#and making something that will last a long time while consistently carrying heavy objects

[jonathanrook]

why are people clowning on sara's new bag so much $100 isn't even that much money for a high quality bag

[phoenixyfriend]

Re; Ahsoka and Quinlan being the same age, now I'm picturing Ahsoka, Quinlan, and Rex eventually ending up in a weird sorta thruple where Quinlan comes in and out of the relationship but the door is kinda always open for him? And Rex spends a lot of mornings eyeing the tangle of orange and brown skin on the other side of the bed like he has no idea how he ended up here but he's (mostly) okay with that tbh

Context: Commander Buir in chronological order

YES okay so this is wild to me that people are invested in this but like half the time-travel fics with Ahsoka in the same age-group as Quinlan have me wondering if I should ship them. Let me just. Ho shit.

So, okay, I've explored a lot of possible dynamics but there's something really engaging about how Quinlan, trained as a Shadow before the Sith came back, could react to a War Padawan. Ahsoka isn't really infiltration material yet, she's very much a frontline fighter, but she's got a lot more experience with a kind of consistent dark atmosphere that most Jedi don't. They get exposed to plenty of dark stuff, sure, but not the kind of all-encompassing "this is my life for the last two years" thing that is usually reserved for the long-term field agents like Shadows and Watchmen.

The War Padawans, for all that they were supposed to be just normal Jedi Padawans, were living in the kind of consistently negative environment that's normally experienced by those Knighted Sentinels.

So Ahsoka, while still generally pretty young in these AUs, is a very odd kind of person to be around, because she's spunky and vivacious and snippy and affectionate and snarky and knows how to break every bone in your body from harrowing experience as the only thing standing between death and thousands of brothers.

And Quinlan, I imagine, really likes that about her. She gets it, and she's still an energetic and loving and trying to do her best to be a good person despite everything. He gravitates towards her and she... well, she's not blind. She can tell he's interested. And she's not upset about that.

ANYWAY, ONTO REX

So, Rex is... technically twelve. He hasn't exactly got a whole lot of experience with romance. He is also, up until the point of time-travel, legal property of the Senate and the Jedi Order, which means that Ahsoka, or at least her community, owns him. He was indoctrinated to serve her and that community. She also outranks him, for all that she usually lets him take the lead in the field due to experience. He's older than her physically and maturity-wise, but she's also had a grow-up-faster-than-you-should adolescence, and she has superpowers.

What I'm saying is, the power dynamic is fucked up.

(Unironically I spent hours last night realizing that it balances out a lot more than C*dywan does, which I'm censoring because by god do I not want discourse on this post. I like both ships, and don't want to argue about what's the most problematic. It's Star Wars. The only unproblematic ships are Bail/Breha and Owen/Beru.)

Here's the thing, though, because the main thing people seem to argue here is the age/maturity difference as a problem area:

The age difference in actual time is four years, which is smaller than the two main ships of the franchise (Han/Leia and Padme/Anakin, to be clear). The age difference in maturity is ??? We'll say that the clones started aging normally after they hit twenty, so the age difference in maturity is six years... which is still normal for SW ships.

(This is why I don't have any issues with the ship in a post-O66 context, once they've had a few years to move past the traumas and whatnot. The age stuff all evens out with time, they're a good team, and neither was grooming the other. It's not objectively any more problematic than most SW ships at that point, and I'm okay with that. They deserve to be happy if they want.)

But they get yanked away from all that structure of who owns what, who reports where, who has which rank, who's legally a person in the eyes of the Republic when they end up on Dagobah. Once they've registered when they are, the only remaining complications are:

He grew up in a cultlike environment and was indoctrinated to serve her (but has been replacing that indoctrination with genuine respect and affection for her as a person because they've worked together for two years).

She has superpowers (contextually not a big problem: we see several Force-Sensitive/Non-Sensitive ships that don't consider those powers a complicating element)

He's several years younger than her (canonically less of an issue than it could be: Cut got married and has kids) and has next to no experience with what a normal romance looks like except for hanging out on the edges of whatever the fuck his General has going on with the Senator

She's several years less mature than he is (...something of an issue)

So a lot of this is mostly okay. She feels weird about the fact that she's got more knowledge of romance and all that it entails. He feels weird about the fact that, despite her being older, he looks at her and sees someone that's still a little young, not quite a shiny. Except she is older than him, and he's seen her behead four people in a single move, and they've saved each other's lives more times than either of them can count anymore. He respects her, and the fact that she's babyfaced doesn't change the fact that, in terms of who they are as people and warriors, they're on a level playing field.

She still looks at him and mourns his lost childhood, and he still looks at her and takes a moment to see past the too-big eyes and adolescent proportions.

But they really, really care about each other, and maybe part of them is starting to recognize that there's a bit of a crush before they time-travel, but neither one wants to make a move. There's a lot of baggage on both sides, a lot of "but they're a child" and "but they're (literally vs functionally) below me in the chain of command, I can't take advantage of that" and all that fun stuff. It's the kind of situation where two people circle each other for ages without making a move, because actually making that move is terrifying on account of not knowing whether the other party knows they can say no, on top of the usual "what if it ruins our friendship?" thing.

What happens on Dagobah, though... is very tropey. They're sort of stranded until Ahsoka can fix the ship, and that takes time. The area is also very heavy with the Force, dense and heady with the energy it carries, and it's... actually really not great for Ahsoka. She keeps feeling like she's back on Mortis, and has nightmares from the trigger there, but also keeps hallucinating because she wasn't ready for the thickness of the energy (like Yoda) or still new enough to the Force that she couldn't feel how dense it all was (like Luke). She can't work on the engines as constantly as she'd like to get them out of there, and while Rex is a competent mechanic, he's not as skilled with it as the girl who jumped headfirst into lessons with Anakin.

Rex spends a lot of time holding Ahsoka and wiping her brow with a wet cloth while she's feverish and out of it. Yes we're going full Florence Nightingale romance here, let me have my fun.

They get the communications relay working earlier than the engine, find out the year is wrong, panic a bit. All is well. (It's not, but they're holding it together for now.)

Ahsoka keeps working on the engine when she's lucid. Rex keeps hunting up game and edible plants for them while she does. They cuddle at night, because it's not cold but it is empty of the people they care about, and they kind of want that reassurance of someone they trust and love at their back.

(Morai visits.)

(Daughter shows up in the nightmares, tells Ahsoka that age will not come for her beloved until the time is natural for it. The phrasing is dumb but she does manage to convey that the accelerated aging is no longer an issue, if it even was after they hit adulthood. Ahsoka is relieved.)

And, you know, emotions happen. She takes his hand while they're leaning up against each other. He kisses her forehead while she's having a bad spell. They cook together and tell jokes to keep sane and spar. They hug each other through nightmares and panic attacks. There is much blushing. There is much cuddling.

Once, they kiss.

They break apart, flushing and stammering and being very awkward about the whole thing, and make excuses to leave and panic about the fact that they!! Kissed!!!!!

A couple hours later they find each other again, and have a long and complicated discussion about why they like each other (war makes bedfellows, there's trust and affection and all that fun stuff) and why they're hesitant (age stuff, maturity stuff, prior indoctrination), and make the decision to take it slow. They cuddle, and kiss, and blush a lot because both of them are basically just dumb teens having their first real relationship.

They eventually leave the planet, make it to Coruscant, etc. It takes a bit for anyone except Obi-Wan to realize that something's changed between them. Most people didn't know them before, and Anakin's observation skills are currently at a very low ebb. But they sit together and hold hands, and flirt when they spar, and once or twice people find them kissing (both standard and Keldabe) in a corner while holding hands and then just smiling at each other like loons.

They end up rooming together because nobody has the heart to separate them after hearing about all the war stuff. Like yes attachment's bad, but these two do seem to understand loss of loved ones and recognize that they could lose each other at any time and death is natural and they won't lose their entire shit about it, and if even General Kenobi is anxious as hell about being separated from the people he fought side-by-side with for two years, then maybe it's just... really normal for those two to want each other's company, and everyone can just turn a blind eye to the romance happening.

They share a bed, but they only ever sleep in it. Like, there's some goodnight kisses and cuddles, but everything is very G-rated until they've had time to settle into being true equals instead of just the "well, I guess the power dynamics balance out? Maybe?" of before.

And just... yeah. Rex does not believe that he's in this good of a position whenever he has the time to think about it. He's got a girlfriend! A really pretty, smart, strong, skilled one! Who thinks he's a cool dude! How the fuck did a clone like him manage that? He wasn't even legally a person a year ago, how did he end up in bed with one of the most amazing people he's ever met? He spends multiple nights just staring at her while he tries to fall asleep, asking himself how he got here and just like... marveling at her. She's worth marveling at. He's in love and she's amazing and he has no idea how to handle it at all.

...yeah no I have a lot of feelings now.

[sylverstorms]

Jinx x Vel ---- Two Wrongs Make A Right Ch.2

Ch. 1

After a few chapters this story will be Updaded only on Archive Of Our Own. Link here.

[Vel]

Azure eyes blink open to a vaguely familiar room.

There is a weight pressed tightly to her side, Vel notes, less out of a need for closeness and more due to the size of the mattress, she’s sure. She shifts her head ever so slightly, glancing at the brunette still fast asleep after last night’s activities. If she tries to recall her name –she doesn’t try very hard— nothing comes up. Not that it matters, anyway.

It was fun while it lasted –and Vel is only in it for the fun.

Silent as the shadows she’s named after, the bartender slides smoothly out of bed and into her clothes. Some of the cuts and scratches she got during the last job pull uncomfortably in the process, but she ignores them on her way to the door.

Mornings in Zaun are… well, they’re like nights, really.

She wishes she could describe them as peaceful or beautiful, yet there’s only the slightest change in lighting and nothing else. The air is still too thick, smelling of fumes and pollution and the vomit of people who drank too much or did too many drugs the previous night. There’s mist and vapors lingering throughout the tight alleys.

Home sweet home. Vel thinks with no small amount of sarcasm, climbing up the rusted stairs –they’re not really stairs, more like uneven pieces of metal welded together that look as though they could come apart at any moment— to her house. Even the word house is an overstatement, because the space consists of two crammed chambers, her living-room-slash-bedroom and the bathroom.

The fact she has a shower in the latter is considered luxury, even if it rarely has any pressure. Vel braces a hand against the chipped stone wall while the cold water drips down her hair and back.

Freezing water. Polluted air. Slivers of sunlight. Surrounded by toxins, lowlives, drugs and shit. She thinks bitterly. How long did you wait for me in this hellhole…?

The cold feels piercing against her skin, but something inside of Umbra burns. It renders her numb to the discomfort as she steps out of the shower, pats herself dry with a towel and stands in front of the lone mirror of her apartment. The tattooed thorns climbing up her left side, all the way to her neck, are an eternal reminder of why she’s here.

Of how it felt—

Looking at them now, it’s like the ink comes alive to prickle her. Past her ribs, through the heart. It’s been years now, but the pain never goes away. The wounds are open, bleeding, every single day.

Vel turns on the radio for background noise as she dresses up in her bartender vest, although she wishes she could skip straight to the uniform and mask. It’s infinitely more pleasing being Umbra than anything else.

Halfway to the exit, Vel’s ears catch something that makes her halt dead in her steps. The radio program has paused the songs in favor of news and…

“Councillor Zeithal is further funding Jayce Talis’ improved Hextech gates, an action heavily endorsed by the people of Piltover—”

Vel’s hand moves on its own, instinctively. One of the knives she always carries with her falls to her palm and is launched across the room in the same breath.

Crash!

The radio on her bedside table gets split in half by the force. The blade embeds itself onto the wall behind it, right by her headboard. Vel’s eyes flash cold at the torn object’s remains.

When she leaves, the door rattles in its frame behind her.

-

-

Pointless. Boring.

It’s always the same scene in clubs like the The Last Drop. Bass-heavy melodies that she’s gotten sick of hearing. Unpleasant faces all over. A never-ending cycle of shitty drinks, catcalls from drunken assholes, the occasional woman sauntering up to her to ask for her time later. If she’s anything above an eight –Vel has standards— she gets it.

