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gingerlurk · 1 year ago

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Lovers' Crest | Chapter 12: The Visit

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: You have more questions than before. The same goes for Din.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), post season 3, Calvinball with canon and Mandalorian lore (making it up), light angst.

A/N: A short chapter here, will post the next one fairly soon. Been an interesting week to be a Din Djarin/Pedro Pascal fan hasn't it? Hope you're hydrating! Thanks for reading, big love.

The leader of the revived Mandalorian people is not so proud as to deny you to work on her speeder. She has a refreshing air of keen intelligence and frank regard. You like her.

Bo-Katan Kryze stands beside you as you fiddle with a mess of pistons and shaft lines. She asks an occasional question, but mostly looks out across the work site. Her people move about with quiet efficiency. They’re on a ranging operation – a huge group surveying a ruined city. Din had said he needed to go out there to see her – pay respects or something. So, after a terrifying meeting with a leader named simply, the Armourer, your group of three had flown the Crest out to join them.

The shade of the hangar is surprisingly cooling in the rocky, hazy clime. You spy Din by himself across the expanse, lifting crate after crate from a transport tray and stacking them neatly against a craft. You make a mental note to bother him later about adequate rehydration.

You’ve decided the person standing next to you is your best option to ask about what’s been gnawing away at you in the time it took to reach Mandalore. She and Din seem to hold each other in a profoundly high esteem, and you can see she deeply cares for him, and Grogu.

And, since Din’s big speech about the ‘sacrifices’ you made and the ‘honour’ and ‘loyalty’ you exhibited in retrieving that beskar cache, she’s ensured you’ve been welcomed and your offers to assist their rebuilding efforts accepted.

Although it was mostly when she’d reached up, removed her helmet and looked you dead in the eyes that did it. When you realised there was so much here you didn’t know. So much about Din Djarin the Bounty Hunter. So much about Mandalorians. What little you’d gleaned from discs and stories. It was nothing at all.

Still, it was just the one question you couldn’t shake at the minute. Just ask it. She’ll give you an honest answer, you think, then you’ll know.

You twist a coil of wire around and around the kit, worrying at it over much as you force the words out.

‘What does sha--’ you pause on the unfamiliar word, push it around your mouth. ‘What does shareekah mean?’

Bo-Katan turns to you sharply, but keeps an even gaze that takes in your pinched features and nervous fiddling with the bit’s end.

‘Cyar’ika?’ she asks, putting more softness on the final syllable than you had managed.

‘Sure, yes. That,’ you strip more rubber from the coil and continue twisting.

You glance sidelong at her, see Bo’s eyes soften. Then you look out into the glare. She follows your gaze to see the lone figure straighten and stretch out.

‘It’s a form of endearment,’ she murmurs. ‘Generally, it means “darling”, “or “sweetheart”.’

The part ready, you slip it into place, plugging the ignition gauge into the new switch you’ve created, trying to remember how to breathe. You can handle this.

But, Bo continues. ‘It’s meaning is contextual though. In certain contexts, it can also be held to mean, “most beloved”.’

Oh. Force the new question past dry lips. ‘What kind of contexts?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she shrugs, arches a brow. ‘Bringing a stranger with no clan to a secretive people’s home world and convincing everybody present it was a really good idea?’

You jam the speeder’s hatch closed a touch too hard. Bo looks back at you. You give yourself a shake and huff, ‘Okay, she’s ready.’

A couple of flicks to the dash and the machine hums to life.

‘You’re going to see a lot more room at the top end now. And the glide will be tighter. I suggest heading out somewhere flat and opening her up.’

Bo-Katan gives you a small smile, a hand on your shoulder. ‘Thank you,’ she says. She replaces her helmet and swings a leg over the saddle, wasting no time zipping out from the sheltered spot. The engine roars overhead a moment later and you hear an honest-to-gods, ‘Wooooo!’ fade out.

That makes you smile. It’s a relief.

Another speeder glides in and you prepare to begin again. The towering rider dismounts and takes up a stoic vigil behind you, leaving you to your thoughts. You glance up and see Din out in the sun, looking back at you.

After witnessing a compelling ritual of armoured Mandalorians filing through a mess tent, some taking to gather around dotted fires to remove their helmets and eat, and others stepping away, fanning out to private spots – including Din, hand first squeezing your shoulder gently – you excuse yourself, begging fatigue, and head the short distance back to the Crest.

The dusk air finally brings a cooling breeze, and you settle on letting that carry your simmering nerves back down to the earth. Seating yourself in the opening of the ship, feet thumping out a nervous pattern on the ramp, you breathe the sharp air and try to calm. You’d been growing aware of the true depth of Din’s feelings for you – even before you’d finally reckoned with each other. The conversation with Bo-Katan confirmed it. And now you’re left to wonder why it has sparked such a sharp panic within you.

There was no question you’d fallen hard for Din Djarin. Who wouldn’t? You thought you’d experienced great, epic loves before – but they all paled compared to this.

A problem was that when those old romances had crashed and burned, you’d never been sure you could piece yourself back together. And now this. What would happen to you if you lost this? You angle to the side and lean hard against the wall of the Crest, willing its cool hard surface to draw you down into yourself. It seems to hum back.

‘Be honest,’ you say aloud. ‘Am I completely fucked?’

Silence. Your breath ghosts against the wall of the ship.

Another problem was the one that had settled hard over you since stepping foot on Mandalore. This was a devout people, with a troubled and difficult history. The customs and culture were rigid, out of a survivalist’s necessity. And, as far as you could tell, their beliefs revolved around mystic superstition and ancient scriptural doctrines. Even the more pragmatic among them, like Bo-Katan herself, had an air of fateful intent around everything they said and did.

It had all given you the distinct feeling that what you and Din had found together did not fit into their way.

Even if it did, what did it mean?

What did the love of a Mandalorian mean, ultimately? Where were you heading? What was Din expecting? You know he takes it all incredibly seriously – it’s his identity. How do you fit into all this?

You don’t know how to ask these questions. So, with an avoidant will, you push them to the side. Ferry them away like so much else. For now, you think dimly.

Out of the darkened evening, you spot a pair of lights heading for you. Din and Grogu emerge into the glow of the Crest a moment later. Grogu hurries forward to hop into your lap and you nuzzle the top of his head, enjoying his content purr and feeling calmness wash over you finally.

Din takes you in, huddled in the door of the ship with his son. ‘Shall we get some rest,’ he asks, approaching you with a hand outstretched. You take it and stand, letting him crowd you around and into the hold.

Later, when you’re asleep against his chest, cool breath tickling his neck, Din once again thinks back to his conversation with the Armourer.

After depositing the beskar and engaging in a stilted exchange of formalities, you and Grogu had been dismissed. You’d shot him a puzzled look as you followed the kid out. A what-the-fuck-is-her-deal kind of look.

Once alone with the Armourer, the two of them had sat down and discussed the best use of the beskar.

‘We have many needs, now that Mandalore is revived,’ she’s saying. Din just nods and agrees with whatever she suggests, flattered to accept an upgraded flamethrower. He’s just waiting for the inevitable. The Armourer’s perception and intuition were always an intimidating thing.

And sure enough, once the ingots of precious metal have been allotted, she goes still and stares hard at him.

He waits. Feeling not entirely ready.

She looks to the door you’d exited through, then returns her gaze to him.

‘You have coupled,’ the Armourer says.

‘Yes.’

‘She is not Mandalorian.’

‘No…’

A long, pregnant wait. She leans in.

‘Have you ever removed your helmet?’

‘No.’

‘Has it ever been removed by others?’

‘Never.’

‘This is the Way.’

She stands and strides to her forge.

That wasn’t so bad, he thinks. But then he’s thrown.

‘Do you know why we follow the Way, Din Djarin?’ she asks. He’s not sure what answer she is seeking. ‘The main reason?’

Once again, he waits.

‘To survive,’ she says. ‘We have been a diaspora, carved apart and hunted. We’ve followed the Way so we may continue. Do you think that holds true now that we are a united people of Mandalore?’

She turns back to him, seems to be genuinely waiting for an answer. He says, in all honesty, ‘I don’t know.’

It hadn’t even occurred to him to question it.

She tilts an appraising helm at him, moves back to sit opposite him again. He’s never witnessed her so restless.

‘Neither do I,’ she says, low and intense. He’s floored. ‘But I contemplate this question, every day, seeking the answers for the good of our people. As I do so, you should contemplate the questions that plague you now. Where do you fit? And where might she?’

The Armourer lets that shockwave wash through him. Then, changes the subject.

‘Your apprentice, Din Grogu, is due for his first Sojourn of the Will with his fellow students. There is one coming in a single moon’s turn. It is an important undertaking for every apprentice.’

Din welcomes the change in the course of this discussion and thinks. He knew he would have to face Grogu taking part in one of these things eventually. Had been dreading it actually. But it had to happen sooner or later.

‘I suppose now is a good time,’ Din ponders. He doesn’t want to be apart from his kid. But the Armourer’s right, it is an important rite of passage.

And, it means alone time with you. Time to figure all this out.

Time to tell you how he truly feels, maybe.

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(I am ambivalent about the movie announcement - swinging hard in positive-negative directions. But I don't think I like the new artwork that came with it at all. Something about the light reflected on Din's helmet is giving me BSG Cylon vibes? And is that an exploding ship he's jet-packing away from? Because if so, how is the poor child breathing...? Anyway, those are my thoughts byyyye.)

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin #star wars #pedro pascal #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #din djarin/reader #din djarin/you

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downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le · 2 years ago

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The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Chapter Two

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Chapter Two Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 4514 Warnings: major angst, major fluff, mentions of murder, graphic descriptions of dead bodies, crime scenes, near-death experiences, slow-burnish romance, death, canon violence, rape, swearing, guns, knives, prostitution, canon cuteness of the team. Spoilers: Maeve's death, mentions of previous cases or canon events from seasons 1-10.

Spencer and you have an unspoken connection with one another. Nothing has ever happened between you two, especially since everything went down with Maeve, but your love has grown and overcome and is now clear as day to everyone. However, just when Spencer builds up enough courage to ask you out officially, you're requested on an undercover mission that halts your budding relationship in its tracks.

Months go by without a word from you until bodies of prostitutes start showing up in New York and the BAU is brought in to help. Spencer and you finally reunite as both your cases collide, but your lives and your love are both on the line now.

Will you and Spencer be able to find the way back home this time?

~~~

Eleven months.

Eleven months you had been Serena Vanguff: Brooklyn born and raised, with a dream to live life to the fullest. You'd built and sold your sob story of growing up with your single-parent mother and her single job income to six different clubs and brothels in those eleven months. You'd built up trust, inserted yourself into the upper ranks of each establishment. It had taken patience, precision, and a lot of self-discipline.

And Dr. Spencer Reid of all people was about to ruin all of that.

You hadn't registered the voice until it was too late. From the door of the loading bay, you could only make out your fake name being called, not who was calling. You'd been in the bay by yourself for most of the morning, the voice startled you so much you hit your toe on one of the boxes of spirits. But even bent over, eyes focused on your injury, you'd heard him as he rounded the corner, heard his voice, and there was no mistaking it.

'Are you okay,' he said, and you heard him rush over to help, but you held up a hand in the hopes to create some distance between you two.

'Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, doll,' you replied hastily, shakily. 'Just hit my toe, is all.'

'Well, here, let me get you some ice-'

'That's not necessary, hun. Really.' God, he was persistent as usual.

'Well, at least let me have a look at it. You might've gotten a splinter in it or-'

'Stop.'

You couldn't help it, your voice just slipped out. The voice you worked so hard to hide everyday. The voice you only let out in whispers or in the shower of your apartment to remind yourself you were still you. With him, it came out naturally, like it had never been hidden away.

He listened, but you knew it wasn't out of politeness. Spencer Reid had an IQ of 187 with an eidetic memory - he knew straight away. And when he slowly raised his head to look at you, you saw what he saw: a ghost.

'Y/N?'

You hadn't heard that name - your name - in months. The higher ups you reported to once a week didn't even use your name in case someone was listening in. You weren't prepared for the first person to call you by your true name after all this time to be the person you held most dear.

And the person you'd left behind without a word.

His voice was so soft; you'd always loved how he said your name. Like you were something to be revered and cared for. But realisation slapped you hard, and so you grabbed his head and pushed it down to make it look like he was looking at your injured toe. You also did it to avoid his shocked, pained gaze.

'Oh! You know, it actually does hurt a little, yeah. You're such a gentleman,' you said obnoxiously loud, holding his head steady as you bent slightly over, hair brushing his cheeks. Then, in a low voice you said, 'My name is Serena. I don't know you, and you don't know me. Make sure the cameras see that, okay?'

He nodded ever so slightly and you took his hand off his head. He slowly stood up, those amber eyes immediately locking onto yours. You followed him as he did, until you were craning your neck slightly upwards in a manner that pained you where it once was second nature. His gaze burned with so many unspoken things, but now that the shock had subsided, all you saw was hurt.

To his credit, he didn't express it verbally. Instead, he smiled a tight-lipped smile, slipping easily into his polite, greeting mode. 'Hi, I'm Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit,' he said, introducing himself like he would to any other person.

Even though you hadn't been expecting him or the rest of the team to be called in, it didn't take you long to realise what he would be doing here. 'Madame Lacroix said the feds would be coming around sometime,' you said, making sure you sounded both indifferent and concerned at the same time. 'Poor Roxy. She didn't deserve that.'

You held Spencer's gaze for what felt like an eternity, silently pleading with him to go along with what you were offering. You willed for him to see that you had many unspoken things to talk about with him, too. But now was not the place nor the time.

He watched you for a moment longer, his inner turmoil visible in his clenching jaw, his fidgety fingers. It warmed your heart when he tucked a loose curl behind his ear. His hair was longer. You'd always liked it that way. The last time you saw him, it was close-cropped.

Had it really been that long already?

Spencer seemed to silently agree with your logic, coughing to clear his throat before diving in with the questioning you both were more familiar with than your home addresses. 'How long have you been working at the Chateau, Miss...'

You plastered on a big smile, waving a hand dismissively at him. 'Vanderguff, but you can just call me Serena, doll. No titles except for Madame Lacroix 'round here. And about three months now.'

'Okay, Serena. Were you two close?' he asked. 'You and Roxy?'

You shrugged nonchalantly. 'Sure, we all are here. But I guess you could say there was a small group of us in particular that looked out for each other. You know, like sisters of sorts.'

'We spoke with Madame Lacroix just before,' Spencer said. 'She said Roxy and her group didn't usually let people in until they'd earned their keep. But you just... slipped right into the group?'

You didn't like how pointed his question was. It was passive aggressive, like he was having a dig at you personally and not your alter ego. You crossed your arms over your barely covered chest, your face pinching in an offended manner. 'What can I say? I'm a charmer.'

'Were you popular at your old establishment, too? The Guilty Pleasure?'

'Look here, doctor,' you said, daring to take a step forward, appearing to get up in his face out of annoyance. When really, you just needed to look him in the eye when you said, 'Instead of asking about me, maybe you should be asking about Roxy and what she was into that might've gotten her killed.' You surprised yourself when tears sprung to your eyes, the memory of finding that poor girl all bloodied and mutilated flashing forward.

You redirected your gaze to the bay doors, giving a subtle nod in their direction. 'Found her just lying outside in a pool of her own blood. I had the midnight shift so I finished at around two in the morning, but I'd forgotten my phone in my dressing room so I circled back around to collect it. But when I did... there was Roxy.'

Spencer followed your gaze, his expression softening as he took in the scene. CSU had finished up just before Spencer got there, leaving behind nothing but a dark stain where Roxy had bled out. You tried not to think about her cold, lifeless body now laying under a sheet on the M.E.'s slab in the morgue.

You were broken from that thought when Spencer turned back to face you. 'Did you see anything or anyone when you found her? Anything out of the ordinary?' he asked outwardly. But you heard his silent request: profile the unsub.

You shook your head, face falling serious as you fell back into old habits. 'I didn't see anyone, but her body was still warm when I checked for a pulse so the sicko who killed her must've just fled before I got there.'

'Or could've been waiting somewhere nearby to make sure the job was done,' Spencer added, concern morphing his handsome features. Concern, you realised, for you. 'What did you do after that?'

You'd wanted to notify your superiors straight away on your secret phone you only used to receive texts from your unit, never to. But you'd come to the same conclusion as Spencer and decided you'd have to wait for a safer time to contact them.

'I waited for a bit,' you answered, putting on a frightened front as you pouted and hugged yourself a little. 'Mainly because I was so shocked to see her just lying there. I mean, I hadn't seen her in like a day, but I just assumed she took a rest day to go shopping or something. Then I pulled it together and ran inside to notify Madame Lacroix. She was in the middle of a business meeting when I told her. She called it in immediately.'

'You did the smart thing, Serena,' Spencer said gently, offering a small smile out of comfort.

You nodded your gratitude. 'You know, people don't think much about prostitution. That those who sell their bodies don't love or respect themselves enough to get a corporate job like everybody else. But it takes a different kind of smarts to do what we do. Especially if its something we had no choice but to do.'

'Was that the case with Roxy?' he asked carefully, his words soft-spoken but full of double meaning. His eyes locked with your eyes now, amber upon (E/C). 'Is that your case, Serena?'

You nodded, too afraid to speak in case you cracked. Eleven months of hard work would not go down the drain because of your silly little feelings for the wonderful Dr. Spencer Reid.

You swallowed the lump in your throat because, you reminded yourself, you didn't know this man. 'You don't get to choose the cards you're dealt, doctor. Not in my line of work, anyways.'

'Had Roxy been acting off lately?' Spencer asked. 'Was she more anxious, more jumpy than usual? Did she think someone was following her?'

'I couldn't really tell ya. Like I said, didn't see her from the night before last until early this morning when I found her,' you answered. 'But that wasn't really unusual for her.'

Spencer raised an eyebrow. 'How so?'

'She took days off every second or third week - she was more a workaholic than the rest of us so she didn't have a designated rest day.'

'Do you know what she did on these days off?'

You shook your head. 'Could've been anything really. Shopping, spa day. Even figured she might've been visiting a secret boyfriend or something because she once came home with dark hickeys on her neck. But we're quite close as it is thanks to our line of work. It don't seem wrong to want a little privacy, so I never asked her about it.'

'Reid? You in here?'

The lump in your throat returned at the sound of Derek's voice, mainly at how close it sounded. You couldn't run away, so you steeled yourself as Serena Vanderguff ready to face the glorious figure that was SSA Derek Morgan as he rounded the stacks.

'There you are,' he said, walking up behind Spencer. 'I just finished with Madame Lacroix. How is Serena-'

That's when his eyes fell on you, and he pulled that same shocked expression Spencer had before. His mouth gaped as he looked over you. You couldn't tell if he was surprised by your appearance, or that he could hardly recognise you. Some days even you found it hard to find the true you underneath all the makeup and big hair.

Derek's gaze finally landed on your face, shaking his head in slight disbelief. 'Holy-'

'Thank you so much for your time, Serena,' Spencer intervened thankfully, flashing you a smile that resembled more of a grimace, and grabbed Derek's shirt to pull him back. 'You've been really helpful. We'll be in touch.'

Just for the cameras, you plastered on a Cheshire smile and gave them both a flirty wave goodbye. 'I'm looking forward to your call, doctor. But may I suggest that you keep asking the people upstairs, if you get my drift. They're the ones with answers.'

Derek was still too stunned to respond let alone speak, but Spencer held your gaze with an understanding that told you he knew what you really meant. So he just nodded and said. 'We'll keep that in mind... Serena.'

And just like that, they were gone. Spencer was gone. Again. You sucked in deep breaths the moment you heard the door open and they left, using the stacks to steady your exhausted body. You had not anticipated all that happening today, that was for sure.

The door opened again. You pushed yourself upright and steadied your breathing back to normal just as Madame Lacroix came to stand in front of you. Her billowy, silk sleeves slid down to her elbows as she crossed her arms over her chest, her frown giving away her displeasure.

'Did you speak with the agents?' she asked in a low voice. You nodded, prompting her to say, 'What did you tell them?'

'Exactly what you told me to say,' you said calmly, almost robotically.

Her frown lifted at your words, and she stepped closer to cup your cheeks gently with her hands. 'That's my girl,' she said, tapping your cheeks lightly before stepping away and walking back over to the door to the Pit. She paused at the door, green eyes piercing you even from so far away. 'Don't take too much longer, Serena. We've got real business to attend to, still.'

You nodded and she left, and you were once again left alone to ponder your situation. You were getting so close, but now your old team was involved. If you didn't expose these guys soon, your team would expose you.

And then you'd all end up dead.

