearly. A small part of him felt the guilt and confusion that began to rise. He wasn’t sure why he suddenly wished to feel your lips on his neck, or run his hands across your hot skin. He swore these thoughts were not present earlier. 

A small pop! and Jeno held your shoulder to pull away. “I’m sorry, did I do something?” You asked, honestly concerned that you were taking more than you deserved. The least you desired was to hurt Jeno, who had been nothing but nice and sweet.

“(Y/N),” you could listen to your name roll off his tongue all day, “I feel somewhat guilty. I don’t want things to be misunderstood.”

“Which would be?”

“I don’t want you to think I coerced you into being my model just because I had intentions to sleep with you.” Jeno was already gathering his things, but you hopped off your bed and placed a hand on his chest. “Because that’s what it’s starting to look like at the moment.”

“Was that something you did though? Did you have those intentions?” Your stare bore right through him. The warmth of your hand relaxed his racing heart.

“Never, (Y/N), I would never do that to someone.” Your hand traveled down to grab his belongings and tossed it back onto the ground. 

He silently watched as you took off your pants, and stood in front of him in your underwear. “Then, we’re fine. I know your intentions have always been pure. But truthfully, Jeno, seeing you focused while you worked sparked something in me. You don’t understand how aroused I got and how badly I wanted you to fuck me on that bed.” His hand trailed up your exposed thighs, finally touching your softness. “You’re the one guy I wanted first, and it’s been a long time since I’ve felt that.” 

“I-- I don’t know what to say.” His cheeks revealed how embarrassed he was, but his dark, lustful eyes were telling a different story.

A smirk fell upon your face, “then don’t say anything.” 

Jeno devoured you, inhaling the light hint of vanilla that still lingered. He hoisted you onto your mattress and kissed you like his life depended on it. His antsy hands roamed your free range, exploring, holding, gripping the parts he marveled over. Small moans from the back of your throat encouraged him to continue.

No one has ever kissed you with the amount of passion Jeno did. It was gentle, with enough vigor to cause your panties to dampen. It wasn’t sloppy, where previous guys had a problem of missing your mouth entirely and slobbered your chin. 

His lips worshiped you, highlighting your good sides. Flashes of the photoshoot popped into Jeno’s head as he left purple marks on the places he loved capturing the most. He pushed up your shirt, exposing your chest to him again. His tongue circled around your hard nipple as he made sure to give the same amount of attention to each one. 

Jeno knew he was too shy to hold your intense stare, but getting to know you during and after the photoshoot, he could see the softness in your gaze. He was, now, able to see all of you. The sight of you through the camera was addicting enough, so finally taking you all in was more than satisfying. 

Your hands ran through his hair as he kissed down your torso. His thumbs hooked the waistband of your underwear, and peeled it off your body. You gasped as the cold air from your apartment grazed against your exposed figure.

Jeno paused to admire your glistening pussy, “would it be okay if you let me make love to you?”

Your heart burned, not out of embarrassment, but at how he still managed to ask you for your permission in the sweetest way. You rested your weight on your elbows, “no one has done that before, would it actually make me want to fall in love with you?”

“It wouldn’t be too bad. I have a lot of love to give and you look like a person who deserves all of it anyways.” Jeno’s finger ran over your wet slit and rubbed your clit slowly.

Your moans filled the room as the electric jolted throughout your veins. The wetness grew, seeping out of you like a waterfall. Jeno dropped down to his knees, and lifted your legs on his broad shoulders.

“Are you usually this wet, baby?”

Chuckling, you smiled at his bold choice in using pet names, “Just for you.”

He hummed, chiming at how he liked your answer. Spreading you open, his tongue met with your swollen bud that begged for his licks.

His tongue darted side to side, up and down and in result, your back arched in pleasure and a darkness clouded your mind. His name and mindless profanities streamlined their way out of you as Jeno ate you out in such a precisely delicious way.

Grabbing a fist full of hair, you pulled him closer, even if there was no more space to fill. Looking down, you two exchanged glances before he thrusted a finger into you. Your hips bucked harder as he eased in another one.

Jeno curled his fingers in search of your sweet spot and found it when a deep moan escaped your throat. His fingertips rubbed and pressed into your plush flesh, causing you to practically scream and squirm in his mouth. 

He suckled your clit and fingered you simultaneously and quickly. The pleasure was overflowing and you released his hair to grip your sheets below you. Your legs shook and trembled as he had no caution to stop.

“Please, I’m going to--” you could barely talk due to your face contouring to the splurge of pleasure every single time Jeno rubbed your spot. “--to explode.” 

He had to take back what he thought earlier in the day. This was the most beautiful sight he’s ever laid eyes on. The whole scene played like from one of his favorite films. It felt like he was giving his photos life. Your body twisted and turned, accentuating the curves of your lines. 

Jeno had become painfully hard against the fabric of his jeans, but seeing you fall apart because of his minimal movements exhilarated him. “P-Please, don’t stop.” A breathy moan followed suit and your thighs tried to press themselves together. Jeno didn’t allow it, his free hand hooked underneath your left thigh to pull one side away from his cheeks.

Your high gradually grew so tall that it all eventually came cascading down. Your legs shook violently and sat up from the euphoria that took over you. Jeno prolonged your buzz and you screamed loudly, having to bite down on your fingers to stop yourself from angering your neighbors.

Jeno drank you up, letting your wetness cover his chin and drip down his knuckles. He pulled away, at last, and you took deep breaths to control your heavy breathing. It was like Jeno knocked the wind completely out of you. 

He stood up and you saw the outline of his hard bulge straining itself through his jeans. The next scene was quite animalistic. You, still embodying your high, sat on your knees and unzipped his pants with your needy hands.

“Now, it’s your turn to get nude for me.” You whispered, tauntingly. Jeno groaned when you reached down and gently pulled him out. He stepped out of his clothing, all of it. His shirt was lost in the corner and his bottoms were scattered over your floor. Mirroring his actions, you took off your last piece of cloth.

Jeno was built. Though his biceps did not go unnoticed during the photoshoot, you were surprised at the lines of muscle that sketched his body. It made your mouth water, seeing his extremely hard dick stand against his toned abs. His red tip fell just below his navel. Jeno only kept getting better as the night continued on.

Pulling him closer, his hand found their way to the back of your head as you aligned your mouth to the wetness that spilled from his tip. “I want to make you feel good.” Jeno’s hoarse voice made your knees weak.

Peering up, you batted your eyelashes at him fondly. “Just a little taste?” You begged, having to hold his shaft with both of your hands because of his thickness. Your tongue was already stuck out, your hot breath causing the tiniest bit of sensation for him.

He nodded and his eyes were trained on you. He didn’t want to miss any second of your kitty licks. You flattened your tongue against his warmth, dragging it up to the top. The saltiness hit your palette as you swirled around his redness. “Oh--” Jeno threw his head back and bit his lip, “--lay on the bed now.” 

You smiled sweetly and gave his member a quick kiss before reaching for a condom in your drawer. Jeno climbed onto your bed and situated the rubber comfortably. You laid on your back and he was fast to pull your legs around his waist. 

He lined himself at your entrance and eased his tip in slowly. Squirming, you craved him to fill you up to the brim. He leaned down to kiss you, letting your tongue lap with his. It’s your hands with the mind of their own when they flew automatically to hold his face whenever you wanted to deepen the kiss. Then, Jeno stretched himself all the way in and he caught your gasp with his lips. He groaned, feeling the mess he created merely minutes ago. 

His hips moved so easily with your wetness, but he went slow. Dragging out each pull and then, pushing himself back in roughly. “Jeno!” Your body jolted up the bed each time. His body fell over yours to hold you intimately, letting you bury your face into his neck. Your lips latched themselves onto his sensitive skin, painting a purple sunset. 

Jeno’s arms snaked underneath your thighs as he pressed them to your chest, folding you almost into a ball. Your mouth hung open as he fucked you harder, rougher, deeper yet keeping the tempo rhythmically slow. At this point, you could feel his hits in your gut. Your weak hands gripped loosely around his strong wrists that held your legs down. “You’re pussy is so tight and holy shit---, you keep getting more beautiful.”

A familiar burning sensation set in your chest as you saw how concentrated his face had become. You were so fucked out that you could barely speak, “you—” his hips mercilessly slammed into you powerfully, enacting a low moan every time he reached your sweet spot. “—keep surprising me.” His actions came to a halt and he stared deeply into your soul. 

You whined, wiggling your hips for any friction. He held them down into the mattress, knowing his grip was strong enough to leave a mark. “I told you, I was going to make love to you tonight.”

“I’ve already fallen for you.” You said breathlessly, tracing the side of his face and pecking his lips softly. 

“You don’t understand what you’re doing to me by saying those things.” He whispered and pushed his entire shaft to fill you to your brim. 

You yelped his name and gripped his shoulders, but he wasn’t done yet. “Show me how badly you wanted me the first time you saw me.” Jeno blinked at you in slight shock. 

As he continued to hold the deep gaze, he kept pushing his dick further and further into you. He was balls deep, almost impossible to keep going. He fucked you without the need to pull out, just burying his cock deeper into your wet pussy. You exclaimed, moaned, cussed at every push. Holding the stare was more than enough to lose yourself all over him again. 

Jeno was drunk with the image of your fucked out expression and every time the mixture of pleasure and pressure caused your eyebrows to crease and mouth to open release sensual sound. He had been trying his best not to come undone, to fixate another climax for you.

The feeling of you wrapping tighter and tighter around him drove him insane. “Give it to me, please.” Your muffled plead called for his release, but he could feel that you were close to your second.

Jeno sat up on his knees and pulled you into his arms where your thighs fell over his. You groaned at the empty feeling, though it was quickly replaced with a gratifying moan when he inserted himself again. Your arms dangled around his neck, foreheads touching intimately. 

The fucking eye contact again, how could you get enough of it? You giggled, amused at how different Jeno was when he eventually opened up. He wrapped his strong arms around your back and thrusted his hips up into you. The way this man made you squirm, scream, and shake were nothing you’ve experienced before. 

He smirked, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek when he went rampage on your pussy. “Not laughing now, are you?”

You whined in pleasure, brushing your fallen strands of hair out of his face. “Shut up before I make you.” 

“Then I’d rather keep going.” Kissing up his jawline, you lead your way to his pout. His kisses intoxicated you with his passion and madness, like the most intense part of a symphony, or when the bass drops after a long build up in a song. 

Jeno sped up, ramming up into your slick pussy over and over again. He even brought your hips down to match him, guiding you down as he went up. The headboard was knocked against the wall, your windows steamed up, cries of pleasure from the both of you created the ambiance, the smell of sex filled your lungs. Jeno reached between your bodies to furiously rub your clit to where it felt almost raw. It all sent you into the clouds, the familiar queasiness settled in your lower half.

Your eyes rolled back and your back arched, having to pull away from the desirous kiss with Jeno. “I’m cumming!” You announced before the tension unraveled, causing you to see absolute white. The second wave was much more uncontrollable, Jeno felt you squeezing radically around his dick as he tried to fuck you faster to prolong the feeling.

Your legs shook around his and your upper body went limp with pleasure. You reached the peak of the mountain and it came crumbling down underneath your toes. It was catastrophically enthralling, to the point where you physically felt something leave your body.

“Oh shit..” Jeno stopped his motions at the sight of you squirting over his lap. He pampered your torso with fluttering kisses, hoping to calm your spastic body. “...baby, are you okay?” He asked with a bit of concern of how lack of life you seemed. 

This man just gave you the best climax in your whole life and he asked if you were okay? Regaining your senses, you sighed a small yes to reassure him that he didn’t actually murder you. Hopping off, you pulled the condom that restricted him.

He hissed when you cupped his balls in your palm. “Cum, my sweet thing.” You purred and Jeno’s hand pumped his member aggressively. You leaned in to help, sucking the tip and flicking your tongue over his slit. 

His other hand gripped your neck, causing you to drip on your sheets. Jeno was panting and with every tug, it became louder. He seemed so desperate to release that it made you smile to be the reason behind it. “Can you lay down,” A grunt followed his question, “please.” He huffed.

“Because you asked nicely.” Smirking, your back hit the sheets and you opened your legs to give Jeno a view. He situated himself above your stomach, as he fucked his tight grip.

“I’m cumming---” He couldn’t look any more amazing. With a final moan, the white streaks streamed out in short sequences. It landed across your abdomen, over your nipple, and pooled around your belly button. 

Bringing himself back to reality, Jeno stepped back to marvel you, his masterpiece. The white streaks coated your purple skin and your chest rose fast to catch your reality. Gazing upon your naked body, he was utterly infatuated with all of you. He was so in love with the sight of you that not a single photo could capture the beauty that you were. 

Jeno pondered the thought of how merely a day changed a small part of him. You were life changing, addicting, an incomparable character that he felt like he’s known forever, and now, couldn’t live without. It was the taste of your juices on his lips, your sweet melodic music that was your voice, your daring smile that enticed him to never peel away from you. It was simply you. 

He leaned down to rub his knuckles against your cheek, planting a lovingly peck on your forehead. “I’ll go start the water for you.” 

+

Jeno anticipated the reaction of his mentor. He found himself at the same scene he was when he was first given the task. Taemin sat across from him, hunched forward to analyze his new set of photos on his laptop. Raw, unedited photos of you, your body, your details. 

The hum of the air conditioning droned on, driving him mad. Jeno needed one reaction, but Taemin had been silent and expressionless for the past ten minutes. Whenever he did move, it was to click through to the next picture. 

Suddenly, he shut it closed and stood right up. Jeno, panicked, did the same. Taemin stuck his hand out and Jeno hesitantly grabbed it, incredibly unsettled and unable to read the older man.

Taemin received it firmly, giving Jeno a good handshake. “Welcome abroad, Lee Jeno. I expect even more great things from you.” 

Jeno registered his delightful mood switch and he was fast to follow up, “my photos, --- you --- like them?” 

Taemin nodded generously, patting Jeno on his shoulder. Taemin reached up to tap his own eyelids. “What you can see, is very special, kid. You’re an artist and I’m here to recognize that for you. It seems to me, you can do more than take pictures of sidewalks.” 

Jeno smiled happily, his eyes disappearing from joy. He couldn’t wait to tell you about it. 

The rest of the week, leading up to Jeno’s appointment, had felt nothing short of blissful moments together. You and Jeno spent almost every waking minute together without the cost of your friends’ time. He walked you to your classes, some even being across the campus from his own. You accompanied him for meals, even sitting in his lectures to just be with him.

There were no words that established what you two had become to each other. Jeno wasn’t looking for that anyways, in fact, he somewhat liked the ambiguity. If only he could tell you how making love to you made him begin to actually fall for you.

You were never one to hold a serious relationship, but you found a small want for that festering in Jeno. It was hard to admit to yourself, but Jeno saw you for all that you were. He truly saw you, whether it had been through a lens or through his own eyes. He captured your rawness and you were able to find vulnerability around him. 

He ran to you, where you sat in the lobby waiting for him to finish his meeting. Peering up from your phone, you noticed the beaming smile on the boy’s face. You couldn’t hold back your own grin, seeing him apparent with so much joy. “I’m guessing good things?”

“I got it, (Y/N)!” He jumped into your arms and you laughed at the sudden affection. “He loved my photos.” 

“I didn’t doubt it for one second. You’re an artist, Jeno. You create masterpieces that make even someone like me, feel like art.” 

Jeno hugged you closer to his chest, giving you a tiny squeeze. Pulling away to face you, his eyes examined your outstanding grace. You knew what he was already going to say, but simply wanted to hear him say it. “That’s because you are art.”

[writefightandflightclub]

Trial by Fire (Part 1/3) Santiago “Pope” Garcia x GN reader

Summary: You’re finally introducing your new boyfriend to The Boys. It must be intimidating for your guy because, hello? Not only are they literally lethal, as well as infeasibly handsome, but they’re hella protective of you to boot. They want the best for you so, naturally, they make your guy run the gauntlet the whole evening. Santiago, though? Well. Given that he is secretly in love with you? Let’s just say he doesn’t handle the situation very well at all.

Genre / tropes: angst, friends to lovers, love confession.

Author’s note: I wasn’t planning on writing this (in fact I’m writing the opposite, where “Santi has a new girlfriend and you don’t take it well” as a series, loosely based around the 7 deadly sins); but, in the meatime, I wrote this to get back into the swing of things after a lil break. It’s just a quick one, but there will be a second and final part, if you want it! Let me know!

Word count: somehow, 4.4k.

Warnings: language, angst, best friends arguing, Santi being an asshole.

Rating: T

The boys aren’t being as awful as you had anticipated, at least. For the most part, they’re actually being pretty friendly, and although they’ve transitioned into grilling Dean about every aspect of his life, they are at least listening intently and smiling at his answers. All except for one fucker, of course; and, naturally, surprising no-one, the fucker misbehaving is one (1) Santiago “Pope” Garcia. 

The group - the boys, yourself, and Dean- are huddled comfortably around the blazing warmth of the fire pit in Frankie’s yard. The dancing, oranged flames cut through the dark and cold of the crisp night, as you sit upwind of the smoke on scattered, mis-matched camp chairs.

Whilst the others are evidently enjoying the evening -faces painted with smiles, body language open and leaning-in to chat to Dean- that fucker Santi is leaning back in his chair, his jaw twitching in seeming aggravation, his arms folded, and his intense eyes needling your beau. In this dim light, with the firelight licking over the sharp planes of his face, he looks every bit like a trained killer about to leap out of the shadows and garotte someone. Well… a very petulant trained killer. His call sign should have been Mr. Grumpy Pants, you think idly.

What’s up with him this time?! you wonder.

He gets these moods sometimes. And, when it strikes him, he can be a little bit hostile - despite the fact he’s a puppy underneath it all. You had hoped that for once, maybe he would suck it up, and yet, your hopes had been in vain, it seems.

Every time Dean speaks, or touches you, or even laughs at another of the guys’ stories, Santi’s expression sinks further and further through layers of distaste; and, by this point, he’s eyeing Dean as though he’s a war criminal the squad have been sent to take-out. You half expect him to leap up and take down Frankie any second for fraternizing with “the enemy”, if you’re honest.

Truth be told, you’ve had just about enough of this. Your friend had better buck his ideas up, sharpish, or he’d be reminded very swiftly that you were Delta Force too.  

For now, trying to ignore the bastard, you look back at Dean, and the sight of him in animated conversation with your buddies causes at least some of your aggravation to fall away. Things have been going well between you and Dean, even if you do say so yourself. Originally from Michigan, he now worked as a lecturer at a nearby music school. He was also a banjo musician in a bluegrass / synth power-pop mash-up of a band, which (sort of) explained his retro-inspired mop of brown hair and his thick dark moustache - majestic enough to rival Frankie’s. True, he wasn’t your usual type, but he was honest, and sweet and kind... Plus, he’d never killed anyone with his bare hands, which was rather refreshing too, if you were honest.

Safe to say, so far, things were working out. So well, in fact, that you’d recently met his parents for the first time while they were in town. So well, in fact, that -after keeping him purposefully away from the boys for as long as you feasibly could- you’d now brought him to meet your family. That’s what this squad was to you, after all. Your family.

Remembering sporadic moments from the past few months together, you smile gently as you listen to Dean talk. You watch him seamlessly integrate some tailored conversation starters you’d fed him ahead of time, and you gently squeeze his thigh in an act of reassurance and appreciation. He is feeling the pressure, you can tell, although he is handling it well. To be fair, you think, who wouldn’t feel the pressure? You’d been nervous enough to meet his parents, but this? A bunch of Delta Force guys and an MMA champion? This squad was lethal; literally -you’ve lost track of your combined kill count, though Will probably hasn’t, you are sure.

Aside from that though, most of all, they are your family. You need them to like Dean and vice versa, and you know that isn’t necessarily a given. You are a tight-knit group, with little hope of outsiders grasping the full extent of your decade’s old in-jokes, or the intense camaraderie instilled by facing a hail of bullets together. Plus, as the baby of the group, they were protective as all hell of you.

It came from a good place, you knew: they wanted what was best for you. But, there was a reason you’d delayed this meeting... It’s not as though they were threatening or anything. They didn’t do the whole “if you hurt our buddy, I’ll kill you” thing, for example (at least, not while you were present – you couldn’t vouch for what happened when you were out of earshot).  However, after introducing a succession of boyfriends to them over the years, the squad had developed a well-rehearsed system for sizing-up your new squeeze. In the past, not all of your squeezes had made it through the gauntlet. It was a trial by fire, to be sure, and you were pleased that Dean has not yet been burned.

Of course, whilst the boys’ approval didn’t mean everything to you, you couldn’t deny it was important; perhaps especially this time, with this guy. And, out of all of the group, Santi’s approval meant the most to you. Always had. Probably because Santi meant the most to you, full stop. You simply couldn’t imagine having someone in your life that didn’t get on with your best friend. And, so, you are not overly thrilled at the reception Santi is giving Dean right now. The reception he had been giving him all evening, in fact. And the more you dwell on it, the more an anger bubbles forth from you. Even though you try to push it down, and focus on Dean, that fucker in the corner of your eye sends you.

“What’s wrong with you tonight, Garcia?” you blurt out, a little louder than intended, causing the amiable chat and giggles to stall, all eyes turning to you - then, in turn, following the direction of your fiery gaze over to Santi, who shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Now, he leans forward. Looks back at you with a rare venom in his eyes. With a smug curl of his mouth, he dips to pick up his beer from the floor and takes a swig - buying himself some time. Trying to brush you off. Still, your gaze does not relent as he rests his elbows on his thighs, bridging his fingers together in the space between, thumbs sticking in the air.

Now, he engages, and he looks directly at Dean, his eyes sweeping dismissively over the entirety of his form. Now, he speaks, his voice filled with far more bitterness than the situation merits. “Nothing at all. I’m fucking peachy. So, Dean. You play the motherfuckin’ banjo?” he offers, and yet, it sounds far more like an accusation than a question.

What the fuck is up with him?

Wilting a little beneath Santi’s stare, as the ex-operative squints his eyes in his direction, Dean casts a helpless, sideward glance at you from his place in the circle, and yet, you are so stupefied by anger that you can do little to help.

“I think what my dear friend means to say -” Frankie dips in valiantly, smacking Santi pointedly on the thigh, likely hoping to smack some sense into him too “- is why don’t you tell us more about your music, Dean?”

Frankie’s eyes and smile are soft when he looks at you, surreptitiously exchanging a pointed look -what’s up with that pendejo?- and you are grateful that at least some of the evident tension is diffused when he picks up the slack in the conversation.

Santi and his mood swings be damned, and, feeling bolstered, Dean continues on.  

“Actually, it’s going pretty frickin’ well with the band. It’s a side-gig to my lecturing job, but we’re planning a tour during summer vacation. The States -east coast- and Western Europe for now. Maybe headlining a couple of small festivals, if that pans out, who knows.” Dean relates, humbly.