Nothing ever changes in Zaun.

Then again, Vel is not in Zaun to change Zaun.

“Hey, you.” A different voice than what she’s used to calls.

It’s not laced with the intent to entice her, it’s not heavy or gruff or hoarse from too much alcohol and addictive substances. If anything, it’s clean and cheery and a good change for her ears. Perfectly matches the blue and pink nails that drum to the beat of the music on the countertop.

“Jinx.” Vel greets with a smile that’s way less forced than usual. “Here for the usual?”

“Hit me with that Ka-Bloom, toots.” She claps her hands twice.

The nickname isn’t new. Ever since that first mission together where everything nearly went to hell, Jinx has taken to calling her that. Oddly enough, Vel found that she doesn’t mind. Turns out, a near-death experience of that calibre really helps in the bonding department.

They’re not friends, not exactly –it’s too dangerous a word for Vel to use, let alone the fact the girl is literally like her Boss’ daughter and she wants no part of that— but she will gladly take Jinx’s company over most others’ in their circle of business.

She’s …interesting, for lack of a better word. The way a bomb half a breath away from exploding is interesting. Most people call her batshit crazy –and it’s debatable whether they’re wrong or not— but everyone in the Undercity is at least a little touched in the head.

So, yeah. Jinx is definitely colorful. It helps that said colors are not half bad to look at, either. All electric-blue eyes and matching hair and cloud tattoos that one may –if they’re brave enough— wonder how far down they reach.

The blue-haired girl seems content to linger in her own head, this time and Vel has other customers to attend to, anyway. She turns around, towards the patrons signalling for her at the other end of the long counter. Vel already knows their order before they even place it.

Vodka-Venom shots. It’s always the same with these types of men.

Her hands, experienced in doing this for years, slide deftly over the bottles stocked behind her. Pour and stir and make the liquid fly from one glass to the next in smooth arcs without spilling a drop. The task doesn’t require much of Vel’s focus. Maybe that is why she immediately catches the fearful shift in one man’s eyes, upon something going on far behind her back.

Vel snaps around. Her eyes go wide.

Jinx has the barrel of her pistol pressed tightly to a pink-haired girl’s sternum. Despite the latter’s bigger stature, try as she might to escape, there is no breaking free of the former’s steel grip.

“I already said I’m sorry for bumping into you!” the girl cries, shoulder-length strands flying frantically with her pulling. “Let go!”

People are slowly backing away from the scene.

“Why, why would you do that?! Why would you—” Vel can hear Jinx saying as she approaches, over the deafening beat of the bass.

“Let go of me, you psycho!” the stranger barks.

Vel sees everything in slow motion; the agonizing squeeze of Jinx’s pink-manicured finger over the trigger, the shock on the woman’s face at the realization she’ll take the shot, Sevika rising up and calling out from the far end of the club—

As if on autopilot, Vel vaults over the counter and crashes into Jinx from the side.

The impact is enough for her to loosen the grip of her hand. At least, human casualties are avoided. For the time being.

The blue-haired troublemaker is still too far away, however. Someplace else, seeing images vastly different from their surroundings. Vel recognizes the rapid eye-movement, the shallow breaths and tension all over her muscles. She knows the slightest thing right now can set her off…

“Jinx? Jinx, it’s okay.” she assures, keeping her voice calm by the shorter girl’s ear, palm steady on her shoulder.

If she prioritizes making her drop the gun, she worries that will result in the opposite of what she’s trying to achieve. Jinx is holding onto it for dear life. It is her defence mechanism, her protection. She can’t be forced to part with it, no matter how it would ease the onlookers' minds and de-escalate the situation.

“Look at me. I’m Vel, you’re in The Last Drop.” she reminds. “It’s all good. It’s over, now.”

When Jinx looks into her eyes this time, she does recognize her. She recognizes what she’s done, as well. “Oh, no, Shit, shit, shit, no.” she whispers under her breath. “No, I didn’t fuck it up, stop it—” next comes the whimper.

“I didn’t say that, blue.” A slight frown creases Vel’s brow.

“I—I know. Not you. I just— ugh, nevermind.” Jinx shakes her head.

“Do you wanna go outside?” Vel offers.

“No, no. It’s too quiet out and I’ll hear—” she cuts herself off again. “I don’t like quiet. I hate quiet.”

“Okay.” Vel nods. Ponders on the best course of action for a moment.

She takes the girl’s hand, leading her around to the bartender’s space, where there is the relative privacy of the long counter to obscure them a bit from curious eyes. With a motion of her head, her relief for the night gets the que to take over early. This is about both their Boss’ daughter, so he cannot complain.

Vel chooses the darkest corner on the inside for Jinx and herself. “How about I teach you how to make the cocktail you like?”

‘Blue’ perks up a bit at the suggestion. It only takes a moment for Umbra to gather the necessary bottles and tools, then she’s leaning over a pale, tattooed shoulder, explaining the order they are to be used in. A calming scent of gunpowder and lavender, mixed with fruity shampoo, tickles her nose.

Girly. It suits her.

To her credit and for probably once in her life, Jinx is perfectly still. She doesn’t make any jerky movements, she doesn’t screw up the given instructions. At first.

Aaaaand… spoke too soon.

Somehow, the alcohol dosage flies right over her head. Instead of the few grams equivalent to three times the bottle’s cap that are supposed to be stirred in… Jinx damn near pours three glasses of vodka and gin.

Vel knows she’s a good liar. It comes with her line of work. So when she lifts the finished cocktail to her mouth for a taste, she doesn’t have it in her to tell Jinx –looking up at her with those big, hopeful blue eyes— that it’s a thing of nightmares.

“It’s a good attempt.” she smirks. The raw burn in her throat claims otherwise.

“Don’t you lie to me!” Jinx growls, non-lethally. She bats her arm. Surprisingly strong. Surprisingly perceptive.

Vel notes never to make the mistake of underestimating her again. The hard truth it is, then. “Okay, okay… so…” she trails off. “You… bombed it.” The bartender tries hard not to snicker. Fails. “You bombed it.” she finally laughs.

Jinx, who seemed originally dispirited by another failure, starts to shake with little giggles, as well. “Stahpppp…”

“That’s not a freaking Ka-Bloom. It’s just Boom. I could throw that at my enemies and they’d be running for their lives. It’s a bomb.” Vel covers her face with her hand and just can’t stop laughing.

Jinx grabs her biceps and shakes her. The cutest chuckles in the history of Zaun escape her. “Shut up, shut up, shut up…!”

When Vel eventually clears her throat and straightens up again, a worrisome thought crosses her mind; when was the last time I laughed like this…?

Because, honestly, for the life of her… she cannot remember.

-

-

In Umbra’s mask and light-armored suit… there is quiet. There is power and there is purpose.

It is where Vel feels the safest. Behind the mask covering the lower half of her face, cleaning the air she inhales with its nano-filters, cradling her jaw protectively, almost lovingly. Beneath the googles that attach on top of it, shielding her eyes from the world. Under the hood that wraps her in shadows. Zaun is not home, but this is.

She awaits silently for the next assignment, leaned against the alley wall, among new and old members alike. She rarely ever engages in conversation with them –it’s pointless, they have nothing in common and nothing of interest to her— but she hears everything that they say. Information is always useful.

They sure are being chatty, tonight…

“Did ya hear?” A heavily accented man speaks, at some point. “About the Boss’ girl. She lost it again at the club. Damn near blew some poor gal’s brains all over the floor.”

“Ah, ye. She’s nuts, that one, I tell you.” another agrees. “But you know what they say about the crazy ones.” A short pause, probably followed by some obscene gesture. “She can blow something of mine anytime.”

“Hah! Think she even knows how? Never that seen her that close to anyone before.” the first says. “She sure looks tight, ya know what I mean?”

Vel grimaces behind her mask.

Thankfully, Sevika soon shows in the distance and all such conversations cease.

The mission is pretty straightforward. Most of them are, a fact Vel deeply appreciates about working for Silco. A wealthy man with dirt on everyone who’s someone in Piltover is visiting his favorite hooker in Zaun later at night, accompanied by a few dozens of private guards. Their goal is to take them out without killing anyone, then get useful intel out of him through whatever methods, so long as they are not lethal.

It’s no surprise Jinx isn’t anywhere near the mission. Restraint is not exactly her forte. Enforcers would already be on their ass.

Umbra keeps to herself, a mute shadow at Sevika’s side until the time of the assault. When the signal is given, she is the first to throw the sleeper-gas grenades, followed by the rest of the team. Whatever guards are left up that resist its effects or are quick enough to put on a mask, they prove to be no issue. Nothing a good ol’ punch can’t solve.

Vel claws the filter right off the final man’s jaw and kicks him in the gut, straight into some leftover smoke.

“These masks aren’t for topsiders.” comes the heavily altered voice of Umbra, that hides her own.

After that, Sevika grabs the target of interest, drags him to the nearest alcove, formed by fallen buildings stacked onto each other, then ties him to a vertical pipe sticking out in there. Umbra and the rest of the mercenaries are told to wait outside. Whatever secrets the rich guy spills, they’re not for their ears to overhear.

Azurites glance down at the watch around her wrist. A quarter passes. Half an hour. Despite one or two cries of pain that reach her ears from within, it’s clear Sevika has not taken what she wants. They don’t have much time until his private guards start waking up. Without lethal force, they will be forced to retreat.

The mission will be a failure.

And Vel cannot stand for that.

Subtly, she sneaks away from the others and backtracks towards the alcove. She makes sure to announce her presence there, so Sevika hopefully isn’t completely pissed at her by the end of the night.

“He has not spoken yet?” she asks. The older woman understands what she means: time is almost up.

The tied man spits out a bit of blood and gives her an arrogant smile. He knows they can’t seriously injure him. That they can’t kill him. He’s just holding out, gathering bruises to show his rich friends in Piltover the next day, during a game of golf or something equally bland.

If anything, they’re making his night.

“Bits and pieces that I could get from holding a Piltover kid upside down.” Sevika growls.

Umbra tilts her neck left and right, satisfied by the stretch and the metallic clicks of her armor readjusting to the new positions. She walks forward, a silent inquiry to take over the task. Sevika moves a few paces back, crosses her large arms.

In a flash, Umbra stands before the guy, holding a vial with a thin needle at its end right to his eye. It’s more from the speed than the gesture that the target snaps his own head back against the steel pipe.

“Do you know what this is?” she asks, inhuman behind the googles and filters and mask.

The man’s eyes are wide, his throat working, yet he summons false bravado to reply, “Nothing you can use.”

“Yeah… yeah.” Umbra nods. “Among other things, it contains a lethal concentration of Mercury. If used in its entirety.”

The same odorless, colorless poison the people of Zaun, working day and night in the Piltovans’ mines –to make the rich even richer, as is the twisted way of the world!— had to inhale. The companies that hired them didn’t even take the cost of providing safety masks. Maybe once in a blue moon, but those filters died fast. And then? Then the workers, who barely made enough to eat, had to buy their own.

Who would choose such a thing over another loaf of bread? Over a bed or an actual locking damn door?

The man audibly gulps. “You think you’re more intimidating than her because you hide behind a mask? I'm not afraid of your poisons.”

“Oh, it’s not for you.” Umbra completely ignores his comment. “No, no. This is for Lucy.” She cocks her chin at the vial.

Violently and suddenly, as though ran through by electricity, the target thrashes against his bonds. “You piece of shit! Leave my daughter ou—”

Umbra grabs his jaw, with force enough to shut him up. “Shhh. Quiet. The next thing that comes out of your mouth better be every dirty little secret you know about Piltover’s most powerful.” she says. “Because if it’s not, I will tell you exactly what your future year looks like. It starts with your pretty, blonde daughter getting home one night from the Sky Lounge nightclub that she frequents with her friends.”

How does she know all that, his wide, fearful eyes are asking.

