#am i physically capable of just saying something without it turning into a half assed story????

[transvampireboyfriend]

meddling kids is one of my favorite tropes but I think it wouldn't get on Eddie's nerves so much as it would just drive him crazy with curiosity.

Just like, the second any of the kids even hint at Steve wanting him around Eddie would just get on their case and just. not. let. up.

He's nosy!!! he's easily excited it's why he gets along so well with the kids! He'd be all whipping his head around emphatically and asking "why? did he say something?" and the kids would know right then what they did and immediately regret it.

He'd pick them up from the basketball court to drive them to his place for dnd and the whole drive he'd be like "did Steve miss me? would you say he was disappointed i wasn't there? did he know i was picking you guys up? was he excited?" and the kids would be all groaning and complaining.

He'd pester them separately too, he'd be all "Tell me what he's said about me, Red. C'mon I know he talks to you" or "Dustin, i know he's asked you about me. tell me. (*pulls Dustin's cap down*) tell me. (*pulls Dustin's cap down*) tell me. (*pulls Dustin's cap down*)" and "d'you think he'd say yes if i asked him out, Will?"

And they all roll their eyes (Will also giggles) but don't answer because Steve swore them to secrecy on penalty of never getting a ride ever again. Ever! yes, even if it's a life or death emergency you will be walking from the Upside Down to the hospital I don't care how many broken limbs you have, Steve had said.

So they're kicking themselves because its an impossible situation! they shouldn't have let Eddie realize! he won't leave them alone!!!!! but they can't encourage Eddie to make a move without answering that YES! Steve missed him! he's excited when Eddie's around and disappointed when he's not!!! he gives them puppy eyes and sighs like it's their fault Eddie has a band and a life of his own!!!! And they've told Steve a thousand times that Eddie likes him!!! and they don't.get why he won't ask Eddie out already! Do Not get them started on the incessant flirting whenever the two idiots see each other! someone end their misery!!!!!!

Anyways, Robin's been getting rides from Nancy, she made her promise she'd drive her if she was dying (Nancy was like whatthefuck of course) and she's got the balls to go against Steve's wishes for the greater good and so it all works out in the end :)

[blacklesbothatlovestowrite]

Telekinesis Pt 3

Slight Smut, Petty activity and Drama.

"I don't like your hardheaded ass but I love you all the same." Lexi rolls her eyes as she hugs you. She came over first thing in the morning with fresh pomegranate juice and avocado egg toast with chili oil from your favorite food spot.

"I love you too but you gotta chill. I am an adult, I am more than capable of making my own decisions. Even if you don't agree with them." You scold her. You couldn't imagine her not caring about you but you needed her to also not judge you for being human and a lovesick fool.

"I don't." She quickly responds and you purse your lips. "But I will try not to be too opinionated about that trifling hoe."

You laugh, knowing that was the best you were going to get from her. Lexi was beyond protective and it was something you matched 100%. She was your best friend, your other half.

"Full disclosure, Shuri and I are going to dinner tonight. As friends." You bite your lip as Lexi takes a deep breath.

"I'll pray for you." Lexi sighs, moving to your kitchen to rummage through your fridge. "You went grocery shopping without me?"

You scoff a laugh. Dylan had surprised you with impromptu Whole Foods groceries. She personally picked up your groceries when she got hers and dropped them off after leaving this morning before heading to work.

It was something that made you like her even more. She always did thoughtful things. Bringing you flowers, food, books she thought you'd enjoy, vinyl records of music you loved, essentials your home needed when you were running low.

She catered to you completely and that baffled you. How she could so easily do right by you without even being asked. It drove you crazy at times trying to rationalize why she cared for you so much.

"Dylan actually did it for me." You look at your hands. You didn't want to see any judgment from her, she was team Dylan from day one.

"Hmmmm." Is all she says, and I know it's meant to be as annoying as it sounds. She wants to point out just how good Dylan is for you, you know it.

"I need to go workout and do some work. I'll hit you later." You say, heading for your bedroom to get dressed for the gym.

Having skipped the gym and any actual physical activity in the past three days had you itching to get back to your routine. You couldn't stomach being lazy, it led to very unhealthy habits. You'd promised to never get big again and that meant moving a lot as you loved food.

The gym wasn't as packed as normal, so you found a corner and did your glute warm up. Once you were done and had stretched, you went to do the stair master for 15 minutes then started doing RDL's, Hip Thrusts, Sumó Squats and Deadlifts. By the time you'd gotten through your strength training, you moved on to the stair master for 45 minutes on a higher level than normal pushing yourself as punishment for skipping three days worth of workouts.

By the end of your workout you were a sweating, out of breath mess. You wiped the sweat off your forehead and stretched again to cool down before heading to take a cold shower to help your muscles after such an exhausting workout.

You had plenty of time before Shuri was set to pick you up so you decided to go shopping. You wanted something new, something to make her eat her heart. You needed the validation, you wanted the confirmation that you could bring her to her knees.

You walk into a high end boutique you'd heard of. Everyone knew of it, you'd never dared to step foot in the store. However you were feeling bold and petty, so you were ready for anything.

You stared at a few dresses before you found one that made you stop in your tracks. It was beyond gorgeous, sexy, a definite jaw dropper.

"Hello!" A bright voice says, breaking you from your gaze. You turned to see the short girl from the club. Miss Riri Williams.

You'd stalked Shuri enough to know this girl was a regular. No one had lasted as long as Miss Williams. Shuri was a love them and leave them type but for some reason she'd been linked to Miss Williams for six months.

"Hi." You reply, staring at her. You sized her up discreetly. She was pretty, it was obvious and that shook you to the core to admit.

"How can I help you today?" She says, her eyes widening a bit as she recognized you. You could tell by the way her eyes widened slightly.

"I'm looking for a dress for tonight." You take a deep breath. "I'd like that one." You gesture towards the dress you'd been staring at.

"Oh, ok...." She mutters, her eyes moving from you to the dress and then back. "What size?"

"10." You mumble. You felt uncomfortable at times with sizes and admitting them.

"Let me grab your size and I'll meet you in the dressing room. Did you see anything else you might want to try?" Riri asks.

"No, just the dress. I have the perfect shoes in mind." You assure her, before heading to where you see the dressing room.

While you wait for her to bring the dress your phone rings.

Incoming call - Lexi 🤞🏾

You rolled your eyes and sent it to voicemail as you pulled off your clothes. Stacking them neatly on the lounger. You stared in the mirror at your frame. You were thick, with a semi flat tummy.

You could see the glute pump from your workout as you turned slightly in the mirror. Your ass was a definite obsession for you. Coming from never having an ass to having a whole shelf was a huge confidence boost. You'd always been sensitive about having no booty, having no body that you would binge eat.

"Ok, I have--" Riri stopped talking as she walked in and saw you standing half naked on the small platform. Her eyes rolled over your frame. "Uhhhmmmm. I have the dress."

You smirk internally at the look on her face. Before taking your bra off and taking the dress from her to Slide over your head. The slinky dress hugged your every curve. It had slits in the sides that showed quite a bit of skin. You would definitely have to go sans panties.

"Are you going on a date?" Riri asks, clearing her throat. You knew she was uncomfortable and you were loving every minute of it.

"I'm not sure what to call it." You shrug as you turn to see yourself in the mirror at different angles.

"Well you look amazing." Riri compliments, and you could telll she meant it.

"Let's hope my ex thinks so too." You say, suggestively. A smirk on your lips, as you turned your gaze towards hers.

"You're meeting up with an ex?" She raised a brow. The connection was made and you could see the frustration in her eyes as she fought to remain professional.

"You know what they say 'Can't leave 'em alone' and all that." You joke, watching as she tensed slightly.

A few moments pass as you continue to stare blankly wanting her mind to conjure up the many possibilities of what could take place tonight. A small part of you felt bad knowing she'd done nothing to you to deserve any of your energy.

"I'll take the dress." You say, before slipping it off and getting dressed. You hand the dress over to her and watch as she heads for the counter.

"Have a good night." She says, her tone wavering. You had to give her credit, even though she was upset she was respectful.

As you paid and wished her a good night, you made sure to make one last comment to solidify trouble for Shuri.

"If she really appreciates what's underneath the dress, I'll definitely be back." You leave with a quick wave.

The moment your back home you quickly refresh yourself, have a smoothie to fill you up a bit and get ready while listening to music. Once you're finished getting ready, you snap a few pics and save them.

Hair (Minus headband) and Makeup

Your dress

"You look good.... like really good..." Shuri mutters, swallowing hard. As you open the door for her. You watch her, in a black blazer with no bra, giving hella peekaboo but classy and matching fitted wide leg pants and heels.

"I know." You say, mustering up every bit of confidence you can manage.

As you get into her sports car, she stares at you her eyes full of curiosity.

"Why did you go see Riri?"

"Why did I go shopping at your little girlfriend's job?" You snort, your eyes rolling. Noting the clench of her jaw. She hated when you did that.

"Y/n." She scolds.

"I wanted something to wear and I found it. This dress was made for me." You say, seductively as you crossed one leg over the other.

"You're something else." Shuri laughs, as she starts the car and drives off.

"Sorry if your girlfriend was offended by me giving her a pretty nice sized commission." You smirk. It was clear that Riri had ran to Shuri to either complain or accuse her.

"Not offended and she's not my girlfriend." Shuri shakes her head.

"Ah, I'm sorry. The girl you're fucking." You correct yourself, pulling your phone out. You were too bothered and that in itself told you that you shouldn't have come.

"Why do you care?" It made you angry at how easy Shuri could play anything off.

"I don't." Is all you said. The rest of the car ride was silent despite Shuri trying on several occasions to start a conversation.

When she pulled into the familiar neighborhood, you tensed. You'd thought she'd be taking you out, somewhere public. Yet here you were at her home, the familiar massive piece of scientific design in all it's glory.

Instead of saying anything you left the car not waiting for her to open your door like she'd done when she'd picked you up. You head straight for her front door that swung open the moment you touched the pad by the door.

She either kept your information in Griot's system or went back and added it after she'd talked to you. You stepped in, feeling the heat of her body behind you. Your eyes taking in the familiar decor.

There were quite a few new things to add to the old things since you'd last been there. The first time you'd come it looked very lonely and felt cold. This time it looked lived in, there were portraits of various times in Shuri's life with her family.

"You kept it." You say, looking at the biggest piece of artwork she had. You'd painted her mother.

"Or course I did." Shuri says, incredulously as if she could not believe the question.

"Your Home looks lived in..." You comment on the decor. Feeling strange in her private space after so long.

"Riri helped me decorate. She said it looked like a rental rather than a private residence." Shuri reluctantly admits. The comment angers you, knowing she let the girl have rule over her domain.

"She did a good job." You had to admit the girl had good taste.

"I had a chef come in and prepare your favorites, everything's on the warmer. If you'd like to go have it?" Shuri asks, and you nod as she leads the way to her dining room.

"What have you been up to?" Shuri inquires. You idly wondered if she ever checked up on you like you had her. As the two of you sit side by side, she pours wine for the both of you and fills the water glasses.

"Work, Gym, Lexi, and Dylan." You shrug. Your life was in a semi better place. You went out more, you traveled, you had fun with Dylan. Then of course there was the obsessive stalking Shuri's every move on social media.

"Is it serious, you and Dylan?" You could see how bothered she was by the way she said Dylan's name.

"I don't think that’s your business." You quickly shut that down.

"Yet Riri is yours?"

"Considering you lied to me about her... I'd say I'm right in keeping my private business just that; mine." You shrug.

“What lie?” Shuri looks confused.

“You said you’ve never fucked her but the two of you are pretty touchy. And the way Riri looked today, there’s no denying she’s your woman.” You grab the glass of wine and down it, feeling frustrated with the topic. You lean over a bit to grab the bottle to pour more.

“I’ve never fucked Riri.” Shuri raises a brow. “We’re close. I mean we’ve been dating but nothing has happened as it stands… We aren’t exclusive.”

“Love that for you.” The words like acid on your tongue. Now your visit to the boutique felt right. You hoped it shook the tiny girl to her core.

“Y/n…”

“What have you been up to?” You wave her off not wanting to be treated like a delicate flower. She had no reason yo apologize or try to coddle you. She wasn’t yours.

“Well lately I’ve been working on businesses that hire African Americans, trying to bridge the gap in the economy that’s screwed them over for so long.” Shuri grabs the plates of food off the warmer; placing one in front of her and the other in front of you.

“That’s really amazing.” You commend her, she was fulfilling her brother’s goals.

“I’m working on buying up land to make communities for black people only, as problematic as that sounds they deserve their own space free from outside interference constantly trying to bring them down systemically. They deserve protection and—“

Your phone rings, interrupting her and you bite your lip as you take it out of your bag.

Mi Sol 🧡

You look up at Shuri who’s face is blank. You give her an apologetic look as you answer the call, you’d told yourself you’d be more present and put in effort with Dylan and that meant taking her serious and making her a priority.

“Hey!” You greet her.

“Hi, mami.” She returns, her voice full of warmth. “You’re so gorgeous.”

“Thank you baby.” You smile, compliments were something you enjoyed and compliments from Dylan were even better because she constantly hyped you up.

“I miss your beautiful smile, your luscious lips, your other lips…” She giggles and you realize she’s tipsy. She’s horny whenever she gets tipsy. More than normal.

“Baby…” You whine, as you think of the many good things that happen when she’s tipsy.

“Whaaaaaaat?” She says, innocently. “I can’t say how obsessed I am with my girlfriend? How she has the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen? How I wanna taste said pretty pussy?”

“Lani…” You sigh, knowing exactly what she was doing. She was trying to get you to either come over or go back home. You had a feeling Lexi told her exactly who you were with.

“You know that thing I do with my tongue… that thing that has your toes curling and your eyes rolling into the back of your head?” She continues.

“Ay, mami…. No me jodas.” You pout, knowing she was purposely making you wet.

“Your bed is mighty lonely without you…” She says and you roll your eyes as she giggles again.

“Baby, I’ll be back soon.” You tell her.

“Hurry…. I know my pussy misses me.” Dylan declares and you cross your legs.

“I’ll be back soon.” You repeat before hanging up. You look at Shuri and your brows furrow at the look on her face. Her veins are showing in her face and her jaw is clenched.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Shuri mumbles. “I take it you have to leave?”

“Not right now. You were telling me about what you were doing.” You remind her, watching as she slowly loosens up.

“I don’t want to keep you from your girlfriend.” She snaps and you stare at her in surprise.

“Ok, then.” You nod to yourself before pushing your chair back and standing. Just as you’re about to walk off, Shuri’s quickly at your side with her hand clasping your wrist.

“Wait Sthandwa, I apologize. I was wrong to speak to you like that.” Shuri pleads, her eyes begging me to stay. I exhale, pulling my wrist from her hold.

“Seems we both care more than we should.” You point out, sitting back in your seat.

The rest of the dinner is tame. You both steer away from heavy conversations and focus on your career, and what you’ve both been doing to better yourselves physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. The last one is shocking to you when Shuri admits she believes in the Ancestors now and the saying ‘Everything Happens For A Reason’

For the longest time she was so angry at everything. When she’d lost her family it’d seemed like she’d lost herself as well. Sitting and conversing with her as she reflected on how much she’d changed and matured over the years made you feel slightly envious that you couldn’t do that for her.

It went without saying that Riri was the one that helped her and that made you feel worthless. You’d tried when you were together to help her, to heal her, to be her peace and she seemed too combative against it. She warred with you when all you tried to do was make her smile, bring happiness into her life.

What did Riri do that was so different from what you tried to do? How was she able to awaken the loving Shuri you’d heard so much about and could barely get. What did she have that you didn’t? Sure she was a pretty girl and she had a skinny, tiny body but it couldn’t just be looks. Shuri had been with enough women that looks couldn’t be the factor.

“You deserve every piece of happiness you can find.” You sum up the strength to say, feeling guilty for the anger and jealousy that was stirring in you.

While it was clear Shuri had grown. It was even clearer that you hadn’t. You’d changed for sure. But it clearly wasn’t for the best.

[yesimwriting]

The Promise of Rain

A/n finally writing that Kaz Brekker x reader angsty-fluff where the reader is all sunshine-y and Kaz is dramatic as always lol 

Might make this a blurb series bc i like this dynamic so much lol

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x sunshine-y reader 

Summary: After a mission gone wrong, Kaz has a conversation with the reader (who’s a runaway princess) about what happens to people who stay near him. 

-- 

He once said that he didn’t believe in Saints. A moment later he conceded that perhaps they existed in order to appease Inej, but he was quick to tact on that if Saints existed they didn’t care about him. Inej and I had exchanged a look, she pleaded with me in silence to let him be. I opened my mouth despite the look in her eyes, but he had walked away before I could get any words out. 

He believes that the Saints don’t care about him, but as soon as he was dragged in by Jesper, bleeding and more broken than usual, it had started to rain. The rain is a promise. The rain is a sign that he will wake up. 

I tap a finger against the forgotten book on my lap, ignoring the dried blood I’ve been too anxious to wash off. When Kaz wakes up he’ll either scold me or partially tease me for waiting here by his bedside. The rain continues, cascading down invisible hope. 

“Save your prayers, even for you the Saints won’t regard me.” Kaz. His voice is raspier than it should be and his slight condescension is blighted by the tired flatness of it. But it’s him. He’s speaking. 

I tear my gaze away from the window, almost forgetting to tamper down my relief before finally looking at him. I haven’t known him long enough to see him in any level of defeat, but I’ve heard enough stories. The fictional exaggeration of those that fear him have made him seem so immortal. Some part of me must have internalized that because to see him like this, to see him so human is too intimate. 

“Don’t be so narcissistic.” Something about Kaz always leaves me feeling challenged, like each comment is some kind of dare. I adjust my posture. “I wasn’t praying because I knew you’d be okay.” 

His expression is unchanging. “So much faith in me?” 

There’s a soft edge to his words, an attempt to twist some kind of awkward denial out of me. Some days I don’t think Kaz enjoys anything and then other days I think he enjoys any misstep in my words. 

I shrug, pushing down the flood of relief still attempting to crawl out of my chest. “You’re always okay.” I scratch the back of my wrist idly. “It seems the safe bet.” 

“Don’t tell me you’ve been taking gambling advice from Jesper.” 

I half roll my eyes. “No--Jesper and I don’t play together anymore.” I let out an easy sigh. “Last time I beat him he bordered on a hissy fit.” There’s the slightest hint of upturning at the corners of his lips. “I should go tell Jesper and Inej you’re awake.” 

“I think you should change out of that dress first.”

He was more likable when I thought he might die at any second. “Wow--Kaz Brekker the professional stylist.” He has no right to judge the formal gown I’m in. Yes, my outfit is ridiculous, but I’m only wearing it because the Crows needed someone they knew at a merchant’s party for a part of some scheme they wouldn’t share the details of with me. “Yes, I’m aware that this dress is more tulle than anything else, but I’m only wearing it because I was helping you.” 

I wait for some retort about how he could have managed without my assistance or some kind of comment about how I didn’t need such a large dress to flirt and distract the guards as the Crows snuck into the merchant’s private office. “You fit in there more than you said you would.” 

From anyone else, I’d consider this an insult. “I was making an effort for the sake of your plans.” 

“I saw you before I went into the office, you knew the dances, the man took your hand.” 

That’s the weirdest observation I’ve ever witnessed someone reflect on. “That’s how those dances tend to work.” I don’t hide the confusion in my expression. “How much blood did you lose?” 

Kaz’s piercing gaze drops to the blanket on his lap. “Not a concerning amount.”

“Why do I feel like we have different definitions of ‘concerning’?” 

His eyes flit upwards, a partial smirk playing at his lips. “We define a lot of things differently.” He pauses, “You defined the life you slipped into so easily tonight as something you could never do.” 

“I can’t.” What is his problem? “One dance is different than an eternity of planning teas and marrying some man who only keeps me so I can rear his children.” 

“You’d end up marrying someone who could give you things.”

He better not be implying I should be having children. I’m seriously starting to hope he did lose a significant amount of blood because that would be some kind of explanation. “I don’t want anyone to be giving me children right now, but I guess your concern is ni--”

“No, no,” he screws his eyes shut for a long second, “You know what I meant.” I stay silent. “You’re technically a princess, y/n, you could have more than the Barrel.” There’s an odd silence as he pauses. “Someone like you should have more than the Barrel.” 