“That’s great, man,” Will chips in, helping Frankie get things back on track. “We’ll have to come down to a gig soon, hear you play.”

“Actually, we have something to tell you about the tour, don’t we, babe?” Dean says bashfully, and he looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to pick-up the thread. You’d talked about it before coming today, and it had seemed like a great idea at the time, but suddenly, now that the announcement is imminent, your mouth is dry - as if filled with cotton. Still, you force a smile, and you’re not sure why, but you look anywhere else but at Santi as your lips form the words. “Yeah – kinda big news, fellas. I’m going to join Dean on the Europe leg of the tour. I’ll be leaving you losers behind for a few months.”

Dean’s face cracks into a smile and he reaches for your hand, looking made-up at the prospect. Still, while you will yourself to be fully present in the moment, you find yourself focussed on looking anywhere but at Santi, sure that his stare must be boring into the side of your head. You hadn’t told him yet. Unfortunately, at Santi is where just about everyone else ends up looking, as the fucker abruptly pushes his camp chair back and stands, storming indoors before anyone can hope to fathom it.

You exchange glances with Frankie, Will, and Benny, with Benny thankfully stepping-in this time to distract Dean from the obvious, and asking him which stops you two will be making, and which sights you plan to see.

“Look, man, don’t mind that tool. Got any sightseeing plans?”

What is Santi’s problem? Why can’t he give Dean a chance? Yes, you’ve made some mistakes in the past- been hurt, and Santi had helped you pick up the pieces -every time- but you had a good feeling about Dean. A really good feeling. Can’t he see that too?

Frankie throws a concerned glance back towards the house and motions as if to stand, but you beat him to it, wanting to get to the bottom of this. “I’ll go,” you insist, motioning for Frankie to stay put, and with a quick promise to Dean that you’ll be back soon (and a silent plea to your boys to take care of him in your absence), you do just that, walk-jogging across the grass.

When you step inside to the kitchen, you find Santi stood, hunched over the counter, his palms clasping the surface tight enough that his knuckles pale, and his head hung low, his shoulders rising and falling as he takes in exaggerated breaths.

“Well?” you ask pointedly, with zero tolerance for his bullshit. “What’s going on with you? Wanna explain why you’re being an ass to my boyfriend?” you challenge to the back of him, and he instantly whips around at the sound of your voice. 

“I’m being an ass?” he asks indignantly, his eyebrows shooting towards the top of his head. 

“Yes. In a nutshell. Yes,” you hiss, any other interpretation feeling impossible. You fold your arms and purse your lips, making it plainly evident that you are waiting for some explanation. And, oh boy, it had better be good.

Instead of explaining though, Santi simply huffs out breath, gesturing angrily out of the window. “That guy, really? That’s the guy you’re gonna go all in for? Go to fucking Europe for?”

That guy, you mouth silently, completely stupefied for a moment. You’re not sure exactly what your so-called friend is insinuating, but you are clear that you don’t like it one bit.

“What is your fucking problem?” you ask, punctuating your words with motions of your hands, as if you are trying to strangle the air in-between you in lieu of his neck. “Dean’s a catch. He’s hot, he’s sweet, he’s a nice guy. He’s there for me. He takes care of me.”

“Like I don’t take care of you?!” Santi exclaims, his voice rising and abrasive; and then, immediately after the words tumble forth from his lips, he steps back imperceptibly, as if startled by his own outburst, his hand rasping over the stubble on his chin.

“What in the...? This isn’t about you, you ass!” you bite back, face scrunching up in confusion. Your fingers come to your temples as you grow increasingly lost-off and perplexed, and seemingly, your riposte only makes Santi double down on whatever the hell he is complaining about.

“Who’s the one who’s always been there for you, hmm? Who picks up the pieces every time you make yet another dumb shitty choice with another shitty guy?” he rambles, gesturing his hand towards you dismissively.

You step back from him this time, just a little, tears spiking instantaneously in your eyes at such an unnecessarily cruel blow. He’s right, in a sense: you had always relied on Santi to heal you, not to hurt you - and yet here he was dealing these painful, incoherent blows out of nowhere.

“Shit, Garcia. If it’s that much trouble to be there for me don’t bother next time,” you snap, your voice breaking as the swell of anger and hurt and adrenalin sends tears spilling over your cheeks. “Don’t worry though, I don’t think I’ll need you again. In fact, I have a feeling this guy might stick. So, maybe? Maybe you should think about the fact that the only shitty guy around here is you.” 

“You really think he’s good enough for you, hmm? He’s really who you want to end up with?”

You listen, aghast, as his tirade keeps coming. However, as Santi’s voice breaks with emotion part-way through his second question, you can’t explain it, but you feel an intolerable sadness in the pit of you. Even though you’re not sure what’s causing all this, what you’re barrelling toward, you want to thrust this sadness away from you. Push him away from you.  You want to push away the knot in your stomach for fear that if you tug at that thread, you might arrive at an answer to his question.

Exasperated, overwhelmed, you roughly paw tears from your cheeks, not knowing where all of these feelings are coming from, in either direction. “Fuck, I... I don’t understand what this is. I don’t get it!” you say, waving your hands, palms-up, through the air. “Is this some macho bullshit? Have I pissed you off somehow?”

At that, the wave of Santi’s anger crests and breaks; as you wonder if you annoyed him. Then, as suddenly as his anger came it is waning, his eyes pooling with rare tears now. With a huff of breath he tears off his damn cap, tossing it aside to run a hand through his grizzled hair. 

“No. No,” he backtracks a little, palms up in surrender. “You haven’t... I.... I just...” He pinches his lips in-between his teeth and looks up at the ceiling as his words trail off, perhaps trying to steady his voice before continuing. Or, perhaps he has nothing else to say to you. Perhaps he’s said enough.

You examine him. Still pissed as all hell, but worried now too, and ultimately, your love for your best friend slightly edging-out the anger. It’s rare that anything affects him like this, and you can’t help the sudden rush of concern.

Cresting too, you exhale a tightly held breath into the now silent, taut space between you, and your body sags - just a little. You chew over your words a moment, but when your voice comes back the volume is lower, your tone softer - and, although it cannot be considered friendly, by any stretch, it’s the best you can do right now.

“You know what,” you offer, generously, wrapping your arms around your own middle, stroking your forearms with your own fingertips. “I’m giving you a pass. You don’t even want to give Dean a chance? Then just leave, Santi. Just go. I’ll give the guys some bullshit excuse that doesn’t leave you looking like a total ass, because I’m not a dick to my friends. So just go, okay?” You pump your eyebrow at him indignantly and await a response, your manner stiff and unyielding.

Santi closes his eyes and knits his brow together, something like regret finally passing over his face and he shuffles guiltily from foot-to-foot.

You puff out air through your teeth and shake your head, as you observe this Delta Force hero; the bravest man you know in many ways, but still too cowardly to tell it like it is. To admit that he’s in the wrong. You are afraid to say that even as his gaze comes back to you, misty-eyed, you have little sympathy for his plight. You are sure it is of his own doing. You are almost as sure that he won’t open-up.

“You know,” you begin, breaking from your position and gathering up a fresh cooler of beers from the fridge, turned away from him as you speak. “I brought Dean to meet my family. Do you understand that? I didn’t have parents and siblings for him to meet. I have you guys. You’re my family.”

Still nothing. Nothing but silence greets you. Nothing but a pained expression on his face, his brows drown together and the artificial light of the kitchen highlighting the harsh planes of his face as you look over your shoulder at him, waiting for some reaction. Some admission of guilt. None comes. He simply slots his hands into his jean pockets, looking sheepish.

“So,” you continue, greeted with a brick wall, “fuck knows why you don’t want me to be happy, but I am. I’m happy with him. Thanks a ton for shitting all over that.”

You don’t even bother to look towards him this time, instead placing the last of the clinking, condensation-adorned bottles into the carrier, resigned to head back out without him, and without any apology.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, and your head whips towards him in surprise.

He looks it - sorry. He looks apologetic. Deeply so. He looks sorry for this, for every way he’s ever slighted you, for every time he’s hurt you, even in ways and moments you never knew about. He looks sorry down to the pit of him, and it catches you off-guard when you see it freely offered there in his eyes.

Even so, this is a stubborn man. There’s an apology, but there’s no explanation. Nothing to explain his behaviour. So, even though it seems genuine, it also doesn’t seem like enough.

It doesn’t appease you, and yet, all you can bring yourself to do is sigh deeply.

You know Santi better than anyone, but there’s always been a part of him that has seemed out of reach, even to you. You’re not sure -never have been- whether to be scared or excited by those unknown parts of him. Not sure whether the impasse hints at buried secrets too dark and deep to bear, or whether it hints of a possibility of something more. Something deeper or something better you could have together, if only he would let you in. You don’t know, and you never have, but all you are sure of is that you have constantly teetered on the edge of that abyss, too much left unknown to know all of him, however much you may have wished to. He’s entitled to his secrets, of course, but you hate how they hurt him. 

With a little sympathy now, you examine his watery eyes, and when your voice comes back this time, it is softer and slower than you intended. More tired than you expected.

“You know, Dean wants to be with me. And he tells me so.” You casually dip down to pick-up the cooler handle, eyes still fixed on your best friend. “He might not be Delta Force… he might be a banjo player from Michigan… but even he’s brave enough for that.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Santi says, bristling all over again, his hand rasping angrily over his stubbled jaw, and yet, you decline him an explanation. Instead, keeping your own secrets now, holding back, you head towards the door, beers in hand.

Still, you turn back to him. You might be angry, but you still care for him -more than you could say. 

“If you figure out what’s up with you, let me know, and I’ll be there for you. Whatever you’ve got going on, you know that, right? But this? This isn’t okay, Garcia. You might think that I make dumb choices -you ass, by the way- but I’ve watched you hit self-destruct so many times instead of dealing with your feelings. Maybe you should look at your own life, huh, instead of shitting all over me for trying to be happy? Shit, at least I fucking try.”

His eyes shift from side to side in the room, the muscles in his jaw twitching, chin jutting forward, and his thumbs locked in his belt loops. He can’t quite bring himself to meet your gaze; at least not until you are disappearing through the threshold; until it’s almost too late. Why can’t he ever manage anything unless it’s too late?

“Wait!” he pleads, but you cut him off, before he can speak. Even though, truth be told, you’re not sure he would muster anything to say at all, even if you gave him a chance. He’s so used to holding back.

“No,” you say firmly. “Forget it, I’m done. I still love you- you’re my best friend. But, fuck, just go home, and get out of my sight, Santiago. I’m so pissed with you right now.”

And so, you turn away, and when his words finally do come, they are spoken to the back of your head. They are spoken without you ever seeing his lips move, and you wonder if he ever said them at all, or if this might be some cruel trick of the night. Some witching hour spell. That is, until you turn towards him and you see the words painted clearly on his face too.

“Fuck it. I’m in love with you.”

I’m in love with you.

Why can’t he ever manage anything unless it’s too late?

You’re not sure what reaction he was expecting, but you almost choke on the sudden lump in your throat. You feel a taste of bile rising-up into your mouth. An intense, resurgent anger fills you, which near makes the room spin, and makes your hands and your legs tremble.

Even if a hidden, unconscious part of you has been waiting, hoping for these words all these years, when they finally come all you can feel is... royally pissed off.

“Oh. No. No. No,” you repeat, words gradually increasing in volume, looking at Santi as if he has mortally wounded you, rather than offered that confession. “You do not get to do this to me.”

You see a hard swallow bob down his throat, a near-instant regret on his face, and your heart pounds in your chest as you reel with the implications of his words.

The coward. The fucking asshole. He waited until now? All the times things had gone to shit, and he waited until you were happy?

“All the times...” you accuse, your tone as bitter as the taste in your mouth, the metallic tang of blood as you feel a rushing in your ears. “All the fucking times. All the chances, Santi, and you do this now?” you continue, your finger sawing through the air, wagging accusations at him, even as your voice wavers, as your hands notceably tremble. “No. Fuck you, Garcia. Fuck you.”

You want to cry, or scream, but you are too angry. So angry, that it eclipses anything else which might come to light. So angry that you almost come full circle again, beginning to stabilise out at eerily calm.

Santi looks down at the floor, and exhales air, chuckling disbelievingly to himself, then lightly nodding his head, lips pressed tightly together. His feet shift agitatedly below him as he brings his endlessly familiar eyes back up to meet yours. This time when he looks at you, it hurts. You remember bullet wounds, and you swear that was nothing compared to this.

“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say to me, hmm? Fuck you, Garcia?”

“What the fuck were you expecting?” you say, launching your words before you realise the implications of them. Yes, you know fine well that your boyfriend is sitting outside, likely wondering where you have got to. But, if you had the wherewithall to have thought about it, you would know exactly what Santi was expecting, despite all of that. You would know that a part of him must be expecting, hoping, that when he told you, you might reciprocate. That you might love him back.

And, would that be so outside of the realms of possibility? Would it be so hard to imagine that the deep, magnetic, and unshakeable friendship you shared could be something else? Something more? That you could tip over the edge you had long been teetering on? Maybe it could, or maybe it could have, but right now, you can’t see past the flashbang he has just dropped over your life, and it is clouding your vision.

You were happy. You are happy. Fuck him for doing this now.

Why would you fall into the unknown for him, if you never knew whether he would catch you? If you never knew whether ruin or safety awaited you if you let yourself tip? He always held back.

What the fuck were you expecting?

Your words linger in the space between you, and in lieu of any other lifeline, realisation dawns on Santi’s face. Realisation that, although he jumped, you are not intending to catch him either. But how could you catch him, with your arms already full?

And, so, he slowly nods his head once again, his eyes beading with glassy tears and his hand grazing over his chin in a self-soothing gesture. Wordlessly, he sets his jaw and he abruptly replaces his baseball cap on his head, padding a few steps forward to stand opposite you, sucking all of the breath from your lungs. This time, when he looks at you, you see all of your past, but you still can’t see beyond that. The abyss still scares you too much.

Like this, facing each other down, eye-to-eye, the silence in the room grows sharp as a knife, refined to a point. So, when Santi abruptly turns to leave in a sharp, determined trajectory, without so much as looking at you, it is as if he has dragged the blade across your skin in an equally swift motion. As if he has left you open and bleeding-out, having delivered a mortal wound with the act of his exit. You’ve felt like this on the battelfield before, and in life, yet he was always there for you. Always there to patch you. To pick up the pieces.

Instead of screaming open-mouthed for help, this time, you simply watch him go, and now you are the wordless one, mustering nothing but a gasped inhale of breath before your vision blurs with tears - as you watch his hazy form disappear along the hall and out of your sight.

“Santi,” you call pathetically, your voice small and weak and teary, barely making it past your throat, and he doesn’t hear you. He doesn’t hear you but even if he had, you’re not sure anymore if he would have stopped.

When Santi slams the front door behind him, you shudder with it in its frame, your hand coming to your chest as if to hold your heart inside your opened-up ribs, and you close your eyes against the jarring sound, tears spilling down your cheeks, your face screwing-up into a shined, contorted grimace.

Entirely lost, now alone, you bizarrely wish for the room to be filled with anger again, instead of the intolerable sadness - which all too suddenly takes hold of you as your emotions crest and break. It is all you can do to stumble forward a few paces and hunch over the countertop, finding yourself in the exact position you had discovered Santi in. You stand, bracing yourself with your arms, fingers clutching the edge of the worktop, and your head slumped forward, tears freely spilling out of you as your chest heaves.

You wonder whether he’d held himself in this same position because he had felt an intolerable sadness too. An intolerable sadness at seeing you happy.

Suddenly you could understand it.

That fucker. Santiago “Pope” Garcia.

I’m in love with you.

I’m in love with you.

The words echo in your mind, but this time, if you’re honest, you’re not wholly sure if they’re his, or yours.

PART TWO IS HERE

[procrastinatingsapphictrash]

Can’t get over her

Word count: 5010     

Genre: A little angst with a little fluff

Pairing: Natasha x fem!reader 

Warnings: Little bit of swearing (let me know if I need to add more)

Summary: Reader has always had a bit of a crush on Natasha but it’s unrequited. She lets Tony and Wanda take her to a club and Nat starts acting differently.

A/N: This is not a request, I just felt like writing this story. I’m super nervous about this because I’m not sure if it’s very good but I thought I would post it in case anyone is interested. This is my first x reader fic and first Natasha/Marvel fic so I wasn’t sure how to write it. That being said I hope you enjoy, and if you do, I’m always open to take requests! Btw this is completely unimportant but even though this fic is a medium length, it’s the longest story I’ve actually completed so I feel proud of myself for that!

“Y/n!” A voice rang out loudly disrupting your sleep. 

“Ughhhh,” you groaned, “what do you want?” Instead of an answer the door to your room gets thrown open loudly, allowing all the light to come in. You bury yourself under the blankets, partly to stop your eyes from seeing the light and partly to hide the fact that you were wearing Avengers themed pyjamas. 

“Rise and shine sweetheart!” You hear Tony’s voice mock. Reluctantly you poke your head out of the blankets just enough so you can see and squint at your best friend/mentor just in time to see him rush off, probably to wake up another unfortunate avenger. When you first joined you never expected to like Tony at all, much less consider him your best friend or look up to him. You had heard rumors of him being inappropriate with women and while his jokes most certainly were and you did occasionally catch him staring at your boobs he never did anything creepy to make you uncomfortable and inside he was a good man, way more so than you expected.

All that in mind you decide to get out of bed to see why Tony woke you up because he (probably) wouldn’t wake you up for no reason. Taking a minute to change out of the avenger pyjamas and into some clothes as well as brush your hair you wander downstairs. On the way down you bump into Clint who unlike you has made absolutely no effort to look presentable and looks like he just rolled out of bed. You say a quick hello but he just grunts in return, not even looking at you. Inwardly laughing about how much Clint hates to be awake in the morning you continue downstairs to meet up with the rest of the avengers who are varying degrees of awake. Most seemed to be like you; awake and fairly alert but not happy about it. Clint was probably the most asleep and Tony the most awake considering he was practically bouncing off the walls. Looking around you see everyone except for Thor and Natasha. Thor wasn’t there very often because he wasn’t from earth and Natasha usually avoided group activities at all costs to your displeasure since you had a secret (not very secret) crush on the assassin. 

“So why did you wake us up, at an ungodly hour may I add, and bring us down here?” You ask Tony, curious.

“That information is above your clearance level.” He replies somewhat sarcastically. 

“Does anybody else know what is going on?” you ask. “Or did Tony wake me up for no reason, in which case I’m going back to bed.” They all shift guiltily on their feet except for Clint who seems to be still too tired to pay attention leading you to believe they are all up to something you wouldn’t like. Nobody answers your question so you glare around the room, your eyes landing on Steve. He almost squirms under your gaze and eventually seems to give in.

“I’m sorry Y/N, this wasn’t my idea and thinking back on it we probably shouldn’t-”

“We are giving you a makeover and finding you a date.” Tony cuts Steve off.

“Seriously??!??!??” You half shout. “What makes you think I want to go on some random date you guys set up? If I want to go on a date I can find one myself.”

“Y/N…” Wanda says softly, reminding you to stay calm.

“Don’t Y/n me,” you say, still angrily yet quieter, “I can find my own dates, thank you very much.” Tony gives a small snort of laughter in response to this.

“Sure you can kid. I mean it’s not like you haven’t been on a date in over two years. Or that you’re harboring a crush for our resident scary assassin that prevents you from dating others.” You glare at him but stay silent because all of what he said is true. In your head you excuse the not dating off as being busy because you are a hero yet almost everybody on the team is dating someone and it all seems to be working out fine.

“Look Y/n,” Tony says softly which is a rarity for him, “I know you wish something could happen between you and Romanoff but it hasn’t happened yet and likely never will. You need to get over her and back out there. Besides we weren’t planning on choosing your date for you, we were just planning to go clubbing later with you.”

“Ok,” you agree begrudgingly, “I’ll do it, I just don’t see the need to wake me up at 7 in the morning if we aren’t going out until tonight. Also does everybody need to be here right now?” 

“I second that,” Clint says in a voice still rough from sleep, “just because I helped planning a little bit does not mean I had to wake up early to have this conversation. I’m going back to bed.” 

Wanda rolls her eyes at him before turning to you, “No not everyone has to be here right now, Tony just got a little over excited. As for you, as we said we are giving you a makeover which means we have to go to the hair appointment I set up plus I was thinking we could go shopping since we almost never have time to. Besides Natasha gets back from her solo mission sometime later today, so we wanted to talk with you when she wasn’t around.”

“Ok,” you respond with a little bit of excitement, “when do we leave?”

“Right now! We can have brunch while we’re out!” 

“Yes and then we can go get our nails done and gossip!” Tony says in a fake voice. Both you and Wanda turn to look at him exasperated. “Ok fine, maybe not but I am coming and we are gossiping. Also I need to find a good birthday present for Pepper’s birthday next week.”

“Well that’s good you’re coming because unless you want the same reaction as last year, you’re going to need a lot of help.” Wanda replies. You laugh a little as the three of you leave the tower, Wanda and Tony continuing their mock argument about Tony’s gift giving skills. 

Five hours later and you severely regretted going along with their plan. You were already exhausted and still had so much to do before going clubbing. You had already bought an outfit plus a few others which wouldn’t be so bad except Wanda and Tony made you try on what you believed to be the whole store before they seemed satisfied with your look. You had also gotten your nails done and were currently finishing up a lovely brunch which consisted of waffles, maple syrup and some fruits. That would have been enjoyable if not for the fact that Tony and Wanda alternated between nagging you about not chipping a nail and teasing you about your pathetic love life. It was a well known fact in the tower that while they didn’t hate each other, Tony and Wanda didn’t usually get along well but that was probably for the best since together they were ruthless. They seemed to have decided that the time for brunch was over so sighing you followed them out of the restaurant after Tony paid the bill. That’s the one positive at least, all of it was free for you thanks to Tony. 

Another five hours later and you could honestly say you were looking forward to the night more than you thought you would. You were currently looking in the mirror in your room and although usually you tended to be indifferent towards your body, sometimes even insecure, you had to admit that you looked pretty hot. The dress was in the perfect colour to bring out your eyes according to Wanda and although it was the perfect balance between classy and slutty, revealing a bit of skin and showing off your assets while still leaving it to the imagination. You also were carrying a black purse which matched your nails and shoes. Your makeup was perfectly done, naturally showing you beauty but adding a little extra glimmer. The thing you were most proud of however and the most noticeable change you had made was your hair. Before you had hair that when completely straight could reach your waist but now it was barely long enough to tuck behind your ears. When you first got to the hair salon you were planning on just trimming it and straightening in it but when you got in the chair something came over you and you just decided to chop it all off. 