Well. Isn’t that the billion-gold question.

“Collapsing onto your front porch, located at the second corner of Sunrise Street. It continues with her health deteriorating, along with her mind. Seeing shadows where there are none. Feeling maggots eat away at her very sanity. You won’t be able to cure her, because I will be there to reapply the dosage. As many times as it takes.” Umbra continues, with a dead-even tone.

He is hyperventilating. Good.

“And just when she tries to take her own life, overcome by the madness, I will be there in her last moments to tell her… it’s all because her father refused to prioritize her over his rich friends.”

“I—I— will keep her away. From you. From everything. Y-You won’t touch my daughter.” He stammers.

“You’re here tonight, though. And tonight… I can also be there.”

And just like that, the birdie sings all the songs he knows how to. He doesn’t hold a single thing back, Umbra is sure, because that is way more dirt any of them –even Silco— could have expected him to give up.

“If I see a single Enforcer down here because of you… you know how it goes.” Umbra warns, at the end.

Sevika then knocks him out with a good hook to the face. Unties him, leaves him there for his men to find when they regain their senses. On their way back to the rest of Silco’s crew, however… Umbra notices the weird look the older woman casts her out the corner of her eye.

A chuckle escapes Vel. “What?”

“The way you said all that was pretty intense. How did you know so much about him, anyway?” Sevika asks.

“Oh. I just… keep tabs on Piltovans of interest, is all.” Vel easily replies. “I hold a bit of a… personal grudge.” A pause. “…Do you think I’m a psychopath? Didn’t peg me for it?”

“Didn’t peg you for it.” the gruff woman agrees.

“I’d like to think that I’m not.” Umbra denies. “But then again, when it comes to Topsiders... it’s frightening how much I love to watch them bleed.”

Not with knives or wounds or gashes they can close in a week with their technology. No, that is far too easy and not her style. Umbra is talking about leaving a real scar, something that they cannot stich or hide or pretend it doesn’t exist. Fear for a loved one can cause such internal bleeding.

Loss of wealth and power and their brightly paved futures, built on Zaunites’ broken backs.

Umbra is a shadow, one day massive enough to cast itself over the most brilliant city in the world. That is her goal and what she is named after;

Loss of their light.

[jarvisisbetterthansiri]

Only Human (sex pollen)

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader Word count: 2143 Description: Despite being with Pepper, Tony is only human, and when you are both hit with sex pollen, he can’t control himself Warnings: *NSFW* Dub-con (due to sex pollen), smut, infidelity, overstimulation, dirty talk, unprotected sex ~ soft!reader + dom!Tony

A/N: Yes, this has been posted before, it’s still me, I accidentally deleted my account, so I’m just moving to here, and re-uploading my fics I had saved on Google Docs so they haven’t gone to waste. Hope this isn’t too confusing.

---

---

“Y/N, sweetie, can I borrow your hands for a few minutes?”

A slight blush makes its way onto your cheeks at the pet name, and you nod up at Tony Stark - your boss. Your very hot but sadly, engaged, boss.

Your job at Stark Tower consisted of bouncing between offices, making coffee, and helping with the filing. Not that you would complain, it was secure as you could ask for, and the pay was good. Also, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy spending time in the presence of Mr Stark, even if it was from a distance.

He moves towards a glass door, scanning his print for access, and you scurry behind before the door can shut on you.

“Just need you to help carry,” he squints at the cabinet, pulling out a key, “a few things. Careful. Don’t touch anything.”

You cringe at this, eyes widening at the objects locked in the shelves, bright warnings plastered on them: explosive, toxic, bio hazard, corrosive, radiation. Fuck.

Tony holds out a hand, passing you a small flask of dangerously pink liquid. And then the unthinkable happens - your hands shake with nerves, glass slipping through your clammy fingers, and smash.

“Shit!” you gasp, eyes wide as Tony mimics your expression. “I’m so sorry Mr Stark, I-”

“Goddammit!” his voice is raised, almost a growl, “F.R.I.D.A.Y, restrict access to this floor and evacuate the offices.”

He crouches to the floor, reading the label, and curses again, “Increase ventilation and purify the air in this room.”

“I’m so sorry Sir, I didn’t mean to,” you apologise, chest tightening, tears pricking your eyes. 

Tony replies instantly, accusatory, “I told you not to touch anything.” Then he fishes in his pockets for a phone.

“I - it was an accident - I,” you stammer, stopping when he raises a hand, pressing the cell to his ear.

You step back, eyeing the spilled liquid. It was locked away. You’d had it in your hand. And you...dropped it. It was locked away. With the rest of the dangerous items. You really fucked up this time. 

“Banner,” Tony speaks, clearing his throat, “yeah, I know. We had an incident.” Brown eyes glance over to you, sighing, “I didn’t - I don’t have time to argue right now. How long until the effects set in? Son of a bitch.”

He slams the phone on the table, fists clenching.

“What...what is it? Are we gonna die?” you manage to get the words out, hot tears spilling down your cheeks. 

You were so stupid.

Tony freezes, frowning, “You’re not gonna die. Look at me, we’re fine.”

“I’m so sorry Mr Stark,” you say again, and it’s true. More than anything, you can’t stand the thought of disappointing him. 

He offers a smile, kind eyes now like you were used to, “I know you are sweetie, it’s fine. You’re not gonna get in trouble. We’re good.” 

Is it getting hotter, or is it just your imagination? You tug at your shirt uncomfortably, “So what...what is it?”

Now Tony is the one who looks uncomfortable, avoiding eye contact, “It...it’s something we found on an alien ship - a kind of aphrodisiac.”

“Aphrodisiac?” You repeat, hoping you heard wrongly.

He swallows, leaning against the table for support, “We know the species was...well, a lot larger than we are. So, we don’t know exactly the effects but it releases hormones, so extreme arousal.”

There’s a moment of silence, and a wave of dizziness swims over you. Something hangs in the air, a spicy and heavy scent, and suddenly there's a prickling heat clawing its way through your body. 

Your breathing gets harsher, “Why is it so hot, Mr Stark?”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, the temperature?”

“Seventy six degrees Fahrenheit,” the automated voice rings out through the speakers. But no, that can’t be right.

Tony groans, and your thighs clench at the sound, “Fuck.”

His eyes find you, and he drops his head, moving back, “Probably gonna want to stay over there, sweetie.”

The nickname has you gasping for breath, and a high pitched whine makes its way out of your throat. A dull ache spreads through your core as you watch Tony across the room; cheeks flushing at the way his pants strain against his bulge. 

“How long?” 

“Huh?”

You moan, shifting to the floor, fingers fiddling with the bottom of your shirt, “How long will it...will it feel like this?”

Tony pants, eyes fixed on your thighs, which he noted were rubbing together incessantly now, “All estimates...theory is to work it out.”

“Work it….oh,” a sense of dread settles in your stomach, “You mean…”

He nods, gesturing to the table, “Just, I’m gonna be,” turning his back to you, “so you can...however you need to.”

You stare at his back for a second, making out the movement of his arm moving up and down, then feel a pang of guilt at your actions and turn away. Tony was engaged, you shouldn’t be looking.

At this point, your clothing sticks to you oppressively, and you hastily unfasten the buttons of your blouse, shrugging out of it. Another wave of arousal hits and you inhale sharply, unable to even breathe when every movement has your nipples brushing against your bra, and your pussy throbbing with want.

Shakily, you press a finger to your bud, circling it roughly, moaning in a voice that hardly sounds like your own. With every rub you feel yourself becoming more overstimulated, thighs sticky with arousal but it isn’t enough. Fingers slip easily into your core, thrusting against the right spot but it isn’t working. And everything is too hot, too clammy, too much.

Tony groans, fisting his cock furiously. This was not how he’d planned to spend his evening. He was supposed to have a dinner reservation with Pep - he closes his eyes at the thought of her. 

It wasn’t right to be doing this; jacking off just meters away from his sweet young secretary. His thumb drags along his length and he shudders when he hears those desperate little sounds coming from your direction. It definitely wasn’t right to be picturing what you were doing to make those sounds, either. He should be thinking about his fiance, he tells himself, willing to recall how Pepper blowed him just last night.

But then he’s thinking of your lips, and how pretty they’d look sucking on his thumb while he fucked into you. Was it the aphrodisiac? 

“Mr Stark, this isn’t working. I can’t,” he could hear you sobbing now, and turns.

Tony’s breath catches. You’re laying back, skirt hitched up your slick legs, shirt unbuttoned, if you had been wearing a bra, it was gone now too. He’s startled by how scared you look, and just as frustrated at the fact he could do nothing to help either of you.

“I don’t...I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Y/N,” he clears his throat, tearing his eyes from your form, trying not to focus on how wet your fingers are.

You let out a cry of frustration, fists hitting off your thighs, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t...it’s my fault.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” Tony starts, ignoring the throbbing of his cock. “We’ve got this.”

“No, I can’t, my fingers aren’t working,” you whimper, “I need…”

Tony glances at his ring finger, swallowing any second thoughts, and lets himself look at you. It isn’t cheating, he tells himself. You’re in pain, he’s in pain, what else could he do? 

“Tell me what you need,” his words are syrup, thick with desire as he wraps his rough fingers around your wrist, the smallest contact sparking you to moan again.If you’d been dizzy before, you were sure you’d pass out now. 

God, you want to die. You can’t imagine a worse situation than the one you’re in now - what are you supposed to say? That you need him to fuck you? You couldn’t.

He moves closer though, finger pressing into your chin, forcing you to look into those honey eyes and see the lust in them, “Tell me. Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

“I can’t,” you protest weakly, shame eating away at your burning cheeks, “What about-”

“Don’t,” Tony cuts you off, not wanting to think about her right now. Not when you were looking up at him with those doe eyes, exposed all pretty for him. He lets his hand run down your side and squeezes at the curve of your exposed thigh, then adds firmly, “You can. Right now, tell me what you need.”

The words almost wont leave your lips, and you swallow thickly, “I need it. I need you.”

There’s a hint of amusement in his face behind the desperation you’re both feeling, “I gotta hear you say it, Princess.”

“Please Mr Stark,” you cry, fists clenching as the ache between your legs becomes so intense you think you might die.

Tony groans at your neediness and sits on the floor, pulling his cock from the painful confines of his pants. You feel all of the moisture leave your mouth at the sight - larger than your ex’s, swollen head glistening.

The amount of nights you’d pictured this exact scene while you touched yourself, and now it was real. Fuck.He motions for you to straddle him and you obey, crying out when his length grazes your clit. Tony’s breath is quick and shallow, nails digging into your thighs as he struggles to ground himself. 

Then, as much as he would love to pull you onto his cock right now, he restrains, “Do you need my fingers first?”

You shake your head, “No, just need you. Please.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs, and in an instant he’s pushing into you, “Fuck, you’re drenched.”

Another thrust, and you’re a mess, scrambling to hold onto his shoulders. If it wasn’t for his grip on you, you’re pretty sure you’d have collapsed already. Despite not being completely innocent, the sensation of being speared by his cock, of being stretched and filled, has you struggling for air.

Tony almost uses your body, forcing you up and down, watching your tits bounce and the look of bliss on your face. God, he couldn’t get enough of that look. Every thrust is harder to get more of that face and your needy little gasps.

“Feels so good, Mr Stark,” you babble, stars in your vision, and this seems to do it for him, judging by the way he pumps into you faster than you even thought possible.

Before you can even speak, you feel his fingers make their way to your nub, rubbing circles. And oh god, it feels so good, but it’s so much. You spasm, clamping down on his cock, crying in ecstasy.

Then, the throbbing in your core is subsiding, and you suppose the effects of the plant are wearing off. But Tony isn’t stopping, his cock pounding into you with a force that makes you choke, hands trying to push off of him. You’re too raw, too sensitive, and the pleasure is so good it hurts.

He notices and stutters his movements for a second, hand moving from your clit and finding its way to your shoulder, keeping you in place, “I just need a little longer, can you do that for me sweets?”

“Yes,” you sob, letting him slam into you again.