He speaks like his word is law. That’s the one habit of his I can never seem to forgive. Is Kaz telling me to go home? To go back to a mother who dreams of marrying me off and a father with a temper that often leads to violence? He may be Dirtyhands, but he is no one to tell me who to go back to. Not after I risked my anonymity to get him into that merchant’s office. 

I shut my book and stand in one swift motion. “I’m going to tell Jesper and Inej that you’re awake.”

“Y/n.” I ignore him. “Y/n.” Again, I ignore him, approaching the doorway. The rustling of sheets leaves me frozen, hand on the doorknob. “Y/n.” 

Without thinking, I turn on my heels while glaring. There’s no way he’s proud enough to have climbed out of bed wi--and he’s standing. Standing almost directly behind me. 

“Kaz Brekker, I am going to say this one time and one time only.” I keep my words measured and my tone flat. No room for argument. “You just had nine stitches put in near your heart, get your ass back in bed before that is no longer your only injury.” 

He pauses, lips pressed together into a tight white line. And then his mouth opens, pried open by an oddly light sound. Did he just--Did Kaz Brekker just laugh? He doesn’t laugh. I didn’t think he was physically capable, and now he laughs while I’m threatening him? I should hit him on principle alone and damn the consequences. 

“Did you--” I’m gaping at him with a rage I am not accustomed to. “Did you just laugh?” 

Kaz is quick to shut his mouth. “You did swear you’d get me to laugh one day.” 

Saints--now he chooses to have some kind of sense of humor. “Not while I was threatening you for being an idiot after saying my lineage means that I’m meant to be trapped in the life I desire least.” 

“I didn’t say that.” I raise an eyebrow. “You don’t deserve more than this because of your family, you deserve more than this because--” He cuts himself off with a sharp sigh. “Do you remember what happened the day we met?” 

He had wanted to return me to my father for the money. I had managed to convince him I could be more useful working for him without profit. The first day had been tense, I had sworn to myself that I would hate him forever. 

“I remember really hating you.” I remember thinking him beautiful despite his darkness. “I remember it started raining on our way here.” 

“You had a hood, but you pushed it off your head to feel the rain.” I don’t remember that because indulging in the rain is instinctual to me. “You looked at the rain, and you smiled--and then you saw a woman with a child and you took off your hood and gave it to them.” 

“What does that have to d--” 

“Watching that felt like intruding on an intimate moment I had no business knowing about, but it wasn’t that to you. That moment was nothing to you because that moment was who you are.” 

I don’t understand what he sees in something I can barely remember. “Kaz, what does that have to do with anything?” 

“I’m the monster that children believe live under their beds, I’m the bastard of the Barrel, I’m someone who gets blood on everything near them.” His gaze is harsher than I’ve ever seen it as he focuses on the dried blood splotched across my hands and arms. “And then I can’t even help you wash it off.” 

Those last words are the closest to broken I’ve ever heard him sound. “Kaz--”

“And you’re the girl who looks at the rain like it’s a gift from the Saints.” 

Is he implying what I think he’s implying? Even if I believed him such a source of evil, even if I felt like touch mattered that much--why would he care? I keep the much more frightening implication at bay as I exhale. Clarity will only make this conversation worse. “That doesn’t matter.” The words leave me in a low whisper. 

I stare at the ground until his silence is something I can no longer bear. Looking up as cautiously as possible, I take in his expression. I’ve never seen him look so--so enraged. “It doesn’t matter?!” He doesn’t bother hiding the fact that he’s practically seething. “I’ve viewed your presence here as temporary since you first came and despite that, when I saw you there…” The breath he lets out is practically pained. “When I saw what your life is meant to be--I didn’t want you to go.” 

The admission breaks something hard in my chest. “I never wanted to go.” My eyeline drops to the ground. “I didn’t want to go when you were trying to make me, I didn’t want to go when it was only for that evening.” I swallow a lump of emotion restricting my throat. “When you were bleeding out and Jesper had to carry you back here I let myself imagine what it’d be like if you died. And it hurt. It hurt so badly I asked myself if I would rather never know you than feel that pain.” 

“Would you?” His voice has gone hollow. 

I finally look up again. “No.” That word leaves me more bare than any physical touch ever could. 

“I stain everything that stays with me,” his voice has seamlessly shifted back to a tone meant for business, “Me wanting you to stay is more than enough reason for you to leave.”

My chest aches as emotions I’ll never be able to place a name to pound against my chest. “I’m a princess that ran away from her family and tried to befriend her kidnapper--you can’t possibly be narcissistic enough to believe that you’re what’s corrupted me.” 

“Y/n,” his voice is gravely again, the way it was when he first woke up. 

“No. What could you possibly think I’d say to that?” He’s insane--I’m not even sure I understand what he’s implying. “You know I’ll never agree with what you’re saying, so I have no idea what kind of reaction you’re looking for.”

“Maybe a genuine one.” 

The comment is so frustrating I can’t help but roll my eyes. The irony of Kaz Brekker asking for a genuine reaction to an emotionally heavy comment is almost laughable. “My genuine reaction is that you’re acting like an idiot because I don’t agree with anything you’re saying, but calling someone an idiot after they’ve been stabbed in the chest is a little insensitive so I can’t give you my genuine reaction.”

Kaz half-scoffs, “You don’t agree? Y/n--are you hearing me!? I want--I want you to stay.” Even angry, the admission warms me. He lets out a frustrated sigh. “More than that I want--” 

“What?” 

He shakes his head once. “I want something that can never be because I can’t give what needs to be given to get it.” 

“Kaz, if it involves me staying you don’t need to give anything for that because I don’t want to go.” 

“I-want-you-to-stay-with-me.” The admission is pried from him by some invisible force. He speaks so fiercely the sentence comes out as one angry word. 

He speaks so quickly a part of me is convinced that I misheard him. I watch him as he moves back to the bed, sitting down in a way so resigned I wonder if I blurted something out on instinct. 

“Kaz,” this is embarrassing, “I wanted to stay with you even when I wanted to hate you.”

I take in his measured expression, the only thing implying any kind of reaction is the way his eyebrows draw together. “Don’t say that, you don’t understand what that means.” 

“Why? Because you’re convinced you’ll ruin me?” 

“Y/n, we’d be together with a wall between us, keeping us from ever touching.” 

“I will tolerate any amount of damage you’re so convinced staying with you will bring, I will stay with you and never touch you and think nothing of it--but I will not stay with you just to stand in front of a wall.” I let out a tired breath. “I will stay with you but my one condition will be that you have to let me know you.” 

Kaz’s intense gaze wavers. “The first thing you’ll know is that me allowing you to stay is a testament to my greed.” 

I give him a sharp look, “It’s not greed if I want to be here.” 

He half sighs, leaning against a pillow as he turns to look out the window. “It’s raining,” he muses, “The Saints must have done that for you.” 

The sentiment is so soft my heart feels like it’s constricting. “I thought you didn’t believe in the Saints.” 

“If they exist, they do so for people like you.” 

I push past the emotion in my chest as I move to sit in the same chair I was in earlier. “I was honest when I said I didn’t pray for you.” I scratch the back of my arm, a coldness passing over me. “I didn’t pray because I knew you would be okay because you had to be.” 

“They wouldn’t have saved me,” he mumbles, “Or maybe they would have for you.” 

I shake my head once, staring at the rain with more fascination than before. 

--

General Taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper @grishaverse7 @lonelystarship

[astaroth1357]

Brothers React to a Demigod MC 

So, I've gotten some interest to do a Brothers follow-up to a previous request of mine (Undateables React to a Cute, Badass MC), however, I've thus far refused to write one. Honestly, this HC actually plays on a trope I personally dislike and had it not been a request I would have never done it to start with. I just can't see any reasonable way a non-magic human can beat a bunch of demons, I just can't, and that hinders my imagination quite a bit. …But someone who’s not so human? That I can get behind. Fair warning, I grew up with the Percy Jackson series so that’s going to paint quite a bit of how I see modern demigods. Ready for things to get super-ultra fanfic-y for a bit?

Intro:

The day to kidnap bring the exchange students to the Devildom has finally come and the demons have all gathered in the Council Room to open their portal to the human world. Really, things started without a hitch - the portal opened with and their future student dropped down out of it and landed on the floor… before they suddenly leapt up, pulled out a weapon, and lunged at them!

… This isn’t your normal human, it is?

Lucifer

Oh Devil, this couldn’t have been any farther than what they wanted… They were looking for a human and they managed to pull out a halfling! A divine halfling no less!! Why wasn’t this in their file?!

Look, Lucifer might not be on good terms with his father, but even he knows he had it better than any children of the pagan gods… The levels of petty vindictiveness that run through that bunch are literally the stuff of legends...

After he and Barbatos were able to restrain the MC before they hurt themselves or anyone else, Diavolo explained everything to them and gave them a pardon for attacking the Demon Prince on sight… After they identified themselves and their parentage, Lucifer knew they were in for some shit…

He and Diavolo had to iron out an apology letter to their godly parent for days just to keep from saying anything that could accidentally cause a second Troy or worse... It was a mess...

But on the bright side, the “human” came pre-prepared for fighting monsters and demons, which honestly took a bit of a load off his shoulders. That’s less responsibility for Mammon - and in his experience, the less responsibility Mammon has, the better things usually turn out.

… Though their ability to actually hold their own in a fight did make things complicated sometimes - like whenever he was their perceived opponent... 

He wasn’t expecting to have to manage a being that was actually capable of meeting him toe-to-toe on the battlefield and it did hinder his intimidation factor to some degree…It was hard to be threatening to someone who’s likely faced worse than you could ever offer.

In the end it probably worked out for the best, as a live exchange student is better for Diavolo than a dead one - but man did it get on his nerves until they made their pact together… Be scared of him, dammit!

Mammon

The first time he tried to threaten the human, they straight up pulled out a weapon and looked like they were ready to whip his ass!! Didn’t they know he wasn’t being serious?? 😫

He really didn’t know why he had to be on babysitting duty, anymore... This huma-er demigod could handle themselves just fine!

When he first ditched them with Levi, he later found out they managed to cleanly toss his brother over their head and make a break for it all by themselves! And Levi’s no pushover either!!

Later, he saw them getting ambushed on their way back from school and they soundly knocked out about five demons before he even caught up to them… and he’s, like, fast and stuff… 

Their strength is kind of unreal at times, but he could tell they were still far from a mindless killing machine. They were more or less a normal person, they had wants and dreams like anybody else, but they just happened to be a long stronger than the average mortals around them. 🤷‍♀️

After he eventually got to know them and a bit about how their life worked, he felt a little bad for them... Who wants to be hunted down just for being born?

After learning about their struggles, Mammon ended up resolving to help keep them safe (even if a part of him knew they didn’t need him that much).

I mean, if the whole world’s against you, then you can use all the help you can get... right?

Leviathan 

Levi found out exactly one thing about them within the first two minutes of meeting them… their reflexes were killer.

After Mammon ditched them on Day One, he tried to drag the human to his room to tell them his genius plan but they broke out of his grip and threw him flat on his back like was just second nature! 

He was stuck on the ground for a full minute, trying to process what just happened, while they ran off into the House all alone…

Did he just get tossed around… by a human?? Was he really that pathetic!?!

Finding out later that they were actually half-god certainly helped out his self-esteem because, man, if he had lost so easily to a human of all things... He might have just never left his room again…

Levi pretty much kept his distance from them until they finally made a pact together and then he discovered that the MC wasn’t so scary after all. If he’s being honest, being in the same house as a demigod was actually kind of cool...! 

Like, it was almost exactly the plot of the show: “Wait, I Thought I Was the Son of a Pagan God So What Am I Doing in a Christian Hell??” but their MC seemed to know a lot more about fighting than the protagonist of that show ever did…

Plus, because he never had to worry about their safety, he had even more excuse to never leave his room. Win-win!

Satan

A demigod, eh…? He had done plenty of research into human world mythologies in his spare time, frankly he thought the old gods had died out - but it seems they were still up and kicking… and making babies for whatever reason? Horny bastards...

Satan's original interest in the MC was purely academic. It’s not everyday that you get to meet someone of such a unique heritage and he fully intended to learn if all the legends about their greatness were true… and well...

He could say that the MC was certainly different than how he pictured humans being. He’d never met very many before, but from what he could gather they were a weak race that really got by on wit and persistence… However, nothing about the MC was weak.

Their aptitude for combat was surprisingly sharp, both in skill and reflexes. He had once blown up at them in anger and not only did they dodge his swipes but they got in a good few hits themselves with a nearby lamp… He never once thought a mortal could give him a black-eye but, somehow, they pulled it off. 🤷‍♀️

Combine their physical skill with what magical gifts were granted to them by their godly-half and they were a force to be reckoned with… Even Solomon seemed to hesitate and think more about his actions around them (which is saying something for a sorcerer of his strength).

It’d be fair to say a part of him grew to respect the MC long before they ever made their pact and that respect only grew afterwards. If he had to be bound to any master, human or otherwise, he’d rather it be one that he could right about consider an equal not only as a friend, but in strength as well.

Asmodeus 

A demigod…? Oooo, he hadn’t come across one of those since he bedded Aeneas all those centuries ago… Such a gorgeous man, got all his looks from his mother~! 🤭

Asmo was probably the most interested in their godly heritage, but it felt like he was treating them like a zoo exhibit for a while… Something pretty and new to look at, but not exactly someone he wanted to know personally...

He openly and readily admitted that watching their little demigod in action got him hot and bothered (or well, more hot and bothered than usual ) but it didn’t take him to see they weren’t interested at the time…

He decided that he just had to have a pact with them after they saved him from Henry 1.0! It was before he noticed the giant snake and he was lurching back to strike, but the human swept in to knock him out of the way. They probably could have made mince meat of the creature themselves if Levi weren’t begging for them to spare his former pet...

Post-pact Asmo treated them with a lot more respect… but also still fanboyed over their fighting skills hardcore. 

Like, their body had to be fit to keep up with all those monsters, right?? What was their training routine? Could he watch?? Oh please say he can watch!! He just can’t get enough of that fighter’s physique…! 😍

Beelzebub 

So… the human isn’t a human but only part human? And the other part is a god? Does that make them any sturdier than normal humans…? Call him curious…

Beel was probably one of the few brothers who was legitimately weary of the MC from the beginning… He can get a certain feel for a person pretty quickly and something about them just felt…frankly, kind of dangerous.

But they also intrigued him a little… Beel’s used to being one of the strongest demons in any room he walks into (not a boast, just a fact) so for him to get that feel from a mortal was pretty impressive. A part of him just wanted to test them… you know?

So. He did. He asked them to help him train his martial arts one day and even with his awareness, he was not expecting the results that he got.

The MC was strong. Very strong. They were not only able to keep up with him and dodge his blows, but they were able to predict his moves and counterattack in kind. They didn’t even need to tell him that they had actually been fighting for their life for years, he could tell. They had a skill you don’t get from practice matches...

After that point, the two would go to each other to train and keep their skills sharp… but also just to spar for fun. Their fighting styles made a pretty good match and they bonded pretty damn quick because of it. 

If anime tells us anything, when you find a good fight buddy, you stick with them. Even if one’s part god and the other is a demon. 🤷‍♀️ 

Belphegor 

A demigod is still human enough to hate, sorry MC. Not that he knew about their godly heritage at first…

Really, he should have been a little more suspicious of how easily they seemed to take to life in the Devildom... Weren’t demons supposed to scare humans? Why did they seem so comfortable down here...?

His confirmation only came when he tried to enact the final part of “Use the MC to Escape the Attic!” plan and take their life to seal the deal… but oh boy, was he outclassed real quick… 

The MC had already socked him in the jaw by the time he got his full demon form out and then they threw him across the room by the tail… the TAIL!! And it hurt like a bitch, too!! Even during the full blown fight that followed, he could tell they were holding back and it pissed him off something fierce...!

Why was the MC so strong?!? Humans weren’t supposed to be strong!!!

His brothers heard all the commotion and the Lilith confrontation ended up happening up in the attic between a somewhat beat-up Belphie and a barely-scratched MC. Had Beel not come to his defense on instinct, it might have turned out worse for him in all honesty… Something about that human just wasn’t right…

He only found out about their god-half after everything settled down and he promised not to try killing them again (not that anyone thought he could...) and that put some things into perspective. So the Lastborn Ruler of Hell isn’t as strong as one mortal demigod…? Ouch. Okay, fine then... Whatever...

He does think it’s too bad he missed them beating the crap out of the rest of his brothers, though (minus Beel)... That would have been fun to see. 😔

So I tried to keep this one God-parent neutral, but I’ve upgraded this to its own series! Check it out if you’re interested! 😊

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes

[theseerasures]

RWBY V08C14 reaction post

haven’t done something like this for this fandom yet, but the finale was so much all at once that i could not muster any level of critical thinking the first go-around. my thoughts have...settled somewhat with a second rewatch. still nothing conclusive (obviously), but at least coherent enough to be written down.

in rough chronological order:

i am very into it, of course, but i’m still not quite sure what to make of the fact that this finale very explicitly pivots around Winter Schnee, to the extent that the episode (sans prologue and coda) are bookended by her. she begins the episode charging into a fight, and ends it the same way. even putting aside that her in-universe presence has increased by magnitudes, that we end a season where she has mostly been a sparse supporting player with THIS has implications i can’t suss out for her narrative role going forward.

going into the finale i thought that Ironwood vs. Winter would turn out to be another RWBY Flagship Fight (ie long and flashy and indulgent in the best ways), but i pretty much knew that wouldn’t be the case once the fight began in earnest and they immediately started talking to each other.

for what we did get i’m happy to say that the Core Dynamic of the fight was exactly what i predicted: Winter rushing in to melee and not giving Ironwood enough time to fire, Ironwood trying to make room by shoving her away and using his cannon as a makeshift club--even down to breaking the cannon formation BACK to dual wielding to give himself an edge.

i will say that for Winter to have blocked him head-on--this is James Ironwood, who once stopped an Alpha Beowolf cold with one bionic hand, and now he’s got TWO--with her broken noodle arms is...incredibly cool. stupid! but cool.

Ironwood doing the double pistol whip while screaming about how no one is grateful has i wouldn’t have to be doing this if you just behaved all over it.

in retrospect i’m not sure why i expected a RWBY Flagship Fight when just about every fight this season has been extremely different. the camera work is always fucking frantic, we’re often cross-cutting between different simultaneous fights, and there are far fewer shots where both combatants are clearly shown and evenly matched. about the only fight we’ve had resembling that is AceOps vs Penny waaaaaaay back in Strings--even the low-stakes triumphant JNPER + Winter vs. Ironwood fight in Creation was extremely short and crosscut with BRA vs. AceOps.

case in point: the showdown in Grand Central takes up pretty much the entire episode, but combatants are continuously entering and exiting, the setting’s physical dimensions feel wonky and surreal, and the fact that half of the people fighting have flight capabilities means we’re relying on wide shots and oners to figure out what the fuck is going on. it’s a war now, and even though we follow only a handful of characters in it the fights carry that grander and more desperate tone.

Cinder relies twice this episode on just fucking nova-ing herself to overwhelm her Maiden opponents. it’s different from how she usually fights, which is still fireballs and conjured swords/projectiles--she’s learning to use her Maiden powers to wreak havoc on a larger scale, which a) reinforces what we already know of Cinder, but b) complements her recent relearning of subtlety and manipulation. still a tenuous balance of extremes that can and will shatter, though.

Weiss got to save everyone during the fight, and none of it mattered in the end.

the thing about priority one is that they all planned for this. they all went in planning for the contingency where they don’t make it out, where they have to watch others not make it out.

Weiss plucking Penny out of the air and Penny pleading to make the sacrifice play is an EXACT recreation of what happened in Enemy of Trust, down to the saved looking up at the savior while the savior is looking onward. she’s just swapped places with the Schnee in question, and...they are the priority targets this time, unfortunately.

Cinder smugly flipping her hair out of...her eyepatch...she really is living her best life and she knows it

Blake made the right choice, and it didn’t matter at all.

