#also looking at this back now I’ve posted tell me I’m broody without telling me I’m broody lol

[sportsthoughts]

Day 87 of offseason gifs - In The Room S05E05 - the pens throw a party to watch the 2016 superbowl!

[lxvislxdy]

Shotgun Kisses pt.2 | Bakugou K.

Links: Bakugou x stoner!reader au & Shotgun Kisses (Read these first!!)

Notes: Firstly, I want to thank you all for the positive feedback my work has been receiving! I’m extremely thankful for ya’ll!! I also want to apologize for the delay in my posting; I’ve been traveling this week, and on top of that, dealing with the gas shortage on the east coast (it’s been HELL). But hopefully things will start picking up again soon! As always, my requests are open, so feel free to send in your requests or questions!

Summary: After apologizing to you, Bakugou is still struggling to get over his mistrust of your coworker, Shinsou. When you invite Shinsou to hang with everyone, Bakugou thinks it will be his final straw. That is, until Shinsou makes a move on someone unexpected. And suddenly, everything makes much more sense, and Bakugou looks completely oblivious. 

Pairing: Bakugou x reader

Warning(s): 18+!! drug use, language (if you are underage, this fic is not for you!)

Bakugou was trying. 

He really, really was. 

He trusted you, and he hated fighting with you (especially when it was his fault, and he had to apologize), but damnit, that purple haired bastard wasn’t making it easy on him. Still, Bakugou was making an effort, and that meant he was visiting you at work, even though Shinsou was there, too. 

“Hello,” Shinsou drawled, a lazy, but definitely teasing, grin spread across his lips. He was leaned up against the counter, half of his purple hair tied back in a knot at the back of his head. “How can I help you?”

Bakugou narrowed his eyes, taking a deep breath in like Kirishima had taught him. His hands were wound into fists, shoved into his jacket pockets. “Just my regular.”

Shinsou hummed in response, turning to shout over his shoulder, “Y/n! Your loverboy is here!”

Bakugou grit his teeth, willing himself not to snap back at him. Technically, he wasn’t wrong. But he hated the teasing lilt to the other man’s voice. 

As per usual, his anger melted away - mostly - when you popped your head around the corner, from the storage room, smiling brightly. “’Suki!”

As much as Bakugou hated your job, you did look cute in your apron, and he was admittedly fond of the free coffee. 

You bounced over to him, definitely hyped up on too much caffeine, and wrapped your arms around him. “Hi.” You said, looking up at him. 

He squeezed you against him, pulling you in for a kiss, to your surprise. Normally, Bakugou was hesitant when it came to PDA. Of course, the cafe was almost empty, and it wasn’t much of a secret that Bakugou was turning up the heat in front of Shinsou. 

“You want your usual?” You ask sweetly, when he pulls away, dopey grin on your face. 

Shinsou, who had slipped away during the kiss, calls over his shoulder, “Already on it!”

“Try not to spit in it.” Bakugou says, lowly. 

Shinsou lets out a low chuckle, “I’ll try to contain myself.”

Apparently, this banter is friendly enough, because you laugh along with him. 

“You mind if I take my break now, ‘Toshi?”

Bakugou swallows down the burst of jealousy at the nickname, fists tightening in his pocket. 

“Yeah, no problem,” Shinsou tells you, as he sets the coffee down on the counter. “There you go. One coffee, hazelnut cream, no sugar. Extra bitter, just like you.”

Bakugou sneers at him, snatching the coffee from the counter and grabbing your hand to pull you along behind him. The two of you end up in the alleyway behind the shop, sneaking through the ‘employees only’ door. Bakugou sips the coffee, wishing it wasn’t so good. But damn, if Shinsou didn’t know his coffee. As far as Bakugou was concerned, that was the only thing the guy was good at. (Of course, he didn’t really know him that well, at all).

“You’re very broody today.” You say softly, looking over at him from where you leaned against the brick wall. “Something on your mind?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, sipping his coffee again. “M’fine. Just... tired, that’s all.”

You hum, fumbling with one of your bracelets. You gaze up at him, grinning, “Do I need to call Kirishima to get it out of you?”

“Tch,” He scoffed, marching over to where you stood and leaning down over you. “Smartass.”

He leans down, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. You both taste like coffee, and Bakugou recognizes the faint, bitter taste of marijuana on your tongue too. He pulls away, raising a brow. 

“What, rolling up before work, you delinquent?”

You giggled, shoving his shoulder playfully, though it’s not enough to move him away from you. “Maybe. Gonna rat me out?”

“Hm,” His lips barely brush against yours, bumping his nose against yours. “I’m sure you could convince me not to.”

“Yeah? That easy, hm?” You say, leaning forward to kiss him again, but he pulls just out of your reach. You pout, and he laughs lowly. 

“I never said it would be easy.” He answers, smirking. 

You feel your breath hitch again, and his lips are back on yours. 

“Mm, Kats, love you, but I need to get back to work.” You mumble in between kisses.

Bakugou nips your bottom lip, but concedes, pulling away with a sigh. “Sure I can’t keep you occupied just a little while longer?”

“And people say I’m the bad influence.” You tease, laughing. “Sorry, babe. Can’t. Besides, I know you’re supposed to be getting lunch with the guys, and I’m not gonna be responsible for making you late.”

“Screw ‘em.” He says, planting another kiss on the corner of your mouth. 

You smile up at him, shaking your head. “What am I gonna do with you, Bakgou Katsuki?”

“Keep me, I hope.”

He’d meant it as a joke, but it came out much more serious than he’d meant. Thankfully, you don’t press him on it.

“Yeah, and what’s in it for me?” You tease, poking his stomach. You stretch up on your tiptoes to place another kiss on his jaw, voice softer than before, “I’m here till you don’t want me, Katsuki.”

Bakugou kisses the top of your head, “That’ll never happen.”

You turn to go back inside, stopping in the doorway to look back at him. “You coming to Sero and Denki’s tonight?”

“We’ll see.” Bakugou grunts.

“Mhm,” You grin. “I’ll see you there, then. Bye, Kats!”

...

By the time Bakugou shows up, he’s the last one there. Even Jirou, infamous for showing up fashionably late to their hangouts, was already inside, sitting with you and Mina on the floor. The three of you were deep in conversation, clearly already more than buzzed - your giggles and half-lidded eyes gave you away.

Bakugou felt the tug of a smile on his lips, watching you. He was glad the day was over. Finally, he could just relax.

And thats when he saw him.

Shinsou Hitoshi was sitting on the couch, leaning over a wide-eyed Denki to get the lighter off the table. 

Bakugou tried. He was trying. But even still, his hands shook with anger. 

Kirishima met his gaze, shaking his head, and he didn’t have to speak out loud for Bakugou to hear his usual, ‘Breathe, man. Everything’s fine. Deep breaths. It’s not worth it.’

“Bakugou!” Mina shrieked, “You made it! I told you he’d be here, Sero, you owe me $5!”

Bakugou scowled. “You bet against me?”

Sero shrugs sheepishly. 

You grin up at him from your spot by the girls, and Bakugou quickly crossed the room to sit by your side, ignoring the intruder on the couch. As he took a seat, he pulled you close to lean against his shoulder, and you instinctively reached for his hand without stopping your conversation.

“C’mon, Jirou, you should invite Yoamomo next time!” You were saying, “How will you ever get to know her if you don’t talk to her?”

Jirou, uncharacteristically flustered, shook her head. “No way. Absolutely not. Momo doesn’t seem the type to... ya know, any of this. We aren’t really her crowd.”

“So? She likes you doesn’t she?” Mina offers, puffing smoke.

Jirou’s cheeks turn a brighter shade of pink, and she slouches down more. “I dunno... Pass it here, Min.”

“I’m sure we could behave ourselves enough for a night.” You tease, grinning, “We could have a movie night! Totally sober, if that’s what you’re worried about, Kyo.”

A loud groan cuts into their conversation, from across the room, “Yeah, speak for yourself.” Denki says.

“As if you could get through a movie night totally sober, y/n.” Sero snickers. 

“Hey!” You shout back, sticking your tongue out at him. 

“He might have a point, man,” Shinsou cuts in. He’d been so quiet, Bakugou had almost forgotten he was there. Of course, his luck ran out. “Y/n can’t even make it through a shift sober.”

The room erupts into laughter, though Bakugou stays quiet, rolling his eyes. 

“Not true!” You say, blushing as you lower your voice, “You weren’t supposed to know about that.”

Shinsou’s laugh is apparently contagious, as he says, “Are you kidding?!” He breaks into an eerily accurate impression of you, “Hey, man, what can I get for ya? Aw, totally, nice choice! Have you tried the muffins, man, they’re sooo good.”

You burry your head in your hands as everyone joins in on the joke, leaning back into Bakugou to hide. “Fuck you, dude! Fuck you!”

“Holy shit!” Denki and Sero are gasping for breath, “How are you so good at that, man?” 

Shinsou grins slyly, reminding Bakugou of the cheshire cat (another reason he doesn’t trust the asshole). “Hey, a man can’t give away all his secrets, huh?”

Bakugou tightens his hold around your waist, mouth downturned into an unhappy scowl. 

“I think a movie night would be nice,” Kirishima changes the subject, and Bakugou sends him a small smile in thanks. “I’m sure we’d all like to meet Momo, and if she’s as sweet as you say she is, she’ll totally go for it!”

“Yeah,” Mina says, wrapping an arm lazily around Jirou, “Besides, you’re a total catch, babe! She’ll love you!”

“Thanks guys,” Jirou responds quietly, passing the joint to you. “I’ll think about it.”

You take a few drags, offering to Bakugou, who shakes his head. You don’t push it, blowing the smoke away from the two of you. 

“Man, and here I was, thinking you might finally relax some, Bakugou.” Shinsou comments.

Across the room, Denki has slouched against the other man’s shoulder, his feet propped up in Sero’s lap. 

“The fuck did you say?” Bakugou snaps, glaring. 

Shinsou chuckles, “Relax, dude, I’m kidding.”

“Yeah?” Bakugou growls, snatching the joint from between your fingers. “Fucking whatever.”

He takes a long drag, face red as he resists the urge to cough out of spite. Shinsou raises a brow, mouth twitching into a smirk. His fingers are in Denki’s hair, scratching lightly at his head, and the blonde looks like he could fall asleep any minute, a sleepy smile on his face. Bakugou feels an odd surge of jealousy, and frustration. These are his friends. You’re his girl. What the fuck is this guy playing at?

As Bakugou goes quiet, eyebrows furrowed and face drawn into a fierce scowl, and shoot Shinsou a look. He sighs, rolling his eyes, but silently agrees to lay off. 

“You okay?” You ask, leaning back and placing a light kiss on Bakugou’s jaw.

He yanks you into his lap with a huff, pouting. 

It takes everything in you not to giggle at him when he’s like this (it’s cute, okay?) but you knew that would only irritate him more. 

“’Suki.” You coo, quiet so no one else can hear you, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He mutters, frown deepening. 

“But-”

“I said it’s nothing, y/n.”

You sigh, giving up and leaning back against his chest. Why did he have to be so stubborn? 

Besides, you aren’t stupid. You know he’s unhappy because Shinsou is here. And, by all means, Shinsou is being an asshole. But he’s your friend, and a really good friend (only a friend). You just want the two to get along, and you want to show your boyfriend that he has nothing to worry about! But, as per usual, both boys are being... difficult, to say the least.

After a few minutes it becomes clear that Bakugou’s mood isn’t going to improve, so you go back to your conversation with Mina and Jirou, absentmindedly rubbing your thumb over his knuckles. Eventually, he starts to relax, but remains quiet. He’s too stubborn to admit that you know how to calm him down, after all. And, besides, he can’t risk the guys telling him he’s going ‘soft’ (his words, not yours).

As your high reaches its peak, you forget about the exchange almost completely. You’ve moved to lay your head in Bakugou’s lap, staring up at him. You reach for his hand, bringing it to rest on your head and he rolls his eyes, fingers gently scratching your scalp. You smile up at him lazily, blowing him a kiss. 

With his hands in your hair, you feel yourself begin to drift off, the conversations around you fading into a low buzz in the background. 

Suddenly, Bakugou’s hands stop.

“Kats,” You whine, one eye cracking open to see what was wrong.

Bakugou’s mouth is agape, brows raised, and face red.

“Kats? You okay?” 

He doesn’t answer, and you follow his gaze to the couch, where Denki has climbed into Shinsou’s lap. The blonde’s fingers are threaded into his hair, Shinsou’s firmly gripping his waist, and they’re kissing. You sit up, a laugh bubbling in your throat.

“See, bubs?” You plant a small, teasing kiss to his lips. “Told ya you have nothing to worry about.”

[jobean12-blog]

I know I already told you but I love your work!🥰 I was wondering if I could request something; reader has a bit of a lisp/speech impairment and the agents on the lower rank bully her because of it and she has a pretty big crush on Bucky in his beefy form but she's so scared to talk to him in fear he'll too laugh behind her back. I'll let you decide what happens🥰 thank you again and I love your work 🥰 ~ Orphey

Always Enough

Paring: Beefy Bucky x reader

Word Count: 1,309

Summary: One of the agents is acting like an asshole and Bucky won’t have any of it. 

Author’s Note: Hello my darling Orphey @eerie-was-xisarae Thanks so much for this lovely and sweet request. I’m a teacher and I have a few students with speech impairments and they have dealt with some pretty shitty people and it breaks my heart to think anyone would bully anyone for this or anything else!!! I hate bullies! Also, after your post about the glasses and @littleredstarfish idea about writing for it, I included that in here as well! I hope you like it! Thank you all for reading and much love always ❤❤❤

Warnings: angst in the beginning because people suck sometimes, lots of sweet and protective Bucky, fluff and kisses at the end! :) 

Bucky watched as you walked down the steps to the gym, your hair pulled away from your face and a beautiful pink color to your cheeks. You send a smile his way and your heart flutters when he returns it, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Just as you turn your head away you bump into someone and look up to see one of the other agents. “Oh, excuse me, I didn’t see you,” you say quietly, hoping to just get away and do your workout.

The agent snickers, repeating what you said in a taunting manner, accentuating the sounds of the s’s to mock your lisp. “Watch where you’re going, freak.” Your face turns red and you quickly move around him and run toward the bathroom, catching Bucky’s eye as he gives you a worried look.

Taking out his headphones, Bucky heads over to the agent and asks, “what happened, is y/n ok?” The agent looks up and adjusts his posture. “Oh hey Sgt. Barnes. Yes, she’s fine! She just accidentally knocked into me and I think she was embarrassed is all.” Bucky’s eyes narrow before he nods and heads back to the weight bench, but not before checking by the bathroom.

He leans close to the door, listening for any signs that you’re in distress. When all he hears is the water running, he sends one more glare in the direction of the agent and gets back to his workout. About ten minutes later you emerge from the bathroom and carefully check the gym. Luckily, the agents are gone, and you can get out of there without seeing anyone.

Just as you reach the steps you hear someone call your name and turn to see Bucky sitting up on the bench, his shirt sweaty and clinging to his bulging muscles. You wave and smile before turning back toward the steps. His hand closes gently around your arm and he spins you to face him. “Hey, doll. Are you ok?” It takes you a second to answer with his hand warm on your skin and his face so close to yours. You simply nod and give him a reassuring smile. He looks apprehensive but releases your arm and says, “ok, good, just wanted to make sure.”

You smile once more and jog up the steps, finally letting out a breath when you reach the top. Your stomach grumbles and you decide to grab something to eat before heading to your room to shower. The kitchen is empty, and you sigh in relief as you open the fridge and ponder over what looks good.

“Oh, great. You again. You better be looking where you’re going this time, or do you need glasses now too?” The same agent from earlier stands at the island, a smug look on his face as he watches your lip tremble at his words. “What are you looking for, a sandwich? Or maybe something sweet.” He once again does his best to mock your lisp, making sure to emphasize the s’s in each word.

Slamming the refrigerator door shut, you stomp over to him and get in his face. “Leave. Me. Alone.” You grit out as the hot tears roll down your cheeks. He laughs in your face and mumbles “freak” under his breath. You want to punch him but decide he isn’t worth it, quickly turning on your heel and running to your room.

You brush past Bucky who is coming down the hallway, trying to keep your face covered and get to your room. He calls your name, but you don’t answer, instead slamming and locking your door, your quiet sobs muffled by your hands.

Bucky heads in the direction you came and spots the agents snickering in the kitchen. A low growl rumbles through his chest as he stalks toward them. Pushing the others out of the way he corners the one who spoke to you so harshly, backing him into the wall with his forearm at his throat. “Ok asshole. I had just about enough of your bullshit. I’m gonna give you once more chance to tell me the truth. Why is y/n so upset,” he asks through clenched teeth.

The agent swallows loudly, his eyes almost popping out of his head. He speaks quickly and explains that he made fun of your lisp, taunting you by repeating your words. Bucky’s adds more pressure, making the agent grab at his forearm in fear. He leans in close, his voice low and gravelly. “You’re going to apologize for this, and I swear, if you ever go near her again, I’ll report you to Rogers and you’ll be off this team. This is your last warning.” He removes his arm and the agent falls to the floor, breathing heavily with eyes wide with fear.

Bucky walks away and heads toward your room, his shoulders sagging and his heart hurting. Lightly knocking on your door, he can hear your quiet cries and his hurt breaks a little more. “Sweetheart, it’s me. Can I please come in?” He waits, hearing you shuffle on the other side of the door. You open it slowly, peering through the crack, “Hi Buck.”

With a quiet voice he asks, “hey doll, you ok?” You start to cry again, opening the door further and covering your face. Bucky doesn’t speak he just takes you in his arms and holds you tight to his chest. His large hands rubbing your back as he rocks you back and forth. “I’m so sorry, baby girl. I found out what happened. I can’t believe someone would treat you like that. Don’t worry he won’t do it again. I made sure of it.”

You look up into his eyes, no pity, only a soft sweetness you’ve grown to love. “Thank you,” you whisper, hiding your face in his chest. He places his finger under your chin, lifting it up so you look him in the eye. “Doll, you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. You can talk to me.” You give him a small smile, reaching over to grab a tissue and wipe your face.

“I know. I’m just used to people being mean,” you say, before taking your glasses and placing them on your face. Bucky’s mouth hangs open and you immediately worry he’s going to comment on the fact that you wear glasses. He quickly pulls you back to him, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “Wow. You look so sexy in these.”

It’s your turn to hang your mouth open in surprise, his words throwing you off guard. “Thanks,” you manage to get out, a blush creeping up your cheeks. “You’re welcome, I love them.” Taking his hand, you bring him to the couch and sit, asking, “do you wear glasses? I’ve never seen you in them.” He chuckles, holding your hands in his. “Actually, I do! I need them for reading. I’m an old man after all.”

You laugh. A real and genuine laugh and it makes Bucky’s heart fill with happiness. “I love that sound,” he says, leaning closer to you. “I love everything about you.” Your heart starts to race as he closes the gap between you, his lips just a few inches from yours. “I love everything about you, too Buck.”

Cupping your jaw, he pulls you in for a kiss, his lips warm and soft. You moan into his mouth, grabbing his shirt to bring his body closer. He pulls you into his lap as his hands wander over your silky skin. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss and your glasses get pushed up your nose. A small giggle escapes you, Bucky murmuring against your lips, “oops, I got carried away.”  You push your glasses up to your head before giving Bucky a good shove down onto the couch. “I don’t mind at all.”

@aesthetical-bucky @auro-ora @azurika-writes @bugsbucky @buckys-broody-muffin @book-dragon-13 @devynsdiary @eurynome827 @hiddles-rose @hawksmagnolia @hailmary-yramliah @ikaris-whore @itsunclebucky @jhangelface0523 @jewels2876 @loricameback @littledarlinhavefaithinme @mushyjellybeans @metal-armed-cuddly-dork @marvelgirl7 @marvelandotherfandomimagines @nano--raptor @randomfandompenguin @imgaril-lindru @sallycanwait68 @softpeachbarnes @scarletsoldierrr @the-wayward-robot @when-the-hell-is-bucky

[earstwo]

     ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

I hit 7k recently after losing almost 1.5k followers when I converted to a Reylo blog (not sorry in the slightest) and decided it was time to finally compile some of the INCREDIBLE fanfics that I’ve read since joining the fandom in December. 

I’m constantly impressed by the talent around here and I'm so grateful to love a ship that has some of the most amazing content I’ve ever seen. The creators in this fandom are second to none. I’m so thankful for all they do and all that they give to us. 

Please keep never stop sharing your gifts. <3 

**Note: Most (pretty much all) of these are rated E. 

Without further ado, here are (some of) my favorite stories: 

The Jedi Path  by SouthsideStory | 19k | E | I am such a sucker for Jedi Academy Ben and Rey. It’s everything I never knew I needed, and this fic is a beautiful rendition. If you know me at all, you know that I devour Angst with a Happy Ending stories, and this is no exception to that rule.

Exile by Ernzo | 22k | E | Oof. This one hurts. Leia sends Rey to the planet where Ben is exiled. It’s angsty and sad and cathartic in every way. I’ve read it dozens of times. 

Before the Saber Swings by @waterlilyrose​ | 28k | M |  Fuck. When I tell y’all that this story fucked me up, I mean it from the bottom of my s o u l. It stayed with me for days. I literally couldn’t get it out of my head. It felt so real to me that I was in physical pain while reading it. I also made an AU gifset of the fic with a quote from Buffy because I’m extra and love pain. 

penitence by @bettsfic​ | 16k | M | Look, Betts is one of my favorite fanfiction authors of all time. Her Bellarke works are some that I’ve read dozens of times and I was fucking ecstatic when I found out she also writes Reylo. This is an A+ TROS fix-it that is lovely and soft and sweet. 

The Writings of Ben Solo by BurnedStars777 | 39k | E | This was recced to me by the fabulous @galacticidiots​ and is just a fantastic story all around. Rey finds Ben’s journal whilst stuck on a planet with Kylo Ren and she (eventually) connects the dots. Rey falling in love with Ben sight unseen? Here. For. it.  find a thread to pull, and we can watch it unravel by again_please | 17k | E | A fantastic post-TLJ story with angsty and broody Ben and just some all around quality smut. I devoured this and have read it multiple time since. 

We Could Plant a House, We Could Build a Tree by @likeadove​ | 124k | E | I will probably never stop reading this fic. It’s such a beautiful coming of age story for Rey and her relationship with Ben as she grows up is just... gah. It’s fantastic. Please read it.    

Soul Searching by OptimisticBeth | 205k | E | Soulmates AU where Ben is Rey’s teacher? Sign me the fuuuuck up, and Soul Searching is so fucking well written. I go back to this one every few weeks and just gush at how great the world building is. I love the relationship Rey has with Leia and Han. It’s rich with love and angst and fluffffff. So good. 

Coveted by OptimisticBeth | 82k | E | WIP | OptimisticBeth is just an incredible writer, so you should honestly read all of her stuff, but I am so, so, so into this fic. It’s A/B/O and Ben’s Rey’s pack leader. He, along with a bunch of other Alphas are trying to court Rey, a highly desired Omega. It’s so fucking delicious, y’all. Alpha Ben Solo is just...it doesn’t get much better. 

A Treehouse Covered in Salt by violethoure666 | 34k | E | This fic made me cry my eyes out. I’m not kidding. It’s so raw and real. It hurts to read at some points, but you care so much about Ben and Rey in this that you fight through the pain. They grow up together as neighbors and Han builds them a treehouse where they meet throughout their childhoods/teen years. Prepare to cry but also be so fulfilled and satisfied. It’s wonderful. love it when you call me lover by @kylotrashforever​​ | 66k | E | WIP | First, let me say that anything by KTF is going to be gold. These fics I have listed are just a few of my favorites at the moment. Lover is hot as fuck (as is all of her stuff) but also fluffy in the best way. It’s in Sadsville right now so I’m fucking PUMPED for her to update. Ben’s a doctor who basically gives Rey a sexual awakening when he proves her statement of “I just don’t think I can come from (insert sexual act here)” very, very wrong.  

mountain at my gates by @kylotrashforever​ | 26k | E | More A/B/O goodness. Omega Rey’s car breaks down on a mountain. Ben is a mountain man Alpha. You can probably guess what happens from there. *fans self* 

take me to church by @kylotrashforever​ | 26k | E | I love this story so much. Ben is the pastor’s son at the church Rey grows up in. They start hooking up in secret and are terrrrrrible at communicating with each other which leads to angst. But it’s so sweet and soft while also being super hot. I love this Ben and Rey so much. 

Your Pretty Little Heart by @ever-so-reylo​ | 64k | E | The A/B/O Reylo bible, I feel like. They’re doctors and he’s a grumpy as fuck Alpha. Shenanigans ensue. And by shenanigans I mean a lot, a lot, a LOT of sex. 