~~~

'...may I suggest that you keep asking the people upstairs, if you get my drift. They're the ones with answers.'

'Reid... Reid... Hey, wait!'

Spencer stormed from the elevator, through the New York FBI office and into the conference room that had been set up as the BAU's personal office temporarily. There he found Hotch talking with Rossi and another man Spencer didn't recognise. But he didn't care who the heck he was, not as walked right up to them and said, 'Y/N L/N.'

The three men looked up at him, halting whatever they'd been discussing to give him incredulous looks. All except for the mystery new man.

'I'm sorry?' Hotch asked.

'You said she got a new job,' Spencer said lowly, almost growled out. 'That it was an offer she couldn't refuse. Now I understand what you meant by that.'

'What's going on?' JJ asked, walking through the door with Kate in tow. Derek closed the door behind them and went to close the blinds to the bullpen outside.

'I don't know,' Rossi answered, sitting up in his seat further. 'Reid, what are you talking about?'

'Y/N!' Spencer cried, curling his fists by his side so he didn't slam the table or break something, namely his hand. 'You made it out like she was happy, but she was forced to leave!'

Hotch's confusion quickly faded as guilt replaced it. 'That is classified information, Reid,' he said in a quiet voice very unlike the stoic and stern SSA Aaron Hotchner. 'How do you know that?'

'Because she told me herself,' Spencer said, leaning over the table that separated him and his boss. 'Does the name Serena Vanderguff ring a bell?'

It was the most emotions Spencer had ever seen his boss take on in such a small time, because his guilt turned into shock realisation as he turned to the mystery man on the other side of Rossi. 'Why didn't you tell me this was your case already, Steve?'

Steve. Spencer mentally ran through all the unit chiefs in the FBI and only one man came up with that name.

'Steven Holt, Unit Chief of Organised Crime,' Spencer said, eyes flicking to him as recognition dawned on him. 'You were Y/N's old unit chief before she transferred to us.'

Holt let out a sigh that said he knew he'd been caught. 'That's right. Y/N went on a lot of undercover missions for me back before she joined the BAU. She was the best of the best. I came down to inform you of the situation, Hotch...' Holt's gaze flickered to Spencer briefly before returning to hi boss, '...but seems as though you've beaten me to it.'

'I hate to admit that maybe my age is showing,' Rossi started, 'but I'm not following. What has Y/N got to do with any of this?'

'And this isn't old age,' Kate added, 'but I also am not following. Who is Y/N?'

Spencer's gaze flickered to Hotch, who seemed to be having an inner battle about what to do. He looked up at Holt for moment, and Holt nodded.

Hotch nodded back and stood from his seat to address the room properly. 'Eleven months ago, I was contacted by Unit Chief Holt about a potential underground trafficking network that dealt in young girls and women in the prostitute industry. Holt needed a profiler on the team to go undercover and find out who was in charge, then gain their trust, become part of their gang, and report back to the unit.' Hotch turned his attention solely on Holt. 'It wasn't my decision, but the Head Chief specifically requested L/N join the task force for this mission, as she has plenty of experience and success in undercover scenarios. I haven't been privy to anymore details than that, I'm sorry to say, since L/N is technically no longer part of the BAU. I trusted Holt would update us if anything had happened to her.'

'So she didn't leave us?' came Penelope's soft, hopeful voice. Spencer wasn't sure when she'd been phoned in - just now, or maybe before he'd even entered the room - but that meant everyone was there. Everyone was about to hear the truth.

'Not by choice, no,' Hotch said regrettably. Spencer saw and heard his shame, but he couldn't bring himself to feel sorry for his boss right now. Not when he'd lied to for eleven months about the one person Spencer thought would always be there with him.

'I can take it from here, Hotch,' Holt said, also standing to address the room. 'L/N was the best of the best when we first worked together, and these past eleven months have only proven that she still is. She has found proof that girls from each of the establishments she's infiltrated never existed before they were hired at their respective establishments, which for some of them dates back into their mid-to-late teens.'

'Let me guess,' Derek said, 'all four of our victims are some of those girls.'

Holt nodded grimly. 'We believe these girls were just the beginning of an intricate trafficking system where young girls are picked out from low risk communities when they're impressionable, then groomed in the formative years of their lives by their owners before they're given new identities and hired at their owner's establishment. Agent L/N has been hopping from one establishment to the next trying to get a better idea of who these people are that are running it. The managers of each establishment are buyers, but there is a big seller that they're paying that is still unknown. Agent L/N's mission, now that we have a better idea of the linkage between each manager, is to work her way through the upper ranks of the Chateau to find out who that seller is so we can shut down the operation for good.'

He spared a quick glance at Hotch. 'In fact, we think these killings are being caused by the same person. That's why we brought you and your team in, Aaron. The pressure of Federal involvement could cause them to slip up, and we'll be ready to catch them in handcuffs when they do.'

'But we've profiled the unsub as a sadistic, calculative narcissist,' Spencer argued, anger rising in him once more. 'Have you seen what he does to his victims? What if they find out about Y/N? Will she be the next dead body we examine? You have to pull her out of there now!'

'Spence, calm down,' JJ said, but Spencer just brushed her off.

'No, I won't!' he said, voice cracking with annoyance and frustration. 'Because it seems to me like I'm the only one who actually cares about her still. Like you all just forgot about her as if she never existed.'

'Trust me, Reid,' Hotch said gently. 'No one has forgotten about her. But right now she is still our best chance at bringing this whole operation down and bringing these girls' killer to justice. She knew the risks involved, and she's lasted this long. Have some faith in her, Reid.'

'Aren't you forgetting that she was forced into this damn operation?' Spencer spat back. 'She's risking her life because some higher ups were too coward to do the job themselves.'

'Reid, walk with me,' Rossi said, not giving Spencer a chance to reject the instruction as he walked around the table and grabbed his arm so forcefully it almost popped right out of its socket.

They walked to the break room, but Spencer barely registered any of it. His anger was a buzzing white noise in his brain, stopping rational and logical thoughts from computing with his mouth. His heart had a stronger hold on that, it seemed.

'Sit,' Rossi instructed Spencer, pulling out a seat for him to do so. Spencer silently complied while Rossi started to make two coffees at the kitchenette bench.

'...it takes a different kind of smarts to do what we do. Especially if its something we had no choice but to do.'

For eleven months he'd thought you'd left them, left him. Eleven months, anger and grief for the loss of his closest confidant had festered into an ugly, mad creature that's only reason for living was to be angry at you. But you and Spencer had always been good at reading each other, even when your words told a different story entirely. You were someone else now, almost to the point he almost hadn't recognised you underneath all the glitz and glam. But he'd looked into your eyes and he had seen you, your fear, your guilt, your apology.

You hadn't wanted to leave him. And it was that one thought that fuelled his anger at Hotch, at Unit Chief Steven Holt of Organised Crime for all the lies and deceit.

'One cup of sugar with a dash of coffee,' Rossi announced as he placed Spencer's drink on the table he sat at, then pulled up a chair for himself, his own coffee in hand. 'Just how you like it.'

It was then Spencer realised how exhausted he was. Between the early flight, the long car rides, and then seeing you, his body was screaming for a reprieve. However, he couldn't even bring himself to pick up the sweet concoction no matter how much he craved it.

'Eleven months,' Spencer eventually said, his voice meek and quiet compared to the rage it spat out minutes before.

'I know,' Rossi said glumly. 'I can't quite believe it myself. All this time... and she's just been here?'

'I just-' Spencer caught himself, feeling his voice crack at the threat of hot, frustrated tears burning at the back of his eyes. 'Surely they could've let her say goodbye. Or let her contact us from time to time. This isn't like when Emily faked her death and we all believed her gone.'

'You know they couldn't risk it,' Rossi countered. 'This is how undercover operations work, Reid. If she tried contacting us at any point, it could've been her on the M.E.'s slab alongside those girls.'

'Maybe they should've faked her death like Emily,' Spencer muttered, but more to himself than to Rossi. 'Maybe it would've been easier to think she wasn't out there somewhere and just choosing to ignore us.'

'You don't mean that, kid.' Rossi paused for a moment to think about what he would say next. Spencer appreciated that about Rossi, how he always spoke with thought and meaning behind his words. 'Look, I don't like being lied to either, but you and I both know the team couldn't have gone through another cover up like Emily's. Use that logical brain of yours and tell me I'm wrong.'

Spencer tried reaching for an argument, but even he couldn't grasp onto anything even remotely logical to argue with. So he remained silent, prompting Rossi to continue his lecture.

'I understand you and Y/N have something special,' he said gently. 'And I get why you're so upset. But Y/N is an incredible agent who has survived this long before we came into the picture, both before joining the BAU and now. We pull her out now, they will kill her; or we alert them that they have a mole in their network and they go underground and we never catch them. The best we can do to help Y/N right now is to keep playing along. We treat this like any other case, and the quicker we do that, the quicker we can get Y/N back. All right?'

Spencer remained silent for a moment, running Rossi's words over and over again in his head on a loop. Somewhere in there was an image of Maeve, and a sudden wave of sadness hit him. He couldn't go through that again, never again.

He clenched his hands into fists in his lap. It won't. I won't let it.

He forced his gaze to match Rossi's and he silently nodded. Rossi nodded in return, lips upturning slightly. 'All right then,' he said, and pushed Spencer's coffee closer to him. 'Now, drink. We're going to need you at your best if we want to solve this case and bring Y/N home.'

Home.

Amidst his dark thoughts, he found a sliver of warmth in that one word, and what it insinuated. That you belonged with them, you always had.

He took a sip of his drink and was pleasantly surprised at how it tasted exactly how he liked it. The surprise must've extended to his face, as Rossi chuckled and clinked his coffee with his. 'Don't act so surprised. I'm a profiler after all - it's my job to observe behaviours and habits. And you, my nerdy friend, have an exceptionally unhealthy dependency on sugar.'

'Actually, pasta has a higher percentage of causing heart problems in middle-aged to elderly men than sugar because of the amount of carbs on top of sugar is in it,' Spencer stated, taking a sip of his coffee without breaking eye contact with Rossi.

Rossi narrowed his eyes on Spencer. 'Comment on my age and love for pasta again and see what happens.'

And for the first time that day, Spencer smiled.

141 notes · View notes

neochan · 3 years ago

Text

GENRE | smut, idolverse!

WARNINGS | smut

WC | 2.6k +

A.N | this is a repost of my older work. i hope you enjoy it <3

You could still hear the unintelligible screaming of thousands of fans as the boys filtered off the stage and into the greenroom. Another successful concert in the long string of tour stops. You couldn’t even remember what state you were in because the days of traveling, unpacking, setting up, and doing it all again the next day ran together.

The boys were dripping sweat, immediately grabbing bottles of water and towels to wipe themselves off. They had worked harder than normal today since during one of the sets the microphone cut out and they had to perform acapella. Someone was getting fired for that.

Taeyong flopped onto the leather couch dominating the center of the room, water in one hand, phone in the other. “People are already uploading photos.” He outstretches his arm so the others could view the pictures pulled up on his screen.

“Johnny you look ridiculous,” you point out, laughing as a fan had caught Johnny in the act of wildly waving his light stick.

“I was having a good time, okay?” He chuckles and walks into the dressing rooms to change out of his stage outfit. Half of the group filtered out to change and half stayed to peruse through the gifts left by venue staff and play on their phones until told otherwise.

You were wondering where Hyuck was when you heard his voice from the hallway. He saunters in and gives you a kiss on the cheek, “Enjoy the show?” His golden skin was tainted pink, hair matted to his forehead by the sweat that was trickling down the side of his face. He grabbed his shirt and lifted it to swipe at his face, revealing his cute tummy. You had to resist the urge to poke it.

“I enjoyed hearing thousands of pretty fans scream your name” You give him a smirk knowing that he hates when you downplay your relationship.

He nudges you with his shoulder, “You know I meant the songs,” his doe eyes look into yours, his long lashes brushing against his cheek when he blinked “Besides, you know I love you and only you.”

Mark began to nervously giggle in the corner while Doyoung made fake gagging noises from the vanity he sat at. “Oh, shut up.” You say, throwing empty water bottles at the two, “And hurry up I wanna go swimming before it gets too late.”

The ride home was peaceful once the swarms of fans cleared a path for the bus. Per the managers request you slouched down in your seat so know one could see you through the window. It didn’t make much sense because the windows were tinted, but Haechan had to argue for his life to allow them to let you tag along on the tour, so you didn’t question them. Once you were on the road, you sat back up and snuggled close to Haechans side. He rested his hand on your thigh, absentmindedly stroking you with his thumb. His head leaned back against the seat, eyes closed, listening to music. It was so loud you could almost make out the words but you didn’t say anything – you let him stay in his post concert utopia for the whole trip.

The hotel was about an hour away from the venue so that no one would find them, and they’d be closer to their next destination. It was nicer than the others because it actually had a pool. You and Haechan made an agreement to go swimming after the concert, and you couldn’t wait. The staff also rented more rooms, so instead of four people to a bed, it was just you and Haechan.

After checking in everyone filtered off to their rooms leaving the both of you to freely do whatever you wanted - within reason of course. You both got changed, your gaze admiring the hard lines of Haechans back. “Don’t stare.” He blushed, wrapping a towel around his upper body.

You pulled on your bikini which made Haechan go silent. You specifically picked this one because it brought out your skin tone well, and cupped your features beautifully. “Now who’s staring?”

It never failed. The butterfly feeling you got in the pit of your stomach when Haechan watched you with loving eyes. You wrapped a towel around your waist, allowing Haechans eyes to roam the tops of your breasts, peeking out from the almost too small bathing suit.

His cheeks turned pink once he noticed he was caught, “Let’s go”.

The hallways were quiet since it was almost midnight, so you wordlessly made your way down the stairs and out into the night air. It had grown considerably cooler than when guys first arrived that morning, but the sky made up for it. Pretty stars pricked the vast expanse of dark blue and black infinity. You could see the moon peaking out from behind a single cloud, casting a shadowed glow on Haechans honey skin.

The gate was closed when you walked up to it so you stopped to read, “Aw man, the pool closed an hour ago,” You set your lips in a pout, “no wonder the lights weren’t on.”

“Hey it’s okay, no lights, no cameras, they probably wont even notice we’re here if we keep quiet.” He moves closer to you, eyebrows raised expectant for an answer.

You hesitated wondering if you really could pull it off, after all you’d been looking forward to this for the whole day, “I don’t wanna get in trouble..”

“You said you wanted to swim and I’m going to make sure that happens,” He gets down on one knee, “step on my leg, I'm gonna help you jump the fence.”

He boots you over, and grabs your arms to help lower you on the other side, but his hand slips and his nails dig into your shoulder. “Ow, fuck.” You wince rubbing the spot he scratched.

“Sorry, sorry” He says giggling, jumping the fence with such quietness and ease that it looked unreal. “Come on, dare you to do a canon ball!?”

He ran ahead throwing his towel on one of the pool chairs and jumping in the water. You cringe away from the loud slap his body hitting the water made. You walk slowly to the chair, deeply inhaling the addictive chlorine scent.

He finally stands up waist deep in the water and pushes his hair back. The blue water reflected against him, making his skin sparkle. “Come into the water y/n” he splashed some water into your general direction, but not enough to touch you.

“Okay, Okay.” You drop the towel and slip into the water. It was cold. Really cold. You gasp and recoil away, but not fast enough, because Haechan has wrapped his arms around you and started carrying you towards the deep end. You struggle a bit in his grip but his arms provide an iron cage that you can’t get out of. “Haechan let me go!”

He presses a warm kiss to the back on your neck but doesn’t comply with your wishes, instead making a curve and bringing you towards the underwater benches. He fixes his hold on you so that now he’s carrying you bridal style. You stare up at him, water droplets falling off his chin. His eyes were already red from the chlorine and you hoped that it cleared up by tomorrow nights concert. His plush lips sat in a pout, strong jaw set. He was so very pretty; and all yours. You smiled to yourself, deciding to keep that image locked away in your memory forever.

Once he gets to the benches he sets you down and glides in beside you. “You know It’s colder than I thought it was going to be.” He lifts a hand and sheepishly rubs the back of heck, “and you look way hotter in that bikini than I thought you would.”

“I don’t know if that’s supposed to be a dig or a compliment.” You scoot closer to him so that your thighs were pressed against each other. Finding his hand underwater, you intertwine your fingers with his own.

“A compliment babe.” He chuckles and slouches in the water so that only his head sat above it. You both sit there for a moment until it becomes too cold to sit still.

“Well I’m going to put it to use and go swim.” You push off from the cement and paddle around. The only way to stay slightly warm was to keep moving. Haechan watched you, eyes crinkled in a smile, bottom lip caught between his teeth. It was fun to watch you play in the water but the bathing suit was making him think of other things you two could be doing.

And that was how it stayed. Haechan watching while you performed for him.

A while had passed, the calm exterior of the pool getting to you, making you drowsy. The cold blue water washed over your hands while you gently skimmed the surface, making your way over to where Haechan was. You hummed a short tune under your breath, trying to keep yourself distracted. it was close to one in the morning now, but Haechan still sat on the bench, slightly shivering from the brisk air, hands gripping his thighs under the water while his mind wandered far away from the present.

“Watcha thinkin’ about” you ask, moving closer to him, hoping to catch some lingering body warmth.

“Fucking you ,” he moved off the seat and dove under the surface, only leaving small ripples in his wake. You stand there for a second wonder how he could be so blunt, so forward in his desires; he was never like this.

He swam a single circle around your body before popping up in front of you, giving you a mini heart attack. He pushes you back against the tiled walls, “I’ve spent the last hour thinking about fucking you. Thinking about how pretty you’d sound.” His head dips down to kiss along your collarbone, and your hands grab the back of neck, holding him there while his tongue sucked bruises into your tender skin. His hands grazed the bare skin of your arms, giving you goosebumps.

He moaned into the side of your neck, biting and sucking away, wanting you to yearn for him like he did for you. He lifted his head so that his mouth hung over yours, his small puffs of breath fanning over your face while he tests the waters. “Can I kiss you?”

Without giving him an answer you pull him closer by the roots of his hair. His kissing was messy and sweet, and while your tongues moved together, his hips began rubbing circles against you, trying to gain some friction in the cool water. Small heavy breaths were the only sound you could hear, aside from the occasional splash as Haechan moved restlessly.

Your hand wandered down his chest and below the surface to where you could feel him straining against his shorts. You began to stroke him over the fabric, his hips pushing against your touch. He broke the kiss to watch as you peeled down the elastic from his hips, his cock freed from the restricting material of his swim shorts. You watched him twitch slightly as the cold water met his length.

“You can’t make any noise.” You place a single finger against his lips.

“No promises.” He whispers, a devilish smirk breaking way on his face. His hands caress you thighs, pushing your bottoms to the side. The cold water hit you, making you gasp and push into Haechan who just whimpers against your touch.