Qrow ending the last episode with a berserker charge at Harriet and then immediately pulling back here and trying to talk her down really got to me, as did him trying to block the bomb with his body. the man is so desperately trying to be better than he was, and it doesn’t take a lot anymore for him to realize the right path.

Elm and Vine--

the thing about Elm and Vine is that both their powers boil down to getting attached. so watching Elm hold Vine in place while Vine holds the two airships together, everyone in this little world, it’s...everything i could ever want, out of how the story of the AceOps would end.

Anairis Quinones for dark horse MVP. why can’t you just let me do my job, delivered in the way that it was, is the perfect encapsulation of Harriet Bree desperately trying to outrun her personal feelings and the grief it has given her.

Elm tells Harriet that she’s their friend, to stop her from killing a part of herself as she tries to kill others. it’s the first time this happens in the episode, but not the only time.

Penny saved Blake so they could save Ruby together, and it didn’t matter at all.

our heroes have GOT to stop falling for the “watch the thing flying in the air! OH WAIT I STILL HAVE A WEAPON IN MY HAND WALLOP WALLOP” trick. it happens multiple times in this one episode.

Harriet, who has the fastest Speed Semblance known, says there’s no time to make it out of the blast range. she doesn’t try to outrun it. she just...stays put, and admits that she brought them all here, to this. i’m sorry.

here’s the thing: they’re soldiers. they were prepared for this eventuality, where they don’t make it out. that’s why Elm let Vine go grab Harriet; because she thought they were all going to die, and if that happened she wanted Harriet close enough to reach.

but--just like with Team Hero--some of them do make it out. they just have to watch.

Vine and Hazel sacrificed themselves in the same way in the end: pulling their loved ones close wasn’t working, so they threw themselves around the thing trying to kill them instead.

Ruby was clever, and pragmatic, and brave. it didn’t matter in the end.

Cinder letting Neo fall as soon as she gets a chance proves that she still lacks patience, and that’s going to bite her in the ass.

the Penny-Blake fastball special and the fall; Penny crying tears for the first time, but not moving immediately to rage, as she had last episode, when Yang fell.

Weiss’ shaking hands around Gambol Shroud, crying berserker tears as she tries, desperately, to pull off another miracle. it’s another role reversal in a way: her sister’s the Riza Hawkeye, but she’s the one emptying useless clip after useless clip into an enemy she can’t kill, because her heart has been ripped in two.

the last time Nora Valkyrie saw Jaune Arc, they clasped hands, and their eyes met with determination, and hope.

it figures that a Schnee would be the last one standing, letting all her friends die first. she was right, but again: wrong Schnee.

Weiss diving past Cinder’s blind spot to slice the Grimm Arm, to save Penny--the same script, but the wrong player. and too late.

at Haven, Jaune went from trying to do harm to unlocking his Semblance, and realizing that he was meant to heal. here, he goes from trying to do what he is meant to do, what he has made peace with, to...

it will take a long time, i think, for him to learn to live with himself, even with Penny reassuring him that this is what she wants. to go from wanting to harm to being the one who does no harm, to being forced to acknowledge a person’s right to die, and carry out the deed himself. it’s a new variation on what he’s always had to wrestle with since Pyrrha’s sacrifice.

Weiss managed to outlast Cinder Fall without an Aura WITHOUT getting her entire body broken, Winter

the boundary between material worlds is made of darkness. the boundary between souls is made of light, and there is no danger of falling.

where...what is this? of course Winter doesn’t know. she never would have, even if she had gotten the powers, because she would have used the Transfer machine.

i thought of you, and here we are. that was all it took. the last time Penny saw Winter, Winter was still loyal to Ironwood. she’s only known abstractly, secondhand from Weiss, that Winter was on their side again and trying to help save Mantle, for about an hour. and yet: i thought of you.

and in the face of this thought that is love, Winter averts her eyes. tries in vain to hide her face, because she knows she is unworthy. she doesn’t deserve this.

but here’s the thing: no one deserves this. Penny. are you...the one? even Penny herself wasn’t sure.

you were my friend. the second time it happens this episode. friends save friends from themselves. friends transform what would have been murder into sacrifice.

remember what Penny said to Cinder, shortly before Cinder killed her? you wouldn’t know anything about friends. she’s right. it wasn’t Cinder’s choice, but she’s right. and now Cinder has learned how to use that.

i’ll be part of you. it is, of course, something that’s been brought up repeatedly this whole season. but it’s also what Winter said to Penny after Fria died: she’s a part of you now.

and i do love this yoking together of arc words. Winter is of course the firstborn Schnee, but Winter is, more broadly, The Firstborn in this new generation. so here we have something similar to the chain that begins with Winter letting her sisters go, through Penny letting Emerald go, through Emerald helping Oscar escape, to Atlas’ however ephemeral victory over Salem. what Winter begins--haltingly and with resentment--becomes transformed into radiant grace in the hands of her younger siblings. and she gets to be the direct benefactor this time. the prodigal daughter returns to her family.

during Enemy of Trust we watched from the outside as Oscar fell and Penny rose, as one set of eyes closed as another opened. during The Final Word, we watch from the inside: one set of eyes close. another opens.

Winter’s leitmotif plays on the piano for the first time since the previous season as she comes back to the world. it makes sense. the piano version is for her sisters, and she just left one of them.

here is the apotheosis of Winter Schnee: she gets back up. she falters and sways but she gets back up, and then she, the person who once managed to convince herself that so long as she could make peace with someone else’s choice it meant she too was choosing, tells the man who has been choosing for her for years: you chose nothing. and she rises.

in the end James Ironwood was finished by his petard thrice over. Atlas had defected against him. his greatest creation had become the Maiden and unshackled herself from him. and there is of course, the cannon: a literal petard, in the other words, which he fires at Winter, and Winter reflects back upon him.

Jaune Arc used the heirloom that his family has held for generations to kill a defenseless girl. he took the blade and sunk it in deep, because Penny trusted him and he had to be sure.

and then it shattered in his hands.

there’s something here in the second fight between Maidens, about Cinder having a named weapon and forsaking it for what she can make on the fly, and Winter insistent on using a weapon with no name at all, but i still can’t put my finger on it.

Winter never got to see Weiss try to Summon her Nevermore.

the thing that gets me about how it turns out is: Winter was winning. she’d managed to get her hands on the Staff, and even with Cinder’s immediate counterattack she managed to get the Staff away from Cinder. but then Cinder saw Jaune and Weiss, and she remembered a few days ago, when Penny saved Winter instead of going after Cinder, when Winter attacked Cinder to save Penny.

so Cinder attacks Weiss and Jaune instead of racing for the Staff. and Winter--

this is Winter Schnee. she saves people despite herself. she runs toward them, despite herself. and it has always, always been what saves her.

not anymore.

last time it had been Winter who was in mortal danger, and Weiss who, with Ruby’s help, drove Cinder off. same script, wrong player. and too late.

Weiss falls and for a moment, the camera makes it seem like Winter is falling too.

she wants to. no one deserves this.

the thing you have to ask when characters leap for the exit and fall just short is: is it about faith, or friendship? in Jaune’s case it’s both. his faith broke with Crocea Mors. and the portal is one-way, so he had no friends to grab him from the other side.

but Nora was still trying. they clasped hands. she promised.

the first time Winter sees her family--really sees them, after years of separation--she averts her eyes. she hides her face from them, because how can she tell them that Weiss is gone? how can she tell Penny’s friends that Penny is a part of her now, when Penny is just a part, now?

there are people all around her looking to her. there are voices within her. she has never been more alone.

(Winter Schnee has never met Pyrrha Nikos, and Pyrrha Nikos never became Maiden. because Pyrrha Nikos never became Maiden. Cinder Fall did that, too.)

this is what Winter Schnee thinks, as she screams and charges, as she kills Grimm faster than they are drawn in by her despair: in the fairy tales, eldest siblings never win.

i failed you again, master. master, but not queen.

Cinder won this. the heroes tried and tried and tried and none of it mattered, and she won this. but here’s the thing: Cinder won because she was LUCKY, and because she made her own luck. that she was able to pin things on Neo and Team Hero depended on things going exactly as planned, and some things going better than planned. and the reason she’d even made it that far was because she cheated, with the last use of a divine relic. it doesn’t take away her from her victory, but what i do know is this: this is her finest moment. she will never win as completely ever again, and she will fall farther than she has ever feared. (and that will save her, in the end.)

and that’s checkmate. i said that i wanted Atlas to fall the same way that Amity rose, but of course they did it like this. of course it would horrific yet unspectacular, with its General slumped in defeat, unable to fire a single shot from his gun. with the city in the sky falling onto Mantle, in Mantle’s palette. from the Dust from which it arose into Dust again.

as below, so above.

[clefairymuke]

regrets | chapter eight

prev. chapter | next chapter

pairings: levi ackerman x reader / eren jaeger x reader

themes: enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut

tw: violence / explicit sexual content

word count: 2066

On the third day in the infirmary, your life had become hell. It had begun to feel like a prison cell. The walls seemed to draw in more tightly each day.

It would be two weeks before your leg would heal enough to try to walk, according to Hange. Until then, you were stuck in bed with Jean as your errand boy. Levi had made an appearance just the day before to inform you that he felt your affliction was punishment enough, but to "watch your step." His choice of words made you want to laugh, but you decided not to start any fights with the Captain when you couldn't even get out of bed.

Eren hadn't been back. It almost felt like a betrayal. You wished privately that things could've just stayed how they were; you almost hated him for trying to go further. He was fun, and a good distraction from the hell you lived each day. It was unfair.

Jean was gone to grab your lunch, leaving you to your thoughts. Your mind wasn't the happiest place in the world presently, and you hoped it wouldn't take him much longer. You were lucky to have a friend like Jean, you thought, watching water drip slowly from a leak in the ceiling. If not for him, would your life be laying here in silence for weeks? You ran your hands through your hair.

The door opened, but instead of Jean, you saw Levi.

"This is the third day in a row. Are you making it a habit?" you asked as he stood leaned against the door frame, his arms folded over his chest. He was in a long-sleeve grey shirt and slacks. While it was casual, it looked much more presentable than your nightgown.

"I'm just seeing how you're doing. Hange wanted me to ask if you needed anything," he said flatly. You wondered if he ever said anything with any emotion in his voice. The monotone was irritating.

You looked around to see if there was anything you or Jean had forgotten. "I don't think so. Jean has been taking pretty good care of me," you told him. He came towards you, long strides that would've felt threatening if there was any hint of anger in his eyes. He reached out next to you and closed his hand around your glass. It was empty.

"Has he?" he asked, shaking the glass as if you couldn't see that it was dry. "I'll go get you some water. Fluids are important for healing, you know." He turned on his heel and left the room for a few moments before returning. Instead of placing the glass on your bedside table, he made you take it in your hand. "Drink. You need to stay healthy. Is Jean bringing your lunch?"

You nodded, lifting the glass to your lips. You expected him to leave then, but he took a seat in the chair next to your bed instead. You looked at him expectantly, but he showed no signs of speaking. He crossed one leg over the other so that his ankle rested on his knee and leaned back a bit, taking a breath. "Do you need something else?" you asked, setting your water down and bringing your hands to rest on your stomach.

"I am hardly ever wrong, so don't expect this often," he started, crossing his arms. "Hange has been set on the idea that I should apologize to you. I'm not doing that, but I will say one thing. You were not wrong to risk your life for your friend. Regardless of your talent as a soldier, I cannot penalize you for that. Though it's been a long time, I've done the same. And if they were still here, I would continue to do so."

Your eyes must have been tricking you, you thought, because for a moment you could've sworn his features looked soft. His face hardened back up in a split second, though, as the door creaked open and Jean entered with your plate. He rose from his seat and started out.

"Levi," you called to him, causing him to stop. He turned his head just barely over his shoulder, acknowledging you. Your breath caught in your throat for a second, unsure of what to say, but you quickly decided on something simple. "Thank you," you said.

For a moment, as he turned back and left, you thought you saw the beginnings of a smile.

---

The days continued like this for what felt like forever. Eren had not come back. Levi had not stopped in. It was just you and Jean, talking the days away, playing card games and gossiping. You finally convinced him after a week to stop sleeping in that god awful wooden chair, so your nights were now spent alone. You didn't sleep much, listening to the water drip or counting cobwebs when you could catch a smidgen of moonlight. Levi's words had stuck in your head with no sign of leaving for the past ten days. It was strange to see him so vulnerable. It almost made him seem human.

It was one of the lonely nights now, and hopefully the last. Your leg stopped aching a while ago from being stuck in the sling, but you were excited to be rid of it. The only time you were able to take it down is when Jean physically carried you to the bathroom as if you weren't capable of limping. You moved around as much as you could, trying to get comfortable. It was nearly impossible. You started to count the cobwebs: one in the top left corner, two on the left of your bed, three above the door. That's when it hit you.

"Fuck me," you groaned aloud, shifting uncomfortably. There was a sharp ache in your bladder, and Jean wasn't there to carry you to the bathroom against your will. You mentally cursed yourself for telling him to go sleep in his bed. You sat up, trying to unstrap the sling as gently as possible without your leg slamming down onto the bed. You failed, wincing as your foot made contact with the bed frame. You turned to the side, your right foot on the floor, and lifted your left leg slowly until it found its place next to your right. It took all the strength you had just to lift yourself from the bed. You immediately had to catch yourself on the bedside table -- two weeks of bedrest had done you no favors. You managed to hop your way to the door, thanking god your other leg didn't suffer any injuries.

You felt a small sense of pride as you exited the room on your own. Your left hand was pressed against the wall of the hallway as hopped along, panting as if you were running a marathon. Beads of sweat began to form on your forehead. "Fuck," you muttered as the hallway came to an end, feeding into an open space lined with infirmary rooms and a bathroom to the far left.

Your right leg was practically on fire. You stood with your hand against the wall for a moment more before, despite your better judgement, you hopped out into the open towards the bathroom. You made it a few steps, right foot hitting the floor so loudly it almost sounded like a titan was storming through the infirmary, before you hit the floor. "Shit," you winced, rubbing your leg with weak arms. You tried to push yourself back up to stand, but the closer you got, the more it hurt when your ass hit the floor. You gave up, bringing your hands atop your head -- partly to rest them and partly to pull the hair bordering your forehead. 'Should I start yelling for help?,' you thought, quickly deciding against it. Avoiding embarrassment is typically the best option in these situations. You decided to just drag yourself along the floor; the bathroom wasn't too far.

You placed your hands on either side of your body and tried to push yourself forward. The unfinished wood didn't make for the easiest slide, but you figured you'd make it there eventually. After five minutes passed and you'd made only five feet of progress, you decided to rest again.

"Is there a reason you're sitting in the floor?" you heard Levi's voice behind you. You turned your head towards him, an apologetic grin on your face.

"I had to go to the bathroom. Didn't think it would be this difficult. You think you could help me?" you asked him defeatedly. "Usually Jean carries me, but I made him start sleeping in his own bed. Bad decision on my part."

He started towards you, holding out his hand. You grabbed it and allowed him to pull you up as he tossed your arm around his shoulder. He wrapped his around your waist. He looked at you, his eyebrow slightly raised. "You would think Eren would have half a mind to come stay with you. You shouldn't be alone all night without a way to get anywhere," he told you, taking the first step forward and practically dragging you along.

"Eren and I are no longer a going concern, you'll be happy to know," you said, face drawn up in pain from your leg.

He shook his head, taking another step. "I was angry because the two of you broke the rules, not because you were involved with him. Is this hurting you?" he asked, turning his head towards you. You looked back at him, your faces a bit too close for comfort. Was that concern in his eyes?

"Uh, yeah, actually," you forced out. "Getting here from my infirmary room was pretty exhausting."

"Here, I'll carry you."

"That won't be necessary."

"Don't argue, just let me."

"No, thank you."

You bickered back and forth like this for a minute before he said your name, a tinge of anger in his tone. "Let me carry you," he said, his slate grey eyes burning holes in yours.

"First name basis, are we?" you teased, conceding. He placed one arm under your legs and the other behind your back, lifting you quickly. "Huh, Jean usually struggles and wheezes a little bit." You folded your arms across your chest and tried to avoid looking directly up at him. This, in your opinion, was the definition of humiliating. If Jean had the pleasure of seeing this, he'd have comedy material for weeks.

"You've seemed to think we are, for some reason," he commented, adjusting the arm under your legs. "On a first name basis, I mean. And Jean struggles because he's a crybaby. Or he's just making fun of you, one of the two."

"I just like to get under your skin. You're usually an asshole, you know."

"I know." He stopped at the bathroom door, setting you down gently. "Are you going to be able to make it in there?" he asked, raising his eyebrow just barely. You've identified a new face for Levi: concern.

"I'll be fine. And take a few steps away or something, I don't want you to hear anything. Don't be weird," you said, opening the door. He shook his head and took a few steps back.

Having someone carry you back from the bathroom was admittedly nice. You spotted all the places where you had to stop and catch your breath. You and Levi continued your idle conversation on the way back; you had to admit, you didn't hate him nearly as much as you did the day of your injury. You didn't particularly like him, but he wasn't the worst person in the world. The two of you entered your room, and he laid you down gently. He strapped your leg back up with the care of a nurse and tossed a blanket atop your body. "Go to sleep. Hange wants you to start walking tomorrow," he commanded.

"Yes, Captain," you saluted jokingly, then pulled the blanket around until you were comfortable. You watched him take a step back before sitting down in the wooden chair, leaning back. "What are you doing?"

"I told you someone should be here with you. Go to sleep," he ordered, resting his hands on his stomach.

You nodded, closing your eyes. For the first time in a while, you fell asleep with ease.

[whump-town]

In With The New, Out With The Old

Hotch packing Jack up for college

None of it feels real.

For two years after he and Haley divorced he lived in an apartment of boxes. It was some sort of punishment he created for himself while also creating a dissonance he could be lost in -- that he didn’t need to unpack just in case. He had his suits in the closet, his work would not take the fall for his personal life’s failings. The coffee maker sat on the counter, one of the only appliances hooked into a light socket. The necessities followed -- two mugs for coffee, a glass tumbler for the whiskey sitting on the counter, and one plate for when he ordered take-out he couldn’t just eat out of the box.

It had taken him months to buy a mattress, he was perfectly miserable sleeping on the couch. He had only taken Jack to the apartment once, needing to switch into more park-appropriate clothing. Between them, he and Haley agreed that the best thing for Jack was consistency so he would spend all day with Hotch but he would always go home to Haley. He knew this could be used against him in court, Haley could take Jack from his so easily it terrified him but he also knew he’d let her. He was more powerful, he had more strings to pull and more people on his side but the thought of getting on the stand and having his friends call her a bad mother made him feel even worse. So he knew that if it came down to it, he would let Haley have Jack rather put either of them that sort of grueling case.

This was a shared thought between them. Both are aware of the other’s power over the other. Neither will act on their own.

He had only bought a mattress because of New York. Limping home he’d sunk down into his old faithful couch only to wake up the next morning with achingly stiff sutures in his leg and his face stuck to a throw pillow, the blood drying like glue. He had to call Emily and Derek that afternoon. Unable to drive himself with his concussion and consequential blurred vision Emily had come over to pick him up, never said a word about what he’d been sleeping on in the months before. Neither did Derek when Hotch got too dizzy coming up the stairs, the stitches in his leg bleeding through his jeans and so pale Emily had to hold him upright to get him to the bench in the lobby. He was left there, listening to Derek and Emily bicker their way into forcing the mattress into the apartment through the pounding sound of blood rushing in his ears.

That was years ago and yet they’ve created its mirror image once again in his living room.

All of Jack’s belongings in boxes spread out in every room of the house. Packing up to leave.

“Art?” Emily mumbles disapprovingly. She’s knelt down in front of Jack’s bookshelf, dismantling the organized shelves to pack them into boxes. It’s a different method than the one that Hotch uses. Jack has them categorized by author and general theme and as Emily takes down all the books she’s gotten him about cults and psychology and crime she can’t help but feel a little cheated. Jack knows all about crime. He’s had Macdonald’s Triad memorized since he was five -- could give that method of thought its critical analysis as not a precursor to antisocial or serial killer behavior but more as a demonstration of a child’s poor coping skills or as the indicator of a dysfunctional home environment. He’s a well of information about cults, knows the “B.I.T.E.” system.