BANG! The door to your room barges open and Wanda comes flying in. 

“Damn girl! You look hot as fuck!” You blush profusely at her words managing to stammer out a thank you. You have never been good at taking compliments because you always get a little shy and awkward. 

Tony pokes his head around the doorframe and gives a whistle. “You are smoking hot Y/n, I mean if I didn’t have Pepper I would be all over you. You ready to go?” Not waiting for an answer he turns and starts towards the elevator. You follow but not before exchanging an eye roll with Wanda about Tony’s words. The elevator ride is short and smooth thanks to Tony’s engineering so you don’t have enough time to succumb to the urge of placing your hands on the bars and pushing while lifting your feet. The elevator beeps, Jarvis informing  you that you’ve reached the ground level and the doors open. You step out ready to get on with your night but the sight of Natasha just back from a mission freezes you in your tracks. 

“Hi,” you say lamely, “I thought you were supposed to get back earlier today?”

“We had some intel that wasn’t fully correct but luckily it didn’t take too long to fix. You look different, where are you heading off to?”

You glance at Tony and Wanda for help because for some reason you feel awkward telling her but they don’t seem to know what you want so you answer anyways. “We’re going clubbing, I’m kinda nervous since I haven’t been in awhile but Wanda helped me get ready-”

“Hey I helped too!”

You ignore Tony’s protest and continue to speak. “-and I think it should be fun. Also there will for sure be hot girls there which is always a plus.”  

“Seems like it should be fun,” she responds in her monotone ‘I don’t care’ voice that you hate, “Good luck with the girls though, because your hair looked better long, I don’t like it like this.” You don’t usually get offended easily but you feel tears spring to your eyes at her comment. The only good part is that she doesn’t notice because she’s already walking away, swaying her hips, either not knowing or caring that she hurt you.

Tony and Wanda rush over to you. “Oh sweetie,” Wanda comforts while wrapping an arm around you, “don’t listen to her, that’s not true at all!”

“Then why would she say it?” You ask, careful to keep your voice from cracking because you hated showing when you were upset.

“I don’t know and honestly I don’t give a fuck.” Tony replies. “Just don’t think about it too much, the whole point of this night is to get over her anyways.” You give him a small smile at that. Tony is good with words which translates into being good at comforting people. You know he’s right so although the comment is still upsetting you do your best to push it out of your mind. Locking arms with both Tony and Wanda you pull them towards the door and into the waiting limo. You couldn’t help but smile at the way Tony ruffled your hair as you stepped in or how Wanda kept running her fingers over her arm in an attempt to be reassuring. You had the best friends. 

The ride over seemed way shorter than it was supposed to be and before you knew it the limo was stopped to let the three of you out. You take a deep breath and wipe your sweaty palms on your dress before smiling and stepping out after Tony and Wanda. Nobody seems to have noticed the three of you yet which was a good thing. Being Avengers Tony and Wanda were pretty much celebrities and often got swarmed by groups of fans. Technically you were an avenger as well but like Natasha and Clint it was only because you were a Shield so while you did get recognized it wasn’t as often and only tended to happen if you were with other avengers. You make your way inside, splitting from Tony and Wanda at the door. The plan was for them to go to the bar and look over you from there while you went straight to the dance floor because you preferred to be anonymous tonight and they would ruin that and also you didn’t feel like getting drunk. That was the plan at least but you suspected that they would get too drunk to continue watching over you because it had been stressful lately with a lot of paperwork and they needed to unwind. Wanda had practically confirmed that fact when she gave you permission to leave without them. 

You step over to the dance floor glancing around to see if there looked to be any single women already there. The reason you had chosen this club was because although it wasn’t lgbtq+ exclusive, it was open to everybody and therefore frequented by many members of the community. 

Just as you were glancing around you felt a tap on your shoulder. “Wanna dance?” You spin around to find the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen, apart from Natasha. It bothers you that you’re using Natasha as your standard and comparing other girls to her but you brush that off. 

“I would love to!” At your response she takes your hand, pulling you into the crowd and starts to dance. You dance as well and slowly you lose track of time as you loosen up and your dancing with the girl becomes less and less innocent. You can feel yourself caring less about what Natasha thought although as great as this girl seemed to be you knew you weren’t ready for a relationship so you hoped she wasn’t looking for one. After what could be a couple of hours because you’ve completely lost track of time, you and the girl whose name you still don’t know head over to a corner of the room and take a seat on two of the stools that were provided. 

“Hi, I feel like I should know your name by now, I’m Y/n.” You introduce yourself. 

“Wait I thought you looked familiar!” She exclaims. “You’re the Y/n that’s a part of the avengers right?” 

You awkwardly give a nod and gesture towards the bar where you can see Tony and Wanda who have obviously had at least a few drinks each. “Tony and Wanda came with me. They are just over there but I didn’t particularly want the spotlight tonight so I split from them at the door.” 

“I understand, I must admit I have no desire to be famous. I’m Jamie by the way” She says with a cute little giggle before her mood seems to be more solemn. “I can’t believe I’m saying this to a literal avenger and if my friends find out they are going to kill me but I’m sorry if you’re looking for a relationship but I just got out of a serious relationship and am not ready for another one quite yet.” 

You let out a relieved sigh. “I’m not looking for a relationship either, because I’m trying to get over my feelings for a friend.” 

“Phew!” She replies. “But tell me more about this ‘friend’ of yours.” You take a minute to think before deciding that Jamie could be trusted. You begin to spill all about your feelings for Natasha and how she didn’t seem interested and what she said to you on your way here. Jamie listens sympathetically the entire time before telling you all about how she thought her ex was the one but it turns out she was emotionally abusive. Even though you just met you talk like old friends, offering advice on serious topics but also chatting about random things. You have 3 more drinks each and after every drink your barriers crumble more and more. Eventually you exchange numbers so you can meet up again although you both agreed it would be a platonic meetup. Just as you were giggling about a joke you couldn’t even remember, you saw Jamie tense up and a second later you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turn your head in anger expecting it to be some creepy guy trying to hit on you but it turns to confusion when you see Natasha. 

“Can we talk?” She asks, giving Jamie a dirty look. “At the tower. Without her.” 

“Why?” You ask. “I’m having fun here Nat.” You specifically say her name as you speak so Jamie knows who you’re talking to. 

“Just come home.” She says not answering your question, instead tugging at your wrist lightly. You sigh not knowing what to do so you glance at Jamie for help. 

She shrugs and then says, “I have a ride home planned if you want to leave, but I wouldn’t mind staying longer if that’s what you want.”

You make a quick decision in your head before responding, “Ok, we’ll go back to the tower but there better be a good reason.” You then turn to Jamie, “Text me when you get home so I know you’re safe, and then we can figure out when to hang out.”

“Of course,” she agrees leaning forwards to hug you while whispering in your ear, “good luck but remember not to let her treat you badly just because you’re in love with her.” You pull back from the hug and smile at her as Natasha’s hand moves down to your own as she starts walking, pulling you along with her. You can barely think straight, you have no idea what is going on with Natasha or why she’s acting so weirdly. You glance over to Tony and Wanda to see if they’ve noticed what’s going on but just as you suspected they were drunk out of their minds. If they were normal friends you would have worried about them but you knew Tony’s drivers would get them home safe because although Tony was more responsible with Pepper around this was not the first time they’ve had to haul his drunk ass back to the tower. 

Natasha continues to pull you out the door and over to her parked motorcycle where she hands you a helmet and one of her leather jackets. Still not speaking she hops on and motions for you to get on behind her. You swing your leg over the side somewhat awkwardly and scoot forwards so you can grab onto her waist. Once she’s sure you’re secured properly she hits the gas, the motorcycle roaring as it starts. You’ve never been on her motorcycle before so at first you are a bit nervous but after a couple of minutes you start to feel more comfortable. At this point your only nerves come from holding Natasha and wondering what she wants to talk to you about and not the motorcycle ride. Compared to the ride over to the club, this ride feels like it’s taking forever as you start to go over all the important reasons Nat would want to talk to you. You still didn’t know how to feel about everything because she insulted you earlier and now is making you feel important. To protect your feelings you tell yourself that there is probably a mission or a meeting that came up last minute and this isn’t just Natasha wanting to talk. It’s improbable because if that was the case she would have outright said so but you can’t think of any more plausible reasons off the top of your head. Luckily before you can analyze her strange behavior anymore you reach the tower and after parking underground you follow Natasha upstairs into the main living area which is obviously deserted as it is now between 3 and 4 am. 

“So why did you want to talk?” You ask, breaking the silence as you take a seat on the couch. 

“Why did you go to a club?” She asks, also sitting down on the other end of the couch, avoiding your question. 

A surge of anger floods through you and while you don’t shout, you raise your voice a little. “Answer the fucking question Nat. Or did you bring me all the way back just to ask that?” 

She looks somewhat surprised that you raised your voice but she keeps hers even. “I just wanted to know. It looked like you were having fun with whoever that girl is.” 

“Yeah I was.” You respond, still confused. “But how do you know that?” 

Natasha avoids eye contact looking everywhere but you. “I was watching you.” 

“YOU WERE WHAT?” You shout before lowering your voice to avoid waking up the whole tower. “Why the fuck were you spying on me?”  

“I- I wasn’t.” She replies seemingly caught off guard by your tone of voice. “I wanted to make sure you were safe.” 

“Tony and Wanda were with me.” You respond confused. There’s something she’s not telling you that’s making her act weird. She knew you could handle yourself so she obviously was not telling the truth, or at least omitting details. She hasn’t responded to your last statement, instead choosing to look at you in the weird way she does that makes you feel like you’re being interrogated. You decide that if she isn’t going to talk, you won’t either so you pull your phone out of your jacket to check it. You see a text from Jamie saying she got home ok with a little smiley face at the end that causes you to smile. You type back a quick reply, just saying you’re glad she’s safe and that you were with Natasha right now and were probably going to bed soon so you’d text her tomorrow. She wished you luck and goodnight with another little smiley face that made you smile again. Putting your phone away you look back up at Natasha only to find out she’s glaring at you. 

Unsure of what could have changed her attitude towards you, you ask, “What?”

“Who were you talking to?” She asks ignoring your question for the second time tonight. 

You sigh, “I don’t see how it’s any of your business but if you really must know I was just saying goodnight to the girl from the club, Jamie.”

“So that’s her name.” She says wrinkling her nose. Now you’re really confused as to what Natasha is thinking. You couldn’t tell on normal days but usually she acted rationally and never was like this. 

“Why do you say it like that?” You ask. 

“I don’t like her.”

“Why don’t you like her?” 

“I just don’t.” She answers, offering no explanation. Although you do want to find out why Natasha doesn’t like her you’re too tired to spend the time asking questions so you stand up to go to bed. 

“Where are you going?” She demands. 

You sigh for what feels like the thousandth time of the night. “I’m going to bed. You wanted to talk to me but won’t actually talk, and when I ask you questions, instead of responding you insult my new friend.”

“Friend?” She questions.

“Jamie.” You say confused because you thought the answer was obvious. 

“Oh.” She responds, “I’m sorry, please stay.” You think about it for a second, deciding to stay so you go to sit down again, but before you do Natasha scoots over to your end of the couch pulling you down into her side. Your entire body freezes up because you’re so unsure of what to do. Natasha never initiated physical contact of any kind but now she was practically hugging you. Seeming to realize how uncomfortable you were, she quickly moves away.

“Sorry,” she mutters, “That was stupid.”

“No, no, it’s fine, you can come back.” You respond quickly. As much as you were uncomfortable, it felt really nice to have her by your side. She somewhat shyly shifts back over to you but this time instead of wrapping her arm around your shoulders she nuzzles into your side, maneuvering your arms so they wrap around her. You have no idea what’s going on right now but you can’t help but smile as you look down at her. She looks cute and relaxed, with her hair covering parts of her face. Thinking about her hair reminds you of her opinion of your new haircut. You bite your lip nervously as you debate asking her about that or not. You definitely don’t want to ruin the cuddly mood that she’s in now but the comment still bothers you, not to mention you never actually found out why she took you home from the club.

“Um Natasha?” You ask in a timid voice. “Is my haircut really that bad?” 

“Of course not, I think it suits you.” She responds smoothly. “I lied to you earlier.”

You smile at that. “Thank you but why?”

She takes a deep shaky breath before speaking. “Promise this won’t change anything between us first, that we will stay friends.” 

“Ok,” You respond, earnest but confused, “I promise.”

“I didn’t like the idea of you going clubbing and coming home with some one night stand or even worse a girlfriend because I have feelings for you. So I was childish and took out my frustrations on you by pretending I didn’t like you. I’m sorry.” She’s looking up at you now, the most nervous you’ve ever seen her. Your mind is exploding with this new information and your heart feels so happy you can’t even believe what is going on. 

“Is that why you were watching me with Jamie at the club and then told me you had to talk to me?”

“Yeah”

After a few more seconds of shocked silence that feels like hours to Natasha you finally speak. “I know I promised that this wouldn’t change anything between us but I don’t think it can be the same.” She starts to pull away from your side but before she can you lean over and press your lips against hers. At first you are hesitant but once she starts kissing back you gain confidence, the kiss getting more heated. After a minute or two you both pull away to catch your breath, smiling at each other. 

Natasha lightly swats you on the arm. “You’re evil.” You giggle a little in response. “I was so worried for a second there, I thought you would be weirded out by that.” She continues also giggling slightly. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t know that I had feelings for you,” you confess to her, “it was actually Tony and Wanda’s idea for me to go out because we all thought you didn’t like me so they thought it was a good idea to get over you.”

“Well that plan failed,” she says smirking, “I guess you can’t get over me.” 

You look at her and yawn. “No I guess I can’t.” 

At your yawn she glances at the clock. “We better get you to bed, it’s almost the time Steve wakes up for training.” You would like to spend more time with Natasha but you’re too tired to argue so you just nod and follow her as she pulls you up and leads you to your room, holding your hand the whole way. Inside your room she sits on your bed while you change, politely looking away. Once you’re in pyjamas you hold a pair out to her and she looks at you confused. 

“Do you want to stay the night?” You ask her. She eagerly nods, accepting the pyjamas as you open your covers and crawl into bed. As soon as she’s done she turns off the lights and hops in behind you, spooning you. You sigh as you feel her plant a kiss on the back of your head. You can barely keep your eyes open and although you still haven’t talked about exactly what your new relationship with Natasha was yet, you were excited for what was to come. Your last thought before you drifted off to sleep was complete bliss as Natasha kept planting soft kisses on the back of your neck, head and shoulders. 

The next morning you hear a loud pounding at your door. You groan and slowly gain consciousness, smiling as you remember last night and the redhead still cuddling you. Just like yesterday Tony doesn’t bother to wait for you to answer and instead barges straight in. His eyes widen when he sees the two of you spooning and he starts to splutter. You laugh at him with Natasha until he shouts for the other avengers to come. Multiple pairs of footsteps make your way to your bedroom and you see the shocked faces of a few of the other avengers, including Wanda, Steve and Clint. 

“What,” Natasha says speaking up, “can’t a girl cuddle with her girlfriend in peace?” Steve immediately apologizes, ushering everyone out of the room and closing the door. 

You raise your eyebrow. “Girlfriends?”

“I assumed so, if you want.” She responds. 

“I like the sound of that...girlfriend.” You both smile at each other. You definitely did not complete your goal of getting over Natasha and instead fell further in love but you were totally ok with that.

[kyberphilosopher]

Atonement

Requested: yes. 

Word Count: 4193 Cal must deal with the consequences of his comrades deception and injuries, while they must deal with what this means for their relationship. 

Atonement is the concept of a person taking action to correct previous wrongdoing on their part, either through direct action to undo the consequences of that act, equivalent action to do good for others, or some other expression of feelings of remorse.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*. 

Once upon a time, Anakin wasn’t all bad. But maybe that was why he died. After that, there wouldn’t have been competition for someone that was all bad, or at least somewhat worse than Anakin was alone. 

Not that Anakin was a complete and utter angel. You knew, not better than anyone but still enough, that Anakin wasn’t all good either. And sure, most people aren’t, but your Master wasn’t most people. Far more talented and powerful was he than the other Jedi Knights, but far more unhinged was he who could not control himself. Anakin was the latter. 

The other Jedi seemed to pity you. It wasn’t as if Anakin Skywalker was always inherently kind on you. You weren’t funny like Ahsoka, or respectable like Obi-Wan. In fact, Anakin had a suspicion that there was something inside of you that reminded him of his mother. Thus, he was cold. And he rarely bothered to teach in the way that people deserved to be taught. 

He doesn’t like me, you remember thinking. He never will. 

You had been the perfect padawan. You were certain you had done everything right. And yet, Anakin’s stare was icy, when he bothered to look your way at all. Where had your Master gone after the Purge anyway?

Your eyes open slowly. 

Light peels across your vision, smeared from the art of being tired. Once your lids are widened, the back of your right hand lays across your forehead lazily. You had been dreaming, hadn’t you? But what had it been about? And why did it seem so hard to remember?

Maybe it was about your Master again, you realize as you exhale. No- ex Master now. But maybe it had been about him. It wouldn’t have been the first time. 

You’re a Clone Killer. 

Eyebrows crease with a twitch. You’ve laid in bed with too much comfort now. It’s time to get up. Stars, but the bed is warm and your legs are tangled in your comforter just right. When’s the next time you’ll get to feel this relaxed and sleepy?

Must’ve been the worst Padawan in history. 

“Shit,” you whisper with closed eyes. Yes, now you’re more than certain that it’s time to get up. Comfort doesn’t matter today. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The restroom door hisses to a close behind you. Rubbing the back of your neck, you begin your sluggish march to the ships deck. You can already smell Greez’s cooking wafting from around the corner. What is that? Sausage and... is that eggs?

Your pants scuff against each other, sweatshirt twisting with the reach of your arm. As the floor transitions from metal to stiff rug, you pull your chair out. 

“Ah, good morning sleepyhead,” you hear Greez’s voice call out to you. Your eyes remain sleepy, gazing down at the table. Doesn’t even look present, Cal observes as his eyes flick over your face. 

“Well, aren’t you a ray of sun today,” Dritus continues from the stove. One of his four hands flick the pan over the stove up with an explosive sizzle. “Be careful you don’t make me feel bad, so I don’t feel inclined to give you more of my food.”

“I slept in too late,” you mutter, half to yourself. 

At the other side of the table, Cal’s stocky form is hunched over. One of his hands is wrapped around a cup on the table, which is covered in cold perspiration. Soft ginger hair falls back as he looks over you. You could feel his pretty, kaleidoscope eyes from the other side of the universe. He doesn’t say anything, though, and you’re too tired to play the “What’s He Thinking About?” game right now. 

“You’re damn right you did,” the Latero says. “Cal here was just about to go and check in on you.”

You swallow quickly, glancing up at the man parallel to you. Cal is looking over at Greez, given you a clear view of his jaw and the scar that stretches over his neck. He’s beautiful. He always has been. You can feel your ears start to burn, and you look away almost immediately. 

“Thanks,” you say instead, finally pulling your hand away from your neck. Without even realizing it, your intelligent orbs look to Cal again. This time, however, your eyes meet. Electric pulses run through you, tickling from your neck to your pelvis. And, true to your nature, you brake gazes immediately. “I think I’ll skip out on breakfast today.”

“Seriously?” Greez whirls around, dumbfounded. “But... breakfast is the most important meal of the day!”

That’s true. Ever since you gained the privilege of having Greez Dritus the wanted Latero to cook for you, breakfast had been far more likeable. He always knows how to add the perfect amount of spice and flavor without coming off as overbearing. But there’s something in the back of your throat, crawling up to the tip of your tongue. A name of an old master, and the dream that you can’t remember. 

“I’m just not hungry,” you push yourself out of your stool and slide it back under the table. Cal watches your form jog down the steps and disappear into the cockpit, his lips parted and near pulling into a frown. 

“Wonder what her problem is,” Greez’s raspy voice calls into the air. 

“Let her be,” a mature female voice breaks as it rounds the corner. Cere emerges from the hallway by the stares, her watchful eyes also glued on the cockpit archway. “She’ll come around.”

Will you? Cal wonders. You’ve always been a bit tight lipped in the grand scheme of things, but today the anguish is peeling off of you like steam. You seem pale in the way that conveys sickness. The dark circles under your eyes are wise, but tired. Maybe you’re just ill. 

It’s not that far off. As you flip switches around on the console pointlessly, all you have to think about are these hands that disappointed your Master. Calloused, rough fingers. Raw palms from holding your saber. Clever, but never enough. 

You exhale through your nose, your shoulders sinking. 

Oh, that’s right. That’s what happened to your Master.

How could you have forgotten that?

“Rough night?”

You perk up at the sound of his voice, but don’t turn around. It’s not that you don’t want to look at Cal, it’s that you feel to ashamed of yourself to even try it. You don’t deserve to look upon him. 

“Just feeling sick,” you mutter so hoarse he can barely hear. 

“Is that the truth?”

Your eyes widen stiffly. One heel at a time, your feet turn around until you are facing your companion. 

Time slows as you look at Cal. His soft orange hair billows in the air conditioning, kaleidoscope eyes twinkling with wonder. The freckles, the jaw, the chapped pink lips. He is beautiful. The way he looks at you now makes you feel guiltier than usual. 

Why don’t you just tell him? Tell him you know the person who’s responsible for that scar on his stomach. Tell him you were trained by him. Tell him about your nightmare last night, how you woke up in cold sweats. But you can’t. You just can’t. 

“Yeah,” you say hoarsely, eyes glued to his. 

Cal steps forward suddenly, almost losing his balance. His soft, pink lips come dangerously close to yours. You can smell his scent, turning your jaw to meet him instinctively. But it was just an accident. 

He steps away to regain his balance. The only sound in the room is that of the air vents. 

He wasn’t going to kiss you. 

Cal stays still, firm. “I hope you feel better,” he says in the same tone as before, though far more sincere. 

And he turns away and walks out of the room, leaving you alone with only the air to comfort you.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The leaves crunch under boots as they do. Twigs snap, pebbles crumble. Dirt scuffs against each shoe. 

Above you, the Kashyyyk trees whisper in the wind, allowing pools of sunlight to fall in between the loose spaces of green. The breeze tickles at the skin on your arms. It’s a nice day. But this is still not enough to improve the sick feeling in your stomach. 

Maybe you really were just a failure of a padawan after all. 

“Hey,” the boy beside you calls. “Look up there.”

You raise your head, squinting through the thin, rainbow rays of sun. Up ahead of you, over a steep drop that could be anything from a river to an abyss, is a great mechanical building. It’s sleek and gray, standing out against the natural beauty. This itself is enough proof of Imperial presence. 