He tried to stay quiet, only soft grunts between gritted teeth and muffled moans as his hips pushed into your own. The water created resistance but it just enhanced how good he was feeling. He hurriedly grabs at your legs, pulling them up so that they sat around his waist. Your back dragged up the tiled walls, scraping your tender skin, but you could only focus on Haechans cock thrusting deeply in and out of you. He stared longingly into your eyes, filling you up completely, wanting to savor the way they fluttered in the back of your head.

“You love the way I fill you up huh?” He groans into your ear, a hand falling forward to grip the cement ledge of the pool.

You couldn’t respond without fear of moaning so you nod your head wildly. He began to bite and suck at your collarbone, pushing you closer to the edge. Looking down he sees your nipples, erect, poking through the wet fabric of your bathing suit. His eyes grow wide, hips stuttering into you. Fuck you were hot.

“Haechannie, I think I’m going to come.” You squeezed your eyes shut trying to focus on the feeling coiling in your stomach.

“Not yet.” He growls, hands moving to pin your wrists against the cement ledge, “Hold it princess, I know you can.” The water began to slosh around faster as Haechan thrusted harder into you. The sound was so loud its no wonder you didn’t hear the keys jangling against the hip of the guard making his way towards you two.

“Hey!,” he shouts running towards you, “The pool is closed! Get out! Are you two-” He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as you and Haechan spring up out of fear and take off. It was easy to push yourself up onto the pool deck. The guard made the mistake of following you two and leaving the gate unattended. You and Haechan ran out, giggling, making your way back into the hotel. You didn’t stop until you got into the room and slammed the door behind you.

With your heart hammering in your chest you lean against the dark cherry wood . “Holy fuck we could’ve gotten in serious trouble.” You gasp out, clutching a hand against your wet bathing suit top.

“Babe we’ll be gone by morning, no one is gonna know.” Haechan paces in front of you trying to catch his breath. His shorts hung dangerously low on his hips, it was miracle he got them up in time.

“We’re so banned from this hotel.” A knock on the door makes you jump away from it, the worst of punishment's filling your mind. What were they going to do? They couldn’t arrest you, could they?

Haechan walks forward and turns the knob slowly, revealing a sleepy Doyoung. His oversized t-shirt hung off one shoulder showing off his gaunt collarbone. He was rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“What do you want Doie?” you ask softly.

“How was getting chased by the guard?” he gives a sleepy chuckle, still half in his dreams.

“How did you-,” A look of realization hits Haechan, “You reported us?” He whined, pushing Doyoungs bare shoulder so that he stumbled back.

“Sound travels over water dumbasses and you guys were loud, I was trying to sleep!” Protesting, he pushes Haechans wet shoulder back.

“Well, now we’re going to be twice as loud.” Haechan slams the door in Doyoungs face and grabs you, throwing you on the bed. You give a squeal, and hear Doyoungs fist hit the door.

“I swear I’ll make a noise complaint.” He sounded more irritated than sleepy now.

“Go ahead, you’re just mad I’m getting laid and you aren't.” You playfully slap Haechans arm, but he nips at your hand. The other side of the door grows silent, Doyoung either going to report you two, or going back to his room defeated.

“Shall we pick up where we left off princess?”

#nct smut #haechan smut #nct haechan smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #nct drabble #nct fic #nct scenario #hyuck smut #doyoung

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glowingbadger · 3 years ago

Note

Youko Kurama for 54 (in heat) with fem reader, if possible?

Oh this reminds me- as a note for my Kurama lovers, I generally write Youko vs. Human Kurama the way it seems to work by the end of the series- where he's kind of more or less made peace with the sides of himself, and the two are more 'unified,' rather than two entirely separate entities like you would get with DID, for instance. Y'all can always tell me if you have a particularly strong preference about this though :3

Also need I remind us that the manga has Kurama state that as he gets more in touch with his demon side, he starts becoming "belligerent" roughly once a month- implying some kind of hormonal cycle?? So what I'm saying is, the "in heat" trope for him is, like, almost canon lmao

Youko Kurama (YYH) x GN Reader

Kurama had warned you that, should you choose to come see him tonight, things would be... a bit different. His penchant for understatement hadn't prepared you for the intensity of what awaited you.

You'd come to find him already in his fully demon form, which you've only seen once or twice before. He's beautiful- in a way, awe-inspiring, a vision of unyielding strength which potently reminds you of the gap between his existence and yours. In the past, he'd kept composure relatively well, even in this body. Tonight, he seized you on sight, pulling you to his tall and powerful frame. His teeth bruised a line along you neck by the time you reached the bed. Clothing was quickly torn and discarded on the floor, the frenzy of animalistic need far too compelling to exercise any of Kurama's usual restraint.

Now, you look up into fierce, golden eyes as silver hair spills over his shoulders around you. His breath is heavy, panting softly as a hand forces you to meet his gaze directly.

"Do you think you can withstand it?"

it takes you a moment to understand his meaning. Then, you feel the massive pillar of his erection twitch against your inner thigh, and your lips part, your eyes pleading.

"I can smell it... your lust, your longing for me. Does your frail, human body have the strength to become my mate fully? To bear the brunt of my heat?"

"Kurama-" you whimper his name, unsure whether that name even reaches him now, "Yes, I- please, I know you need this. And..." it feels silly to say aloud, but you force yourself to use his words, "I want to be your mate."

He smiles- a smile that somehow bares both affection and unspeakable cruelty. Strong hands turn you onto your stomach with minimal effort, and soon, you feel the thick, warm head of his cock pushing to your entrance, forcing you open around him. You gasp and arch up towards him. Your fists clench tight around his pillow. Then, Youko leans over you, his taller frame surrounding you as his hands rest at your sides, and he fills you with one ruthless thrust of his hips. Heedless of your gasping, whining moans, he fucks you hard against the mattress, his own words lost to possessive groans and growls of pleasure. Yet even as your eyes threaten to roll back and your legs tremble, you resolve to take him, to be a good mate for as long as Kurama needs you.

#I'm really tired idk if this is even good lmao #kurama #youko kurama #kurama x reader #youko kurama x reader #yu yu hakusho #yyh #kurama yyh #yu yu hakusho smut #kink prompt

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aizawaorkuroo · 4 years ago

Text

A Burnt Offering

Ship: Dabi x f!reader

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 5.7k

Summary: Your long lost childhood friend sends you letters. And then everything falls apart. Or perhaps together? Otherwise known as “Dabi wants you. And Dabi gets what he wants.”

Warnings: dubcon, non-consensual voyeurism, stalking, manipulation, spitting, dacryphilia, size kink, overstimulation, creampie, cock warming, unprotected sex

A/N: Spoilers for ch. 290 kinda!!! Don’t think too hard about how they’re childhood friends. Not going to be canon compliant cause i make the rules uwu,, also this is a little darker than what I’ve written in the past, (but still pretty soft all things considered) so please read the warnings!!!

_________________________________

“Dreamed of peach trees. Dreamed, again, of drowning. Dreamed of highways becoming rivers. Dreamed of me, my long hair in flames, my body no longer a body, but a burnt offering, strange smoke rising up to meet him” - Nicola Maye Goldberg

The first letter you received was a little out of the ordinary, but nothing special. It had been left under your doormat, sticking out ever so slightly. You had brushed it off, assuming they had gotten the address wrong, or meant to send it to the person who lived in your apartment before you.

The right thing would’ve been to leave it there, or throw it away. But curiosity is a fickle beast, choosing to rear its head at strange times.

You furrow your brows, eyes scanning the words hastily scratched onto the paper. It felt familiar, but nothing truly stuck with you. You couldn’t think too hard about it, now when you had so much to get done.

It was a random occurrence, one that slipped your mind as you went about your day, the letter sitting on your kitchen counter.

hey,

we haven’t talked in a while. i miss you i guess. i swear to god i sometimes still feel your hand in mine and sometimes i think of your smile. maybe I’ll see you soon.

It’s left unsigned, and you can’t help but to feel bad that it got sent to you. But there’s no return address, nothing to hint at where it’s supposed to go. So it sits on your counter, slipping out of your mind in the following weeks.

The second letter sends a small shiver down your spine.

“you will be alone always and then you will die.” i can’t remember who told me that, but it rings around my head. there are days where it feels like it’s true, like time will catch up with me and I’ll be gone. but it’s not true. because I used to have you. but I’ll have you again.

Your eyes gloss over the words, a small frown slipping onto your face. Something melancholic sinks into you, making a home in your chest.

“You will be alone always and then you will die,” you whisper to yourself, fingers grazing over the sloppy letters. You feel guilty that the writer’s thoughts are stuck with you instead of this person they so desperately miss.

Yet there’s something unyielding about the last line, something so definite. Curiosity fills you, and you can’t help but to want to get the letter to where it’s supposed to be. But like the first letter, there’s no return address, no signature, nothing outside of the longing in the letter.

So it sits on the counter with the first, the weight of the words lingering in your chest until it too is forgotten.

_________________________________

You’re sitting on a hill, watching as the stars plummet down. Someone’s sitting next to you, but when you turn to face him, he stays blurry as if he exists on the edges of reality, unable to be fully perceived.

You watch as a rainbow of flames overtake him and recede, further obscuring him. But the flames continue to cycle in and out, a constant ebb and flow. You know who he is.

He flickers, you cannot touch him. You place your hand on the flames. Nothing burns. When you look up again, the hill is gone. You're sitting in inky darkness, watching as the stars continue to fall all around you. And the boy is gone too. In his place is something of shadow and smoke, two gleaming blue eyes tearing into you. You freeze, unable to do anything but stare.

It stalks towards you slowly, grinning to show rows of sharp teeth. You know what it wants, you can feel the need across the space in between you too. And so close your eyes and tilt your neck, offering yourself up. And you don’t scream when it takes the first bite.

“I’m always on your side.”

You wake up in a cold sweat, heart pounding. You’re awake now, but you feel like the stars are still falling around you and him - right.

Touya.

His name blossoms in your head, memories of laughter and secrets told underneath the shade of a cherry blossom tree. Your head's pounding, and you run to the bathroom, splashing water on your face. That night, the last night you had seen him, when you watched the stars streak across the sky.

“I’m always on your side.”

A promise that withered into something shallow after he disappeared.

You blink at your reflection, fists curled into themselves so tightly it hurts. You wish Touya could hold your hand now.

You don’t go back to sleep.

_________________________________

The third letter makes you frown a little. Three makes a pattern.

Really wish you would say something back. Has it been that long? Guess that’s to be expected.

You scan the page, melancholic thoughts lingering until you read the last line. Your eyes widen, heart leaping in your throat, as you read it over and over again. Your hands are shaking, mind cloudy, breath short.

Really, say something back y/n.

Your name, clear as day. They know your name. You’re the recipient. You blink blankly as a line from the previous letter pops into your brain. I’ll have you again.

The letter sits untouched on the counter for days before you finally build up the courage to tentatively write back. Who is this?

As you shakily write, it dawns on you how stupid this is. You should be going to the police, or getting a security system. But you can’t help but wonder who it is, and the fickle beast inside of you rears its head.

You tentatively place the response under the doormat, and scurry back inside, as if the action would burn you. The next morning the note is gone.

_________________________________

It takes a few days for you to get a response. When you get home from work, you’re tempted to walk right past it, pretending to not see it. You could just let it slip from your mind, go on with your life as if nothing has changed. But nothing can ever be simple, and with shaking hands, you steal the letter before locking yourself inside.

I can imagine how scared you must be. I bet you’d look so cute. Part of me wants to make you guess. But I’d rather speed this up. It’s me. Y’know. Touya.

“Touya,” you whisper. It’s heavy on your lips. “Touya.” Your throat is raw. “Touya, Touya, Touya.” Your chest burns. Tufts of red hair, memories of childhood and shooting stars.

Brain pulsing in overdrive, you try to reconcile what you know to be true and what is being told to you.

1. Touya was your best friend.

This one is a fact. You remembered holding his hand, running around the estate. He would be battered, bruises and burns littering his skin. Right. His father. You shiver thinking about the man.

2. Touya disappeared as a child.

Another fact. You remember his mom’s tear-stained face as she turned you away, and when you were back home, safe in bed, you cried so hard you thought you’d never stop shaking.

3. Touya is still alive.

The first in your list that is debatable. No one’s seen him for years. It’s fully possible something horrible could have happened to him. But there’s no evidence he’s dead. If you can reason that Touya is still alive, then it’s possible…

4. Touya is sending you letters.

The most difficult conclusion of all. If Touya is alive, it could be possible he’s sending you letters. But there’s no way to guarantee it is him. It could be some stranger, some pervert pretending to be your sweet redhead from childhood. You would have to test him.

Your response is careful, calculated as you try to navigate your emotions. Your hands shake as you write the final line, a question.

What was the last thing we did?

A small frown slips onto your face. It’s kind of a lame question, and yet it’s the best you can do. But it’s a baseline, a place to start.

His response comes almost immediately.

We watched a meteor shower. Go ahead. Dig deeper.

You chew on your lip while thinking. “Touya” is off to a good start, but there’s still no guarantee. So you push farther

Where did we hide the bowl I accidentally broke?

C’mon, it was a vase, not a bowl. We buried it along the fenceline. Good try.

You smile at the memory, the way you had cried over the broken porcelain, embarrassment coursing through you. Touya had helped you hide the evidence, telling you no one would find out.

What did you promise me?

I’m always on your side.

You inhale sharply, eyes glued to his messy scrawl. That’s it. It has to be him. You’ve never told that to anyone before. You squeeze your eyes shut, but you can see stars falling all around you. You feel a little light headed.

How did you find me?

Pure chance. I missed you, y/n. Does your face scrunch up when you get mad still? It was so fucking cute.

Shut the fuck up, Touya.

You don’t know how he’s done it, but Touya has inserted himself back into your life, whisking you off your feet with his stupid jokes and laid back attitude. And everyone in a while he’ll say something, that has you burying your face into your pillow, face warm and stomach in knots.

I’m going to hold you, and never let you go.

Would you let me kiss you? Would you let me sink my teeth into you? I bet you would.

I’d kiss you until you melt.

That one in particular made your chest burn, full of something warm and sappy. You read it over and over again, until the words are branded in your brain.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table at 2 am when you realize, you would. You would let him kiss you, let him sweep you off your feet. It occurs to you that you don’t know what he looks like anymore, but his words reach into you, stirring everything around to the point that you’re completely enamored anyways.

A sharp knock draws you from your thoughts. You narrow your eyes, glancing at the clock. Hesitantly, you approach your front door. You hover right in front of it, debating on whether or not to open it again. There’s a chance that no one’s even there anymore.

A second forceful knock makes your stomach flip. Taking a deep breath, you crack the door open.

Your eyes widen, and you're deafened by the blood pumping through you. Patchwork skin, pitch-black hair; you feel yourself begin to panic.

Dabi. You recognized him from the Fukuoka fight that was on TV. You slam the door shut before he has a chance to say anything.

“No, no, no. Don’t do this to me y/n.” His voice is muffled by the door, but the separation doesn’t hide the way his voice barely cracks. You feel sick, brain cloudy as the room spins around you.

“How do you know my name?” you choke out, stomach growing nauseous.

“I thought we already did this… but you can’t recognize me either.” You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, wracking your brain for what he could be talking about.

“After all those letters.”

Oh.

Your stomach drops, and your heart does with it. Dabi is Touya. Touya is Dabi. You tremble against the door, flashes of red hair and childhood innocence ghosting through your mind. You should’ve paid more attention to how he found you.

“Open the door.” Touya’s voice- no Dabi’s voice? You shake your head at the confusion, finding it difficult to reconcile the two versions of him you know. Regardless, his voice is even now, something sharp lingering beneath the soft surface.

You shut your eyes, letting your head rest against the door; it’s all too much for you. You can practically feel the tears stinging the back of your eyes. Maybe he’ll go away, maybe you don’t have to have a breakdown in the middle of the night.

“Open up for me, Y/N.”

You blink your eyes open, something cold slipping down your spine. He’s not going away. He could burn the door down if he wanted to. You know what he does now, and you feel so fucking stupid. The fact that he’s asking is an unexpected kindness. Summoning all the willpower you have, you open the door, hand grasping the handle to avoid shaking.

Dabi’s head tilts to the side as his eyes meet yours, and a sharp grin pulls at his lips.

“Aren’t you going to let me in?” Your eyes dip to the floor, and you stumble to the side, closing the door as he brushes past you.

You awkwardly stand in front of him, fingers messing with the hem of your shirt as you try to control your breathing. Your stomachs in your throat as Dabi circles you. He is not the boy you knew. There’s an edge to him, a coldness radiating off of him that rolls into you.

“Now you can’t even look at me,” he sneers. Your gaze tilts up to meet him, trembling his words. Your heart lurches as you take in his appearance again. The puckered flesh, the staples, the jet black hair. It’s all too much.

But his eyes.

His eyes are the same, the same vivid blue that haunts your dreams. It hurts looking at him now, but it also hurts remembering what he was.

Hesitantly, you reach out to cup his face. He tenses under your touch, eyes flashing in warning. You swallow past the lump in your throat, forcing out a small “hi.” Your voice cracks under the weight of emotions, but his eyes soften, and he ever so gently tilts his head into your hand. And that’s enough.

A steady stream of tears leak from your eyes; you’re not completely sure why you’re crying, the emotions too jumbled, too complex to pinpoint a specific reason. Your thumb brushes over the marred skin under his eyes, and you feel sick. Like everything that’s wrong with the world has reared its ugly head in your apartment. But it hasn’t. It’s Touya.

“Awww. Baby girl’s crying for me, huh?” he teases, making you narrow your eyes. He moves quickly, pulling you against him before you can step away. “Still the same crybaby from before.” You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to ignore the way your head’s spinning.

“What else am I supposed to do?” you bite back, letting your head rest against him. “I missed you.” He scoffs at that, hands sliding down to grip your waist.

Your breath stutters, and you squirm in his hold, unsure what to think. His grip tightens, making you wince. You pull your head back to look up at him, trying to keep your breathing even. Touya leans in close, eyes glued to you.

“Glad you missed me,” he mutters, and the borderline painful grip switches to something softer as he massages your flesh. “I missed you too, Y/N.” His voice rumbles through you softly, making your stomach flip. His tongue darts out of his mouth to flash across your cheek, licking the salty trail your tears left behind.

“Touya, what the fuck?”

You jerk away from him, sputtering as he throws his head back in laughter. Your skin feels too hot, and you struggle to put together a thought. You wiggle out of his grasp, wiping your face, and glaring at him.

“C’mon. Don’t be like that,” he laughs, obviously not taking this seriously. But you just shake your head, trying to squash all of your feelings.

“What do you want?” Your voice bends under the stress, and you face screws up, trying to stop the pathetic flow of tears.

“To see you,” he murmurs, eyes softer than before. The feelings behind the phrase are normally enough to make you giggle and your eyes turn into hearts.

But this is Touya, or Dabi, or some bizarre amalgamation of the two. And you know what he’s done now. You know the price he’s paid. He is not the same.

“That’s not an answer. You shouldn’t be here,” you bite at him. All traces of warmth leave Dabi’s face, and your stomach drops. Something cold and sharp glints in his eyes, threatening to cut you if you get too close. You take a tiny step back, but he simply follows.

“Don’t be like this, Y/N.” His voice is tense, a warning of who he is now, what he’s done, what he could do to you. He cocks his head to the side, eyes trailing over you, gauging your reaction. He’s not the same. You know he’s not the same. His patchwork skin is proof of that enough.

It’s not fair. Echoes of childish giggles and burning blue eyes dance across your thoughts. But what he had done to all those people…You shut your eyes, crossing your arms as if you could hold yourself together.