The Food of Love by @lovesbitca8​ | 60k | E | Y’all. If you haven’t read this yet, please stop what you’re doing and read it RIGHT NOW. I ate this fic up in one sitting because holy SHIT it’s amazing. It’s so well written and the story is just... absolutely exquisite. Ben is cellist that’s also a famous rockstar and Rey’s an up and coming violinist and they fall in loOOoOOve in the best, most angsty, sexiest way. Please just read it right now. The scene when she firsts goes to his apartment and plays one of his cellos............you guys. It’s a lot.

Already Home by AttackoftheDarkCurses | 81k | E | This is soulmates + A/B/O so naturally I am obsessed with it. Rey gets connected with her soulmate via a website and he’s going by the name Kylo Ren. At the same time, she’s also moving in with grumpy librarian Ben Solo. She falls in love with both but has no idea that they’re the same person. It’s INCREDIBLE. 

Tangled but Unbroken by AttackoftheDarkCurses | 20k | M | I read this the other night and it’s so fucking soft. I am such a fucking sucker for growing up together fics and this is just such top quality. The braiding kills me every goddamn time. Also, I’m making my way through all of Attack’s works right now and they’re all incredible. Highly recommend. 

Dear Mr. President by @shmisolo​ | 89k | E | I love this Ben so much. The characterization is so on the money. The angst is absolutely delicious. The smut is top brass. Oh, and did I mention they’re soulmates? It’s everything you need, I promise. 

Good Day, Professor by @faequeentitania​ | 38k | E | One of the best Professor Solo fics out there. I’m such a sucker for age difference fics. Of course there’s angst, who do you think I am? 

Embers by sciosophia | 34k | E | Breaking up/getting back together fics are some of my favorites and this one is fantastic. The pining with these two is ridiculous. You just want to smush their faces together. It’s a beautiful love story. 

Reclaimed by @bettsfic​ | 14k | E | Ughhhhhhhhhh, Reclaimed. I am so in love with Reclaimed. Alpha Ben adopts Omega Rey after she’s rescued from this terrible Alpha that held her captive for most of her life. She doesn’t talk and Ben has to help her learn to be a human being and not just a subservient Omega. This Ben is the Ben of my dreams. No contest. 

the following are all written by  @kylorenvevo​. please read them all if you haven’t already. 

landscape with a blur of conquerers | 362k | E |  Y’all know this shit is fire. It’s basically the bible. If you haven’t read this yet, consider this as me yelling at you to do it NOW.   

like young gods | 84k | T | fuck, the Sword of the Jedi series is incomparable when it comes to in-universe fics. I cannot begin to express how much I love this story. It’s so soft and intense and sad. Like, gut wrenchingly sad. Ben senses Rey on Jakku when she’s six and he and Luke take her back to the Jedi Academy. She grows up with Ben. 

to kingdom come | 145k | M |  The sequel to Like Young Gods. I’m not gonna spoil much here, but just know I cried through most of this fic. I downright SOBBED at the end. It’s gorgeous and I will never stop rereading it. The love these two have for each other... it’s unreal. 

i kill giants  | 34k | E | WIP | The TROS fix-it we all need. Ben is alive and finds Rey on Tatooine. It’s soft and Thea does a great job of soothing so many of the gaping wounds we were left with after TROS. My heart soars every time I read a new chapter. This is what we deserved. :( 

the heartbreak prince | 58k | E | WIP |  Harry Potter AU. Professor/student. Size kink. Virginity kink. ANGST. All the good things life has to offer. Professor Solo is fucking filthy in this and I (along with Miss Niima)  am here 👏 for 👏 it. 

place the moon at my eyes (and her whiteness shall devour)  | 29k | E | Another breakup/get back together fic that I absolutely adore.

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Thank you to everyone that’s been so kind and welcoming to me the past couple of months! I love this fandom and its energy and enthusiasm and how much everyone seems to care for each other. I hope that I can continue to create content for you forever <3 

[idjitlili]

You're dead lachance.

Spike btvs x reader

Summary: Being Giles niece, going to America with him, only to meet Spike. There is anonymous request in here, 'getting locked in a room with Spike.'

A/n: slightly in Sundale , but mostly based in Los Angeles, the reader is British, due to being related to Giles. Hey, that's good for me , I'm British too. There's a request from anon but I'm not going to say to keep it a surprise. Malteser is a chocolate ball. How come I can write this much now? But I've got assignment s at are only 2000k words.

Word count:5019 Longest imagine yet.

Warnings: Language, Twilight hate references,period, questioning if vampires eat that answer is no or unconfirmed.

Not even a week ago, you had came home , only for your parental figure to rush to the door to greet you. Not long after that you were packing your suitcase for America , apparently your uncle Rupert had invited you out there. It had quite literally been years seen you had seen him, but not long until you would again.

In fact , it hadn't been even twenty four hours , before you were stood in his magic store. You weren't even sure why Rupert had brought you here. The suitcase that held your belongings , stood at your feet as Rupert  had welcomed you in, unlike your uncle had expected , the shop was completely empty, people wise.

Forced to sit down, while Rupert  made you a tea,informing you that he would get you settled at his home once he finished closing up his shop. What it felt like hours to you ,waiting, deciding it was best to read the book you had brought with you, not that you could really concentrate you just wanted to get cleaned up , in honesty.

Fingers tapping against the pine table , trying to read Boromir's last moments in Lord of the rings, re reading the same paragraph over , and over. "I tried to take the Ring from Frodo ' , he glance strayed to his fallen enemies,20." Re reading those words same words, unable to comprehend them, like your brain was blocked by a tinfoil hat, that's bullshit. Three arrows he had been struck with, yet he was still able to kill twenty highly trained orcs , more than an average vampire could do.

You were no stranger to vampires , you hadn't encountered one to say, but you knew of Rupert  job as a watcher. Though you had watched Lord of the rings many times (or not it's just replace it) and yet you still couldn't pass it , didn't Rupert have workers to clean his shop? Repeating those words , still. "Hello ,love." You almost peed yourself , standing up abruptly launching your book at the thing that had pulled you out of your distracted book reading.

Bragging your lighter from your pocket, self defence lighter, holding in front of you. As the flame lit,lifting your head up at your 'attacker' , only to be met with a smirk and platinum leather wearing man, who had caught your book with ease. "Really a lighter?" British, you had not spoken to one American , since landing.

You had just continued to stare at him not quite certain what to say, until he did again. "So , Boromir ,hm?"  You hadn't notice him step forward , holding your book for you to take back, hesitating you took it from him slowly. "Uh, yes. Thank you,but ,um, who are you?"

"Spike, and you are?"Who names there son after a sharp object? Spike had smugly smiled , placing his in his trouser pockets, it was if he was proud. You didn't get a chance to respond to Spike, before Rupert had reappeared , standing between you and Spike.

"Spike , get away from my niece, I will not allow you to corrupt her." Spike had gasped dramatically, putting his had over his mouth ,"You're related to him? But Blimey he's all ARGH and you're not." Spikes face of disgust when he looked at your uncle, Rupert had removed his glasses and began cleaning his glasses.

"Was that supposed to be a compliment?" Picking up your bags , as Rupert ushered Spike out of the shop, with you behind to lock up, it now being dark.  "It was lovely to meet you , Giles attractive niece.." "Y/n." "Y/n.." Repeating your name back slowly smiling , only if you knew he was an evil defective vampire.

"Quit the flirting Spike, she's not going to be here long." That was the last you saw of Spike , for now anyways. It wasn't even another 24 hours later , your uncle had sent you off to Los Angeles , to Wesley at Wolfram & Hart.

Wesley...you had seen him in years , since he left England. You being younger than him by some years , but you had been friends with him , being connected to Giles and all. You were brought to America to work for an evil law firm not your ideal future.

That was a year ago , not as bad as you had originally thought, Angel the CEO was indeed broody but he was trying to make a difference. In fact , the job paid very well, and all you did really read up on demons and sometimes view bodies for symbols and such.

Perhaps,yes, it did get quite lonely, it  wasn't like you had you mum to make you meals or anything. All you could have was calls from her now and then. Wesley was your friend; but he was too busy flirting with Fred. The others well, you weren't close friends, just friends.

Today was not a great day for you, first you had gotten to work  without lunch, forgotten a jacket, and Angel scheduled a meeting but you had fallen down the stairs three times. Ten minutes late, a huge bruise on your head , ruffled hair and clothing not looking very bodacious.

Knocking on the door to Angel's office three times gently , before waiting for his response to allow you in. Everyone staring at you , your face flushed with embarrassment. "I-I'm so sorry, you won't believe today has been horrible, I wouldn't have been late if I hadn't of fallen down the same stairs three times."

Heavily breathing from all the rushing, head aching like you had just hit your head falling down the stairs, Angel and the others looking at you with slight sympathy. "I've got to get a look at this muppet." That voice, you knew that that voice, until Spike had appeared from the corner of the meeting room , as you and Angel were about to walk into the room.

Almost bumping into Spike as you and him both met the door at the same time. You two would've bumped right into each other, but he passed right though you. Turning back around to see if you imagined that or not, turns out you didn't Spike was stood in front you , looking at you , with gaped mouth which didn't last long until he was smiling.

"W-what?H-how did y-" "Nice to see you again , love. Well, not long after you left I saved the world, and died. No need to thank me , love," Angel had coughed , pulling your attention from Spike charming smile he was sending your way, to him gesturing you to sit.

Spike had not decided to sit down , but to stand behind Angel at an Angel, one to annoy Angel which you could already see in his face , two to be in eye range of you. Not that he liked you , he full loved Buffy, for now anyways.

Angel had officially began the meeting , head-aching still, probably why you couldn't concentrate, concussion. All you could think was , wow Casper the friendly ghost, well you didn't know he wasn't , and that he was a vampire.

So lost in thought ,well no just pain , you didn't hear the calling of your name or snapping of fingers in front of your open eyes.

"Y/n? Y/n?" Only when there is a touch of a small hand on your shoulder , you realise , looking up to see Fred. "Yes, sorry. Um , I hit my head a bit too hard."

"Angel , she needs to go to a doctor. Her head is literally bleeding out , ""Yeah you should've sent her straight away, she fell down the fucking stairs, for a vampire with a soul , you have no compassion." Spike had interrupted Wesley, to criticise Angel.

You had a couple of days off last week , to visit your family, hence you hadn't seen Spike there before that. You had fallen off your chair when you had felt a hand on your shoulder, moving to see if that was Angel or Lorne, but it wasn't.

"Already on your knees for me?" Spike, staring down at you , smirking what a shock. "I'm not even on my knees, I'm on my butt. Plus what you want me to do mime."

"Okay, okay, Hon, let's go take to a doctor." Lorne had helped you up, as Spike had smiled Wider, as you both left, with some calls of sympathy's.

You only had to have you bloody head , in your hairline glued back together. Not surprising when there was blood dripping down your face like a waterfall. Other than that you were back the next day, carrying on your week like you would normally would.

Each week that went by Spike would come visit your office, mostly at lunch, knowing you didn't leave your office to socialise, only to use the bathroom. It had started with him using the excuse that he wanted to see how you were doing , after falling down the stairs, which was quite hard to believe,as he didn't seem like the caring type.

Then it he came to your office to tell you stories  about him saving the world and just recently , almost being killed by another ghost.

You hadn't even seen that when he entered your office he used the door by turning the handle, instead of going through it. Not at least until he had spooked you again ,placing his hand your shoulder squeezing it slightly.  Falling again out of you chair, probably would've smacked the back of your head on your desk.

If you weren't grabbed by your forearms, and were lifted back onto your feet, by rough hands... Spike had scared you to death again, yet this time he had saved your fall.  Pulling a arm from his, looking into his eyes, as you brought your hand to his cheek, your finger tips against his cheek bone. His skin soft, not how you would've imagined.

Cold.

His skin, cold , but now he isn't a ghost? So why does he feel like the other side of the pillow on a summer night. Moments go by ,not many , before you pulled away again. "Fred , s-she figured out how to bring y-you back?" Still wondering why he felt like ice,  also to hide the embarrassment that you had touched his face without asking.

"No, someone sent me some post,"  The distance between you two was more than close, your legs pressed against your desk, Spike's face barely inches away, he must've closed in on you. "Oh lovely,um have you had anything to eat yet?" He had smiled at you , with lust in glittering in his eyes , but not for what you might think, but hunger.

"I have not." Don't turn Edward ,please, no one wants that ,'Oh I'm sorry Bella but you might die if we fuck, because of my huge Thanos sized dick.' "Oh , well I've got , um, some sandwiches, that's if you want to share." You had gently made your way passed Spike as he nodded slightly suggesting we would share, to get into your bag, reaching for your lunch bag.

Both sitting at the sofa in your handing Spike a sandwich, as you held yours, facing each other, sitting on your calves, well Spike couldn't do that , if you know what you mean. Not long after you had reached for your flask , pouring it into your cup. "Tea?" Spike had grabbed the cup from your hand, drinking a fair lot down, before handing it back to you, mixture of crumbs and tea around his mouth. "You know how to make good tea, not those bloody Americans , milk first , bloody bullshit."

Before anything was said, Lorne had burst into the room , panic washed over his face. "Angel needs you both , quick honeys! We don't have time to spare." To say the least you were confused , never less you all headed to Angel's office and soon enough you were all, Angel, Spike, Fred, Gunn, Wesley, and Lorne were driving to a safe house. 'A rescue mission.' Apparently, you didn't even know who you were supposed to rescue, all you knew was you was all supposed to stay here until they arrived.

Sounded fishy , and you were right to think so, not long after you all discovered it was a trap. Probably just about a hundred vampires, were lurking around the property, waiting...

The floors creaking as you all walked across the the pine wood hallway, not to mention you had barely any fighting stills, all you held was a stake. The others well that ways a mixture of axes , and stakes. Sorry not only vampires in this house, spirits too. Spike had paired off with you , whilst the others did the same , you both walked into a bedroom, which was thick with mould and dust.

Not even one step in the door had slammed shut, Spike had immediately tried the door body slamming against , but it was no use. As you made your way to the window, "Spike.." BANG still going at the door , "SPIKE." Whisper shouting to him, gesturing for him to come over , once he had heard you.

"Vampires..." pulling you away from the window, out of sight." We need to get out of here, now."

"Where? we can't get out of here." Looking around the room there was no options. You don't even get to take a breath ; before the window is smashed in as well of the door, you are both completely circled , 7 vampires.  Before you know it they are lunged for you , gripping your stake tightly , as you fight  a vampire off , with struggle , god damnit. Where's David from lost boys, instead you are stuck with one that's never brushed it's teeth.

Finally stabbing it in the heart. Proof another one bites the dust. Now there was even more dust in this house. The rest of the vampires were dead, you didn't realise that Spike had taken on the rest with no struggle, turning to face you after dusting the last one, his face,his face. He was one of them, he had been dead this whole time , even when he was brought back.

"Y-you're a vampire?" Shocked was to say the least what you were feeling , he had turned back laughing lightly.

"What were you expecting? The Easter bunny?Did you think I was human? This whole time, oh love." It wasn't that you felt like you trusted him less after finding out but still, you're an idiot, no you are not.  "I thought you were because you are my food; Plus I thought vampires were evil?"

"I wasn't going to refuse a sandwich. I have Soul, love. For your information, I got it the hard way, not like that brooding bugger."

"Sorry, Can we go now?" Thus Spike tried the door again, it had opened, both of you rushed out and down the stars , out the doors to find the others in the car waiting , like it was a robbery.

Your lunches with Spike continued even months after finding out he was a vampire; yet now you packed enough lunch for the two of you. Though he could just have his blood, but no he wanted your food. In honesty he was lucky that you actually shared your food with him.

You were sure that Spike must've preferred the company of Fred over you, and there was a day that he didn't have lunch with you. Apparently he had went to see Buffy , yet he was back the next day, why he hadn't stayed with the woman he loved , that was unknown to you. Thus there he was having lunch with you everyday you were at work.

You had even watched Lost boys with him one lunch. "You think I'm like that ponce?" Why the offices had TVs you had no idea. You had told Spike that he had reminded you of David. "W-what, It's not that hard to believe , first both of you have cool hair , two he is evil but the evil that you're like wow he's not that bad , he's cute and maybe he not what he seems. Like Loki, God of mischief." Spike had scoffed, laughing slightly.

"Did you just call me cute? I'm bad , I'm evil, mortals quiver under my wrath." He had made a toothy scrunched face , whilst bringing his hands up like he was a bear attacking, only to make you grin harder. "Okay, now you are a kinky Loki 'quiver under my wrath' seriously?"

"And how would you know what's kinky, love?" His words delivered with a smirk , that made your cheeks redden just by his gaze. "Uh,um, well I read a lot- I MEAN I do stuff all the time like last night.. he had a cane."

"Oh really, he had a cane?"

"Yep thats correct."

"Well that's a shame, love , because I've seen you face stuck in your books , blushing... and I can smell the innocence radiating off of you."

"Hey! Don't go smelling that, so you're telling me that when I have my period you can smell that too? You know what don't answer that, nor do I want to know if you've ever eaten that. Nor do I want to know why I thought of that.." Throwing a Malteser at him, would've hit him if he hadn't caught it in his mouth. 

"I cannot believe you just said that. Love, you have too much time over thinking."

"No doubt , that's why I was never popular , let's pretend I never said that thing and only that compared you to David and Loki, hm?"

"Of course, I wish you hadn't given me the idea,joking I swear."

"Uh, I don't know if you like men or not but when the male part is erected it's one of the most blood filled appendages plus I looked you up, William the bloody, maybe that's how you got your name.." Yes maybe you spent more than your lunch hour not doing work, sitting cross legged now facing Spike completely , who just had turned his upper body from the tv.

Angel though, you'd think he was just happy , happy that Spike wasn't in his office constantly annoying him. It wasn't easy for anyone to keep Spike entertained. "I do not suck cocks nor have I ever , love, I have nothing against those that do,but I assure you that my terrible poetry is the only reason for the name, "

"Nothing to do with you killing hundreds of people?"

"Oh yeah, that too." Nothing more was spoken, you both had went back watching until lunch was over, then you were back to work. By five you had left to go home , not even two hours later you had realised you had left your house keys in your office. You had went to the shops, for some general stuff , hence why you hadn't realised you had left your keys.

Making it back to Wolfram & Hart , around nine o'clock, deciding to get some food , for after you got your keys and got home finally. The security man, Dean, had let you , well no he had was turned doing something and you slipped in, the rest of the firm was dark , everyone had left, or that's what you had thought.

Opening your office door, with your key, why you had it separated from your house key , you don't know , but it was lucky you had one set otherwise someone could've went through your stuff. Well there wasn't much really interesting, ancient books and such. Rushing to your desk in the dark searching everywhere , under your desk, in the draws, the floor.

Finally finding them down the side of the sofa , which you were sat at with Spike, watching Lost boys. When the door swings open , you are quickly grabbed by the foreman's and are shoved against the wall."what are doing here?" The mans voice, aggressive, yet you know who it belonged to, Spike. No very difficult to figure out as you spent at least an hour with him , five times a week, for months.

"Uh, I just left my keys." Spikes grip had loosened on your arms slightly. " Y/n?" Pushing him off of you,"yes, yes it's me , thanks for attacking me, " It was pitch black in your office , only the light from the moon , now on your face , part of it anyways.

"Well, Bloody hell, love you shouldn't be in an evil law firm by your lonesome , especially at night."

"What you are going to eat me now?" Spike wasn't even a foot away; if he was a live you'd feel his breath on your face. Instead the cold air surrounded you, Spikes arm above your head closing you in, only being able to look at his face , an outline of it. "Oh, you'd just love that, wouldn't you,pet?" You had scoffed lightly at him.

"Shut up, my foods getting cold , and I don't like it in here." Ducking under Spikes arm, grabbing your food and key, before making your way out your office and the building. Spike following you ,but the security guard was gone and the door was locked , no way out.

"Well isn't that bloody brilliant."

"There's no way we are getting out of here , till morning ,"

"Can't we call someone?"

"I don't know , do you have anyone's number?" That was it , you both had headed back to your office , found some candle, since the electricity had been turned off, at on the floor with your food. You weren't sure why he decided to stay with you , maybe it was just that you had food.

Your back against the sofa , as you both ate , you were in no doubt that you were talking tomorrow off. You knew you or Spike was going to have to sleep on the sofa, ah yes perfect, back pains. "Why were you here so late anyways?" After finishing your mouthful of food, why Spike would want to lurk here at night , that was unknown.

"Just snooping through Angels stuff, then I heard you, so."

"Ah, of course." Smirking at you , leaning back his palms behind him, sideways on from you, uh , you're not Ryan Reynolds? Actual um, sorry but you're hotter. Your food all gone , except the small amount of drink left.

"Honestly this couldn't be a better day, my keys fell down the side of the sofa , and I didn't realise until I went home. Then this happened , and now we are stuck here, when I could be at home, sleeping."

"It's not so bad, you could've been stuck here with Angel, love."

" You really don't like Angel, I'm not surprised he makes small problems seem unsolvable. Yet within a couple of hours , all is fine. Actually that sounds a lot like me, over thinking everything. But yeah Angels is a bit of an arse."

Spike only smirking at you, in return.

Glancing at your watch , 12:03 , you were only lucky that Spike was able to pick the lock on the toilets. Otherwise you don't know what you would've done, ah yes, peeing yourself in front a rather good looking , dead man. Leaving your office to go pee again , before returning rubbing your eyes as you walked through the door.

"Are you going to get some sleep, love?" Spike had cleaned up all the rubbish, throwing it all away, you wouldn't expect that from dead guy, former mummy's boy. "Uh, if the sofa wasn't built like a rock, yes , but since that's the case no." Settling back onto the floor, careful not to catch on fire, as you crossed passed some of candles.

Instead of Spike replying yet , he had stood up and made his way to the sofa , plopping himself onto it, with poof. "You got to be joking love , you clearly never have lived in a crypt." W h at was it wish vampires living in crypts , or complaining that their huge cold dick will spilt a human in half. Turning to face the sofa, not being able to see Spike, letting out a dry laugh.

"Yeah that doesn't convince me, are you just so old that you don't remember that every day at lunch that I sit on that sofa with you?" Spike had sat up to look at you with a glare ,yet again scoffing. "Well then , Pet, how about you come lay on me, I'm very comfortable."

Without thought you had gotten up , and thrown yourself onto Spike, both groaning as your back slammed into Spikes chest. He was lucky really that your butt bone , not tail bone, the top of your leg one, didn't smash into his parts. Instead he had wrapped around you so you were stuck in place. "I see what you are doing."

"And what is that?"

"I body slammed you, now you're cuddling with me? Mental , you're an ice cube, yeahh sureeee so comfortable, I love being engulfed by Vanilla ice."  Not that he looked much like Vanilla ice but it's a little funny, not really but.

"Hey, I won't stand to be your cushion , with your bullying."

"Didn't you kill hundreds of people? And you get defensive when I call you Robert van Wrinkle?" Turning your head to look up to Spike who was looking down on you, shuffling so that you were laying next to the sofa back and on Spike with your hand on his chest.

"Love,I'll eat you, try sleep." This isn't a Loki imagine when he kidnaps you and it turns out he's a vampire , and he gets busy and drinks your blood for a fetish. Spikes arms around your shoulder , eventually falling asleep with your head on his chest.

Everything was fine, until Wesley and the rest of them had came looking for you. As you was supposed to be in a meeting with them in the morning , so was Spike but they were worried for you.

"Couldn't they do that at home?"

"Can I poke them with a stick?"

"Ah yes, poke the mass murdering vampire , very smart ,Gunn. "

No consideration of being quiet, you both had been woken, it wouldn't be that surprising if Spike was pretending to be asleep , to avoid talking to people he didn't like very much except Fred.

Waking up to see a bunch of people just smiling at you at , wasn't the best. "So, Spike what about Buffy?" Sitting up ,before standing up from Spike, must've hurt having a whole body on you all night , maybe it didn't effect him because he has super strength? Spike just turned to sit on the sofa , unimpressed facial expression, hunched.

"Buffy has her own life, I'm not apart of it."

"I-is this all you came her for? To wake us? And   taunt? I'm taking the day off ," No uncertainty that you wanted to get home, and shower and eat. You had looked back at Spike who had looked back , standing up. "I'll drive you."  Grabbing your bag, before bow in front of Angel for whatever reason. "Thank you so much for locking us in an evil law firm all night. Bye Fred, Wesley, Gunn , Lorne."

"Bye hon." Lorne was always a sweetheart , wishing that every guy was like him, kindest soul and very much cute. Spike and you had left after you had sent Lorne a smile. Walking out with bed hair and day old clothes , not that Spike had offered his arm but you were still holding onto to walk.

Walking past Harmony, she had sent daggers your way, why doesn't she just kidnap Orlando Bloom or something. Gripping onto Spikes arm tighter , walking down the stairs, not falling this time, thankfully. Before you made it to Angels' car park, and got into one of this favourite cars. "Uh, are we supposed to be taking Angels car?"