And he’s throwing all that away because Hotch took him to too many museums as a child?

Jack doesn’t say anything when he hears her grumble about art again, he’s had this conversation so many times. He knows she’s not really mad and she’s not even that irked but she needs to do something with the feelings she has about him leaving and this is just the best way she’s come up with. Better than crying -- which she’s also done far too much of.

“I think art is a great idea, kid.” Derek teases his hair as he passes, sweaty and hot from dragging Jack’s belongings around the place.

Hotch works slowly where he’s been assigned. They all work around him. He’s more freelance than the others. His job is to do what he can and leave the rest for someone else. Today his physical capabilities are not in the way. Derek does all the heavy lifting that Hotch knows is supposed to be assigned to him, it’s his duty as the father of the freshman moving away. He finds himself in the living room, one of Haley’s old photo albums on his lap. Thumbing pictures he can remember going with Haley to print. Pictures he can remember being in. Ones that he took.

He’s crying again.

Emily comes out with a box of books on her hip, having figured out the perfect ratio of books to box to prevent them from falling out the bottom. She sees Hotch wiping his face with a tissue, hiding away but unable to fully pull away right now. The hurt raw. The fear is too much.

The second that Hotch got the chance he left home and never came back. Over the years he returned to his hometown only when he had to -- when Haley’s parents couldn’t be convinced to come to see them. It didn’t matter how down bad he was, Hotch did it on his own. When his mother died when he was thirty he’d talked to her only once since moving out. Then it had only been for the benefit of Sean, who he had driven all the back to Virginia to collect and drove to college.

He fears Jack will do the same and it terrifies him in so many ways.

His own death will come quickly, he knows he’s only made it this long because he’s not alone. Without Jack, there’s no reason to keep going on, not with the way his body aches from years of abuse and neglect. More than that, he knows what growing up that fast did to him. As a child, the things that happen to you are out of your control. Children are sponges, not yet able to take control and mold themselves. So their reactions to abuse and neglect and even just trivial everyday things are but a reaction they are taught to form or never corrected on. But Hotch never corrected his behaviors as a young adult. He couldn’t bring himself to trust anyone, not at twenty, or thirty, and still at forty.

He spent his twentieth birthday on the side of the highway in a broken down car freezing his ass off with negative twenty-three cents in his bank account. No one to call because he couldn’t bring himself to believe anyone would come -- but Haley would have, or Jessica, or the sociology professor who gave him his number for emergencies or “just anything you can think of, just in case you need me”.

He doesn’t wish anything like that on Jack.

The cycle of self-destruction and fear and loathing.

But Jack knows how to form healthy relationships with people. He’s more worried about Hotch.

The car ride is nearly silent.

Jack cranks his window down and lays his head on the seal, lets the wind blow his hair back from his skin, and closes his eyes. There’s no air conditioning but it’s not that bad. The air has cooled off, the thunderstorms taking over the area sucking the humidity from the air as the wind picks up. It’ll get bad again in a day or so but today is nice and Jack wants to enjoy it. To sit contently with his dad and just try to soak it in before he’s thrown into the world of college.

Emily had promised him several times she’d make sure that Hotch didn’t turn himself into a hermit. Jack has grown up watching those two spar off so he knows she’s perfectly capable of getting Hotch out of the house. More than that, Jack knows he’s just going to miss his dad.

“Please--” Jack’s in the middle of trying to reorganize his stuff when he sees Hotch come in with one of the big boxes, one of the heavy ones. “Dad!” Jack takes it from him, not listening to Hotch’s complaint about being able to carry a few boxes. That he won’t break that easily. “Please, just leave the heavy stuff to Emily and Derek. Help me put my clothes away? Please?”

He nearly cries again folding Jack’s t-shirts away. Once upon a time, Jack’s shirts were about the size of his hand. Tiny delicate little things about the size of rags. Now he’s wearing the same size as Hotch, a grown man standing there racing to beat Emily to the heavy stuff because he doesn’t want her lifting it all either.

“Well,” Derek announces, setting the minifridge down, “that’s the last of it.”

Emily offers Hotch her hand and he takes it, grunting as he moves his body back upright.

“Well,” he declares, looking around the room. “We’ll leave you to it. Let you get everything sorted out how you like.” Hotch smiles and Emily and Derek step in to take their hugs, imparting half-wise ideas and a no-questions-asked ride home from anywhere.

“I love you,” Hotch says, he’s quick because he knows he can’t keep his composure if he stays here for too much longer. “I’ll send you care packages, you’ll just have to text me if you think of something I don’t send.”

Jack nods, pretending to make himself busy putting away the rest of his clothes. Trying to downplay his own feelings.

“Ok.”

Hotch nods and they leave, he doesn’t want to make a scene. They’ve hugged and Jack needs to unpack. He’s done. He’s only two doors away when he hears Jack’s door gets thrown open.

“Dad!” Hotch turns and stumbles, an armful of the little boy who was once the size of his forearm. He squeezes Jack tight, laughing through his tears when Jack holds on. “I love you too.”

Hotch holds him for a solid minute, just balanced there with his hand on the back of Jack’s head. “Alright,” he whispers. He sniffles a little, smiling as he cups Jack’s cheek wiping away a tear with his thumb. “I’m just a phone call away, okay? Any time of the night, you know where I am. You’ll be fine. You’re going to make mistakes and you’re going to fail tests and cry over boys and drink too much but you’ll be okay. And-- And if you’re not…”

Jack nods, smiling as he says, “I’ll call Emily.”

Hotch smirks, “well.. After a certain hour, yeah I suppose you’ll have to but yeah. Just call, okay?”

“I’ll call.”

Hotch nods and he has to force himself to let go and walk away. To let Jack do this.

They’re halfway down the hall, far enough away now that Jack won’t see or hear when Hotch starts to cry. He forces himself to keep going. Not to look back. Emily takes his hand, squeezes his fingers and he looks over at her tears in his eyes, and tries to smile.

Emily drives his truck home, she plans on feeding him chocolate and ice cream, and wine this afternoon to improve his mood. He gets a text and he smirks, he actually laughs.

“Let me know when you get home, old man. Tell Emily not to keep you out too late.”

[zukkoxx]

mha boys realizing they’re in love pt.1

w/ deku, bakugo

tw⚠️ insecurities!, self doubt!

deku 🥦

izuku knew he loved you since you guys started dating.

he had liked you for a long time, and when you finally got together in your last year of UA, he couldn’t have been happier.

he planned on living the rest of his life with you. and would go through any feats to make it possible.

so when you started to feel doubts about your relationship? that was a wake up call for him.

you had just finished training, all sweaty and tired, walking back to your dorm with a towel around your neck.

you scrolled through your phone mindlessly, and just happened to come across a twitter post about your boyfriend, deku, who had just taken down one of the villains that’s been on the run for months.

you smiled. you were so proud of him. already achieving his dream in becoming one of the greatest heroes. and getting the recognition he finally deserved.

you made it your your dorm, slumping on your bed as you read some of the comments.

woah this guy is still attending UA!? he’ll be a great hero for sure

there’s no one like him!

deku strikes again! what a stud😍

you laughed at some, grimaced at others that claimed the mission was too easy for him. but one particular comment had you freezing in your spot.

is he single? i won’t hesitate to run to the scene and give him my hand in marriage right now!

you knew it was a fun, lighthearted comment. but you clicked the the commenters page and instantly noticed how beautiful as preppy she was.

she was also a big deku fan...probably had more merch than you.

you sighed and threw your phone across the bed.

for the past few weeks, you had been thinking about how different you and izuku were in terms of success.

you were both in your last year of high school, and he had already done so much.

worked on so many cases with pro heroes and went through successful missions all the time. he was destined to become the greatest hero.

and you?

well, you’ve never even caught a villain.

sure you’ve helped out on low grade missions for the hero you interned under, but you had never been publicly praised like izuku. you never stood out.

you had trouble believing you’d become a hero at all.

you always wondered, wouldn’t izuku be better off with someone that could keep up with him? who wouldn’t hold him back. someone who he wouldn’t leave in the dust when he excelled in the future.

he deserved someone better.

your thoughts were cut off when your dorm door brushed open, revealing no other than the man himself.

izuku walked into your room with worried eyes and seemed out of breath.

“y/n? ive texted and called a bunch of times. why haven’t you answered?” he asked, and you subtly turned to your phone that you discarded on the other half of the bed.

“my ringer was off. sorry izu.” you tired to give him a smile as he sat next to you on your bed. “i saw an article about your mission today. you were amazing!” you complimented.

“ahh you give me too much credit. i couldn’t have dont anything with the pro heroes and other people helping.”

“still, you’re a great hero. i wish i was like that.” you chuckle dryly, past insecurities already pushing forward again.

“what!? you’re a great hero y/n!” izuku exclaimed.

“i’ve barely done anything izuku. i don’t know how you put up with me. i should be able to help you on your missions, but i’m stuck in the same position i have been in. i don’t know when i’ll improve.”

you didn’t mean to sound so pathetic, but you had been feeling this way for so long. it was all just spilling out now.

and izuku? he literally stopped breathing when he heard what you were saying about yourself. “you deserve someone that will be able to keep up with you. what will people think when they find out the amazing deku is dating a weak, incapable, good for nothing-”

“don’t say one more word y/n.” izuku cuts you off, and you look up to meet his eyes piercing yours.

they were dark, nothing like their usual gleaming glow that shined when he looked at you.

there was no sign of amusement on any of his features. just dead seriousness

“what the hell are you talking about y/n?” he asks, but doesn’t give you a chance to respond. “you’re one of the most courageous, brave, intelligent, capable people i know! where is all of this coming from?”

“i’ve been thinking about it for a while. it’s just you’re so...amazing and i’m so...” you knew anything you could have said after that would make him even more angry. it was nothing positive.

god he probably hated you for being so insecure.

“you’re you, y/n.” izuku says softly. “you’re you and you’re who i love. i don’t care about what i do, what you do, who says what! i love you for you!”

izuku looks at you with so much love and compassion. you stared into his eyes, wondering what was gong on in his head.

well? at the moment he despised himself for letting you feel this way.

you were his whole world! the person who supported you in everything he did and he would support you in the same way! he couldn’t understand why you were feeling this way when he was literally...in love with you.

he loved you yeah of course, but hearing the way you were speaking about yourself, and how you had doubts about your relationship made his heart physically hurt. he was absolutely and unconditionally in love with you and wouldn’t be able to see himself with anyone else.

and he needed you to hear it.

“y/n you’re my everything! i’m so in love with you, no amount of fame or recognition could make me even think about leaving you!” izuku said urgently, and he finally calmed down when he saw a slight smile reach your lips.

a real one this time.

the conversation continued, and izuku promised to let you learn and remember how in love he was with you until it was the last thing he’d do.

bakugo 💥

bakugo would never pursue anyone unless he definitely knew he loved them.

so of course he never asked you out when he couldn’t differentiate if what he felt for you was love, or if it was a stupid little crush.

he didn’t like thinking about his feelings, especially the irrelevant ones.

he was trying to become the number one hero. who needed time for love anyways?

so he ignored his “feelings” for you, not allowing them to confuse him any longer.

it wasn’t until a few months into his third year when bakugo got the worst news of his life.

you were on a mission. an important one that had you absent from school for weeks.

bakugo was worried.

he’d text you every few days, asking what was going on and how things were and you’d always respond with “it’s fine.” or “we’re hanging in there.”

he assumed it was a pretty difficult mission, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

you were strong

so when he heard from a certain icy-hot that you were in the hospital in critical condition after completing the mission, he forgot about everything and ran straight to you.

ignoring aizawa’s calls, he almost blasted himself out of UA and checked every hospital for you, considering he didn’t even ask todoroki which one you were in before he left.

when he finally reached the hospital holding you, he sprinted to your room.

he found you hooked up to a bunch of wires and tests.

you looked peaceful, sleeping while the heart monitor beeped beside you.

but you looked horrible. bloody bandages covered almost every limb, and your body was covered in bruises.

bakugo’s heart dropped to his stomach. he couldn’t stand seeing you like this.

why does his feelings have to be 100x more noticeable when your tragically hurt!?

he sat down on the empty chair beside the hospital bed, wondering why no one else was visiting at this time.

he stared at you, something he couldn’t get off of his mind lately.

“why do you make me feel things, dumbass?” he asked, waiting for a response. “i never skip class! you just had to get hurt and make me skip the test review.” he rolled his eyes, but his face softened as he looked at you, still sleeping.

“i’ll help you study. you’ll probably fail without going over what we learned.”

.....

“would you wake up, you shitty woman!” he yelled, gripping the side of your bed “this is scary, you know?”

.....

“i should’ve called you today, i just assumed you’d be too busy to talk. if you told me you were in trouble, i’d blast my ass to wherever you were in a heartbeat.” bakugo said, feeling his actual heart skip a beat when you still didn’t respond. 

“please wake up...”

after about an hour of waiting, your other classmates came in, checking on your condition.

you still hadn’t woken up, but your vitals were better and your breath were more steady.

by the time night fell, everyone left; except for bakugo

he was just starting to fall asleep when he felt she. he heard you stir in the hospital bed.

his head shot up, quickly turning to face you as he saw you blinking you eyes slowly.

“y/n!” he yelled a little louder than anticipated, making you shoot awake and look at him.

you blinked a few more times before realizing who you were looking at. “katsuki!?” you asked, trying to sit up, but feeling a sharp pain in your side.

“hey! don’t move dumbass. are you okay? do you remember anything?” he frantically asked.

“umm...i’m fine?” you said, sounding like you were trying to convince yourself. “why are you here?”

“why am i here? you were admitted into the hospital in critical condition!”

“i-i’m sorry, everything’s a bit fuzzy right now.” you say softly, putting a hand on your forehead and tryin got remember everything.

bakugo softened, and waited until you got yourself together. “how long have you been here?” you ask

“since this morning.”

“this morning!? katsuki what about school? do your parents even know you’re here?”

“why the hell are you worried about me? you’re the one hooked up to all these machines and can barely move!” bakugo yelled, trying to understand why you were so focused on him being there with you.

“i just never thought you’d be the one to go out of your way to check on someone. let alone be here the whole day...” you whispered, suddenly feeling shy at the idea of bakugo keeping your sleeping body company for hours.

bakugo froze at your words.

he really wasn’t the type to go check on people for more than a few minutes. especially not one to skip school because of it.

maybe he did this because he felt a little more than what he thought he did.

maybe this wasn’t a stupid little crush? maybe it was something serious that he had just been blowing off.

when he heard about your condition, he just couldn’t stand by. there must have been something that pushed him to run to you.

“it’s cause u care about you...idiot. i wasn’t gonna a let you suffer here alone.” he huffs, crossing his arms.

“katsukiii do you like me or something?” you asked in a teasing tone

he couldn’t believe you were making jokes at a time like this. furthermore, he couldn’t believe how easy it was for you to see through his facade.

“i do.” he states. there was no point in lying.

“i was just kidding kats-“

“i’m not.” he cuts you off. “i care about you, and i like you. a lot. so...you better like be bad damn it. or i’ll blow you to bits!”

you chuckled and smiled tenderly at him. you definitely weren’t expecting him to say that, but you weren’t complaining.

“i like you too...i guess.” you smile, and katsuki tsked before smirking at you.

he finally felt like he could breath again, and that everything was going to be fine now.

except...katsuki didn’t like you. he loved you. but no way would he tell you that

this absolutely sucks i can’t believe i’m posting this. if you can, plz give me some requests so i don’t make trash hcs like this again. they’ll be a pt.2 later. hopefully it isn’t as bad as this one.

click here to send a request. i’d really appreciate it!

[heyheydidjaknow]

Hiya! I have a request for an x reader songfic. Snap out of it by the Arctic monkeys gives me so many 2012 Donnie vibes. Maybe one where the reader is in love with Donnie but he likes April and the reader wants Donnie to, you know, "snap out of it" and notice that maybe April isn't the best person towards him. It can end in unrequited love or with a happy ending, that's for you to decide but I just really want to see this concept. Thanks! :>

(feel free to ignore this request if you want 👁️👁️)

Oh, I’m not about to turn away a chance to be pushed out into foreign territory. I admittedly hadn’t known what a songfic was until wikipedia and @kunimikat saved my ass, so this was fun-- and a bit scary-- to write. I hope you like it, even if it might not have been exactly what you were expecting.

April was your friend. She had been for a while, now, since she had moved to NYC. The two of you had come even closer after her kidnapping and initiation into the “Hamato Clusterfuck” as you had affectionately called it at first—you had wisely made a conscious effort to only get involved with them as far as you could throw them, sticking solidly to offering emotional support and half-decent food. At the beginning, you had, on multiple occasions, even begged her to stay out of it, trying to reason with her that getting herself killed by a psychotic armored man with an axe to grind for the crime of hanging out with four teenage shut-ins was an incredibly bad idea. When your logical arguments fell on deaf ears—her owing them apparently being her ball and chain—you had designated yourself as her supervisor to make sure she did not do something overly impulsive. She was reckless, overly trusting, immature, but you loved her like a sister. You balanced each other out.

One of the benefits of knowing someone for so long is that you learn things about them that they do not know about themselves. In April’s case, it had been that she was terrible at making up her mind

 What's been happenin' in your world?

You had borne witness to the love triangle transpiring between Donatello Hamato, Casey Jones and her for the better part of a year now. You were relieved that the two boys had backed off each other’s throats somewhat over the period, but it was as infuriating as it was fascinating to watch them fight over her like a chew toy. Of course, April had her preference between the two, favoring the hockey player mainly for his general normalcy, which was a decision you could approve of, but she had hesitated until recently to make that obvious to the other point because, in her words, “The last thing I want is to deal with is all of that awkwardness.” You could hardly blame her for her hesitation, but you thought it almost cruel not to make her feelings apparent to her lovestruck puppy.

 What have you been up to?

Donnie was the most tolerable of the five, the most normal in your opinion. He was an infatuated, insecure teenage boy with more an affinity towards machines and, best of all, seemed concerned for your friend, all things that you could get on board with. In your opinion, overbearingness is preferable to negligence in this case, and you were just happy that someone physically capable had her back. As such, when you were stuck at the lair for hours waiting for her lessons with Splinter to be over—you were her ride—you found yourself spending the most time around him, and as time went on, you started going out of your way to do so.

Seeing as April and Casey were your only other friends, it was natural you would get romantically attached. They—a couple by high school standards—approved of your crush, and all you told your guardian(s) was that they were smart, fit, and financially responsible, so they asked few questions.

You knew, logically, this was not a competition and that April had little interest in him.

But something about the way he gazed at her made you burn green with envy.

 I heard that you fell in love, or near enough.

His eyes were just so… wistfully longing. He watched as the redhead and her boyfriend played against Michelangelo and Raphael in a game of charades. His expression was just so soft, lips pursing and popping silently as he grieved from his seat in his lab.

It had been a downhill spiral on your end from there, and as your own attachment grew for him, his own depression worsened. Your eyes drifted from your friend as you tried to make him see that, no, the world was not ending because his first crush did not like him back. You would make subtle comments about how happy his brothers were, how happy she and Casey were together, how smart he was and how many people would die for a kind, loving, smart guy to come around and sweep them off their feet. This, again, fell on deaf ears; he would always comment on how, if he were such a catch, April would not have chosen Casey, like It is his fault for her having more of a taste in cocky, fun-loving guys than intelligent ones. Half of it was probably your lack of experience in subtlety, but no matter what you would try to say, whenever romance came up in conversation, his words turned sharp and bitter.

On that day, you just cracked.

 I gotta tell you the truth.

You walked over to the lab door, closing it in a single fluid motion. ‘I’m better at being blunt, anyways.’

He blinked; his trance was interrupted by the small slam.

“She’s not into you.”

“Huh?”

You crossed the room and placed your hand on the desk, expression stern and stone cold. “April,” you repeat. “She’s not interested.”

He did not meet your gaze. “You don’t know that.”