“I thought they would’ve left by now,” you mutter, slightly in awe. Birds fly over the fort as if it didn’t bother them for a second, and the waterfall nearby doesn’t cease its babbling. “Why haven’t they left by now?”

“Only one way to find out,” Cal tells you after some seconds of silence. 

Something rushes through the air then- a gust of wind that only you seem to feel. It’s haunting and low, like it has it’s own voice or musical theme of doom. It’s almost impossible to tell whether it’s a warning, a promise, or some kind of mockery, but it feels dark. More importantly, it feels like a message. But Cal doesn’t move a muscle. Only his orange locks billow in time with his lashes, which close slowly. 

“Wait,” you break the quiet. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

The boys eyes are furrowed when his head turns to you. His pale green eyes flash briefly in the sunlight, but the twinkle of confusion and curiosity remain after the flash disappears. “Why not?”

The rush of wind slows until you can barely feel it anymore. The words are on the tip of your dried up tongue, but you’re not even sure what they are. What can you say to explain your... your fear? It’s more than just intuition or a gut feeling. It’s something you know for a fact, and you have the evidence, but you can’t even hold it. 

“It’s dangerous,” you decide, your bottom lip shaking too quick to notice. You say it almost casually, almost as if it were obvious. And of course, it is. Thus the flaw in your attempt. 

“Most things are,” Cal replies. 

Just then, the pitter pattering of little metal feet tap against the dirt and mulch comes to life. It completely cuts away what little presence the ominous air had left, only allowing BD-1′s happy little whirs to clearly ring through. 

Cal’s hands rest on his hips as he turns his head to look at his partner. He squats to the ground with his little calm smile. “Would it make you feel better if I sent BD to scout ahead?”

It wouldn’t at all. All you can think about instead is your little scrapped friend getting his sliced clean off with a long, red blade. Cal wouldn’t even be able to fix him. 

“BD, go on ahead,” Cal tells the machine. He scratches along BD’s head for encouragement, and the creature doesn’t even seemed miffed before hopping off into the leaves and trees until he’s completely out of sight. 

“I don’t- I don’t think-” your hands ball to fists at your sides. A lump forms in your throat like an invisible bubble, or a heavy ball clogging your airway. 

“Y/N?” Cal’s brows furrow once more as he twists and stands again. “You look pale.”

Another wave of wind flows through. It’s the same as before- cold, threatening, filled with something angry and sad and warning you to never have to feel it for real. However, your partner feels it this time too. 

His eyes leave yours and drop to the ground behind him as he twists in concern, looking around for whatever could be the cause. Subconsciously, his right hand lifts from his side to the right side of his ribs. Your eyes widen in understanding, but you wish so badly it was anything but that. 

“Do you feel that?” Cal calls out to you, still trying to locate the presence that doesn’t even exist. 

Yes, you think as you watch the boys other hand slip over his saber. I feel it. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Anakin wasn’t always evil. Whether or not he’s even evil now is up for debate. But for as long as you knew him, in your eyes at least, he was your hero. Not because he helped you, which he didn’t, or because he wanted the best for you, which he didn’t care about. But because he was strong, and someone to look up to. He’s the knight in shining armor that every little boy wants to be like when they grow up, and the warrior every feminist wants to be equal to. Anakin Skywalker was, by all means, a dream. 

So then why is this the worst you’ve ever felt?

“Master?” your voice wheezes out. There’s a storm all around you, a personal tornado for the three of you that makes everything but roaring hard to hear. Rapid blinking helps to keep the dust from your eyes every few seconds, but not enough. It’s starting to sting.

“Stop,” you hear another voice say, but it’s muffled with chokes. “Stop...”

This isn’t Anakin. This is a man of metal- obsidian and iron and cooled magma. There’s not a single inch of flesh showing. The cape, whipping wildly in the wind, is the closest thing to organic. It’s tattered, and the wind gives the illusion of it bleeding away like inky smoke.

“Join me,” False Anakin calls. His fist clenched with determination, a red glow brightening up the area. “Serve your master.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

And from Cal’s position, you just look plain pretty. Kind of distraught, with faded eyes and slightly knitted brows paired with a frown. Your hair is sort of billowing in time with the storm around you, along side that weapon on your belt. Really, you look sad. 

Cal’s fingers dig into the dirt and sand beneath his body. His whole form feels like it’s going to rip away into dust, like Vader doesn’t want him there. And of course, he doesn’t. He hasn’t even given Cal a glance. That being said, his whole stomach feels entirely enflamed. Especially that one special place where he’d felt Vader’s touch before. Now Cal knows that you must’ve been touched by him as well. It’s the worst feeling in the world. 

“Don’t,” he chokes. Cal gets a mouthful of dirt in the process, but he doesn’t even register it. “Y/N-”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

“-will come back from this.”

Your eyes open. They feel stiff and dry, like how you imagine a mummy’s would. The light over head is blinding and white, with flecks of rainbow bouncing off it at the sharper edges. You do not react in any way. 

Internal bleeding of the stomach, one impalement scar on your right side. There is a long, long series of blisters and torn skin across your shoulder from being tossed and dragged across the ground. Then there’s the slit over your left eye which makes it impossible to open. You might as well have lost it. 

Some people would’ve been happy to just be alive. Fighting Darth Vader? Fighting Anakin Skywalker? And surviving it? Well, not everyone gets that privilege. But for some reason the appreciation isn’t coming to you. Maybe you should’ve died back then as some kind of last apology. 

“I know they will.”

You hear footsteps from beyond the doorway become more and more faint, until you can’t even hear them at all. The metal door hisses open. There’s a few footsteps against the floor, then a sharp pause. 

Your head rolls to your right lazily. A young man stands before you. A cute redhead with a broad chest and wide, shocked pale green eyes. Underneath them are mauve rings- dark circles and bags- and chapped pink lips. 

Cal opens his mouth to speak, and then spins around. With the flick of your wounded fingers, the entrance to the room closes and seals itself shut with a click. The cute redhead is still, his back away from you. 

Maybe because of the loss of some other senses, your Jedi one’s have heightened. The intuition inside of you is reading his color- his entire aura- something you could’ve sworn you weren’t able to do before. There’s so much anxiety from him. Enough to make up from the lack of anxiety you have right about now. 

“You’re awake,” he speaks. You can sense his voice about to crack. “I should tell the others.”

“Don’t be stupid, Cal,” your raspy voice croaks. “Don’t be fucking stupid.”

He turns around to look at you, one foot at a time. His eyes are downturned tiredly, but mostly from sadness. The corners of his lips are annoyed from your words. “You’ve been asleep for two weeks,” Cal says. “Didn’t know if you were coming back.”

You don’t say anything.

His use of the words ‘coming back’ sting. Just two simple words, which to you feel like they mean something far more deep and sinister. Almost as sinister as yourself. 

“Are you okay?” he proceeds to question, though you both know it’s just out of politeness. 

“I can’t see out of my eye.”

“Do you know why?”

You don’t move. You’re quiet yet again. 

Cal’s voice raises frustratingly. “Do you know why? You let someone put a lightsaber to your face just so you could smash in their helmet!”

“I don’t remember that.”

“He stabbed you in your stomach!”

Cal’s never raised his voice at you before. You wish you were more upset about it. His tone alone is enough to make a sinking weight appear in the pit of your stomach. But you can’t cry. You can barely feel anything but both relief and emptiness. Not once in those two weeks did you dream about either Anakin, or Vader. 

“I watched him pick you up and slam you on the ground! I watched you die about a million times out there!”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” you mutter hoarsely. And you mean that, too. 

“I thought that...”

Don’t. Don’t tell him. 

“I thought that I was going to hurt you.”

Silence fills the room from corner to corner. Even whatever air that once came from the vents has come to a complete halt. Maybe every system in the galaxy has stopped its turn. 

“What?” Cal asks, now much softer. He takes a gentle step towards you, his eyes desperately locked to your own.

You glance down before back to him. “I was his apprentice before the purge. Don’t ask Cere about it- he never talked about me. I doubt there was even paperwork to confirm it. I thought this was coming but... I wasn’t sure.”

Cal takes another step forward. 

“He never liked me. And then on Kashyyyk... he...” You swallow down the shame for a moment. “He told me he wanted me to be his apprentice again. For real this time.”

“So you fought him,” Cal partially pieces together. 

You swallow again and look down to your hands. 

“Cal, I fought him because I wanted to go with him. I saw my- I saw the future he was talking about. It was good for me. I was happy... sort of.”

He’s finally close enough to sit on the end of the bench that you didn’t even process lying on. There’s concern in his eyes as he listens, and he doesn’t dare take them off your face. It makes you feel like even more of a coward. 

“But I didn’t see you there, too. I didn’t see anyone there. I thought maybe I... I thought maybe I had killed you.”

Cal opens his parched lips slightly, and then closes them. 

“And I really don’t want to kill you.”

Cal looks away. From here, sitting up slightly so you didn’t choke in your sleep, you can make out freckles on his neck. They stretch over his tendons, across his jawline. They’ll no doubt stretch over that scar from his jaw down on the other side. His long lashes move as he blinks. His hair looks softer than ever. 

“After the battle I carried you away. After it was done you just... looked at me. And then you collapsed, and I had to carry you.”

Silence. 

Cal gets up. 

“Cal?” you call, louder than you meant. 

The boy turns back to look at you. 

“I...”

Is he prettier than before?

“Do you hate me?”

Cal creases his brows. 

“Do you... are you going to talk to me again?”

He opens his mouth, but you don’t let him speak. 

“Don’t say it, if you don’t mean it. I was trained by the most dangerous person in the galaxy. By your biggest enemy. I... lied to you about it. I almost killed you, Cal. You can hate me.”

“Do you think I hate you?”

Your eye squints, and finally it glosses over as it wells with tears. “Yeah.”

Cal Kestis. Man of your dreams. Hero of everything. Angel of infinity. Please, don’t hate me. You have every right to, I know. But please- please don’t. 

“I don’t think I could ever hate you,” he finally whispers, looking down at the floor. “Maybe you should’ve told me, but... I think deep down I already knew.”

A questioning look appears over your features, but Cal answers before you can ask. “You’d been acting off for weeks, Y/N. Those nightmares were about Vader, weren’t they.”

“Yeah. They were... Do you... think of me any differently?”

Please. 

“...No. I don’t know if I could ever do that to you.”

“I couldn’t think of you differently either,” you say after a moment. You throat is getting scratchy, but it’s hard to care. 

“I care about you, Y/N,” he tells you, sincere but calm. “You know that don’t you?”

“You wouldn’t have carried me if you didn’t care, Cal.”

“Y/N on the morning of this whole thing I wanted to kiss you,” he snaps, his hands limply swinging with urgency. “I should’ve kissed you.”

So many emotions in one conversation. 

“You can still kiss me now that I’m clean with you.”

Cal looks at you for a long time, his tired, bright eyes searching for something in your stillness. Then he looks down. 

“It’s okay, Cal. It’s part of my atonement.”

He looks at you for a long time again. The corner of his lips twitch upwards for just a second. It puts you at ease somewhat, with a warm feeling spreading in your stomach finally. 

“You’ve got nothing to atone for,” Cal says. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Y/N.”

You have nothing to say. No words come to your dry tongue, although your lips hang open like something will come out. Nothing does. You just look at your redhead, who’s tired and distraught, but has more clarity and love than he ever has in his entire life. He won’t raise his voice to you again. 

Your palm dances again as you look to away. The door finally opens again, and Cal forgot that you had initially even caged him in here. 

“You can go now.”

It’s quiet. You can hear shuffling, slow footsteps like maybe he doesn’t want to leave. “Can I kiss you when I get back?”

Even while looking at the wall right next to you, your face goes hot and pink. 

“Maybe,” your husky voice answers. And when you turn to look back at him, he’s already looking at you with a genuine smile like a little boy getting a big present that they can’t believe. That’s how he sees it, anyway. 

“I don’t hate you, Y/N,” he suddenly says. “I could never hate you.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Idk if I’m happy with this or not? I ran into a bunch of writers block with this I don’t know why. Sorry it took so long to put out anyway. I also might change it to better fit the request because that’s really the most important thing to me and with finishing it after literal months I might’ve lost sight of the whole point. Idk though. Cal is a cutie. 

TAGLIST: @omg-we-really-doo @chokemeanakin @anakinswhore @haztory @fanficsforheartandsoul @kit-jpg @ahsokatano-thetogruta

[kuroo-shitsurou]

Bestfriend (College!Childe x College!Reader) PART 1

note: hello! i'm going to be making an entire college au series for the genshin characters ehe. this is a pretty lengthy one so i had to cut it into two parts. i hope you enjoy!

word count: 4.4k

"Why can't I get this shit to work?!"

You checked the clock.

3:28 AM.

Great. You had a half-seven morning class with professor Cyrus, and yet, here you were. Baking cookies at 3:28 AM. Although, baking wasn't really the appropriate term for it. Maybe... burning was a better fit.

You weren't a culinary arts major; Far from it, actually. You were in a college course that needed immense analytical and critical thinking skills: Accounting. You loved your course. You were always amazed by how numbers can always add up properly if you analyzed all the transactions properly beforehand. It also gave you more patience to thoroughly understand each problem presented to you so that you'd end up with the right answer in the end.

Which is why you were so dumbfounded when your cookies looked like pieces of charcoal the moment you took them out of the oven.

You followed the recipe, didn't you? Why don't your baked goodies look like those gorgeous gooey chocolate chip cookies on the website?

That was the... fourth batch of cookies you made that night. Frustrated, you carelessly threw the still-hot baking sheet in the sink. You didn't even mind that there were crumbs and burnt cookie residue in your damp sink. Like, there were burnt cookies on your counter, on your dining table, and even on your stovetop. Why be bothered about the sink, right? You could clean it up in the morning, anyway.

"Why am I even doing this?" You sighed, eyeing how there was a bit of black smoke coming out of your oven. You opened a window and fanned it out to prevent the smoke detector from going off. You didn't need more nuances adding to your already dwindling patience.

Taking in the sight of the flour, sugar, and egg-coated workstation you had, you realized that baking just wasn't your forte. If only your boyfriend was interested in receiving his complete financial statements for the year, then maybe you'd have an easier time in thinking of a present for his birthday.

You looked at the calendar.

July 20th.

It was the day of Childe's birthday.

He informed you yesterday that his friends had invited him to go to a party the night of the 20th to celebrate his birthday, and you politely declined his offer for you to be his plus one. Of course, he was disappointed. You could notice by how his cerulean eyes drooped to the floor and how his thin, pink lips pushed themselves into a pout.

"But... You have to be there, _____." He whined, taking your hands in his.

"I know, Childe. But you know that I have to review my presentation for professor An's class. It's going to make or break my term grade." You were disappointed. You wanted to spend the entire day with Childe, maybe cuddled up in bed, eating hot pizza and watching Netflix. However, you knew how much he loved partying and hanging out with his friends- Kaeya, was it? and the other boys in their fraternity. You disapproved of his frat-boy party-going lifestyle, but you didn't want to impose, so you just kept it to yourself.

"But it's my birthday," He reasoned, voice laced with sadness.

"I know, darling. I know. We can still spend the entire afternoon together before you head out to party with your friends... If you want. You're free for the entire day, right?" Your voice faltered a bit, unsure of whether he'd accept your proposal or not.

"Mhm! I'd be more than happy to spend the whole afternoon tomorrow with you, babe. We can hit the amusement park, or maybe watch a movie, or maybe have a picnic, or..."

As Childe continued to ramble on about all the possible plans you could do tomorrow, you couldn't help but smile at him. How his demeanor changed, and how he could never seem to hold a grudge against you even if he was upset. He spoiled you so much and you wanted to let him know that you appreciate him as much as he loves you.

And... Here you were.

You didn't expect baking to be so hard. You thought that following a simple recipe would lead to a great outcome the first time around.

Look how that turned out for you. Your tokens of appreciation for Childe were there. In the sink, on the counter, on the dining table, and on the stovetop. All burnt and inedible.

"Fuck this baking thing, I'll just get Zhongli to help me before lunch." You muttered, taking off your apron and retreating to your couch. You didn't want to sleep in your bed because your clothes were still messy, but you were too tired to clean up (too pissed to even care, to be honest).

And so, you flopped on the couch and set an alarm for 6:00 AM before you drifted off to sleep, dreaming of burnt baking pans and noisy smoke detectors.

-

The annoying sound of your alarm rang in your ears like a never-ending mockery of how your life is going. Why do morning classes exist? Why do alarms exist?

You groggily rubbed your eyes and rolled off the couch, landing on the carpet with a soft "thud". You blindly felt around the coffee table to look for your phone. Upon feeling the silicone texture of your case, you pulled it towards your chest and squinted your eyes as the bright display of the lock screen glared against your eyeballs.

You opened your phone by using the passcode (0720, go ahead and guess what that means) and tapped on the green message icon to open your texts. You then quickly typed out a message for a certain history major.

[ Hey, Zhongli, mind if you help me out before lunch later so I could bake some cookies for Childe? ]

Sent 6:04 AM.

You looked up at the ceiling and waited for a while, already planning out your itinerary for the day. The ding! of your phone was heard, waking you more than you already were.

[ I don't see why not. I have a vacant period right before lunch. I'm off at 9:00 and I'm vacant until noon. Are you free then? ]

Received 6:06 AM.

You couldn't help but grin. Zhongli was so kind. He was Childe's friend since high school, and although you found him somehow... creepy because of the knowledge he possesses (Seriously, was his brain implanted with a computer chip or something?), you still considered him a good friend.

[ Thank you so much! Yeah, I only have one class today anyway. I'll meet you in front of the main building by 9:00. ]

Sent 6:08 AM.

You got up from the carpet and stretched for a bit, wincing when the small burn on your arm stung. You had a few cuts and burns on your hands, fingers, and arms because of how clumsy you were in the kitchen, but it was fine. Who doesn't fuck up from time-to-time

You headed to the kitchen to clean up. You dumped all the burnt biscuits into a large garbage bag, wiped the counters, and put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Most of the mess was already gone and disposed of, and you whispered to yourself that you could probably deep-clean later that evening after reviewing your presentation.

The ding! of your phone brought your attention back, and you smiled at Zhongli's response.

[ I'll see you then, _____. I appreciate you doing all this for Childe. ]

Received 6:15 AM.

You quickly made your way to your bedroom and grabbed different pieces to throw together a decent outfit. You assumed that Childe wouldn't let you go by the time that your little date would begin, so it's best to be prepared.

You hopped in the shower and did your morning routine, making sure to use your favorite body wash, which happened to be Childe's favorite scent. You dried your hair afterwards and threw on the outfit you prepared earlier. You checked your phone.

6:45 AM.

There weren't any new messages from Childe, so you assumed that he was still asleep. After all, it's his day-off from uni. The lucky bastard got to get one whole day without lectures, and the freest day you had still required you to attend one morning lecture.

"I have to rush to McDonald's if I want to make it in time," You whispered, grabbing your bag and slipping your shoes on before rushing out the door.

You wanted to buy Childe a nice breakfast before heading to your own class. So, you sprinted to the McDonald's just a corner away from your dorm and stood in line. You ordered his favorite breakfast meal: A big breakfast deluxe set with hot chocolate, five-piece nuggets, and a side of apple pie. You also ordered a McGriddle for yourself that you could sneakily bite out of in class.

Childe's apartment was right beside the McDonald's you went to, so it wasn't any trouble reaching where he was. You checked your phone again.

7:10 AM.

Crap. Twenty minutes until your lecture with professor Cyrus. Childe still seemed to be asleep, so you decided to leave his breakfast with the receptionist, Verr Goldet. She already knew who you were because of how often Childe invites you to his apartment.

"I'm really sorry to leave this with you, Verr. But I have to get to class in twenty minutes and I think that Childe is still asleep." You said sheepishly, placing the paper bag on her counter and fiddling with the strap of your bag.

"Oh, _____, you act as if I'm a stranger!" She laughed, taking the paper bag and placing it behind her. "Don't worry, I'll keep it warm for him. Would you like to leave a note?"

"Ah, yes please!" You took a piece of paper and a pen from your bag and scribbled a short message for the ginger.

Happy birthday, Childe! Have a hearty breakfast, I got your favorites. I'll see you later for lunch, okay? I love you! ♡

You tried to make your handwriting as neat as possible, and even added a messy doodle of the man himself. Although, it did look more like a potato than the man you were trying to draw.

"How cute you are." Verr sighed, "It must be nice to feel the wonders of youth."

"Thank you so much, Verr! I really have to get going if I want to get to uni in time."

"You're welcome, _____!"

You bid your farewells and headed out of the apartment's lobby, walking towards the shuttle stop nearest to you. You had at least fifteen minutes before professor Cyrus' class. The shuttle was about ten minutes away from uni, and it would take you a little over five minutes to get to his lecture hall. While waiting for the shuttle, you quickly tapped out a message for your boyfriend.

[ I left something with Verr for you downstairs. You better get it as soon as you wake up ♡ ]

Sent 7:15 AM.

The shuttle arrived as soon as you hit send. You showed your ID to the driver and scrambled for a seat, shoving earbuds in your ears to drown out the rest of the world with a bit of music. Fortunately, the shuttle ride was quicker than usual since there were lesser stops for that day. You gave a light bow to the driver before you rushed out of the shuttle doors and bolted to get to your lecture hall.

It was on the third floor of the left wing of the main building. You were desperately trying to catch your breath as you felt a burn rising in your lungs. You wanted to puke because of how hungry and tired you felt so early in the morning, but you brushed it off.

You sprinted down the hallway to professor Cyrus' lecture hall, seeing that nearly all the seats were occupied. There were still a few vacant seats at the back, but you were glad to see your friend, Xingqiu, waving you over from the middle row.

"Thanks for saving me a seat," You thanked your blue-haired friend, fixing your hair and disheveled clothes. You sat down just in time as professor Cyrus walked into the lecture hall and began setting up his laptop to present.

"No worries. I knew you'd be late. It's Childe's birthday today, no? You've been talking about it all week. I already expected that you'd do something for him this morning." He said, not even batting an eyelash as he carefully opened his laptop in front of him.

"That predictable, huh?" You chuckled, placing your own laptop on the table and taking out the McGriddle you shoved in your bag earlier. Professor Cyrus seemed to be tweaking a few things on his presentation, so you decided to use the spare minutes to eat the sandwich you purchased.

You scarfed it down in a few bites, leaving Xingqiu confused and a bit scared. He thought you were going to choke.

"Didn't you have breakfast before you left your dorm?" He asked, marveling at how you managed to eat the McGriddle in- four, maybe five? bites.

"I mean, I bought this," You said, motioning to the crumpled up wrapper in your hand. "It was getting late since I dropped by Childe's apartment to leave him his breakfast."

"How charming of you, _____." Xingqiu chuckled, slipping on his glasses.