"What? It's mine, love, what are you going on about?" Opening the the car door at the same time , settling in the seats before slamming the door shut. The windows of the car , made from the same glass that wolfram & Hart was supplied with, since the cars were supplied by wolfram & Hart for Angel, a vampire. That also meant that Spike could drive in the sunlight protected.

"Okay, okay." Once you had made it into your building car park, Spike had walked with you up to your door. Being finally able to unlock your door, with your shopping ,lucky there wasn't any fridge nor freezer items. Turning back to Spike who just stood at your door, grinning slightly.

"T-thank you for staying with me yesterday, and for driving me home." A small blush upon your face, it wasn't unknown to you that you had developed a crush on Spike , how couldn't you? "That's alright ,love." Still stood in front of you, looking into your e/c eyes , you staring into his brightly lit blue ones. He was waiting for you to say or to do something.

Leaning to the side of his face, to press a peck onto his pale toned cheek. Instead of course , he had turned and you ended up pressing your lips , onto his briefly. Pulling away red cheeked , Spike now smirking at you again. "H-hey um, do you want to come and watch Lord of the rings with me?" You weren't sure what you was supposed to say after kissing someone accidentally.

"I would," thus that you held your door open wide, "I invite you into my home."

Therefore, you watched Lord of the rings with a dead man.

[thisarthurandeames]

Fanon Arthur is closer to Canon Eames and Vice Versa

If you haven’t already seen the post where I talk about canon Arthur being different from fanon, check it out!!

If you want

Announcement again: your opinions are valid always, even if I may be going at this hard right now.

[more below the line]

Also aksdjskfh in my last post, I tried to make it so neutral and not shippy that I completely forgot to add how he treats Eames without making it A/E oops- (I shall fix that when I make an A/E version

I’ll just go ahead and say it.

Eames is a bit prissy. More than Arthur is, anyway. He’s a downright b-word, but in a lovely way.

It isn’t to say he’s not nice or playful or anything, he is, I’ll get to that.

But he’s also very ,,,, reclusive. Which is not how everyone perceived him.

Simply put, he’s approachable when he wants to be, but he isn’t a “Oh, I love everyone, hello sweetheart, let me give you a hug” kind of a person.

I don’t know if I’d say he’s socially awkward or he just likes it that way, that can be up to you and your fics. But what I do know if that he isn’t a super friendly approachable guy who flirts with everyone (I’m so sorry).

No offence to babe but he’s very brood-y aksjdjjdhj— I love him.

Eames takes his job seriously, and tbh I’m not sure if the trope of him being slow/tad bit stupid actually used a lot or not, but I’ve seen a few and I just want to say he’s very smart, as well. He’s sort of the one who built the entire plan, really (with Arthur to fix up).

When it comes to people, Eames is picky. He’s select. It isn’t to say he hates everyone, but I think he goes by the vibes.

For example, he couldn’t care less if Cobb got hurt or anything (literally any scene in Mombasa. “Don’t know. Let’s see if they start shooting” and the VERY poor distraction of Freddy Simmons and how he immediately gives up ahdhdjsj —he also looks at Cobb with the car later like “... so you lived? Hm ....... how ....... pleasant.”)

He outright says so at the last level, when Cobb and Ariadne are going to the limbo, he tells them that he doesn’t care if they make it back, but he’s getting out of there. And he says it with no sarcasm or sympathy too pfft.

But he definitely cares for people, people who clearly has a history with like Arthur, telling him to “be back before the kick”, aka telling him to be safe (guys I swear I’m doing a neutral POV, that’s just how it went, I’ll make another one for A/E later 😭). He also cares about Yusuf, clearly, not just because he recommends him while at Mombasa, but also because he pipes up to say “Bit too much champagne before take off, eh, Yusuf?” He doesn’t usually chime in, not while he’s not being spoken to, and not to jab at people, so that was ✨friendship ✨ at its peak.

That isn’t to say he’s only like that with his friends/people he knows a well!!

He’s only known Saito for a short amount of time, but he’s taken a liking to him. That’s very visible in the second level, when they’re in the lift and Eames is forging the girl without him being aware of that. And the last bit when Saito's dying and they have that "no place for a tourist" moment, and he makes sure Saito isn't unarmed before he leaves!!

Basically, if Eames vibes with you, he vibes with you.

He’s definitely sensitive with defense mechanisms. He looks like he feels quite attacked when someone takes a jab a him and him saying it was condescension when Arthur compliments him just ajshjdjsj, oh my poor boy ❤️

All this isn’t to say that he’s sad and edgy all the time, he’s not, not really. He has his fun, but he does his work, and he doesn’t do things he doesn’t want to.

Rewatching the movie many times has made me circle back over and over to the point that Eames is a closed off serious type of guy in general. He’s playful and nice around the people he already likes, not to everyone. I feel like that’s quite important to note. Eames is actually quite quiet (heh). Calm. A bit broody. Mysterious. Intimidating to a few people for sure. Very level headed and to the job. Intelligent >>>> (he basically came up with the Inception job + attempted it before). He also thinks about what to say before he does, so that’s something to think about.

But that’s just him on the surface. ^ most of it you would see if you didn’t know him that well, or he’s in the middle of planning a job and etc.

I could actually go one about Eames for days ajdhjsjdh there’s a lot I have to say about him on top of his daddy issues.

In conclusion, characters have many dimensions, and your dimensions are very valid, but there are some characteristics that get so lost into fanon that a lot of people forget about how they really were in the movie sometimes. (But fanon is so amazing too! They’re written super well and it’s cool to see variety.)

But uHm yes, these got a bit long plus I wrote it while it was late, but do let me know if you want to talk about it some more because I’ve spoken about this many many times and I probably forgot a bunch of points!!

OH AND— thank you for coming to my Ted Talk :))

As a reward, I shall remind you of when this cheeky dork threw the charge at the projections, aka not real people, and gave them a thumbs up. Yeah.

[astrovian]

the official ranking of RA photoshoot outfits (pt. 1)

as @dykethorin​ said when I first proposed doing this particular ranking,  “Some real Decisions™️ were made” with these shoots y’all

all photoshoot outfits (for part one) under the cut

the official ranking of Daniel Miller outfits here

the official ranking of Adam Price outfits here

the official ranking of Claude Becker outfits here

guys, I’m crying with laughter

hey quick question: what the fuck was this photoshoot??? (and also I need current RA in these poses)

it’s real nice to see a fun, loosey-goosey RA (before he established himself in the broody-character archetype) but there are so many questionable fashion choices here

when I started this list I had two options:

1)     allow some leeway to the older photoshoots because, let’s be real, the early 2000s were an atrocious time for fashion that a lot of us would most rather forget we participated in

2)     judge them by today’s standards, which is harsh but some of these outfits deserve it

naturally, I chose option #2

It’s so hard to even pick where to start. the too-loose pants? the ill-fitting suit jacket? The untucked dress shirt that is for some god-forsaken reason undone in two separate directions??

I have chosen one thing that sums the outfit up as a whole: what monster decided to put the shirt collar over the suit jacket????

the jazz hands scream “hey I’m a FUN guy” but the suit screams “I’m the yo-pro asshole at the office who is so unreliable you’re pretty sure some nepotism must surely have had an influence during the hiring process”

I originally said ‘I guess we should be glad there’s no surfer necklace’ but then I had the horrifying realisation that it’s a 50/50 shot as to whether that would improve this outfit or make it worse. and you know when there’s even slimmest chance a surfer necklace could improve an outfit somehow that it’s time to take a good hard look at yourself

1/10 just because this photoshoot made me genuinely laugh out loud

wait I’m sorry, what-

how on god’s green earth is this the same photoshoot (?) as guys, I’m crying with laughter????

the great thing about these lists is that you are getting my genuine reactions as I progress down the images. I had no idea this was the same photoshoot (?) until approximately 10 seconds after writing guys, I’m crying with laughter

this perfectly encapsulates the duality of man – one moment it’s all goofy jazz hands and the next it’s a hunk-of-the-week moment

this man and guys, I’m crying with laughter are the equivalent of looking at pictures of yourself in high school vs. in your 20s/30s/at your prime. the whiplash is insane

and why is he in front of barred windows?? it appears they were afraid of what would happen if this hunk escaped into the general population

I still can’t believe they kept the collar over the suit jacket though

I’m so conflicted guys, the urge to numerically rank this terrible outfit is strong but uh… as per usual shirtless ones aren’t fair/10

revenge of the killer surfer necklace

do you ever look back at a specific moment in time and are so thankful that someone took one tiny action? one small thing they did in the heat of the moment that probably seemed innocuous at the time but had far-reaching consequences? for example, it might something as simple as deciding to take a umbrella on a bright sunny day only for it to be extremely useful on the way home when the weather turns

this is how I feel about the person who decided RA could leave that top button closed for this shoot

if you squint, you can see the surfer necklace under that top button. and thank god you have to squint

this is such an early 2000s look though. that shirt by itself is fine and would actually look killer with a properly fitted suit nowadays. it’s the shirt dress and loose denim look with makes no sense to me

2/10 for a pretty uninspiring early 2000s outfit

revenge of the uh… 

from the same shoot as revenge of the killer surfer necklace this loses .1 of a mark for adding a jacket, while pretty innocuous, to an already busy outfit

1.9/10

were we really that afraid of legs?

why were we, as a society, so obsessed with loose, ill-fitting pants? why were we so desperate to conceal legs from the general population? what secrets were we trying to hide? I understand the comfort factor on the hand, but on the other did anyone actually have eyes

the sneakers/suit combo I can definitely live with. but those pants (that I’m convinced must be pyjama pants in another life) turns it all into a sloppy, blurry mess

2.7/10

is it a bird? is it a plane? no, it’s… a floating RA?

what is it about photoshoots in the early 2000s where they just make no damn sense. it’s my opinion that the theme/concept of a shoot should not overshadow the subject, and that’s the correct opinion (as well as being the exact opposite as to what’s happening here)

maybe there was a hint or reason as to why floating wizard RA exists in the article that this shoot presumably came with, but I don’t get it. clearly I’m far too literal of a person and need to embrace my inner artist

looks pretty, still weird

moving on the entire point of this post, the outfit, I uh,… oh god

I’m pretty sure this the same (and similar, if not) outfit RA wore in the North & South behind-the-scenes, and how we as a society went from John Thornton’s stiff collar and top hat to this is amazing

maybe we were so obsessed with period dramas back then because it was a nice alternative to indulge our eyes in when we had to face the harsh, cold reality of modern fashion at the time

anyway – trust me, while I am all for a man in a necklace, let’s pray surfer necklaces never come back 2.9/10

I genuinely was looking up “pinstriped jacket jokes” because I couldn’t think of anything off the top of my head but then I realised I don’t need a joke here because pinstriped jackets are a joke all by themselves

I feel like there may be a situation where pinstriped suit jackets might grow on me, but this is not that situation

also I don’t really know where I stand on the belt, but I certainly think I’m leaning towards the ‘why’ part of the scale. if you’re gonna make a belt that prominent in a photoshoot, at least make it a fun belt

3/10

I’m noticing a trend in these photoshoots and it’s these horrific backgrounds

I will admit that the non-patterned suit jacket is going with the jeans a lot better here. but now that my attention isn’t focused on that, all I can see are the dress shoes. WHY DID YOU PUT DRESS SHOES WITH STRAIGHT-LEGGED JEANS???

please someone I am begging you, can we as a society get to tapered jeans already

3.3/10

did RA genuinely ever get put into any clothes that actually fitted him properly at this point in time?

look, I know I’ve been picking on the bootcut jeans & loose attire that plagued us in the early 2000s (or 2006, to be specific to this photoshoot). what can I say, it’s the low-hanging fruit. or loose-hanging, as the case may be

I do appreciate that rich brown leather jacket and that smile. but that’s where it stops. someone take dress shirts and dress shoes away from bootcut denim PLEASE

3.5/10

this is the bad-boy from your hometown in every rom-com ever

as with well this in an interesting development that I can’t say I disapprove of below, the lower rating is simply because from what we can see, it’s just a plain shirt. however, that dipped v-neck? mm-mmm

look at that smirk. this man knows what he’s doing to us, dammit.

why do you persist in hurting us this way 4/10 

well this in an interesting development that I can’t say I disapprove of

god bless the person who said we need this shirt wet and clinging and only half-soaked

I’m so sad that I have to give this such a low ranking because uh… we’ve established I have a weakness for those biceps

this does also get bonus points for the creativity of “only this portion of your shirt needs to be wet for your close-up” but at the end of the day it is a solitary grey t-shirt even if it is floating in an attractive sea of muscles

4.5/10

the photographer really said ‘who gives a crap about the clothes’, huh?

an interesting shirt! but as much as I love RA’s face, we should be able to see more of the shirt (and the outfit) because uh… it’s hard to make a judgement call on a photoshoot outfit without that

also, it’s just so hard to concentrate on some of these with RA staring into my soul like that

*sigh* 4.6/10

hello sir, are you as kinky as your shirt?

this is one of the few occasions on which I will give the bootleg baggy jeans a pass. interesting choice to go shoeless for all outfits in this shoot – but the way the shirt is all crumpled is annoying me an incessant amount. I am begging you, someone pass this stylist an ironing board PLEASE

4.7/10 for a crinkle-cut RA

all that’s missing is the beer cans

I’m not sure of the short sleeves here. I think with the shirt open as well my brain doesn’t know where to look

HOWEVER, this is an RA from the early 2000s that I can get behind – largely because he’s not drowning in his denim

the nice, plain belt which matches with the shirt? excellent

interesting choice to go with the bare feet – this entire look (and the quality of that concrete floor) screams ‘we’re chilling at a summer party in your parent’s basement in the early 2000s’ if not for one thing – that couch is way too nice looking. am I being too pedantic about this? no. If you’re gonna go for the whole basement party look, you need a couch that’s falling apart and has at least one questionable stain on it

that being said, I would hang out in this man’s basement

it’s a shirtless one so once again, I cannot give a numerical answer/10

I’m not sure if this man is dangerous or is just an idiot

they may have been wanting RA to embrace his inner Daniel Miller here but that is NOT a jacket that should have its collar popped or if it is, it definitely should not be popped that much. just turn the intensity of that pop down by… at least 35%

this look is telling me to embrace my inner lacy, ruffled collar that men in England used to wear around the 1500 - 1600s. I hate it and refute it with every part of my soul

this is what happens when you embrace your inner Daniel a little bit too much 5.6/10

the return of the leg monster

not much to say about this except once again we are terrified to put RA’s legs into well-fitted pants. what secrets are hiding underneath those voluminous billows? will we ever know?

5.8/10

the one that crushed my hopes and dreams and then spat on my corpse

so I admit it, I got really excited because I thought that this was a leopard print shirt and I was like “this is something I did NOT know that I needed until right now”, even if I would argue that it could have been nice in a little bit of a brighter colour. no matter, I thought it was a nice subtle addition to this plain suit and was just very excited at the prospect of RA rocking leopard print even though I almost always hate leopard print in single every form it comes in

and then. upon zooming. a disappointing paisley. sorry, paisley lovers. I hate it

I would also argue here that the pocket square would have been nice in a plain, bright colour rather than another patterned item thrown into the mix. come on stylists, stop letting me down with your pocket squares

also if there is a point where a suit can be too shiny, I think we’ve found it. I could wax floors with that fabric and I’d rather be thinking about RA’s talent & good looks rather than imagining him being used as a human mop

the hand porn is uh… strong with this one 6/10

the hand porn one

the ring is a nice subtle touch but I can’t decide where I stand on this tie. for me, the checks are just a *wee* tad too small. so small that it I’m scared it will turn into one of those optical illusions with a number in it if I stare at it the tie for too long

the pocket square could also have not tried so hard to blend in with the rest of the suit jacket. give me some colour, baby!

Richard really needs to put his hand down so I can actually concentrate on the clothes 6.5/10

 I’m just dotty for this one (I’m so sorry y’all)

so suave. so shiny. I wanna stroke that fabric so bad, it looks so soft

the dots bring a nice yet understated touch to a monotone outfit and GOOD LORD those thighs

they just had to pose him like this to torture us, I’m convinced. also they call him a “commanding gentleman” in the subtitle which is really just unnecessary to verbalise when he’s sitting like this

Someone put me in a rom-com with this man 7.2/10

the modern magician (at least he ain’t floating this time)

I know that the hat should be the focus of this shoot but I can’t get over those shoes

tangentially related, I have never understood why they make men’s dress shoes so excessively long and pointed. these certainly aren’t a good example of this but uh… I don’t understand why men’s dress shoes are clown shoes

I think part of what’s throwing me off is the sockless look. normally I can handle (and even love) it with some shoes but there’s something about the hem of those jeans and those shoes that turn them into slippers when worn sockless

I love the two-tone scarf but what really excites me is the plaid shirt that we can barely see. I’m eternally sad that they had RA hid it in this pose. and also, come one. you could’ve at least gotten a chair with an actual back to it. that can’t be good for his back at all

the one bonus of this outfit is the hat because when do we ever get RA in hats?? and hats that aren’t baseball caps?? a nice, rare touch. but also one which hides most of that face so…

can we talk about the fact that my gut tells me those jean cuffs have been deliberately turned up at the front and all I want in life is to reach into this image and flip them down 7.5/10

*pterodactyl noises*

holy macaroni. that demin shirt. and this shirt’s even a nice lighter denim colour??? and the v-neck?? SIR

I know he’s worn some faux-denim shirts in the last few years (see: Uncle Vanya rehearsal pics) but as outerwear? knocked it out of the park in this one

also I know this is a shirt not a jacket, but this shirt made me think about how I never realised how much I needed RA in jean jackets until today

It could be argued that a nice crew neck cut would work slightly better than the v-neck but that’s really a personal choice

a lovely respite for my weary eyes 7.7/10

a truly, truly blessed image. the sort of image that would bring you endless good luck

I know I’ve given a lot of pants crap on this list but these. these are the ones. these are doing the lord’s work for sure. and god bless the person who decided to shoot from this particular side angle.

and then the shirt?? I’m honestly afraid it may rip if he moves. I could leave or take the tie though. it’s not adding a whole lot to this outfit and I would much rather that shirt be uh… open at the top for a glimpse of uh… well. you know.

this RA outfit laughs in the face of all those early 2000s RA outfits 8.1/10

me running to open my phone every time an RA-related notification pops up

my only sadness is that this shoot was in black & white. we need more action-shot RA shoots!

also the subtle plaid?? *chef’s kiss*

well, I said ‘my only sadness’ but is it also me or are both ends of that tie strangely square? that is throwing me off from an otherwise spectacular photoshoot outfit, I won’t lie

8.5/10 for a man of action

this is what we all like to think we look on the way to work. hate to break it to ya - we don’t

god, that wind-ruffled hair. the rustic look provided by both the suit material & the photo editing. that stare over the top of that coffee mug. the casual ‘I just picked up the paper on my way out this morning’

words fail me

would it be weird if I said I would pay money to be able to run my hands through anyone’s hair that looks as soft and wind-swept as that 8.9/10

the comfiest RA

I love. love. love this outfit, especially the sweater. the pant colour goes extremely well with this one and I’m so glad they didn’t just stick him in jeans. the is the softest, comfiest RA and I love it. this is an RA who you can simultaneously share a beer and takeaway with at home, cuddling up on the sofa while you watch a film, as well as an RA who will take you out to eat fancy pasta at an upscale restaurant.

the choice of sitting on a stool is also great. my only real gripe here is the watch (and even that’s a minor one, really). the watch isn’t THAT bad, but it’s chunky face reminds me slightly of the watches boys in my class would wear in middle school. the watch could be a *wee wee tad* slicker, but really, I’m nitpicking here (and this is the only time I will admit to it)

the more I look at it, the more this becomes one of my fav RA pics. the slight smile. the relaxed pose. the hint of hand porn

weirdly, for some reason this picture gives me the exact same comfy and ‘just chilling out’ feeling as when I hear the song “Kiss Me” by Sixpence None the Richer 9.5/10

[lchufflepuffcorn]

Being the batmom

Author’s note: Okay so, Batmom here. I want to say that it was posted two days before on my patreon (you can check it out here). I’M also present on ko-fi if you prefer. You can also catch my masterlist here if you want to read more of my things. Please feel free to request or ask any question you’d like. 

Words: 2404

Warning: Fluff, a little of angst (it’s the batman fandom we’re talking about). English is not my first language. 

Dick is eight and orphaned when he's taken in by Bruce Wayne, millionaire and philanthrope of Gotham City. This, by the way, is very different from the circus the poor boy was taken from after his parent's death. Dick is not feeling good about being taken in by that cold and distant man, and even less with the wife he has and is giving him so many warm smiles. That woman is not on Dick's right side, it feels like she wants to take his mother's place, and his mother's corpse isn't even cold yet. He doesn't like that at all. 

When Dick tries to ask why Bruce as taken him in, the man either ignores him or tells him they'll talk about that at another time. And that Wayne's wife is still smiling warmly like his mother used to. He doesn't like it. 

But as weeks go by and months follows, Dick starts seeing the looks (Y/N) is giving her husband when he ignores her. Dick doesn't respond when she speaks to him if he ignores her, then she can't take his mother's place, can she? He can sometimes catch low voices talking about him when he walks in the manor's cold corridors. He'll never admit it, but he still gets lots most of the time. 

''He doesn't like me.'' Your voice says, and behind the nearly closed door, Dick stops walking to listen. 

''He just lost his mother, give him some time, darling.'' Respond Bruce, and Dick can see him rub your back tenderly. He never saw that type of affection between the two of you before.  

''But I've tried everything; he doesn't respond to me, even less look at me anymore. I don't know what else I can do.'' The sob in your voice makes Dick feel guilty, even more so because he knows that he's not supposed to hear this conversation. So he walks away without making sound and tries his best to go back to his room. 

It does take him some more months before he can talk to you without seeing his mother's face instead of yours, but at least he's not ignoring you anymore. That's around that time that he becomes Robin. 

And now he can see you fret. You're nervous when they leave, and you're ecstatic when they come back, he can catch you mutter angrily under your breath at Bruce when they come back with scratches and whatnots. For the first time in months, he feels warm. After it, he feels terrible for thinking of you as a good mother, because he feels like it's insulting his. 

Dick is fifteen when he first gets too close to experiencing death. ANd it's you again that makes him realize that. 

''Get him killed, why don't you!'' You growl in a whisper while bandaging Bruce in your room. ''We just got a kid, don't lose him just yet! I swear your worst than a child yourself.'' 

Dick sit's outside of your room to listen to you. Tonight's mission was particularly hard, and Bruce took a knife in the leg, pushing him out of the fight. So he wanted to thank him properly, and excuse himself. But your voice stopped the teenager from entering. 

''I won't let him get killed, (Y/N)...'' tries to say the man, but you cut him before he finishes his sentence. 

''You shouldn't have let him become your sidekick. It's too dangerous.''

''I had everything under control...'' tries Bruce again. 

''You had nothing -nothing- under your control, Bruce. Richard could have died.'' 

''Dick is a bright kid...''

''Exactly, he's a kid!'' 

Your voice is not a whisper anymore. You're screaming, and Dick feels the same drops in his stomach than when his birth parents were fighting while he was supposed to be sleeping. 

Dick is seventeen when his heart gets broken for the first time. And it's because of Bruce nonetheless. He feels betrayed and angry, and all he can think of is to leave the manor. He can't understand why Bruce would hide such a thing from him, his parent's killer. There's a part of him that wants to find a reasonable way to see that matter, but all the rest just want to punch the millionaire. That's when you come into the portrait. 

Dick comes into your room one night when Bruce is still working. It's been weeks since they both talked last. The boy feels like a child all over again when you just open your arms at him. 

''I'm sorry, Mom.'' It's the first time he calls you that. Your heart races for a little while at the word. But you don't ask questions even if you see his school bag balanced on his shoulder and the suitcase near your door. 

''It's okay, you have some friends with you? Do you need money?'' Is all you ask. You can't really expect him to stay. You can understand the feeling of being betrayed. You've already talked to Bruce about it, but you'll have to do it again, that man is stubborn. 

''Yeah, I just need some time.'' 

''It's okay.'' Dick wiggles out of your embrace, but before he can leave the bedroom, you call for him again. ''If you need anything, call me at any time, okay?''

Your boy just smiles and nods before exiting. 

It's one or two years later that Bruce comes home with, let's say, a surprise. You were consulted before Dick entered the family, but now, apparently, it's just a way to numb Bruce's pain from missing your son. Dick still calls you, and you go around for breakfast most of the time, but Bruce and Dick are not on talking terms just yet. 

The teenager Bruce brings back during the night is the same. He told you tried to steal the Batmobile tyres the week before. Are you feeling safe, not really, but Bruce seems to think he can help the boy, so you figure 'why not.' You're thirty-six now, and the boy doesn't look much older than Dick was when he was adopted. 

As it's what the boy names himself, Jason is broody and, as a harsh, looks in his eyes, but your smile doesn't falter. 