“Well, what am I supposed to think? You were gone, for so long. And then you sent those fucking letters, and all I could think of was seeing you again. But you’re…” you trail off, but the unsaid hangs heavy in the air.

“Broken,” he hisses out, cold eyes narrowed at you as he gestures to his body. You glare right back at him, tears still flowing.

“It has nothing to do with that,” you manage to force out. “I just- I just don't know who you are.” Dabi’s face twists up into something bitter and forceful, a hurricane that’ll sweep you into something dangerous, you just know it. He is not the same.

“I wrote you those letters, Y/N. I’m still me.” But you don’t know who that is. Not anymore. He abruptly steps forward, forcing you against the wall, eyes wide in panic. He’s too close to your face, too warm, too overwhelming.

You missed him so much, and it hurts. It hurts to see what happened, how he had to put himself back together, a dull mosaic that’s missing pieces. He reaches out to brush his thumb over your cheekbone.

“I’m always on your side.”

If it had been anyone else but Touya, you would’ve scoffed and kicked them out. But he knows you. He knows how you think, he knows what’ll make you respond.

After all, he’s been watching you, making sure he knows how to say that’ll make you bend to his will. Touya wants you, his sweet best friend, to be his forever. So he knows what to say.

And something in you finally gives in, and you wrap arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He slips his arms around your waist, holding you flush against him.

Your knees wobble, legs failing you as you melt to the ground. Touya follows you down, arms circling around you tighter as he smiles into your hair.

Fuck the league. Fuck his family. Fuck a normal life. Fuck, the whole world can burn down. He doesn’t give a fuck. But maybe, just maybe if there’s anyone out there listening, just let him have this. Just this once.

“That’s my baby girl,” he murmurs against you, pulling you into his lap. He kicks out his legs behind you, bending his knees to force snug against him. If he were a better man, he’d be content with this, having you on his side.

But Touya is not a good man. He’s greedy for more, and all he can think about is the heat radiating from your cunt.

His hands splay out against your back, gently rubbing you as you sniffle against him. But he can’t help it when his hands start to travel further down. You sound so cute and desperate, it ignites something within him. He squeezes the flesh of your ass, making you freeze against him. You lean away, lips trembling as your eyebrows draw together.

“Touya, what are you doing?” You sound pathetic to your own ears, and you hate it. But you’re not given any time to dwell on it when he leans forward, lips a few mere centimeters from yours. He rocks you gently against him, watching the conflict in your eyes.

“Hey,” he murmurs, leaning to peck the corner of your lips. “I’m always on your side. Let me make you feel good.”

You stay stiff against him, hands slowly tangling into his hair as he litters the side of your neck with sloppy kisses. One of his hands pushing its way down your little shorts making you gasp. You can feel his erection growing beneath you, and you bite your lip, trying to make a decision to stop him or not.

“Touya,” you ask, “are you sure?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” You’re not 100% sure if this is the right decision, but he feels so good against you. And he’s handsome, scars and all. The intense warmth from earlier slipping into something more comforting, enveloping you as you rock against his hand ever so slightly.

So you don’t stop him. He would never hurt you, right? And it's been a while since you’ve gotten laid. Touya’s made sure of that. So you let him continue his exploration, melting against him as he gently rubs at your clit.

Touya watches your face, memorizing the expressions you make as he slips a finger into your hot cunt. To be clear, he’s seen your face when you’ve creamed around your little fingers on your own, unaware that he was stroking his cock outside your window. But you look so much better, happier even, when it’s his fingers you’re grinding into.

He nips at your neck, before pulling his fingers out of your shorts. He pushes you off of his lap, rolling his eyes at the way you pout.

“Calm down, baby girl. Wanna taste you.”

“Wait!” you warn. Touya freezes, eyes flicking up to yours, taking you in curiously. “Let’s go to the bedroom,” you stutter out, nervous at the look in his eyes. You can’t help but to feel embarrassed, laying on the floor of your apartment sputtering with your childhood best friend turned villain nestled against the apex of your thighs. Anything that can restore an ember of normalcy to the situation would make you feel better at this point.

Touya rests his head against your thigh, warmth returned to his eyes. He smiles at you a little too widely, too sharply. He resembles a predator, something stalking alone at night. Something you shouldn’t have let inside. He’s going to eat you alive. And maybe you’re okay with it.

“Alright, little girl. Lead the way.”

An awkward, hot tension surrounds you as you scrabble off the floor, grabbing his hand as you pull him towards the bedroom. Your thumb brushes over the staples, heart twisting at the feeling.

But the melancholic sting is forgotten once he’s leaving sharp little bites on your thighs, your clothes and his jacket tossed to a forgotten corner of your bedroom. His breath is hot against your exposed skin, goosebumps following his path to your hot cunt.

You’re nervous, still unsure of your current predicament. But Touya pinches your thigh, bringing your attention back to him as he watches as your thighs tense around him. His eyes meet yours, confident and sure of his place between your legs, and all of your uncertainty vanishes, consumed by the want and desire that fills you.

His eyes meet yours, clear and sharp, and he brings his hands to your pussy, thumbs pulling your folds open. His gaze drops, focused on your cunt, watching the way you clench around nothing. You squirm, embarrassed at the intensity of his stare.

“So wet already,” he mumbles, before his tongue swipes along your slit. You let out a small gasp, slamming your hand to your mouth in a lame attempt to gag yourself. Touya narrows his eyes, as he laps away, tongue flicking up to tease your clit, circling it but never touching the sensitive bud. You whine into your hand, trying to keep your hips still as he takes his time.

“Drop that hand.” The rumble of his voice travels through you, making you shiver. “Drop it, and I’ll touch this cute little clit.” Looking at him nervously, your hand falls tentatively, hovering above his hair, unsure if it’s okay to ground yourself there. Touya rolls his eyes, before pushing your hand down.

His tongue swipes at your clit making your hips jolt. He lets out a snort before repeating the action. Your grip in his hair is light, not wanting to hurt him; but your self-control goes out the door the second his lips make a seal around your clit.

He sucks at the throbbing bud, eyes lighting up at the way you buck against him, moaning loudly. Your fingers tangle into his hair, keeping him snug against your cunt. He slips a finger into your sopping hole, practically melting at how warm and wet it is. He needs to be inside you. Soon.

“Touya,” you moan, rocking in an attempt to increase the friction. He curls his finger inside of you, mouth still focused on your engorged bud. Your grip in his hair tightens, the pleasure that’s been simmering building rapidly.

“Gonna cum!” you squeal in warning. He doesn’t slow down, eyes trained on your face as your jaw drops, a choked noise clawing out of your throat. You tense around him, muscles quivering at the intensity of your orgasm. You whine and buck against him, and he lets you ride at your orgasm.

When his ministrations borderline into pain, you weakly push his head away, trying to catch your breath. He lets you pull away, eyes glimmering cruelly.

“That was fast.”

You whine in response, moving your hands to cover your face. Touya hisses, surging forward to yank your hands above your head. You wince as he squeezes, eyes narrowing on your face.

“Don’t hide what’s mine.” His lips pull back into a lazy grin as his eyes trail over your body, landing on your glistening cunt. “Gonna fuck you so good,” he mutters, mostly to himself. You blink stupidly at him when he lets you go, processing the fact that he’s kicked off his pants and taking his cock out.

Your eyes widen when you see the shiny piercings that gleam on his cock. It excites you, making your cunt clench around nothing. And yet your stomach drops when you finally realize that he’s bigger than you thought he would be. You bite your lip, trying to tame the swarm of nerves that take over the excitement.

“Touya, I think I need-” he cuts you off with a sloppy kiss. Your hips cant when you feel the head of his cock sliding along the lips of your pussy, his piercings tapping at your clit nicely. You’re not sure if you’re ready for him, and it simultaneously excites and terrifies you. But he leans on you, keeping you still with his body weight.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Open up for me,” he murmurs. And then next thing you know his lips are on yours, but you can’t help but to let out a cry against him when he thrusts his cock into you, bottoming out. He’s red hot inside of you, and tears prickle the corners of your eyes, leaking out as your nails dig into his back.

“So warm,” he murmurs, before pulling his hips back and thrusting into you. You cry out at the harsh stretch, tears falling down your cheeks as his piercings pull at your walls. He seems to like that though, and he brings a hand up to your cheek, thumb stroking the salty liquid. “You’re pretty when you cry.” He punctuates the sentence with a particularly harsh thrust, sending more tears down your face. “Attagirl,” he coos, looking absolutely enamored with your blubbering face.

“Touya, please,” you whine, not exactly sure what you’re asking for. But Touya seems to know, a sharp grin spreading wide on his face.

“Awww, does my baby girl wanna feel good too?” You nod, face twisted as you babble away.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’ll take good care of you.” He kisses you again messily, before slipping a hand in between your bodies to play with your exhausted clit. He massages the swollen bud, sighing as you start to gush around him. “Is that better?” You nod and whine, hands twisting in his hair to hold him against you.

Touya can’t help but chuckle, and he presses another kiss into your neck before sucking on the skin there. His thrusts are gentler now, appreciating the snug warmth that surrounds his cock. If he could stay buried in the heat of your cunt forever, he would.

He’s drawn from his thoughts when you tug at his shirt, wanting it gone. He stills against you, tensing. You look up at him with a pout, eyes begging him to take it off.

“Please,” you whine. “I wanna feel you.” His mouth opens, and you can already hear the annoying quip that lies on the tip of his tongue, so you push forward, hands tangled into his shirt. “I wanna feel all of you.” He pauses, head tilting to the side as you watch the gears turn behind his eyes.

“Please.” Your voice is soft, as you try to avoid squirming around his dick. Something seems to click in his mind because he draws back, pulling his shirt off. Your eyes wander across the expanse of stapled skin, the puckered burns, making your heart squeeze. But there’s nothing you can say, nothing you can change. So you reach out to him, beckoning him into your arms.

He falls forward, barely supporting himself, letting his body cover yours. You wrap your arms and legs around him holding him close as he begins to lightly thrust again.

“You feel so good,” you cry out panting against his face. Touya angles his head to face you, eyes boring into yours as his breaths mix with yours. It’s too hot, too much, but you can’t move away, overwhelmed by the sensations and entranced by his eyes.

Touya’s hips increase in pace, rutting violently against yours, the sharp sting of his skin against yours making you whine. Each thrust into you, steals your breath away, your hands digging into his back.

“Ever since I found you again, I needed to have you, needed you back. I wasn’t going to let myself lose you again,” he growls. You whimper as you gush around him, finding that you want him to stay buried in your pussy forever.

“Stick out your tongue,” he barks out. His eyes flash, and you do as he says, all while letting out little gasps as he thrusts into you. He hovers above you, a cruel grin spread out on his face. You watch as he spits onto your tongue, a shudder going down your spine. He reaches out to grip your open jaw harshly.

“Swallow.” When he lets go you do exactly that, cunt squeezing tightly. “Oh you like that?” he laughs as you nod. He hums before kissing you sloppily.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re gonna do what I say from now on. I’ll make you feel so fucking good.”

You should be alarmed by the promise of obedience, but you feel too good to care right now.

“Mine, mine, mine.”

It crosses your mind to tell him that you don’t belong to him, but all you can do is nod and hold him closer.

“Wanted to be inside this pussy the moment I saw you. You’re never gonna want another cock than mine.” At this point, all you can do is whine and nod, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“Nothing’s gonna hurt you again, baby girl. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll take care of you.” Your nails scratch down his back, making him hiss, as your hips rut against him.

“Touya,” you cry out, tears leaking from your eyes so sweetly. “Gonna cum again.” He nods, lips brushing against yours.

“Wanna feel you cream around me, baby girl.” You nod blankly, drunk on the feeling of his cock pounding into you, piercings pulling so nicely at your gummy walls.

Propping himself up with one arm, he slips his hand in between your bodies, fingers playing with your clit again. It’s enough to send you over the edge, and you cry out, writing against him as your pussy gushes around his cock, squeezing him tightly.

He chokes against you, and your pulsating cunt launches him into his own orgasm. Touya’s hips jerk against you as his cum paints the inside of your cunt. He collapses against you as you twitch in a post-orgasmic haze. He nips at your neck, alternating the sharp stings with sweet kisses.

“You did so good, baby. So good to me. I’ll take care of you. I promise,” he murmurs against your skin, making you shiver. You’re still panting, sweeping your hands over his back, before they land in his hair, gently scratching at his scalp. He shuts his eyes, enjoying the sensations and the warmth, letting himself get lost in you, if only for a little bit.

But when he pushes himself off of you, pulling his hips away, you whine. Your legs lock around him, keeping him lodged inside you. He barks out a laugh before flopping down on his side, pulling you against him.

“I’ll stay right here. Don’t worry.”

“Touya…” you murmur, gently. He sends you a questioning gaze, waiting. You lean forward, pressing your lips against his, trying to convey the complexity of what you’re feeling. He responds aggressively, as if you might disappear. But it makes you melt. Maybe he was right about that.

When you draw back, his thumb strokes at leftover tears on your cheek.

“It’s okay, You’re mine now.” It’s not exactly what you wanted to hear, but it’s all you get from him because he pulls you tight against him, eyes shutting in exhaustion.

You curl up against him, feeling his breathing even out. His cock feels heavy inside of you, and something cold sits in your stomach.

You shouldn’t have done that. He’s not okay. You really shouldn’t have done that. But you would deal with that in the morning.

For now, Touya is yours, and you’ll enjoy the warmth of his skin and the way the stars fall when you shut your eyes.✨

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lunaslovelyrambles · 4 years ago

Note

It's canon that Levi is very self conscious about his handwriting since he came from Underground. BUT it's also canon that his handwriting is neat. So how about Levi writing his crush a letter but then decides not to give the letter last minute but too late! His crush saw the letter in his hand and they basically have a tug of war over the letter 💀 I hope this is okay. Thank you ❤️

of course it’s okay!! sorry for the long ass wait.. but thank you for sending this in! it’s such a cute request :)

went w a scenario bc i’m rusty with them! as always feedback + reblogs are appreciated :3

——

levi ackerman

He was screwed, wasn’t he? Yeah, he was totally, and wholeheartedly screwed. The second he felt the wavering in his heart and fluttering in his stomach he knew he was screwed.

Because Levi Ackerman - Humanity’s Strongest Soldier - has a crush.

Levi wasn’t one to focus too heavily on his emotions. Oftentimes he’d dismiss any unusual feelings without any second thought. He didn’t have time for that: any sappy, mushy feelings. He was a soldier first and foremost. That was his duty, and that was his priority above all. He should focus on the fight for humanity and that solely.

So why, why was he so hellbent on getting your attention?

Because he liked you, that’s why. But he didn’t want to admit it. He could die at any second and so could you. Like hell he’d want to form a relationship under those conditions.

Still, pushing his feelings toward you aside didn’t help in the slightest. Every day as he watched you laugh with some of the other cadets he felt his hand clench around his cup. He wanted to sit by your side, hear your beautiful laughs and be with you goddamnit.

Why was this so hard? Why was liking someone romantically so hard?

These thoughts permeated his mind as he stared at his paperwork. His pen had been sitting on the table for quite a while now as he thought, once again, about you. He had long forgotten about what he needed to get done for the night and was purely lost in his thoughts.

Should he tell you? No- what if you rejected him? He’d be crushed and not only that but things would be awkward then.. but what if you said yes? Then he could finally get this off his chest and-

He groaned heavily as he laid his head on his desk, causing some of the papers to crinkle underneath. He couldn’t stop the thoughts from growing louder and louder in his mind. They were all too loud and distracting for him to do anything.

But he couldn’t just go and confess! That wasn’t the kind of person he was! He wasn’t the type to just do something like that.. To him, it was way too embarrassing.

As he laid with his head on his desk an idea suddenly entered his mind. One that would save him some embarrassment while also conveying his feelings perfectly. Well, less embarrassing than directly confessing that is.

A letter.

He could write you a letter. The perfect way to confess his feelings. He could write exactly what he wanted and completely avoid the awkwardness of him telling you. It was only an added plus thay writing a letter was seen as sweet and romantic to most people.

Levi finally picked up his pen and started writing on a new, clean sheet of paper.

-x-

It had been several days since he initially came up with the idea to write you a letter and Levi still hadn’t written one that he liked.

Several balled up sheets of paper could be found stacked in his garbage can, and even more burned in the fireplace.

For some reason he just couldn’t get the wording right. Every time he wrote it it just didn’t seem... right. It didn’t feel good enough, it was too blunt, it was too wordy. Every draft he was just unhappy with. And he kept trying only to be continuously dissatisfied.

He sighed as he set his pen down another time. He looked at the singular sheet of paper and began to reread it.

“Dear (Y/N),

I just wanted to say that - ”

“Whatcha got there?”

Levi nearly fell out of his seat. Standing in the doorway was none other than you. And you were very curious to know what he was holding. For a split second he thought about balling it up and chucking it at you, but his body reacted quicker and shoved it into his desk drawer.

“Why didn’t you knock? Didn’t you learn any manners?” he quickly retorted, but he was still caught off guard by your entry thus causing his words to come out quicker than he would have liked.

You rose an eyebrow and walked further into the room, closing the door behind you.

“I did. Several times actually,” you responded, “What was that paper you shoved into your drawer?”

He swallowed thickly. It would be hard for him to maneuver his way out of this one.

“Why are you here? Do you have something to report?”

“...no. But you haven’t really been out of your office all day. Now answer my question.” As you spoke you inched closer to his desk before standing on the side - the one closest to the drawer with the paper in it.

He didn’t answer. Shit. You were not gonna let this go.

He half expected you to keep harassing him with questions until he either forced you out or gave in. But you chose a third option, which was one he wasn’t expecting.

Which was shoving yourself between him in the drawer, effectively blocking him as you grabbed the letter out. Luckily for him, he regained some sort of mind to fight with you for the paper as it left the drawer.

You tugged on one end and he grabbed the other, neither of you showing any sign of letting go. He really started to begin to regret training you to be so strong.

As he gave one harsh tug, and you doing the same, the letter finally ripped in half from the tension. He had the top half and you had the bottom.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Do you always go through other people’s stuff without permission?” he looked down at the paper and back up at you. Naturally he was angry with you for taking out the letter without asking, but when he looked up at you his anger slowly dissipated.

Your mouth was slightly parted and your cheeks were slowly heating up as you finished the letter. Your eyes then flickered from the letter up to him. You turned around the letter to face him and pointed at the words on the bottom.

“I really like you, (Y/N), and I’d love to go out with you sometime.”

“Is this... for me?” you softly asked. His mouth formed a thin line as he avoided your gaze, his cheeks now dusted with a faint pink. There was no way he could say no, it wasn’t for you, because your name was literally on the note.

He was beyond embarrassed. He was mortified. His feelings were out in the open now and there was no going back.

Just as he was about to leave the room to avoid the uncomfortable sting of rejection, he heard you giggle. The noise made him glare back at you, and it was that that made you full on laugh.

Now he really felt humiliated.

“I just can’t believe that you fought me tug of war style for this,” your laughing died down a little, “Did you convince yourself that hard that I’d reject you?”

Levi didn’t know what to think anymore.

“I mean.. kind of, yeah,” he still spoke softly, still not looking at you.

“You’d be wrong, then.”

He finally stopped looking at the floor and back at you. You were smiling at him, a big toothy smile and one that he loved seeing every day.

“I thought that letter was, like, you kicking me off your squad. So I thought ‘hey I’ll bite the bullet and take it out even if he’ll hate me for it’ or something I don’t know. I’m sorry for going through your stuff-”

Before you could finish your apology Levi had uncharacteristically pulled you into his chest. He had felt like someone crushed a building on him when you stole that letter out but now? He feels like he just got the best night sleep.