Tony pushes your hair out of your face, chasing his own release, “Fuck. Such a good girl for me.”

You nod, using your hips to match his movements weakly, and he sits up to place a sloppy kiss to your lips.

“Fuck,” he groans into your ear - what has to be the hottest thing you’ve ever heard in your life, “you take cock like it’s your day job, babe. Think you might be in the wrong career.”

The familiar knot is building in your core again, and you let your hand guide his back to your clit, wanting more. He curses at the action, and starts palming you desperately, feeling himself getting closer.

“Oh god,” the words fall from your lips in a voice that is as wrecked as you feel. 

The next moments are fuzzy, and you clench down, back arching as you feel Tony spend himself in you. It’s a sort of warm feeling, and you fall onto his sweaty chest when he releases his grip on you. 

The room is silent apart from the sounds of heavy breathing slowing to normal. Tony lets an arm drape over your body, an action that should be comforting, but then you feel it.

Warm metal on your skin. A ring, his ring, his engagement ring. The guilt comes then, and he feels you freeze, tears falling onto his chest.

What have you done?

[clonecaptains]

PAPERCLIPS | a Javi Peña x reader fic

rating: T for dramatic elements; will change to M in future parts

summary: You think your crush on Javi goes unnoticed - until Steve and Connie take matters into their own hands. 

a/n: ive had this story idea in my head for months and im so glad it’s finally out of my head and actually WRITTEN!! there will be a part two for sure, and others if i feel inspired!!

Paperclips

Being Javier Peña’s neighbor isn’t the worst thing to happen to you. Being a secretary at the DEA office is. Seeing Agent Javier Fucking Peña every day of the week is slowing killing you. His cute little ass in those tight ass jeans. He knows what he’s doing, and you hate him for it. The suits are just as bad. Displaying his broad shoulders, showing off his sharp jaw. You want nothing more than to yank him to your level by one of his ties and kiss him harshly. Yeah. You hate him.

But you won’t do anything about this hopeless crush. You haven’t done anything for weeks.

Your desk sits up higher, you look down at the boys from your perch. Javi’s desk faces away from you, which allows you to stare at the back of his head (and ass) all day. Every once and a while you get lucky and see his face when he leaves his desk to go out in the field, or when he comes into work in the mornings. He’ll turn and offer a nod or a simple wave good morning.

You are friendly acquaintances. You’ve spoken on occasion at the dreaded office parties. The only reason you ever have gone to those are the free food and the small chance to see him.

Your staring at the back of his head is the most you do lately, your crush too strong to get up the nerve to ask him for coffee. Luckily, he can’t see you pine away for him.

But unbeknownst to you, there’s a watchful pair of eyes that have seen your longing gazes at the back of Javi’s head.

One Steve Murphy.

He’s seen every glance. Every flustered look cross your face. He doesn’t want to pry, not at first. But then he remembers how his buddies set him up with Connie. And hell, Javi could use someone nice like you in his life. Someone less dangerous to get involved with than communist informants.

Steve’s told Connie every detail, it’s much more entertaining to discuss then the heavy topic of death and drug lords. Connie’s only concern is the office romance drama, but she’s your friend. And she wants the same thing for you – Javi is a good man. And being neighbors with you, she’s also seen the looks you’ve given as Javi walks down the hallway.

They are planning more on how to get you with Javi than you are.

So far, your plan is hoping he’ll need a paperclip and will come ask you for one. And then suddenly ask you to coffee and then take you back to his place and-

Oh shit.

Javi’s wearing a blue shirt today, your favorite. And you might have let your eyes linger a little too long. And you’ve just made eye contact with Steve. He quirks a brow at you, and a small smirk appears on his lips. His piercing gaze just past Javi makes his partner curious, and the object of your affections turns his head in your direction.

When Javi’s eyes meet yours, you quickly avert your gaze. Trying to busy yourself with something important. Which consists mainly of organizing your already organized desk.

Javi is none the wiser, he shrugs and goes back to work. But Steve, he saw all that he needed to see.

You spend the rest of the day with your head down. You’ve had enough embarrassment for one day. It pains you that you’re missing out on the blue shirt though.

Normally after work you come up with some excuse to try and say hi and bye to Javi on his way out. He almost never goes straight to his apartment after office hours because he’s typically working out in streets. It’s your small chance to get some form of interaction with him.

Tonight though, you get out of there as soon as possible. It kills you to leave, you can hear Javi and Steve laughing at their desks. You want to turn around and see that smile you dream of.

So instead, you get out and head home.

You look forward to a quiet evening. You need a distraction. Something, anything to keep your mind off of him. Which only seems to make you think about him even more.

It’s getting later and the wine in your system has you feeling warm. There’s a warm buzzed feeling that spreads over your body and settles between your legs.

Maybe the wine wasn’t such a good idea. And you’re being ridiculous. So, Steve saw you looking at Javi. Is that a crime? Javi is handsome. Most women in the office notice him, even the married ones get a little smile on their face when he walks by.

It’s more than that. Having your crush discovered isn’t the end of the world.

Maybe you know that if Javi was interested he would have done something by now. Maybe you know that if Steve tells Javi about your crush that something will happen. Or that something won’t.

You want to get over this crush, but all you can think about is the arousal between your legs. You’ve seen him bring women home, but it’s been some time. That’s given you a false hope you think. Regardless, you know he’s a good lover. Thin walls.

You ache.

Those nights when he’s brought a woman home have been awful. You don’t listen on purpose, and more often than not you wish you couldn’t hear. Couldn’t hear women scream out his name, wishing it were you crying out his name into the dark.

On top of all that, you know that most times when he brings someone home, it’s been a bad day for him. He brings a prostitute home to ease his sorrows with the high of a release. You want to be there for him not just sexually, but emotionally. Living next to him isn’t the worst thing, but not being able to help him when you’ve seen the weight he carries is.

You’ll see him at work the next morning and try not to pretend you didn’t hear the headboard thwacking and how much you wish it were you.

Yeah. That wine wasn’t a good idea.

You’ve created a fantasy which you entertain, maybe it’s wrong but right now the wine is talking. Your fingers tease yourself and you’re close to the edge when you hear a rapid knock on the door.

Feeling flushed and disoriented, you quickly tug your pants back on and hurry to open your door.

You’re met with the sight of a woman, obviously drunk.

“Is Javi here?” she laughs twirling her hair with her fingers. You feel sick.

“You have the wrong apartment,” you tell her and point to Javi’s front door across the hall.

Disrupted by the noise, Javi’s door opens. His eyes widen in slight shock at seeing the two of you talking. He pushes his door open, and this other woman walks past him into his place. His eyes flick up to you in a silent apology and he closes the door behind him with a click.

The silence in the hallway is deafening. You stand in your doorway in disbelief. You can hear muffled voices across the hall, and you slam your door behind you in anger. You wince at the slam, then you sink down to the floor. Tears fall from your eyes, who were you kidding?

You get no sleep that night, and every sound that drifts over from his apartment to yours fills you with dread. You’ve heard nothing sexual in nature, but that doesn’t make you feel any better.

You don’t even want to go to work. You don’t want to see him. You’re mad at him, even though you’re actually mad at yourself.

Most of the day goes by before you really get a chance to see him. And for that you are grateful.

You smell his cologne before you see him, and his tall frame hovers by your desk. His voice comes out gentle and raspy.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he starts. A small part of you hopes he’ll apologize for what it looked like, apologize for hurting you. “I’m sorry she disrupted your night.”

Oh.

“Thanks,” is your weak reply. You can’t even bear to look up at him. Shit, he smells really good too. He almost never comes up to your desk. And now that he’s here, you just want him to go away.

“Javi, I-“ you manage to look up at him. And you don’t have a clue what you’re gonna say. His eyebrows raise as he’s ready to listen to what you have to say.

“Great!” You hear Steve’s voice cut through. “I’m glad I got you both together!” he claps his hand on Javi’s shoulder. “Connie and I are having a little get together tonight, and we want you both to come! Be there at 7!” he squeezes Javi’s shoulder and gives you a nod and leave before you can tell him no.

Javi shakes his head but gives you a soft smile. “Connie’s cooking isn’t that bad,” he jokes getting a laugh from you. Even though you curse yourself for laughing, you’re still mad. But when you see him smile at your laugh, you’re not….completely mad.

You spend the rest of the day and afternoon panicking about what to wear. Who else was going to be at this “get together”?

You can only assume it’s a casual thing, but still. Knowing Javi will be there has your insides churning.

You arrive early to help Connie, and to compose yourself. You’re helping her to set the table when Javi walks in. He gives a polite nod, and Steve is quick to greet him with a beer.

You flush, and Connie sees you actively trying to avoid any looks. She gives you a gentle nudge with her elbow, getting you to look up at her.

“It’s alright,” she whispers. “He’s into you.” She looks over at the boys in the small living area. Javi’s shrugged his jacket and is sitting with Steve, one of them laughs at a joke.

You nod your head ‘no.’

“He isn’t,” you tell her with a small shrug. “Is this all that’s coming?” you ask trying to change the subject. It dawns on you then that this is a setup, a double date. You start to panic.

“Hey,” Connie’s words are soft but firm, “it’s just dinner.”

She’s right, and you know she is. But you’re not sure if you can handle looking at him. All you can think about is the woman who came knocking on your door last night and him taking her in. What else would she have been there for other than to get a little taste of Javier Peña?

It’s hard to avoid those big brown eyes when he’s sitting directly across from you at the table. The conversation is light and humorous. But the way Javi is looking at you, it’s as if he knows something. Like he can read your mind.

“Dessert?” Connie’s cheery voice tears you from your thoughts.

“I’ll help,” you tell her. You need air, you feel like you’re suffocating under his glances.

“I’d say it’s going well!” she giggles once the two of you are out of earshot in the kitchen.

“How can you even tell?” you groan. “He’s not into me Connie.”

“I don’t know, he’s been making eyes at you across the table.”

“Connie,” you hiss. “He is not into me. He brought home some woman last night. Why the hell would he be into me?”

“How do you know-“

“I know. I know!” you hiss sharply trying to keep your voice down. “He brings those women home for a fuck, I know I’ve heard! And I will NEVER be one of those women.”

And not that you want to necessarily be one of them, that he fucks only – but-

“He doesn’t want me.”

“Who said that?” Javi’s voice has you turn in the little kitchen. You almost drop the plate in your hands. Connie and Steve exchange a look. Your eyes are fixed on Javi. You wish the earth would swallow you whole.

Embarrassed and upset, tears start to well up in your eyes.

“C’mon,” Javi offers you his hand. Your arms are crossed tight against your chest, but at the softness of his voice you relax and take his hand. He guides you out of the apartment, and you turn to Connie – she gives you a smile and a nod saying, “it’s ok.”

So, you follow Javi. He guides you down the hall to his apartment. He pats his pocket but doesn’t feel his keys.

“Shit,” he laughs, “they’re in my jacket pocket-“

“We can go in mine,” you reply pulling out your keys and open your apartment door.

You’re not entirely sure what is happening, but you open the door and he follows behind.

“I didn’t bring her home for sex,” Javi tells you the moment the door closes behind him. “She’s an informant, she only pretended to be drunk so no one would be suspicious. Her idea, not mine.”

“So, you know?” your voice hesitant.

“Know what?” he leans against your kitchen counter. Your arms have crossed against your chest again.

“Know how I feel?” your face heats up.

“Yeah,” he chuckles softly. “I could feel your eyes burning the back of my head, and my ass,” he says out of the corner of his mouth. He gives a gentle wink, his eyes bright and eyebrows lifted.

You bury your face in your hands, “was I that obvious?”

“Honestly, I thought you were checking out Steve at first,” he laughs. Your laugh joins his, and you feel more relaxed. “The only reason I never said anything was-“ he nibbles on his lower lip trying to think of what he wants to say. “I thought you wouldn’t want me.”

“What?” you gasp. “How could you think that?”

“My life is fucked up baby, why would you want in the mess?” He takes a step closer.