He gets comfortable around you. Comfortable enough to let you play with his hair when he has nightmares, let you hug him before he leaves for school, or for a mission and comfortable enough to sleep with his head on your shoulder while Bruces drives you from a party that the Wayne Enterprise held. Jason his a mama boy, and it shows, but he doesn't take well that you try to give him rules to follow. 

It's Bruce who has more difficulties with that. 

You try to talk to both of them, but each time, it's about the same answers. 

''But, mom, I don't understand why we just arrest hi. He gets out every time! And he ends up hurting more people than the last time.'' 

''Jason, I can understand why you're frustrated about that. But life doesn't work that way. Murder is murder, even if the Joker is a bad person.'' 

Usually, that's enough for Jason to huff and leave the room until dinner. 

When you try talking to Bruce about it, that's when it gets tricky. 

''Maybe you could talk to him about it? He's still a kid after all...'' 

Bruce only shrugged. 

''You think I don't try? He's not mature enough to understand. Dick understood...''

''Dick saw his parents get killed, but he too was angry when you lied about Zucco.'' You're angry now. It's always like this when Bruce talks about Jason, he's not as good as Dick, Dick was better, Dick was this, Dick was that. ''Jason is not Dick, Bruce, they're different.'' You leave your husband to the darkness of the bat-cave, so he can reflect on your words, once again. Sometimes, it's just better that way. 

Contrarily to Richard, Jason is not one to take pictures with you, but you have some that were not made by journalists. They rest with Dick's photos on the principal living room's chimney, where you're always found reading or watching TV or painting and drawing. The one that has big windows and a magnificent view of the garden. 

 That's typically where Jason would find himself after a hard night of vigilanting with Bruce. He's tired, the mission that the Young Justice League just achieved had been both emotionally and physically tiring, and all your boy wants is a hug. That's how Bruce finds both of you in the living room, you, currently watching a TV show and Jason, head buried in your shoulder, practically sitting on your laps while your fingers were playing with a string of his hair. 

Bruce called you on his way back from Ethiopia. And you cried a lot that night and the whole week after too. You can't bring yourself to look at the coffin, he's so small. 

You can't talk to Bruce for a while, the mear thought of being in the same piece as he makes you want to cry. It's not Bruce's fault that Jason died, but he could have prevented it, and as a mother, you need to deal with your child's death alone. 

Bruce's too changes after Jason's death, for example, his nightly missions are becoming even more bloody. That's when Dick calls you. 

''Mom, I really think Bruce needs therapy.'' 

''You and I both, baby bird.'' 

You talk for sometimes before a voice cuts into your conversation. 

''Who's that, Richard?'' 

''That, Mother, would be the next Robin.'' Your heart sinks toward your heels as you rise from your seat. 

''Bruce doesn't want another. I don't want another... accident myself.'' 

There's a moment of silence on the line before Dick sighs. 

''Just give Tim a chance, okay.'' You mumble under your breath, agreeing. 

Tim is different from the others. For one, he has living parents. But that doesn't stop him from calling you his mama. When you ask, he answers that he calls his mother, mom, but you're his mama, because you chose him. He takes Jason's place in the Young Justice League, just like Jasons did with Dick. 

That's until his mother dies and his father falls into a coma. Then Tim comes live with you for some time. Dick comes and goes at the same time, he starts talking to Bruce once more again. They're not as friendly as they once were, but Dick's smile brings back Tim's, so Bruce is happy about it too. Tim is the antidepressant that Bruce needed. Your husband did not see a therapist like you asked, but Black Canary tells you that he is way better than he once was. 

Tim's father comes back from his coma, and he leaves your house to go back with him. Once again, your life becomes grey. Still, Dick and Barbara come once in a while to talk with you, and Alfred is actually very good at playing chess. Then, Tim's father dies too, and he comes back to the manor. You're thirty-seven now. 

''Do you think we'll have children who are not traumatized by death and want to become like you?'' You ask one night as Bruce is getting ready to join you in bed. Even in the bathroom's dim light, you can see the bruises that he seems to collects on his back and arms and legs. Also, his chest seems covered in blue discolorations. 

What you're not aware of are Tim's microchips as installed all around the house and that he's listening. 

''Why, you don't like the lifestyle?'' Question's Bruce back, a smirk on his lips. 

Tim focuses on the sound coming from your bedroom, he's suddenly curious. From the news and the way Dick talks about you, you're a really nice woman, and Tim's experience with you proves it, but he wants to know more about what you think of this lifestyle like Bruce said. 

''You know what I mean...'' you start again, but Tim can hear the smile in your voice. ''I just think that they shouldn't be heroes. They're children... it's a dangerous lifestyle.'' 

Bruce sighs and comes to join you on the bed, but just like you are under the covers, he's on top of them. He kisses your nose gently before rolling to his place next to you. 

''I never forced any of them, you know.'' 

''I know.'' Your hand brushes again, his chest tenderly. '' It's just that I never thought having children would be this dangerous. I just want a normal family...'' 

At that, Bruce only answers by bringing your hand to his mouth and kiss it. 

That night is when Red Hood appeared. 

It was all crazy time between Red Hood and apparently Jason was back, and Tim was angry at Bruce, and now Bruce had a blood-related child of his own? Now that you didn't take it very well. And Bruce couldn't really explain either. But the kid seems to find you interesting. 

First of all, Grayson talk only kindly about you, so of course he's curious, not that he gives much concern about what Dick thinks. Though he's not home often, Jason is always lovely with you, weakness, but at the same time, you do have a gorgeous smile that makes the child want your hugs too. Tim -now, Tim is not Damian's favourite, but he does have some interest. And Tim is head-over-heels about you. 

Most of all, the three boys call you a variant of 'mother,' Barbara is always smiling when she comes home, and you're there, which is not the case when it's only his father, and Alfred had nothing but good things to say about you when he asked. 

Damian's pretty sure that you're the one who made his father agree about the cow he's keeping. But there are still no shreds of evidence of this certitude yet. 

Damian's still trying to see up to where he can push things with you. As of yesterday, when he called you 'Umi' and you didn't react except for answering, ''Yes?'' he still doesn't know if it's because you were the only one in the room so you answered or if it's because you know what that word means. So he'll have to experiment again. 

In short, being the Batmom is being a nervous wreck who likes hugs and is full of patience for both your husband and children. 

[calzonafan2014]

Vanity fic: I Just Need You

Summary: Charity wants a word with Vanessa for sic’ing her sister on her. Banter ensues.

Author’s note: Thursday’s episode was too funny, but I desperately needed to hear Charity’s follow-up conversation with Vanessa. 

---

Charity sat up in bed, computer on her lap, impatiently waiting for Vanessa to answer her Facetime request. She grabbed her wine glass from the nightstand and took the final sip, then reached for the bottle to top it off, frowning at the little that poured out of the second bottle she’d had over the course of the very long day dealing with her soon to be sister-in-law.

Vanessa finally rang in and Charity answered immediately. Smiling in spite of herself at the sight of her fiancee, even as she couldn’t help but take in the clear impact that chemo was having on her gorgeous face.

“Charity, what’s the emergency?”

“Babe, Trace, seriously? What were you even thinking?”

Vanessa settled back and smiled faintly. “You like her.”

“Says who?”

“You. When you’re not putting on your mad, bad, I’m Charity Dingle, and I hate everyone face."

“I don’t do that!”

Vanessa gave her a look.

“Fine. But that’s only because most people, including your sister, are really irritatin’.”

Vanessa chuckled, “Misanthrope,” she teased.

Charity mock frowned even as she felt her entire being lighten in response to Vanessa’s gentle teasing, “I like some people.”

“Name one.”

“Vanessa Woodfield, soon to be Dingle.”

Vanessa felt her own heart lift, but didn’t let her expression crack. “Who you aren’t marrying.”

“Chas.”

“Or related to,” Vanessa added pointedly.

“That’s taking away half the town right there.”

“Tracy couldn’t have been that bad.”

“Oi, not that bad? Hours and hours and hours of her discussing the fluttering in her belly. The precious tiny baby feet, the hormones, the tears…”

Vanessa wrinkled her nose, “Really?"

“You have no idea.” Charity leaned closer to the screen to whisper, “She likes being pregnant.”

“Who likes being pregnant?” Vanessa asked in mild disgust.

"Exactly! Thank you. See, you’re reasonable. She’s all, babies, babies, babies.”

Vanessa shuddered, “I’m so glad our boys are passed that stage.”

“Right? At least now they can hold a bit of a conversation. Entertain us on occasion. Put on their own shoes. Some of the time at least. But babies…”

“You don’t think she’s gonna expect us to babysit a lot do you?” Vanessa asked.

“It’s Tracy. Nate is fine, but he's a bloke. Betcha that after the first week, Tracy's at our door, begging to be let in. And you know how babies are? Crying, peeing and pooping machines.”

“Have you ever actually been around a newborn?” Vanessa asked. Because well…

“Oi, you, maybe not my own, but I’ve changed enough diapers thank you very much."

Vanessa chuckled lightly and they settled into a comfortable silence, both in their separate beds miles apart, but still in sync.

“This is what I miss. You. Us.” Charity dropped her voice, “Holding you right now.”

Vanessa swallowed and her eyes grew wet, “I miss you too."

“Do you?” Charity asked, suddenly vulnerable.

“Course I do.” Vanessa shared earnestly, then her eyes glinted, “Starting to get cold. Need someone to warm my feet on."

“How do you manage to have cold feet when you steal all the covers?”

“Warm heart I guess,” Vanessa mocked.

“Can’t argue with that one.”

“I love you Charity.” Vanessa said. Her heart ached. She missed Charity like crazy. And their kids. She was starting to hate it at her mum’s. She could feel the coldness in the house starting to fill her up. And then she’d talk to Charity and life would suddenly be breathed back into her.

“Enough to tell me how you’re really feeling?” Charity asked.

Vanessa rolled her eyes. “I told you already I’m fine.”

“Exactly my point.”

“I’m not dead yet. Unless of course you kill me for sic’ing me sister on ya.”

“Reserving the right if you do it again.”

“So noted.”

Charity let the silence linger a beat before she nudged, “Ness…”

Vanessa sighed, “My hands hurt. And my feet. It’s mostly just tingling, like they’re almost numb but not quite.”

Peripheral neuropathy Charity thought, her eyes filling up. She’d read about it. She’d read everything about all of it. And the stuff she hated she tried desperately to push out of her mind. Which was getting harder and harder without Vanessa here.

“I should be with you,” Charity said.

“You should be taking care of the four other people who need us. Even if some of them pretend otherwise. Speaking of. What’s Noah doing?” Vanessa asked,desperate to change the subject and get that look off Charity’s face.

“Is there something he should be doing?”

“Charity.”

“What? He’s been less broody. I even caught him smiling the other day. Course he was winding me up.” Charity shared with a wry smile, “He gets it from you. Wasn’t nearly such a smart ass before.”

Vanessa smiled fondly at that. She’d tried to pull him into some of their banter early on. And she’d seen him light up when Charity had responded.

“Noah’s good though," Charity continued, "Better than Sarah.”

“What’s wrong with Sarah?”

“Not sure. But I’ll find out. She thinks she’s smart but…”

“She’s fifteen. I know I thought I was right brilliant at that age.”

“Good you eventually saw the light. Because that’d been embarrassing,” Charity winked and Vanessa snorted. Then yawned. And Charity frowned.

“Babe, you should have told me you were tired.”

“I’m fine Charity. I wanted to talk to you too.”

“You should go to sleep.” Charity insisted.

“You want me to hang up?” Vanessa asked.

“Not tonight.” Charity paused. “This is all I need babe. Just us. So no more calling your sister, alright?”

“You aren’t the only one who gets to take care of things right now, you know. This isn’t all on you.”

“Yeah, well, you taking care of yourself is taking care of me. Got it?”

Vanessa nodded. She was starting to really get that in a way she hadn’t initially. She propped her iPad on the pillow next to her and settled down under the covers. She was exhausted. And everything hurt. She desperately missed Charity’s warmth and her arms wrapped around her. They made her feel safe. And protected. And loved in a way she’d never imagined possible. She was doing her very best to get better. And if she was also trying to protect Charity from the worst of it, including the news her doctor had shared after she’d resumed treatments post lockdown? That was her choice. Protecting her family fueled her. Made her stronger. More determined to beat this. She’d never wanted to be anyone’s wife before, but all she could think about lately was getting better and marrying Charity. With just the two of them or their family or the entire village around them she didn’t much care. She just wanted the commitment and the rings and the happily ever after with everything in between.

Charity waited for Vanessa’s breathing to even out before she settled down under the covers, her laptop propped up on the nightstand, earbuds in so she could easily listen to the steady sound of Vanessa’s breathing that comforted her and quickly soothed her to sleep.

[misssophiachase]

The Luck of the Draw

For @klaroline-events KC Bingo -  Sketchbook - On FF and AO3

Klaus loses his sketchbook at school and Caroline (his sister’s best friend) finds it. The problem is it contains drawings of her and Caroline has enlisted his help to track down its owner. What could possibly go wrong?

“I need you now.”

“I know I’m amazing, but…”

“Would you just shut up and get in here?’

“If you wanted a tour of my bedroom, all you needed to do was ask, sweetheart.”

“Shhhhh,” she hissed, pulling him inside the room and shutting the door behind them. “Do you want the whole house to hear you, Mikaelson?”

“Says the girl who invited herself into my bedroom.”

“I’ve been trying to get your attention all night. What did you think I was doing under the dinner table?”

“Well, to be honest, I wasn’t exactly sure if that was you or Arabella doing that,” he smirked. Arabella was the Mikaelson’s pet cat. Although friendly, Klaus knew exactly who was doing the rubbing. “Now, is there a point to all the dramatics, Forbes?’

“You infuriate me.”

“Enough with the compliments, love,” Klaus replied lazily, lying on his bed and placing his hands behind his head.

“You promised to help me find, well you know.”

“If we knew who it was you wouldn’t need my help.” Her response was an exaggerated eye roll. “Fine, I don’t have anything for you.”

“Unbelievable.”

“To be fair, you only brought me this proposition a couple of days ago. I need time to track down that kind of information.”

“Okay, calling it a proposition, which it so isn’t, makes it sound untoward,” she shot back. “How difficult is it to ask around?”

“Artists aren’t like cheerleaders and jocks; we do things differently. You know less flashy and more…”

“Sullen and brooding?”

“I personally take offence to that.”

“Says the broody guy who called me flashy,” she muttered. “How difficult is it to ask all your arty people if they’ve lost a sketchbook? One that just happens to have drawings of me on every page.”

Hearing that reminded Klaus just what was at stake here.

Sure, he’d lied when she’d brought him the sketchbook. He’d been looking for it for days when she presented it to him after finding it on the bleachers post cheer practice.

After kicking himself mentally for leaving it in such a public place, Klaus assumed she’d worked out it was his and was madly trying to decide out how to explain himself.

Sure, it probably looked creepy to an outsider, but Klaus had been sketching her for the last two years.

Given Rebekah had told him in no uncertain terms “to keep his mitts off” her friends, he had no choice but to draw her instead. Klaus considered it his way of dealing with his unrequited feelings.

They were worlds apart in the school hierarchy. Caroline was a junior and did pretty much every extracurricular activity on offer. Klaus, a senior, liked his space far too much to go to football games and parties. He much preferred spending time with his few close friends, reading books and drawing.

What he wasn’t expecting was for Caroline to ask his help in tracking down the sketchbook’s owner. At first, he considered coming clean but then had no idea how he’d explain himself so went with the alternative.

Tracking down someone who didn’t really exist.

What Klaus hadn’t expected was to have so much fun being around her. He knew she was beautiful, intelligent and all-consuming but the past few days had given him a glimpse of what could be. Or, given his sister’s views, what could have been.

Although, Klaus wasn’t going to let those thoughts get in the way. He was having far too much fun to stop now. One thing, however, had alluded him. What were here plans once she discovered the secret artist?

“I’m curious, Forbes. What exactly do you plan on doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Once you find your mystery artist, what happens next?”

“I, uh,” she faltered, her blue eyes filled with uncertainty. “I suppose I haven’t worked that out yet.”

“Why’s that?’ Klaus asked, hoping his voice didn’t sound as desperate as it felt. 

“Caroline! Where are you?” Rebekah’s voice pierced the air. Even with his door shut she could still be heard. “I need help removing this face masque before it decides to stick on me for good.”

“Quelle horreur,” he joked in French, earning a knowing smile from her best friend. “Sounds like you better go tend to the screaming banshee given this disaster could rival the Titanic.”

“I’m not finished with you.”

“I kind of figured,” he nodded thinking that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing at all.  With another eye roll and a hair toss for good measure, she made her way towards the door. “Next time try and refrain from accosting me in my bedroom though, love.”

“You wish, Mikaelson,” she retorted, turning around one last time before pulling the door closed behind her. 

He really did wish.

It was only after she’d left, leaving a scent of vanilla and strawberries in her wake, that Klaus realised he already missed her.

2 days later

“What exactly are we doing here?”

“Why are you whispering? This isn’t the library last time I checked.”

Klaus had suggested they stake out the school’s art studio at lunch to try and track down her sketchbook owner. Yes, he was lying, but couldn’t resist being around her without the whole school watching them.

She’d been texting him a lot the past day and they’d fallen into their usual banter via cell phone. If he knew how fun this would have been he’d have started much earlier. 

C: How does someone draw like this?

K: Like what?

C: I always thought my stick figures were lifelike but then I saw these.

K: Stick figures get way too much criticism if you ask me.

C: Now you’re just being facetious.

K: That’s a big word for such a little girl.

C: It’s okay, I’ll buy you a dictionary so you can look it up, Mikaelson.

“So, this is where everything happens?” She asked, looking around at the myriad of paints and brushes, easels and canvases. Klaus liked the art studio, he found it incredibly relaxing and tranquil.

“You mean the painting?”

“No, dumbass, I mean the brooding.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re hilarious?” He teased, swatting her playfully with a paint brush.

“All the time,” she replied deadpan. “I’m thinking of majoring in drama at college.”

“Well, you have that drama queen thing going for you.” She gave him a look which clearly said he’d gone too far. “I’m not saying you’ll win an Academy Award for best dramatic performance though, that has my sister written all over it.”

“I’ve never understood how you two are related,” Caroline mused. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I love Rebekah, but she’s so loud and bossy and you’re…”

“Not?”

“Obviously you missed out on that and she missed out on the smart-ass gene,” she laughed, her whole face lighting up. Klaus loved watching her love, hell he loved watching her do anything.

She was wearing her cheerleading uniform as there was a game that night. Her blonde waves were piled into a high ponytail and the school colours only made her eyes that much bluer.  

“So, how are we going to find this mystery person when no one is here?”

“That’s the whole point,” he insisted. “Take a look around and see if anyone’s artwork looks familiar.”

“Where’s your work?”

“Why?” He asked curiously but also probably too quickly. Was she onto him?

“Well, we’ve known each other all this time and I’ve never seen your work,” she offered. “You must be pretty good if you’re going to RISD after graduation.”

“How do you know about that?” Klaus was shocked, although they saw each other frequently he didn’t think she ever actually saw him. 

“Your sister must have mentioned it,” she murmured. Klaus noticed a slight blush cross her cheeks and decided it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “So, I, uh, guess I should take a look around.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he only just managed to get out. 

“Not many stick figures and here I thought I had a future in art.” 

“I can teach you.” It just came out before Klaus had time to process his offer. Maybe it was a stupid thing to suggest but it was too late now. 

“I might be a lost cause,” she admitted. 

“Come on, let’s give it a try.”

“Now?”

“Well, there’ll be less embarrassment if you draw a stick figure without the judgmental, brooding artist crowd watching.” Before she could argue, he’d moved in behind her, placing a sketchpad on the desk and a pencil in her hand. 

He was trying to ignore just how good she felt against his chest. He noticed her breath quicken, hoping for even just a second that she felt even a shred of what he did for her. 

“Okay, so point the pencil towards the paper,” he instructed, placing his hand over hers and tilting it slightly. Her skin was just as soft as it looked. “This is how you need to hold it.” 

“So, that’s what I was doing wrong all this time,” she teased. He smiled against her hair, thinking just how comfortable he felt, his hand guiding hers gently to the paper. 

Later that night

“I thought football games were a waste of time,” she teased, approaching him on the bleachers. The crowds were long gone, the field empty. “I seem to recall you saying something only a few days ago about cheerleaders and jocks being too flashy.”

“Well, if the shoe fits,” he muttered. “I was bored, what can I say?”

“Did you at least catch my halftime act?”

“I did actually,” he smiled, thinking he quite liked what he saw. The pure athleticism on display was impressive and it didn’t hurt that she looked beautiful doing it. “Those spirit fingers had to be my favourite part though.”

“Uh, huh,” she growled sarcastically. “I knew you were secretly watching Bring It On when you thought Rebekah and I didn’t notice.” 

“In my defence, Finn and Elijah watched it too and I had a crush on the Clover’s Captain.”

“Wow, he even remembers the team name,” she laughed, taking a seat and putting her pom poms down. “You sure do like this spot.”

“Excuse me?”

“On the bleachers. I remember you used to watch me and Rebekah practice before try-outs from here. I could tell you weren’t really interested but it meant a lot that you did it for Rebekah.”

“It wasn’t just for Rebekah, Caroline,” he murmured, his gaze now downward, finally finding her red pom poms a much needed distraction. 

“The reason this spot stands out to me is not just because of that,” she said, moving closer. “This also happens to be where I found the mystery sketchbook.”

“Really? What a coincidence.”

“You know, I don’t think it was, Klaus,” she pressed. “I know it’s your sketchbook.”

“You do?” He asked, finally looking up into her eyes. 

“I’ve known since I found it and looked inside,” she admitted. “It seemed too much of a coincidence that it was in this spot and those sketches were of me.”

“So, you were testing me?” He asked, suddenly put out that she’d known and didn’t feel the need to be honest. Klaus felt stupid enough about her finding them as it was. 

“Maybe,” she murmured. “But not for the reason you think.”

“Why then?’

“Remember in your bedroom the other night, you asked me what I’d say to the person who owned the sketchbook?” He nodded by way of response, unable to get much else out given what was transpiring. “I didn’t know because it was yours.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course I knew what I wanted to say but I guess I but didn’t know if you wanted to hear it,” she admitted. 

“Why would you think that?”

“You didn’t own up to it, I thought maybe you didn’t feel...”

“Feel what?”

“Hey, no fair! You’re the one who drew the most beautiful pictures that, by the way, I’ve only looked at hundreds of times. Which gave me all these feelings and emotions and I’m the only one having to fess up?” She was rambling but Klaus thought it was so adorable it didn’t matter. 

“I think what you wanted to say is exactly what I wanted to say back to you.”

“This conversation has become awfully confusing but what I think you might be trying to say is...”

“I love you, Caroline Forbes.” She was silent for a moment, obviously processing not only his interruption but what he’d admitted. Maybe he’d gone too far?

“Wow,” she whispered. “Way to steal a girl’s thunder.”

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

“How about we stop talking all together and do something else instead?” She grinned, looping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. “But for the record, I love you too.”

“Rebekah is going to kill me, isn’t she?”

“You’re really thinking about your sister right now? Just shut up and kiss me, Mikaelson.”

[tvdversefanfiction]

The Originals 30 Day Challenge, Done in 1 day.

I love all of these 30 day challenge pics/posts/quests but I never have the patience to do it over 30 whole days, so instead I do them in one sitting, one go. 

MY TVD 30 DAY CHALLENGE HERE

Feel free to comment your own opinions about The Vampire Diaries spin-off The Originals, whether it’s your favorite show within the TVDverse like myself or whether you just love it as much as I also love the other two shows TVD and Legacies, Legacies will have its own 30 day challenge soon enough too...

Feel free to answer these too, copy, paste it, like I have and do it for yourself...

1 - If you follow this post, or read any of my TO fanfiction it will come as no surprise to anyone that I’m in love with and very obssesed with Klaus Mikaelson, he will always be my king.

2 - Rebekah Mikaelson, she’s so badass yet has this softness that makes her so compelling at the same time, I worship this queen and often wonder what this show would have looked like if she remained a main star for all of its five season run.

3 - Making me choose between the love of my life Klaus, and the icon that is Rebekah is hard...so hard but I have to go with Rebekah on the grounds that when he hurts Rebekah in any way I’m always mad like no, not my Rebekah, whereas when its the other way around I’m normally like yeah he deserved that from her...Rebekah is the fictional bestfriend of my life and Klaus is the husband, and friends always come before men - side not this very answer will later be used on record when I find myself in an asylum one day lol

4 - I’d have to go with either Marcellus or Inadu, although Marcel is beyond irritating to me throughout most of his run I can’t argue his reasons for being annoying are somewhat justifiable especially after Davina’s death in season 3 :( so I’d say I hated Inadu the most, purely because the character in itself was so wasted, so stale, and a dud to be honest...I was hoping for more with the hollow arc but I’ll get to that later on no doubt.