"I wonder if he's awake now," You mumbled, loud enough for Xingqiu to hear, but he didn't react to it.

You opened your phone and saw seven messages from your dorky boyfriend.

[ _____ you're gonna make me cry ]

Sent 7:28 AM.

[ Where are you now? Are you already at uni? ]

Sent 7:29 AM.

[ God, I love you so much, _____! You even got me nuggets!! ]

Sent 7:30 AM.

[ I love you sooo much!! You're so cute it's unreal!! Btw, is this supposed to be me?? Do I really look like that??!! ]

Sent 7:31 AM.

[ I'm so lucky to have you, _____. You really are the sweetest!! ]

Sent 7:31 AM.

[ I'll see you later at noon. I'll pick you up at your dorm, okay? ]

Sent 7:32 AM.

[ You must be in class now. Good luck!! I'm already eating. Thank you so much, darling! I love you!! ♡ ]

Sent 7:34 AM.

You couldn't help but smile at how his aura radiated even through the screen of your phone. You clicked on the notification from Instagram and it opened to a video on Childe's story. It was a boomerang of him making a winky face and then showing his meal neatly placed on his table.

There was a caption beside a heart sticker which read:

What a great way to start my birthday. Thanks to my lovely @_____. I love you so much! ♡

A familiar warmth spread throughout your chest and you couldn't help but smile at how sweet he was. It was amazing, really. Childe's words and actions always had such an effect on you, and it didn't even matter how you were the one who did a romantic gesture for him because you were here all blushy and gushy over his sickeningly sweet messages of affection.

You put your phone away as soon as professor Cyrus soon started his lecture on the different trading policies limited by oversea regulations- or something like that.

The lesson itself was interesting, but you couldn't help to nod off and daydream about your wonderfully dorky boyfriend and his beautiful eyes, his cute button nose, his slim cheeks, his pink lips.

Childe sneezed.

-

As soon as the last bell rang, you quickly gathered your things and shoved them in your bag. You nodded a swift goodbye to Xingqiu before running off to the entrance of the main building.

Zhongli messaged you that his lecture ended earlier than expected, and that he was waiting for you by the entrance already.

You saw the brunette sitting on one of the benches, a thick history book in hand and reading glasses firmly sitting on top of his nose. You noticed a few girls just a couple of feet away from him. They were eyeing him up, probably drinking in the sight of this beautifully constructed creature.

You chuckled. It was common for you to be more aware of people fawning over Childe and Zhongli. They were a couple of incredibly hot males, you knew that. You got used to the sight of other people gawking and eye-fucking your boyfriend and his bestfriend that it was just hilarious and amusing at this point.

"Zhong!" You called, earning the attention of both Zhongli and the group of girls.

"Ah, _____. Glad you're finally here." He closed his book and tucked it away in his satchel (This man owned a satchel) before he stood up to greet you.

"Were you waiting long? Sorry." You said sheepishly.

"No, not at all. I was enthralled by this one chapter on the Ming Dynasty and their more underrated feats. History never fails to amuse me." Zhongli replied, a glint sparkling in his amber eyes.

"Hey, um," You inched yourself closer to him, "Mind if we go on ahead? Some of your fangirls are scaring the hell out of me." From the corner of your eye, you could see how they were drilling holes at your head from staring too hard. You could've sworn one girl was even holding her phone up, as if taking a photo.

"What?" The taller man whipped around to look at the girls and they scurried off upon seeing the intimidating glare in his eyes.

"You and Childe really attract attention everywhere you go, don't you?" You chuckled, walking towards the shuttle station.

"Childe, certainly. He, along with his... fraternity brothers do attract quite the crowd whenever they are together. As for myself, I doubt it. I'm more of the silent-type compared to him, anyway."

"Are you kidding me?" You bit your tongue to hold back the thought.

"I see."

"Those girls look familiar, though." He mentioned.

"Oh? Maybe history majors as well?"

"_____, if they were history majors, I would've at least recognized their faces more clearly. I feel like I've seen them somewhere."

"Ah, my bad. You and your eerily accurate memory." You teased, climbing onto the shuttle and sitting on one of the empty seats.

"It is not eerie, thank you very much." He retorted with a snarky tone, joining you on the seat.

"Of course it isn't. You remember what I said to Childe when we were watching that one movie Rex Lapis: Revenge of the Fallen?"

"Indeed I do. You said, "Rex Lapis would be hot if he was a human, don't you think?" and Childe replied, "Yeah, but I could probably beat him up. I'd be way hotter than him." It was comedy, really. Rex Lapis, although a fictional figure, has far more capabilities than Childe could even dream of."

"Do you... not see the eerie part of that?"

"What? That Childe thinks he can beat up an actual Archon?"

"No... Zhongli, we watched that movie three years ago."

"Your point is?"

"...I can't even remember what I had for lunch yesterday."

"Childe bought you some sushi."

"See what I mean?!"

"That means you have a poor memory, _____." Zhongli laughed at your face curling into a frown. "Anyway, while you were entertaining me with your banter, I recalled why those girls are so familiar."

"Do tell."

"They're part of Childe's posse."

You could've sworn your heart leapt to your throat. You knew that your boyfriend was pretty much sculpted by the Archons themselves, but, really? a fucking posse?

Zhongli noticed how the lump in your throat bobbed, and he decided that it was better to calmly explain how and why he knew about it.

"See, it was during the first year of university. Childe started hanging around Kaeya and his other fraternity brothers. There was this one occasion where Childe was nearly black-out drunk in a bar. If I didn't see on Kaeya's Instagram story, I wouldn't have known," You noticed how Zhongli's face visibly darkened, "These girls were hanging off him like koalas to a strong tree branch. It was unsightly."

"I... see."

"Although he was about to pass out, he pushed them away. Charming, really. He was already crazy about you even during the first year of uni. Even though you weren't together yet, he didn't want to "cheat" on you by entertaining other females." A soft smile made its way to your face upon hearing Zhongli's confession about how your boyfriend felt about you.

"I'm determined to make these cookies a success," You said determinedly.

"Glad to hear it. It seems we're already at your dormitory. You still have enough ingredients for the cookies, right? I assume you failed quite a few times yesterday."

"How did you even know?"

Zhongli once again laughed as you stepped off the shuttle, "Lucky guess."

Unbeknownst to the two of you, three figures were following you the moment you left the campus.

-

"_____ is so sweet! They got my favorite breakfast this morning." Childe mindlessly gushed over his significant other.

Diluc wasn't really one to listen to other people ramble on and on about feelings and love and romance, but it was his friend's birthday. He'd let it slide.

"Bro, that's just gross," Kaeya spat, taking a chug of his beer.

"Oh, shut up, Kaeya. Just because you don't plan on committing to anyone doesn't mean the people around you are obligated to do so as well." Diluc rebutted, without even looking up from his journal.

"You're in college. It's the time when you're supposed to have a shit ton of flings, no commitment. And yet you're here being loyal to _____?" Kaeya glared at Diluc, but the redhead only flipped him off.

"I don't see the problem with that." Childe spoke up, toying with the bracelet on his wrist. It was a gift from you during your first anniversary. You said you made it yourself, and although Childe could purchase all the expensive jewelry and accessories he wanted, this particular bracelet meant more to him than anything.

"The problem is _____'s going to hold you back!" Childe knew that Kaeya was half-drunk and it was still before noon, so he didn't really take his words seriously. "They aren't going to the party later, right?"

"No, unfortunately. They have to review a presentation for professor An's class."

"Hah! Review my ass. If I knew any better, that little toy of yours is just messing around with some other dude."

"Watch yourself." Childe stood up from his seat. He knew that Kaeya disapproved of their relationship because it wasn't really a "frat-boy" thing, but he didn't care about that. He cared about you more than a stupid reputation, and definitely more than a stupid lifestyle of partying, getting high, and getting drunk.

"Back up, softie. _____'s pussyness rubbing of on 'ya?" Kaeya's words were slurred, but Childe knew that there was malicious intent behind them.

"Look, I don't care about what you say about me. Call me a softie? Call me a pussy? I don't really give a shit. But the moment you start shitting on my _____? Don't even consider that I'd just stand around and let them be slandered, you piece of fuck." Childe was a few centimeters taller than Kaeya, and he always used that to his advantage when he wanted Kaeya to understand his point.

"Whatever you fucking say. It's your birthday, I'm not gonna fight with you on your birthday." Kaeya lightly pushed Childe away from him before downing the rest of the beer can in his hand.

"Don't mind him," Diluc spoke, staring into Childe's eyes. "He never thinks straight, whether drunk or sober."

"Yeah, I kinda got the message." The ginger chuckled, watching as Kaeya nearly tripped over his own feet while walking towards the case of beer supposedly for the party tonight.

"I'm glad that you and _____ are still getting along. It's refreshing to see normal people once in a while."

"Well, when you put it that way." Childe could only laugh.

"Where's the tall brunette at? Isn't he always with you?"

"Ah, you mean Zhongli? I don't know, actually. He has a lecture this morning and I wanted to meet him for a light meal before lunch, but he isn't answering my texts."

"I see."

As if on cue, Childe's phone emitted a soft ding!

He typed in his password and the screen faded into a photo of you. You were wearing one of his hoodies (it was way too big on you) and he could've fainted because of how absolutely adorable you looked.

He received a few Instagram DMs from Ellin. Ellin was a member of their posse. Childe would rather refer to them as "fraternity friends", but she insisted otherwise.

[ You're seriously praising _____ for being a good partner? Poor you, dear. ]

Received 9:41 AM.

He frowned.

[ What are you talking about? Mind your business. ]

Sent 9:42 AM.

[ Oh? It's not my business, sure. But you might wanna see this. ]

Received 9:44 AM.

[ 3 Images Attached ]

Received 9:44 AM.

Childe's eyes widened. Ellin sent three photos.

The first one was a photo of you and Zhongli standing awfully close to each other in front of the university's main building.

The second one was of you and Zhongli sitting beside each other in the shuttle.

The last one was... you and Zhongli entering your dormitory building.

"What the..."

He checked his messages to see if either you or Zhongli texted him about the ordeal. However, he was only greeted by messages wishing him a happy birthday from some of his family and friends back in their hometown. No messages from Zhongli, and no new ones from you.

"What the hell?"

He quickly typed out a message for his bestfriend. He didn't jump to conclusions; He trusted both of you, but what was this feeling in his gut? It felt icky, gross, and disgusting.

[ Where are you rn? Answer me. ]

Sent 9:46 AM.

His foot tapped against the floor at a rapid pace. Diluc wanted to question him, but the worried look on the ginger's face made him bite his tongue.

Childe wasn't the type of person to jump to conclusions, nor was he the type of person to get upset immediately over trivial things. But upon receiving an irksome reply from the amber-eyed bestfriend he knew and love, his blood began to boil.

[ None of your business. ]

Received 10:05 AM.

[dccomicsimagines]

What’s Lost is Found - Batfamily Imagine - Part Ten

Warning - Depressive Content, Some Drug Use, Approach with Caution

Part One  Part Two  Part Three   Part Four  Part Five  Part Six  Part Six.Five  Part Seven  Part Eight  Part Nine  Part Eleven

***

All you knew was darkness. Time had no meaning in the dark room where you woke up. At least you thought you woke up. It was hard to tell the difference anymore.

You weren’t sure how long you had been in here. However, you did know the room was five feet by six feet or one point five meters by one point six meters. The height of the ceiling was about seven feet or two point one meters. There was one lightbulb in the ceiling, but you couldn’t find a way to turn it on. A locked door was on your right, shut tightly enough for not even a little light to slip through.

You laid down on the cobblestone floor. Pain was your constant companion. Your arm was healing incorrectly, aching. The cast Alfred had put on was gone when you came to. Your ribs were still tender, but at least they weren’t on fire like your arm. 

Maybe this was hell? Nothing, but pain and darkness.

Thoughts floated to the surface of your mind. Your family must be relieved you were gone and Gotham was safe at last. A pang hit your heart when you thought about how worried Dick probably was. At least he had Kori. She would take care of him. They had a child on the way. No one needed you.

A lump formed in your throat. Jon must be pretty worried too. You swallowed hard, coughing at how dry your mouth was. He was better off without you anyway. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you ate or drank. Dehydration was already setting in. You could feel it. Part of you was happy, because if you were dehydrated that meant you weren’t trapped in some kind of limbo. 

Suddenly, the door flew open and bright light beamed into the room. You gasped, covering your eyes. 

“Rise and shine, brat.” A man stomped in. He grabbed your broken arm and pulled you to your feet. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from screaming in pain. Blood in your mouth. Tears filled your eyes from the pain. He grabbed the back of your shirt and pulled you along after him. 

Your bare feet scraped against the rough cobblestone floor. Taking a deep breath, you caught the scent of salt water. You must be near the ocean. 

Suddenly, you were pushed into a chair. “Eat,” the Bane Lookalike said. You opened your eyes, squinting as your eyes finally adjusted. The room was a nicely decorated office. You were seated at a table with a bowl of oatmeal in front of you. Your stomach rumbled at the sight, mouth watering until you saw the glass of water next to it. 

Without any grace at all, you grabbed at the water and downed it quickly. However, once it hit your stomach, you felt sick. Someone stuck a bucket in front of you just in time for you to lose it. 

“Leave us,” the Bane Lookalike said. The man who dragged you in here left, slamming the door behind him. You wiped your mouth with your sleeve, wincing when you thought of the scolding you would have received if Alfred caught you doing that. Alfred was probably scared out of his mind for you. Guilt ate at you as you took a slower and smaller sip of water once the Bane Lookalike filled your cup. 

He stared at you intensely. You drank and ate carefully, doing your best to study him without being obvious about it. It took you a good twenty minutes to finish eating. You knew you had to keep it down, so slow it was. The Bane Lookalike waited until you were done before sitting down on the chair behind the desk.

“I was going to leave you in there, niño. Let you die of dehydration.” He crossed his arms. You frowned slightly, wondering who he was to Bane. “But that doesn’t matter now. I have debts to pay and we have people who would pay a lot of money for you.” 

You held back the shiver. “So that’s your plan? Make money off me?” Your voice hoarse. This was the first time you had spoken since you had been taken.

He slammed his fist on the desk. You jumped from the boom. “Yes!” He jumped to his feet. His eyes flashed as you looked into them. You tensed. Suddenly, you had a vision of Bane’s dying eyes. His death rattle echoed in your ears. 

However, you were brought back to the present in an instant. The Bane Lookalike grabbed the front of your shirt, lifting you up in the air to look you straight in the eye. “You ruined my life!” He screamed in your face. His breath surprising fresh and minty. You wrinkled your nose. Bane always had bad breath. It was in his files on the batcomputer. However, this new Bane brushed his teeth. 

He shook you violently, probably angered by the fact you weren’t listening to him. “I was never supposed to be here! Wearing this goddamn mask!” He used his free hand to rip off the Bane mask to reveal a young man around Damian’s age. He had Bane’s eyes, but the face was softer, his nose shorter, mouth smaller. “You shouldn’t have kill my father!” 

You tensed as he threw you across the room. Remembering your training, you went limp and twisted to avoid landing badly. Your back smashed against the wall before you collapsed to the floor. The ribs, still tender, lit up in pain. You moan, staying where you were. 

Why didn’t Tim just tell you the Bane Lookalike was Bane’s son? Anger flashed through you, but it was quickly replaced by fear. The Bane Lookalike’s boots appeared by your face when you opened your eyes. 

One boot raised to step on your head. “I’m sorry,” you choked, tears slipping down your cheeks from the pain and the horror. You caused this. You caused so much pain. Like a bomb, you hurt everything around you with one act. One act that sealed your fate.

The boot stopped. “What did you say?” he growled, kneeling down to pick you up by the back of your shirt. You went limp to avoid more pain. 

“I’m sorry.” You looked him in the eye, tears falling down your cheeks without warning. “I’m so sorry.” 

The Bane Lookalike dropped you. A groan slipped out of you as you smacked against the floor. One of your ribs cracked. You coughed, sharp pain ripping through your chest.

His feet pounded on the floor. The door to the room flew open. “Drug them and locked them back in their cell!” You tensed. Drug? Oh no.

More footsteps echoed into the room. Big rough hands dragged you to your feet and tossed you back into a chair. You didn’t fight. There was no point. You couldn’t take them all on. Sharp pain rocked through your body. Every breath was more pain.

A needle poked your arm. You closed your eyes, submitting to it. This was your punishment. Payment for the life you took. The drug made the room spin. You closed your eyes to make it stop. 

Reality seemed to fall away. The pain in your body faded. You felt like you were floating on air. It took a lot of effort to notice you were being carried back to your dark cell. Even when they tossed you inside, you didn’t feel the impact. The darkness surrounded you again, but this time you hardly noticed.

***

You stayed in a fog. Anytime you were close to clearing it, another needle would enter your arm and you got lost again. You found one bright spot in your drugged stupor. At least you weren’t feeling the pain anymore.

Finally, you felt yourself being carried over someone’s shoulder. The drug faded away enough for you to open your eyes. Your head hung limply, inches above the person’s backside. You turned to look around, frowning at the room. 

It was bare except for a chair with a video camera in front of it. You were flipped over the person’s shoulder and set in the chair. Chain restraints were placed around your wrists and ankles. You blinked, trying to catch up with the person’s movement. Your brain was operating in slow motion. 

“Be good.” The person patted your head before stepping away. You frowned. A red light appeared on the camera. You stared at it, shaking your head to try to focus. 

“Bidding starts at two million.” A voice echoed from the camera. Your eyes widened. A light turned on above you, illuminating you for the camera. 

Your stomach dropped to your feet. You wanted to scream, to fight, but the drug kept you still, complaisant. The chains rattled as you lifted your hand to your cheek to wipe away a single tear. 

The auctioneer kept naming prices, going up higher and higher. You only heard his voice. Closing your eyes, you knew it was just you and the person who brought you here in this room. They must be broadcasting the auctioneer’s voice in. The pain started to creep back into your body. 

“Sold for twenty five billion.” You flinched at the price. A cackle filled the room, tinny from the speaker it originated from. Your blood ran cold. 

“I want the kiddo sooner rather than later, boys,” The Joker’s voice said. “Baby Robin needs to come back home.”

“You may pick up Robin in two days. Thank you all for your time.” The auctioneer’s voice cut out. Red light from the camera turned off. The person came over. They grabbed your arm, sticking you with another needle. Your arm was covered in needle marks. How long had it been? How many times have they drugged you?

The drug kicked in almost instantly. Your eyes closed, falling back into the fog. Pain drained away like someone pulled the plug. The chains rattled again and suddenly you were up and over the person’s shoulder again. 

You couldn’t focus until you heard a voice you never thought you would hear again. “I’ll take Robin from here. The boss wants you to join him in the broadcast room.” 

The person stiffened. “Really? Why?”

“Didn’t ask why.” You were handed off like a sack of potatoes. Warmth like sunshine flooded your skin as you were placed over another shoulder. You moved your hand up to touch the familiar soft hair.

The other person walked off in a huff. “(Y/N), you’re okay. I’ll get you out of here,” Jon whispered, hurrying along down the corridor. He was careful not to bounce you. You kept your fingers in his hair, trying to stay awake. 

Jon shifted you to cradle you in his arms. You smiled tiredly at him, drinking in the sight of his face. Several times, you opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. The drug kept pulling at you, but you fought to stay in the present. 

He brought you to another room. You couldn’t pick up what it was. He laid you down on the soft surface. “We got to wait for Damian, but we’ll get you out of here soon.” Jon smiled at you brightly. Worry flashed in his eyes. “I’m so...God, don’t scare me like that again.” 

You struggled to keep your eyes open. Jon frowned, cradling your cheek. You moved your arm. His eyes dropped to your arm. He gasped at the needle marks. “Oh no, (Y/N), what have they been doing to you?” You could feel his x-ray vision scanning your body. “Your arm.” 

“Sorry.” You mumbled, closing your eyes. The drug pulled you into a deep dark sleep.

***

“You imbecile, you ruined the plan completely.” Someone paced nearby. “They know we’re here now, and (Y/N) is in no condition to fight.” The drug was fading again. You shivered, cold.

“I couldn’t let them put them in that cell again. Damian, (Y/N) is burning up.” A warm hand laid on your forehead. You sighed. It was Jon’s. He was always so warm. 

“TT.” Jon’s hand pulled away to be replaced by Damian’s callused hand. “This is proves how stupid you are. I told you to let me do the talking, but no, you had to go out with your white, American accent. Now we’re stuck in here, and (Y/N) needs medical attention.” 

Jon growled. “Stop it.” Damian’s hand pulled away. The blanket covering you was tucked securely around you.

You slowly opened your eyes. Damian sighed in relief. “Here.” He helped you sit up and pressed a canteen to your lips. You drank slowly, some dripping down your chin. Jon grinned like a puppy, rubbing your knee. “TT.” Damian pulled the canteen away and wiped your chin with his sleeve. 

“How?” You coughed. Damian supported you, letting you lean back into him.

“You didn’t think we wouldn’t come after you, did you?” Jon took your hand, kissing the back of it. Damian huffed at the sight.

“But...you should be in Gotham.” You tried to look at Damian, but he pressed the canteen to your lips again. 

“Gotham is fine. You are not.” Damian gestured to Jon. Jon blinked, having to drag his eyes away from you to go get something from a bag in the corner. “TT, you honestly thought we’d leave you here? Everyone is losing their minds with worry about you. I’ve never seen Grayson so upset.” Your stomach dropped at the thought.

Jon came back to you, handing Damian a bottle of pills. He shook two out and pressed them into your mouth. You took them, taking a sip of water to wash it down. Jon took your hand again, smiling dopey. The relief in his eyes hurt more than everything else. 

You took in the room. It looked like an old storage closet. You were lying on a pile of blankets with Jon’s cape covering you. “Where are we?” Damian pulled away, laying you back down. 

“We’re in Peña Dura.” Jon scooted closer, sharing his warmth with you. He pronounced Peña Dura incorrectly. Damian rolled his eyes behind him, going back to pacing the room. “We found out through Damian’s contacts that they took you here.” He gestured to his clothes. You wrinkled your nose when you realized he was dressed like one of Bane’s goons. Damian was in similar attire. “We snuck in and disguised ourselves until we found you.” He kissed your cheek, laying down beside you. You shivered. He slipped under his cape, pressing close. His warmth soaked into you.

“Except someone was dumb enough to let our cover be blown. Now the entire place is on high alert.” Damian glared at Jon. “Kent, no funny business.”

“I’m not going to do anything. Just trying to keep (Y/N) warm.” Jon snapped. “Geez, like we’d do anything with you standing there anyway.” Damian snorted in disgust. 