“All I wanted was to be there for you,” you admit, fiddling with the hem of your jacket.

“That’s all you wanted?” he takes another step closer. You can feel the heat of him. You look up at his face, he’s standing so close. His brow is raised. “That’s all you wanted?” he repeats in a whisper.

“Javi,” you whisper and melt into him as he closes the gap between you with his lips. His mustache tickles your upper lip in the way you hoped it would.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your lips and kisses the corner of your mouth.

“You don’t have to explain,” you cling to his shirt. You start to laugh and press your forehead against his solid warm chest.

“What’s so funny?” he laughs.

“This isn’t how I thought this would happen.”

“Oh?” he raises that eyebrow again.

“I thought-“

“What?” he kisses your forehead and cheeks.

“I just thought you’d come up to my desk and ask me for a paperclip or something and then ask me for coffee.”

“Baby, I will ask you for a fucking paperclip if that’s what you want.”

You snort out a laugh and he squeezes you tight. He kisses you again, and you feel dizzy.

“I don’t do this. Ever,” you flush.

“It’s ok,” he whispers kissing you again, “all I came over for was a paperclip.”

//

MASTERLIST

[obeyme-kaidii-writes]

Bath

Leviathan x gn!MC

Words - 3713

Content Warnings - some angst, lots of anxiety, LOTS of comfort

Prompt/Inspiration - none

Summary -  You and Levi decide to take your first trip together, and you’re excited about the possibility of finally getting to be intimate with your favorite demon.

AO3

This weekend was going to be amazing. You had planned everything down to the last detail, and there was absolutely nothing that was going to dampen your spirits.

A couple weeks ago, you and Levi had FINALLY started dating. Your confession had been the result of a really awkward text exchange, but it all worked out in the end. Levi was still his shy, introverted self - but he was slowly opening up to you more and more as your relationship became more intimate.

Your current excitement was due to the fact that he had suggested that the two of you go on a trip together - alone - for the first time. He had really shocked you by making such a suggestion, but his reasoning was that if you were alone, he’d be better able to relax since he wouldn’t need to worry about his brothers meddling (especially Mammon). And you agreed - it made a whole lot of sense.

After talking with Lucifer, you had also managed to get permission to turn this into a human realm trip as an extra layer of privacy. Lucifer understood all too well how determined his brothers could be at interfering, so it didn’t take much to convince him that leaving the Devildom was a necessity.

And now the day of your trip had finally arrived and you had just finished checking into your hotel.

Ever the dutiful partner, you had even gone so far as to arrange for your stay to be at a traditional Japanese hot spring inn. The cherry on top being that you managed to reserve a room with its own private open air bath too. You and Levi would get to enjoy the entire inn experience without a single worry in the world about your time together being interrupted. It was perfect.

“This is so amazing!” Levi said, as he bounced around the room, carefully examining all the details, “I never thought I’d actually get to go to Japan! And be here in person!”

You smiled as you watched how enthusiastic your boyfriend was. He was just beaming, and you loved seeing him like that. That smile alone made this entire trip worth it.

When Levi finally managed to pull himself away from his exploration of the room, he saw you had been staring at him and flushed in embarrassment. He knew he had let himself get carried away, but he was so incredibly happy right now he couldn’t help it. Not only was he finally getting some quality time with you, he was living out every otaku’s fantasy date.

The sight of Levi blushing just made you laugh, which of course, only made him blush more. You decided to show him some mercy and slipped your arms around his waist for a hug so he could hide his face if he wanted to. And he didn’t hesitate to either.

“Thank you, this is amazing. YOU’RE amazing,” he said as he pulled you closer and buried his face in your shoulder.

“That’s what I should be saying to you. It was your idea, you know. Thank you for asking me.”

Levi didn’t say anything in response, but instead tightened his grip on you as you did the same. It was such a sweet, quiet moment between the two of you, and you honestly didn’t want it to end.

“Well, I guess it’s time for the main event then, huh?” you teased.

“Th th the what?” Levi lifted his head to look at you, blushing even harder than before.

“The bath silly. You said you wanted to take a bath together,” you laughed.

“Oh. Ha. Right.” You felt Levi relax in your arms. Even though you wanted to tease him a little more about what he had been imagining, you decided to hold off for the time being.

Up until now, your physical relationship had consisted largely of cuddling, kissing, and some very heavy petting. But you had yet to go further than that since Levi seemed to need to take things slow. You were more than happy to accommodate him, of course. You knew how hard he was trying and how much he wanted to be closer to you - he just had a lot of insecurities and a lack of experience to contend with. Just knowing that he wanted to get there was enough to make your heart sing.

Tonight though, was going to be the first time the two of you were naked together. Levi had thought it might be easier since he’d be partially submerged in the water, so it wouldn’t be like you were looking directly at each other. Plus water itself relaxed him. Since you didn’t have any objections, you agreed.

You finally let Levi go and opened up your nearby suitcase, “Here. I’m super picky about towels so I packed my own. I brought robes too.”

You handed Levi a large, fluffy towel and a lightweight, oversized bathrobe, before picking up your own and heading to the bathroom to get changed. While you were gone, Levi quickly did the same.

It wasn’t until he started picking up his discarded clothing off the floor that the reality of the situation finally started to hit him. He was actually naked under that robe. And you were in the next room. Also naked. Maybe even more naked. You might not have even put your robe on yet.

Levi felt his pulse quicken, and his anxiety started to rise. He didn’t have long to think about things however, because you returned just then, bundled up in your robe, and shoved your clothes back into the suitcase.

“Alright, you ready?” you asked, trying hard to contain your excitement. You just couldn’t wait to be able to wrap your arms around Levi and rest your head on his shoulder. You had so much affection you were waiting to give, and now you were finally getting your chance.

Levi didn’t answer you right away, so you took a step closer and took hold of one of his hands, giving it a gentle squeeze, “Hey, why don’t I go ahead and go first? Then you can have a minute to relax, yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” Levi grunted as he nodded his head. Yeah that’s all he needed. Just a minute to take a few deep breaths and to clear his thoughts and then everything would be ok.

“Ok, great.”

You pressed a quick kiss to Levi’s cheek and made your way out of the room to the private bath area outside, leaving Levi alone.

But as soon as you left, his thoughts started to race. Was this really a good idea? Was he actually ready for this? You’d be so close to him. What was he even supposed to do? Hold your hand? Hug you? Could even touch you? Or would that be too creepy? Would you be grossed out if he tried to move closer? Where was he supposed to touch you anyways? Would an arm around your shoulder be too friendly? Would a hand on your thigh be too pervy?

And even if he could figure out what to do with his body, what about you? What were you going to think once you saw him? Would you be disgusted by him? What if he didn’t measure up to your expectations? Were you going to want to touch him too? Would you be fine if all he could manage was holding your hand? What if he disappointed you because he didn’t let you as close as you had hoped?

What was he going to do?

————

It had been 10 minutes since you had come out and removed your robe and climbed into the bath. But you had been prepared for that. You knew how anxious Levi could get, and you saw that he was starting to get a little worked up after changing clothes, which is why you decided to give him a bit of space to collect himself.

But as the minutes continued to tick by, you started growing concerned.

15 minutes had passed now. Maybe you should go check on him? You didn’t want to walk in on him when he could be naked (for his sake), but you were more than a little worried now. After weighing your options, you decided to chance it, and just keep your eyes down low while you walked as a precaution. So you climbed out of the bath, bundling yourself up again in your robe, and headed towards your room.

Once you were standing outside your door, you realized that it was still slightly ajar and hadn’t been slid shut yet. Through the crack you were able to hear what sounded like heavy breathing and the occasional choked back sob. Your stomach instantly fell: something was wrong with Levi.

“Levi?” you called to him, as you stepped inside the room. You didn’t notice him at first, but it didn’t take you long to finally find him with his back to the wall, just beside the doorway. His knees were drawn up to his chest. And he had his head buried in his arms, as he tried desperately to calm himself.

“Levi…” He hadn’t acknowledged your presence when you entered the room, so you weren’t even sure if he was aware of it. Seeing him like that made your heart ache, and you carefully sat down beside him, wrapping your arms around him as best you could.

You sat like that for awhile before Levi finally started talking.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I ruined everything…”

“Hey, Levi, that’s not true. That’s not true at all,” you said, sitting up a little so you could get a better look at him. You started to run your fingers through his hair, something you knew he liked and he found relaxing.

“Yes I do. I did. I am. I ruined this.”

“Why do you think it’s ruined, babe?”

“Look at me. I’m such a loser I can’t even get into a bath,” he said, his voice starting to waver again. He had just got himself to stop crying long enough so he could talk to you, and now he was about to start up again. Why did he ever think he could do this? Why did he think this was a good idea? Or that he could make you happy? He should have just stuck to 2D. He wasn’t cut out for 3D. He’d never be able to make you happy at this rate.

“Hey, we don’t have to do the bath. This was supposed to be fun for you. If you’re not having fun, we don’t have to do it,” you said, speaking softly and gently as you continued stroking his hair, “It’s ok Levi. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”

“How can you say it’s ok?! How is any of this ok?!” he snapped. He had never yelled at you before, and even he was surprised at the sharp edge to his voice. Just another thing he had messed up, he thought.

“Because it is. I promise you it is. I’m not upset with you,” you said.

You then pressed a kiss to the top of his head, resting your brow against him for a moment as you tried to figure out what else you could say to reassure him. When you felt him move slightly beneath you, you sat up, watching as Levi turned his head to the side to look at you from under his bangs.

“How can you be ok with this? This isn’t what we planned.”

“I planned on spending a weekend with you, Levi. That’s all.”

“...but the bath…”

“Was a nice perk. But not more important than you,” you replied. You rested your head on his shoulder and continued to comb your fingers through his hair, your arm draped along his back. He was still so tense, but at least his breathing had evened out some and he was no longer crying so hard.

“Would it help if we kept the robes on?” you suggested after a while.

“....could we?” If he was able to do that, it would eliminate a lot of the very things he was so stressed about. He still felt guilty that his own inadequacy was ruining all your plans, but at least he could do something with you this way.

“Yeah, of course we can.”

You stood up first, then offered Levi your hand to help him up off the ground too. He kept his head down, hiding behind his bangs, so you couldn’t see how awful his face looked. But you weren’t having any of that, and you stepped closer and brushed his hair out of his eyes, before giving him a soft smile.

“That’s better,” you said, cupping one of his cheeks with your hand before kissing the other, “I like seeing your face. You ready?”

Levi gave you a small nod before taking the hand you offered him. You led the way to the bath, careful not to walk too fast and to match Levi’s slow, nervous pace. He was still apprehensive about all this, and hadn’t figured out what he was supposed to do once he was IN the bath. But you would occasionally give his hand a light squeeze as you walked, and it reminded him that he was here with you and that was really the most important thing.

Once you reached the bath area, you carefully climbed in, taking a seat, and then waited for Levi to join you. Very cautiously he climbed in as well, being extra careful to make sure his robe didn’t float up as he got in, and then sat very stiffly a few feet away from you.

“Can I come over there?” you asked.

Levi nodded again so you scooched over until you were next to him. He flinched slightly when he felt you up against him, and then instantly felt ashamed of himself for doing so. But you either didn’t notice or just chose not to say anything about it, and instead raised your hand out of the water, palm up, and offered it to him.

“Can I hold your hand?”

He carefully took your hand in his, as you snuggled up next to him and laced your fingers together. The familiar feeling helped him relax just a tiny bit.

“I don’t know what to do,” he finally admitted, in a small voice scarcely above a whisper.

“That’s ok. You don’t need to,” you replied, resting your head on his shoulder, relaxing and leaning into his side.

Your response left him confused. What on earth was he supposed to do if he didn’t even know? But before he could even try to imagine you what you meant, you continued…

“All you have to do is ask. It’s not like you get bonus points for figuring it on your own,” you said with a laugh, “Just ask me what I’m ok with. Just like I asked you.”