“I do, actually.” You leaned down to look him in the eye. “You aren’t her type. You’re supposed to be smart.” You placed the other on the back of his chair, arms cagging him in, almost. “ She has a boyfriend,” you continued, softer. “You know that, right?”

“I do.” He tapped the side of his thumb against the table absently, throat tight. “But what else do you suppose I do? Submit to the fact that I’ll be alone forever?” He looked up at you. “I know this may be hard for you to believe,” he continued, easily slipping out from under your arms, “but I don’t exactly have a ton of options. She’s the only person who’s ever looked at me like that; how am I supposed to move on from the only person who’s ever even given me a chance?”

 I wanna grab both your shoulders and shake, baby.

 You rolled your eyes, turning to watch him as he crossed to the other side of the room. “That is some blatant bullshit,” you glared curtly.

“Is it, though?” His back was to you as he crouched down in front of his centrifuge, fiddling with it. “As someone who’s never—”

“So help me, if you go off about me not understanding being rejected and feeling like they’d die alone, I’ll rip your tongue out.” You stood back up properly.

“What would you know about it?” He followed suit, eyes locking on yours. “You have other people to choose from.”

“And you don’t?” You crossed your arms, smiling incredulously. “How do we differ, exactly?”

“Besides the obvious?”

You scoffed. “You’ve seen your brothers. Never stopped them.”

“And I’m happy for them, that they’re so charismatic as to be able to find partners so easily.” You could taste the bitterness in his words. “But I’m not them, in case you didn’t notice. That girl out there?” He pointed to the door. “She’s the first and only person in the universe who’s ever given me a second glance.”

“So you’re just fucking blind, now?” You heard your voice rise without your input.

“What’re you talking about?” His voice grew with yours.

“You’re lovesick,” you spat. “Snap out of it.”

 Snap out of it.

You ran your fingers through your hair. “Or maybe you’re just dense.” You felt a laugh rise in your throat. “I mean,” you gestured, “clearly picking up on verbal subtext isn’t your forte.”

You gave him five seconds. “What,” you continued, rubbing your face with your hands, “Are you—” You stopped. “You are, aren’t you?”

Nothing.

You took a slow breath, hearing your heartbeat in your ears. “Let me put it in simple, plain English for you.”

 I get the feelin' I left it too late, but baby—

 “As her friend? You’re a fucking creep.” You crossed your arms across your chest. “Following her the way you did—wait your turn—” A finger interrupted his defense. “Following her the way you did? Objectively creepy. Staring at her all the time? Also fucking creepy.” You felt your nails dig into your skin. “Any person would call it as it is.”

He opened his mouth again to argue. You did not interrupt him this time, but he did not argue, the silence falling like a weighted blanket over the two of you.

“As your friend,” you continued, voice lowered, “as someone who cares about you, I know April, and she can’t give you what you want. It’s not her; she needs to be free, and I love her, but you’re looking for something that’s just not there.” Your voice was certain. “You’re looking for someone to spend your life with. I’m right, aren’t I?”

 Snap out of it.

 He was still for a moment, looking off into the ether. He nodded, face melancholy.

You walked over, resting a hand on his shoulder tentatively. “I’m not saying it’s stupid of you to not be over her. Again, I love her to bits, so I see the appeal.” You broke eye contact, trying to articulate exactly what you meant. “But I’m worried,” you explained slowly, “you’re only hung up on her because you’re scared of being alone. That’s not fair to her or yourself.”

“Do you know that?”

“No,” you admitted easily, “but you and I are the same way, and trust me, I’ve been around the heartbreak block.” You smiled, trying to relieve the tension.

That earned a chuckle. A small one, but a chuckle none the less.

You reached up, cupping his cheek in your hand. “There are seven billion people on this planet. Any one of them—myself included—would be lucky to have a life with you.”

 If that watch don’t continue to swing—

 A pause.

“Do you honestly believe that?”

You nodded, your thumb running along the line of his eye socket. “I do.”

 —or the fat lady fancies havin' a sing—

 You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his cheek gently.

 —I'll be here, waitin' ever so patiently—

 “Y/N!” You pulled back as you heard April calling your name. “We need a moderator!”

You started back towards the door, waving gently. “I wish you good tidings, Donatello.” You smiled quietly, serenity itself standing in the doorway. “May whoever is fortunate enough to call you their own bring you happiness. You deserve it.” You slipped out of his lab, running over to break them up.

Donatello rested his fingers on where your mouth had lit his skin. He felt a bittersweet smile fade onto his face.

—for you to snap out of it.

And that was when it began.

List of Works

[pastelwitchling]

brittz-2123 asked:

I have a half assed attempt at a prompt? Because I love everything you wrote so I just have a vague idea. Anything where Kyle and Michael are at odds about Alex. Alex is in the hospital and best friend vs "boyfriend/not quite boyfriend" over who should take care of him during recovery. Michael not liking how touchy Kyle and Alex are. But again I don't have good ideas and literally EVERYTHING you write is amazing... you ALMOST make me like Forrest, almost.

***

Michael’s knuckles as he gripped the hospital bed railing were white. He’s fine, he reminded himself. He’s okay. He’s alive. He’s fine.

Alex brought his arm down from where he’d had it draped across his eyes and raised a brow at him. “Guerin.”

“Yeah,” Michael straightened. “What do you need? Water? A snack? I could go get you some food from the cafeteria.”

Alex stared. “I need you –”

“I need you, too –”

“—to unclench,” he finished.

Michael swallowed, and he nodded, trying very hard not to let his eyes wander to Alex’s leg. Two whole weeks on his prosthetic had done a number on Michael’s airman, leaving his skin red and purple with an infection and swelling like a balloon. Nobody had noticed until Kyle, for the first time in those weeks, made it to the bunker. His eyes had lingered on Alex, and he’d caught his arm just as he’d stumbled.

“Damn it, Manes,” he’d sighed, encouraging Alex to lean against him. “What’d you do to yourself?”

Alex had insisted he didn’t need a hospital, and proceeded to limp back to his seat before Michael caught him by the waist and demanded he get in his truck.

Now he was standing at Alex’s bedside where Alex lied, still in his jeans and jacket, which must’ve been making him even more uncomfortable, though he’d refused to change. Alex tried to look calm, but Michael saw the way he winced every so often, as if just breathing was worsening the pain in his leg.

He hadn’t realized his eyes had wandered down again until Alex cupped his jaw and made him meet his eyes.

“Unclench, Guerin,” he said, amused. Michael covered Alex’s hand with his own and turned his face into Alex’s palm, kissing him. Alex looked startled, but Michael hung on. He opened his mouth to say something, though he didn’t know where to start, but then –

“Two weeks!” Kyle walked into the room and tossed the clipboard down on the end of Alex’s bed. “You’ve been without your prosthetic for how many hours in that time?”

Alex’s head fell back as he seemed to try to remember, and Kyle clenched his jaw. “This is not a thinking question, Alex. I’ll give you the answer right now; none. Never. I’m willing to bet my diploma you never took it off once.”

“I do have to shower without it, you know,” Alex said, and Kyle glared.

“Glad you think this is so funny because you’ll have a lot of time to come up with jokes when you’re bedridden for the next month.”

Alex nodded, unsurprised, but Michael’s eyes widened. “Month?! It’s that bad?”

“Yes,” Kyle said at the same time that Alex assured him, “No.”

“Look,” Alex defended, “you have any idea how many times my superiors have told me that I’d be out of action for half a year? Sometimes longer? Two weeks later, I’m fine. They’re always saying crap like that so you’re careful, but I don’t need to be careful.”

“Well,” Kyle said coolly, “luckily for you, what you think you need doesn’t matter because I’m going to be looking after you for the next couple of weeks.”

Michael frowned. “What?”

“And don’t think I haven’t already devised a whole check-up schedule,” he went on, heedless of Michael’s anger.

“I’m going to take care of Alex,” he blurted, and both Kyle and Alex looked to him with raised brows, stunned. His cheeks burned, but he forged on, “I know him better than anybody, and I have the powers to keep him still for a month. What’re you going to do, pump him with anesthetics?”

“God help me,” Kyle said, “if that’s what it takes.”

“You two do realize you’re talking about keeping me physically contained, right?” Alex said mildly. “That won’t go well for either of you.”

Kyle met Michael’s eyes, and they knew they could agree on one thing; forcing Alex down would be impossible. But that didn’t change the fact that Michael knew him best, that he knew how to keep Alex happy and comfortable, that he would do anything Alex needed him to do.

“How’re you going to take care of him?” Kyle demanded. “Do you know how to manage an infection? What medication he needs, when he needs them? What to do if the swelling suddenly gets worse which could definitely happen because he’s Alex and we all know he won’t rest like he should?”

Alex held up his hands. “I’m right here.”

“What about you?” Michael snapped back, keeping pressed to the bed’s railing. He felt like if he had to be any further away from Alex, he might get sick. “When will you have the time to look after him? You’re a surgeon, remember? You guys aren’t exactly known for your extensive vacation days!”

“Guys –”

“No offense, Guerin,” Kyle huffed, “but you guys have been dating a month, he’s been sick for two of them, and you didn’t notice. He needs someone who really knows him.”

Michael smirked bitterly, trying not to show how hurt he was by that little truth. “I’m not leaving his side, so if you wanna get rid of me you’re gonna have to stab me with pollen.”

“Guys –”

Kyle scoffed. “I’ve carried an extra one with me for just this moment, please – I am actually begging you – give me a reason –”

“GUYS!” Alex snapped, and he winced and doubled over, clutching his leg. His outburst had apparently shaken him a bit too roughly and he’d pulled something because his fingers were digging into his knee and his breathing was ragged.

Michael’s anger faded at once, as did Kyle’s, and he put his hand on Alex’s shoulders. “I’m – I’m sorry, baby –”

“It’s okay, Alex,” Kyle helped him lie back again. “We shouldn’t have gone off like that, just relax, okay?”

“I don’t need . . . anyone to look after me . . .” His words were labored, his breathing heavy. “I am . . . perfectly capable . . . of taking care . . . of myself . . .”

Kyle shook his head. “Alex, you –”

“I know,” he huffed. “I got myself into this in the first place, but . . . I don’t want to do any more damage. I shouldn’t have let it get this bad. I can work from home, but I’ll rest when you tell me to, and take all the medication the nurse gives me like a good little patient, okay?”

Kyle pursed his lips. “You better mean that, Alex, or I swear I will pin you down and force those pills down your stomach.”

Alex gave him a small, indulgent smile. “Sure.” He looked to Michael. “And I’ll call you every night, no matter how tired I get, and let you know how I’m doing.”

Michael shook his head. “No, you won’t call.”

“No, I will, I promise –”

“I’ll see you,” he said, and both Kyle and Alex blinked. Michael’s cheeks burned but he finished, “Every night. I’ll let myself in, I’ll see you, make sure you’re okay.” He shook his head. “I won’t be able to sleep until I do, Private.”

Alex nodded slowly, starting to smile. “So you’ll check in on me, then just leave?”

Michael held his gaze. They both knew Michael wouldn’t be going anywhere, but neither felt the need to say it when their eyes made all the promises of dark nights and gentle hands and rustled sheets.

Kyle, however, seemed to hear it all anyway, and he rolled his eyes. He grabbed his clipboard and made his way to the door. “I still say you can do better.”

***

I’ll get there with Forrest... you just wait...

But yay! I did it, five whole prompts in one day! And, luckily, I’m very, very happy with all of them ❤ I will be posting them to ao3 over the next few days. Thank you so much to everyone who submitted prompts, I’m so sorry if I didn’t get to yours, but there are plenty more malex works coming up! I still have the third chapter of Remembrance, another project, and another few secret stuff I’ve been working on that I can’t talk about (yet). Thank you for your continued support, it means so much, and I hope you enjoyed reading these little fics today ❤🧡💛💚💙💜🤎🖤🤍

[toomanyrobins]

a little birdie told me pt. 7

Summary: Y/N “Birdie” Parker left New York and her family three years ago in the middle of the night. Now, a call for help to her best friend brings her back into the fold of the Three Families and their “business”

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Parker!Reader

Content warning: physical abuse, miscarriage, cursing, mentions of forced marriage

Word Count: 2.3k

Notes: thank you to @firefly-graphics for the team cap divider! Makes my life much easier! 💛 

Series masterlist // next part

The next morning, Steve heard someone clearing their throat. He opened his eyes to see a familiar face standing at the foot of his bed with his arms crossed. “Peter, what the hell are you doing?”

“What the hell am I doing! What the hell are you doing? Why is my sister in your bed?”

Steve looked down and saw Y/N burrowed under the sheets. He knew she hadn’t been sleeping well and hated to wake her up. “Let’s go talk in the kitchen.” he put on the coffee maker before turning back to his fuming friend, “Birdie stayed over last night after I had to rush home because Jaime was sick. She stayed to help with him and we fell asleep.”

The tension started to leave Peter, “Oh, is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Look, I get that you’re especially overprotective since Y/N came home but if she had woken up first and saw you, she would’ve been pissed. We are both adults and don’t deserve to be treated like criminals for what we decide to do.”

“You’re talking like something might happen.”

“Do you want to hear it?” Peter nodded, “Yes, I like your sister. She’s amazing and I enjoy every second I spend with her. I don’t care about her past and I hope she doesn’t care about mine. We both have made choices and we live with the consequences.”

“You like my sister...how long?”

“I don’t know. She used to just be your sister, the other half to the problematic duo that was her and Becca. Since she’s been back, something has changed.”

“Is this your savior complex?” Peter scoffed at the scandalized look on Steve’s face, “Don’t look like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Before I grew up, I was as strong as a limp noodle, and you and Bucky were always there to pull someone off of me. I just want to be sure you actually want Y/N because she’s Y/N and not because you think she needs saving."

“This isn't like you picking fights with guys double your size. I’m not doing this to hurt you, Parker. But whatever relationship I choose to have will be between us and I hope you can understand that. Because I won’t be the one to make her choose.”

“I hate you a little bit for this,” he ran a hand through his already unruly hair, “I kind of want to punch you.”

“Well Bucky punched Sam when he proposed to Becca. If I get that far, you can punch me.”

“Fine,” Peter took the cup of coffee Steve gave him. “So, when are you going to tell her?”

“I don’t know. Honestly, I’m scared she’ll say she’s not interested.”

“Well, I’d do it fast, before someone else notices how great she is.”

The duo decided to switch over to discussing some business, until they heard some noise coming from the baby monitor. Peter knew he should leave Y/N woke and made a quick escape. Steve walked back into his room, opened the curtains, and put a cup of coffee on the bedside table closest to Y/N. He peeled the blankets back and shook her softly. The only response he got was a grumble and her burying her face in the pillow. He decided to grab Jamie and let her slowly start to wake up. The baby at least was happy to see him that morning and kept saying dada over and over again. Steve brought Jamie into his room like he did every morning and put him on the bed next to Y/N. He immediately started to climb on top of her, wanting attention. “Sweetheart, you have to wake up. We have a visitor.”

“What?” The throaty morning voice that she spoke with sent shivers down Steve’s spine. She slowly sat up and kissed Jamie.

He handed her the mug. “A guy could get used to mornings like this: coffee, baby, and a pretty girl.”

Her face grew warm, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to crash so hard.”

“No need to apologize. We were all tired. Drink your coffee and I’ll drop you off on my way to the Ivory.” The trio moved slowly, enjoying the lazy morning. It hit Steve how comfortable and easy this morning was and that he wanted this to happen again. Their eyes connected in the mirror and she smiled at him. He spun around, “Would you be my date to the holiday party?”

“You want me to be your date?” Steve nodded and she bit her lip, “Yeah, I’d really like that, Stevie.”

He groaned, “What have I said about calling me that?”

“Follow through and I’ll stop.” He chuckled at her cheeky response and finished getting ready. They managed to get out the door on time and while she was bent over buckling Jamie in, she felt a sting on her ass. She whirled around, shock painted her face, “Did you just spank me?”

“You told me to follow through. I’m just doing what I’m told.” Steve walked to the driver’s side, leaving Y/N standing beside the car, a smile on her face.

A week later, Y/N walked into Steve’s apartment, garment bag draped over her arm, make up and hair already done. They had agreed that she would come over to help with Jamie and they would finish getting ready together. All of them would be spending the night in rooms at the Ivory since this party was known to get rowdy. She was glad to see that their overnight bags were packed for the night and she put hers down as she called out for him. “I’m in the bedroom!” She found him standing in the center of the room in just his trousers and unbuttoned dress shirt. He had a look of deep concentration, his tongue peaking out between his lips as he struggled with his shirt. Y/N laid her dress on the bed before Steve threw his hands up, “Can you help me with these damned cufflinks?”

She laughed at his struggle, laying her things on his bed and taking his sleeve in her hands. “I can’t believe you still are wearing these things.” They had been a gag gift from her their first Christmas after he became her guard. She had bought him Tweety Bird cufflinks and told him that he would always have a little birdie with him even if she ran away from him. She switched arms, “How did you get anything done before me, Rogers?”

Steve looked down at her, “I’m not quite sure, Birdie.” She stepped closer to him and started doing up the buttons of his shirt like it was a common practice between them. He held his breath, worried that the intimate moment would end if he made any quick movements. When she reached the top, she smoothed his collar down, her fingertips grazing his neck. She put her hands on his chest and smiled up at him, “There. Now I’m sure you’re capable of tucking your own shirt in. Yes?”

He simply nodded, worried at what pitch his voice would come out. Y/N grabbed her dress and walked into the en-suite bathroom to change. Steve took a deep breath, his skin burning where her fingers had brushed. He walked into his closet, trying to decide on which tie to wear. His decision making was interrupted by his name being called again, “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Could you zip me up? I can’t get it.” Steve cursed up his breath, this girl was going to be the death of him. He walked into the bathroom and got the first look at the dress Y/N had been hiding from him. She spun around, letting the skirt swirl, “Worth the wait?”

“You look gorgeous.” Y/N blushed at his compliment and turned around so that he could zip her up. He purposefully took his time, dragging his finger along her back even after he reached the top of the zipper. When he reached the base of her neck, he left a lingering kiss where his hand stopped and walked out without another word.  She let forehead come to rest against the cool countertop as she tried to get her hormones under control. The two of them had been playing this cat-and-mouse game for too long and it was leaving the both of them incredibly sexually frustrated.

Y/N had picked Steve’s tie to match her dress, ignoring his smirk when she chose it. He put everything in the car and the trio drove over to the Ivory. Steve’s hand found its way to rest on her thigh as she sang along loudly to the Christmas music on the radio. They handed the keys to the valet and made their way up to their adjoining rooms. Steve and Y/N quickly dressed Jamie up in his little suit that was too almost too cute to handle. She pulled on her heels and straightened his tie before they made their way down to the ballroom and marveled at the expert work that had been done. Tony and Pepper had decided on a White Christmas theme and the decorations were done to recreate the final scene of the movie. Giant trees were in every corner of the room and garland was strung across the room. An orchestra in the corner was playing music and everyone was in their finest outfits. They greeted their families and everyone was passing around well-wishes. They were complimented on what a striking pair they made and She tried to hide how flustered she was by Steve’s hand coming around to her waist and pull her closer.

Suddenly, Y/N heard her name being called. She spun around and groaned when she realized it was Alice Jones calling for her. That bitch had made her life hell in high school and the last thing she wanted to do was make small talk with her gang of women. She threw her shoulders back, plastered a fake smile and made her way over. Alice greeted her with a kiss of both cheeks, making Y/N roll her eyes internally. All of the women greeted her like they were old friends.

It did not take long for each woman to be trying to up the other of how great their lives were. Thousands of dollars worth of jewelry was flashed as they bragged about their husbands and fiances. Suddenly all of the women were looking past Y/N and fixing their appearances. She looked over her shoulder, confused, and realized that Steve was coming their way. He nodded quickly at the women before turning to Y/N, “Could you take Jamie for me? I need to discuss some things and his cuteness is a distraction.”

“Of course. Give me my little man,” she made grabby hands and Steve handed the baby over, who was all too happy to be with her. He babbled away as he played with her necklace.

The blonde gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, “Thank you for this. I shouldn’t be too long.”