You chuckled tiredly. Jon was so warm like he always was. You snuggled closer to him, colder than you ever been before. “Go back to sleep,” Jon whispered. He kissed the top of your head. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You relaxed. Right before you passed out again, you noticed Damian studying you and Jon with a bewildered expression.

***

“We have to move now,” Damian snapped. He knelt down for you to climb onto his back.

“I can walk.” You pressed your hand against the wall to keep your balance. 

Damian turned to glare darkly at you. “Get on my back now.” You sighed, climbing onto his back and wrapping your arms around his neck. Damian stood up. Jon swung the bag over his shoulder. He studied you, adjusting one of the blankets to sit more securely on your shoulders.

“Are you sure you can handle it, Damian? I can carry (Y/N) easily.” Jon bit his lip. 

“I’m fine. Just move.” Damian snarled, holding your legs tightly. Jon slipped out of the storage closet first. You buried your face into the back of Damian’s neck. He grunted, probably feeling your fever through his skin. It had only dropped slightly, but there wasn’t time left. 

You shivered violently, wishing you could be strong. Your body ached for the drug. Despite that fact you wanted to stay awake, your body wanted the drug to push you into the stupor once again. Damian theorized your fever was partly infection and withdraw. You had to admit he was probably right. 

Damian and Jon made their way down the corridors. You kept your eyes closed, dozing. 

Damian suddenly stopped. You tensed, sensing what he did. Ironically, Jon didn’t notice until the first bullet was fired. Damian backed into a room with an open door. “Shit.” 

“Language,” you said humorlessly. Damian tightened his grip on your legs. 

“Quiet.” Damian glanced around the room. Jon fought out in the hallway. You heard the searing of his heat vision. 

Damian set you down, leaning you against the wall. “What now?” You rocked dangerously. Damian gripped your shoulder to keep you upright. 

“Let me think.” He glanced around the room. It looked like another cell with a bed in the corner and a sink on the other side. His eyes fell on the barred window. “We might have to climb.”

You frowned. “I don’t know if...” Your legs were already shaking, getting weak from standing just a few seconds. “Damian, leave me.” 

Damian flinched. He spun to you, grabbing your arm roughly. “Don’t you ever say that. I am never leaving you behind.” 

You stared into his eyes. There was the Damian you knew. You hadn’t ruined him after all. Suddenly, it occurred to you. “You two came on your own, didn’t you?” You sighed. “Damian, Dad always told you to think about how to get out of the situation before jumping in.” 

“TT, there was no time.” Damian left you. He took a laser tool out of his pocket, cutting through the bars on the window. You stumbled to the bed, sinking onto it weakly. Everything ached. You never imagined so much pain. 

Damian took off the bars and looked out the window. It was dark outside. The scent of the ocean in the air.  “This might work.” He looked at you, thinking. 

“What about Jon?” You jumped when a boom came from the hallway. 

“He’s fine. Man of steel or so he claims.” Damian pulled the blanket from your shoulders. “I’m going to tie you to my back. We’ll climb down.” 

“Are you sure you’ll be able to carry me?” You shivered, watching Damian tie secure the blanket around you. Leaning against his back, you wrapped your arms around his neck as he tied you to him. 

“TT, you always did doubt my abilities.” Damian snorted. He climbed out the window. You tightened your arms around his neck when you saw the ground far below. “Calm down.” 

“Right.” You buried your face into the back of his neck. Damian freeclimbed down, using the uneven bricks of the prison to work his way down. 

Bullets rang out from the window. You looked up to see men firing down at you and Damian. Damian pressed against the wall. He swore under his breath. You glanced down. The cobblestone courtyard was far below. “Damian, drop.” 

Damian gasped. A bullet hit his shoulder. His blood splatted your face. He lost his grip, dropping one arm. “We’re not in any condition to survive a fall.” He groaned, trying to hold on with one hand. 

“Jon will catch us. Drop now.” The blood poured down his shoulder, soaking into you. You reached for his hand with your bad arm. “Let go.”

Damian grunted. He let go. The two of you dropped fast. You wrapped your legs and arms around Damian. Taking a deep breath, you screamed.

Suddenly, the wall above you and Damian burst. Jon rocketed toward you and Damian, catching you and Damian with the blanket tying the two of you together. The blanket jerked into your ribs. You squeaked, feeling your ribs snap again. Damian just grunted. Jon set you and Damian down in the courtyard. Damian crumbled. You landed on top of him, causing him to moan.

“Sorry.” You tried to untie the blanket, but your fingers wouldn’t work right. Jon reached down to help. 

“He’s losing a lot of blood.” Jon took the blanket and pressed it to Damian’s shoulder. You rolled off him. Energy drained out of you every second you tried to sit up. 

“Jon, we’re going to have to surrender.” You swallowed hard at the shocked look on Jon’s face. “Come on, I can’t walk. Damian’s losing too much blood.” 

“I’m fine.”  Damian sat up. His face paled and he instantly passed out. 

“Oh crap.” Jon patted Damian’s cheeks. “Wake up. Come on.” You tried to keep pressure on Damian’s shoulder. Black swarmed your vision. You felt the blood draining out of your face. Jon glanced over at you. “Oh no, not you too.” 

You kept your eyes on Damian. “We’ll be fine. Go. Get out of here.” You waved him off. Jon froze, jaw dropped. “Go get help. Let everyone know what happened. You can come back for us.” 

“No!” Jon jumped to his feet. “I can’t leave you two.” Armed guards swarmed the courtyard. Bullets fired around you. Jon stepped in front of you and Damian. Bullets bounced off him. He put up his hands. “We’re all going down together.” 

You shook your head at him, too weak to argue. “Stubborn.” Guards surrounded the three of you. The Bane Lookalike appeared in front of you. You blinked at him before you felt your body give out.

***

“Remember, one wrong move and we’ll blow them up.” The Bane Lookalike warned, poking Jon’s chest. Jon growled, but stayed where he was. You watched dully, running your fingers through Damian’s hair as his head rested in your lap. The explosive collar was heavy around your neck. 

The Bane Lookalike glared over at you. “I can’t wait until I’m rid of you.” He slammed the cell door on his way out. 

“Are you okay?” Jon asked, hurrying to your side. 

You shrugged. “His pulse is weak, but he seems to be resting easy.” You kept running your fingers through Damian’s hair. Ever since you woke, you crawled to Damian’s side and stayed there. 

Jon pressed his hand to your forehead. “You’re still burning up.” He grabbed a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around your shoulders. “Damian will be fine. He’s strong.” 

“And I’m not?” You shook your head weakly. A lump grew in your throat. “Why couldn’t they just kill me? Let this all be over with.” 

“Don’t you ever say something like that!” Jon wrapped his arm around your shoulders, sharing his heat like the radiator he always was. He kissed your cheek. “Why do you keep scaring me like this?” 

You rested your cheek on his shoulder, closing your eyes. “I was trying to do what was right. Trying to fix my mistake.” Jon rubbed your back. “I ruined everything by killing Bane. Everything.” 

“You didn’t ruin anything.” Jon tensed slightly. “This is just a mess anyway.”

Damian moaned in his sleep. You checked his shoulder. The bandage was still holding. The bleeding finally stopped. “You know that man is Bane’s son? He hates me for killing his father and forcing him to take over. It’s the same reason Damian hates me.” 

Jon’s jaw dropped. “Damian doesn’t hate you. (Y/N), he lost it when you handed yourself over. I mean everyone was shocked, upset, but Damian had to be held down by Jason and Dick to stop him from barreling right after you.” Jon swallowed hard. “Even then, he didn’t want to wait for the others to figure out a plan. He came up with this, and told me to come with him.” He glanced down at Damian. “He loves you. He just doesn’t watch his mouth and let’s his anger speak for him.” 

You snorted. “It’s a good thing he can’t hear you.” You winced when you moved too sharply. “How long has it been?” 

“When? Since we surrendered?” Jon eyed the collar around your neck. “A couple of hours.” 

“Since I gave myself up?” You opened your eyes to look at him. “I was locked in that dark cell for a long time and I don’t know how much time passed while they drugged me.” 

Jon bit his lip. “Three weeks.” He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “Worst three weeks of my life to be sure.” 

You smiled into the kiss. “I thought I wouldn’t see you again. It hurt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest.” 

“I thought I was going to die. I couldn’t sleep, all I kept thinking was how I might never see you again.” Jon nuzzled your cheek. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” Your heart skipped a beat.

“TT, stop it.” Damian grunted. He opened his eyes, glaring up at you and Jon. “It’s bad enough that my best friend and sibling are dating, but I don’t need it rubbed in my face.” He tried to sit up, but gasped in pain. You pushed him back down. 

“You need to rest. Not much we can do right now anyway. I have a bomb around my neck.” You traced your fingers over his forehead. 

Damian’s eyes widened, staring at the collar around your neck. “Shit.” 

“Did Dad know how much you started swearing?” You teased halfheartedly. Damian huffed. “I missed you, Damian.” 

He blinked. “I missed you too.” He closed his eyes at your touch. “I am sorry for what I said. You are not responsible for our father’s death. You didn’t ruin everything.” 

Your stomach dropped. Was Damian awake earlier, listening to you and Jon? Jon tightened his arm around you. “That means a lot coming from you.” You leaned down to kiss Damian’s forehead. He grunted, blushing.

“Aww.” Jon laughed. 

“Shut up, Kent.” Damian snarled weakly. “We need to come up with a plan.” 

“They are going to hand (Y/N) over to the Joker. He bought them at the auction they held.” Jon whispered, tensing when they heard a bang from outside the cell. 

“Joker?” Damian frowned. “But he’s dead.” 

Your blood ran cold. “What?” 

Damian blinked. “He committed suicide.”

“But that goes against everything he is.” You couldn’t believe your ears. Jon looked shocked too. “Are you sure it was him?” 

“Yes.” Damian closed his eyes, shivering. “We found his body on patrol one night. It was a few week after Father...there were clues, Drake came with me and we found him hanging from the ceiling beam in the warehouse that created him.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me? Does everyone else know?” You stroked his hair again, hand shaking. 

Damian huffed. “You were in no condition. When it happened, you were still having your...episodes and fighting with Grayson.” 

You bit your lip. Suddenly, you remembered the day that it must have happened. Damian came from patrol when you were all still at the manor. Dick and you were fighting as he wanted you to talk to him about your nightmares. Damian walked by. You tried to get his help, but he just brushed you off. The traumatized look on his face burned into your memory.

“The Joker was always obsessed with Father. It makes sense that he wouldn’t handle it when Father...” Damian trailed off, studying you. “Don’t do that.” 

“What?” Blood rushed to your cheeks as you focused back on Damian.

“Don’t feel guilty about him. He did it himself.” Damian rolled his eyes. “Madman.” 

“So then who’s the one who bought (Y/N)?” Jon whispered, silently listening the whole time. His thumb rubbed circles into your shoulder. 

Damian hummed. “I don’t know.” 

“We’ll just have to wait and see.” You sighed, closing your eyes again and resting on Jon’s shoulder. 

“No, we won’t. As far as I’m concerned, you’re not going anywhere,” Jon said firmly. 

“TT, we might not have a choice.” Damian’s voice dropped to a whisper. 

“I’ll stay awake to keep watch. Rest now,” Jon whispered, kissing your temple. You smiled, drifting into the blissfulness of sleep. 

***

The Bane Lookalike clutched at the back of your shirt, dragging you out into the courtyard. A helicopter sat on the helipad. Wind tore at your clothes as the rotors slowed to a stop. Chilling cold sank into your bones. You glanced back to find Damian behind you, being held up by Jon. Guards surrounded them. A gun was pressed against Damian’s head when one of the guards caught you looking. You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the bomb around your neck. They didn’t take it off yet. You weren’t sure why.

“You want him to live. You go quietly.” The Bane Lookalike jerked you. You bit your lip, looking back at the helicopter. The door opened. Your stomach dropped when you saw a flash of a purple suit.

“Well, well, well, look at this welcome.” The Joker stepped out of the helicopter, waving his arms around. A few armed men in clown masks got out behind him. “Oh, Robby. Look at you.” He walked to you, almost dancing. 

Something felt familiar about him and not in the way you expected. You frowned, tensing. “You have the money?” The Bane Lookalike tightened his grip on you. 

The Joker laughed before he noticed the bomb collar around your neck. “Take that off.” He instantly lost his humor. “No one blows up Robin except me.” 

“No, we have to control Superboy.” The Bane Lookalike nodded back to Jon and Damian. 

“Can we work out a deal for those two?” The Joker clapped his hands. “I would like to have the full set.” The Joker met your eye. It was like someone punched you in the stomach. You knew those eyes. Those were Dick’s eyes.

“Depends, how much are you willing to pay?” The Bane Lookalike jerked you again. You stumbled, falling against him. The Joker/Dick’s eyes flashed before he went back into character.

A cackle escaped from The Joker/Dick. “You stupid kid. I won’t have to pay you anything.” 

Suddenly, flashbangs went off all over the place. You were knocked down by the Bane Lookalike when he was attack by The Joker/Dick. The bomb around your neck started to beep. Your breath caught in your throat. You touched it, trying to find a way to get it off.

A joker goon knelt down beside you. “Stay calm.” He took off the clown mask to reveal Tim’s face. “We’re here. It’s okay,” Tim soothed, taking out tools to try to remove the collar. 

“You don’t hate me?” Tears filled your eyes. You didn’t want to die like this. Not in front of your family.

Tim flinched. “Hush, no.” He picked at the collar as it’s beeps increased. “Stay still. I almost have it.” 

You closed your eyes. A whimper slipped out of your mouth as guns fired nearby. The collar clicked and Tim pulled it away from you. “Superman!” You opened your eyes to see Tim throwing the collar to Superman who was blocking you and Tim from a hail of bullets. Superman held it tightly in his hands. It boomed seconds later. 

Tim scooped you up into his arms and moved you behind some crates near the helipad. “Are you okay?” He quickly checked you over.

“I think so.” You shivered. Tim pressed his gloved hand against your forehead.

“You’re burning up.” Tim bit his lip.

“You have to help Damian. He got shot in the shoulder, lost a lot of blood.” You shook your head. 

Tim glanced around the crates. “We’ll get him. Superboy is protecting him.” He glanced back at you. “I swear if you do something so foolhardy like this again, I...I’ll do something.” 

You laughed despite the battle happening around you. “Sure.” Tim peeked around the crates again. “Go. Help them. I’ll be okay here.” 

“Are you sure?” Tim eyed you worriedly. 

“Go.” You closed your eyes as Tim leaned you back against the crate. “I’ll stay here, I promise.” 

Tim nodded. He pressed a taser in your hand. “Just in case.” You smiled weakly as he jumped over the crates and ran into the action. 

You wanted to get up to help, but your body refused. Closing your eyes, you tried to not think about who could be getting hurt or dying because of you. 

“Niño. You ruined everything.” Your eyes shot open to find the Bane Lookalike standing in front of you. Turning on the taser, you held it up to warn him away. He glared, kicking your hand and sending the taser flying away from you. 

“I’m sorry.” You coughed, scooting as far away from him as you could. “But you don’t have to do this. This all can stop now. We don’t have to be defined by tragedy.” It surprised you that this came to you now. You remembered Dick telling you that during the first month after your father’s death. Ironic this piece of wisdom would spill out of your mouth now. 

The Bane Lookalike shook his head. “No.” In one shift move, he jabbed a needle into your arm. You watched in horror as he injected a large dose of the drug into you. “Suffer and die, you piece of human filth.” 

It hit you instantly. Your heart stopped. Breath couldn’t enter your lungs. Black swarmed your vision. The last thing you heard was the Bane Lookalike’s laughter.

***

You jerked awake. A frown pulled at your lips when you were met with the high, elaborately decorated ceiling of Wayne Manor. You sat up, stunned to find yourself lying on a leather couch in your father’s study. 

The chair behind the desk was turned away from you, but you could see someone was in it. “What?” You got to your feet, surprised to find you were in your old Robin suit. Odd. Especially since it didn’t fit you anymore. “How did I get here?” 

The chair behind the desk spun around. Your blood ran cold while your heart skipped a beat. “(Y/N),” Bruce Wayne said, smiling sadly at you. 

“Daddy.” You ran to him, jumping over the desk and straight into his arms. He laughed. His arms strong and protective around you. You never thought you would feel this safe again. Sobs racked your body. “I missed you so much.” 

“I know, sweetheart.” He rocked you. Part of you realized you were a tad too old to be doing this, but you didn’t care. “I missed you too.”

A long time passed before you pulled back to look at him. “Was it all a dream? You never died, right?” 

Bruce rubbed your back. His face fell. “I did die, (Y/N). None of it was a dream.” 

You froze, confused. “Wait, but how am I here? How are you here? What’s happening?” You panted, panic setting in. “Did I die too? Oh no, I died in front of the others. Did they have to find my body?” 

“Hush.” Bruce caught your chin. “Breathe.” He took a deep breath. You copied him, tears still running down your cheeks. “Calm down. You are not dead. At least not yet.” 

“What does that mean?” You glanced around. Everything was a little fuzzy, unfocused. 

“You are in a coma.” Bruce wiped your tears ffrom your cheeks. “Bane’s son caused you to overdose.” He held you close. “You are currently fighting for your life.” 

Your lips trembled. “I’m sorry. I just cause pain and stress for everyone.” You buried your face into his shoulder. 

“I am proud of you, (Y/N).” Bruce rubbed your back. “You been so strong, grew so much.” He kissed the top of your head. “Don’t get me wrong. I am upset you would do something so risky as to hand yourself over.” 

You sniffled. “I’m sorry, Daddy.” You looked up at him. “I just wanted to fix my mistakes. I shouldn’t have killed Bane. It ruined things for everyone.” 

“Yes, but you have done your best to repair the damage and I’m proud of you for it.” Bruce looked you in the eye. “I know you think you should suffer for what you did, but you have and now it’s time for you to live. You deserve to live, sweetheart.”

You blinked, surprised he knew what you had been thinking. He knew you felt like you couldn’t be happy, that you couldn’t have a life. “I love you.” You hugged him tightly. 

“I love you too.” He stood up from his chair with you in his arms. “But it’s time for you to go.” 

“What?” You whimpered, not wanting this to end. Tears filled your eyes again. “But I don’t want to leave you.”

Bruce smiled, setting you down on your feet. “I know, but you have to wake up. Take care of your brothers, Alfred, and the girls. They need you and you need them.” 

“Will I see you again?” A wave of chilliness washed over you. You shivered. A beeping like a heart monitor sounded in the distance. 

“You will someday. Remember you are not alone. I’m here for you every step of the way.” He leaned forward to kiss your forehead. You closed your eyes, feeling his touch before everything drifted away. 

The beeping in the distance got louder and closer. You felt like you were floating. Your eyes couldn’t open. Your body couldn’t move. Something weighed you down. A soft surface was beneath you. Something was in your arm.

Someone cleared their throat somewhere nearby. You fought to open your eyes, hoping that it was your father. Maybe he wasn’t dead? Maybe everything else had been a dream? You knew you were wrong, but you couldn’t help it.

A warm, large hand grabbed your hand. “(Y/N), kiddo, you awake?” Jason asked. The surprise from Jason’s voice finally gave you the strength to open your eyes. You saw white first, blinking until you could focus on Jason’s smiling face. “Hey, kiddo.” He sighed in relief. 

You blinked at him slowly. Energy drained out of you simply from opening your eyes. The beeping increased. “Woah, don’t panic. You’re fine. Everything is fine,” Jason soothed, glancing up at the heart monitor. You tried to look at it too, but you could barely keep your eyes open. Your eyelids weighed heavily enough to force you to close your eyes again. “Go back to sleep, kiddo.” A kiss was pressed to your forehead in the same place your father had kissed you. Maybe you imagined the whole encounter? You wondered about it before you slipped back into nothingness again.

[nick-thecreator]

Just had an idea for a story... It’s called “Aftermath Revival: Human AU” Part 1

(I’ll add more to this later, I wrote this off of one idea, and a bit quick, so I might edit it to make it better/more reasonable. Also, I should have asks open if anyone has any questions [Cause I know there will be...])

Part 2 is Here

Part 3 is Here

The explosion rocked the entire village, flattening the majority of it. Only the houses on the outskirts were safe, being slightly cracked and torn, but didn’t fully flatten them. In one of these houses, The Duke had closed his doors to his shop, holding his most valuable items close to his body, hoping that his abundance of fat would act as a pillow for it.

Once the explosion was over, through the quakes and falling rubble, he came out almost untouched. He then opened his door, just a crack though, so he could see the damage. There were a few cracks, but, for the most part, the house was fine. Seeing the coast being clear, he opened his doors fully, putting his valuables back onto the shelf. He looked around more, seeing if there were any survivors, even a few lycan. Nothing could be seen, or even heard. He felt a bit concerned, wondering if anyone was hiding, or if everyone else was truly dead. He looked out one of the windows, seeing that part of the Dimitrescu residence was still, surprisingly intact, even if the rest of it was in shambles. He wondered if the other lords’ residences were still somewhat together, looking back at the small crystal sculptures that he had placed on the top shelf.

   He smiled at them, before noticing that one of the sculptures, Karl’s, was gone! He panicked, searching around his shop for it, turning as much as he could to get a full view of his surroundings. After a while of searching, he heard a small groan of pain.

   “Hello?” He shouted out, grabbing one of his many guns, just to defend himself in case it was a lycan. He didn’t want to use it, considering that it was a shop item, but it was for self-defense. A figure walked into view.

   “Duke?” He heard, a thick Mid-Western American accent present.

   “Lord Heisenberg?” The Duke asked, shocked. Karl walked into the house, in his regular clothes, with small specks of dirt and what looked like small crystals on his clothes. He had his hand on his forehead, rubbing his head and temples.

   “How the hell…” Karl groaned, looking up at The Duke. The Duke stared at him in shock, Karl’s presence being completely unexpected. Karl took his sunglasses off, rubbing his eyes. “What happened? Where is everyone?” He seemed dazed, his tone confused and slightly in pain.

   “I…” The Duke tried to answer, but he really didn’t have answers that would help his questions. He usually had everything, but this one really stumped him. He would have never been able to call this.

After a while, Karl and The Duke spoke about what had happened as The Duke brought his shop around the remains of the village, a few questions lingering on their minds. The Duke would look back once in a while, seeing if what happened to Karl was going to happen to the others. Once they arrived at the remains of The Dimitrescu Castle, The Duke looked behind him again, seeing that Alcina’s sculpture was gone too. “Karl?”

   “What?” He asked, his headache gone at this point.

   “Do you see anybody around?” The Duke looked around a bit.

   “No-” Karl stopped, seeing a figure slowly stand up in front of one of the windows, the darkness of the building hiding who it was. They weren’t nearly as tall as Alcina, but they had a similar figure. “Hey!” Karl yelled up to them, them turning their head to the window, sticking their head out.