“Don’t. Don’t even worry about it. I’m.. glad you took it. It’s okay,” he smiled into your shoulder as you returned the hug.

Maybe he’ll write you letters more often.

——

masterlist || rules page

#aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi x you #levi x y/n #levi ackerman x you

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dragonindigo245 · 3 years ago

Text

Official post for my orange side theory

AND NO IT IS NOT WRATH OR ANGER

WARNING: Spoilers for Working Through Intrusive Thoughts. I'm not gonna bother adding the spoiler tag to this post because all the spoilers are going to be under the read more.

Also this post is long so be warned.

Back in early August of 2020 I came up with an orange side theory I have stuck with for a long time. I always found the orange side theory of wrath/anger to be odd, seeing as anger is an emotion not a personality trait, and therefore made an effort to try and discover what I can see the orange side being. In light of the fandoms response to the latest asides saying that orange being wrath is "now canon", I figured it was time to bring it back, along with new points and explanations.

What is the orange side exactly? The answer is simple. He might not be this exactly, but orange is naivety, irrationality, or the inability to see logic clearly.

This started when I made the connection to the dark sides being complete opposites to one another. For example, Janus and Patton are opposite ends of the moral spectrum, Roman and Remus are opposite ends of the creative spectrum, and Logan himself is on the functionality/rationality spectrum. The opposite end would be something like naivety or irrationality.

After that post, I made another a couple of months ago with 3 main points, the first being the opposite ends point. The other two points are just as important.

Point 2: It ties into the 3 monkeys theory

The recent episode confirmed the 3 monkeys theory, further solidifying this point. In case you live under a rock or are new to the Sanders Sides theories, the 3 monkeys theory is based on the whole "See no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil" thing. The dark sides all have powers relating to each of these.

Janus has the ability to mute the sides (speak no evil), Remus has the ability to muffle the sides (hear no evil), and Orange has the ability to... make... their eyes pretty? I'm sure that we will get an actual explanation on how he influenced Logan in the future lol. Regardless, orange is definitely see no evil.

Now you may be asking, Indigo, how does this tie into irrationality?

Do you know what irrationality is? The inability to SEE the world clearly or to SEE reason or logic. Irrationality blinds you to reason itself. It makes sense, seeing as emotions are illogical and orange clearly did something to push Logan to an outburst. When orange provided his influence, Logan's eyes glowed orange, indicating he lost the ability to see purely logically. While, yes, orange did this with anger as a vessel, irrationality takes many forms.

Point 3: Color symbolism

Something that is frequently overlooked when fanders make theories about the sides is that each side ties into their color scheme in some way. Roman being red ties into him functioning as Thomas' romantic side, Patton's light blue tying into his gentle nature and trustworthiness, etc.

Orange is a color that is tied to joy and youth. Being naïve to the world around you crumbling down will often make you happier. While some naivety is great and can make you happy, in large doses it is a threat to your well being.

Point 3.5: How is this connection accurate?

A great deal of the plot in this episode, especially the endcard, showcases this irrational blindness to all of the issues the sides are having with each other. Throughout the episode, Logan keeps having to sacrifice his plan to help Thomas and then once Nico calls Thomas, Thomas doesn't know how hard it hurts Logan to once again be brushed off. In the endcard, Patton and Roman tell Logan that this is more important, not realizing how rejected Logan feels.

This isn't just happening with Logan either. Patton and Virgil have had some rising tension as of late as well. This is showcased the most clearly in this video when Virgil snaps at Patton and says "Oh thank goodness. You're giving him permission." sarcastically. Patton takes this as "I didn't know you would give him permission" whereas Virgil was meaning "He doesn't need your permission to feel good about this". Furthermore, each of the light sides have argued with each other individually in different episodes except for Virgil and Patton.

With Janus recently being more accepted, Remus appearing and hurting everyone, and the tension each of the main sides have... it's all going to fall apart. Nobody but the dark sides seem to notice this tension, not even Thomas. Why? Because they are being naïve. The orange side is either keeping them blissfully unaware or the very fact they are unaware is giving the orange side power.

What is the new point you mentioned?

This video with the orange side really got my gears turning. I began making connections that otherwise I didn't have the ability to make, or never happened to think of. The fact my theory has managed to hold up in a heavy orange side lore video only solidifies my confidence in this.

Point 4: The dark sides revolve around the truth

This theory is a little more of a stretch but if I'm right, then this is all the evidence I really need to confirm that orange is irrationality.

Janus is essentially the ring leader of the dark sides. He keeps them hidden until Thomas wants to be aware of them, with the potential exception of Virgil who we don't know when he was revealed to Thomas. However, each dark side has something in common besides witty remarks. They all center around the truth.

Janus and Remus are easier to figure out, seeing as Janus is literally the embodiment of lies and Remus has multiple times where it is obvious he provides the unfortunate truth. Remus being the bringer of truth is showcased multiple times, which I will only bullet point because this post is more-so about orange than him.

His line of "I would never hide anything from you."

Janus bit in Forbidden Fruit that goes "No longer will you deceive yourself about the ugliness within you."

Logan admitting Remus can help Thomas in his own way

Virgil on the other hand is harder. Unlike the other two, Virgil represents a completely different angle of this "truth theme". Virgil represents the fear of both the truth and the unknown. Why would Janus even need to even repress the dark sides in the first place if Thomas wasn't afraid of the truth that they were apart of him? Why would Thomas had admitted he didn't want there to be more dark sides after he asks if there were more of them if it were not fear he had more unwanted parts of him and fear of not knowing what they were?

Virgil knows Thomas' fears. This would have made admitting he was a dark side such a hard feat. If he felt Thomas was chill with the dark sides, Virgil could have instantly told Thomas he was in fact one of them. In a way, this makes Virgil the perfect bridge between the light and dark sides. The dark sides provide Thomas with the truth he needs or wants, and the light sides figure out how to handle it.

Point 4.5: What does this have to do with orange?

Orange would keep Thomas from the truth. While, yes, this is the exact same thing Janus does, Orange would do it another way. Janus makes Thomas unaware of the truth he KNOWS. Unconsciously, Thomas still knows what Janus hides. This makes it entirely different from how naivety works. Naivety would keep him from ever learning the information in the first place.

Furthermore, we saw that orange is potentially connected to Janus in some way. The very last thing we see in Working Through Intrusive Thoughts is the flash from Janus' eyes, to oranges eyes. This could be a slight hint at Janus and Oranges functions not being so far apart.

Or the writers just thought it would look neat. That too.

Is Logan the orange side?

I can say with almost 100% certainty the answer is no. We saw before each sides introduction, they manifested themselves in the other sides.

Janus silenced Roman in Accepting Anxiety Part 2, Remus manifested in Roman by giving him random unwanted outbursts (like the naked Aunt Patty line that Roman said he didn't know where it came from in the Christmas episode), and therefore it follows orange is manifesting in his own way.

Furthermore, Logan is not the type of character to turn evil. He has outbursts and is being beaten down but he would never snap for good. If anything, we have seen from Putting Others First that he would only appear as needed if he felt ignored.

Logan is not one to let his emotions make irrational decisions for long, and he almost always goes to make up for his mistakes the moment they happen. He always has Thomas' best interests at heart and has witnessed Virgil realizing force is not the way to go about it.

It makes no sense for his character and there is no reason for it to happen narratively.

Please note that this post is simply a theory and I do not wish to start arguments about if I am right or not. If you are going to provide counterclaims, please do so respectfully and do not clog my notes with your own essay. Thank you!

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wowsoboring · 4 years ago

Text

Deconstructing baseless Harry Potter arguments #1: Harmony Edition

There’s a very helpful account on instagram (this instagram page merely gathers toxic harmony shippers, they don’t ship Harmione or hate all Harmione shippers, please don’t send them hate, show them love and support) where you can essentially find stupid fucking bashers who make baseless arguments. I’m all for Harmione shippers, as long as they don’t denounce Romione, bash Ron and just peacefully co-exist. To my pleasure, such people are out there: they just dont seem to be seen as often as the ones that are not nice. Maybe all I see is the mean people and the majority is nice, but in this post, I am attacking those who make baseless claims and bash Ron/Romione/Hinny/Ginny. I don’t myself hate all Harmione shippers. On top of that, as a Romione/Ron fan, i do acknowledge Ron’s character flaws along with Hermione’s and I hold them on the same pedestal.

This is copied directly from my own instagram page, granger.weasley_ on ig.

Anyways let's get deconstructing

rebuttal:

Yeah okay mf; maybe don’t compare real-life relationships with fucking fictional ones. Your relationship going wrong has nothing to do with Ron/Hermione. It has everything to do with you and your ex: the *real life* people involved in it.

rebuttal:

The weird subreddits and discord servers also seem to have a lot of die-hard Harmione “non-canon” shippers. They bash Ron and Romione (along with Ginny and Hinny) with a burning passion without any objective sense of remorse. They ignore all the merits of Ron’s character and bash him to push their agenda. They can’t even do so much as fucking acknowledge any of Hermione’s character flaws but still somehow manage to fixate on that one time when 11 year old Ron just shit-talked one line while Hermione had just publicly humiliated him in front of the Charms class and practically shouted at him for doing the spell wrong just before. I personally don’t because Hermione was 11 too and wasn’t that good at social cues that early on, which is more than okay. Neither am I.

Only a few people in the Romione fandom bash Hermione. And it’s not like Harmione shippers (most, not all!) don’t bash Ron and Ginny remorselessly, right? The fucking hypocrisy.

If someone considers Ron as the best member of the trio, it is their own opinion and not a fact. I do that. If you consider Harry and Hermione as the best member of the trio or in the whole wizarding world, most people don’t give a flying fuck and probably won’t argue with you because it is simply an opinion. That will only happen when you pass that off as a fact.

Statistically speaking, most (not FUCKING all) Harmione moments are in the movies. The weird dance scene especially. The passionate kiss that happens in Ron’s vision, shit like that. Ron is pushed to the sidelines in the last set of movies while Harry and Hermione show each other endless love and support. “I’ll go with you”. The books on the other hand, describe Harry and Hermione as siblings multiple times, with very little Harmione references.

rebuttal:

So you don't want us to fixate on the large majority of Harmione shippers who do the exact same thing, just kissing Hermione's and Harry's ass and hating on Ron. However you will fixate on people who are most likely not EVEN bashing or hating but pointing out a few character flaws in Hermione in a fair and unbiased way. I would know, I'm a huge fan of Hermione as an individual character (in the books). The only criticism I've seen of Hermione to this day has not been bashing. In the comment section of my own fics (shameless plug) I've seen some Hermione bashing. On an ao3 comment section. And I've seen so damn fucking many people bashing Ron, Ginny, the Weasleys etc. and garner tens and thousands of upvotes on quora.

What does Ron even need excusing for? The running away incident and Krum. What does Hermione need excusing for? Canaries, contributing to Ron's insecurities by making him jealous through Cormac and Krum even though she didn't even like them (especially not Cormac, she fucking hated him). Ron wore a locket that literally highlighted his fatal flaw (insecurity) in an echo chamber. Harry kept getting annoyed when Ron wanted to check in on his family. Harry asked Ron to leave; Ron didn't say that shit in the books about Harry's parents being dead: that was plain shock value.

And sorry for repeating myself but I have seen quite a few Harmione shippers bash Ron and Ginny and excuse every single thing Harry and Hermione have done.

37 upvotes on this weird comment that makes no sense? Echo chamber alert! You know what us Romione/Ron fans all have in common? We have never experienced such an echo chamber. I made a pro Ron/Romione post on reddit and got a considerable amount of people who bashed Ron and Romione in the comments.

The amount of Hermione haters is very few compared to Ron bashers. Nobody hates Hermione for being independent, determined, etc. We dislike perfect movie Hermione who’s an unrealistic image of females and seems like some sort of agenda than a real woman. Most Romione shippers/Ron fans and book fans in general (except for you apparently) dislike movie Hermione and still are fans of realistic book Hermione. Most, not all. In general, we do not claim anyone who does the exact same thing to Harry and Hermione that these sorts of Harmione shippers do to Ron, Romione, Hinny and Ginny. I say this on the behalf of all Romione shippers and Ron fans.

Ron's not a bitchy lay-about drama causing loser. That's Steve Kloves's movie Ron. In the books Ron is realistic and simplistic and apologizes whenever he causes problems. He acts up substantially twice in a span of 7 years where he is also a hormone-fuelled teenager.

This is so contradictory and juxtaposed to the point of near delusion. First you talk about how Romione shippers bash Hermione and then you bash Ron as a Harmione shipper. Mate, fighting fire with fire will get you called a hypocrite. Fix yourself.

So the movies are fine when they work according to your agenda? And yes how dare he add such a (fake) chemistry fuelled moment between Harry and Hermione while defeating the entire purpose and groundwork for Romione, the sadness caused by Ron leaving and so many more things? Those Harmione moments you mention seem friendship -esque more than anything else.

Steve Kloves's moments ruined many things while just paying fan service to the Harmione fans he'd birthed through years in the course of 6 movies where he showed Ron as a, how you so eloquently describe it, lay - about drama causing bitchy loser, Harry as one dimensional and Hermione as a zero - dimensional Mary Sue who might as well be the main titular character. Obviously Harmione fans such as yourself don't see the problem with it as it fits your narrative

We do care about Harry and Hermione at large. Most Romione shippers rightfully bash Draco, Pansy, etc. not particularly Harry and Hermione, that's quite rare. Harry and Hermione can get along without Ron as friends. Ron and Harry can also get along without. Hermione as friend. So can Hermione and Ron without Harry as friends or more. I don't understand your point and how what you said is any different than Romione or Ronarry’s friendship.

Constant arguing is not what they do. They bicker, they apologize, and sometimes they just do it for the heck of it. They are argumentative teenager. Opposites attract doesn't work in the sense of fire and ice, it works in the case of Brownie and ice-cream. Ron is passionate, laid back and insecure. Hermione's passionate, a workaholic and not as insecure. Ron can help her get calm and composed and get her to give herself a break. Hermione can motivate Ron and re - enforce his confidence.

It wouldn't be step incest. Harry and Ginny do not regard each other as siblings. They do not look similar whatsoever. And a Harmione shipper also bashes Hinny and Ginny along with Ron and Romione? Checks out

" that fucked up Harmony" hahaha. What?

Are you literally going to date someone on the basis of what Harry Potter ships they prefer? That is so shallow end depraved. Your Harry Potter ship preferences should not be the groundwork for your dating life. Please understand that. Harry Potter is a fictional world which is not real. Hogwarts doesn't exist. Magic doesn't exist. I sound like a Dursley but that's what it is: a fictional realm with fictional character. I would personally not give a fuck if my best friend or significant other was a Harmione shipper. In the case of them being a Ron basher, I would ignore it as if it was just a minor inconvenience and something we wouldn't be discussing and that's how it should be with you. Fuck BuzzFeed, your opinion on what Harry Potter ship / character is your favorite says squat about your personality and relationship with others in a romantic or platonic context. But who cares? Live your life however you want. I'll be stoic.

It's not opposites attract rubbish or high school opposites attract. Ron and Hermione aren't polar opposites like I said, they are a bit different but similar too in many ways. They have a lot more in common than Harry and Hermione. Ron and Harry have the most in common. Both Ron and Hermione are passionate, loving, argumentative, caring, etc. Your argument lacks substance. It's biased trash. And what does “obhwf " mean?

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

at the end of the day, i’m just an annoyed teenager. I try my best to be open-minded to people but only as long as they are too. I tried to use my brain more than my feelings for this post.

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st0nesnglitter · 4 years ago

Text

Womanizer

Singing ”Womanizer” at Sirius after a fight.

[A couple things before you start reading.

1. I know that this doesn’t work with the canon timeline and I also don’t know how wizards play music, so please act blissfully unaware of that when you’re reading.

2. It gets a little spicy, so if you’re not comfortable with that it’s totally okay to skip this one.

3. I’m sure Marlene is a nice girl, but I needed someone to be a bad guy and she was the first name I could think of.]

—————

Being with Sirius Black could be frustrating but today he was particularly annoying. After a hard week of studying you two haven’t talked and all you wanted was to get some time alone with him before Gryffindors celebratory party for their latest quidditch win against Hufflepuff. But the interaction you had with him now was not what you wanted the whole week.

He stood before you, arms crossed and with a stern face.

“I can’t just stop being with my friends” he said bluntly and you sighed.

“I don’t mean that you should stop being with them, I just don’t think you need to be with them every night, especially since you spend almost every second of every day with them” you said and copied his pose by crossing your arms over your chest.

“Oh cause you are so keen on being with me” he huffed “your head is always in a textbook, slaving away”.

Your brows furrowed and a gasp left your lips.

“You can’t compare me studying to you being with your friends!”

“I can and I will” he said and took a step closer to you “plus I’m not only hanging out with the guys, I have more friends than that and I need to keep up the contact.” You scoffed loudly and raised an eyebrow.

“You talk like it’s your job! And who, may I ask, are these mysterious friends that are not James, Remus or Peter?” You challenged as you saw his face becoming angrier.

“Marlene.” He stated simply and your face dropped.

Not being the most secure person in the world made it kind of hard dating Sirius. You had no doubt that Sirius was being faithful to you, his love for you ran deep and with his past he wouldn’t be able to stand being the one to hurt you. But that didn’t mean that girls would respect his relationship status. Countless of times girls tried to flirt with him and he always turned them down politetly. One girl you wished he didn’t turn down as nice however was Marlene McKinnon. She was on him as soon as you left his side and she. Wouldn’t. Stop.

”And why would you keep up the contact with her?” You asked with a hard tone.

If you had let down the facade of being angry with him he would immediatly soften and tell you the things he already have tenfold: that she’s annoying him and that he would never leave you, that he loves you dearly. But right now it was one stubborn and angry person against another waiting for the other to drop the act first, and Sirius never gave up a competition.

“She’s funny, likes adventure” he dropped nonchalantly and then added “you know you and Marlene has a lot in common”.

Your face scrunched up at the name and his face gained a look of pride.

“In the nicest way possible, love, jealousy does not suit you” he said and that shit-eating grin wouldn’t leave his face.

“In the nicest way possible, fuck you Sirius” you retaliated and left his dorm.

You had gone to your own room and when you were pulled away from the situation you were simultaneously pulled away from your anger. Your eyes stinged but you refused to let the tears fall as you went to the bathroom of your dorm. The party would start soon and your roommates were already in the midst of getting ready. After one look in the mirror you took a deep breath and decided that you had to play his game to win tonight.

Walking down to the party you felt your heartbeat quicken and before entering you took another deep breath, but you were pulled from your mini meditation by your friends who didn’t want to miss anything.

The music was loud and everywhere there were people dancing, making out and drinking. Someone had casted a spell that made the roof sheen in different colors that lit up the otherwise dark room. The energy filled your body and you could finally let your thoughts about Sirius go. You followed your friends to get some firewhiskey and downed it as fast as possible to catch up with the rest of the people on the dancefloor.

After a considerable time you felt a rush from your legs to your head and you could let go. You slowly neared the floor and you started dancing. You felt a pair of dainty hands on your hips and looked up to find Lilys eyes, her cheeks flushed from the heat in the room and the alcohol she’s consumed. A smile broke out and you started dancing with her with your arms over her shoulders. She started giggling and you furrowed your brows to ask what she was laughing at and she leaned in to your ear.

“Looks like we have a crowd” she whispered and nodded in the direction of one of the couches and you looked over your shoulder.

Behind you James and Sirius sat beside each other, looking deliciously handsome, with whiskeys glasses in their hands and their gazes trained on their girls. The skintight dresses and your dancing hade definitely gathered their attention but they were broke out of their trance when a girl sat down next to Sirius and your eyes darkened. Marlene.