5 - Season 1 Episode 16, Farewell to Storyville, Season 1 in general was one of the strongest debut seasons for any shows I’ve ever watched, if not the strongest! I loved Rebekah and Klaus’ bond most out of the siblings and although Klaus spends most of the episode trying to kill her and it involves Rebekah leaving as a main character...this has got to be the juiciest exploration of their relationship - also side note young Elijah should have left young Rebekah kill Mikael, just saying...

6 - I could put the entirety of Season 5 in here, minus all the epicness of all the Klaroline scenes and Hayley’s badass death...but to pick one episode out it would have to be the finale “When the saints go marching in” because it just felt like they had spent that season killing off characters who were least likely to appear in Legacies (which pissed me off), also I wanted Klaroline to be endgame and Julie Plec’s response to not doing that because of Steroline, a ship that always felt like Caroline was second place and that queen should be always be 1st. 

I did not like that Klaus and Elijah died, which reminded me visually of that Avengers scene, which made no sense as we have seen originals die before and not once did it go down like that!

And even if I could forgive them for that I was rather pissed we saw no after life, even a Elijah and Hayley dance in the afterlife would have been appreciated...

I’m also always a little bittersweet when folk from the pilot don’t show up in the last episode, would have loved to seen more of Davina in general over seasons 4 and 5.  (Rant over)

7 - Try not to pick a Klaroline scene...never mind, when Caroline first appears, pinning Klaus up against the wall and saying something along the lines of try picking on someone your own size, or the swoony moment in Mystic Falls where she tells him he was never the villain in his story, or again the swoony moment when their road tripping and trying to find Hope... but non Klaroline scenes which were epic, Davina going up against Klaus with the harvest power inside of her, Lucien going upgraded original and taking them all on, Dahlia’s entire arc, the finales of 1,2, 3, and 4 and last but definitely not least kid Hope’s entire arc, what a magnificent actress Summer Fontana is, a star in the making *

8 - “ We are the strongest creatures in the world, and yet we're damaged beyond repair. We lived without hope, but we will never die. We are the definition of cursed, always and forever.” said by Rebekah Mikaelson, all of the Mikaelson’s had epic quotes, this show, and it’s predecessor TVD have so many amazing quotes <3

9 - Klaus handing baby Hope over to Rebekah, trusting her above all others, and any scenes where Klaus, Hayley, Rebekah, Elijah and Kol have with baby Hope as well as kid hope - broody moments lol

10 - Josh’s death, I had feared his death every goddamn season especially knowing Julie Plec wanted him killed in the very first season :( however after being made a regular in the finale season I had hopes for him making it out alive and perhaps showing up in Legacies in a more prominent role as a teacher for the vamp kids or something...but no that woman just had to finish off her hit...nothing breaks me more than his death! Although, reuniting with Aiden in the afterlife gives me small comfort, Aiden’s was another’s death that was so sad!

11 - Kid Hope putting people in their place like Marcel, and even Davina (who I worship), I just loved this little badass kid going about like a little queen from the get go...Danielle Rose Russell had and still has very big shoes to fill IMO

12 - Freya and Elijah condemning Davina to the ancestors, or Elijah who was supposed to love Marcel like a son ripping out Marcel’s heart. A lot of season 4 Elijah annoyed me tbh, 50% of Hayley scenes ticked me off too and Marcel was a solid 90% throughout the entire run.

13 - Hmmm....Klaus meeting his real father then killing him in order to protect Hope as he just could not risk trusting his father :( that broke me, other shocking moments when Gia died, Hayley’s first and second death...

14 - Friendship as in friends but not family? friendship within family would be Rebekah and Klaus always, friendship outside of family bonds I would definitely say either Davina and Josh or Rebekah and Hayley.

15 - Klaroline, although I put myself out here considering they only kissed once in this show...I never shipped Haylijah but never hated it, I despised Camille and the Klamille ship and always will, I enjoyed Elijah and Gia but doubt it run its course well I think, I always thought Rebekah deserved more than Marcel and still do...so I’m going with Kolvina, even though Kol killed Davina, thanks to those damn ancestors, their romance was super sweet, I loved how Kol loved her and their marriage, though briefly seen, was everything! We should have got a flashback of their wedding god damn it! But I’ll settle for them being two of the few who got happy endings...and could appear in Legacies ;) fingers crossed!

16 - I loved Marcel singing How You Like Me Now, I wish Charles Michael Davis had a few more musical numbers within this show, he’s a really talented actor, singer, director...

17 - Joseph Morgan hands down, loved him from his first scene in TVD and loved his other work in Hex and Brave New World, to name a few...

18 - Claire Holt, she’s just wonderful as Rebekah and the actress herself, she seems like such a genuine sweetheart in real life and you can really see her love for the character of Rebekah too, I also liked her other work in A Violent Separation, 47 Meters Down and no I’ve never seen H20...yet

19 - The Originals hands down, although so far TVD is in second place, with Legacies in third place but with Legacies still going I have high hopes for that climbing...all are fabulous shows in their own rights <3

20 - Okay I wouldn’t be me if I did not answer this future episode question without a link to a fanfic season 6 of mines... Origins of Magic and my alternative season 5 Bad Blood

21 - Off the top of my head? Davina and Kol teaching at Salvatore Boarding School, giving Hope some family connections that she severely lacks in Legacies and how awesome would they be as teachers? I’d also like to see a cousin whether it be Freya and Keelin’s son Nik or Rebekah and Marcel adopt a child (creature) that also ends up in Legacies. Side note - may put this in my possible fanfic ideas board...

22 - I don’t think I could claim to be most like any one individual, I’d say I was definitely a little dorky like Josh but nowhere near as adorable, I have a lot of hurt inside of me like Davina and protect my friends as much as I can, I’ve definitely got a bit of paranoia like Klaus from being screwed over many times like him and also like them it was mostly by family members, I’m definitely as curious and of a quiz like nature as Camille, love a little too easy like Rebekah and get my hear broken too often like her too, can be a little bit twistedly playful like Kol although I’ve not killed half as many people ; I’d love to one day be as elegant as Elijah, or as brave as Hayley and who would not want to be a Tribrid like Hope?

23 - How is this any different to 4? Although I’ll just answer Inadu purely because of the waste of potential and how not one single time did I give a damn about her, although I despised that vampire bitch who killed Hayley!!!

24 - I definitely relate to Klaus, Rebekah, Josh and Davina the most which is why they are my favorites no doubt.

25 - Klaus Mikaelson, any day, any time, anywhere, unless of course him and Caroline make it work I love their love more than I love my love for Klaus so I’d be happy just watching them being happy as a stalker lurking in the bushes within the back garden of their marital home - side not another statement that could be put on record for my eventful visit to the asylum..

26 - The family bonds, I love how it’s not all about romances like it is in TVD and so far Legacies, but still has romances at the same time. I love the complicated bonds between Klaus and his siblings Rebekah, Elijah, and Kol (in that order) and I love the little homemade family of Marcel with Davina and Josh (also in that order) and Marcel’s complicated father/son relationship with Klaus.

I also love how we watch Hope from being in Hayley’s womb, to a baby, toddler, child and then teenager and the powers she shows even from as young as being a baby and stopping the car she was in with Cami (even if that did save Cami’s life for a little longer) sorry not sorry we all got to hate on somebody and I did compliment her in 22 sort of lol

27 - The fact that its finale season served more like a prequel to Legacies than a fitting ending to a show I had been invested in since before it even began airing, as most fans were, we have loved these characters since their inception in TVD and it did kind of feel like Julie kind of started the finale season with a hit list in mind killing off anyone she’d think would not cameo in Legacies at some stage which I guess is why there is so much ill will from TO fans for Legacies, which I did feel for a while.

I mean I still blame Hope for Klaus and Hayley’s deaths, also Elijah for Hayley’s death and Marcel for Josh’s but I do not blame the characters have as much as I blame Plec.

28 - Season 5 lol, Season 4 although at the time I did not want it to be its end, would have served as a better ending for TO and they could have still made Legacies work without any ill will of making TO’s finale season pitch Legacies.

29 - The Hollow turning out to be Henrik, or the original witch, or anything other than what is was, also the werewolf origins should’ve have been a bit more epic like the vampires origins were.

30 - I do love Joseph Morgan and Daniel Gillies in interviews, Daniel Gillies is one of the funniest actors behind the scenes and has great bromances with Joseph, Paul Wesley and many others within the TVD verse. I also love Claire Holt’s and Phoebe Tonkin’s friendship and how that’s been a thing since they starred in H20 together (which I want to watch purely because of those two)

[secret-engima]

alyss-spazz-penedo

hey, @secret-engima​, hear me out: what if GILGAMESH became Glaucus' Shield? Like, after the two Murder Brats jumped into the Tempering Grounds and Glaucus has to fish them out, the man takes a moment to chew GIL out for endangering children like that, he SAW that last swing and it was aimed unacceptably close to a vital area, what even is he doing STILL haunting the damn Tempering Grounds anyway when the next worthwhile opponent won't be for literal decades (ie. Gladio)

alyss-spazz-penedo

So Gil is clubbed over the head with the idea that he doesn't actually have to follow 200 years of habit and, like. Ardyn's moved on, is living a life, and Gil KNOWS what's coming and that there's no value to holding his post, killing off idiots, once these people leave bc Cor was the only worthwhile opponent for literal decades. He can... he can take a VACATION.

alyss-spazz-penedo

....He has no idea what to do with a vacation, so he falls back on EVEN OLDER HABITS and is like well let's play Shield for a LC then. And maybe, MAYBE he'd pick Ardyn, but there's just. So much history there. That wouldn't... that wouldn't WORK, it would hurt them both just to try.

alyss-spazz-penedo

Which leaves just one LC available (arguably, bc Titus would absolutely fight him for the position but the brat's too young still. Maybe in a few years). And, Gilgamesh KNOWS what's up with Glaucus-once-Cor-Leonis, might be the only person in the world who DOES know, and that's//

alyss-spazz-penedo

*and that's... that's something I think Glaucus might really need. Just. Someone to help him remember who he WAS,

alyss-spazz-penedo

(Also, the thought of Ardyn and Gil wandering around being terrible at self-care and utter bemused by the world amuses me. Also Besithia would probably be an Utter Scientific Glee)

Me: *deep breath*

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS

BUCKLE UP RAMBLE FICLET INBOUND.

-It starts after the Murder Children are idiots and Glaucus has to come rescue them. Titus and Cor have never been more humbled, confused, and terrified than watching Glaucus snark at a 2k year old potential eldritch abomination and GET AWAY WITH IT. Glaucus actually makes Gilgamesh shuffle in shame when he lectures about how close he came to actually HURTING two of Glaucus’s kids. How dare.

-Then Glaucus takes a long, hard look at Gil and abruptly tells him to take a vacation. It’s not like the world is gonna end if he leaves the Tempering Grounds for a decade or so (Titus and Cor are a Fear™, don’t tell the monster to LEAVE it’s hideout and roam the world Glaucus!!). Gil stares at Glaucus in a stunned silence, Glaucus grunts and walks away, lecturing the two murder children.

-Gil thinks ... long and hard on Glaucus’s words.

-In the end decides it’s a moot point because when he was first cursed to this place he did try to leave a few times but he couldn’t. His curse wouldn’t let him. Pity though ... a vacation had sounded ... nice.

-That’s right around the time Ifrit shows up.

-Now, Ifrit doesn’t like humans, even after giving Glaucus his Blessing for the time-travel thing. He tolerates a few of them, even finds Glaucus and his group funny, but on the whole doesn’t like them. Know what he does like? Screwing over Bahamut. And when Glaucus mentioned Gilgamesh’s curse situation within Ifrit’s earshot (ie said it aloud at all because Ifrit tends to watch them from afar like his only tolerated cable tv channel), Ifrit got IDEAS.

-So Gilgamesh is in his Tempering Grounds, minding his own business and being broody bored when there’s a rush of fire and Ifrit the Infernian is standing there looking ... cunning.

-“Mortal.” Ifrit intones.

-“Not really,” Gilgamesh snarks because he’s a walking suit of armor cursed to live until the Chosen King comes, what’s Ifrit gonna do? Curse him again?

-Ifrit just grins “How would you like to change that?”

-Excuse him?

-Anyway after much smug talking from the Infernian, much sarcasm from Gilgamesh, and some severe bending of the rules of curses with a little shapeshifting magic thrown in for flavor, Gilgamesh kinda- blinks and finds himself outside the Tempering Grounds. In the sunlight.

-For the first time in 2k years.

-Yeah there might have been a panic attack or three. Especially because he now had lungs with which to HAVE a panic attack again. Ifrit had granted him a human form (one-armed and with a scar on his back just like the missing arm of his armor and the rend Titus had made) which technically Ifrit shouldn’t have been able to, except apparently he can just this once because he’s not bothering to use a human disguise and he was GOOD at this kind of magic while the rest of the Astrals were too busy being holier than thou to bother learning human-friendly enchantments.

-Gilgamesh sets off into the wilds, quickly figures out he has forgotten how to maintain an eating or sleeping schedule and he’s probably gonna go into a coma or something if he travels alone. So with a dry smile (that feels so good he HAS FACIAL EXPRESSIONS AGAIN. WOOT.) he sets off for where he can feel the magic of the time-traveling Sword.

-A week-ish after Ifrit shows up, so maybe 2-3 weeks after the Murder Children do their thing, Glaucus is having some “me time” out in the forest (happily murdering things to bring back to camp later without having a nattering crowd on his heels, he loves his idiots and Regis’s group, but sometimes they’re ... a bit much) when all the hairs on his neck prickle. He looks up and sees two red eyes glowing faintly in the shadows.

-The figure steps out wordlessly, hand away from his sword. One arm is missing and the man stands at a massive 7′6″, his eyes are a dark red that glints in the low lightning, his shaggy brown hair is pulled back into half-tail to keep it out of his face, which has scars on the right side from some old fight.

-Glaucus lowers his sword, but doesn’t ease from his stance, “I didn’t know you could look human, Gil,” he says almost flippantly.

-“Had a little help from your pet Astrals,” Gilgamesh retorts, his smile tugging at his scars. His posture is relaxed and non-threatening and almost ... uncertain. Like he isn’t sure what to say or how Glaucus will react.

-Glaucus just looks at him thoughtfully before snorting, “My gang of idiots is not the best place for a vacation.”

-Gilgamesh is blunt and open, “I’ve forgotten how to sleep when the moon rises, when to eat so I won’t pass out. I cannot die until the Chosen King comes into his own, but it is still unpleasant. I also...” he hesitates, “I do not remember how to function without a purpose. To fight. To guard the Grounds. To await the Last Shield. Without them ... I am lost.”

-“So you came to me.”

-“You are the only Lucis Caelum without a Shield.”

-Glaucus sneers “A Sword doesn’t need a Shield,” he scoffs, “and isn’t Ardyn more your speed?”

-Gilgamesh winces, “I have made my apologies,” and hadn’t that been a dramafest when Glaucus dragged the newly purified Ardyn to the Tempering Grounds for Gilgamesh to apologize to him, “but we will never stand united as a Shield and a King. I have broken his trust once, he does not give it a second time. Not in the way he would need for me to be his Shield. Besides,” and now Gilgamesh smiles ruefully, “For all his bite, the young Drautos is more a Shield than the Little Lion will ever be.”

-Glaucus flinches at the far off memory, of promising to be Regis’s second Shield, of protecting him no matter what only to fail. But Gilgamesh did not mean the words as an insult and the man makes a point. For all his recklessness and snark and fury, Titus is protective. His instinct is to kill on behalf of something rather than just to feel the adrenaline in his veins. He is protective of Ardyn, and Ardyn listens to the boy. Glaucus sheaths his sword and flexes his hands, “I don’t know how to have a Shield,” he admits softly, “you know I’m not ... natural.” Not a natural LC, not a born one, a time-traveler added to the line for the sake of the future and nothing more.

-“Neither am I,” Gilgamesh shrugs, “it is nothing to be ashamed of. You have the instincts to forge a Shield Bond imprinted in your very magic. I will swear fealty, and you will command me.”

-“Doesn’t that take trust?” Glaucus points out, “You’ve tried to kill me once before, and I know what you did to Ardyn.”

-A pause. A weighted reply of, “it takes trust. The trust that I will fight by your side and be strong enough to watch your back, that I will voice my opposition but obey your every command. The trust that there is no secret you can hold that will turn me away from you.” The last part is meaningful, pointed.

-They stand there in the increasing gloom of dusk for a long time. A former Leonine Sword and a Cursed Shield.

-Then Glaucus laughs, rough and wild and bloody. His eyes spark silver-bright as his magic reaches out and angrily, possessively tangles around Gilgamesh. It carves away the old, tattered, withered bond he once held with Somnus, a blade cutting away a rotted limb, then coils into place. A silent demand for loyalty, a silent acceptance of all Gilgamesh is and has done. Gilgamesh kneels and swears fealty to a new king, a old lion with glittering claws, and in the quiet of twilight, Glaucus names him Gildas, Gilgamesh’s old name from before he was the Mystic’s Shield, his current name of blood and trials and terror, both cast aside in favor of the new one. A new start.

-Gildas rises and follows Glaucus back to camp.

-While the rest of the groups stare in surprise at the massive, one-armed giant of a man Glaucus comes back with, Ardyn stills. Gildas and Ardyn stare at each other for some time, long enough for Titus to bristle protectively, not quite recognizing Gildas as the unarmored and once-more human Gilgamesh. Then Ardyn smiles, sad and understanding and ... forgiving, and pats the Haven in welcome, “Come, friend, introduce yourself to us and enjoy a meal.”

-Gildas dips his head, submission and gratitude all in one, “I am Gildas,” he rumbles, “and-”

-Glaucus interrupts, a slight, possessive lion’s growl in his voice, “He is my Shield.”

-The camp erupts into chatter and questions and shouting save Ardyn, who just smiles sadly and shuffles over to make room for an old once-friend. They will never be what they once were, will never trust each other like they once did, but Ardyn has always been too forgiving of a soul when the scourge did not turn him bitter, and he knows that Gilgamesh has been trapped in the Tempering Grounds for two thousand years with only the voices of the dead to keep him company as he awaited the Chosen King, just as Ardyn was trapped for two thousand years with only the screaming of the daemons to break the silence. In Ardyn’s mind, Gilgamesh has been punished enough.

-Better to forgive and move on in this new time, than to hold onto grudges two thousand years gone.

[drawlfoy]

Wonders of Ohio P.2

masterlist request guidelines jesus christ this story just flows off the fingertips

pairing: draco x muggle!reader

request: from 14 year old me

summary: instead of having a traditional senior year of high school, american y/n is roped into hosting a british exchange student who is...a bit strange.

warnings: cursing and draco being cold and sad :(

a/n: i’m doing it guys! i’m managing my time! and also i really like writing this for some reason...maybe because i can do shameless self insertion. also sorry for going on “hiatus” and then posting...when i said “hiatus” i really meant “i’m only going to write fics that are easy right now”

tags! @accio-rogers @eltanin-malfoy @geeksareunique 

word count: 2,028

music recs: alright by supergrass, killer queen from queen

The Y/L/N household wasn’t tiny, but it wasn’t a mansion by any definition. There was a guest bed and bath right across from Y/N’s room and bathroom, but that was about it for visitors--no drawing room, no library, no large dining room, no parlor. Her family had hailed from a wealthier family, but after the stock market crash and subsequent policy changes, they had moved out to Ohio and settled down for a proper middle class lifestyle.

Draco Malfoy was clearly unimpressed by the spectacle, and he made his opinion entirely obvious as they moved from room to room of their home, his forest green cloak nearly sweeping the ground next to his dress shoes and his nose upturned.

“And this is your room,” Y/N said. She opened the door, standing by it in a desperate attempt to sell the idea. “I know it’s probably not as big as you’re used to, but you get your own bathroom, so that’s nice.”

Draco stared at her with nothing but disgust written across his face. 

“I’ll leave you be,” said Y/N, noticing how hostile he was being. “If you need anything, I’m right across the hall. Don’t hesitate to ask. You’re not the first exchange student, and while I’ve never personally been one, I can understand more than you’d expect.”

He laughed at this, though there was no humor behind it.  He seemed dead set on staying silent. Frustrated by his lack of response, Y/N snatched his arm and yanked him inside his room, shutting the door behind them and ignoring how violently he ripped himself away from her.

“Allow me to be honest,” she said softly, unable to meet him in the eyes. “I don’t really want an exchange sibling this year. It doesn’t seem like you want to be one, right?”

“Your point?” His voice was clipped and unenthused. 

“My point is that I’m going to leave you completely alone unless you want to be friends, which I don’t think you’re interested in at all. If you want a, uh, friend, I’ll be here for you, but I’m not gonna push it.”

She looked at him, noting how he had backed himself into the corner, his jaw clenched tight. 

“I have a feeling there’s a lot that my mom isn’t telling me about why you’re here, but I guess that’s alright. We’re happy to have you anyways. I’m gonna go now, have a nice nap. And, I, uh, I meant what I said. About being friends if you want us to. It’s probably lonely to be so far away from home, so if there’s anything I can do...” Y/N swallowed, cutting her ramble short. “See you later. I’m gonna go out for a bit.”

He simply nodded, walking over to his bed and sitting down on it awkwardly. Y/N curiously took notice of the fact that he hadn’t so much as touched a phone since they had met. But he was rich...so he had to have one.

She nodded back, exiting the door and making her way to the front door. She needed to get out.

<^>

“He kind of seems like your type though,” Lizzy said, propping her chin up on her palm. “Platinum blonde? Blue eyes? Broody and unapproachable?”

“Literally stop it,” Y/N retorted, rolling up to get another handful of popcorn. “He’s so sick of us already, I can feel it. This is just going to be a question of how long we can tolerate each other.”

“Whatever you say, girly,” she said. “When do we all get to meet him? Do you have to take him to orientation on Wednesday?” 

“You might see him on the first day of school, or maybe you can come over before that. And, yeah, I think my mom wants me to go with him.” Y/N frowned, her nose crinkling. “Which totally sucks. I’m gonna have to get up early to hang around freshman.”

“That’s fair. I could come with you, if you’d like?”

“You don’t need to do that, I can handle him,” said Y/N. “But you should come over tomorrow, we can try and get him to go out on the town with us or something.”

“That sounds fun, but I can’t go,  I’m sorry,” said Lizzy. “Tuesdays are bad for me. And plus, I have to finish the physics summer homework.”

“Ugh, me too,” Y/N groaned, flopping onto Lizzy’s bed. “I never should’ve gone in for a second year. Physics is gonna be the death of me.”

“Speaking of death...” Lizzy leaned over to look at the clock. “I feel like it right now. I had a bad night...I was up late talking to Jonathan again, you know. I’m really tired. Let’s plan to meet up this Thursday? Before school?”

“Oooh, Jonathan.” Y/N grinned at her, wiggling her eyebrows. “I expect a full update on that later. I’ll go home then and start on physics, then.”

They finished saying their goodbyes, and Y/N stepped out into the early September night, the air still warm with the last of summer.

<^>

When she arrived home, she was immediately met by her mother, who motioned for her to come into the kitchen, a finger poised to her lips. 

“What is it, Mom?” Y/N asked, keeping her voice a hushed whisper. “Is he still sleeping or something?”

“No, I think he’s taking a shower right now. His luggage came just before you, so he told me he was going to unpack it.” Mrs. Y/L/N poured some leftover coffee into a mug, stirring half & half in the brown drink. “I just wanted to let you know something and check in. You can’t tell anyone about this, alright? Not even Lizzy. Do you promise?”

“Yes, of course I promise!”

“Shh. Okay.” Her mother took a sip from the mug and took a seat at the cheery yellow coffee table. “I was just given more information on Draco’s situation back home. It looks like it was much worse than we were originally told.”

“How bad?”

“Quiet, Y/N. But, yes, very bad. His father is imprisoned in some foreign facility where no familial contact is allowed.”

Y/N gasped. “What?”

“And it doesn’t look like he’s every getting out,” Mrs. Y/L/N finished, stirring her drink even though the milk was already evenly distributed. “He doesn’t seem very nice, and I suspect that that’s an accurate depiction of his character, but promise me that you’ll be nice to him. The boy has been through enough already, and that’s only concerning the things we know.”

“Is there more, do you think?”

“I know there’s more,” Mrs. Y/L/N answered darkly. “I’ve asked questions that they refuse to answer. But his personal experience back home is none of our concern. What matters now is that we give him a good place to stay while everything else is figured out.”

Y/N, speechless, fell into the chair next to her mother and reached out for the coffee mug.

“Ugh, I shouldn’t let you drink this at night,” her mother chastised. 

“You sound like you’re talking about a dog,” Y/N said. She took a small sip, setting the cup back down and sliding it over before her mother could give her any more lip. In doing so, she caught a glimpse of movement in the doorway, just out of her line of sight. Curious, she turned her head and promptly met a pair of very stormy grey eyes.

“Oh...H-hey, Draco,” Y/N greeted, plastering a smile across her face. “How long have you, uh, been here?” Her mother lightly kicked her shin under the table.