   “Who’s there?” They yelled out, their head being lit up by the sunlight once they stuck their head out the window. It was Alcina! She too had her hand on her temple, her eyes squinted from the light.

   “Come down here! Now!”

   “Alright, give me a second,” She yelled back, walking away from the window. After a bit, she walked through the doorway near the window on the lower floor. She was in the same clothes, however, she had rolled up her dress so she wouldn’t step on it. She was holding her hat, tipping it back so it would be out of her face, but it also shielded her body from the sun. Her jewelry didn’t fit her anymore, her necklace hanging on her neck, sliding down her chest. She was still tall, but not 9’6 tall, more like 6’5 now. “Care to give me an explanation on our predicament!?” She asked angrily to The Duke.

   He put his hands up, replying with, “Relax my lord, relax. At least you’re safe-”

   “AND SHORT! I’M A MIDGET NOW!” She yelled, incredibly upset. She looked like she was about to cry. Seems to have been decades since she was a “normal” height. The Duke and Karl looked at eachother, shrugging, before looking back at Alcina. After a bit of breathing to calm herself down, she asked, “Well, where are my daughters? If I’m alive, they MUST be.” The Duke looked behind him, seeing the sculptures of her three daughters, still sitting there on the shelf below the top one.

   “I’m sorry madam, but-” He grabbed the sculptures. “They are still-”

   “MY BABIES!” She quickly snatched them away from him, holding them close. “My poor little angels…” She started to cry onto the statues as Karl and The Duke just stood there in silence. Eventually, The Duke just offered to let her sit on the side of the shop so they could keep looking around. She took it, sitting by The Duke, her daughters still in her arms, slightly rocking them. Karl stood on the opposite side of the shop, keeping his eyes away from her.

   A while later, they arrive at the outskirts of The Beneviento Residence. The bridge was broken, but thankfully, there was another route around to get to the house, however, it took around an hour to get there with that route. Karl groaned when heard about how long it would take, his feet hurting at this point. The Duke offered to let him sit on the shop side, but Karl declined, however, halfway through the walk, Karl quickly jumped onto the side, sitting down. The Duke, once he noticed, just rolled his eyes as they went along. Once they reached the house, Karl looked around the residence as The Duke looked at the shelf again, wondering if Angie was going to disappear. However, instead, Angie slowly started to come to life. Literally.

   “What the fuck! Where’s Donna!?” She yelled, trying to look threatening in front of The Duke. Karl turned back to Angie.

   “Donna?” He asked.

   “Yes! Her! Where is she?!”

   “No, is that you Donna?”

   “No! I’m LOOKING for DONNA!” She clarified before hopping out of the shop and looking around. “We need to find her! She could be in danger!”

   “We are looking for her,” The Duke replied. “I’m assuming that you wish to help?”

   “YES!” She yelped, running into the house, somehow getting the door open. Karl kept searching for Donna outside as The Duke looked around as well, but mainly comforted Alcina as she tried to wipe the tears from her eyes without getting her dress dirty with her mascara. The Duke was kind of unsure that she was revived too, but he didn’t want to deny that she had been, considering Angie’s rude awakening. After a while, a few hours specifically, Karl returned to the shop.

   “She ain’t around outside, maybe Angie found her-”

   “COME ON! We need to go!” Angie yelled from inside the house, opening the door. She was holding Donna’s hand, Donna seeming to be almost completely perplexed. She had a large backpack on her along with her regular clothing. “See? They are here too!” Angie dragged her over to them, seeming to smile, even though she technically couldn’t. Donna just shrugged her head onto her shoulders, slightly waving before looking up to The Duke.

   “How did you get here?” She asked in her regularly quiet tone.

   “I used the back road,” He replied. She just nodded as he patted a spot on the shop side. “We should probably keep going. We still have one more person to get, considering.” He looked over his shoulder, seeing Salvatore’s sculpture. Karl’s attention went from Donna to The Duke.

   “Moreau?” He thought for a second looking at the other two. “Will he be changed too?” He asked, somewhat with a form of childlike curiosity. The Duke slightly chuckled at his tone. Donna sat down next to Karl, Angie sitting on her lap. Donna poked around at Angie a bit, seeming trying to figure out how she was alive completely on her own. The Duke started to drive his shop out back onto the back road. On the road, Karl looked at her backpack, it slightly bumping into him. “What’s in the bag Donna?”

   She took a minute to answer, before whispering, “Stuff I thought I’d need, and stuff for Angie.” Karl asked further, but she didn’t answer much, mainly focused on Angie, who seemed to be a bit irritated by the prodding. Karl was sure that, if Donna wasn’t Donna, Angie would’ve yelled at her and swatted her hand away by now. Alcina had stopped crying at this point, but stayed silent still, watching the road as they drove along, her daughters in her lap.

   About 2 hours later, they could see the outskirts of the Moreau residence, passing by the clinic while heading to the main reservoir. While passing it, a loud groan could be heard from inside the clinic. While Karl, Donna, Angie, and Alcina looked over to the clinic, The Duke looked behind him, seeing that Salvatore’s sculpture was gone. Karl and Donna saw it too, Karl jumping off of the shop, running towards the clinic. Angie went after him, Donna getting dragged along. Karl busted the door down, looking around the small room.

He looked down to the floor, seeing Salvatore’s coat on the floor, with something, someone, underneath. Fingertips were sticking out of the ends of the sleeves, a bit of black hair sticking out the top, and with lower legs and feet sticking out the bottom. Once Angie and Donna had gotten into the clinic, Karl had taken the coat off of him. Under the coat, a man laid on the floor, only in a pair of dark green pants, stained with mud and what seemed to be puke, slightly breathing, groaning and coughing slightly. Besides the scars and acne scars that lined his back and the beginnings of his arms, and a small set of gills on his neck, he seemed… pretty normal, and the “mother” tattoo confirmed who it was. Karl looked over to Donna, gesturing to Salvatore.

“Help me out here, will ya?” He asked, trying to pick him up by his arm, trying to pull him over his back. Donna ran over, picked him up by the other arm, helping Karl as Angie cleared one of the operating tables. Karl and Donna hoisted him onto it, putting him face up. Once they got him up there, Alcina was in the doorway, a bag with her that had her daughters in it. She looked at Salvatore, her face turning to confusion, before almost looking like her expression was going to fall off her face. He was white, with long back hair that went halfway down his chest. He wasn’t very muscular, but he certainly wasn’t fat or skinny either. It was more like a dad-bod, like Karl, but a bit bigger. He also seemed to be a bit taller than Karl as well. Karl was going to ask her about it before Salvatore coughed a little, groaning in pain, slowly opening his eyes. His eyes were a dark green, as if the yellows and greys that used to be there had disappeared, along with the rest of his monstrous form. They turned back to him, looking down on him on the operating table. He looked up at each of them, before sitting his head up slightly.

“Donna…” He murmured, before his eyes shot open, moving Karl to the side before leaning his head over the side of the table, throwing up. Alcina jumped back, a disgusted look on her face as Angie jumped onto a table to get away from the vomit. Salvatore groaned, putting his hand on his head. Donna went to place a hand on his shoulder, before he just yelled out, placing his hands over his ears, his legs coming up. “GET OUT YOU BASTARD!” He shrieked, sitting up. “LEAVE ME BE!” He brought his head to his knees. He yelled one more time before going silent, lightly breathing. Karl, Angie, and Alcina stood far back as Donna placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Um… Sal?” She quietly asked, pulling at her face covering. He slowly looked over to her, wiping his mouth.

“Sorry Donna…” He apologized, smiling at her. “It’s been a while, huh?” She tilted her head slightly, before she jumped back in shock. Salvatore’s eyes widened, realizing that the obvious had never occurred to him, that she wouldn’t know what he was referring to. It upsetted him a bit, but it did make sense. Donna held up a finger in a “just a second” way, before running out of the clinic. While she was gone, he went on stand up, before grabbing his head again, stomping his foot on the floor. He hissed in pain, realizing he was barefoot, stomping on concrete, but it did seem to stop his nuisance. He was then able to stand, but his back was a bit stiff, making him slouch. To Karl and Angie’s shock, he placed his hands on his back, pushing it forward to loosen the muscles in his back, finally standing up straight. Alcina stood in silence with Karl and Angie, but didn’t seem to be in as much shock as the two. As Salvatore looked at himself, Donna ran back in, a picture frame in her hands. She stood in front of Salvatore, holding up the frame, before it slipped out of her hands, shattering on the floor. Salvatore was confused for a second, before looking down and seeing the people in it.

The photo contained two people. One of the people seemed to be Donna, in the clothing that could be seen in one of her large portraits, but without Angie, surprisingly. The other person to the right was a taller man in a doctor’s uniform. He was white with dark green eyes, with his black, long hair tied back in a ponytail, some of it wasn’t tied with the rest, so it slipped underneath the rest of it, the ends resting on his shoulders. They stood side by side, seemingly outside in front of one of the gardens that used to be lined around the village, her holding onto the crook of his arm. Donna was too busy standing there in shock, placing her now empty hand on his face, as if to check for something. He smiled at her, closing his eyes and placing a hand over hers.

“I missed you Donna. I hope I didn’t scare you.” The small part of her face covering that was touching her face became a bit wet.

“Doctor?…”

[reidecorating]

Like Ivy

Request: “Being able to see you smile, being in your vicinity, just that is enough for me.” and “Uh, here, this is for, uh, you.” I’m thinking something Christmas-y with Reid - Anon

A/N: I do apologise for procrastinating on getting this out, but I wanted to make sure it wasn’t terrible. Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate it, my present to you is the longest fic I have ever written. I had so much fun writing it so I hope you guys enjoy reading it! Happy holidays <3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAUFem!Reader

Word Count: 7.7k

Summary: Best friends yearning & best friends pining - but make it festive. Entails Secret Santa, the classic penny behind the ear and waltzing.

Warnings: Fluff, proceed with caution :)

The Cathedral of Santa Maria. Spencer had finally put his finger on it. The small glass dome encasing a building, with doors small enough to allow entrance to ladybugs who may practice religion, adorned unmistakable timely Italian architecture and ornamented pine trees, all dusted with flitters of snow. For the past week, Spencer had caught sight of the trinket each time he wandered past where it sat, as one of the few other decorations surrounding the name plate displaying in gold Times New Roman ‘DAVID ROSSI’, on the often unoccupied desk. So, he gathered that it must be important. Filing away his final stack of paperwork for the night, a silver paperclip glistening in the artificial light, Spencer made a mental note to ask the man about it the next morning. Standing from his usual office chair slouch, he stretched his limbs, feeling a series of clicks in his back as he regained his posture, only to bend back down in reach of his satchel. He made his way home giving tight lipped smiles of encouragement to the few agents sprinkled about the room, working over time. Haphazardly, he pushed the arrow pointing downwards with a cardigan clad elbow. As if on queue, his phone buzzed to the simultaneous ‘ding’ of the lift. 

I understand you’re nocturnal, but I hope you’ve gotten home by now! If not, text me when you do so, safely :) 

He didn’t realise he was grinning from ear to ear until an aggravated looking bureau member from a floor above, evidently itching to get home, cleared his throat to gain Spencer’s attention. “Sorry,” he grimaced. Noticing the button for the ground floor having already been lit up, Spencer stepped inside and stood as far away, as was possible in the small space, from the rankled looking man and his briefcase. A dimple appeared on his cheek as he remembered you, two years, three months and seventeen days ago - not that he was counting - offering him cherry scented hand sanitiser from a small bottle, and, only after he’d nodded, gently grasping the tips of his fingers to steady his shaking hand as you poured the gelid liquid into his palm. The act was so pure he chose against telling you that while alcohol based hand sanitisers reduce the number of microbes on hands in some situations, they don’t eliminate all types of germs - making soap and water the most effective way to go. Since then, you occupied his thoughts in the same way ivy grew along bricks of long forgotten towers. In abundance, in the most beautiful way. He turned his attention back to the tiny mobile he was holding. 

On my way right now. I have a date with microwaved leftovers at midnight, can’t miss it. Will do. 

The next time his phone buzzed was when he’d dozed off on the way home, using the concave pane of a metro window as a shoulder to lean against. He waited until his feet landed on the uneven pavement of his stop to open it. 

Tomorrow you have a date with a properly cooked meal, at mine. What is it that Hotch always says? That’s an order, not a request. 

Spencer’s heartbeat quickened as he read what you had written, his brain immediately carrying variables in an effort to slow it down by convincing himself that friends make each other feel this way. However, when he counted the rose flush on his cheeks and nose whenever you were around, the looks you shared which said more than words ever could and the way you held each other nearer than the distance between the sky and the ocean where they met at the horizon after close calls and mentally grappling cases, it didn’t quite equate to being just friends. Dwindling leaves clinging to their branches shuddered as scissors of winter wind pruned the trees scattered about. Spencer’s pale hands slid into his coat pockets, hiding from frostbite. On the short walk to his apartment, he admired the twinkling lights on either side of the streets, feeling as if he were a plane which had just landed upon a runway in the night. Candy canes, reindeer and eccentric portrayals of Santa Claus glowed amongst bushes and on porches, making Spencer wish you were there to see them too. It wasn’t rare he found himself wanting to share everything he did with you. Pretty things made him think of you. Eventually reaching the familiar building, tiredly, he followed wreaths and holly all the way to his undecorated apartment door. 

You? Cooking? I’ll bring a fire extinguisher. Home safe. Goodnight, sleep well. 

He kept his promise, despite seeing the time was nearing to one in the morning and being doubtful you were still awake. 

Hilarious :/ and I will, knowing you’re alive. Goodnight Spencer :) 

Spencer coveted for nights when he could tell you goodnight from right beside you, perhaps with his hand draped around your waist while yours tugged at his hair. He wanted to fall asleep to the scent of your skin and whatever soap you’d picked up from the store that week, not the quiet hum of his vintage fan. His microwave beeped, acting as an alarm to return down to earth from the clouds, presenting him with far less than gourmet potatoes. Realising he would take your burnt cooking over this any day, he settled for a sandwich.

 ∗∗∗

“Did you know that snowglobes were invented in France. They were first introduced as ‘water globes’ at the Paris Expedition Fair in 1889, and, to no surprise, the first snow globe actually contained a tiny scaled Eiffel Tower covered in snow,” Spencer lectured, almost putting the two agents who had struggled enough to get out of bed, back to sleep. The days were slow. Annual leave for a majority of the bureau was looming nearer and files kept them busy as the jet gathered dust. “Glad to hear the French contributed something, other than their opprobrium of a language, to this world,” Emily complained, from her desk. “Well, baguettes… Croissants, parachutes… Aspirin-“ Spencer was halted by the unimpressed look on Rossi’s face, as he hovered on the edge of Spencer’s table, a bushy eyebrow raised in vexation. “What’s with all this talk of snowglobes, kid?” The older man squinted at Spencer, craning his neck towards this, the way he did to suspects behind the glass of an interrogation room. “Since you brought it up,” he smiled smugly, swivelling in his chair from one side to another. “What’s the story behind the Santa Maria sitting on your desk?”

“Yeah, the eighties have come and gone, Rossi, isn’t it a bit late for repentance?” Emily let out a sly smile, walking over to also lean against Spencer’s desk with a steaming mug in hand. “It was a gift from my grandmother, handmade, I take it out every Christmas to help get in the festive mood,” Rossi explained. “Also, that was very funny Emily but now… I can’t help but recall what Garcia told me about the time you got a little tipsy and licked peanut butter off J-” 

“No one told me it was National Congregate Around Spencer Reid’s Desk Day today.” The three agents turned their heads in unison to find who the voice belonged to, Spencer’s breath hitching at the sight of you. You stood before them, an upturned magician’s hat in hand, semi-curious as to what the ending of Rossi’s sentence would have been if it weren’t for you interrupting. “Y/N!” Emily waved, flashing a smile. “You’ve taken an interest in magic and didn’t even think to tell me,” Spencer feigned a hurt look. “Spencer, I knew magic wasn’t for me after I did the card trick you taught me, wrong . Six times,”

“It was seven. Plus, the student is never as good as the teacher,” he suppressed a smile. “Or maybe the teacher just isn’t good,” you raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s a little hostile, someone didn’t get enough sleep last night,” Spencer defended himself, putting his hands in the air. His eyes held a glimmer of mischief as if to say ‘we know something that you don’t’ when they met yours. Emily’s jaw dropped. “That… Didn’t sound suggestive at all,” Rossi pursed his lips in concern, looking back and forth between the pair of furiously blushing agents. “Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t,” you winked at Rossi. Basking in the radiance of your laughter washing over him like the sun, Spencer chuckled along. “Anyway, what’s with the hat?” Emily questioned. “This,” you shook it by its brim, “contains the remaining names for this year’s Secret Santa, courtesy of Miss Penelope Garcia. I was just ordered to present it to you all. She calls it being her ‘little elf’ - I call it unpaid manual labour - but pick a name, any name,” you encouraged. You watched as Spencer’s tongue comically poked out as he eagerly concentrated on picking a name, elbow bent at a worrying angle. “I just want to say that every time I get a gift that isn’t alcohol, I’m slightly disappointed,” Emily turned to you as it was her turn to fish for a piece of paper. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you grinned at her. You watched Rossi’s expression as his eyes skimmed the name in his hands. “Oh, and Rossi, yes, there’s a budget,” you called over your shoulder, causing them to laugh as you gave them a wave. Slinking away from the comity of the bullpen, back to Mrs Claus’ lair, you retrieved the only remaining name. You paused in the hallway to double check if you’d read the glittery scrawl correctly. Spencer Reid. It was just your luck. You were prepared to engage in hand to hand combat with Garcia, seeing her office looming ahead. “Penelope. I hate you. I love you,” you kissed her cheek, placing the top hat on her curls, “but I hate you.” She recognised the tone, beaming at the implications. “Thank me later, beautiful!” She called after you as you rushed away to get started on completing the mountains of reports you had been avoiding thus far. 

The day had come to a close, a headache making a home for itself in your head. Scanning the, now, mostly empty room, you caught sight of the back of Spencer’s uncombed head. Double checking that not enough people were around to be reprimanded by HR for misconduct, you inconspicuously made your way over to him snaking your arms around his neck and burrowing your nose in its crook. “Hi,” he chuckled, amused at the sudden affection, his unoccupied hand immediately reaching to grasp one of your wrists. Spencer had followed your strict, but coffee induced, orders earlier that morning telling him not to distract you unless, one, he was dying, or two, something was on fire, because you were determined to finish the numerous write-ups you had left until today. “Hi,” you mumbled into him. “Ready to go home?” You asked sweetly, arms still slung around him, pulling your face away to get a glimpse of his soft features. Your heart stopped for a little while, at the beauty of him. He was breathtaking. You refrained from tracing the small bump of his nose with your own, and settled for admiring the five o’clock shadow presaging a hidden jaw. The part of Spencer that craved domesticity was enchanted by your simple question, the word home resounding in his head, acting as an old film reel for projections of images of the two of you together; leaving work together, going home together. Little did he know that, as if through an unnoticed telepathy, just a few inches away, the same images occupied your own head. Coming home to an empty apartment had become tedious. You allowed yourself to give into your daydreams of returning home to Spencer - with Spencer. Spencer, with his warm eyes and words that drip like syrup from his tongue. You wanted nothing more than to revel in him filling your senses once the cologne from the day had been washed away, and hear him harp on about the history of mattresses, attempting to retain questions to ask him later in your memory bank, as you capitulate to sleep. “As a matter of fact, I finished most of what I had to do last night so I am ready to go… home,” he tested out the word, to which you had assigned a brand new connotation, feeling a flutter in his chest. You quickly rescinded your arms as you peripherally detected a flock of agents returning from what you assumed was an afternoon break. Spencer suddenly missed your body on his. Having already packed your things, feeling accomplished noticing that the pile of folders on your desk had shrunk significantly, you packed Spencer’s things to save him time, aimlessly throwing the strap of his satchel over his head for him once he had ungracefully shoved his arms into a blazer. “Hang on,” you gently pulled at his shoulders to meet your height, carefully fixing his tag and creased collar. The blush on his face, at the feel of your cold fingers brushing the nape of his neck, said everything he didn’t - save a meek, “Thank you.” You smiled at him in return. “Wait,” his eyes widened, “I need this,” he mumbled, reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a large black bag, decorated in gold intricacies. He didn’t explain it, but you knew that if Spencer had something to say, he would come out and say it, just all in good time. “Now are you ready?” You eyed the thing curiously, and glanced back at him. “Let’s go,” he motioned his arms in front of him, with a small nod, letting you lead the way. 

Afternoon rays of sun fought their way through clouds, battling with the winter air to warm the people mingling outside as you made your way towards the crowded station. “Penny for your thoughts?” You asked, intuitively slipping an arm through his when the sun began to disappear altogether. Your cheeks grew warm as you realised your compromising position, feeling your heart rate return to its usual pace once he relaxed into your touch. “Hm?” He turned to look at you, letting his river coloured eyes unabashedly scan your face. “You look like your mind is far away,”

“What’s on my mind is definitely not very far away,” he said, quietly. That glimmer had returned. You noticed that the crease between his brows had disappeared, indicative that whatever thoughts were rattling through his brain, were good ones. You hummed a smile, content with his contentedness. “So… Hand it over,” he extended a palm a second later. “Hand what over?” You asked, genuinely confused. “A penny,” he said as if it was obvious. You blinked up at him, unfazed by the joke, as he bit his lip provokingly. All of a sudden he stopped walking, eyes still on you. “Just… Hold on a moment,” he whispered, squinting at you as he reached a hand towards your cheek. You remained still, thinking that Spencer had finally lost his mind. “Here it is!” He exclaimed, breaking out into a smile as he retrieved a one cent coin from behind your ear. “What!? You’re kidding! That was brilliant,” you beamed at him, eyes wide in bewilderment. “For a second there I thought you had gone crazy,” you teased. “Magic does that to people,” he nodded, satisfied with how impressed you seemed. “Ah, but alas, you gave me a very ambiguous answer, so I,” you snatched the penny from his fingers, “am entitled to a refund.” Spencer shook his head with a soft smile. “You might need to use that for the bus if we miss the next train,” he informed, hurriedly examining the watch on his upturned wrist. 