When Y/N turned back to the group, they were all looking at her like she had grown another head. She laughed awkwardly as they bombarded her with questions. She tried to answer them gracefully and without giving away any actual information. No one but she and Steve were entitled to know what they were to each other and if she was being honest with herself, she wasn’t even sure where they stood. They had become incredibly close since she had been back, even more than before and it seemed that they were both waiting for something to push them over the edge and it never seemed to come.

She let her eyes roam over the ballroom. Indy and Peter were off to one side looking like they were discussing something serious as she tried to get him to put down his drink. George and Tony were off to the side speaking with the latter’s old friend, Colonel Rhodes. She watched Steve shake a man’s hand and then walk over to the bar and start talking to Bucky. Alice placed a hand on Y/N’s bare arm, drawing her attention back, “Well we are so glad to see that you’ve finally settled down,” The group of women tittered away, “I mean I remember in high school how all over the place you were. A nightmare! You’ll have to tell us how little old you managed to snag Steve Rogers.”

Y/N smiled at Alice, “Well I suppose I was a bit all over the place. Not all of us can spend so much of our time in one place on our knees. If you ladies will excuse me.” She quickly made her escape and headed towards the bar. Y/N’s attention was drawn away by Steve and Bucky, who quickly traded her a drink for Jamie when he saw the stormy expression on her face. “What a loathsome bitch.” Steve snickered at the disdain in her voice and looked over to see that the group of women was watching them. He leaned over to whisper in her ear, partially shielding her from their gaze. He was sure it looked like he was whispering dirty secrets to her and it wouldn’t take much for him to start. They had been swirling through his head all night. “You’re an amazing woman. Don’t let them get to you.” Her grip slowly relaxed on the champagne flute and Steve nodded as he ran his fingers along her spine, “Good girl.” Y/N tried to hide the fact that the praise from him had any affect on her, but he knew her and noticed the slight shiver that ran down her back.

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

@founding-fuck-bois

@animegirlgeeky

@inlovewiththefictionalcharacters

@directorsnarrative

@marvelofwitch

[g0dspeeed]

Liar, Liar

For @constantzeigarnik

"V unabashedly flirting with Viktor, just laying it on real thick for the ripperdoc, and Viktor just not being prepared for it in the slightest."

“Liar, liar.”

The words came out in a tired sigh with a voice that hopefully sounded as indifferent as V intended.

The pair was laid out on the hood of Panam’s latest wheels, eyes closed, and cold drinks in hand. After helping the Aldecaldo get the ride from a locked storage yard, V had offered to relax beneath the shade of a highway overpass while they waited for the client to arrive. Panam accepted without a second thought. Between the two of them, a break from daily survival in Night City seemed in order.

Supposed to be chill.

Just two friends sippin’ on a dry afternoon.

No worries.

No stress for an hour.

That was before their present conversation, one that V was trying desperately to avoid.

“Yeah, I’m the liar here,” returned Panam. “And Night City is family friendly. At least I’m not the one in denial that my ripperdoc has the hots for me.”

V turned to shoot her friend a dark look. The nomad smirked as the warning fell flat. Despite V’s best efforts, Panam could see right through her: She was absolutely fuckin’ right.

“Think ya’ got it all wrong,” V maintained in a cool tone.

“Oh, do I?”

V cringed.

“Only met the guy one time,” Panam said. “Felt like a third wheel between the two of you eye-fuckin’ each other. Almost walked outta there see what that psychic girl was sellin’.”

A new warmth began stinging V’s cheeks and Panam frowned at her friend’s lack of response.

This was new territory. Seeing V react this way was beyond strange. One of the most capable people Panam had ever met was turning red over a man. Borderline bizarre. Truly, the entire conversation was out of the norm.

“Shit,” muttered Panam. At her best efforts at being soft, she added, “Don’t feel bad, V. The guy’s stacked like a fucking truck.”

At that, V finally let her guard down. She grinned as Panam gently shoved her shoulder.

“There she is. Just let that denial fade away-”

“Fuck off.”

“What the hell are you afraid of?” asked Panam. “Rejection?”

V looked at her energy drink, swiveling the liquid around before relenting.

“I mean, yeah, kinda.”

An eye roll and a heavy groan came from the woman beside her.

“Yeah okay,” said Panam. “Like he’d reject a woman half his age, much less a badass like you. V, I saw it for myself. The guy thinks you’re hot. Caught ‘im lookin’ at your ass. Not only that, he cares, like genuinely cares about you, which says a lot for people like us. Next time you see him, just lay it on thick and be done.”

V scrunched her eyes shut at her friend’s advice. Just talking about openly pursuing Viktor Vector made V’s stomach twist into knots. As much as she was the badass that Panam knew her to be, for V to explore an actual romantic relationship outside of ‘eye-fucking’ and the occasional one-night stand with some rando from Afterlife was not something V was familiar with. Her days were chaotic. Her lifestyle was that of constant motion. Viktor, in all his edginess, was stable, consistent, and secure. Also, she enjoyed the subtly they shared, the skirting around the topic of their flirty friendship, or whatever it was, from the safety of fleeting looks, suggestive undertones, and the occasional wink.

Then again, if V were honest with herself, it never seemed to be enough. V couldn’t deny that each time she left his clinic she wanted more. Craved more. More time, more privacy, more touch. She was her own worst enemy in all of those categories, always the first to shy away, to change the subject, to wander off.

“Worst case scenario,” breathed Panam. “He’s not interested in dating someone younger. Or just wants to be friends. That’s fine. Whatever. Should that happen, you delta outta there, lay low for a few weeks, find a new doc, and move on.”

“I can’t just delta out of his life,” groaned V. “He’s been my ripperdoc since I came to Night City. He’s also one of my closest friends-”

“Ok, then suffer. Fuck! Just do something. You’re killing me with this in between bullshit.”

Hours later, their conversation from under the overpass played on repeat inside V’s head. Panam cannot sugar coat anything. She might be physically incapable of doing that. Her words came straight from the heart and that’s what made what she had to say so sincere.

That is at least what V was telling herself as she steadily made her way down the steps to Viktor’s clinic, hands clammy, and body keyed up.

Part of her hoped that he was out or tied up with a patient. Maybe he would tell her to come by later.

She scoffed.

What a stupid thought. She was too quick to forget how often he invited her to stick around if he were operating, how she would wait at his workbench or nap on his crusty couch in the back. Sure enough, she could hear the man whistling below, the cheery sound echoing to where she hesitated. She swallowed.

With a final deep breath, V summoned up the bravery to walk through the metal gate.

Hunched over his operating chair, Viktor appeared to be wiping down between appointments, his rich voice humming along to some song in his head. V watched for a moment, taking in the serene sight before approaching the ripperdoc.

“Surprised you’re not watching a match,” she said.

The humming stopped. His head cocked at hearing her voice.

Without turning he responded, “Aren’t any on right now or you know I would be.”

The rag was tossed down and Viktor shifted to look at her.

V’s stomach flipped. His blue button-up was stained with a dark, oily substance all over the front. The top buttons were either missing or dangling from bits of string, leaving the shirt partly undone and exposing his undershirt. V’s eyebrows furrowed as she noticed a small crack that cut in the corner of his glasses just above a small nick on his cheekbone.

“You look-”

“Like shit?” he finished with a grin.

Viktor crossed his arms, drawing V’s attention to his thick biceps in a knee-jerk reaction.

“Bet so,” he continued. “Someone brought in his friend after a run in with the Tyger Claws, all blood clots and broke teeth. The gonk was scared out of his goddamn mind. Took a toll just to sedate ‘im.”

His smile had turned into a smirk, something confident and full of swagger as he told his story. He wore it well, mastering the balance found only in seasoned residents of Night City, of those who earned their street cred by way of blood, grit, and never backing down. V’s lips pursed at how his eyes looked to hers past those dark lenses.

Here would be the part where V ran away, ran from opportunity, from her feelings. He dared to look at her the way he did in that moment, so smooth, so confident. The man had to know. Viktor had to recognize how he affected her, had to notice how her eyes appreciated his physique, how her complexion warmed when he touched her. His frame had turned to face hers, all broad shoulders and aftershave.

She could step back.

Look away.

This was where she could coolly suppress her attraction and change the subject.

But not today.

“Here,” she said warmly.

V stepped close to the ripperdoc, shrinking the gap between their bodies as her fingers gently plucked the man’s glasses from his face. Viktor blinked in surprise and swallowed as she studied the damaged lens with a critical eye, her own smirk pulling at her full lips.

“Gonna need new ones, doc,” she told him.

Next, V carefully folded the glasses and slid them onto the collar of her top. Viktor’s eyes tracked her movements before quickly glancing away. Ever the gentleman.

“But don’t worry,” continued V. “The rest of you I can remedy.”

He chuckled.

“The rest of me?”

V looked up. She nearly gasped. For Viktor to wear those damn shaded glasses was a sin. The bluest blue that V had ever seen, his eyes were deep like ocean water. There was longing in them. Desire. He adored V for standing so close and showing such concern for his wellbeing. Christ, she could get lost in those eyes if he kept looking at her like that.

To answer his question, V tugged at the hem of his soiled shirt. He stiffened.

“Are you tryin’ to say that you like being covered in… whatever this is?” she mused.

“Well, no-”

In a near whisper, V begged, “Then come on, Vik. Let me play doctor for once.”

Fuck.

The way she was looking up at him with that smile, those bedroom eyes, leaning close like that with her fingers tugging on his shirt and talkin’ in that sweet, sexy voice.

Who was Viktor to deny her?

He sighed out a ‘Fine’ and nodded in agreement. Consent confirmed, V went to work. V’s fingers moved to undo the remaining buttons of his shirt, but Viktor stopped her hands. His own hands were warm, a little rough with scars and callouses on the tips and knuckles. In response to V’s questioning look, Viktor grabbed his shirt and ripped the buttons loose with a jerk. They pattered at their feet.

“Trash,” he stated as he slid his arms free from his shirt. Like the buttons, it went airborne and landed in a nearby biohazard bin.

“Hey now,” warned V with mock annoyance. “I said let me play doctor.”

“Oh am I being a bad patient?” returned Viktor.

To his surprise, V placed her palm at the center of his chest. Her fingers flexed gently against his undershirt, making Viktor’s heart race. She then gave a gentle shove.

“The worst,” she teased as Viktor let her push him back into his own operating chair.

Even if he wanted to, there was no way that Viktor could hide his smile. He was at a loss. What in the world had gotten into V? Not that he was complaining of course, but he was so used to waiting. The flirting, the winks, all those playful innuendos had been going on for such a long time. By now, Viktor simply accepted that she wouldn’t push it further, that their friendship or whatever they had, consisted of only those teasing moments. Nothing more. In the end he believed that V didn’t want anything deeper with the ripperdoc. And that was fine. A bummer, but fine. Didn’t feel bad about it. Didn’t resent her. She was younger, a wild one who made a hobby out of recklessly injuring herself doing God knows what in the city. The man wasn’t new to women or intimacy, and with a woman like V he thought it best to let her set the terms, especially considering that she was after all his patient. A patient who ate his food, slept on his couch, completely ignored his work schedule, and called him ‘pretty boy’ on the regular. A patient no less.

So imagine how fast his heart was racing as her fingers softly cupped his cheek, at how her body leaned in close as she inspected the small cut beneath his eye. Viktor tried his hardest to look off into nothingness rather than at her breasts. Tried to ignore how delicious she smelled. Was she wearing perfume-

“Breathe, Vik,” she mumbled. “Can’t have my first patient black out on me.”

She fucking winked and that goddamn smirk of hers graced her lips.

“I, uh,” he began. He laughed, a bit too nervously for his liking. “I’m sorry, just, just distracted. It doesn’t hurt that much, ya know.”

“How’d he get ya?” asked V.

To Viktor’s disappointment, V stepped away from the chair and walked towards his workbench. He didn’t miss how her hips swayed or how she bent over to grab his medical kit in a nearly exaggerated manner. The way she looked into his eyes while she straightened, all slow and sensual with those curves of hers, went immediately to his dick. He swallowed.

“Um,” he said stupidly. “He, uh, headbutted me. With his head.”

“Ouch,” she replied.

Before she returned to the flustered ripperdoc, V shimmied out of her bomber jacket and tossed it on his workbench. A tattered crop top pulled against her skin as she shook out her dark hair.

Viktor had the decency to rest his hands in his lap to shield the effect that the merc had on him.

Her tongue wet her lips as she fished through the kit for what she wanted. The glance she shot in his direction proved that there was no innocence in the act.

What the fuck was happening?

That question repeated itself over and over again in his mind as she again bent closely towards his body to apply a Q-tip to the wound, offering another delicious view of her ample breasts.

“Can I get some feedback, doc?” she asked quietly.

Viktor swallowed, his mouth dry like sand.

“Yeah, kid,” he replied lowly.

V paused her work to truly look at him, to gaze into those gorgeous eyes of his. Then, all calm and collected, V perched herself next to him at the edge of the operating chair. Viktor allowed her some room as she cupped his cheek with her other hand, her breasts resting on his torso as she leaned into him. Her thumb ghosted his skin, tempting. Teasing. Viktor ignored the urge to press against the throbbing hardness in his pants. The cut long forgotten, his attention was caught up in V’s eyes, the warmth of her skin, her smell, the sultriness of her voice.

“Do you want me?”

Her mouth was so close to his. The warmth of her breath tickled his skin like static. Viktor’s eyes shut in anticipation as V slowly drew herself to his lips.

He felt nothing, but heard the soft tear of paper. Viktor’s eyes fluttered open, brow crinkling in confusion. V had sat up and was unwrapping a small bandage, her eyes fixated on the task while he gaped at her. When it was open, she reached out and carefully applied the bandage to the cut on Viktor’s cheek.

“All done,” she stated in a chipper tone, a wide smile stretched from ear to ear.

Viktor smirked.

“Oh yeah?” he questioned. “Think you’re hot shit giving this old man a heart attack?”

“Think I gave you more than that, pretty boy.”

Her eyes flickered to his lap and back to those ocean eyes. Viktor sat up in the chair, his hands not budging as if his life depended on it.

“You never answered me,” said V, the playfulness gone from her voice and replaced with a feeling that Viktor found it hard to describe.

There was no mystery, however, to how he felt in hearing it. His heart melted at her words, at how the game was finally over and that she, beautiful V, wanted to know if he wanted her. A stupid question, really, but an important one all the same.

“Ah V,” he said with a sigh.

Panic alit her eyes like fire, but it was quickly doused as Viktor took her by the hand.

“Of course I do,” Viktor replied earnestly. He gave her hand a small squeeze. “I’d be a fuckin’ liar if I didn’t.”

For whatever reason, Viktor saw V blink as if there was something odd in what he said. The moment was short and quickly forgotten as V embraced him so hard that the pair fell back in his operating chair, his arm wrapped around waist and his lips pressed into her hair.

[lesetoilesfous]

For DWC: "These chains never leave me, I keep dragging them around" from the Florence prompt list for Anders/Fenris?

Ah I had so much fun with this, thank you! I hope I did it justice!!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting​

Pairing: Fenders

Characters: Fenris, Anders

Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, canon-typical graphic depictions of violence, Anders was right, anti-chantry, graphic reference to infanticide, Tevinter is awful, graphic reference to abortion, oblique reference to sexual assault, self-hatred, mention of self-harm, suicidal ideation. Basically post-Danarius, and all that entails. Characters dealing with trauma, PTSD and survivor’s guilt.

Rating: Mature

It’s been one week, two days and three hours since Fenris killed Danarius. He is sitting with Hawke and her friends in her mansion, because he had not been able to conceal his discomfort when they’d visited The Hanged Man, unable to remove from his recent memory the stain of blood on the floorboards and the sting of his sister’s betrayal. Corff had, at least, worked a miracle with the former. As far as the latter was concerned - Fenris did not think that Isabela was the only one who’d noticed him startling in the Lowtown crowd at the sight of every redheaded elf. The trait was, blessedly, a rare one. There was that, at least.

In the beautiful marble fireplace, Hawke’s fire roars loud and red, crackling with heat that licks gold light over the sandy, muscular back of her mabari, half asleep on the wine purple rug laid over the stone. Sandal is humming somewhere in one of the rooms nearby, and occasionally, under the loud sound of Hawke’s voice and her companions’ laughter, Fenris can make out the soft sound of Bodahn talking to his son. Orana, of course, is inaudible. She knows better. 

Fenris bites the inside of his cheek, hard, and drinks deeply from his cup. The wine in it is thick and rich and velvet. Fenris can feel Marian’s eyes on him, but he can also see, from the corner of his eye, the way that her muscular arm is looped casually around Isabela’s shoulders. As he lowers his cup, he catches the way that Isabela tilts her head back, thick black hair falling over Marian’s tunic as she brushes her lips against her ear. He can see the way Marian flushes. 

Fenris gets to his feet, and by the fireplace Dog raises her great sandy head. He gives her a small, calming gesture, and next to the low table onto which they’ve scattered their cards, Marian frowns at him. “Fenris?”

Fenris motions vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. “I need some water.” He tries to ignore the eyes of his companions on him as he goes. Instead, he leaves the warm, firelit parlour and walks into the cold, empty rooms not baked gold by fireplaces. Fenris feels his shoulders lower as soon as he gets to the second room, standing in the grey and black dusty shadow of an utterly deserted music room. Through the narrow stone windows of the Amell Estate, he can see the deep black sky of Kirkwall, scattered with stars. Houses fall like broken marble down towards the sea, which crashes with a distant roar against the cliffs. At the edge of the horizon, moonlight races silver across the waves. Fenris stares at it, and thinks about being a younger man, on an island, thinking that it would be the last thing he ever saw.

“Nice view, isn’t it?”

Fenris whirls on instinct, limbs moving with muscle memory as the lyrium sewn into his skin sets his nerve endings on fire and he plunges his hand into the intruder’s chest. In the dark, Anders’ blonde hair is grey and silver. If he’s bothered by the pain about which Fenris’ victims had so often complained to him before their grisly demise, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he raises his eyebrows at Fenris over the wrist plunged into his chest. Fenris squeezes his fingers, and feels the frantic, shuddering jerk of Anders’ heart in his palm, the warm, wet sensation of it dulled by the distance of the Fade.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

Anders breathes out, a long, shuddering breath that belies his calm demeanour. Fenris had not previously thought him capable of such a poker face. His heart beats in Fenris’ hand like a bird, struggling. “I don’t know.” Anders meets his eyes, and in the dark his are almost black, but his blonde eyelashes are gilded silver by the moon. “I guess I trust you.”

Fenris’ fingers uncurl around Anders’ heart, and the mage’s shoulders lower from where they’d been scraping his ears. Fenris’ gaze falls to his long, crooked fingers, but there’s no telltale spark of magic there. Slowly, Fenris withdraws his hand, watching it fade through the frayed fabric of Anders’ coat as he tries to ignore the burn of a hot, embarrassed flush pushing up into his cheeks. 

Outside the mansion, on the streets of Kirkwall, a pair of mabari start barking, great bellowing things that echo against the stone buildings. A cat yowls, and far off there’s the sound of people shouting. Fenris stares at his bare feet on the stone floor of Hawke’s mansion and hates the fact that his eyes are burning as he tries to untangle his tongue, and dispel the impression that Anders will do something awful to him for his trespass. (Hadriana’s smile flickers behind his eyelids every time he blinks. Her fingers curl, wreathed in green light. His own screams echo in his ears long before the pain hits.)

“Are you alright?”

Anders’ voice is rough and soft, and Fenris jerks his head up, falling back on the easy confidence of anger and letting it buoy him up out of his despair.

“What do you care, mage?”

As Fenris speaks he surges forward, feeling his lips curl back from his teeth in a sneer. Anders doesn’t back away, and it leaves their faces mere inches apart. Anders is looking at him oddly, and abruptly Fenris wishes for more light: knowing the man well enough by now after almost a decade to be able to read the spiderweb cracks of wrinkles in his face as the giveaway they tended to be. 

“You haven’t been yourself since -” Anders hesitates, and Fenris hates him for it, and abruptly cannot look at him. So instead he turns away, throwing his hands into the empty air as if that will satisfy his urge to hit something.