The blonde was propped up against the doorway, his hair looking almost grey with the water it was dripping. “I was just coming down to ask for a glass of water.” 

“Oh, of course!” Mrs. Y/L/N was on her feet before Y/N knew it, bustling towards the cabinets. “You don’t even need to ask next time. The glasses are in here, and the water’s in the fridge...and of course there’s Y/N’s cabinet of tea here...”

“Mom!” Y/N butted in, her cheeks flaming. “You can’t just stereotype him like that!”

“Hush, you have more than enough to go between the two of you.”

“That’s not the point!” 

Draco was still leaned on the door, watching the interaction like one might watch a particularly boring color of paint dry. 

“Would you like some tea, Draco?” asked Mrs. Y/L/N.

He turned to look Y/N right in the eyes, a smirk forming across his face. “Yes. Thank you for asking.”

Y/N glared at her mother and strode over to the drawer, motioning for Draco to come too. “Pick whatever you want. I’m relieved to know that my mother’s cultural insensitivity didn’t offend you.”

“Now, when did I say that?” Draco drawled, towering over her as he flicked through the various packages of loose leaf teas. 

“Draco, I offer my most heartfelt apologies if I have,” her mother said, her voice becoming more distant as she walked out of the room. “If you two will excuse me, I’m going to call your father to arrange his pickup at the airport tomorrow. Goodnight!”

Y/N was left to awkwardly stand next to Draco as he was preoccupied with the selections available. It felt wrong to leave him alone--he didn’t even know where the kettle was kept--but at the same time, it was very uncomfortable to stand next to him in silence.

“I know about your father.”

The sentiment rushed out of her mouth before she could stop it, and the second she had done so, she knew it was a mistake. Draco’s entire body tensed up, his hands now frozen. 

“What about my father?” His voice was harsh, but the beauty of his accent was not left on Y/N.

“I mean,” she rushed out, “I’m sorry to hear what happened. I only heard that he was being held in a facility without any contact to you or your mother...and I just wanted to say that I’m sorry that that had to happen to you.”

He frowned, plucking a bag of tea and throwing it on the counter. 

“And I know that there are things that I’ll never understand,” she continued, “But  I guess I kind of get what it’s like to not have a father. Mine’s gone all the time on business. But it’s not like he’s in pris--Yeah, you know what, nevermind. I don’t understand. But if you ever need someone to talk to...”

She trailed off, noticing how murderous his look was and swallowed. “Yeah, uh, if you ever want someone--”

“You’re here? I understood it the first time, thank you,” he clipped. “Where’s your kettle?” 

Y/N pointed to the cabinet below the drawer. “Right below the tea, if it’s not being cleaned.” She thought she did a very good job at pretending like what he said didn’t hurt. 

Draco snatched the kettle and filled it with water before puzzling over the stove.

“Don’t worry about that, it’s a little confusing for the first time,” Y/N said, darting next to him and demonstrating how to flick it on. She acted like she didn’t notice him flinch at the close proximity. “And mugs are by the glasses, but I’m sure you saw that..before. Uh, anyways.”

She gulped again, stepping away from him to lean nonchalantly on the table behind her. “Your parents let you get a tattoo?” Desperate to change the subject, she pointed to the tiny peek of ink on his left arm, exposed by his jumper riding up. 

He stiffened up, and Y/N knew that she had once again made a mistake. 

“No. They didn’t.”

“So you just did it on your own accord? That’s pretty metal.”

“I don’t have a tattoo,” he snapped, yanking his sleeve down. He seemed to take the time to collect himself again, drawing in a long and shaky breath. “And if I may be so bold to ask, can I enjoy my tea alone?”

“Uh..yeah, yeah, sure. Sorry about that.” Forget that Y/N didn’t know exactly what she was apologizing for (existing in her own kitchen?), she wanted to get out of that situation. “Goodnight, Draco.”

He sent her an irritated glance in return. 

final a/n: ohhh gee i sprained my ankle really badly and now i literally can’t walk so you know what that means...more fic

[reluctantly-plus-ultra]

So....I'm literally in love with your rei&lov stuff and wanted to ask if you're still taking scenario suggestions? In case you do; how about dabihawks, in which dabi figures out/always knew that hawks is actually a spy but convinces hawks to actually become a villain? Or literally any hawks&shouto interaction in which they talk for some reason(internship?) And bc of that hawks figures out that dabi=touya and endevour=horrible and has kinda a breakdown? (Bonus points of shouto already knew) Thx

First of all, thank you so much! I’m definitely still taking requests- sorry this one took a while to post, but I’ve been in finals this past week and things have been hectic. Second, I’m going to have to apologize in advance because I saw all of your awesome suggestions here and instead of tackling this like any sane person would by choosing one thing to write about, I decided to write all of them in one request… So in other words, this sucker is LONG. Anyway, without further ado, enjoy the piece!

[REQUESTED] DABIHAWKS: DARK SIDE

- All it takes is one boy being saved for everything to go absolutely batshit crazy.

- Keigo “Hawks” Takami is a cunning man, ruthless when it comes to intelligence, speed, determination. He’s been trained- raised his whole life to be the personification of the perfect working hero: instinctive, quick, capable of wearing as many masks as it takes to get the job done and hiding all of that deadly capability behind a warm, smiling face that keeps him the darling of the public eye. 

- And yet, despite his wit, despite his impeccable skill for analysis, despite every sign that should have given him a few warning bells about this situation, Hawks had stumbled in completely blind. Nothing could’ve prepared him for this.

- It had started off as nothing more than a basic street brawl. Hawks had taken the day to patrol with Enji and Shouto, the young man having returned to his father’s agency for his internship. In fact, it was mostly because of Shouto that Hawks had decided to head out with Endeavor in the first place- he was curious about the youngest Todoroki. The boy already had a pretty impressive reputation regardless of the fact that he hadn’t yet gone pro, and Hawks was curious to see whether or not he would hold up in person.

- So when they’d gotten the call that there was a robbery four blocks away and that a fight had broken out in the square, he hadn’t given two thoughts about it, really. Hell, the kid had faced off against the League shortly after entering his first year and come out without a scratch. He could take a couple amateur thugs no problem.

- And at first, things actually go really well. Shouto’s got some serious skill, and it doesn’t take long for them to get the situation sorted out-

- That is, at least, until a few familiar faces show up.

- Hawks swears he’s going to kick Dabi’s ass into next week when he, Toga, Compress and Twice all round the corner and straight into the whole mess. Like, it’s bad enough that now he’s going to have to put up a fight with them, but for fuck’s sake the last thing he needs is to be gearing up to face them while also trying to put on a nonchalant expression as Toga starts laughing her ass off at the sight of him being there.

- So of course shit goes sideways and a second fight breaks out. Hawks has never been more thankful of Twice, because the man just keeps sending clone after clone his way and it’s keeping him busy enough that he doesn’t have to throw punches at any of the others. After all, the League had just started warming up to him, and he really doesn’t want to be sending anybody home packing black eyes on his account.

- But that also leaves three villains against two Todorokis, and while that still shouldn’t be a problem, it turns out to be.

- In hindsight knowing what he’d come to learn much later, maybe it was the way Endeavor barked the boy’s name. Maybe it was how he’d whipped around so suddenly the flames on his body guttered and flared. Maybe it was even just the simple matter of having his arm raised when he turned.

- Either way, whatever he’d been going to tell his youngest child goes unsaid, be it advice or otherwise.

- All Hawks knows is that it takes a full two seconds for Endeavour to shout his son’s name, to wheel around to face him, arm still rigid above his head from the last burst of flame he’d sent at Compress, hand exploding into a raging blaze once more- and then Dabi is fucking sprinting.

- And at first, Hawks almost goes after him because it seems like the fire-user is about to take out Shouto and quite frankly, it didn’t matter who you are: going after a child is a low blow, plain and simple.

- So when he dispatches Twice’s next clone in a messy hurry and moves to follow, he’s stopped dead in his tracks by a display he never thought he’d witness: the patchwork villain yelling “Sho!” so loudly his voice cracks before quite literally hauling the young hero behind him and bracing his free arm in front of them both in a gesture that is so inherently and naturally defensive it makes Hawks pause.

- Half a second later, there’s an explosion of blue fire so fierce and bright that it’s damn near blinding. It takes a few moments for the winged hero to blink the light from his eyes, but when he manages to do so, it is only to take in the sight of three faces equally painted in horror.

- And here’s the thing; Hawks expects some kind of reaction from Shouto, so the fact that he’s still stunned and unmoving behind this villain isn’t exactly a surprise. Hell, he expects a reaction from Dabi too, because that degree of defensiveness, that scale of fire, the sheer desperation in his movements seconds before the explosive blast- it’s so unlike him, especially over some hero’s son?

- But it’s when Enji Todoroki blanches just as pale as the other two, eyes wide as Shouto’s, hands shaking like Dabi’s, that Hawks feels an uncomfortable clench in his gut. That feeling persists, too, as the fighting stops around them, and everything falls into silence, ashes falling down around them like snow. It’s the first time that Hawks has noticed that the walls of the surrounding buildings have been scorched black from the heat, smoke still rising in the air. 

- There’s blood leaking down Dabi’s face, his arms, past his burnt jacket sleeves and the collar of his shirt. He’s in pain, Hawks can tell, even from where he’s standing. That move took a lot out of him- 

- But there’s also no way he wouldn’t have known that before doing it, and that raises more than a few questions.

- All three men look like they’re reliving some kind of flashback, some kind of memory or unanimous nightmare. It’s Shouto who speaks first, voice wavering, and even then it’s only one word, indistinguishable from their current distance- but it’s enough to snap Dabi out of whatever reverie he’s in and cause him to snarl and bolt.

- Nobody goes after him, not even Endeavor, and in seconds the patchwork man is gone, lost to the shadows and alleys. Being realistic, it would take Hawks less than a minute to soar up above the buildings and scout him down, demand some answers, but Twice is quicker to the punch.

“Let us handle this for now- you can take of him later, I’m not handling his broody side.”

- The rest of the League is in the process of disappearing as well as Hawks makes his way up to the pair of still shell-shocked heroes, quirking an eyebrow and tugging at a few feathers that got bent in his fight.

- “You want to tell me what that was all about? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

- The hard glint in Enji’s eye as he glances at him and then spins around on his heel without a word, walking in the opposite direction is all the confirmation he needs to know that maybe they have.

- Days pass. It had been hard enough not asking questions for the rest of their patrol but when, four days later, Endeavor still won’t give him the time of day and Dabi won’t respond to any of his texts and calls, Hawks has had about enough.

- Aizawa’s not exactly thrilled about the Number Two hero calling in to ask if he can take part of the morning to talk to Todoroki about some of the events of their last patrol, but he presses that it’s important, and Aizawa eventually gives in on the grounds that it’s safer for them to talk at the school about mission work than anywhere else, really.

- And that’s how he and the dual-quirked boy end up facing one another over cold coffee in the otherwise vacant teacher’s lounge, Shouto guarded as ever, and Hawks feeling a bit nervous despite the circumstances. Truth being told, he isn’t sure what he’s looking to find here, exactly, but the whole situation has been burning a hole in his stomach for half a week, and something about it really isn’t sitting right.

- “…This is about the whole… Incident with him, isn’t it?” Todoroki asks eventually, tone flat, and Hawks has to admit that he’s chosen some interesting phrasing.

- “Pretty much, yeah,” Hawks scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, unsure where to even start. The whole thing seems pretty absurd. The youngest Todoroki hums and sips at his cold coffee, the light rippling of the liquid being the only thing betraying the slight tremour of his hands.

- “If you have questions, why not ask him instead?” Hawks immediately wrinkles his nose at that.

- “Who, Endeavor? Something tells me he wouldn’t be the most willing audie-”

- “Not Endeavor.” Shouto fixes his cup back on its saucer before turning curious but carefully blank eyes on him, “Dabi. You two seem close enough for it.”

- Well, fuck.

- Hawks’ brain is going a mile a minute trying to figure out how Shouto managed to put two and two together. There’s no way he’d figured it out from that patrol day- they hadn’t even interacted at all, and Hawks had been careful not to mention the patchwork villain around any of the other heroes so as to not raise suspicion with his mission, or to have anyone go snooping too deeply into something that could also get him in a huge deal of shit. 

- Not really knowing how else to play his cards but to try and save face, Hawks squints and shakes his head at the boy in confusion, hoping the “dumb-bird” act will save his ass. Underneath the surface, though, he can feel the pinpricks of an impending anxiety attack, the boy’s blunt and unexpected words having shredded every assumption of caution that he thought he’d put up. Hell, if Shouto has figured things out this far, has he also figured out Hawks’ connection to the League? Has he told anyone else? The Commission is going to skin him alive when they found out-

- “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about,” Hawks tries, grimacing at the end of the statement for effect, “Unless you’re meaning because I didn’t intervene when everything went down and help you guys out- sorry about that by the way, but I figured you two would have everything under control, and when all the fighting stopped, I just froze.” He shrugs, trying his best to look sheepish, “It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes when the shock is great enough I’m more of a natural freezer than a reactor. Probably some kind of weird bird thing.”

- Shouto regards him for a solid second, unblinking, before cracking a small smile.

- “You’re a good liar.” He says simply, before sipping his coffee again. “But that’s not what I’m talking about at all.”

- Those pinpricks return again, and Hawks’ wings flutter somewhat nervously on their own accord. He resists the urge to let them expand just to give himself a bit more of a size advantage, and instead tries playing it off again. Shouto’s eyebrows raise at the attempt, and it’s with almost exaggerated disbelief that he sets his cup down for the second time and announces, in that odd, cool way of his, “So you just let any villain wear your feathers, then?”

- Hawks chokes on his coffee.

- This time, he legitimately does not know what the hell Todoroki’s talking about, but it turns out that the observant teen had caught sight of a long stretch of cord that had shifted somewhat out from under the other man’s loose shirt when he spun around to run.

- And there’s nothing weird about that in itself. Dabi’s kinda a jewelry guy, and Heaven knows he’s got enough piercings to prove it. But when Todoroki gets to mentioning that there was a small red feather on the end of the rope, Hawks can’t help but flush pink just a little bit because he’d left that feather as a calling card to tell the other man he’d broken into his apartment two weeks ago and he’d gone and strung it on a necklace what an absolute fucking dork-

- “I don’t think Endeavor saw,” Todoroki continues absently, “So it’s just me that knows, and I don’t want any of the details,” He looks at Hawks solemnly again, this time his voice growing quieter, “I’ll keep your secret, but forgive me for using it to make sure you keep mine.”

- Hawks examines him for a slow moment, fully aware that neither of them are moving, and the air is growing tense. This boy could bring his career crashing down around his ears with a few words muttered in the right direction, and yet Hawks is inclined to believe him when he says he’ll keep a secret. With a sigh, the winged hero extends a hand.

- “Deal.” He agrees, shivering at the contact of ice on his palm, Todoroki apologizing for the slip under his breath. “Now, what’s this secret, then?”

- Shouto chews his lip for a moment before sitting back in his seat, hands clenched into fists.

- “I need to tell you a story.”

______________________________________________________

- An hour later, the entire fucking world has been turned on its head, and nothing is ever going to be the same.

- Shouto Todoroki sits quietly for a moment, before calmly reaching out for his coffee cup again, more for the simple grounding action of holding it than anything else. The silence in the room is stifling, especially after the burrage of information Hawks has had dumped on him in the last sixty minutes, and his brain is still sluggishly trying to process most of it.

- “He’s… He’s your brother?” The hero manages eventually, mouth feeling dry, stomach churning. That panging ache in his stomach that he’d felt before has returned tenfold, and it takes everything in Hawks’ apparent willpower to not run for a garbage bin and puke from all the nausea. 

- Todoroki won’t meet his eye, and Hawks doesn’t blame him- after everything that’s been revealed at this coffee table, he’s not sure he could look the younger man dead in the face without breaking down in some way. Seeing his scar, mentally comparing it to Dabi’s many, brain running lists of all their similarities and those lists coming up remarkably long.

- The worst of it is the carpet that got all but torn out from under his feet as Shouto had explained what his father had put them all through, his involvement at home, how they had assumed for so long that their oldest sibling had died, and that it had been their father’s fault, no different than Rei’s hospitalization and, by extension, Shouto’s burned eye. It’s this news that curdles his stomach more than anything, makes his blood freeze in his veins.

- He can already tell that when he allows that news to settle, it’s going to hit like a bombshell, but he can’t do that in front of Shouto, so he pushes it to the back of his mind for now until he can handle it later and instead tries to focus on the subjects that he thinks can be safely discussed.

- Todoroki just nods, seemingly spent on this whole ordeal as well, and also not really knowing what to do with it. 

- “I’d had some suspicions,” He admits softly, fiddling with his hands, “But I didn’t want to think on them too closely or get my hopes up- he was dead, or supposed to be anyway. And then that patrol happened, and… I don’t remember much of him, really. The memories are all hazy. I was so young- but he used to call me Sho as a nickname when we were kids. When he ran out in front of me though, I…”

- “You remembered it wasn’t the first time.” Hawks concludes, and Shouto nods again, his shoulders slumping.

- “It was exactly the same,” He murmurs softly, “And it just… Triggered memories of all of these things I’d forgotten, but now they’re all coming back, and I don’t-” He sighs in frustration, taking a deep breath to rein in his thoughts, “I don’t know what to do because he’s not dead anymore, but at the same time, I’m not sure that he’s really alive either. That part of him that I knew might be gone entirely- I’m willing to believe that his actions during our patrol were out of memory reflex more than anything.”

- But Hawks is already thinking about all of those times that Dabi has helped Toga arrange her hair into buns when it’s being too stubborn, and the almost-petty sibling banter he slings back and forth with Shigaraki sometimes just to get a rise out of him. There are other habits too, just little things here and there, but the more Hawks imagines Dabi being a former sibling, the more connections he sees.

- They clean up their dishes quietly, dirty laundry aired, secrets hanging heavy. Before they leave, though, Hawks turns back to Todoroki one last time.

- “You know I can’t bring him back, right?”

- It’s a harsh reality, but a very real one. Quite frankly, Hawks suspects that there’s a lot of the person Todoroki remembers in this new Dabi figure, but no matter how much of that remains, no matter how many different and surprising and kind, soft, gentle, loyal angles Dabi has, it doesn’t change the fact that he is first and foremost a villain. That takes precedence over anything, and there’s really no turning back from it, not now, and not after the extent he’s gone to. Shouto nods, hair falling in his face, though Hawks can see through the fringe that his eyes are clear. There’s no judgement, no upset. He’s more than aware, and something in Hawks’ chest twinges again at how quickly this child had to grow up, seeing the world with such adult eyes.

- There’s something else still tickling the back of his mind, and at first he hesitates to ask it. Shouto’s been through enough today as it is, and he doesn’t want to push too far, but at the same time, he’s dying to know. There’s this sense in him that it’s probably important, and Hawks has long ago learned better than to ignore his gut.

- “One more thing- what did you say to him that day? Right before he ran?”

- Shouto’s hand freezes on the doorknob, literally freezes on the doorknob, ice crawling over his fingers. For a second, Hawks is considering apologizing and moving on, afraid that he’s overstepped a boundary. But then Shouto’s grip on the handle eases, and the ice crackles and falls away from his hand, falling to melt in the fibres of the carpet underfoot.

- “Touya. I called him Touya.”

- They leave the room and don’t look back.

_______________________________________________

- Hawks walks Shouto back to class, only to pull Eraserhead outside for a moment and explain nothing more into the situation than that the youngest Todoroki experienced some stressful things during their last patrol, and that after their discussion that morning, it probably wouldn’t hurt to have him take the rest of the day off just to recuperate a little.

- And with any of the other teachers, he might have been hit with a hardass no, but this is Shouta Aizawa, and if there’s anything that man cares more about than cats, coffee, and the occasional witty remark, it’s rest and his students. As much as he likes to deny it, he keeps a better eye on those kids than they know, and he’s caught Todoroki acting a bit more reserved than normal, less concentrated. He nods slowly, dismisses Hawks with a casual comment about wasting his time, and goes to fetch Shouto from the classroom again.

- The winged hero leaves to the sound of Aizawa telling Shouto that he’ll get a notes package done up for him for the day, and to go rest. There’s some muffled arguing before the older man makes some statement about mental health that effectively shuts Shouto up and sends him back in the direction of the dorms, Hawks grinning to himself the whole way down the hall, until he can no longer hear the two. Shouto Todoroki has had one hell of a life, that much is certain, but nobody can deny that he’s in good hands now and that itself is a relief beyond words.

- That being said, it takes all of ten seconds upon returning home to his apartment and getting the door shut behind him, before Keigo Takami all but collapses on the hardwood and begins to sob. Once the tears start flowing they just won’t stop, and there’s this kind of warm, gentle light streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling-windows that seems to just encourage the outpour even more. 

- Were anyone to see him at that exact moment, they’d probably think it made an interesting picture, the Number Two hero weeping on his knees, wings spread about him like some kind of devastated creature of God, light pouring down his shoulders and face as though his halo had melted and dripped like tear stains over his skin. There’s this burning, raw sensation inside him that just won’t ease, and as he lies there, a crumbled statue of a once proud Icarus, he lets the truth rage over him like wildfire, lets the heat of it all melt the wax and burn the feathers, and feels it pull him into a drop he’s not sure how to recover from, or if he ever will.

- There’s this war raging inside him on how to feel, a million emotions crushing his chest all at once. The first that hits him is disgust, disgust for this man that he had looked up to for so long, who had been a hero to him even when he’d had nothing, nobody, not even a dream. He had put so much faith in him, had defended him at every turn, had stood by him as a colleague, watched his back, taken wounds to keep him safe. This was the man he’d bled for, if he deserved to be called a man at all.

- But the emotions that follow after this are so rapid-fire, they’re almost impossible to keep track of, aside from the pain- the pain lingers and grows, makes itself known in every damned crevice of his being. There’s betrayal, both to the person he is now, and to the young child who’d cheered the fire hero on, who he’d wanted to impress so badly. There’s sadness for the world he thought he knew, for the person he thought he knew, and all of that being stripped away to reveal something so much more grim and ugly. Grief for the loss, mourning for the death of something he’d seen as a foundation to his person, the pain so strong throughout.

- One of the worst, though, is the anger. When the anger arrives, it isn’t in a gradual wave like the other feelings had been, full of upset and still-numb disbelief. When the anger arrives, it is as a battering ram of rage that burns so fiercely in his core, he wants to scream. Rage for Shouto Todoroki, rage for Rei Todoroki, rage for Fuyumi and Natsuo, and damn it all, blistering, agonizing rage for Touya Todoroki and the unjust cards he was dealt. When the anger arrives, it’s with the passion of a man who has longed for family his whole life, and can’t imagine how an individual could so carelessly ruin what another would die for.

- When the anger arrives it stays, and it leaves Hawks trembling on the floor long after the tears have stopped rolling, after the damp spots on his cheeks have dried, after the pain has stopped clawing at his throat, and taken up permanent residence in his heart instead.

- And that’s how Dabi finds him three hours later as night starts setting in, and the light from the windows has faded, the warmth in the floorboards gone. Hawks is so out of it, so physically and emotionally exhausted, that he doesn’t even hear him come in, only notices him when the tall man crouches down in his line of vision, concernedly snapping his fingers in his face.

- Somehow the sight of him just manages to drive the knife in deeper, and he has to take a deep breath to keep his composure. Dabi’s eyebrows are drawn together in worry at the scene, hands beginning to rapidly check him all over for wounds of some kind before Hawks weakly bats his hands away, protesting. The cremation villain sits back on his heels, unimpressed, and flicks the other man’s forehead.

- “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all afternoon- why weren’t you picking up your phone, dumbass? I thought something must have happened.”

- The irritation in his voice thinly covers his relief, and Hawks can only manage to blink up at him once or twice before clenching his eyes shut altogether. He doesn’t mention that Dabi hasn’t responded to any of his messages until today either, figures a fight isn’t what either of them need right now.

- “I talked to Shouto today,” He says quietly, voice so hoarse from crying, it’s almost hard to listen to. Dabi stiffens, but doesn’t turn away or make a sound, so Hawks continues, “He told me… Everything. Everything that happened, everything that that bastard did,” Hawks takes another steadying breath, choosing not to look Dabi in the eye for this part, “He knows who you are- I know about that part too. And that’s fine, really, it is; I won’t call you by that name or anything if you don’t want me to. I just… I can’t believe that I looked up to him so long, and he was doing all of this and nobody knew-

- And suddenly it’s all spilling out all over again, and there are more tears, but much less than last time, a slow and steady trickle compared to the earlier downpour. Dabi doesn’t do anything but listen as the minutes pass, as the sky grows steadily darker and they’re left in the kitchen with no lights on, almost silhouettes in the room. Somehow, it feels comforting- Dabi has a way of making shadows feel less like threats and more like hiding places, and Hawks has never felt it more strongly than now.