Siriuis turned his head toward her and he gave her a smirk. The way she placed her hand on his shoulder and not so subtly looked at his exposed chest that peeked out from his white dress shirt made you see red and you decided to put the plan you had prepared in action.

You whispered in the ear of the guy who was playing the music and he looked at you quizically but nodded and you mouthed a ‘thank you’ as you walked back to Lily.

“What did you do?” She asked as you started to walk past her and to the couch where your black haired boyfriend sat and you grabbed his wrist.

“Can you come with me please?” You smiled and pulled him onto his feet. Sirius face changed and he tried to figure out what you were doing. As you led him to the open floor the beginning of the song you had requested started playing. You smiled sweetly at Sirius as the first words played out in the common room before you grabbed his attention by starting mouthing the words.

“Superstar, where you from? How's it going?

I know you got a clue what you're doing

You can play brand new to all the other chicks out here, but I know what you are, what you are, baby

Look at you gettin' more than just a re-up

Baby, you got all the puppets with their strings up”

Sirius kept his gaze on you like his life depended on it and he slowly started to realize what this was for, drinking up the words booming from the hidden speakers.

“Fakin' like a good one but I call 'em like I see 'em

I know what you are, what you are, baby”

As the chorus approached you got closer to him, pressing your body against his and placing your hands on his pecs.

“Womanizer, woman-womanizer, you're a womanizer, oh, womanizer, oh, you're a womanizer, baby”

His lips parted and everything clicked as you sang the words with a hard gaze. Instinctively he grabbed your waist and watched you totally mesmerized by your bold actions. He had always seen you as timid, especially when it came to your relationship. Secretly he had wished you would yell at Marlene not only so he didn’t have to but to see you stand up for yourself. But he would be lying if he didn’t admit that he found this both amusing and kind of hot.

“Boy don't try to front, I-I

Know just, just, what you are, are-are

Boy don't try to front, I-I

Know just, just, what you are, are-are”

One of your hands moved up to the nape of his neck and started to play with some of his hair. His grip on your hips tightened and he bit his lip as you pulled slightly. Your lips turned into a pout as you sang the finishing words of the chorus, feigning an innocent look.

“You got me goin'

You're oh so charmin'

But I can't do it

You womanizer”

You had to gather every little drop of self-control to not laugh as you watched his face drop and you started backing away, his hands trying to push you close to him again. A smirk formed on your lips as you leaned against the closest wall and you tilted your head to look at him.

“Daddy-O, you got the swagger of a champion

Too bad for you, you just can't find the right companion”

He got closer and your hand returned to his shoulder, your own eyes following how your fingers moved which made his gaze to follow yours.

“I guess when you have one too many, makes it hard, it could be easy”

You fingers walked down the expanse of his shoulder in time to the beat of the music and your eyes returned to his face.

“Who you are”

His eyes met yours once again. Your finger dragged upwards from the gap between his collarbones, over his adams apple and finally flicked from under his chin, making his head push back lightly.

“That's just who you are, baby”

You mouthed the words with your eyebrow slightly raised as you were hammering your point into his head.

“Womanizer, woman-womanizer, you're a womanizer

Oh, womanizer, oh, you're a womanizer, baby

You, you-you are, you, you-you are

Womanizer, womanizer, womanizer”

As he leaned closer to you, desperate for any attention from you that wasn’t the lyrics of the song ringing in his ears, you started to shift and turned the two of you around. Even though he was taller and in other ways bigger than you you felt incredibly powerful as you pushed him against the wall.

“Boy don't try to front, I-I

Know just, just, what you are, are-are

Boy don't try to front, I-I

Know just, just, what you are, are-are”

Your hands went to fix his collar and straighten out the creases in his shirt.

“You got me goin'

You're oh so charmin'

But I can't do it

You womanizer

You say I'm crazy

I got your crazy”

You grabbed his jaw and made him look into your eyes as you pushed his cheek together to create a pout on his lips as you spat out the last line.

“You're nothing but a womanizer”

—————

I genuinely can’t tell if this is good or not so let me know what you think. I have an idea for part 2 too soooo uuuh watch out for that ig.

#sirius black #sirius x you #sirius orion black #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x you #sirius black x reader #sirius black blurb #sirius black fic #sirius black angst

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honeysidesarchived · 3 years ago

Text

WHERE THERE IS NO TEMPTATION, THERE IS NO GLORY.

⊱ a santino d'antonio / oc short-fic

euphemia volpe has never wanted for very much; a safe place to sleep, a soft place to land. to love someone, and be loved back. she has all of those things now, but it's most unfortunate for her that she has fallen in love with a man who will never be satisfied with what he's got.

pt. i: contact is crisis

words: 3.3k

warnings: language, some depictions of a relationship that is not entirely healthy, extensive use of my very basic knowledge of italian (padded with google translate, thank you google!), and an unfortunate amount of endearments and pet names. this does not deviate from john wick chapter 2's canon ending, so please bear in mind this will contain major character death.

rating: m for mature language ??? probably closer to t, but will change later on.

notes: as some of you may know, this has been (unfortunately) sitting on my drive since i first watched john wick chapter two almost a year ago--maybe over a year! i can't remember. all i remember was seeing santino and going "SOMEONE has got to kiss that man". so you know, here i am. this short-fic (only a few, short parts) will take place over the span of the events of john wick chapter 2. yes i built some tiny amount of lore for the camorra. yes i had the opportunity to write a fix-it fic and did not. no i am not taking criticism at this time !

special uber big thank you to my beta and my wifey @starcrier who read this a year ago and when i casually said, "hey, so what if i posted this" told me to do it. also @faithchel, who through the occasional sly prompt slid in from ask games (i see you) has been a true angel while i sort through this, and equally as encouraging!

and of course thank you to you all, who read this. i know this is not the usual content you followed me for but i appreciate you all the same. <3

“I cannot believe that I will marry a man so stupid.”

Euphemia is practically frothing at the mouth, she’s so mad; she storms into the chic New York loft, tossing her purse onto the nearby counter, her heels clipping against the polished floor decisively. It’s late; the silk slip of a dress draped across her body brushes the floor in a sweeping train, and she balances herself on the counter with one hand while she steps out of the stilettos with the assistance of the other.

“Euphie, luce della mia vita,” Santino says, striding in after her and completely at ease. He is, infuriatingly, as he always is; perfectly composed, his dark curls in place and his suit immaculate. Euphemia eyes him through the mirror of her vanity as he sidles up behind her. “We’re not married yet, princesa, so you have nothing to worry about.”

“Luce della mia vita,” Euphemia drawls mockingly. She drips the words in honey on the way out of her mouth, sliding a dainty, glittering bracelet from her wrist and dropping it on the counter. “You sound like a fucking idiot, Santi.”

His gaze darkens, but his voice is still silky when he says, “Watch your tone, cara mia.”

“What for?” Euphemia thinks she wouldn’t be able to watch her tone even if she wanted to; not anymore, not with this hanging over her head. She turns to stare at her fiancé, pressing her index finger to his chest. “You’re going to get killed by Baba Yaga anyway. No point in behaving myself, is there? Idiota.”

“Euphemia.”

“You leave John Wick alone, Santino,” she bites out. “You don’t ask for a thing from him. Of him. About him. I don’t want John Wick near my life.”

Santino grabs her wrist, the hand with the engagement ring sitting on it—snatches it out of the air like a cobra striking, grips it with hands that usually are much kinder.

“Everything that you have now is a gift from me,” he warns her, voice pitched low. “You like your nice engagement ring? Your nice dresses? This nice loft we live in?”

His fingers grip, nearly bruising; these are the only times that he doesn’t handle her with care, that his elegant fingers don’t splay against her skin reverently—when she’s pissed him off.

“I’ve given it all to you, all of these things, this life that you like having and don’t want John Wick near, so I would suggest watching your tone for that.”

There is a brief moment where Euphemia thinks she might finally, right now, resort to the violence of slapping Santino in the face. The threat is not lost on her; it’s Santino’s favorite thing to do when he’s angry. And for her to commit an act of violence against her fiancé would be unthinkable almost every other time, in any other situation. Euphie would not have considered it in the least, but there are times—on occasion—where she thinks for a second that she doesn’t recognize him; that he’s become some amalgam of all of the men who have grabbed her too hard or told her she owes them. Men who have used her meanly.

And Santino has divulged his plan to push John Wick for a favor.

So, yes: she thinks she might, but then her hand is moving of her own volition, sliding the engagement ring off of her finger and stuffing it into his jacket pocket, the more pacifist choice than what her mind is screaming for her to do.

“You have never had nothing, Santi,” she says, biting out the words, “so allow me to enlighten you; I have had nothing before you, and I will be just fine having nothing again.”

His eyes narrow, gemlike slits that sit heavy on her. She yanks her wrist of his grip and says, “And it is a good thing we are not married, si? A divorce would have been so messy.”

“Euphie,” Santino says in a sigh that lacks venom, as though he weren’t just threatening to take everything from her, as though she were the hysterical one, “don’t fuss.”

Don’t fuss, he says, because Santino has only ever had women before that bend themselves over backwards until they break for him; don’t fuss, he says, because he likes and maybe loves her, she thinks, but he doesn’t like or love when she talks back. Santino has always had someone to wait on him, to serve him, and Euphemia has never seen his parents together but she would that his only vision of marriage is that of a subservient, dutiful, loving wife.

“Oh, but my darling,” she coos, very undutiful and decidedly not subservient, “I wouldn’t want you to have to worry about all of the nice things you give me. You can enjoy them all yourself, for the brief time before Baba Yaga kills you for asking him to do a job he does not want to do, when he has announced his retirement.”

It’s a terrible way to feed the monster inside of her. That monster is a pusher, a puller, the kind that picked and chipped away at Santino until he lost that shred of his manicured control and gave her something, anything she could work with. It was impossible to love a man who was so buttoned up there was nowhere for her to put her love.

His expression tightens in the way that she recognizes as his controlled fury; bottling it, merchandising it, saving it for later. Santino is not incapable of killing his sister himself, but for some reason—a reason that Euphemia is sure is only known to him—he won’t. Some stupid shit about blood and family, probably.

“Take the ring back.” Santino’s voice is smooth, belying the danger lurking just beneath. He fishes the engagement ring out of the pocket of his suit jacket, where she’d dropped it, and picks up her hand again; this time, his fingers don’t grip with bruising force, but cradle. Euphemia thinks she might have pushed him, then, right to the line, because his eerie calm is unsettling as his fingers meticulously slide the engagement ring back into place.

He says, “There, you see? This is where your engagement ring belongs and will stay. Here, on your hand. Just like this is where you belong and will stay—here, with me.” His hand comes up to her face; she turns away, and he catches her chin and forces her to look back at him.

“You know I will get you anything you want,” Santino murmurs, “but you have to ask.”

Nicely, is the implied word. A good fiancé, a good wife, wouldn’t storm out of the car after he mentions John Wick in passing, ripping through the loft, calling him names. She knows all of this and she thinks, then maybe I’m not a good anything.

But she can tell when she’s pushed Santino’s buttons just enough—enough to make a point, and not enough to incur his wrath. Not entirely.

“Please, Santi,” she says, her voice still hard but softer than it was before, and already Santi is shaking his head so she plunges on recklessly, “do not cash in John Wick’s debt to you. Ascoltami, I know you—I know you will do something to put yourself and John Wick on opposite sides of the playing field.”

Santino’s gaze is sharp and clear. He drops his hand from her face, shrugging, and says, “So what? I will be playing chess, and John Wick will be playing checkers. You worry too much, Euphie.”

“What you mean to say is that I think before I act.”

He shrugs, and threads his fingers through her hair, reaching up with the other to brush loose strands of it from her eyes. He rumbles pleasantly, “Don’t you trust me?”

Euphemia grits her teeth. Her hands come up to grip his wrists, watching him with a prickle of dread in her chest. “Don’t you trust me, Santi?”

Santi’s gaze darkens. Like that, he drops his hands from her, tucking them into the pockets of his slacks as he turns and wanders further into the bedroom, taking all of his warmth with him and leaving Euphie to marinate in the cold glow of the vanity’s lights.

“You can say no,” she says after him, frustrated. “You don’t have to keep an air of mystery about it.”

“What do I do then, tesora?” Santino demands, turning to look at her from the foot of the bed where stands. “Kill her myself? You know I can’t. You know that you cannot ask me to do that.” A pause, and then, with an added air of entitlement: “And Wick owes me.”

There are complicated feelings wrapped up in the whole of it, she knows; Santino, who wants what his sister was given, but cannot bring himself to end her. Euphemia, who only wants Santino, who doesn’t care if he has a seat at the High Table or if he’s a sister-killer or not, who only wants him to look at her longingly like he did when they first met, just for forever instead of a brief moment in time.

And both of them, intrinsically linked, because Santino isn’t wrong when he says that he’s given her everything she has now and Euphemia isn’t wrong when she says she would be okay with nothing again.

She doesn’t ask it of him; he is right, that she can’t, that she wouldn’t. Gianna has only ever been kind to her, at least face to face, and if Santi’s sister had any reservations about Euphemia, then Euphie would find herself in a completely different situation. Not engaged to the only other heir to the D’Antonio empire, that was for certain.

Instead, then, she says, “I cannot ask you to do it, you’re right. I cannot ask you to do it, and I cannot keep you, and I cannot throw you away, Santino. I was less tired when I had nothing.”

She turns away and walks herself into the bathroom, fingers trembling as she undoes the delicate zipper of the gold dress, letting it pool at the floor in a whisper of fabric. The engagement ring sits heavy on her hand. It’s beautiful—and just what she wants, and also the thing that she fears the most, because she doesn’t know what it means to Santino and only what it means to her.

“Euphie.”

His voice comes from the doorway of the bathroom. She turns on the hot water in the tub, a beautiful porcelain clawfoot that she picked herself. It was one of the first things that Santino gifted to her, the first essence of her in the loft that is now almost entirely half-and-half the two of their tastes.

Euphemia doesn’t say anything, because she doesn’t know what to say, so she ties up her hair and shimmies out of the last of her clothes. She can feel his eyes on her, waiting for her to flower into submission and turn around and beg, oh, please Santino, forgive me, but he should know better because she has never and will never do that for him.

“Cara mia.”

“Do not.” Euphemia’s voice wobbles. She slides into the bathtub before it’s full, the water stinging her skin where it touches. “I can’t stand to hear your voice saying sweet things to me when you are willingly walking yourself into your grave.”

“You are being a little dramatic.” He makes his way over to her, kneeling down beside the porcelain tub, ghosting his fingers over her forehead and then the bridge of her nose, fluttering in a way that treasures her and causes her grief all at once. “Just one job, Euphie. That’s all I’m going to ask of him. And then it’s done, and you won’t have to be worried about the Boogeyman.” The pads of his fingers dip into the hot water and then skim along the slope of her collarbone, raising goosebumps on her skin. “And John Wick, whose lifelong peace you are very concerned about, can go back to his dog and his car.”

Euphemia thinks, it’s never just that, with you, because she knows Santino—she knows he’s hungry, has always been hungry, a boy magicked into a man’s skin all hurt and needing and starved, unable to inhibit himself properly. No self-preservation telling him when to stop, never telling him when enough is enough. Not really.

I see you, though, she thought, her gaze flickering over Santino’s face to trace the handsome lines of his expression. She would have never agreed to marry a man before she saw him without his face off; without knowing the monster underneath.

But while she knows this, and she sees Santino D’Antonio for what he really is, she is an idiot and a fool and loves a man sick with the magic of his own perceived destiny, a destiny he believes he is owed, so she says softly, “Promise me, Santi.”

“On my life,” Santino replies with that boyish charm she knows so well. He speaks as though he is not going to leave her in the morning to visit Baba Yaga, as though she doesn’t fear he won’t ever come back. “Now give me a kiss, princesa.”

“I mean it, Santino—”

��I do, too.” He cocks his head to the side. “I won’t ask twice.”

Euphemia acquiesces; not because she fears what he’ll do if he does feel he has to ask twice—because he does hate that—but because as much as she says she would be happy to have nothing again, she is content to bask in the something that she has now, while she has it.

She kisses the corner of his mouth. He slides his damp fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck and says, “Do you love me?”

“Of course.” Her voice feels rough with an emotion she doesn’t want any of. “Of course, Santi, that’s why I—”

“All I need is a yes or no, my little fox, not an essay.”

Her eyes narrow. She turns her face from him; he shifts his position at the end she’s leaned against, dragging his hands along her shoulders to ease the tension in her muscles. Her body reacts instinctively to him. She is a long cry from the girl scamming rich men out of their wallets and time, but there are some things she is still weak to; touch, the acknowledgment that she has a body, that she is real, to be reassured that she is alive.

Santino is so very good at that. He leans over the end of the tub and kisses her cheek, fingers working into the knots of her shoulders.

I am so afraid, she thinks, her eyelashes fluttering shut. I am so afraid that I will never see old age on you.

“Tesora.” His voice is a lull. Pulling her back in, pushing her back under, reminding her that to relinquish herself to someone is a luxury she does not want to go without anymore. To let someone else take control, to not have to worry about making decisions all the time; this is something that she always wants.

“Yes,” Euphie says, “of course I love you, Santi.”

She can feel his smile against her cheek.

“Good girl.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Tell me your favorite words.”

It’s both early and late; the clock’s cool blue numbers are keeping her awake; Santi’s hand slides along the curve of her hip admiringly above the silk of her nightdress, and his nose brushes the bump at the base of her neck. Euphemia shifts. When she does, the edge of her engagement ring catches on the silky pillowcase, but she doesn’t care—it will always do that, because Santi won’t pick another and Euphie won’t ask him to.

Goosebumps prickle along her skin with the air conditioning, cranked as high as she likes, whispers across it when her shoulder slides out from underneath the comforter. She rolls over to look at him. It’s unsurprising that he’s still awake, and he doesn’t look surprised to see she’s awake, either.

“My favorite words?” she prompts. Santino brings his hand to her face, his thumb dragging absently along her lower lip.

“Si,” he replies. “You are always reading. You can speak a few languages. You must have favorite words, no?”

His request does bring a smile to her face, tired as it is. They may have spent the rest of their waking evening wandering around each other like wounded dogs, wary and licking their wounds, but they are here now, together, in their bed.

Euphie says, “It is late, Santi.”

“And I cannot sleep.” He brushes his nose along her jawline. “But perhaps the soothing voice of my one greatest love will lull me.”

She laughs. Her hand finds his, their fingers interlacing, woven together. He pulls back from her and kisses the engagement ring, but he is waiting. He means it.

“Tendresse,” Euphemia says, the word rolling soft out of her mouth from misuse. Santino quirks a brow expectantly and kisses the pulse point of her wrist. “Tenderness.”

He nods sagely. Against the soft skin of the inside of her wrist, he murmurs, “You are a most tender creature, Euphemia D’Antonio.”

Her fingers slide out of his, running along the slope of his cheekbones and then the bridge of his nose. “That is Euphemia Volpe. If you’ll recall, we’re yet to be married.”

Santino leans in, captures her fingertips playfully with his teeth, and then kisses her palm with a warm, rich chuckle that sends pleasant heat spiraling down her spine. “You will never forget that I was fool enough to say that to you, will you?” he asks. “Tell me another.”

His eyes are just as warm as his voice, and twice as earnest. In these moments, Santino is the most charming; boyish and quick-witted, unburdened by the elements of the world, by his own desires. He thinks of nothing except them. Euphemia feels like she’s in her own little world with him, in their bedroom at three in the morning, while the air conditioner whirrs and ticks and he asks her something so unimportant, like what her favorite words are.

And then, Santino leans in and kisses her cheek, the corner of her mouth, and the underside of her jaw to prompt her.

“Amore,” she murmurs, feeling like the breath has been sucked out of her lungs by his longing. His tenderness.