“Since what? Since I killed him. Tell me, mage, what is my ‘self’? What am I?” Fenris means it as a challenge, but his voice cracks, and when he turns back to Anders, chest heaving, he’s horrified to realise that tears are running down his cheeks. He glances at the open door, leading into the dark and deeper into the mansion. He takes a step in the direction of the doorframe.

“Brave.” Anders says the word quickly, and Fenris stops, unable to force himself to turn around but unable to leave either as some stupid, childish part of him that he had long since thought irreparably ruined rises in delight. “Funny. And you know it, though you pretend you don’t.” It’s getting hard to breathe. Fenris stares into the thick shadows of the next room, where Orana’s drawn the curtains across the window. Elsewhere in the mansion, there’s a cheer and a crow of triumph from Isabela as the rest of their friends laugh.

“Smartest man I’ve ever met, probably.” Anders goes on, but doesn’t move. “Fucking stubborn. Annoying. Terrifying, with a greatsword. And without one.” Anders hesitates, and Fenris hears the catch of his breath as clear as a bell struck at daybreak. “My friend.”

Fenris clenches his jaw so tightly his teeth hurt, and shuts his eyes. More tears fall down his cheeks, tickling his chin  as they go. 

“A good man. That’s what you are, Fenris.” Anders delivers the proclamation with the same certainty with which he insists on his desperate, hopeless, flawed revolution.

Fenris whirls on him. “And what do you know of good men?” Fenris means it cruelly, and he tries to take satisfaction in the way that Anders flinches. But then the stupid, stubborn, ridiculous man lifts his chin.

“Enough to know one when I see one. And know when he’s being an ass.”

“You know nothing of me!” Fenris almost bellows, and cowers when the words echo. For a moment, both he and Anders hold their breath as they wait for one of Hawke’s servants - or worse - their friends, to come and investigate. But a minute passes, tense as a knife edge, and no one does. Fenris goes on, and tries to ignore the prickling in his sweating hands. “You don’t know what I am. You don’t know what I’ve done.”

Dust motes dance silver in the starlight as they fall onto the piano. Anders purses his lips. “Alright, I don’t. But I know that you dress up as Fen’harel for the kids in the alienage every Wintersend. I know you win more often at cards than you say you do, and that you let Merrill win. I know you’re a little bit in love with Isabela, and a little bit in love with Hawke, and it kills you that they chose each other because it kills me too. I know that you have more reason than any bastard I’ve ever met to hurt me until I forget how to breathe and you’re one of very few people who never has. I know that I’ve known you for a decade and you haven’t killed me yet.”

“I might.” It’s not a threat. Fenris doesn’t look at Anders when he says it, staring dully instead at the painting on the wall: some rainy Fereldan landscape, the details of which he can’t make out in the dark. 

“But you haven’t.” Anders steps forward, and Fenris steps back, and feels dizzily as if they’re dancing. The moonlight catches on Anders’ chin, and Fenris can make out the faint tooth of a scar just below his bottom lip, hair thin in his stubble. Anders swallows, and breaks Fenris’ gaze, eyes tracing over a lute hanging on the wall. “You know mages don’t get to keep their kids.”

The subject change is so abrupt that Fenris feels as if he’s been physically thrown off kilter. “What?” He’s been standing here long enough to feel the cold, now, and taste the wood polish in the air. Anders goes on, still not looking at him, massaging one hand with the other as his fingers flex. 

“They take them away. Can’t abort them, not under Chantry law. I’m a Spirit Healer.” 

Fenris’ frown deepens, the back of his head already aching with the dull constant stress of the last fortnight and the sleeplessness that came with it. “I know.” He tries not to make his frustration obvious. Judging by the small grin Anders gives him, he doesn’t succeed.

“I started working with the Circle Healer when I was 17. Day after I was Harrowed. First day wasn’t so bad. A couple lashings. Attempted suicide. Self-harmer. Some kid who said he walked into a wall.” Anders rolls his eyes, huffing a laugh as his hands move to massage his wrists. Fenris watches him carefully. “Second day. There was this girl. Fifteen, Templar father, obviously. I helped deliver that baby.” Anders’ expression shutters. “She wasn’t allowed to see it. I did. I got to hold it, give it to some lieutenant who held it like it was contagious. I don’t even know if it made out of Kinloch. But she begged me to let her hold it and all I could say was that it was already gone.”

“That -” Fenris picks his words as carefully as he would navigate a floor covered in broken glass. “I do not think that you were the one at fault, there.”

“I know.” Anders says the words simply, and reaches up into his hair to pull the tie loose, scratching the tangled waves that fall around his head as he does so. “My point is, when you’re a prisoner, most of the time, the burden is on your gaolor. And you aren’t Danarius’ crimes.”

“It is not the same.” Fenris grinds the words between his teeth as his fingers tighten into fists hard enough to hurt. “I was - the things I did - I did not take babies. I killed them. I broke their skulls on his altars. I aborted them from their mothers before I killed them, too. I cannot - there are not words for the marks that what I have done, what I did, has left on my soul, and I do not know if I will do them again, and I fear them and I fear him, and I fear myself, and I hate them and I hate him and I hate myself, and every hour of every day I live with these cursed chains on my body that I cannot shake no matter how far I run and I do not know how to make it stop.” Once Fenris starts speaking, he can’t slow down, the words falling from his tongue with the tears that run thick and fast down his cheeks as he tears at his arms hard enough to make them bleed. Anders startles forward, and Fenris jerks backward, thrusting his burning hands into the air between them. “I would tear it from my skin. I would rip myself apart piece by piece if I did not know that killing myself would only be a mercy that I have never deserved.” Fenris breathes, and it splinters in his chest. He finishes in a hoarse whisper. “You know nothing of what I am, or what I have been, or what I have suffered, or what I have done. You never have.”

Behind Fenris, through the window, the sound of the ocean beats incessantly against the land. Elsewhere in the mansion, their companions are quiet, and the sound of Sandal’s singing has ceased. Fenris can feel his blood roaring in his ears, and doesn’t bother to brush the tears from his cheeks. Standing in the middle of the room, Anders stares at him, his tall thin figure swaying like a sapling in a breeze. 

Then he says, “You’re right. There’s a lot about you that I don’t know or understand and, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’m kind of an asshole sometimes. But, Fenris? I need you to know this.” Anders steps forward and gets, stiffly, to his knees, one leg bending more slowly than the other. Fenris stares at him, bewildered, and steps backward until his head bumps softly against the wall. “Forgive the melodrama but uh, I don’t get on my knees for just anyone.” Fenris doesn’t think he has ever seen Anders on his knees, and he realises abruptly that he had never wanted to. Anders gives him a small, nervous smile, and takes a deep breath, swallowing before he speaks. “Fenris. From a mage, on his knees, asking you to listen to him. You deserve to live.”

The sob that works its way out of Fenris’ chest is a living thing, and Fenris chokes on it, sliding down the wall as he begins to cry in earnest. Anders, mercifully, doesn’t move. Fenris doesn’t know how long he cries, only that at the end of it his throat aches and his eyes burn and his head is pounding. But when he opens his eyes, Anders is still there, silver in the dark on his knees next to the piano. Fenris stares at him, and tries to clear his throat.

“You’re a very strange man.”

Anders shrugs, and moves with a visible wince to take the weight off his left knee, leaning against the piano stool as he gingerly unfolds his leg. “I’ve been called worse.”

Slowly, he reaches out into the space between them, scarred, crooked, calloused hand palm upwards, fingers outstretched. Anders looks at him, and his brown eyes are almost black in the dark. Slowly, fighting the sensation that this must be some kind of trap, Fenris reaches out and takes it. Anders’ fingers are cool against his, and his knuckles are bumpy and uneven. But he squeezes Fenris’ hand so hard it’s almost painful, and Fenris feels more tears stinging at the back of his eyes.

For a moment, they sit like that, peaceful in the quiet. Then there’s a soft knock on the doorframe, and Bodahn ducks his head in, face lit by a candle in a brass dish. “Sorry to interrupt messeres, but Mistress Hawke wanted to know if you’d like some libation to keep you company?”

Fenris glances at Anders, half moving to pull his hand back. But Anders’ hand tightens on his, and instead, feeling strangely childish, he nods at Bodahn. “Yes, please. That would be appreciated.”

Bodahn gives him a small, kind smile and ducks his head. “Very good, messere.” He turns, and leaves, and Fenris watches Anders as he shuts his eyes and leans his head back against the barstool, hair fanning out around him like some Orlesian princess.

“I thought you didn’t drink.” It’s not an accusation, motivated more by curiosity than anything.

Anders’ lips curl, and he opens one eye to look at Fenris, fingers tightening in his. “For you? I’ll make an exception. It’s been a long week.”

[scars-of-the-hart]

Tempest on the Shore: Shakarian angst on the Citadel

Her legs had finally stopped trembling. Shit. Shepard tried to hold onto the last tendrils of the woozy, tingling, mind-wiping high.  But it was like trying to hold water in cupped hands, it slipped away through the cracks no matter how tightly she tried to hold it, leaving emptiness behind. And the emptiness was loud. She let out a frustrated sigh and rolled over shifting to the edge of the bed, remembering exactly where she had dropped her pants and tank top. She hadn’t bothered with underwear for this in ages. 

“Um...excuse me?” Demanded the salarian in the bed pressing himself up onto his elbows.

Shepard gave him a puzzled frown.

The salarian (he had a name but she’d intentionally failed to commit it to memory) imperiously raised a scaled brow at her. “What the hell was that?”

“What?”

“That noise you made.”

“What noise?”

“You sighed.”

“Oh...um did I?”

The salarian scowled at her. “Yes, you did. Look honey, I don’t know what your problem is but two hours with me will not result in the most quad-rung overstimulated krogan feeling dissatisfied so you better get that little viscous crack looked at.” He narrowed his eyes at her, and cast a disgusted look between her legs. “Because it is the problem. Not. Me.”

Shepard just stared at him. She was tempted to pay him double because she was close to laughing, which was more of a service than anything he’d done in this bed. But the spark went out as quickly as it had come. 

She shook her head as she tucked a hand between her legs. Not too wet. Manageable for the walk back to the Normandy. That was the handy thing about salarians. The females created enough moisture of their own that the blokes were pretty dry in the bed. As she pulled her pants on she gave the salarain a hard look. “I appreciate that you take so much pride in your work, but you're worrying your giant head over nothing. You were great. Thanks.” He still looked pissed as hell. She vaguely tried to care, but just couldn’t.  “Keep to working with people's bodies, you’ve got no natural ability with their heads.”  She pulled her tank on, bound her tangled mane of red hair in a messy bun on top of her head, crossed to the door and waved her omnitool across the payment console. It registered her transfer of credits and the door clicked as it unlocked and hissed open. She gave the salarian a mocking salute as she left.

“See you in two weeks, freak.” He called after her, his voice full of venom.

She tried to ignore it. She wouldn't be back, she lied to herself as she made her way along the wards. The streets were wet from the rain that had been falling before she started her session with the salarian. The layer of moisture almost made this part of the Citadel beautiful. There was something about the extended blur of the neon lights that made them romantic, instead of just... seedy.  

 A human who passed her made the mistake of eyeing the motion of her breasts under her tank and she gave him a look that told him exactly what kind of retribution that attention merited. He turned instantly pale and hastily turned down a different street. She should care-about the way he had looked, or his reaction or...or anything.  She pushed away that thought as she tried to push away every other, shifting her focus to the way walking made her recently stimulated vagina feel. She shifted her stride, trying to stir any lingering feelings of pleasure, to tease out a last rush of dopamine, but it wasn’t working. Between the bitchy salarian, and the oggloing tool...or maybe it was just her. Just the empty, broken, piece of shit she was.   She glanced at the time on her omnitool. She had half an hour before the end of their shore leave. Fuck. She could be fast but that wasn’t going to give her enough time for a session with anything if she wanted to avoid judgmental looks from Miranda and the Cerberus goons for coming back late when she was the one who had threatened to depart without any stragglers. 

You know what, fuck it. I didn’t ask to come back from the dead. 

She pulled up the booking page that had become the top listing for her “frequently used” extranet sites, and started typing in her preferences. Doesn’t matter if I pay for a full session and only use a few minutes. What am I gonna do with credits when the Reapers get here? Try to pay them off?  She filled out the request sheet as she walked: either gender, cunnelingus.  There literally wasn’t time to fuck around with penetration. Species. The form asked. Shepard grunted impatiently, didn’t really matter, she just needed something waiting for her when she got to the back rooms of Chora’s Den.  She selected turian by accident, and then physically collided with one. 

Shepard rubbed her forehead where it had collided with the offending turian’s armor as pain lanced through her head. Ok, any lingering effects of the salarian generated dopamine were definitely gone now. She glowered up at the mandabled idiot she had run into, preparing a curt, ufelt apology, and fell silent as she caught sight of the glow of a blue visor. 

SHIT

“Commander…” Garrus’ browplates furrowed as he stared at her in surprise. Shepherd’s mind went completely blank as she just stared at him. His crystalline eyes widened in concern and more than a little shock. A steadying hand went to her arm and his rough tipped fingers round her brow, testing gently.  “Are you...I’m sorry I should have-”

Shepherd’s gut clenched and she quickly brushed away his hands. “Been watching where the fuck you were going. Yeah. Work on that.” His head cocked ever so slightly at her harsh tone, his eyes narrowing a fraction.  

“I’m sorry, Shepard.” His mandibles flared in irritation. “I was endeavoring to make it back to the Normandy as you-”

“-yeah, well if you're that careless while carrying out an order you're not gonna last two minutes against the Collectors.” She snapped.  His eyes narrowed further, every calculating thought clear in those eyes. Fucker. Shepard though. Her stomach clenched. She didn’t have time for this. She didn’t have the energy or the...anything, for this. “ I’ll have to put what’s left of your cold ass carapace in a box.”

And then she saw his chin set: slightly raised, head tilted ever so slightly to the right. His pissed off defensive posture. She was too tired and empty and furious and stressed and scared and- 

Shepard turned on her heel and started stomping towards the nearest tram station that would lead her to the Citadel docks.

“Yeah,” Garrus called after her, “if you can still afford a box and you haven’t spent every last Cerberus credit at Chora’s.”

Ice shot down her spine. She stopped, turned slowly and stared at the turian.  “Excuse me, Vakarian?”

His chin was still set. “I’m sorry, is there something inaccurate in my assessment?” He drawled.

She hadn’t ever been followed...not that she cared if she had, you just didn’t survive the shit she did and remain capable of not checking for tails and hostels and whatever.  She didn’t care. She shouldn’t care. Why would she care if he knew? Especially if it was Garrus. Garrus who had gotten his whole crew killed. Garrus who’s medical chart after taking a rocket to the face had shown just what crap the turian had been pouring into his body (well...Moria wasn’t going to point fingers there..unless certain taloned fingers were already pointing at her), but that wasn’t the point why should she care? Except he shouldn’t know.

She gritted her teeth. “I would say there is as I have no idea what you are talking about.”

His eyes were cold as they narrowed. He casually lifted the hand that had, only minutes ago, brushed tenderly against her forehead, and sniffed it. His nostrils flared. “Salarian. Human sweat, yours, by the way, we’ve spared enough for me to recognize it. “

“Oh, fuck you, Vakarian.” She spat. “I probably smell like you, dipshit, after running into you. Who the fuck do you think you are throwing accuzations at your commanding officer?”

“You do smell like me.” Garrus snarled, “but it's different, and there's also a little krogan, asari and batarian-” she opened her mouth to snarl at him but he spoke over her “-not that those are from today, or you, not quite in the same way as the salarian. My guess is those scents are left over from whoever else was in the room before you.”

Rage washed through ther. “If you want to get back on my ship you’ll shut that pincushion of a mouth right now.”

Garrus’ nostrils flared, and she didn't think it had anything to do with him smelling her this time. “You asked me to come aboard!”

“Yeah,” Shepard snarled, “and I remember someone saying that he couldn’t exactly doubt my judgement.”

“That was before you were fucking everything and anything on the wards.”

It was like the world bottomed out around her. Nothing existed but his eyes and those words. She saw fear flash through them for a second, before being replaced by that same rage as before. 

“And what the hell makes you think what I fuck is any of your goddamn business?”

There was some hurt in the rage. “Because I’m your friend Shepard.”

“Yeah. Friend. And crew. Neither of which has anything to do with the personal choices I make.”

“Look,” he said, “taking on the Collectors, everything with the Council, coming back from the dead I get that its a lot to deal with-”

Heat rushed through her cheeks. “And I'm dealing with it so back the hell off.” 

“You’re being reckless there’s-”

Why was this happening? Why was she having this conversation? Why did it matter- she shoved the thoughts a way and glared at him. “Don’t talk to me about “being reckless” Archangel.”

It was a direct hit. Garrus blinked, a different type of pain in his expression. Shepherd’s gut twisted. It was a low blow. A fucking dirty low blow. 

He looked away from her, staring out at the skycars soaring past the walkway, then gave her a long look out of the corner of his eye.  “You are reckless in the field. You are tense on the ship. Its behavior I recognize. I was there recently, as you have so kindly reminded me.”

She wanted to say something. But she didn’t. She just held his gaze.

He slowly closed the difference between them, staring down at her. She refused to give ground: she didn’t move her chin an inch, and continued to glare up at him. He tilted his head so that he could meet her gaze and said slowly. “I don’t care who you fuck.” They were inches apart. “I care why you make bad calls when you know there are better ones.” She couldn’t breathe. His long slow breaths tickled her nose. “You asked for my help.” The challenge in his eyes made her blood sing. “So I’m going to call you on your bullshit, Shepard.” 

He’d been the one to support her after Eden Prime. Someone who had seen through Saren’s lies on his own. The one she wanted on her side on every mission. The only one who hadn’t questioned her using Cerberus…An feelings the salarian had left in her body were gone, the vague numb bliss replaced with the electric currents those eyes sent racing through her. She was rooted to the spot and ready to rush him all at once. She wanted her hands on him, to tear, to push against that immovable impossible weight and solidness of him. That was what she wanted. She wanted something real, something strong, something constant, something she could unleash herself against without fear. Her lips parted as a breath escaped them, crashing against his like a wave. 

But something broke the spell between them and Garrus pulled back. “No one on that ship is in their right mind.” He said quietly. “I have a feeling we’re all going to have to grapple with spirits that haunt us if we want a shot at taking the fight to the Collectors and coming back in one piece.”  He gave her a last long slow look. “But I think you need to figure out what the hell you're actually fighting for.” And with that he turned away, walking towards the docs without so much of a backwards glance. His crest cast a long shadow on the ground in the slowly dimming lights of the Citadel promenade, and Shepard felt herself fall into darkness as it slipped away.

[themetaphorgirl]

“why did we leave Prentiss in charge?

I was prompted to write about Emily teasing Spencer into doing something stupid and breaking something in the process. This turned out a lot sillier than I thought it would? And I was going to write more of it but it seemed like a good spot to end.

but let me know if you want to see a part two! or something angstier! lately it seems all I can do is write fluff!

(more about the boarding school babes)

----------

“Okay, okay, I think this time I can make all the way down without having to put my hands down,” Derek said, running back up to the top of the stairs.

“Guys, are you sure this is a good idea?” Penelope asked.

JJ tightened her ponytail. “You’re just saying that because you haven’t stuck a single landing!” she called from the top of the stairs.

Penelope stamped her foot. “I’m just saying that this seems really risky!” she said. “What would would the seniors say if they were here? Or Hotch?”

“Hotch wouldn’t know anything fun if it bit him on the ass,” Emily said. “And you know Dave and James would be trying this out. And it’s not that dangerous. You should have seen the staircase in the Ukrainian embassy. Now that was dangerous.”

“What would Alex say?” Penelope said desperately. “She’d think this is a bad idea.”

“Relax, baby girl, it’s fine,” Derek said, hanging over the railing. “You don’t have to do it. I mean, neither is Spencer.”

Spencer glanced up from his book. “Hm?” he said. “Did you say something to me?”

He ruffled Spencer’s hair. “Just that you and Penelope are sitting out on the fun stuff,” he said.

“Yeah, she’s a scaredy-cat, and you’re too little,” Emily said.

“I’m not a scaredy-cat, I’m being safe and sensible,” Penelope said.