- But it isn’t until he’s done his tirade that he realizes his most crucial mistake- that in confessing all of this, he’s just botched his own story of being done with the hero world, the lies that he’d given Dabi when they first met. He’s just outed himself as a turncoat. And not only that, he’s just outed himself as a turncoat to a villain who is still kneeling over him in a dark room, and who would have literally nothing stopping him from crisping the winged hero right there, not even Hawks himself. Fast as he is, he doesn’t think his reflexes will save him quickly enough in this state, and all it will take for him to be completely defenseless would be Dabi moving his hands an inch or two forward to light his wings on fire, exposed as they currently are.

- He can feel the panic building in his chest as Dabi stays silent, breathing picking up a few notches before he’s suddenly scrambling to get into a less vulnerable position, trying to make out Dabi’s expression in the dark. Maybe if he can get out a window fast enough, he’ll be able to catch a draft and soar out of the way- it’s his best bet, but the kitchen island is against his back now because he scooted too far back, and there’s no way for him to get to a window without either getting through Dabi or-

- The panic attack that he was feeling earlier decides to kick in at this exact moment, and that’s when Hawks realizes that if Dabi wants him dead, he’s dying in this room. All of his instincts and nerves are shot, he has no sense of coordination, he can’t see, the dark no longer feels safe-

- The lights come on, and Hawks glances up sharply from his position against the island to see Dabi with his hand still on the lightswitch, expression hard to read, but not the crazed, maniacal look Hawks would have expected to receive if the villain were planning to outright kill him. He watches as the other man slowly walks forward, gaze locked, until he kneels so closely on the floor in front of him that if Hawks so much as slid his knees a centimetre forward, they’d be hitting Dabi in the chest.

- His heart is hammering so fast, he’s sure he’ll either hyperventilate or pass out at any given second, body trembling, brain unable to focus. He manages to force his eyes closed as Dabi extends a hand out, certain that he’ll be feeling those blue flames crawling his skin the second they get close enough to burn. The flames never come.

- Dabi’s fingers trail across his temple, brushing back a few strands of sweaty hair, before going to cup his cheek entirely. The action is so uncharacteristically tender that it causes Hawks’ eyes to flash open again, the scarred man looking at him with intent eyes.

- “Take a few deep breaths, pretty bird.” He says calmly, not even flinching when Hawks’ hand comes up to clench hard on the patchwork man’s bicep.

- “You took all of that info rather well,” Hawks states, almost accusingly, through gritted teeth. His breathing is starting to slow, heartbeat becoming less erratic, though Dabi’s sudden smirk isn’t helping anything.

- “I’ve known that you weren’t legit from the first day,” He scoffs, looking a touch of smug, but also somewhat offended, “Give me more credit than that, sweetheart. This isn’t news.”

- The simple, familiar arrogance of it all forces a sharp laugh from Hawks’ throat, and against all odds he can feel the adrenaline draining from his system, beginning to relax again. 

- “You’re such an asshole, you know that?” Said with a tired grin. ‘I’m relieved this one corner of my world isn’t crumbling down too.’

- “Only time you’ll catch me alive saying guilty as charged.” Said with a smile as crooked as a broken law. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

- They wait like that just a few minutes longer, listening to the hum of the overhead lights, nothing needing to be said for those moments at least. Then, once Hawks has calmed down enough to relocate, they move to the couch.

- “So,” Dabi is the one to begin this time, throwing his lanky form across the whole sofa and stretching out well enough across it that his head can rest on one of the arms, his ankles dangling off the other. “You know about my shitty childhood. I`d rather not talk about that any more tonight, honestly.”

- Hawks, appreciative that he seems to be willing to let to matter of the anxiety attack drop completely, chooses to take a seat on the middle cushion, leaning back against Dabi’s hip as a support and letting his wings fall over the back of the sofa and behind it. The longest feathers drag on the floor from this height, and Dabi watches for a second as Hawks flares them temporarily to adjust his wings in a better position before continuing. “And I know about you not being true to the League. Anything else you’d care to hash out while we’re in the sharing mood?”

- “Yeah, actually,” Hawks shoots him a look and raises an eyebrow, “If you knew I was lying, why the hell did you keep me around?”

- Dabi goes entirely still, one hand subconsciously draping across his chest, and Hawks remembers the comment Shouto made earlier about the necklace. He wonders if the villain is reaching for it now.

- “You don’t ease into anything, do you?” He asks eventually with a chuckle, Hawks’ answering grin speaking for itself. “Alright, it’s… I guess, you know when you’re in a deep body of water and your head goes under, and it kind of hits you that you could drown there? And the first thing you do when you see it is reach for the light?” Hawks nods even though he’s always had an aversion to swimming due to the weight of his wings and has never been close enough to drowning to truly know. “It’s… Fuck, I’m trashing the hell out of this, but it’s like that. I could tell I was sinking, and I didn’t give a shit. And then you showed up, and I knew right off the bat that you were lying to my face, but for once, there’s this light right in front of me, close enough to reach for. I never really meant for it to be more than that.” He paused for a second before adding, “But there was something about the fact that you were batshit crazy enough to walk into the wolves’ den for your cause, and you just kept coming back. You had to know we’d figure it out eventually, and when we did you’d be done, but you kept trying anyway.” Dabi grins slightly, fingers definitely closing around the necklace this time, “That’s real hero shit. I’d spent so long hating all of them that I’d forgotten they weren’t all like the one I grew up with. And I can’t ever be like you, I’m not hero material, but… Reaching for that light here and here, it makes me feel like maybe I can be more than this someday.”

- He didn’t expect this kind of response. He didn’t expect this kind of honesty, barbless and vulnerable and kind. He didn’t really expect to find himself moving to straddle Dabi’s waist so he could be in a better position to kiss him, either, but that happens as well.

- Wordlessly, Hawks tugs Dabi’s hands from his necklace, and settles them on his hips, the winged hero pressing his own palms to either side of the villain’s scarred face, leaning forward to rest their foreheads together. He can feel Dabi’s breath against his mouth and cheeks as the other man lets out a soft exhale, his skin carrying that familiar slight chill that it always does, cooler still where his fingers rest on staples. He could stay in this forever, this moment, safe and sure and grounded. It isn’t until Dabi pulls away from him slightly to trace one hand down the curve of his wing and into his primary feathers that Hawks realizes that in his contentment he’s brought his wings up almost defensively, shielding them off from the rest of the world though there’s no one else around to see.

- “I used to hate the colour red.” Dabi murmurs, repeating the action once again, Hawks fluttering his wing against the fire-user’s calloused hand just to bring a smile to his face. That smile carries into the kiss Dabi pulls him in for an instant later. It isn’t their first kiss, not by a long shot, but there’s something more sweet and slow about this one, and it takes Hawks a second to realize that unlike the kisses they’ve shared in the past, this one isn’t laced with the premonition of an ending. Usually, there’s this sort of rushed tension in their more intimate moments, an unspoken understanding that whatever this thing they have is, it can only last so long. But that’s missing this time, the overlying pressure of awareness, of only whispering things that won’t break your heart later, of never knowing when each embrace might be the last and being prepared to cut your losses if it is. This time is different, sanguine, and Hawks suddenly gets the feeling that things are about to change.

- He isn’t wrong.

- “What if you joined us for real?” Dabi breathes, eyes hooded as they draw apart but still lingering close. Catching Hawks’ incredulous look, he runs his hands up the other man’s arms, taking on a more serious tone. “I mean it. We can get you out from under the Commission- they’d never be able to touch you again. You want a world where heroes have more spare time on their hands than they know what to do with? That’s never going to be a possibility the way things are now. Most of the groups and agencies are corrupt over the profitability of it all, and there’s a lot of heroes in the same boat. Believe me, birdie, they don’t want the crime rate going down- they just want it televised.”

- Hawks knows it’s true- Dabi isn’t just saying this to sway him. The winged hero has seen this firsthand. There are heroes out there who would sooner go into a situation after a disaster has already happened rather than stopping it before anyone can get hurt, because it’s flashier. It’s more likely to gain attention, even if it means innocents being injured or, hell, dying in the process. And there’s all the other stuff too- the notices they get at the beginning of each new year, informing them that if they save ‘x’ number of people from various minority groups, there will be a bonus payout for them by the end of the year, as diversity is good for their public image. Hawks always threw those papers away, but there were some who held onto them, kept a tally going. There are heroes who are only on the field for the money, who couldn’t care less about the people they’re saving so long as there’s a cheque at the end of it with their name on it. Hawks has even heard of a few cases where heroes staged or set up disasters and accidents to be noticed. There’s the Commission, literally grooming child soldiers and people like Endeavor who wear two faces to hide a darker truth from the public eye.

- For an organization made to help, the hero collective is a dog-eats-dog world, and it’s ruthless. Dabi’s right about Hawks’ dream being impossible- because as long as people are profiting off crime, they’ll never allow it to stop.

- Suddenly, all Hawks wants to do is sleep, cut the nightmare short and try to let himself catch up with the feeling of free-falling. He can’t go back to working beside Endeavor like nothing’s happened, he knows that. And to make matters worse, he told Shouto he wouldn’t tell anyone about this though he desperately knows he should, but at this rate he’s not sure it wouldn’t do more harm than good. There may be a time later in the future where the truth can be revealed without completely annihilating the small, fragile, bright world that the youngest Todoroki has been slowly building for himself, but to have the public come after him over something this big, demanding answers and surrounding him at all times… He can’t handle that yet, and Hawks can tell. Someday, but not yet. 

- “And after you dismantle the system? What happens then?” Hawks asks quietly, noting the surprised flicker behind Dabi’s blue eyes. He hadn’t been expecting him to entertain this idea.

- “Hey, my job’s just to burn it to the ground,” Dabi snorts, nonchalant, but his hands stop moving up and down Hawks’ arms, and loosely circle his wrists, “I think I’ll leave the rebuilding to those of you who will do it right. Let the real heroes take care of the hero world, and maybe everything else will settle too. Maybe things can be better- and who knows,” He puts on a smirk, “Maybe the heroes will find they’ve got some spare time on their hands, just like you said.”

- Hawks considers this, nods once, makes up his mind and goes ‘fuck it’ while cutting his losses. 

- “Fine.”

- Dabi freezes under him, confident look replaced by something much more comical.

- “What?”

- “Fine, I’m in.” Dabi goes to say something about considering options for more than three seconds, but Hawks cuts him off. “No, I’m serious. Things need to change, and that’s not going to happen with the way everything’s going now. I’m a hero because I want to help people, not because I have a license, and damn it there are more people I can help by fighting against the hero track than on it, which is really fucked up in itself. I’m in, and I’m saying that while I’m pissed off and bitter enough to go through with it because for fuck’s sake I can’t keep going back to that place and letting them wring me out until I’m dead. None of this is normal or okay, and I can’t keep pretending that it is. I need to do something.”

- The fire-user just stares at him awestruck throughout all this, and for a long while afterwards too, before eventually sitting up.

- “You’re certain?”

- “Yes.”

- “…Damn it, pigeon, what the hell am I going to do with you?”

- Hawks laughs at the weak pet name even as Dabi cups his face and pulls him in for another kiss, the blond’s laughter spilling out across their lips, fingers carding through Dabi’s hair. It’s a bright moment to end a dark day, something hopeful amid the tentative nature of something new. 

- “We’re never rushing this again.” Hawks grins when they both need to take a breath, that warm embrace of security and peace having returned to him once more, settling in his chest and radiating so strongly he’s surprised he’s not glowing. Dabi hums in response, turquoise eyes mostly closed as he leans down to dust a kiss on the other’s collarbone, almost painfully slow as if to prove a point.

- “We won’t have to.” He promises, chuckling lowly at the slight gasp he receives for turning the kiss into a nip, “Welcome to the dark side, birdie.”

[sirenfromthelostcity]

The Most Pt. 1

A/N: Okay so this is my first ever John Wick fic! In a nutshell, it’s basically like a mentor X student AU. I don’t know why but i couldn’t get that idea out of my head and i really wanted to write it, so here! It’s called The Most bc it reminds me of the song with the same title from Miley Cryrus’s new EP. I wouldn’t say the fic is inspired by the song, not entirely at least, but idk to me it just vibes with it (if that makes any sense? i feel like once the second part is out it might make more sense?). This fic is intended to have a second part so that shall also be posted shortly as i have another mini John Wick fic i wanna start and i also want to write the second part to my short Spider-Man fic. I’m so excited about this story y’all! I hope you all enjoy it! As always, feedback is always appreciated. Without further ado, enjoy! :))))

Words: 2.7k+

Today marks the fourth and a half year that you’ve been under John Wick’s tutelage. Only six more months left and John will have had completed his marker. Initially, John was rather reluctant to be your instructor but the marker held by your father gave him no other choice but to abide by your father’s request to turn you into a formidable assassin. Who better to teach you than the infamous John Wick himself?

In the beginning of your training journey, John didn’t bother to hide his reluctance in your father’s request. This made things rather difficult until one day you decided to confront him about his behavior. He was in his study, probably searching for a way to get out of having to train you, when you knocked to let your presence be known then proceeded to enter.

“Evening, Mr. Wick, call me crazy, but I’m getting an inkling that you don’t want to train me.”

He scoffed.

“Believe me, I get it. I bet you’d really rather not have me intercepting with your lonesome peace and quiet but the bottom line is that I have to do this too and I have to learn it all to be as good as you. Maybe not exactly as good as you, but good enough to have me not die immediately as that would be, despite your current opinion of me, quite upsetting.”

He silently glared at you for a long minute, still not very much pleased with his current situation, “Why do you want to do this?”

“Want, who said anything about want? You may be bound by a marker, Mr. Wick, but I’m bound by my family to learn and master everything that there is to know about how to thrive in this lifestyle to survive in it.”

The room remained uncomfortably silent for sometime but you still didn’t falter in your stance.

“Before me who did you train with?” he asked.

“Well I was being trained in Krav Maga by Gabriel Avdeyev for some time but he and my family had a falling out and-–”

“I heard,” he sighed. “.... Based on the results of your initial assessment you have a lot to improve on. For starters, the way you initiate your attacks are okay but they will need to be refined or you will be killed. Get some rest. Tomorrow at dawn we will continue your training.”

Despite knowing John couldn’t actually purposely hurt or kill you, he was still very intimidating and the confrontation was rather hard to execute. But, it paid off.

Training with the notorious John Wick also meant living with him and sometimes that involved taking care of each other. Along with being a good fighter and shooter, John also stressed that one needs to know how to properly patch themselves up. He’s given you medical lessons before but to really teach you, one night he decided to not go to his usually doctor for a patch up but to go directly to you instead and see what you’ve retained from your lessons. When that great idea struck him it was in the middle of the night and he gave you quite a fright when he went into your room all bloody. You almost shot him with the gun you had hidden under your pillow if it weren’t for his quick reflexes which actually made you feel really impressed considering he was critically injured.

“Are you serious, John?” you asked, rather irked at being abruptly awoken at three in the morning.

“No, I’m bleeding. Now get up, this is part of your training. Time to see how much you’ve retained from those medical lessons,” he grunted as another pang of pain struck his lower abdomen.

You promptly threw your covers over your body and got out of bed before leading him to the bathroom where the first aid kit was kept. After finding the source of his bleeding you unbuttoned his shirt and got to work. Under the circumstances, seeing John shirtless wasn’t at all awkward. However, ogling his exposed chest was the last thing on you mind considering how he was bleeding an awful lot from his lower abdomen.

“Jesus what did they nick you with? This looks really bad,” you comment as you inspect the wound.

“Broken bottle of champagne. Try to avoid those in the future, they can be pretty tricky to fix.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you proceeded to clean the wound and remove any stray traces of glass, subconsciously taking quick glances at him whenever he winced. “Do you need anything for the pain?”

“Do you happen to have bourbon in any of these cabinets?”

“No, but I wouldn’t really recommend that considering how alcohol consumption can actually thin your blood out and make you bleed more.”

“But it does help with the pain.”

“Mmmmm, I’d still wager more on the pills designed specifically for that.”

John huffed. At this point you’re finally starting to stitch up his wound but his pained grunts make it a little difficult to focus.

“Are you okay?”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing I’m not used to.”

“That’s so sad, John,” you paused to briefly glance at him. “Also super broody. We get it, you’re a badass.”

“A bad ass? That seems rude,” he sarcastically replied.

“Oh, my god, you’re actually joking with me for the second time this night. Don’t think I missed that dad joke earlier with the ‘No, I’m bleeding,’” you imitated his gruff voice and lightly laughed. “Good one, John.”

The small smile subconsciously remained on your face for a few seconds longer and John couldn’t help but admire how nicely it adorned your face. You caught him vaguely looking at you but simply assumed blood loss had something to do with the way he was looking at you. He turned away before you could even question your hypothesis.

“Well, we’re all done now. With the abdomen wound at least,” you noticed he’s also bleeding from his head and move to inspect it but his hands reached out and gently grabbed your wrists.

“It’s alright, (Y/N), I can take care of the rest, you’ve done good with the ugliest of them.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, John, I’m here now and I’ve got this for you.”

Never one to waste words, John remained silent which you took as a go ahead.

Thankfully the injuries on his head were nothing more than a few small cuts. At least on that night they were. Some nights John would come back with much rougher cuts, clearly showing that whoever he had fought had certainly put up a good fight but not quite good enough to best John Wick. Still, not only did cleaning his injuries provide you with insights to his battles, it helped you both establish a sense of trust between you two.  

After that night, rather than go to his usual doctor John began going straight to you for his patch ups. Could he have chosen to start going to you simply because it’s quicker than stopping by The Continental first and then home? Possibly. The reason for him basically appointing you as his patch up doc never really came up but you didn’t really care. By then your affection and attachment to John was beginning to grow so you didn’t mind being the one to help him feel better after a difficult job. Not to mention that tending to his wounds meant having a good excuse to touch him. Not while overstepping your boundaries, of course, but sometimes it was just nice to be able to be able to grab his hands without it being weird. Tending to the cuts on his face was something you always saved for last. It was your chance to really admire his facial features up close while simultaneously healing it. Sometimes you were so gentle with him that he actually managed to doze off and you were able to tell when it happened because he’d look so relaxed and serene. When you had to wake him up, although you didn’t want to but you knew he’d sleep much more comfortably in his bed than in a stiff chair, he’d always apologize for falling asleep which in effect often lead you both to joke about it. However, you swear that you caught him blushing the first few times it happened and when it did it just felt so, human…

You and John have really come a long way in terms of tolerating each other and actually bonding together. You both truly did. Because John is your instructor and you are over a decade younger than him, your relationship with him was purely professional. However, after about two years of training with him, your feelings for him continued to evolve into a much more stronger and different kind of admiration.

Are you in love with The Baba Yaga?

The answer to that would be a very strong perhaps. When you and John were briefed on the deal of the marker, you were supposed to learn about weapons training, fighting forms, assassination techniques, melee weapons training, etc. You were to learn how to become a proficient and deadly assassin, such as John, not about love or anything else that might be considered a weakness.

You hardly ever give yourself the chance to ponder on your feelings for John, much less at the possibility that he could possess the same feelings of affection towards you. It’s not as if you believe that the less you think or talk about it the less real it is, you aren’t that naive. You’ve simply decided long ago that you’re not going to act on your feelings for John. Love or anything remotely close to that is just not in the cards for people like you and John. At least that’s what you keep repeating to yourself.

Still, with your training nearing to an end you’ve been feeling really glum about it. Training with the notorious John Wick hasn’t been easy but living with and falling in love with the real man behind the legend was so foolishly easy. John is an extremely proficient killer, that much is true, but he is also a man. John is a man with dry humor, a latent love for the simpler things in life, a fun penchant for stunt driving and cars, kind and gentle eyes, and, surprisingly but also not really, a man of a very chivalrous nature. Despite the initial turbulence in your mentor-student relationship, you and John inevitably became good friends which really allowed you to see him under a different light. He often took you out to nice dinners claiming that he wanted a change of scenery from an uneventful day or simply because you did very well while training. Either way you enjoyed your outings with him and also simply appreciated being in an entirely different place, not being reminded of the person you’re supposed to become. However whenever you got injured while training to become that person, John would actually help patch you up. Although he’s taught you how to do so yourself, John would claim the medical lessons were mainly for when you are by yourself and have no one to help you and he’d remind you that he’s there with you now. Which is pretty similar to what you’ve told him the first time you helped patch him up now that you think of it. For an assassin who’s extremely well known for his brutal techniques and merciless takedowns, it astounded you to learn that the same man can also be so gentle. You’re not even officially leaving yet but you already know just how badly you’re going to miss John Wick.

In spite of yourself choosing to not focus on a particular set of feelings held for a particular person, today your brain can’t help but do the exact opposite. Today, John decided to focus more on Brazilian Jui-Jitsu. Little to your knowledge, John actually enjoys training you in this fighting form because these techniques allow a weaker or smaller attacker to successfully overpower a stronger opponent by manipulating the human body and redirecting it’s force. Therefore, if you do it right, you could use the opponent's strength against them and take them down. Usually you do very well in this form of martial arts but today John is able to tell you’re not fully there with him. Although John is very good at Brazilian Jui-Jitsu you’re level of skill is practically on par with his as well and you’re current struggle to beat him is alerting him.

Currently, John has you in locked in a rear choke hold on the ground, with one arm wrapped around your neck, his other arm around your free arm, and one leg wrapped around your other arm preventing you from breaking free. You struggle for a few seconds, realizing there’s no use, he’s already one this match, and grunt in frustration. John loosens his grip around you but doesn’t fully release you yet, he brings his lips close to your ear, “What’s wrong?”

The feel of his breath on your skin sends shivers down your spine, yet you quickly and physically swat those thoughts to the side and shake your head, “Right now you have me in a choke hold and I can’t get out of it, John. I don’t know about you but this seems like a pretty big issue for me.”

John instantly releases his grip on you and rises up, he’s about to lend you a hand to get up as well but you’ve already beaten him to that.

“That’s not what I meant, (Y/N). Tell me, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you insist. “What makes you think something’s wrong?”

“For starters, I’ve been kicking your ass in this all day when I know I’ve taught you better than that. And for another, you just seem very distracted today.”  

John is as perceptive as he is deadly, which is why you don’t bother lying to him again and instead insist on continuing to train.

You look down for a second before looking up, making sure to avoid his concerned gaze, “Look, John, do you mind if we just call it in for the day?”

“Something is wrong,” he states.

“John,” you impatiently groan.   

“Why won’t you just tell me what the issue is?”

“Because there’s nothing you can do about it!” you snap and instantly regret it, rubbing at your temples. “Okay, I did not mean to say it like that. I’m sorry. I just need to cool off right now, John…”

This time you don’t wait for permission and simply walk away, however, John doesn’t try to stop you either. Not because he doesn’t care, quite the contrary in fact. Concerned and confused, John intently watches you head towards your room. He begins to trail after you but halts in his steps deciding that right now the  best option would be to give you your space. Still, John can’t help but wonder about what could possibly be troubling your mind so much and why you refuse to speak of it.

He glances one last time in the direction you previously walked in before heading towards the kitchen and serving himself a shot of bourbon.

“You can’t do anything about it!” your words replay in his mind.

“She’ll tell me when she’s ready,” he mentally tells himself. “We’ll figure it out then.”

John downs two more shots, currently finding it difficult to dwindle his concern and thoughts of you, before taking off in the direction of his room. He encounters the door to your bedroom on his way and halts at the entrance. He balls his hand into a fist and raises it to knock on your door but slowly brings it down and proceeds to head to his room. After finally entering his room, he gives your door one last glance before closing his door and retreating to his room for the remainder of the day.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @bewarethesmirk!

Words: 5155  

Rating: Teen and up

Tags: Sterek Secret Santa 2019, Christmas fic, miscommunications, broody!Derek, college student Stiles, enemies to lovers, yoga instructor Derek, AU – no werewolves, mention of dead family members, minor angst, happy ending, fluff tropes, kissing, cuddling.

I didn’t write a coffee shop AU, but I hope you will enjoy a broody Derek teaching yoga, featuring a feud over a quilt…? 

*****

Yoga to take your chances with me

There is a twink formerly known as Mieczyslaw ‘Stiles’ Stilinski standing outside the yoga studio, making Derek’s life miserable. Stiles would argue (if he got the chance to) that he’s technically already inside the studio, and he’s making Derek’s afternoon miserable, ‘because perspective, Derek. That’s your whole shtick, isn’t it?’. He can practically hear Stiles argue in his head. Some days Stiles’s voice drifts in and out of his stream of consciousness like an ocean tide - always there to offer a running commentary on Derek’s goings.

Maybe it’s his brain preparing him for what is bound to happen if he lets Stiles through the door; reminding him sternly that it’s a bad idea. He’s ten minutes into a class, not the best circumstances for removing Stiles from the premises. He hopefully glances over at Boyd, whom he knows from the regular gym and considers a friend. Derek raises his brows asking (30% rhetorically, 70% pleadingly… 0.01% desperately) ‘Should you or shall I?’. 

Boyd looks back with a serene smug ’Nah, you’re on your own on this one’.