Oh. That...made a surprising amount of sense. But even if that was true, it didn’t solve the problems he was having about wondering what was appropriate and what would creep you out. Was it worth the risk to ask about something when it might just upset you and make you want to never see him again?

“How are you feeling? Is this ok?”, you said, checking in with him. You could tell that he was still anxious with how his leg was gently bouncing next to yours, but at least he didn’t seem quite so freaked out at having you close, which was a win in your book.

“Yeah...I think so.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, giving your hand a small squeeze and resting his head on yours.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel pressured.”

“It wasn’t you. It was me. I’m the weirdo that couldn’t even take a bath.”

“You’re not a weirdo because of that, Levi,” you said, lifting the hand you had been holding out of the water so you could press a soft kiss to the back of it, “You have a lot of other things that make you weird, but this is not one of them,” you teased.

Levi laughed softly to himself. Why were you so understanding? He gave your hand a soft squeeze, before finally relaxing and leaning into you. Sitting with you like this wasn’t so bad. Sure it wasn’t the fantasy date he had imagined, but it was still quiet and peaceful all the same. No one there to pop in and surprise you. Nothing around to distract him. Just you and him.

Feeling reassured, Levi decided to take your advice and ask you for something, “Do you...umm...can I hug you?”

“Of course. You can always hug me,” you said, releasing his hand and wrapping your arms around his waist in a sideways hug as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

That was surprisingly easier than he thought it would be. He felt some more of his anxiety melt away as he held you there, just enjoying the feeling of having you in his arms.

It wasn’t long after that that Levi was finally relaxed enough to talk like normal. The two of you exchanged jokes and laughs. He was smiling again, and your heart warmed at the sight. You had been worried that maybe this entire thing had been a horrible idea after you found him too worked up to leave the room, but he was much more like his usual self now and that gave you hope. All you really wanted was for him to enjoy himself. It wasn’t often you managed to drag him out of the House of Lamentation and you wanted to make the most of it. And even if you may not have grown physically closer during this trip, you knew you had definitely gotten closer emotionally and that Levi trusted you just a little bit more.

After a while, you had started to grow drowsy so you knew it was time to get out and prepare for bed. You still had two more days left of your trip, so you really needed to rest now to make sure you had the energy for all the sightseeing Levi had wanted to do tomorrow.

As you snuggled into your futon, you felt Levi climbing in beside you. You rolled over on your side, tucking one arm under your head as you watched him with a smile on your face. Once he had settled he also turned to lay on his side facing you, and his hand soon found yours, twining your fingers together. Even though it was now dark in the room, Levi couldn’t bring himself to look at you from so close. You wiggled a little closer to him and curled your body towards him until your forehead rested against his, eyes closed.

Despite all the other anxieties he may have, cuddling up to you at night was not one of them. Something about the darkness and the warmth of the blankets made the whole thing so soothing. There wasn’t that fear of feeling like he was being watched either - so even if he was a little flustered it wasn’t as obvious, allowing him to pretend that he was a bit more confident and less of a nervous wreck than he actually was. He wondered if maybe next time he could try things like this...in the dark, next to you, under a blanket.

“...are you sure you’re ok with this?” Levi asked, finally having found his courage. He had been hesitant to ask you again, scared that you might have changed your mind, but he also really did want to know if you were happy right now.

“Yeah, I am,” you said as you lifted your joined hands and kissed his, “Very happy,” you continued, kissing his hand again.

“Even though this is all I could give you?”

That question made your chest tighten. Did he really think this was something you were settling for?

“Levi…” you gave his hand a gentle squeeze, before rubbing your thumb along the back of it, “Cuddling you isn’t some consolation prize,” you said, finding his legs under the covers and tangling them with your own. You couldn’t see it, but he was blushing now.

“I’m really happy I get to be here with you. We have time to figure out all the other stuff later. I’m not in a rush. I just want you. Just like this.” You shifted your body once more so that it was a little closer to his, and unconsciously he did the same, pulling you nearer with his legs, holding your hand just a little bit tighter.

“I know how hard you’re trying, you know. Don’t think I don’t notice it. I do. And that means more to me than anything.”

Levi pulled your arm to his chest, holding it there, feeling your warmth seep into him. You were so warm. As much as he wanted to be ready now, and wanted to impress you, he also truly enjoyed moments like this that made everything else seem so trivial. Why was he even worried so much earlier? You understood him. You didn’t pressure him. You were happy with him how he was. You never asked him to be something he wasn’t. He was safe with you.

“...I love you.”

“I love you too, Levi.”

As Levi started to drift off to sleep, he felt you give him a gentle kiss on the lips and he couldn’t help but smile. You were always so sweet and kind to him, even though he didn’t think he deserved it. He wished he didn’t doubt you, and himself, so much sometimes. And it wasn’t that he was scared of being intimate, he was just so concerned about making himself look foolish or worse, making you uncomfortable. He was still learning where that line was between “ok” and “not ok”, but the more moments like this he had with you the more confident he became. Soon, he was going to make this up to you and show you just how much he loved you, in a way that only he could.

[hoe-doroki]

We’ll See

Happy birthday, to my sweet boy, Kiri. Glad I managed to just barely get this out in time for you.

pairing: Kirishima x demisexual!fem!reader

genre: gen, light romance, light fluff, light comfort

word count: 6.3k

summary: After a fateful meeting where he saves you from a villain attack, you and Kirishima keep running into each other. And although he’s so nice, you only feel fear around the fact that he might be interested in you. Even though all you want is, for once, to let yourself be happy and maybe fall in love, you can’t seem to be able to. You just can’t.

a/n: I’ve been trying to think about what a comfort fic might look like for a demi reader because romance stories never match my lived experience and sometimes make me feel worse. I think I’ve finally managed something here. I hope this provides comfort to anyone who has difficult romantically/sexually for any reason, especially those of us who are acespec. My ask box is always open for acespec or similar requests as well. <3

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

For a moment, you thought it was hail. Little flecks of white—not quite white, really—falling from the sky at a more precipitous pace than snow, and bigger, more irregular. More dangerous.

Then, when you looked up, you didn’t know how you’d missed it.

You were always attentive when walking in the city, even in your Sisyphean commute to work: home, walk, train, walk, work, day after day. You held your bag close on your shoulder, had your pepper spray at the ready, and didn’t bother changing into heels until you got to the office. You always had your eyes on the surroundings, so, just before it happened, you could have told the cops that it had been a lovely spring day, white and pink flowers just beginning to bloom, but still jacket weather—not at all a day for hail. The streets had been congested with people just like you, all headed to work or school. The woman in front of you had been wearing a brightly striped sweater, standing out against the sea of black suits.

Then, concrete had begun raining down.

You looked up in time to see a slab from one of the old concrete buildings give way, suddenly casting shade right where you were standing. And the next thing you knew, you were on your back, and there was a man on top of you. Your first thought was that he must have been a dragon. Hard scales, sharp teeth, all jagged edges sharp enough to scratch grooves into the pavement below. He could kill you in an instant.

His arms were caged around you covered in fabric. But upon closer look at his exposed neck, you saw he didn’t have scales; his skin was like rock. Rocks that hadn’t yet been touched by the erosion of wind or water. They were new ones that were unbroken.

It took a moment of stillness, a moment of him trembling under the weight of the concrete wall for you to realize he wasn’t here to brutalize you—he was saving you. And when you realized that, your brain snapped into focus. There was chaos around you—you could hear the screams. Maybe they were civilians who were worried that you’d just been flattened to a pancake, but maybe they had greater fears than that. There was probably a villain on the loose, and this hero was wasting his time on you—just one person.

“Go!” you shouted, making eye contact with him for the first time. Red eyes like uncut rubies encased in cracked ivory. “I’ll be fine!”

For a moment, he struggled to lift the broken remnant of the building off of you both, but then you honed your focus. You stared at the concrete and it lifted off of the hero’s back, watched as his shoulders settled in relief. He looked at you in confusion for a second, taking in your furrowed brow and tense mouth, frozen body. Then, he took you in his arms and carried you to safety before you gasped, and the concrete fell with a smash.

He left you gasping on the sidewalk and ran into the fray, where it looked like a villain with a power-up quirk had crashed through the office building onto the sidewalk, where they were now wreaking havoc.

Someone offered a hand to help you up and you took it. Telekinesis always took a lot out of you, especially when an object was as heavy as, oh, say, a side of a building, but you shook it off as best you could, just focusing on getting your breathing under you.

More pro heroes were turning up, either drawn by the noise or the masses of pedestrians fleeing the area. The latter of which was exactly what you should have been doing.

But you couldn’t.

You’d never desired to be a pro hero. Yeah, you admired them, but as a job it sounded, well, awful? Seeking out trouble, always in danger of major corporeal damage, a constant target on your back—you’d never be able to handle the stress. You desired consistency in your life and, even if it wasn’t saving the world, an office job gave you that. Still, you’d always told yourself that if you even found yourself in a situation where you could help, where your quirk would be useful and it would be a net gain for you to stay instead of run, you would help. It was your duty.

Awfully hard to live up to when the situation actually came, though.

“Get out of here!” you said to the guy who’d helped you up as you staggered forward, hands on your knees. You were fine, you were standing. You didn’t have to fight—you absolutely shouldn’t fight—but if there was anyone who needed your help, you’d provide it.

As you pushed yourself up straight, the guy threw you one last look and then joined the crowd running from the scene while you stood, planted in it.

The fight was moving away from the building as multiple heroes took on the one huge villain, whose club-like arms were able to send them flying back before anyone could restrain him. But that was perfect. The building was still crumbling and you could check if anyone was stuck.

As you got closer, it looked as though you’d been the one hit by the biggest piece of debris—which, frankly, was a miracle. You were likely the one person in the crowd with any chance of surviving that, and the red-eyed hero had been there to save you anyway. But there was a lamppost that had been knocked over, thankfully pulled out of the ground so you could hold your breath and levitate it, vision just turning black around the edges as you dropped it harmlessly back to the ground. The victim likely had a broken leg, but some others managed to haul them out of the fray and hopefully to a hospital. One person saved.

The move left you capsized, back on your knees as you blinked color back into your vision. Fortunately, there wasn’t too much rubble—not yet, anyway—so all else there was to do was find a couple of the people who’d been knocked down or injured and send them out of the line of fire to where someone else could take care of them. You could use your quirk to keep back, not have to get too dangerously close to the fray in order to help these people. So you did your best to stay in the shadows of the punched-out building where there’d be no attention on you. Each time left you strained, but not broken. You just needed a little rest, and then you could keep moving.

You’d fallen to hands and knees after the last person, wheezing greedy gulps of dusty air. It felt like there were hands around your chest, squeezing palms against your heart and thick fingers against your throat. You weren’t practiced enough with your quirk to move this many heavy things successively, but you’d also never overused your quirk before. Never had to. You didn’t know where the line was, but so long as you were conscious, you’d keep moving.

But you felt lightheaded. The weight was suddenly off of your knees and wrists and you wondered if you were about to faint. Suddenly, the you felt a new compression around your waist as you were flipped upright, and you opened your eyes, looking down to see gray, damp skin pressed against your middle, and your feet dangling off the ground.

Oh, shit.

This was why civilians weren’t supposed to get involved when villains were around. You could become a liability for the heroes. Now they wouldn’t be able to fight all out against the villain, because you were effectively a meat shield. A hostage.

This wasn’t a net gain. Sure, you’d saved a handful of people, but now the villain couldn’t be caught. They had more power than just their quirk—they had leverage.

You thought quickly. You weren’t going to be the reason these heroes’ mission failed. You needed to take control of the situation so that no one else would get hurt. You needed to get the net gain back on your side.

You closed your eyes and took a couple breaths. After one last big one, you sent the villain up in the air, and you with it. As your ears began to ring, the last thing you heard were worried cries rumbling out from the chest you were pressed against. You felt the air as you both rose up in the sky, and then their arms loosened around you.

And then, you began to fall.

The next thing you heard was beeping. Gentle, even beeping to the rhythm of your gentle, even breaths. You weren’t heaving, weren’t gasping anymore. You must have been feeling better.