“Oh,” Santino says, against her temple, “I know that one.”

When his stubble tickles her neck, she squirms, shifting away from him so hat she can take a breath; but he chases her, leans in and captures her in his arms so that he can nose the hair by her ear and kiss there.

“Euphie, my gorgeous girl,” he says in the way that wrenches her heart; drenched and drowned in adoration. “Perfetto e tutto mio.”

Santino wraps his arms around her and pulls her to his chest, his fingers tracing constellations on her back where the night dress slips away from her shoulder blades. Sweet Santi, covetous Santi; she is his greatest art piece, his favorite collector’s item, and in these moments she has never felt more treasured. There is something equal parts safe and selfish in wanting someone to treasure you.

“Say it for me, Euphie. You know I love when you do.”

She buries her face into his neck. Her eyes burn. He will go to Baba Yaga tomorrow, and she will have to pretend not to know, or it will wreck her. Euphie considers ways to keep him in bed in the morning; delay him, make him forget about John Wick and this glory that he is chasing forever.

“Sono tuo,” she murmurs. Tears sting at the corners of her eyes If he feels them against his skin, Santino makes no indication than to card his fingers through her hair. “Always, Santi.”

Always, always, always yours.

#john wick fic #santino d'antonio x oc #santino d'antonio / oc #spilled ink #c: euphemia volpe #c: santino d'antonio #i have nothing to say for myself except thanks and ily all <3 #scheduled post #x: senza tentazioni senza onore

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haus-seeblick · 3 years ago

Text

Suptober Day 3: Rainbows

Title: We’ve Got Your Back, Jack

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 1,660

Tags: Mild (brief) Angst, Dean Winchester and Castiel are parents, De-aged Jack Kline (he did it to himself), Jack Kline is twelve, Fingernail painting as therapy, Claire is an excellent big sister, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Canon Divergence from 15x18 (twelve years later), Jack has a guinea pig named Nougat

Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Claire Novak/Kaia Nieves, Background Sam Winchester/Eileen Leahy

On AO3 Here

When Jack is teased at school for wearing his favorite rainbow jacket, his family comes together to help build him back up.

“Sunshine, you gotta calm down.” He moves to stand behind Cas where he’s sitting at the kitchen table and squeezes his shoulders reassuringly. There’s hardly any give; Cas is a single ball of tension.

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

Dean sets a steaming mug of tea in front of Cas, who glares at it with such intensity that Dean’s surprised it doesn’t shatter on the spot.

“I can’t calm down,” Cas growls. “He was bullied. The sweetest boy in the world, and they made him feel small. How are you calm, Dean?”

Dean sighs and pulls up a chair. “He seemed fine, Cas. I mean, he is God. He was already talking about changes he wants to make once he comes back into power.”

Cas grips his mug and takes an abrupt, angry sip. “I wish he could make them now.”

“Me too, buddy. But he’s learning. Every shitty person he deals with, he learns something. That’s why he’s doing this whole human thing, remember?”

The kitchen’s quiet for a moment while Cas contemplates. He cups his hand over the tea, steam escaping between his fingers in lazy tendrils. “It’s just my instinct to shield him from cruelty.”

Dean nods. He scoots closer, sliding an arm around Cas’ warm, solid waist. “I know.”

Some of the rigidity in Cas’ posture softens and he leans into Dean’s side. Dean presses a kiss to his temple.

“What can we do?” Cas asks quietly. “For now. I want him to feel happy at school.”

Dean hums thoughtfully. “Not sure. The school already talked to the other kid's parents, so that part’s taken care of, and Jack said it was just the one boy. I think we just gotta be there for him. Remind him he’s awesome.”

“I just want to wear my rainbow coat.”

Dean and Cas turn around to see Jack standing in the doorway, rubbing his eye. He’s wearing the bee-patterned pajamas Cas got him for his twelfth birthday in the spring, and is cradling his guinea pig, Nougat, in one arm.

Cas immediately stands up and beckons Jack over. “You couldn’t sleep?”

Jack shakes his head, as earnest and deliberate as he does everything. He pads across the kitchen and hands Nougat to Dean before sitting down in Cas’ empty chair. It took Dean a while to get used to the guinea pig, to her sharp nails and shrill squeaks, but now he likes having her warm little body against his chest.

Cas flips the kettle back on to make Jack a cup of tea, too. “Did that boy’s teasing start with your coat?”

Jack plays with the strings on his pajama pants and nods. “I don’t understand. When he said those mean things and laughed, he felt—” Jack pauses, blinking thoughtfully at the ceiling. “He felt afraid, like he was cornered. Defensive.”

“His emotions must have been strong for you to sense them,” Cas says gently, pouring the steaming water into Jack’s favorite mug, a blue one with a big sun on the side. Dean slowly strokes a finger over Nougat’s soft brown head. His chest feels tight.

“Yes, they were. I feel bad that he’s scared,” Jack continues. “And I’m going to work on helping people like that when Amara gives me my powers again. But I also just want to wear my coat.”

He’s twelve, Dean thinks. He’s God, and he’s twelve.

“You’re gonna wear your coat, kiddo,” he says, bumping Jack’s foot with his own. “That other kid, it sucks that he’s hearing shitty stuff at home. And it’s not your fault that he took it out on you. Trust me. If you wanna go to school decked out in rainbows, we’ve got your back.”

Cas nods and crouches down next to Jack, handing him his mug. “Dean is right. Our priority is helping you be yourself and be happy during your time as a human.”

Jack shuffles his feet a little. He cups his hand over the mug just as Cas had done. “Um, in that case, can I ask something?”

“Yes, of course,” Cas says.

“Well, my friend Mallary likes painting her nails. They look so cool. But she said boys don’t usually do that.”

“And you’d like to,” Cas prompts. His eyes meet Dean’s for a moment.

Jack nods. “Rainbow.”

Dean stands up, cradling Nougat snug against his chest as the guinea pig emits a startled squeak. “Well, then, you’re gonna have rainbow nails. I know just who to call.”

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

Claire sweeps into the house the next morning — Sunday — in a whirlwind of hair and shopping bags. Even though they heard her coming all the way up the driveway, swearing and dropping things, it’s always a shock when she bursts through the door. Kaia follows quietly, with a fondly exasperated smile on her face. She rolls her eyes at Dean and he stifles a laugh.

Claire stomps into the living room and dumps her mountain of bags onto the couch. “Hi, old men. Where’s my brother?”

“Hello, Claire,” Cas says, lips quirking. “I see you’ve come quite prepared.” He’s leaning in the doorway to the living room, arms crossed, an old t-shirt of Dean’s stretched over his broad shoulders. From his perch on the couch, Dean lets his eyes roam appreciatively; Cas has been ageing ever since he returned from the Empty a human, and the years look good on him. He even has a bit of silver in his wild hair. Twelve years together, and Dean still can't believe his luck.

“Yeah, well, Dean calls me saying my baby bro needs a confidence boost, I’m gonna go all out.” Claire starts emptying the bags onto the coffee table. “I brought every color I could find.”

As if on cue, Jack appears in the doorway next to Cas. His hair is still rumpled from sleep but his eyes are shining, taking in the rows of nail polish that Claire is lining up on the table.

“Wow, is that all for me?” He practically bounces into the room and sits cross-legged on the floor, picking up a blue bottle.

Claire ruffles his hair, disheveling it even more, and sits down next to him. “Hell yeah. And for your dads, too.”

Dean blinks. “Uh— you want us to— yeah, that idea was for Jack, actually.”

This time it’s Kaia’s turn to stifle a laugh, and Dean shoots her a dirty look. Cas chuckles and pushes off the doorframe to join Dean on the couch. He takes Dean’s hand in his own and lifts it up, lightly stroking one finger at a time as he looks at the short, blunt nails. Dean may work hard at the garage, but he’s hygienic and doesn’t bring any grease home, under his nails or otherwise.

Now, he blushes a little as Cas brushes a kiss onto his knuckles. “Dean will look beautiful. Just like Jack.”

Jack whoops and shoots Dean a dazzling smile. Dean can’t really say no to that face.

It’s decided that Kaia will paint Jack’s nails rainbow, a different color on each nail (Jack insists that some should have polka dots, too), and that Claire will do Cas’ and Dean’s. Dean tries to ask for just black, like Baby, but gets shouted down by everyone in the room and grudgingly agrees to a dark green. When Claire is done wiping down his nails and applies the first brush of color to his thumb, he has to admit it looks nice.

Jack keeps exclaiming in delight every time Kaia starts on a new color, and nearly loses it when she reveals that she got some tiny glittery stars to sprinkle on the drying polish.

“It looks like a galaxy,” he breathes, eyes wide, moving his fingers gingerly in the light from the window. Dean glances at Cas, who’s getting his nails painted a holographic blue, and is surprised to see a bright sheen in Cas’ eyes as he watches Jack. He’s smiling softly. Dean reaches over (careful of his own drying nails) and lays a hand on his shoulder. Together they watch their kid — sort of God, sort of not — reclaim his happiness one sparkly fingernail at a time.

Once everyone’s clear coat polish is dry (Dean had no idea there were so many steps involved), they take a bunch of pictures to send to Sam and Eileen. Dean almost considers hiding his own hands, but Jack’s gazing at him so excitedly that he splays them on the table next to Cas’ without a second thought.

They do look cool. Sam even says so in his text, after a string of heart-eye emojis.

Claire and Kaia head out after lunch (Cas quietly packs up about half of the nail polish they brought, pressing it into Kaia’s hands to take back home with them). Jack spends the rest of the afternoon picking out a suitably colorful outfit to match his nails at school tomorrow.

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

“This was a wonderful idea, Dean. Thank you,” Cas says that evening as they’re back at the kitchen table, Cas nursing his usual mug of tea and Dean packing Jack’s lunches for the week. “He was so happy. I hope he’ll be okay tomorrow.”

Dean slides the last sandwich into the fridge and lays his hands back on Cas’ shoulders. They’re warm and pliant tonight. He digs his fingers in, leaning down to kiss Cas’ cheek.

“He’ll be okay. He knows we’ve got his back.” He’s quiet for a moment and runs a hand through Cas’ thick hair, following a silver strand with his shiny-green thumb. “That counts for a hell of a lot.”

Cas twists around, covering Dean’s hand still on his shoulder with his own and gazing up at him. “You are a good man, Dean Winchester. A good man and an excellent father.”

Dean sucks in a big breath. “All right, sunshine. That’s about all the feelings I can handle today.” He grins down at Cas, though, just to assure him he’s fine.

And he is.

#suptober21 #destiel ficlet #that's their kid!!#can't be a dadstiel blog without writing a dadstiel fic #i like the concept of jack de-ageing himself post-canon and growing up as a human before being god again #anyway i wanted them all to paint their nails together #even dean #hope y'all like it

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thinkingisadangerouspastime · 4 years ago

Note

what do you think of aang's comments in "the southern raiders" and what they meant to katara? I watched that episode recently with my sister who dislikes atla, and assessed similar things to what certain people of the fandom are saying: "aang didn't understand her", "aang was pushing his beliefs onto her", "it didn't seem like he knew her", etc. she was more fair than those people of course because she did say it was realistic that he'd be so worried since she recognizes that he does love her.

Honestly those arguments are all,, tired. They’re outdated. They’re boring. They’re wrong. They’re a result of a fundamental misunderstanding of A:TLA canon. This isn’t to say that those who genuinely, truly believe these arguments are terrible people (obviously not lmao), but somewhere along the line they had a seed planted in their mind that posits them to have inherent dislike for Aang. And honestly? I just feel sorry for them, because not understanding and appreciating Aang means their A:TLA experience really can’t be that great. But I digress!

“aang didn’t understand her”

Oh, what’s the post? Right - “Fandom once again forgets that Aang is the sole survivor of genocide.” Aang understands better than anyone else what Katara is going through*. There is a direct parallel between Aang finding Gyatso’s skeleton and Katara finding Kya’s body. I’m not going to sit here and argue which was more traumatizing (literally can’t stand when people do that) because you can’t quantify grief like that, but it cannot be denied that Aang has experienced something incredibly similar to what Katara has gone through: the loss of a close parental figure followed by finding said parent’s corpse. Not only that, but Aang and Katara both share a unique sense of helplessness intertwined with their grief regarding their parental figures’ deaths. For Katara, there are the questions of:

- what if I wasn’t a waterbender

- what if I had run a little faster

- what if I had fought against Yon Rha back then

All leading to “Could I have saved her?” For Aang, there are the questions of:

- what if I wasn’t the Avatar

- what if I hadn’t run away

- what if I had stayed to fight the Fire Nation back then

All leading to “Could I have saved him?” Both of them feel incredibly guilty on a personal level about the death of their parental figures, thus blaming themselves. Katara tries to push it off onto Zuko/the Fire Nation and Aang tries to suppress it entirely, but ultimately it is revealed how closely they hold responsibility to their chests. For Aang, it comes out in “The Storm.” For Katara, it comes out in “The Southern Raiders.” So, bullshit that Aang doesn’t understand Katara! He understands her grief better than anyone.

Also, many, many people have gone into this before, but Aang’s example of Appa being stolen was not callous/rude/etc. Appa was the last living piece of his culture. Appa is not “just a pet.” People who insist so are the actual ones being callous, not Aang. And, as Aang himself says, “How do you think I felt about the Fire Nation when I found out what happened to my people?” Aang has experienced more hurt at the hands of the Fire Nation than anyone. There’s a great meta here that delves into Aang’s experiences as the sole survivor of genocide. I don’t understand how someone could acknowledge all that Aang has lost (read: he has lost everything) and then argue that he doesn’t understand Katara’s pain. Like, what? Do you have no sense of empathy?

But most importantly, from Katara herself: “Thanks for understanding, Aang.” She says this after her initial dismissal of him. So take it from the source, my friend - Katara believed Aang understood her. Who are we to argue?

*The only exception perhaps being Sokka, since Kya was indeed his mother, too, but it is worth noting that Sokka did not have the same experience of seeing Kya’s dead body or feeling the intense self-blame that Katara did.

“aang was pushing his beliefs onto her”

It is SO funny how those SAME people have NO problem with everyone in the Gaang telling Aang to kill Ozai the finale! Y’know, when they were disregarding the pacifistic beliefs of his people in exchange for emphasizing their, ahem, more aggressive ones? SO funny! I’m laughing SO hard right now!

Heavy sarcasm, in case it wasn’t obvious. They’re hypocrites and they know it.

But, more importantly, Aang was not pushing his beliefs onto her? At all?? Tell me where in the episode Aang:

- refused to let Katara go after Yon Rha

- told Katara what she was doing was wrong

- told Katara that HE was right and that SHE needed to listen to HIM

Here’s the thing: none of that ever happened! Not only does Aang accept that Katara needs to go (see: “I wasn’t planning to [stop you]. This is a journey you need to take. You need to face this man.”), but he allows her to take Appa on her journey. Appa, the last living piece of his culture. Aang has incredible trust in Katara, and his choice to send Appa with her (essentially sending a piece of himself with her) demonstrates this fact clearly. That should end the discussion point blank, but I guess I’ll break down the lines people seem to have issues with:

1) “It’s okay, because I forgive you. [Pauses.] That give you any ideas?”

Honestly, the criticism this line gets is laughable to me. People use it to argue that Aang was being disrespectful to Katara’s feelings and?? I hate to break it to them, but you HAVE to look at the context a line is in if you’re going to judge it. That is Analysis 101: Context is Everything. This moment is used to break tension. That type of scenario is an entire literary trope, okay? A:TLA did not invent it! Shakespeare literally did it in Romeo and Juliet when he had Peter argue with musicians about something stupid after Juliet’s “death.” The whole point is to break tension before more serious scenes. In R&J, it is before the lovers kill themselves, and in A:TLA, it is before Katara leaves with Zuko to confront Yon Rha. That’s why there’s another moment just like it at the end of that scene! Y’know, Sokka asking to borrow Momo for no reason? It breaks tension! It’s a moment of respite before weighty scenes! It’s incredibly common in every form of media! This is what no Humanities classes did to some of y’all, I swear to God. So yeah, Aang was not disrespecting Katara’s feelings with this. It’s just a tension-breaker. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news for those who devoutly believed it was a sign of Aang being a Horrible Person. You were wrong, ain’t no big thing, go drink some water and stay hydrated okay darlings?

2) “I don’t think so. I think it’s about getting revenge.”

Um, a major point of “The Southern Raiders” is that Aang was right about Katara’s initial drive to face Yon Rha? It was a quest for revenge? Katara literally bloodbends, an ability she was forced to learn and essentially feels cursed to bear? Also, nowhere here does Aang tell Katara she was a horrible person for feeling angry and wanting revenge. He simply brings her attention to the reality that what she’s currently seeking is revenge. He’s worried about her. She’s his best friend! He loves her! He doesn’t want her to kill Yon Rha because he knows that for Katara to have blood on her hands from a revenge quest would hurt her tremendously. (As a matter of fact, the audience knows - or should know - this, too.) So, sorry that Aang expresses concern for her? Apparently not wanting your best friend to murder someone is forcing your beliefs onto them? Damn. Y’all are harsh these days.

3) “The monks used to say that revenge is like a two-headed rat viper. While you watch your enemy go down, you’re being poisoned yourself.” // “Katara, you do have a choice: forgiveness.” // “No, it’s not. It's easy to do nothing, but it’s hard to forgive.” // “But when you do, please don’t choose revenge. Let your anger out, and then let it go. Forgive him.”

I put all the forgiveness quotes together since people tend to complain about them as a whole. But like,, I really don’t see how this is Aang forcing his beliefs onto her? He asks her to choose forgiveness. And just speaking plainly: on an emotional level, it is better for someone to forgive than to murder. Killing someone is not easy, even if you hate that person with every bone in your body, and it will mentally scar whomever does it. Y’all know this! It’s obvious! I shouldn’t have to say it! But Aang knows this, too, and thus he doesn’t want to see Katara kill Yon Rha and perhaps kill a part of herself in the process. Katara is not a killer. I’m not arguing about whether she could have or even if she wanted to, because you know what, she admits she was tempted, but Katara is not a killer. An FMA quote is very fitting here:

“Your hands weren’t meant to kill. They were meant to give life.”

Why should Katara have to live with a man’s murder on her conscience, especially when his death would be a result of fruitless revenge? The answer is simple: she shouldn’t, and Aang doesn’t want her to. Katara is a warrior. A healer. A leader. A friend. But not a killer.

Anyways. Back to my point: Aang is not forcing his beliefs onto her here. He’s offering her another option, the option she ends up choosing, albeit she extends forgiveness to Zuko instead. And Prince Holier-Than-Thou (jk love you Zuzu) acknowledges it himself: “You [Aang] were right about what Katara needed.” Aang didn’t force anything on Katara here. He reminded her of her choices, he reminded her about the consequences of revenge, and he reminded her about the value of forgiveness. Never once did he tell her she had to forgive Yon Rha or else. And when it came down to it, he stepped aside, and he let her go, because he knew this was a journey she needed to take. So… He actually did the exact opposite of forcing his beliefs onto her! He respected her feelings and let her make her own decision! Seriously, how many pairs of anti-Aang goggles do people have to wear to genuinely believe otherwise??