Derek returns his glare to Stiles, who’s leaning against the glass partition that separates the lobby from the training area. A glass partition which Stiles now presses his obtuse face to, mashing it against the flat surface. Not for the first time post the Stilinski infestation Derek reminds himself that he teaches anti-violence for a living. If his clients ever got access to a running transcript of his inner monologue he’ll be committed, but he doesn’t see that as a legitimate reason as to not vividly fantasize about running Stiles’s head through the glass. 

Derek takes in the eighteen students in his beginners’ class, a rag-tag group of Beacon Hills residents ages 18 to 75, varying from seasoned athletes to those who barely made it through gym class in school. They’d surely vote in favor for Derek packaging Stiles up and FedEx him to his home address. 

He wisely decides to ignore Stiles for the time being (he knows why he’s banned) and picks up the instructions where he left off:

  “When you follow your in-breath, you are able to use the awareness of your current breath to anchor yourself in your body; in this present moment. Notice the pause where the breath turns… and breathe out slowly. Good.” 

His voice is low and assuring. He likes to teach the beginners class the most. Prefers it over the intermediate class, because he does a lot of slow-pace guiding and abandons most of the technical talk; not pushing any physical or mental limits the participants aren’t ready to face. 

Stiles leans both his palms against the glass – smearing it with his palms – his eyes sweat-blinking with indignation, as if he’s trying to laser-carve the words I’m offended on Derek’s forehead. 

  “Now, we are going to check in with your posture. The next time you inhale, follow your in-breath up, through your neck, and breath out through the top of the head. As you breathe in, straighten your back to assume a posture of” – Stiles’s hands slips down the glass with a protracted squeal – “dignity.”

   “Who’s that?” The complaint comes from Victoria, a middle-aged woman who carries herself like a drill sergeant. 

  “Remember,” Derek re-directs, “use any potential distractions as opportunities to actively choose where you direct your attention. Back to your breath.”

Victoria’s daughter, who occupies the mat to her left, lets out an amused snort – she’s the most diligent and attentive student in his class. Allison looks to him now as if she’s waiting for him to make the next move, and Derek knows he’s been out-voted. Damn it.

Stiles flinches when Derek reaches the lobby.

  ”You’re banned,” Derek states calmly. He’s aware that he’s had this exact conversation a thousand times before. 

  “THAT” – Stiles points accusatory to the note Derek has attached in the center of the partition. The note where he’s scribbled Stiles, you are banned. Go home  – “is a particularly shitty way of announcing it.”

  “You have repeatedly broken the membership guidelines, for months. You’ve wounded half of my clientele by now,” he hyperboles just to see Stiles’s eyes comically widen. “A truer false statement has never been spoken.” 

Stiles splutters. “What, I’ve barely—“

  “Isaac; two nosebleeds and a black eye.” Derek counts off his fingers. “Erica; elbowed twice, one busted lip. An average of seven complaints from costumers who you’ve intimately prodded with your foot without noticing. Mrs. Argent gave me five ultimatums about you per month. You need me to continue – or do you need them to tell you?” He indicates the audience they are attracting behind the glass. “If you wanted to be here so badly you shouldn’t have repeatedly disrupted my classes.” 

Stiles draws an angry, shuddering breath. “You were supposed to teach me how to yoga, so technically my failure is your failure.“

  “I can’t teach you ‘how to yoga’, I don’t think no one can.” 

  ”Oh ha hah, Yoga Mulaney, everybody!” Stiles laughs cruelly. “Too bad insults don’t exclude my right to defend myself in the court of law.” 

  ”There’s not a lawyer in the country that would touch your case.” 

There’s a hint of amusement breaking through Stiles’s exaggerated fury. “So you’re really not going to let me in? What if I—“ 

He makes a half-assed attempt to run past, but Derek is faster – all it takes is a firm hand on Stiles’s chest. 

There’s a beat, where Stiles’s just gaping and processing the betrayal, looking between Derek’s face and his hand before boiling over. ”BUT IT’S CHRISTMAS!”

Derek tells himself not to laugh. “That’s not an acceptable defense speech. I have to get back to my class. You should leave.” Or hang back here so I can talk to you. 

  ”I don’t think… you’ve never been mad over that stuff before.” The crease in Stiles’s forehead deepens in suspicion. “Wait. That’s what it is? You’re mad that I stole your pillow, because I… yeah, you know what? I’m keeping that, and I still have beef with you about the quilt.” He fold his arms.

  “You have beef about the quilt,” Derek repeats flatly. That’s about the most discouraging thing Stiles can say to him, but he supposes he can force himself to understand Stiles’s motivation.

  “Uhm, yeah. If I’m banned for life, I’m not walking out of here empty-handed.” Stiles slides his hands inside his pockets; steps back. It’s a retreat, and they both now his absence will be permanent.

  “How about I give you the quilt after you apologize like an actual adult.” Derek looks, really looks at him to convey that he’s still here if Stiles decides he feels the same thing, but Stiles’s gaze is alive with indignation and flickering uncertainly to the rest of the class. And the note stuck to the glass. “You apologize first, asshole. I’m the wounded party here.”

  “In that case,” Derek says tersely, and stomps back to take his place in front of the class to teach some goddamn peace of mind. 

A few months ago…

The first time Stiles shows up in Hale’s yoga studio he’s nervously hovering on the threshold, looking like he’s about to rob the place with a lacrosse-stick. Derek steps around the reception desk. 

  “First time?” he asks civilly. 

  ”Huh?”

  ”Yoga?” Derek’s eyes do a tour around the facilities in case Stiles wasn’t aware of his location. ”Are you here to sign up for the beginners class?”

Stiles squints at a spot on the wall for ten seconds straight, grimacing like it physically hurts to come up with an answer. His face is weirdly hypnotizing, holding Derek’s attention in the meantime.  ”I could be? I mean, I never saw myself doing that stuff, y’know. But here we are?”

Okay... Derek decides to go forward with the standard questions. “Do you have any injuries I should be aware off? Do you work out regularly? Any sports?”

  “Nah. Lacrosse, in high school, now not so much. My best friend is an assistant teacher so we use the facilities sometimes for old times sake.”

  “You’re in college?”

  “I come home when I can. Have some peace and quiet.” He flexes his long fingers, joints popping, and grins cheekily when Derek frowns, “I really should dilute my Internet addiction with some physical exercise. A bit of Zen.”

His words make less of a sense but he’s also cute. 

  “You’ll need a mat and a few other things.” Derek leads his new client to the supply closet and hands them to Stiles, one by one. “First class is free, and starts in five. Can you do that?” 

Stiles nod quickly, and grapples his mat-roll. “Totally.”

Turns out Stiles, occasional Lacrosse enthusiast, might have the muscle strength to hold his body in the asanas Derek guides the class through, but doesn’t have the flexibility or range of motion to survive even the beginners class without losing balance and dealing out blows with his flailing limbs. 

By the end of it Stiles is left crying into his yoga mat in the child’s pose, cradling his waist, and getting mocked by Erica. 

Here’s the kicker though: Stiles comes back a week later, and then on Thursday in Derek’s advanced class. It’s a disaster. Yet another accidental bitch-slap when Stiles loses his balance and domino-tumbles over Isaac Lahey who happens to be innocently reaching Nirvana behind him. 

On Friday morning (does he even go to college?) he shows up to inexplicably join Derek’s yoga class for women on maternity leave and their babies.

  “Yo, you said it would be much more chill,” Stiles accuses from the floor, where he’s languidly patting a small infant on her back. 

Derek halts by his mat, “I meant the Kundalini, which was the class an hour before this one.” 

It’s a challenge to sound admonishing when there’s a fuzzy baby head snoozing right under Stiles’s chin. He looks like he’s secretly terrified that the baby will slip down his chest like a slippery bar of soap if he sneezes. Derek wonders if he should offer Stiles a bean-bag to care for once the mother returns from the bathroom. It looks like an effective way to keep Stiles in check. Or, Derek hopefully looks around, is someone else willing to donate their child? Throwing human infants at Stiles unfortunately sounds like an emergency solution, though. 

Stiles keeps showing up and he keeps going at it – teeth gritted, relentless, and occasionally guffawing so loud it disrupts Derek’s instructive monologues. Derek finds himself tracking Stiles’s progress. His non-linear progress, but progress nonetheless. Stiles sneaks into an intermediate class and when Derek looks over Stiles is in his sweats, standing in the advanced warrior pose. Stiles is ‘surfing’ his mat, as he likes to refer to it. He has the body of an athlete, long-limbed and by November he’s way more limber than before. His torso stretches gracefully when he cants his hips and reaches for the ceiling. By Derek’s instruction he applies pressure on his heel to further stretch his hip flexor; arches his back instead of staying in the safe position and slips his left hand around his waist to rest on his right inner thigh - a sight which Derek has a quiet aneurysm over – before Stiles promptly falls over like a cardboard cut-out of himself caught in a breeze, socking Isaac in the eye as they both go down. Derek laughs – the one time he failed to laugh internally, like a professional. 

He can’t help but look forward to the times when Stiles lingers after class. Mostly recovering on the floor while Derek tidies up. 

  “Can you chalk like, around me while I lay here?” Stiles circle-motions his hand. “We can play CSI! I’ll be the victim. You’ll be the coroner.” He piano-taps at his sternum with two fingers. 

  “Tempting,” Derek says, causing Stiles to look up with hope written across his face, “But I would probably just step over you if I found you dead in the street.”

  “That’s cold.” Stiles scratches his throat. It’s distracting how he’s always doing something off-beat with his hands, the motions catching Derek’s attention and holding it hostage. 

  “Hey, do you know this used to be a dance studio?” Stiles asks.

  “Speaking of nothing. I think there was one before the building was closed for renovation. How do you know it was a dance studio?” 

Stiles leisurely points to the nearest wall. He’s tired. “You haven’t noticed there’s still barres over there? And there, and there, and there.”

Of course Derek has noticed the handrails lining the walls in the loft. “I didn’t think you noticed them. Except for using them as a towel rack.” 

Although he suspects Stiles takes notice of a lot of things. 

Derek averts his eyes when Stiles yawns and scratches under his shirt. Stiles‘s gaze jumps to the spiral staircase. “So, what’s up there? Your office? Can I have a tour?” 

For a moment Derek thoughts screech to a halt. The space up there is where he sleeps; it’s the equivalent of a small studio apartment. To have Stiles up there, walking around and touching his things, no, that would feel too much like a date. And Stiles isn’t flirting – he’s asking questions.   

  “I live up there,” he admits, unsure if it’s personal information he should share. “No, you’re not ever allowed up there, ever.”

  “Not ever, ever? Don’t flatter yourself, Hale. As if I have the energy for stairs,” Stiles mutters glumly. 

They keep having these little chats, and Derek actually enjoys them – he’s relieved that there’s at least one person in Beacon Hills he can talk nonsense with without feeling like Derek Hale, the guy who burned down his parents’ house with the parents still in it. That’s the neat summary of what Derek reads in people’s faces every time he’s in a store and notice how he’s being rubbernecked by the residents of Beacon Hills. It’s a small town, and he should’ve known what to expect when he moved back. 

One evening Derek find himself re-telling his own first time in a yoga class as an eighteen year old, how he had been dragged inside by the neck by his sister Laura, who hissed at him to relax! He’s secretly proud of her efforts to bring him back to life by dragging him to yoga retreats and encouraging him to take instructor courses. When she left New York for Europe he decided to check out the town where they grew up, and open up a yoga studio of his own.

  “So, what are you guys doing for the holidays?” Stiles asks, lounging in the sofa in Derek’s studio.

Derek raises his head, realizing he’s got four stragglers now: Stiles, Boyd, Isaac and Erica, who all refuses to leave at an appropriate hour and leave bags of chips in the corners. The loft is not a YMCA and he will not tolerate Isaac and Erica dragging in chairs from the lobby, or Boyd installing a fridge behind the counter. He doesn’t voice his concerns, instead noticing how unusually subdued they are in the aftermath of the other participants chatting amicably about Christmas plays, family dinners and finding that perfect last minute gift. 

Boyd shrugs.  “I will do what I always do. Spend Christmas at my parents’ house.” He sounds far from happy about the fact.

Isaac squirms, and it’s unlikely he has plans for Christmas. Derek knows a bit, well, enough to suspect that Isaac doesn’t have family to visit. 

  “I’ll be here,” Derek answers curtly, with enough finality for the topic to be dropped.  

Stiles lets the melancholy prevail for almost thirty seconds. 

  “We should decorate this place with garlands and stuff.”

  “No.”

  “Yes!” Stiles grins.

Derek rolls his eyes in exasperation. “I swear I’ll throw a baby at you.”

  “Dude,” Stiles says. “That makes no sense.”  

**

Here’s the thing. Stiles can’t help himself, but he notices stuff about Derek and suddenly he’s addicted. Or crushing. Crushing hard.

He notices how Derek care individually for the other stragglers: Boyd, Isaac and Erica. Initially they are fiercely loyal, instinctively on Derek’s side after the chips incident (so he opened a bag of chips in class, big deal, it was boring and he had the munchies) (so he choked on a mouthful when Derek told him off big deal) (so he suffered through a coughing fit for twenty minutes straight which happened to also be the duration of Derek’s guided meditation). 

But they dislike Stiles only for like two seconds, and then they fake-dislike him and deep down they love him, he’s sure. They start to bring snacks to the studio, which lead to a lot of grumbling and extra triple compulsive late night-vacuuming of the floor for Derek. Stiles stays late to help, saint that he is.

But, Stiles also notices, Derek never tells them to stop hanging around. Okay, he never stop asking them to leave, but he doesn’t force them to, and he’s getting softer. There lies a important distinction.

Furthermore. Stiles is objectively and subjectively finding Derek attractive. Yes. Have you seen Derek in black compression shorts flexing his hamstrings? Stiles has. Stiles has been guilty of peering through the glass when Derek has private sessions, where he and some other superman or -woman balance on their forearms and head. He has seen Derek’s death-defying acrobatics where he touches the soles of his feet together while in the headstand. He wouldn’t be surprised if one of these days he caught Derek levitating under the ceiling like a freaking bat.

Stiles also knows Derek always wears baggy basketball shorts over his compression ones to all his regular classes, overly concerned about not flashing his junk when he lifts his legs, and the man hates attention. Stiles knows by the stiff way Derek holds himself when he’s walking around before and after class that he much rather be handing out advice from a Skype call. Derek is secretly an introvert, but alone with Stiles? He’s relaxed, funny, and Stiles is addicted to his cynicism.

There’s a lump in Stiles’s throat when he finally decides to be done with the bullshit and finally tell Derek why he showed up that very first day. Rip off the truth-bandage.

Stiles drives back to Beacon Hills on a Thursday and makes sure he is the last man standing (laying down, star-fishing the floor, lamenting) after the end of the evening class. Derek is hovering over him with a soft expression (accentuated by the warm light from the still burning candles), and Stiles feels warm and buzzing with anticipation and nerves.

“Why are you still here?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Stiles sits up, gingerly when his wrung-out muscles protests, panics, and starts to ramble the thing he wasn’t suppose to reveal until he’d said the other thing. “I want… I want to ask you out, on a date. Because I think you are funny, and admirable, and hot when you’re holding babies and vacuuming, but also – your ass is fine, but that’s not... I neglect my studies and go home every opportunity I get just for the chance to see you.”

It’s not at all what he was planning to begin with. More like the last thing, the concluding remark. He stares at Derek, pulse rushing, caught between telling Derek the truth and shut up and just, just—

Derek kneels down in front of him, very, very close, and Stiles freezes in place. Derek nods, “Do you… want to come upstairs so we can talk about this?”

Stiles agrees with a foggy notion that that will give him enough time to explain why that won’t be the first time he’s been up there.

**

Derek throws caution the wind here and grabs Stiles’s hand. He leads the way up the winding staircase, mentally wondering if Stiles’s impression of him will shift when he sees where Derek lives. He doesn’t require much after five years on the east coast and three years in Beacon Hills. Shitty apartments have been a constant in his life ever since he left the first time, but this one he genuinely likes.

Stiles stares at the handmade quilt he’s got covering the bed, at the grotesque but matching throw pillows on the floor by the window where Derek occasionally reads or meditates, then back to the bed and the photos on the shelf above. Derek’s earthly possessions are scarce since the fire that burned down his home, and the framed photos are donated from friends of the family. There’s the graduation picture of Laura, arm confidently slung across Derek’s shoulder, and a picture of all the kids sitting on the hood of their parents’ car back when they went on a vacation to lake Michigan. 

The rest of the stuff in Derek’s place can be sum up by a dead plant, a floor-fan covered in dust, and the mentioned quilt and pillows which Derek found in the cabinet when he moved in.

Stiles draws a shuddering breath and touches the quilt almost reverently. And is he... is he sniffing back tears? Fuck, Derek wouldn’t have brought Stiles up here knowing his apartment was such a downer…

Stiles starts to forcefully pull the quilt from the bed. There’s definitely a piece of vital information Derek’s missing here. “Stiles… What exactly are you doing?”

Stiles’s picks up the pillows from the floor too. He gathers them protectively against his chest, the quilt spilling over in his arms. “Fuck my life. Fuck my life, man. I should go.”

Derek craves a few more words of explanation, but Stiles is already stalking back to the stairs. “Is there a reason you’re stealing my bedspread?”

“I know, I know, I’m a horrible person. I’ll reimburse you,” Stiles yells, half-way down the staircase already. A beat later there’s a loud, metallic resonance from his collision with the railing, and a crash.

Stiles is sitting on the floor when Derek rushes downstairs, legs entangled. Derek gently removes the hand Stiles presses to his left temple, inspecting the damage.

Stiles groans. “Okay, fine, you might as well know before this building kills me. I never planned to come to your classes, alright. You asked what I was doing here and I didn’t know what to say. I want to remember my dead mom? You asked me if I wanted to sign up, so I just went with it.” He picks guiltily at the frays of the quilt. “My mom made these, so people could use them when this was her dance studio. I used to nap under this blanket, up there in her office, when I wasn’t crashing her classes. From what I remember she really loved this place.” 

  “I had no idea.” Derek wants to gather Stiles in his arms, to wrap him up in the quilt burrito style and get him upstairs and patch the gash in his head – but Stiles retreats. The quilt pools to the floor between them when he rises to his feet.

“I should go. I just…” He waves tiredly at the offending quilt, “I’m sorry, I panicked.”

 “Take it. It’s yours, not mine,” Derek states. “Do you want to use my bathroom? I’ve got a first aid kit.”  

Stiles shakes his head, bites his lips thoughtfully. “Not, not a good idea. I have to go home. Talk to my dad.”

Derek nods. The weird thing is that Stiles is usually so amicable with the information-oversharing. Yet Stiles kept the fact that this was his mother’s dance studio for three months. His thoughts goes to the image of how Stiles was looking at him that very first day in the lobby. The expression on his face which Derek finally can identify correctly: bafflement. Stiles was here to get a glimpse of his mom’s former practice, nothing else.

Stiles doesn’t come back the day after. Or the day after that. He’s a no show for two weeks straight, and the semester is ending on Friday. Erica kind of hints she has Stiles’s number, but Derek’s convinced Stiles wouldn’t appreciate Derek bothering him. The realization that Stiles up and left the second he got what he wanted (closure?) is tough to swallow. The bitter taste is still there when Stiles shows up to the last class late December, and sees the note Derek has stuck on the wall.

Stiles blowing up and Derek being defensive, all in front of an audience, is not how Derek thought the reunion with Stiles would go.

**

Derek spends the weekend before Christmas running new tracks in the woods north of town. When the morning of December 25th arrives he brews coffee and drinks it sitting cross legged in his bed in a sliver of pale sunlight, facing the shelf.

“Merry Christmas.” He drinks from his cup.

He calls Laura and they talk for a while, then tries to meditate but the head-space he’s in resumes the quality of empty and alone when he listens to the silence in the loft below. Derek wonders if he should feel angry. He is finally out of fucks to give, except maybe when it comes to his yoga studio. At least he has—

A rattle downstairs brings him abruptly out of his thoughts.

The distinctive sound of patting feet crossing the floor of the studio. Several feet.

When Derek descends the staircase he’s dumb-struck by the sight of Boyd, who should be celebrating Christmas with his parents; Isaac, who Derek should’ve given an extra thought to; Erica, whose family life Derek doesn’t know that much about, and three others whose presence he has no idea how to reconcile with: Allison, a dark-haired boy holding her hand, and Stiles.

Derek descends the last two steps in Stiles direction before he thinks better of it, looking around and feeling caught in the spotlight.

“What are you doing here?”

”Do you honestly think I want to spend the holidays stuck at my parents’ house?” Boyd wonders.

Derek doesn’t know how to answer that, except he does, in his mind: Of course you would. 

Boyd gives a short and dismissive head-shake. “Not so much. I doubt they’ve noticed I’m not in my room, and their idea of Christmas is too close to a wake for my liking. We were hoping we could spend it with you. Use the kitchen Stiles tells me you got up there.”

Derek nods an affirmative, and that’s enough for the confident smile to return to Boyd’s features – and okay, now they’re hugging.

It sets of a chain reaction. Isaac hugs him. Erica hugs him. It’s awkward, it’s weird as heck, but he humors them, even Allison’s boyfriend who gives him a bright “Hey” and an energetic shoulder-pat before he’s pulled back by Allison and stumbles over the huge net filled with volleyballs he’s holding (Allison’s boyfriend is an assistant gym teacher and also Stiles’s best buddy).

Allison hugs him and kisses his cheek: “My mom wishes you happy holidays. You know she would never say it in person.”

Derek will process this at a later date because Stiles is in his line of vision, with a sheepish look and a blush that deepens when Derek pulls him in instinctively. Derek lets go of Stiles after the first squeeze and light pressure of Stiles going lax against his chest. Stiles grins wryly and bounces his fist on Derek’s shoulder awkwardly, and it’s stated then: Stiles is back at pretending his feelings confession never happened. Derek thinks he’s conveying understanding – it’s okay, he’s happy they’re friends.

The day transpires a lot more cheerily after that – different than any other Christmases Derek has had, counting the ones in his childhood. Because the Hales never spent Christmas decorating a condemned loft turned yoga studio with garlands and candles, cooked an entire Christmas dinner in a tiny kitchen or by the way, used said Christmas decorated yoga studio to play dodgeball.

The dodgeball tournament turns out to be the bloodbath Derek’s yoga studio has been accustomed to lately. They have revolving team members and re-evolving teams due to small numbers, disloyalty within the ranks and frequent injuries: some sprained wrists, several head traumas, and a groin-hit that requires a long convalesce for Stiles, in fetus position on Derek’s bed upstairs.

They let him rest, but after twenty minutes Derek gets antsy and heads up the stairs.

“Are you cold?” he asks, holding the folded quilt in his hands.

Stiles looks wary and hopeful when Derek drapes it over his body, tugs his feet in and then – by the grip Stiles suddenly has of his shirt-chest – Derek lays down on the mattress so that they are face to face.

  “I’m sorry I ran. I’m a coward who’s never asked someone out before.”

  “You’re not. You came back. That—” I have no idea what that means, “—means a lot. I’m sorry for banning you.”

Stiles carefully grips his hand.  

“The note was the most childish thing I’ve seen you do – I think I’m rubbing off on you. Message received, though.” 

Derek looked at their interwoven fingers. “Can you explain to me again why you invade my privacy with Christmas cheer?” 

Stiles grinned. “I had no choice. I would’ve come either way, but then I thought why sneak in like a criminal when I can do it in style? Your friends were more or less hanging on the lock already.”

“They’re not my friends,” Derek says, but the jolt he feels in his chest suggests otherwise.

  “Then do you still want me to leave?”

Stiles looks at him, hopeful, and eagerly licks his lips. Derek reaches out to wipe sweat-crusted hair from his forehead, carefully minding the bruise he’s sporting. Stiles pulls him closer by the wrist, and they kiss, almost shyly. 

  “No,” Derek says, “but you’re on probation.” 

The kisses last longer and longer, and Stiles arranges Derek’s arms around him before he throws the quilt over them both, along with a cautionary “mind the groin”. Heavy, warm fabric falls over Derek’s head, robbing him of his sight and swaddling them both in their own cave of intimacy. To keep his weight off Stiles’s sore areas proves difficult, so they roll over.

“Ready to make some new memories in this room?” Stiles makes himself comfortable on top of him, hips supported by Derek’s hands, ”I think I feel my junk recovering.”

That’s when Stiles’s head meets a projectile that smacks his forehead into the ridge of Derek’s nose. Stiles throws off the quilt and catches the red volleyball before it rolls down to the floor. 

He raises it threateningly.

”Shit.” Erica ducks behind the stairs. “I was aiming for Derek!”

Stiles knees Derek in the stomach in effort to get off the bed. “Oh, it’s on, Reyes. Derek, you’re with me!”

  “Coming.” Derek remains still for a moment, gazing up towards the ceiling and trying not to smile. He loses that fight.