You took a breath and tried to push yourself up, instantly regretting it as your ears began to ring. Again. Suddenly, you remembered where you’d just been, what you’d just done.

Ugh, you were an idiot.

“Woah, you okay?”

You cracked your eyes open and saw a man in front of you. Definitely not a doctor, if his total lack of a shirt was anything to go by. You could feel your heartbeat in both ears, pulsing like a rock concert and waking up a headache you hadn’t realized you had. You closed your eyes and relaxed back down again.

“I’m okay,” you tried, but your voice came out all raspy. You wondered if dust had come out with it, expelling like smoke from your dry lungs.

“Here, let me get you some water.”

You blinked your eyes open and saw a straw being held up to your lips. You craned your neck up enough to purse your lips around it and took a small sip. Better.

The man in front of you had strange cuffs on his shoulders and something almost like a cape around his waist. But when you saw the wire piece around his face, you were finally able to place him.

“You’re the rock dragon,” you said.

The man laughed and you saw how young he was. When he’d been in his rocky form he could have been any age. No wrinkles or actual hair to go by. But now it was obvious that he was likely in his early twenties, just like you. Impressive for him to be a hero.

“Rock dragon?” he echoed. “I’ll take that.”

“Did you guys get the villain?”

That’s all you wanted to know. It didn’t really matter what had happened to you—evidently you were in one piece, so it was all but irrelevant.

The hero nodded. “They’re locked up, not too many major injuries on the scene. Thanks to you.”

“Urgh,” you groaned. “I’m so sorry. Usually I don’t do stuff like that.”

“Stuff like what?” he asked. “Save the day?”

“No, just…” You were glowing under his praise, but you didn’t want to. What you’d done had been idiotic and so easily could have gone sideways. More so than it seemed like it had. “I’m not usually so impulsive.”

“Must be good to know that you have good impulses then,” he said. “Although, I gotta ask, what was your plan there at the end?”

Plan? There hadn’t been any plan, and judging by his cheeky smile, bumping one cheekbone up against his wire mask, he realized that.

“I figured if I levitated that villain, then they wouldn’t be able to do any damage to anyone except me,” you said. “Of course, then there were a million questions about what could happen after, but the worst case scenario was that only both of us got hurt.”

“Very self-sacrificing,” he said. “You should be a hero. Although, we usually have to get the self-sacrificing impulses beat out of us a bit. But still, you’ve got the quirk for it. I have a friend who’s got a similar one. The world would love you.”

“No,” you said, shaking your head and feeling your brain slap against each side of your skull. “I think this was my first and last foray.”

He clutched his heart jokingly. “Oof, really one to break hearts, aren’t you?”

You froze. Suddenly the pulse that had been between your ears and behind your eyes moved back to your chest and was squeezing uncomfortably. Had he been saying that flirtatiously? Was it a joke you were just taking too seriously? Did this guy just use his hero costume to lay a bunch of girls and you should be kicking him out before he got any ideas?

“I’m really not,” you mumbled, reaching for the water glass again and drinking from it yourself. You felt the tug of an IV hooked up to your arm and you were only part way through the drip. You were stuck, unable to go anywhere until it was done. The good news was, your limbs felt generally fine. Just a little stiff and achy. The only real pain was in your head—the aftermath of using a psychic quirk.

“No,” Kirishima agreed. “You seem too nice for that. And, hero or not, the world was really lucky to have you today. So I just wanted to thank you for helping and, you know, make sure you were okay.”

“I think I’m okay,” you said.

“That’s what the doctor said,” he confirmed. “I’m just glad I caught you.”

So that’s what had happened. You weren’t sure if you’d passed out before or after the villain had landed, but you remembered focusing on trying to lower them to the ground slowly before everything had gone black. But you couldn’t use your telekinesis on yourself, so you’d resigned yourself to plunging to the ground. Not that you’d had much time to make peace with it.

“Sorry you had to save me twice,” you mumbled.

“I’ll save you as many times as I need to.”

Okay, that definitely felt like flirting. His smile was so open and genuine—he didn’t look like a fuckboy, but it didn’t matter. You didn’t want him interested in you, even if he was a hero. Even if he was attractive. Even if he was nice. You couldn’t deal with it. So you put the water back and pursed your lips awkwardly, unsure what to say.

“Oh, I’m Red Riot, by the way,” he said, extending a hand towards you.

You took it, feeling how callused his hand was. It wasn’t hard, like it had looked back when he’d been made of rock and gemstone, but had the feel of a fighter. Yours were soft as a baby’s. “Y/N,” you said.

“I know,” Red Riot said with a grin—his teeth were sharp even when he wasn’t transformed. “We found your ID in your wallet when you were being admitted. So you’re not a Jane Doe.”

“Oh.”

You supposed that was comforting. If you had fallen and broken every bone in your body, at least your family would have found out.

Your attention was diverted when someone walked into your room—a woman in a white coat and definitely wearing a shirt. This must be the doctor.

“Red Riot, you were supposed to press the button when she woke up,” the doctor chastised, though her voice was light.

“Sorry, doc, I was just seeing if she was lucid,” he said with a grin. “She remembers her name and everything that happened.”

“Right,” the doctor said, not looking especially amused. Still, there was a friendly energy between the two of them, and you wondered if heroes had close relationships with hospital staff. They probably found themselves in hospitals often enough—it would make sense. “That will be all, Red Riot.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, standing up from the folding chair he’d been planted in and pushing it against the wall. Then he turned back to you. “I really can’t thank you enough for what you did today. You’re a really good person.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you said, not sure what to do with the praise.

“Anytime.”

He waved and gave you one last smile before heading back, returning to duty. And as you were able to breathe easy again, answering the doctor’s routine questions and making sure that you actually were okay, it felt like Red Riot’s lingering smile never left.

The first thing you learned afterwards was that most ‘life-changing’ events weren’t actually life changing. They confirmed what they confirmed in your worldview, but, largely, life went on as normal. Like, now you knew for sure that you were the kind of person who could act in a crisis. But that was the story you’d been telling yourself before too, so what was the difference? After your day of heroics—and a day of rest, necessitated by the doctor—you went back to work and life became about staring at numbers on a screen once again.

Some of your coworkers asked about what the rescue had been like—apparently bits and pieces had reached the news, and there’d been footage of Red Riot and the others, but thankfully nothing official about you. They were suddenly very interested in your quirk—your quirk had never been a bad one, but you’d never made a habit of talking about it. And they wanted to know about the heroes.

Apparently, Red Riot was a name that some people knew. You didn’t tend to watch news about heroes and villains—you didn’t figure you needed to know much more than a bit of politics and the weather in your day to day—but those who did knew who Red Riot was. He was a rising star in the hero rankings and had graduated a few years ago from an apparently notorious class at U.A.

Even you knew what U.A. was.

You told everyone he was very nice but that you didn’t know much else. You hadn’t talked to any of the other heroes and if wasn’t like you were besties with Red Riot now. You didn’t even know his real name. Or you hadn’t, until some of your more eager coworkers informed you it was Kirishima Eijirou.

But…you didn’t like the questions. You didn’t like people asking you about how attractive or fit he was, people talking about how in love with him they were, as if you should be drooling and agreeing. Because, nice as the boy was, you didn’t feel that way. A pretty face was a pretty face and a kind soul was a kind soul. But you didn’t have a crush because, well, you almost never had crushes.

And the reminder of that, how different you were from your fantasy-having, simpering peers made you remember just how alone you were. How without those feelings, playful though they were, you felt like you would always be alone. Destined to shy away whenever a sweet boy flirted with you, to say no whenever one asked you out, to cry in your too-large bed on the days where you couldn’t convince yourself that just because you’d always been single, didn’t mean you always would be.

The second thing you learned was that, in actuality, life was always changing. Down to a simple train ride.

Public transit was one of your favorite things about living in the city. Sure, waiting for trains was irritating when you were running late, but you loved that on your morning commute you could read a book or do work instead of staring at a license plate in front of you, trying not to shout into gridlocked traffic.

You always made a habit of pausing your reading the stop before yours, just so that you could double check that your bag was tucked close, still zipped, and that all of your belongings were still on your person. You didn’t like fumbling with a bookmark and your purse just as the doors were opening and stumbling out, hoping you hadn’t left something on the seat—on the days that you were lucky enough to get a seat, that was. This time you’d been stuck, pressed against the window at the back of the car, but, when the stop before yours came, you put your book away and began pushing toward the door.

When the doors pinged open, you were one of the first ones out, flooding onto the platform as a crowd eagerly waited to take your spot, the train destined to stay full until sundown. You’d almost made it out of the station when you heard your name shouted above the din of the train pulling away.

You turned back abruptly, forcing the people behind you to split around you as you wondered if you’d made it up, heard a phantom voice without a source. But then you saw someone pushing through the crowd toward you, sharp grin present on his face.

His torso was hidden under a graphic tee, appropriate for how much warmer the weather had gotten in the past few weeks, but you’d recognize him anywhere. Really, even if you hadn’t had the reminders of people shoving phones with his picture in your face, he was unmistakable from his hair to his eyes to his teeth.

“Red Riot?” you said with surprise, noticing that he was getting a few stares from passersby.

“Ah, you can call me Kirishima,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “Red Riot’s just the guy in the uniform.”

“What are you doing here?” you asked, wondering if this man, Kirishima, was going to be imprinting himself on all ends of your commute by the end of the year.

“Day off with my friends.”

Kirishima gestured behind him at a few other people, visible now that the station was thinning out. There was a scowling blond who looked vaguely familiar—probably another hero—two other boys and a pink girl with horns.

“You’re coming home from work?”

You looked down. You were one of the youngest people in the office, so you always tried hard to look the part by dressing as professionally as possible in a button-down and slacks. It definitely stood out against his friends’ casual wear. “Guess it’s pretty obvious, huh?”

Kirishima nodded and you wondered if this was your cue to leave. Cool to see you again, bro, but I’ve got a hot date with Netflix and some leftovers, so why don’t you and your friends enjoy a real Friday night while I begin my descent into my final crotchety cat lady persona?

“Kiri’s told us all about your awesome quirk,” the pink girl said, dark eyes sparkling. “He said you were really brave.”

“And he told us how pretty you were, but man, he didn’t do you justice,” one of the boys—the blond who wasn’t frowning—said.

You bit your lip. The praise was flattering but…uncomfortable. The boy’s brows were raised in what could be interpreted as a suggestive manner, and you wondered what Kirishima had said. Something like She was really brave, cool quirk, kinda cute too or Next time I see her I wanna tap that ass.

Honestly, they made you about equally uncomfortable.

“Cut it out, Kaminari,” Kirishima said, having the decency to flush a little bit. “Listen, we were just going to go to the park and hang out if you wanted to come along?”

“Oh, I…”

You glanced at his friends. All of them—except the one—were smiling and looked like friendly, genuine people. And you usually did like hanging out with people when you actually got up the gumption to do so.

But…your mind was always ready to supply you with a lot of ‘buts.’

But, you’d just gotten off work, looked like an idiot in your slacks and needed to get changed.

But, it was uncomfortable to be in a group where everyone knew each other but you.

But, what if any of these boys were interested in you and tried to get with you?

The last thought always felt so stupid—who did you think you were to assume that any man who looked at you might be thinking about you in that way? Not that you honestly assumed they did, but you feared it. And that didn’t feel much less stupid, to be honest.

“That’s really nice of you,” you said, putting extra cheer and enthusiasm in your voice so it didn’t sound so much like a rejection. “But I haven’t had dinner and work was rough, so I don’t think I’d make a very good impression.”

“Oh, no worries!” Kirishima said, his voice holding the same false merriment as yours. Or maybe you were projecting and he was being totally genuine. “Maybe next time.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, managing a laugh. “If you manage to catch me on another part of my commute—and there’s no villain involved—I’ll make sure to say hey.”

“All right, Y/N,” Kirishima said as he and his friends began to walk on. “I’m counting on it.”