Spencer’s mouth dropped open. “I’m not that little!” he said. “You guys think I’m a baby, and I’m not!”

“We know you’re not a baby, you’re just small,” Derek reassured him.

“I’ve grown a little bit!”

“You’re like...four and a half feet tall.”

Spencer slammed his book shut and scrambled to his feet. “Just because I’m small for my age doesn’t mean I’m not physically capable of keeping up with you guys,” he said, irritated.

“No offense, Spence, but I’m in gym class with you, I know what you’re capable of,” JJ said.

“She’s right, you run like a baby giraffe,” Penelope added.

Spencer crossed his arms. “Well, giraffes can run up to thirty miles an hour, so I don’t think your comparison is particularly valid,” he said. 

“We ran the mile yesterday. It took you seventeen minutes.”

He thrust his book into JJ’s hands. “I’m going to slide down this stupid banister, and then you guys have to stop picking on me,” he said. 

“Deal,” Emily said. “But if you don’t make it all the way to the bottom, then you have to do my trig homework for the next two weeks.”

“Deal,” Spencer said. He struggling to swing his leg over the side of the banister, but he managed to pull himself up.

“Oh, I’m not watching this,” Penelope said, taking off her lime green glasses. “If he breaks something, Alex and Hotch are going to murder you.”

“Relax, Pen,” Emily said. “He’ll give up less than halfway down. I’m positive.”

Spencer hesitated, holding on tightly to the railing. “Kid, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Derek said. “We’ll stop teasing you about being little, we promise.”

“I don’t!” Emily called. “Come on, Dr. Reid, do it! I have a lot of trig homework coming up!”

Even from the bottom of the stairs she could see him scowl. He let go of the railing.

To her surprise, he didn’t give up, or inch his way down hesitantly. He slid down, a lot faster than she expected, and he managed to get all the way down to the ground. Except he didn’t land easily, he slammed into the hardwood floor.

“Oh my god!” JJ shrieked.

“No, no, he’s fine,” Emily said. “Right, Spencer?”

Spencer pushed himself to sit up, his legs stretched out in front of him. “Uh,” he said. He rubbed his eyes. “That counts, right? You guys have to stop teasing me now.”

“Well, that wasn’t part of the deal,” Emily said. “You didn’t stick the landing, so I think we should compromise with one week of trig.”

“No, no, I remember, you specifically said if I made it to the bottom, you didn’t say anything about sticking the landing,” Spencer shot back.

Penelope slid her glasses back on. “You’re okay, right?” she said.

“Uh-huh, I’m fine,” Spencer said.

“So...can you get up?” Penelope asked. 

He started to push himself up and immediately dropped back down. “I’ll get up in a second,” he said.

“No, I think I’d feel better if you got up now,” Penelope said.

Spencer fidgeted. “Just a second,” he said.

JJ leaned over the railing. “Is he okay?” she called.

“I’m fine!” he shouted back. “I just want to sit here for a little while!”

Emily walked over and bent over him. “Is there something you’re not telling us?” she asked. He shook his head. She held out her hand. “C’mon. You can do it.”

Spencer sighed heavily and took her hand. He raised himself up a few inches, then grabbed her wrist, pulling himself up with both hands. Emily caught his arm and he wobbled. “Thanks,” he said in a small voice. “I think I’m retiring from my career as a professional banister-slider.”

“Yeah, probably for the best,” she said. “You can let go of my hand now.” He obeyed and she pulled out her phone to check the time. “Hey, the dining hall just opened for lunch. You guys ready?”

This whole being in charge thing wasn’t too terrible. Saturdays were usually pretty quiet on campus already, and Hotch was off doing RA things (she didn’t press for details, it sounded boring) and the seniors were at an all-day college admission seminar. It was kind of nice to be in charge without them.

The dining hall was a ghost town, making it a lot easier to go down the line and make it to their table without having to fight a sea of other people. She plunked her tray down and paused. “Hey, are you not eating?” she asked.

Spencer was sitting in his usual seat, but he was unusually quiet. “I’m not very hungry,” he said. 

“You need to eat something,” she said. “What do you want?”

He folded his arms on the table. “Nothing,” he said, resting his chin on his forearms. “I’m just not hungry.”

Emily patted his shoulder. “Are you okay?” she asked. “Does your stomach hurt?”

He rolled his shoulder, shaking off her hand. “No,” he said shortly. “I’m just not hungry.”

JJ dropped her tray next to Emily. “You’re not going to tell the others that I’m just eating cheetos and three chocolate pudding cups, right?” she asked.

Emily gestured towards her plate. “Not if you don’t tell them that I’m just eating muffins.”

“Deal.”

“So what’s the plan for movie night tonight?” Derek asked as he and Penelope took their seats.

“Not sure,” Emily said, tearing off a chunk of her blueberry muffin and popping it into her mouth. “Whose turn is it to pick?”

“Mine!” Penelope said. “I’m thinking something in the animated musical category.”

“You’re always thinking something in the animated musical category,” JJ said. She paused. “Spence, are you not going to eat anything?”

“Not hungry,” he mumbled into his folded arms.

“I think I might pick Cats Don’t Dance,” Penelope said. “It’s a classic. Underrated.”

“You say that about every movie you pick.”

Emily leaned over to Spencer as the other kids continued to bicker. “Hey,” she whispered. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

He turned his head so she could see one hazel eye. “Nothing’s going on,” he whispered back.

“Oh, yeah?” she said. “Then go get something to eat, okay? I don’t want Hotch and Alex finding out I didn’t feed you. I don’t care what it is, just eat something. Come on, let’s go.”

He sat up. “Please don’t make me,” he said. 

“Why? What’s wrong?”

He bit his lip. “Nothing,” he said, and he pushed his chair back from the table. “I’ll be right back.” He got up and immediately fell back into his chair. 

“Whoa, what was that?” Emily demanded. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Spencer hunched in his chair. “It’s nothing,” he said again.

“I thought I heard a crack when you fell,” Penelope accused. “What did you do? Did you break something?”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably. “I just hit the ground a little funny,” he said. “Can you guys stop staring at me?”

Emily’s eyes narrowed. “Stand up,” she said.

Spencer scowled, slapped his palms down on the table, and forced himself up to his feet. “See?” he said. “I’m fine.”

“Let go of the table,” Emily said. He raised his hands in surrender and made a face at her. “Now take six steps that way.” Spencer swallowed hard and took a hesitant step. “That’s one. Keep going.”

He took another step, heavy and limping, and caught himself on the back of a chair. “Whoa, pretty boy,” Derek said. 

Spencer leaned heavily on the chair, all of his weight on his right leg. “Was that six steps?” he asked.

“One and a half,” Emily said. “Spill, munchkin. What are you not telling us?”

Spencer flushed pink. “You said you would stop treating me like a baby!” he said. “It’s the whole reason I did this to myself!”

“Did what?”

“What did you do?”

He huffed loudly and dropped into the chair. “I just fell weird on my ankle, okay?” he said. “It’s not a big deal.”

Emily moved her chair around. “Which one?”

“...left.”

She beckoned and he reluctantly stretched out his leg, sliding down in his chair and gripping the side of the seat to keep his balance. “Holy shit, kiddo,” she said. 

“What?” Derek said, standing up and craning his neck to get a better look. 

“It’s nothing!” Spencer protested.

“Spence, your ankle is swollen,” Emily said. She loosened the laces of his left sneaker. His ankle had ballooned to twice its normal size. “Oh, fuck. Spencer, it might be broken.”

“What?” JJ demanded.

“Maybe it’s just sprained!” Spencer said. He gulped. “Although it’s sometimes possible that a clean break is easier to heal than a bad sprain…”

“Why would you share that? It’s not helpful!” Penelope said.

“I don’t know! I don’t know why I said that!”

“Yeah, that made it worse!”

“Okay, okay, you guys, cut it out,” Emily said. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh, god, what am I gonna do with you?”

“Ha, you look like Hotch when you’re stressed,” Derek said.

“God, please don’t say that,” Emily said. “Okay. Spencer, we’re going to have to take you to the infirmary and get checked out.”

“No!” he protested.

“No buts,” Emily said firmly. “Let’s go. I will fucking carry you if I have to.”

“Should I text Hotch and Alex?” Penelope asked.

“No!” Emily said. “No, I’ve got it. I’ve got it.” She looked down at Spencer. “Unless you want me to text them?”

Spencer bit his lip. “No, it’s fine,” he said. “It’s not that bad- ow!” She caught him as he wobbled. “Okay, that hurt. That really, really hurt.”

“I’m texting them,” Penelope announced.

Emily bent over Spencer, wrapping her arms tight around him. “Okay, babe, one thing at a time,” she said. “Let’s get you to the infirmary. You want me to carry you?”

Spencer rubbed his eyes. “You’d better not drop me,” he said warily.

She only dropped him once.

After that, he insisted that it didn’t really hurt that bad, and he could probably make it if he just leaned on her. It was slow going to get to the school infirmary, and it was a huge relief to hand him over to the nurse practitioner. 

It was touch and go for a moment as they debated if they needed to send him into town for X-rays at the local hospital (which really made Spencer upset) but after some deliberation and painful probing of his swollen ankle, they determined it was a bad sprain, but nothing broken. They wrapped up his ankle and sent him on his way with crutches, ice packs, and stern instructions to rest.

Derek and the girls were waiting on the front steps of Lincoln House. “What’s the verdict?” JJ called.

“Sprain,” Emily called back, keeping her pace slow as Spencer hobbled beside her on his crutches. “Is Hotch back from-”

Hotch opened the doors and stood on the steps, his arms crossed. “What did you do?” he demanded.

“He’s fine, don’t look at me like that,” Emily said. 

“Yeah, she took care of me,” Spencer said, huffing with exertion as he wobbled on his crutches.

“You caused this in the first place,” Hotch said. He jogged down the steps. “They’re sure he doesn’t need to go to the emergency room?”

“No, no, I don’t, I’m okay,” Spencer insisted.

Hotch took his crutches from him and handed them to Emily, then scooped him up. “How do you make that look so easy?” Emily complained.

“Yeah, she dropped me,” Spencer said.

Hotch whipped around and glared at her. “You did what?”

“It’s fine, he didn’t land on his bad ankle!” Emily said. “I only dropped him a little bit. I’m closer to the ground than you are.”

“Jesus, Prentiss,” Hotch sighed. “

He carried Spencer inside and up the seven flights of stairs; Emily trailed behind him. “Really, Hotch, it was an accident,” she said. “And he’s fine, no harm done. Don’t murder me.”

“Oh, I don’t think you need to worry about me,” Hotch said. “Miller’s waiting upstairs.”

Emily swallowed hard. 

[august-anon]

Tickletober Day 6 - Kiss [LATE]

Fandom: Witcher

Ship(s): Geraskier

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Geralt/Ler!Jaskier

Word Count: 1863 words

Summary: Geralt's a bit weird about having his neck touched. Turns out, it wasn't for the reasons Jaskier thought.

[ao3 link]

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

If they’d never gotten their heads out of their asses and started courting, Jaskier never would have realized it. It wasn’t as if his hands lingered around Geralt’s neck, normally. Sure, he slung an arm around his shoulders now and then, and it didn’t go unnoticed how Geralt would shiver and hunch up when Jaskier was helping him bathe and washing his hair, but it wasn’t something he actively thought about.

Geralt was… weird about having his neck touched.

He never outright told Jaskier to stop, if he went to stroke a finger across the skin or tried to place a little peck there to help Geralt relax, but he wasn’t exactly welcoming of the touch, either. He would jerk away, or scrunch up, or make a little disgruntled sound, like an put-upon cat (which was adorable, but Jaskier would never say so, seeing as Geralt could and would fight him on that, and the Wolf would likely take offense to being compared to a cat).

So Jaskier decided that the safest thing would be to back off. Geralt wasn’t great with communication (though they were working on that), and he often got twitchy when problems were brought up out of the blue, so Jaskier figured it would save them both some stress. Geralt was nonverbally trying to set a boundary, and Jaskier was listening and respecting that.

But then, one night while they were leaned up against a log, campfire warming the air around them, Jaskier leaned up to kiss Geralt’s cheek. At the same time, Geralt seemed to hear something off in the woods and craned his head to try and see. Jaskier’s lips unfortunately wound up on Geralt’s neck, instead.

Jaskier let out a breath and hummed in surprise, too startled by the change in position to realize what had happened and pull back immediately. Geralt make that little noise in the back of his throat again and jerked away, scrunching up and rubbing at the spot where Jaskier’s face had been. Jaskier’s growing guilt was halted by the strained, yet slightly-goofy, smile on Geralt’s face.

Jaskier was rather confident that he knew that look. It was a look that he had caused many times, but mostly recognizable thanks to the fact that he himself had made that face time and time again. Mostly when his lovers before Geralt had been to gentle with their trailing fingers or lips, leaving Jaskier to bite back his giggles to try and avoid ruining the mood.

“Geralt, my love?”

Geralt hummed, looking over while still rubbing at his neck.

“I have a couple questions, if you don’t mind.”

Geralt quirked a brow. “Depends on the questions.”

Jaskier grinned and crawled closer to settle himself in Geralt’s lap, so they were facing each other. It was both insurance, so that Geralt couldn’t try and escape the conversation without communicating that he wanted it to stop, and so that if Jaskier got permission, he could get his lips all over that ticklish neck.

“Well, our relationship has taken a very new turn recently, and I figured there were probably still some things we needed to talk out. We’re very different people, after all, we need to have healthy communication and set boundaries to help make this work.”

Geralt said nothing when Jaskier paused to let him speak, so he continued.

“Let’s start easy. I know I, for one, am a very physically affectionate man. Would you say you’re physically affectionate Geralt? Do you enjoy an influx of cuddles and kisses, holding hands as we eat our meals, tangling into a knot as we fall asleep.”

“I’m letting you sit in my lap, aren’t I?”

Jaskier smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Geralt’s ear.

“You need to answer the question with your words, dear heart.”

Geralt’s mouth twisted in that way it always did when he had to make an effort to communicate. Feelings really weren’t a witcher’s forte, especially when it came to Geralt, but Jaskier would be patient while he tried to find a way to express them.

“I’m not-- good at it,” Geralt forced out eventually. 

“That’s okay,” Jaskier said, keeping his voice soft and understanding. “But do you like it?”

“Yes.”

Jaskier beamed and ran his hand through Geralt’s hair. “Wonderful! Next question, do you prefer softer or firmer touches? I know that I enjoy both, but the former can get a little, ah, ticklish,” Jaskier accentuated the word with a little wiggle of his fingers in the air. “Not that I mind that, it can be quite fun, but sometimes it’s oh-so-hard to not give into the urge to laugh and squirm.”

Geralt cleared his throat and glanced away. Jaskier could tell that the jerk of his head was intentional, trying to bring down some of his hair to help shield his face. Unfortunately for him, he’d let Jaskier do his hair earlier, and his half-up, half-down style was much cleaner than usual, preventing himself from shielding his face.

“Darling?” Jaskier prompted after the silence stretched even longer than it usually did, when Geralt was trying to find words.

“Both are fine.”

Jaskier nodded. “Good, good! Ah, now this next question is a little more specific. I noticed that you tend to shy away when I touch your neck. Is that a no-touch-zone? Or is it just that little issue with soft touches that I mentioned? It’s totally fine if it’s a no-touch-zone, by the way!”

Geralt’s hands came up to rest on his waist, and he stared at Jaskier like he was trying to see through to his very soul. After a few moments he hummed and briefly massaged his thumbs into Jaskier’s bottom ribs. Jaskier jerked with a startled squeal and doubled over a little, giggling and pressing his head into Geralt’s chest.

“Was this whole conversation an elaborate plan to ask if I was ticklish?”

Jaskier sat up again, giggling. “Only partly.”

Geralt sighed, but sent a fond smile his way nonetheless. “My neck is not a no-touch-zone.”

That was all Jaskier needed to hear.

He dove in, starting to pepper kisses around Geralt’s jawline before slowly moving down his neck. Geralt tensed and jerked and made those angry-cat sounds, but he never deliberately moved out of the way. He also didn’t tell Jaskier to stop, which meant that Geralt was most certainly having fun here, too, even if he was holding in his laughter.

But that just wouldn’t do. Jaskier pulled back, an obviously fake pout on his lips, and gave Geralt his biggest puppy-dog eyes. Geralt’s stern (if slightly constipated, holding in laughter tends to not make the most attractive of expressions) facade wavered.

“What?”

“You should laugh,” Jaskier said, blinking his eyes rapidly to add to the pleading look. “You’ll have fun, I promise.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, his expression finally starting to fade back into something more natural. “Maybe you should do something actually worthy of laughing at.”

Jaskier gasped. “You dare accuse me of being unable to make you laugh?”

Geralt shrugged, giving him a smug grin.

“Oh, absolutely not.”

Jaskier dove back in, warming Geralt up with a few ticklish pecks to his neck, before blowing the biggest raspberry he could against the skin. A startled yelp and strangled chuckle escape from Geralt’s lips and Jaskier couldn’t help but crow victoriously. Jaskier blew three more raspberries against Geralt’s neck, just to make absolutely sure he’d broken the dam, and relished in the deep, rough laughter that followed.

But, as fun as the raspberries were, Jaskier had planned for this night to be a bit softer. He could wreck Geralt whenever now, and he certainly would be making a regular routine out of it from here on, but right now he wanted giggles. He wanted the sounds that would make Geralt blush, if witchers had still been capable of such things. He wanted something light and bouncy that would end in them both falling asleep with smiles too wide to even hope to smother them.

So Jaskier switched back to ticklish little kisses against Geralt’s skin, making sure to utilize his breath where he could. Geralt squirmed under him and squeezed his waist as his laughter got sweeter and more high-pitched and Jaskier couldn’t help letting out an involuntary giggle of his own.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) that seemed to just create a feedback loop of tickles and giggles. Jaskier giggling sent his breath fanning out over Geralt’s sensitive neck, which in turn made Geralt shiver and giggle himself. In his shivers, however, Geralt kept twitching and squeezing Jaskier’s waist (though Jaskier couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not), which sent Jaskier giggling again and started the cycle all over.

It took a few rounds of this for Jaskier to be able to get a hold of himself well enough to start mouthing at Geralt’s neck again. He trailed breathy, giggly kisses from Geralt’s collarbone all the way up to his ear. When Jaskier started to focus his kisses around and behind Geralt’s ear, Geralt let out a startled noise that Jaskier was even tempted to call a squeal. His giggles switched from being bouncy to bordering on hysterical. And now, he was squeezing Jaskier’s hips instead, which only made Jaskier laugh harder into his ear.

Geralt’s feet were scrabbling at the ground, digging trenches into the dirt, but Jaskier could feel the tension in his upper body. It was like he was having to hold himself back from tossing Jaskier off as a reflex. Despite that, Geralt’s head had slowly tilted further and further back, giving Jaskier more access to the sensitive skin, and he hadn’t even noticed until now.

Slowly Jaskier pulled back, both of them caught in panting giggles even though the tickling had stopped. Geralt reached a hand up to rest against Jaskier’s neck and jaw, gently pulling him in until their foreheads were pressed together and they were sharing air. Jaskier’s heart pounded at the intimacy, but he didn’t dare pull back, not when he finally got Geralt’s walls low enough for him to initiate the affection.

“One day,” Jaskier said, whispering in fear of a louder voice breaking the moment, “I am going to rip your shirt off you and do that all over your body. Just to hear that beautiful laugh again.”

Geralt huffed out a small chuckle against his cheek, leaning in to give him a gentle kiss on his lips. “I wouldn’t be entirely opposed. However, there is one condition.”

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open, though he wasn’t entirely sure when he’d closed them. “Oh? And what would that be, my darling witcher?”

“I get to return the favor.

Before Jaskier could get a word in edgewise, he felt Geralt’s arms bar across his lower back and pull him in even closer, until they were flush, chest-to-chest. Jaskier didn’t even hesitate before tipping his head back to give Geralt access, giggling before his lips even touched down. His giggling only got higher when Geralt’s lips (and scruff, sweet Melitele did his scruff tickle something fierce) touched down. 

One thing was for certain after that night. This was absolutely becoming Jaskier’s new favorite passtime.