No trains were missed, that day, the two of you arriving at your door in time for the six o’clock news. “Here, let me take your coat,” you offered, putting it on the small rack beside the door, placing yours adjacent to it. Spencer relished in the warmth of the place, setting his things down. “So, I’m thinking we get a proper meal in us, and then you can help me decorate this dreary place,” you instructed. He wanted to let you know that anywhere you are is far from being dreary, but something told him that was far too sappy, so he settled for a simple, “Sounds good.” He took in the familiar apartment, its walls embellished in old paintings snagged from secondhand stores and books scattered about on almost every horizontal surface, in a certain disorderliness that said, yes it’s messy, but everything has its place. “Also, I hope you know that you’re only leaving in the morning so make yourself at home.” It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for the two of you; you falling asleep at his apartment out of feebleness, him at yours, and more often than not, it involved discarded games of Scrabble as the two of you settled for debating the rules instead of actually playing. Lately, he’d been craving it more and more - and so had you. Spencer would never say no to that offer, but he was taken aback. “But I didn’t pack- I don’t have-“

“Eidetic memory is slipping I see,” you giggled at his flustered state. “I told you, I kept finding toothbrushes, sweaters and socks here every time you left, so I made a drawer full of your things, since you practically live here anyway,”

“An entire drawer? I didn’t think I was missing a whole lot,” he responded, nose tinted red. “I have to water my plants quickly, before I put dinner on, but feel free to shower,” you said, still laughing quietly. “Let me help cook, first. You need someone to disassemble the smoke alarm,” he raised an eyebrow at you. One ‘KISS THE COOK’ apron and half an hour of seasoning a chicken, spilling sweet potatoes and bumping elbows later, the two of you stood back from the counter, you boasting to Spencer about how nothing had turned to ashes, and him pointing out that the oven hadn’t been turned on yet. Soon after, you put the oven on high, humming an indistinguishable carol over the shower that could be heard running from the next room. A warm, tingling feeling overcame you.

By the time you had showered, Spencer stood serving - a well timed and flawlessly cooked - chicken, wearing mitts matching the baggy flannel pyjamas keeping him warm on top of the open oven. “Smells good,” you complimented, slightly startling Spencer. He stood at the small wooden dining table, mouth agape at the sight of you. He was sure his heart was a puddle. “I like your sweater,” he praised. You glanced down slightly confused, shortly realising that your sweater, with its much too floppy sleeves, reaching a little way above your knees, was actually his. “Oh, I’ll wash it and give it back to you at some point,” you said shyly. “I was wondering where it went, but don’t worry about it, the colour looks nicer on you than it does on me,”

“Nonsense, you know that’s not true.” Soon enough, you found yourselves digging in - not before you expressed your gratitude towards food that wasn’t charred for the first time in months. You sat across from each other, your reindeer sock clad feet occasionally tapping his beneath the table. Spencer’s heart was full, marvelling at you from where he sat, wishing this could be something he could experience forever, much preferring it over a stale sandwich. You watched him intently through your eyelashes, chin resting on your interlaced hands while he taught you about how the thalidomide scandal emerging from Germany led to safer drugs in the pharmaceutical industry, the lecture prompted by an article he’d read recently. It continued into getting the dishes cleaned up, his rambling only being interrupted by your intermittent questions which incited further tangents, or requests to pass the tea towel. His voice was a ruffled silken sheet, on which you would like to lay for eternity. Admittedly, you found it difficult to focus on retaining any more information than the odd date, due to being too focused on the way his lips moved to form every word he said, hopelessly enamoured by the overly enthusiastic expressions he made to match the tone of what he was saying. Eventually, he wandered towards the living room as you stacked away the final plate, butterflies still spurring in your stomach from when his fingers brushed yours as he handed it to you.

“Spencer Reid effortlessly navigating technology, Christmas miracles really do exist, huh?” 

“Actually, I just remembered watching you choose music, instead of paying attention to the road, that one time you drove me to work,”

“I was most definitely paying attention,” you huffed out a laugh, slightly bashful at the thought of him remembering small things you do. “You hit the kerb four times! That was the day I vowed to never let you transport me anywhere,”

“I see your argument, and I raise you with the counter argument: the kerb hit me.” Sitting with his back against the couch, legs sprawled out over the rug beneath your coffee table, Spencer couldn’t hold back his laughter. After watching you disappear into the kitchen, he busied himself with reading the holiday edition of Reader’s Digest laying on the table. He recounted you telling him that you had accidentally  drunkenly subscribed to it, and never bothered to cancel the subscription, the first time you’d caught him reading an issue. You emerged a short while later, with drinks in both hands. “Bonjour monsieur, on tonight’s menu, we can either open this Merlot or, drink Capri-suns like the sophisticated adults we are. Your pick,” you said, hiding the juice pouches behind your back and noticeably waving the bottle of wine in front of you. “I have a feeling it isn’t my pick,” he let out a laugh, “so just fill a glass with enough Merlot for two,” you were on your way to get a glass before he had the chance to finish. “Your wish is my command!” You called. Spencer put down his magazine once he saw you rushing towards him with a large glass of wine in hand. “Of course you opt for Christmas Jazz over Mariah Carey,” you teased, hearing the music he’d queued floating from the withering speaker in the corner of the living room. It was the kind of music that would play in the diner of an expensive hotel, you noted. “I can change it if you’d like?” He began reaching for your phone, when you halted him by grasping his arm. “No, it’s good, I like your taste.” Spencer grinned sheepishly, taking the glass from your hand as you sat down beside him. 

Hours of conversation and decking the halls with tinsel later, with wine flushed cheeks and twinkling eyes you moved the furniture to cater for your very own dance floor. Carefully, Spencer placed a hand below your ribs, touching you like new glassware, lacing the other with yours. Your unfettered hand, replaced the weight of the world as it rested on his shoulder. You recognised the look on his face as he settled into the close proximity, it was the same look that painted yours when you admired him whilst he failed to notice. The soft glow of a lamp illuminated the man you held, making an indistinct halo of golden light appear above his unkempt hair. “I apologise for any damage caused to your feet,” you giggled, struggling to find a rhythm. “Here, follow my lead,” he looked down at your feet. “The Waltz?” Dazzled, you raised an eyebrow, a few seconds after recognising the box-like steps in unison. Spencer tried to focus on anything but your lips, glistening in the dull light, so close to his. “Mhm, I’m not exactly the most co-ordinated-”

“You don’t say?”

“That’s tough talk for someone I’ve seen fall up a flight of stairs,”

“That sounds made up, but as you were saying,” you laughed into his chest. “It’s simple because its a repeating pattern. Did you know that name of the dance comes from the German word waltzen, which means to turn, or to glide? Some say the dance itself comes from the folk music and dances of west Austria, but others debate that it’s a variation of the Volta, from the 16th century,”

“Interesting, makes sense to debate that though. I’m pretty sure volta means ‘a turning’ in Italian - although that’s mostly in reference to the turn of a new thought or idea in sonnets… I’m thinking of Shakespeare,” you chimed in. “Sonnet one-hundred and thirty being a classic example of that,”

“Of course you would know that,” you shook your head in awe, cheeks hurting from grinning too wide. The incandescence of the smile that hadn’t left his face all day was mesmerising, the honeyed expression tied together with the dimples on his cheeks and creases around his eyes. “What would you like for Christmas?” He mumbled, lifting a moment of peaceful silence. “If you pulled my name out of the hat today you’re going to have to be a lot more subtle than that,”

“Unfortunately not,” he pouted. “Don’t tell anyone I told you, but I have Rossi,” he whispered the words into your ear, neglecting that no one else was around to hear. “What do you get a man who already has everything money can buy?”

“A new wife,” you joked, causing him to scoff. He studied your visage as you pondered his earlier question, still swaying to the soft piano sounds. “Honestly Spencer, being able to see you smile, being in your vicinity, just that is enough for me,” you finally answered, tilting your head up at him. Spencer thought his knees would give way. He thought his knees would give way, and he would hit the ground with enough impact to implode through the earth’s crust. In reality, he only stumbled over his feet momentarily, regaining his composure before you noticed him slowly becoming unhinged. “If that’s the case, I wish I’d picked your name,” he managed to utter, breathlessly.

The music which continued to play was drowned out by the sound of steady breathing, you were too caught up in each other to pay attention to the world. Wordless, you looked into his eyes, his actions parallel to yours. “You look beautiful right now,” he sighed. “Of course, you always look beautiful but, you know.” You shook your head, refraining from averting your eyes from his. He wished you believed it, promising himself to never abstain from letting you know until you saw yourself the way he did. “It’s funny you say that, because I was thinking the same thing. About you of course,” you rushed out the last part, realising the potential for miscommunication. “I love seeing you happy,”

“Well, as long as you stick around, you’ll be seeing a lot of that,” he spoke lowly, on the verge of telling you about all the things he felt for you. You hadn’t realised, but you had unconsciously moved closer together. You could feel his warm breath on your skin, lighting a fire inside your lungs, as he took yours away. Spencer saw all of the signs; the signs that this was not usual for a friendship. Maybe, if it weren’t for his defeated battle with fear, and doubt, he would have told you by now that he had fallen desperately for you. Spencer knew there wasn’t a drop of insincerity behind any of the kind words you spoke into him, he understood that you were his person, but he found it difficult enough to comprehend that someone could feel this strongly for someone. So, the implausible idea that someone could feel this way about him, was one he was not even prepared to entertain. “Y/N? I, um,” he tried, wearily. You gave him a soft smile, both tired arms laced behind his neck now as his rested on your waist. He dropped his sword. Once again losing the fight against his unreasonable insecurities, changing his mind at the last second. “I need to give you something,” his demeanour changed and he vanished from your line of vision. Your heart sank, hopes of hearing him say that the love you had for him was requited, fallen. Before you got too lost in your head, he emerged from the doorway with the same black bag you’d been inquisitive of. “Uh, here, this is for, uh, you,” he tucked his lip beneath his teeth. “Spencer…” you trailed off as he handed it to you. You sat yourself on the carpet, patting the spot next to you for him to join. “I thought I should give it to you now, since I’ll be in Vegas for Christmas,” 

“Spencer, you really didn’t have to-“

“Go on, open it,” he ignored your humility. You gave him a look as you opened it - it being replaced with a look of elation as you realised what it was. In your hands, you held a scarf, long enough to hit the floor, striped in all your favourite tones. “I had to ask my mom for help with the tassels, but-“

“You took the time to make this? For me?” You exclaimed. Without thought, you draped it around his neck to tug him closer to you, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. “This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me, thank you so much,” you lauded, refusing to let go of him. “I think it was last winter, we were walking back to our hotel in Minnesota during a case, and you insisted that the both of us use my scarf to keep us warm, because you didn’t have one,”

“Ah, I remember that, except it ended up being one of the top ten worst disasters in U.S. history due to the height difference, and we both ended up falling face-first into the snow,” you giggled, recalling the way you had used up most of the hotel’s hot water afterwards. “Exactly,” he matched your expression, “seeing as you still haven’t bought one for yourself, even though we lose eighty percent of our body heat through our head and neck, I thought I would take matters into my own hands,”

“Well, I love it. You’ll have to tell your mother I said thank you and that I’m sending my love,” you finally dropped your arms from around him, out of fear of crushing his shoulders. 

Once the zeroes had lined up on the twenty-four clock, Spencer sat where he usually resided on your bed, ardently admiring you as you folded away his gift. “Wait! Spencer close your eyes! Please!” You squeaked, immediately shutting the cupboard doors, realising your unwrapped present for him was hidden within. “Y/N? Is everything alright?” He asked, eyes now sealed shut. “I didn’t want you to see what I’d bought for Secret Santa,” you let out, too exhausted to form a coherent excuse. “We only got those names today - well, yesterday, now - so how did you manage to-”

“Shoot,” you cursed to yourself, knowing his unintentional profiling would lead him to the conclusion sooner or later. Spencer’s eyes slowly opened. “Okay, let’s say if, hypothetically, I had intended on giving you something for Christmas anyway, but then drawn your name today, would you, hypothetically, be able to act surprised when you receive it from me at work?”

“Hypothetically speaking, I would?” He squinted at you, stifling laughter. Your hair was slightly messy and your drowsy eyes were visible to Spencer even without his contacts in. He thought you just looked so adorable, wanting nothing more than to hold you and share your warmth. “Anyway, come to bed,” he beckoned, his voice gravelly, giving way for the day. Obliging, you shuffled towards your bed before sliding your cold feet beneath the covers. Spencer turned to face you, resting his cheek on an upturned palm. “Sorry for ruining the surprise,” you whispered, tucking the duvet under your chin, bright eyes looking through him. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he assured, treasuring the sight before him. There had been a shift in the air between the two of you. Spencer held the wine accountable, but he could sense that you felt it too, a level of intimacy that you had not quite reached during previous nights like this. “Come closer, I need to exploit your body heat while I can.” Spencer listened to your instruction, inching nearer to you, his heart rate so high he was sure you could feel it when you nuzzled your head into his chest. “Goodnight,” you felt his chest rumble. “Hang on, the night isn’t over yet,” you mumbled, “talk to me,”

“About?” He asked, amused by your grit to avoid sleep. “Anything you want,” you yawned. “You’re sleepy,” he stated, coaxing you into getting some shut eye. When you tilted your head up and continued to blink at him, he gave in. “Have you ever wondered why a lot of our most vulnerable conversations happen  at night?” You nodded in response. “Well, a study done by the University of Colorado a couple of years ago concluded that natural light from the sun actually regulates your circadian rhythm, or internal biological clock, which standardises your sleep cycle. According to their study, this sleep cycle coincides with sunrise and sunset, meaning that if you regularly expose yourself to sunlight, your body enhances its internal clock to align more closely with the natural light cycle,” 

“Based on that,” you contended, words slightly jumbled, “our circadian rhythm would vary between seasons, right? And yours would be different, since you’re a literal vampire, to say... someone who surfs down in Florida because of disparity in sun exposure?”

“Precisely,” he raised his eyebrows, “I’m impressed you’re still paying attention, you look like you’re already dreaming.” Spencer nudged your forehead gently with his own, causing you to breath out a laugh. “Alright, so how does all of that relate to being more vulnerable at night?”

“It relates in the sense that the rise and fall of the sun reflects in our physiological, as well as emotional behaviour. During the day, we’re a lot more active, and at night, we become more relaxed and receptive. Hence, since your mind is at ease, all the thoughts and emotions that might have felt jumbled up during the day become clear, making them a whole lot easier to express,”

“Mhm,” you managed, eyelids growing heavy. “Do you… have anything to say now,” you whispered drowsily, eyes now closed, “that you can’t say during the day?” Spencer couldn’t handle it anymore. He was already so fond of you but as his hand settled to rest around your waist, feeling your warmness, he believed his ribs could collapse from the way he felt inside. As you dozed off, gradually, winter became less cold in his arms and dreamscapes of his tea leaf eyes. “And, she’s asleep,” he whispered, minutes after silence, into your hair, “but to answer your question, yes,” his lips planted a chaste kiss on your forehead, “I love you.” Of course, unbeknownst to him, you weren’t asleep just yet.

∗∗∗

A couple of days went by, and as more time went on, the less certain you became as to whether Spencer had really even said the words, wondering if the whole thing was just a fatigue driven hallucination your lovesick mind had conjured up. Waking up beside him the next morning however, tangled in a warm cocoon of cotton and limbs, had left you feeling giddy, smiling like a fool with heart shaped eyes as he attempted to feed you the waffles he’d made - which the two of you gulped down far too quickly than sanctioned, to avoid being late for work. When you didn’t succeed, and the clock had beaten you by ten minutes, you both wrestled past evocative looks from the rest of the team for the remainder of the day, JJ even singing something about the two of you ‘sitting in a tree’ . The soft, shared, smiles and light brushes of fingertips when he handed you coffee in the mornings left you wanting to concede; let him know that you would walk on burning coal for him, the more logical side of you reminding you that professing your devotion to him over an open case file consisting of a double homicide, three days before Christmas, was far from ideal. Spencer wanted the kind of love only the poets could express. This had become evident the evening you took him to a midnight screening of ‘Un homme et Une Femme’. You recalled leaning into him to translate, catching sight of his welling eyes glimmer in the dim lit theatre. Believing his love should be celebrated, you decided to withhold the unsurfaced feelings a little while longer.

Later that week, you all gathered around the BAU tree, a small framed picture of Derek decidedly hanging from one of its upper branches after Garcia had to be heavily persuaded, and eventually bribed, to not place it at the top, arguing “But he’s my star.” Spencer snuck behind you, subtly placing a hand on your back to glide through and place Rossi’s gift under the tree. “I want to let you know that I’ve been practicing my ‘surprised’ face in the mirror,” he discreetly whispered against your neck, making you roll your eyes. “Okay super sleuths, I know we’re all itching to fly away for a break, but hold your reindeer, because we are yet to kick off our annual Secret Santa,” Garcia excitedly exclaimed, shuffling in with two large sparkling bags. “I thought there was a budget?” Rossi quirked. “Yes, sir,” she looked smug, “for you.” The team shared smiles at Rossi’s perplexed look. “So, who wants to start us off?” Garcia chirped. With that, the festivities were under way. You held tight an abnormally large heat sensitive mug, which you were sure would also reveal a promiscuous image once warm - a gift from Emily, who gave herself away by insisting it would help your caffeine dependency - watching as the others tackled ribbon wrapping paper. You threw an impressed look Spencer’s way, that glint of knowing something the universe doesn’t returning to your eyes, when Rossi opened a small portrait of what looked to be a Venetian cathedral, the Santa Maria to be exact. Once the banter and excited chatter had died down, everyone turned to the recipient of the final gift, neatly labelled Spencer Reid, enveloped in brown paper and tied with deep purple ribbon. Penelope looked as if she were about to pass out. Spencer’s shifting eyes landed on JJ as she mouthed a small ‘you’re up’, causing a smile to tug at his lips when he eyed you gazing at him with the soft look he adored. Your eyes lingered on his hands as they swimmingly untied the mauve knot and tore open the paper to reveal a large leather-bound journal. He examined the old looking thing,  trailing his fingers along the convoluted golden details of the artistic interpretation of a moon calendar adorning its umber covers, partially covered by thin leather straps. His mouth was slightly agape, shaking a little at how well you knew him, clumsily catching the matching novelty pen before it slipped out of the wrapping and onto the floor. You had picked it up at a forlorn occult shop after it had caught your eye while looking out of place as it lay surrounded by large crystals. Knowing in an almost divine way that it should belong to Spencer, you had bought it. He couldn’t help but look at you briefly, communicating a silent gratitude. “This is amazing,” he ogled, “I love it.” Your heartbeat was in your throat. He was yet to find out you’d filled the first page for him.

Shouts of Merry Christmas, long hugs and season’s greetings were thrown around the room before, one by one, everyone slowly bade their goodbyes. While helping JJ clear away torn reds and greens of gift wrapping, you caught sight of Spencer, ears and cheeks scarlet, with his nose buried in his new, opened, journal.

“We are asleep until we fall in love," you looked up from Leo Tolstoy’s one thousand page book and recited to me, once. Since you walked into my life, I’ve been wide awake. You know that I’m never far away, but this is for the days you need to let out some of what you hold in, without saying it aloud. 

I love you too, Spencer.

Spencer read and re-read the words until he was sure he could recite them like the Lord’s Prayer. It was commonly Spencer who remembered small details and remembered paltry quotations, but this time, it was you. Sitting in the glow of the afternoon sun, one October, he had been reading War and Peace, and couldn’t help but share the line with you as you sat across from him, chewing through a much smaller number of pages and reading a collection of poetry. The woman he had been so captivated by, admiring from afar that day - and all others, felt the same way he did. In disbelief, he began breathing manually. Making sure he was deciphering the cursive lettering correctly, he scanned the page again. While his eyes were definitely not deceiving him, they remained glued to one word. Awake. The havoc caused in his heart by the train of thought hitting him so brutally, rivalled only Gare Montparnasse. You must’ve heard his confession nights ago. It was the only explanation for the ‘I love you, too’. You most definitely were awake. Profiling tendencies overcame him. With his basic background of graphology, he could make out that the last line had been written in fresher ink than all the others, confirming his hypothesis. For the first time in a while, his mind was quiet, the uncertainties which fought to float in, unable to make their way through as if the thee simple words you’d handed him were a barrier for them. He needed to talk to you.

Walking quickly towards the elevator, an overwhelming wave of anxiety crashed over you. You had subconsciously been avoiding Spencer for most of the evening, second-guessing whether or not you’d heard him correctly, whether he’d even meant the words in the way you’d interpreted, wondering what you would do if this friendship were to ever end. However, a more hopeful side of you contended to quiet those thoughts. He had to feel it too. There was no room in which you hadn’t shared a longing look. The feather touches, and dancing. So badly did you want to believe that he thought this too. A slender arm appeared through the closing elevator doors, tugging you back to reality, causing you to jump before quickly pushing the open button. “Spencer! You could’ve lost an arm!” You yelped. “It’s okay, I have two of them,” he huffed. He avoided your eyes for a moment, before inhaling half of the oxygen in the small lift and turning towards you. “I wanted to say thank you, for this,” he held up the book, “it’s gorgeous, and sort of… exactly what I needed - and not just the book itself but what you wrote… inside it,” he nervously looked at you. “Did you- do you mean what you wrote?” His tone of voice syringed into you a drop of hurt. “Spencer, I never want you to think that I don’t mean it,” your let out in a shaky voice, gently grasping his elbow. You visibly saw his body ease, a smitten smile replacing the lip being chewed at. His throat bobbed as he gulped before he spoke again, heartbeat in his ears. “I want you to know that I’m in love with you, Y/N. I don’t want you the way I want a best friend, I want you in a-” he sighed, clenching and unclenching his fist trying to find the words, “I want you in a way that means I want to fall asleep beside you, and wake up to you the next morning, for as long as the sun rises. I want you. I want you - no, need you, the way the tide needs the moon to rise and fall, I want you-” he swallowed, furrowing his brows at his feet, “I want you, like this.” Hazel eyes fluttering shut was the last thing you saw. Large hands lightly caressed your face, one travelling behind your ear, brushing your neck to delicately tangle in your hair. After years of wondering, you finally knew what his lips felt like on yours. His nose bumped yours lightly as you tasted his soft lips, their slight chap reminding you that winter had kissed them first. Your hands wrapped around his wrists, before one settled on his tilted jaw and another hid in his chestnut hair. He felt warm, everywhere you touched setting electricity through him. Even after you pulled apart, his arms remained on either side of your face, holding you like you were fragile. His breath fanned over your face, as you shivered, the fluttering in your stomach unsubdued. The elevator had long reached the ground floor, causing the two of you to bashfully laugh concurrently. You thought to yourself that Spencer’s crimson flush and wide grin was a sight you would lose sleep to gaze at. “All this time, I’ve been missing out on that,” you teased, watching him shyly bite his lip as he waited for you to say something else. “I’m very glad you said all of that because I’m very much in love with you, Spencer Reid, and, if you’ll let me, I want to love you, the way people love in all the books you’ve lent me,” you told him. At that, he was sure his heart was yours, fearlessly. So, making afternoon plans and debating which train to take, neither of you really caring as long as you were in the other’s company, you finally stepped out of the elevator, oblivious to the mistletoe that was hanging within it, but more than mindful of what was to come.