“it didn't seem like he knew her”

Ohhhhhh my God this is SO close to one of the actual points of the episode! So close!! It’s not that Aang didn’t know her; it’s that Katara wasn’t acting like herself. I’ve talked about it before here and here, but Katara was incredibly consumed by her emotions in “The Southern Raiders.” It’s why she ignores Zuko the entire time before they leave on Appa! It’s why she makes that callous comment to Sokka about their mother that we know she never would have made normally! She is drowning in grief about her mother’s absence, guilt regarding her mother’s death, and anger about Zuko (she still does not trust him, and yet he can lead her to her mother’s killer; I don’t know about y’all, but that is really freaking difficult to reconcile). So when Aang compares her to Jet, it’s not a far-off description. She is acting like Jet, because she’s consumed by grief and hurt and anger and she’s not acting like herself. It is instrumental, too, that Katara isn’t acting like herself, because it makes her decision not to pursue revenge and instead offer a second third chance to Zuko even more profound. “I’m proud of you,” Aang tells her, and damn! The audience is, too! I was incredibly proud of her for finding her way out of what can be a bottomless spiral for some people. So again, it wasn’t that Aang didn’t know her. It was that Katara wasn’t acting like herself (I guess meaning… no one knew her?).

In conclusion, literally all of these anti-Aang arguments regarding TSR are exhausting and so easily disprovable. The fact that they somehow manage to live on is evidence that people just want excuses to hate Aang, plain and simple. Like, it’s so easy to just say you don’t vibe with his character? You don’t have to pull BS excuses to “justify” it? I don’t vibe with Ty Lee as much as I do other characters (although I have recently grown much more fond of her; bless the Renaissance for more Mailee content, even if some of it is just a Zukka byproduct), but y’all don’t see me twisting her sacrifice in “Boiling Rock” to make it seem like it was selfish or something (mostly because, spoiler alert, it wasn’t). Like, you can say Aang isn’t your favorite and move on instead of using the same boring rhetoric over and over and over that just makes it look like you lack critical thinking. :/

TL;DR - Aang’s comments to Katara in “The Southern Raiders” came from a place of concern. A place of wisdom. A place of love. And honestly? I think Katara realizes this, and she’s grateful to him all the more for it.

#if y'all even mention zuko on this post i will stomp you to death with my hooves. this is not about who understood katara better!!#this is solely addressing bs anti aang arguments #aang #katara #atla #avatar the last airbender #adding line break after i post btw!!#atla meta #atla analysis #the southern raiders #yon rha #amy answers #amy analyzes #queenaleesbiggestfan-writes

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imagine-darksiders · 4 years ago

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Just like. Head canons. For our lovely Dad Guys. Whoever you want. Whatever you want. I don’t care. Just. The Fluff Beast. 😫 Getting too strong...! Help! (I’m sorry 😂 Seriously, just do whatever you want. It’ll be beautiful and I’ll love it regardless)

Well, I’ve had this little Eidad fic on the back burner for a while now, sitting in my drafts and not doing a while lot. This seems like a good time to post it <3 <3 <3

It’s a sick fic. Nothing too drastic, just an old maker getting worried about his human friend.

---

Eideard has always been an especially unflappable maker, a trait that tends to come with the territory of being the village elder.

He never gets flustered, and he always maintains the poise and composure expected of him.

Unless, of course, one of his fellow makers is under threat. Only then, by his own admission, does decorum fly out of the proverbial window and little else but worry takes over him, mind, body and soul.

Recently, he's come to discover that the same rule applies to a very specific, little human.

----

“I'm cold.”

That ought to have been their first clue.

You're sitting in the maker's forge, seemingly content to remain still and quiet beside the roaring fire whilst Alya and her brother, Valus, are hard at work at their anvil.

“Cold?” the former twin laughs incredulously, glancing up from the sword she's forging to turn and fix you with a raised brow, “You're sittin' close enough to that fire!”

Her brother though, always the more perceptive of the siblings, ambles around her and makes his way towards you, tugging at the green cowl that sits around his neck. You may be vastly smaller than him, but even behind that visor, he can see the shivers you're trying to suppress. Blinking, you watch him as he bends onto one knee in front of you and holds his treasured garment out, uttering a low, almost undetectable whine.

“I'm okay, big guy,” you murmur, sounding far from it, “Think I've just got a bit of a chill.”

At that, Valus doesn't wait for you to reach up and take the cowl from his grasp and instead, with a huff, he leans forward to drape it around your shoulders, his thick fingers tucking it up underneath you as carefully as he can. Once he's finished, he sits back on his haunches to inspect you, satisfied when you snuggle further into the fabric and give him a shy smile.

“Thanks.”

Pacified, the burly maker returns your smile with a nod and pushes himself onto his feet, turning back to his sister and the anvil.

With their attention elsewhere, you allow your smile to fade, burying your face into Valus's scarf.

You're loathe to tell them the whole truth, that accompanying your chills is a raw throat that feels as though it's been rubbed tender by sandpaper, and an ache in your limbs that only grows worse and worse by the hour.

There's no denying it.

You've come down with something.

At the very least, the makers don't know a lot about human biology, so you're relatively hopeful that you'll be able to pass this off as a mundane occurrence – definitely not anything they should be worrying about.

There is an unspoken rule amongst the giants, one that came about the moment they first laid eyes on you – a small, cowering little thing whose world had been destroyed only a few days prior.

The rule, never spoken aloud, yet understood by all, is that you are a youngling – despite your insistence to the contrary – and younglings are to be protected, especially those who have yet to reach their first century of life.

It also doesn't help that you're a human, and consequently only stand about as high as the makers' knees.

But for as endeared to you as they all are, there are none who are quite so taken as Eideard.

The village Shaman, Muria, speculates that their elder has seen more younglings and friends die off over the centuries than any of them, and thusly, that's where his protective tendencies stem from.

Thane, on the other hand, attests that Eideard has always been enormously tender-hearted, long before grief softened his edges.

If he were to find out that you're sick, you can't imagine he'd take it well.

Bottom line? You'd hate to worry him.

Unfortunately for you, there are some things that can't be kept from a group of watchful makers.

It's impossible to hide glassy eyes, tremors that rattle your whole body and a sudden, explosive sneeze that causes both Alya and Valus to jump out their skin, tools clattering to the stony ground.

“Stone's blood! Bit of warnin' before you go makin' noises like that, please!” Alya exclaims, resting a hand over her heart whilst Valus hurries over to you again.

“It was just a sneeze,” you try to protest, but the forge brother isn't buying it. Without a word, which isn't unusual, he clenches his fists and heaves himself about on a heel, marching purposefully towards the forge's entrance, deaf to his sister calling after him.

“Oi, Valus? Where are you off to?”

It's hardly a surprise that she doesn't get a response.

He disappears through the doors and you share a look with his sister, who hesitantly asks, “You.. sure you're okay?”

The fake smile you plaster on your face is apparently as unconvincing as it feels, judging by the flat look you receive from Alya in response.

A few moments later, the doors swing open once again and your ears pick up two pairs of resounding footsteps thumping through the forge.

Valus appears first, lumbering up the short flight of steps onto the raised dais where he's soon followed by the second maker, a particularly concerned-looking Eideard.

As soon as the elder's pale, grey eyes lock onto you, you slump forwards in defeat, any hope of riding this illness out in privacy now dashed. Of all the makers in Tri Stone, Eideard is the most well-versed in anthropology.

Shooting Valus a glare for his betrayal, you swallow your cough and groan, “Valus, I told you, I’m okay. You didn't need to bother Eideard.”

“I for one, am very glad he did.” From underneath his bushy, furrowed brows, the old maker studies you closely until you duck your head, weighed down by the heaviness of his stare, the whole while, your throat burns with the need to cough. Then, in a blink, his eyes widen again and the fingers clutched around his golden staff turn white as he breathes, “You're sick...”

At once, Alya shoots upright from where she'd been leaning casually against the anvil. “Sick!?” she blurts, her gaze snapping between you and her elder, “Why didn't you say somethin'?!”

“Because!” you argue, hating that Eideard’s face now appears almost twice its age thanks to the worry lines permeating his forehead, “It's not a big de-” As fate would have it, the raw spot at the back of your throat finally chooses its moment, and before you can stop yourself, you're lurching forwards into a vicious cough that burns at the tenderness like acid, bringing tears to your eyes and shame onto your clammy cheeks.

You become vaguely aware of a vast hand coming to rest on your back and fingers that pat you gently until you can catch your breath. Even after you've hacked yourself silly, you push Eideard's silken, blue sleeve away and try to get to your feet, hoping that if they see you standing, they'll be less inclined to fret. But the moment you begin to move, the same hand is cupping around your trembling body and you find yourself being lifted up and nestled against a broad chest by a maker who is wholly undeterred by your feeble resistance.

“I'm not a baby, Eideard!” you complain, trying to wriggle free as the maker presses delicately on your chest, forcing you to lay across his forearm, “Put me down! I can walk just fine.”

“Easy, now. You'll only hurt yourself further if you keep that up,” he rumbles in a tone that's far too gentle for your pride to withstand.

Embarrassed, you wilt down behind his fingers when you hear Alya's stifled giggles, but the old maker doesn't pay her any mind, simply turns away from the anvil and begins to shuffle down the steps, heading for the entrance. Almost immediately, you miss the fire's warmth and Eideard feels your shivers turn violent, his heart seizing at the sound of your teeth chattering together like rapid gunfire.

“You – you're not going outside, are you?” you croak, pulling Valus's cowl up to your neck, “It's freezing!”

“The weather is perfectly mild. You, on the other hand, are burning hotter than forge-fire.”

You open your mouth to protest but find yourself cut off when he continues, “I’ll not have this sickness turning into something worse. We may belong to separate species, but I wasn't born yesterday. A little fresh air will do you some good.”

“Ugh. You sound like my mum.”

His reply comes in the form of an affectionate, rumbling chuckle that you can feel travelling up through his palm and into your bones. Letting out a final huff, you flop backwards and turn limp in his hand.

It isn’t as though you can fight your way out of the Old One's grip, after all. For such an ancient maker, Eideard is powerful, and his age does little to detract from that strength. The meagre resistance you put up is also proven ineffective by the silken softness of the fur trim on his sleeves that you run between your fingers.

Perhaps if you'd been looking at Eideard's expression instead of the doors as he pushes them open, you'd take notice of the disquiet lingering at the edge of his eyes.

He plans on taking you to see Muria in the hopes that she might have a remedy that can alleviate the fever spreading through your delicate body, and, failing that, he will sit with you in the peace of the night air and keep you still and safe until your tremors cease and his old heart stops trying to beat its way out of his ribcage.

You're more than welcome to resent him for this, he muses quietly, but after seeing so many of his people lost to corruption, it isn't such an easy feat to quell the pervasive anxiety that writhes like an impatient, snarling beast in his stomach, and he would much rather endure your resentment if it means keeping you out of harm’s way.

The village elder is supposed to protect his own, and glancing down at you and seeing that you've buried your face into the fabric of his robe to escape the cold, Eideard realises with a sudden surge of paternal drive, that you fall under the scope of those he considers 'his.'

The old maker clutches you possessively against his chest and hurries as well as his tired legs can carry him up towards the Shaman's gazebo, knowing that his soul will never know peace until you’re well once again.

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #Eideard #Eidad #super rushed #sorry #Sick fic #reader #g/t

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the-witty-pen-name · 4 years ago

Text

Fell in Love in Scotland Pt. 1

Sam Wilson x F!Reader

Warnings: angst; cursing; pining; 18+ in later parts (maybe? not sure yet)

Summary: After finding about the new Captain America, the reader goes to Louisiana to visit Sam.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: So I know this isn’t on my list of things I *should* be working on, but I had this idea today and I had to get it down! This is only going to be 2-3 parts. This is my first time writing for Sam!

I’m taking a small break from working on my other works in progress to focus on getting out as much Sam content as a can before Sam’s (and my) bday on the 14th! Not sure how much I’ll be able to write but that is my hope!

My biggest flex at the moment is sharing a bday with Sam.

This references Civil War, Endgame and Infinity War events in flashbacks but you know, canon is a thing I like to just maneuver around so I’m sorry if there are many major inaccuracies!

This is unedited and please let me know if I missed anything that should be included as a warning.

Taglist is in my bio

You were furious. Without even thinking, you picked up your phone and found him in your contact list. You were fuming, needing to find out what happened so you could help him. You hadn’t talked to him since Tony Stark’s funeral, and you had found out through Banner that Steve had gifted him the shield. You psych yourself out every time you want to reach out and talk to him, but your rage blinded you and took the lead over your usual nervousness.

“What happened?” you ask as soon as the ringing on the other end stops and you know he’s answered. You have the phone balanced on your shoulder as your slipping on your shoes, ready to head out as soon as you can.

“(Y/N)?” he asks, sounding confused. Also, incredibly hurt and rightfully so. You imagined he was watching the same thing as you on television and you thought he’d be as equally mad.

“Sam,” you say, letting out a shaky breath. “The shield.”

There’s nothing but dead air for what feel like forever.

“I gave it up,” he finally answers. You can hear in his voice that there is much more to this than that.

“Are you in D.C.?” you ask, not wanting to push him to talk.

“Delacroix. You don’t have to come-.”

“Can’t come visit a friend?” you ask hopefully. You hear him sigh.

“It’s not a great time,” he says hesitantly.

“Isn’t that when you need friends the most?” you counter, trying to force a happier, more uplifting tone. You try, but you know you still sound miserable. “Please,” you ask again, almost a whisper.

“You’re coming no matter what I say, aren’t you?” he chuckles.

“Pretty much,” you admit, “but I would love it if you actually wanted to see me.”

“You know I would…”

“So that settles it,” you smile, blinking to hold back a couple tears. Your voice breaks just a little. “I’m getting on the first plane I can.”

Before he has a chance to change his mind, you end the call and immediately pack some necessities. You never got out of the habit of always being called off, so many of the things you needed were already packed away in a bag in your closet. It was a comforting thing for you. Like you always had the option to just leave wherever you were. You said it was because of all the times you got pulled away from life because of missions for SHIELD, but it ran a little deeper than that.

God, he’s handsome. That’s the only thing you can think of when you’re finally in front of him again. Your mind is at a complete blank. You should be able to muster up the ability to say something. He’s waiting for you at the airport. You didn’t expect this, but it is Sam. Of course, he was going to meet you when your plane landed. You try your best to clear up the haze in your brain as you walk towards him, and he pulls you into a tight hug.

“I’m happy you’re here,” he mumbles, resting his head on top of your head as you bury your face in his chest. All hopes you had at a cool, collected front when you saw him disappeared. You missed him too much and had gone too long without admitting it to yourself. Tell him you missed him, tell him you’re happy to see him, say anything…

“I want to help,” you say when you both break away. You inwardly cringe. You can’t vocalize anything except turning this into some mission.

“Please can we not talk about the shield?” he asks, and you realize you’ve clearly hit a sore spot. You nod in agreement, feeling terrible for having brought it up so soon. You didn’t want him to think you were prioritizing the shield over him. That wasn’t the case at all. You came here for him, to see him, why the hell couldn’t you act like it.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, earnestly. You had to pull yourself together.

“I appreciate that you are worried about me,” he says slinging an arm over your shoulder as you walk. It feels nice, effortless. “But I donated the shield and after that, it was out of my hands.”

You know he is leaving out a lot, and you know him well enough to know there’s a deeper issue. But, for now, you decide to table it. He tells you about his nephews, and he fills you in on how he’s been able to spend time with them, and it feels so beautifully normal. The world feels like it’s falling apart around you but there’s Sam, pulling you back in like he was always able to do.

“I missed you,” he admits, after there’s a lull in the conversation driving to the house. “I thought maybe I would’ve seen you at the compound, or something before you left after the funeral.”

“I didn’t really have the chance,” you try to gloss over. “I just- After Steve came and said goodbye, I couldn’t stay. It just hurt too much.”

“Steve told you?”

“Not exactly, just a very vague goodbye, but I was able to read between the lines. I knew he wasn’t coming back.”

“What did he say?”

“Just that he wanted to go back and fix things. If he couldn’t have done it here, he wanted a second chance. To get back the time lost. Save Bucky, find Nat, maybe visit Peggy… He just wasn’t ready to stop yet. There was no fight here left, so he went back chasing the ones he felt like he lost?”

He nods, just taking in the information. He tells you about seeing Steve when he came back, about how he got married. He tells you about how Steve gave him the shield, but he thought the right decision was to donate the shield to the Smithsonian. You don’t try to do anything else but listen, and try your best to understand. But hearing Sam not think he could take on the title was heartbreaking. You want to ask him if he regrets it, if he wants to get the shield back, but for now, you know it isn’t the right time. Just tell him you missed him too, please. You can’t do it. The words get stuck in the back of your throat. Why is this so hard?

“Remember when we met?” you ask, looking aimlessly out the window.

“You mean when you drop kicked me at an airport?” he asks with a laugh.

“No- I mean, yes that happened first technically,” you smile. “I was more so thinking about the first time we spoke after that.”

“You mean when you came with Steve to get us out of prison?” he asks, skeptically.

“The very time,” you grin.

“I’m pretty sure the only thing you said was stay low and keep out of my way, if I remember correctly,” he raised an eyebrow.

“No, no in the jet,” you clarify, “Before we went into hiding.”

You sat on the floor across from Sam, you had pulled your torso out of your tactical suit, and had the arms of it tied around your waist. The SHIELD t-shirt you wore underneath was covered in sweat and grime. You rested your head against the cold metal of the plane’s ship and your eyes wandered to Sam.

“Pararescue?” you ask, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” he responds, looking over his equipment that Steve brought with you.

“SR,” you reply. “Well, was.”

“You were Special Reconnaissance?” he asks, and you nod.

“Three tours.”

“Is that why you changed sides?” He continues and you can’t help but smile.

“I guess you can look at it that way.”

“I’m Sam.”

“I know.”

“Well how was I supposed to know that?” he chuckles, crossing his arms, relaxing a bit more. You smirk.

“(Y/N).”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Sam. Sorry about beating your ass.”

“You got lucky, SR,” he scoffs, and you laugh.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, Wilson,” you laugh.

“You’re lucky we’re on the same side now,” he jokes.

“Oh, I know,” you smile. You get up and head to the cockpit to join Steve.

“I told you that the two of you would hit it off,” he chuckles as you slide into the copilot seat.

“You bring me along just to set me up, Rogers?” you scoff. His cheeks redden a little.

“You know that’s not true…”

“Ugh, you’re just as bad as Natasha, Steve,” you roll your eyes.

“You have shared life experience.”

“He is gorgeous.”

“I’ll tell him you said that.”

“Don’t even think about it Rogers,” you gasp.

Before you know it, Sam is pulling up to your Airbnb.

“Come by the house tomorrow,” he says, and you nod. “I want to bring you somewhere.”

“Yeah,” you agree, as you get out of the car. It was already late, and you denied Sam’s offer to get dinner. You were exhausted, and you were still in the clothes you were wearing when you left your apartment suddenly. You needed to shower, sleep, and then your visit with him would start. You also were nervous. You could tell he was a little disappointed when you declined his offer but he understood.

“We’ll get some beers and talk about the good old days tomorrow. Don’t worry about it,” he smiles, rubbing the top of your hand reassuringly.

“Good old days?” you tease.

“We’ll talk about Scotland,” he grins, “The good parts.”

“The good parts,” you affirm. You try to think about what he means but you let yourself put it out of your brain for now. “I’ll be by first thing.”

“I am really glad you’re here,” he reiterates once more before you disappear into the small house. You don’t have the courage to admit you feel the same.

When you close the door behind you, you look out the curtain and watch as Sam drives away. Your mind runs rampant with just all the things on your mind. The shield. Sam. Being here with Sam. Having to talk about feelings and memories with Sam. Scotland. How you fell in love with Sam Wilson in Scotland.

You worry coming here was a mistake.

Part Two

Taglist:

@greeneyedblondie44 @witchybarb @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan @sassy-kassaay

#sam wilson #sam wilson x y/n #sam wilson x reader #friends to lovers #sam wilson x you #tfaws #anthony mackie characters #sam wilson fanfiction #sam wilson fic #sam wilson imagine #sam wilson one shot #justsamwilson

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