And the third thing you learned was something you’d actually known for a long time. When things changed, usually they changed slowly.

You’d only said what you’d said to Kirishima last time because you figured there was no way in hell you’d be seeing him again. After all, it was a big city with hundreds of thousands of residents, and it wasn’t exactly like accountants and pro heroes ran in the same spheres.

But it seemed life was getting a kick out of keeping you to your word these days.

It was a weekend and you’d actually managed to leave your apartment to hang out with friends. As predicted, you actually did have a good time, though that didn’t keep you from dipping out early—mostly because you were never excited about heading home alone at night. So, purse clutched close to your side, you walked through the streets, reassuringly lit by friendly lampposts and the many bars that were still open.

When you saw the shocking head of red hair, you thought your brain was making up. Because why would he be here, walking the streets on your route home again?

Judging by his shirtless state, it was because he was on patrol. Which, you know, made sense.

It didn’t take him long to spot you. Because while you were attentive—and especially alert, since it was after dark—he was a hero. Trained not to miss a thing.

His face brightened at the sight of you and he jogged over.

“Y/N!” he said. “I thought you were gonna say hello next time you saw me.”

“I said on my commute,” you quipped, feeling the burn of awkwardness that he’d caught you looking at him. “I thought heroes needed to be detail-oriented.”

“Touché,” he said. “Well, it seems you’re spared again. Can’t hang out while I’m working.”

“But you can do this?” you asked, gesturing between the two of you.

Kirishima grinned. “Of course! This is just me building a relationship with the citizens!”

You didn’t know if that was a thing or not, but it sounded legit enough for you. At the very least, it you were in no place to accuse Kirishima of not being good at his job.

“So, I know why I’m here,” Kirishima continued. “What are you up to?”

“Oh, I was just hanging out with friends,” you said. “Heading home now.”

“But that stop that we got off at a few weeks back,” he said. “That’s the stop for your house, right? That’s still pretty far from here.”

Ah, so he was attentive. You had to give him points for that, even if the fact that he’d paid so much attention made you feel…squirmy. Your flight reflexes were humming under your skin, waiting for the moment he said something that made you think too close, too far, too soon.

“I feel safer walking,” you said, subconsciously gripping onto your purse’s strap.

Some people felt safer taking the train home in the evening, but even if it doubled, tripled the length of the trip, you preferred being in a space where you could run away if necessary. And in the city, there were always potential witnesses outside, if you were ever to need them.

Kirishima’s brows furrowed a bit. “Do you want me to walk you? I can go with you at least to the end of my beat.”

The humming increased. His offer was gentlemanly, chivalrous. It reminded you of old-timey courting—and you were being crazy. You didn’t want to walk home alone and a hero was offering to accompany you part way. You ignored your nerves “That would be really sweet, thank you.”

So you walked and talked. He had more to say about your quirk and you told him that you’d never had much interest in them. Rather, you were an accountant who worked nine to five and quite happy living a quiet life with modest success. You didn’t need a lot—certainly not fame or recognition—and you were mostly content. You didn’t mention the chronic loneliness or bouts of fear around dying alone, but that was how you got by. Loneliness was something you were always trying to outrun, and most days you managed to. Letting it catch up and thinking about it never made you feel better and talking about it rarely did either. It was something you felt powerless to change, so the best thing you could do was try to be happy with the rest of your life and hope for the best.

“I’ll admit, the fame is pretty different in real life from what you think it’ll be as a teenager,” Kirishima said.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you said. “I thought about famous bands and stuff and even when I was a kid I didn’t want the kind of notoriety that they have.”

“I’m not sure I ever wanted that either,” Kirishima said. “I just wanted people to look up to me the way I looked up to Crimson Riot. And now that I’m starting to have that, I like that people can rely on me, even if they don’t know me personally.”

You smiled. “That’s a pretty nice way to look at it.”

“You think?”

“I do.” You nodded. “I can see you on the street and feel safer for your being there.”

Kirishima’s shark teeth showed through his smile. “That’s exactly why I’m allowed to talk to you during my patrol.”

“I see,” you said, beginning to think that there was a lot more to heroes than you’d thought.

“Speaking of which,” he said. “I’d love to take you all the way home, but I can’t abandon my post. And this is kind of the end of it.”

You looked at where you were, about to cross a major intersection. You wondered if there was a hero on the other side who would be happy to walk you to the edge of their patrol too.

“No, thank you so much for walking with me this far,” you said. “You didn’t have to do that and it was really sweet.”

“I was happy to do it!” he insisted. You moved to keep going, about to wave your hand in goodbye when he said, “Wait!”

You stopped, heart beating loudly. Flight, flight, flight.

“I was wondering if you’d like to hang out sometime?” he said, a hint of nervousness and hope on his face. Too much hope. “On purpose, you know?”

“Oh,” you said, wishing you could go back in time. Wishing you could have left faster or maybe not even walked with him, even though the walk had been pleasant and comforting. Wishing you were a different person entirely. “I, um, can’t.”

“Oh, do you have a boyfriend?” he asked, the nerves eclipsing the hope. “If so, I’m really sorry if it seemed like I was assu—”

“No, no, I don’t have a boyfriend,” the words almost pulling a wry laugh out of you. A sardonic choke. “I just…I don’t really date.”

“Oh,” Kirishima said again, short brows scrunching in confusion. “Um, sorry, and you don’t have to answer but…what do you mean?”

“I’m on the asexuality spectrum?” you began, hating how apologetic the words sounded. Hating that you couldn’t seem to find a way to be proud of your sexuality, that you could only wear it as a burden. “I’m demisexual. Which means that I can’t feel attracted to people that I barely know. So dating is just…really hard.”

Kirishima’s brows raised. “So…you need to get to know people really well before you’d even be interested?” he asked slowly, clarifying.

“Yeah,” you said. “Very…slow burn.”

“So you’re saying,” he continued, his face becoming warm with a smile again, “that I’d have to see you more often before seeing you officially.”

“Oh, yeah, uh, not that simple,” you said, nervous and confused that he hadn’t let it go yet. “I don’t casual date either. Like, I wouldn’t want someone showing interest in me and then dating other people while they wait to see if I come around. Which I know isn’t fair. Basically, seeing me would be a lot of risk for potentially no reward, because even if we do spend time together, I might never like you. So, yeah, you understand the dilemma.”

The concern was back on his face, and, somehow, your entire urge to flee went away. You’d scared him off, and there was some comfort in that. Sure, maybe it was running away from your problems, but you were able to trick yourself into thinking it was the mature thing to do because you were telling the truth. You were being honest about what the situation was.

“So this really is hard for you.” There was compassion in his voice that took you aback. That wasn’t him running. That wasn’t him being scared off.

“Um, yeah, it kinda sucks,” you said.

“I’m really sorry about that,” Kirishima said, and you thought, hoped that would be the end of it. But he kept going. “But, honestly, spending more time with you sounds like a really nice thing, even without any expectations or anything on it.”

Some boys had made this offer in the past. And it sounded nice on paper, but no matter what you did, you couldn’t remove the expectations in your mind. The fact that you knew why they’d looked at you in the first place, what they were looking for, and that you were still in a position to lead them on. You always made it so hard for yourself, even though you just wanted with everything in your heart for it to be easy.

“And, just so you know,” Kirishima said, glancing down shyly, “I don’t date a lot either. I’m not sure what kind of impression I’ve given off, but really, I don’t have that much time because of this career, and the time that I do I try to spend with my friends. So, it would make more sense to, you know, try and do that anyway. I just…as a hero, I often see the worst of people and so I want to spend all my other time with good ones. And you seem like a really good person.”

“I…” You had one last shot. One last thing to show the worst of yourself and see if he’d turn around on you. “When I’ve tried dating before, I’m not the best version of myself. I get really uncomfortable, so I treat people in a way that’s less than they deserve. I don’t think you’d like that version of me.”

“It’s a good thing we wouldn’t be dating then,” Kirishima said. “Just…two friends trying to become better people.”

You were at war with yourself. He was saying all the right things but you were still so scared. Of someone liking you when you couldn’t like them. Of you falling for them after they’d put you in the friend zone. Of falling in love and it not working out. Of falling in love and getting everything.

“How about this,” Kirishima said. “I’ll be here tomorrow—my shift starts at six. And if we happen to bump into each other by accident, well, that seems to be our pattern, so how bad could it be?”

You smiled, having a quick response for that one. “I could be held hostage by a villain, pass out, and need you to take me to the hospital.”

“Well, at least we know we can get out of that one.”

“I suppose so,” you said. It was casual. It was literally the lowest stakes invitation you’d ever heard in your life. If you couldn’t say yes to this, then what were you doing? “I…okay. I might see you tomorrow.”

He grinned at you and you became immediately convinced that his cheer was totally genuine. He was just a happy guy, and maybe nothing he said had any innuendo or hidden meaning to it. It probably never had. “Is it okay if I give you my number? I just want to know that you get home safe.”

In the bright lights of the busy street, you’d almost forgotten that it was quickly becoming the middle of the night, and that you’d had such unease when you’d first stepped out into it. You’d felt totally safe for a minute, even in this strange world you lived in.

“Okay,” you said. “If I’m not home in twenty minutes, you have permission to get worried.”

“I’ll send a search party,” he said. “I know a guy.”

You laughed. “Sounds good. Otherwise…”

“Otherwise…”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

“We’ll see.”

He nodded. “We’ll see.”

It was half a promise, the start of a maybe friendship. It was probably nothing at all, you had to remind yourself for the whole walk home, otherwise you might go crazy with nerves.

But, also, it might be good.

Time would only tell.

[hit-me-with-a-ladle]

Ch. 6 Creepypasta x fem!reader

Hey, guys hope you're liking the chapters, now I'm sorry I didn't post the chapter yesterday my computer was malfunctioning and I had to fix it. But now we're all good and I can be more consistent. I also turned my comments on so I hope that you'll tell me what you liked and disliked about the story. But without further ado enjoy<3.

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A week had passed since the girl started training, and she could feel herself improve as the days progressed. Jack, at first, was ruthless towards her, but he calmed down and at least waited for her when she was struggling to walk back to the cabin. She also had a strict workout regiment made by him. He acted as a personal trainer of sorts as she had to use heavy objects as weights and was made to sprint around the forest to build up stamina and muscle to improve her strength. But when the week had ended, so had Jacks' first shift to train her, and now it was Maskys turn.

The cold Monday air hit her face when she woke up. Feel her eyelids becoming heavy she wanted to go back to bed but stopped herself. Jack had warned her that Masky hated tardiness and that he expected her to be ready by 7:30 AM. So the girl had set the red alarm clock that laid on the small desk next to her bed to ring at 6:45 AM. Lazily getting out of bed, she neared the closet, getting a set of clean clothes( Her closet had been updated, with more essential clothes, like underwear and socks). Then headed to the bathroom to take a quick shower.

Slackly scrubbing her body under the look worm pellets of shower water that quickly streamed down her bare body, she remembered her first few interactions with Masky, like when he attacked her that cursed night. She could recall his rude and disrespectful behaviour towards her, and if she was honest, she didn't regret stabbing him in the leg with her kitchen knife. An irate expression then fell upon her face as she cursed him and all the others under her breath. Because of them, she was in this hell hole, she hated it. She just wanted to be home. But she was also mad at herself for not taking more initiative and trying to make an actual escape plan.

' Do I have Stockholm syndrome or something?' She questioned herself as she started to feel her eyes water, but immediately pulled back those tears, not wanting her eye to puffen. She'd already been showering for over fifteen minutes without noticing. Not wanting to waste even more time she got out of the shower and dressed she quickly walked to her room to check the time. She had 15 minutes to eat before her training started.

Running downstairs, she instantly started making something to eat as she turned around and was about to head in the direction of the dining table. And in the heat of the moment, she had harshly bumped into something making her drop the large white plate of food she'd been carrying. A loud bang of porcelain contacting the hard wooden floor rung through her ears as she angrily looked up to see what the hell was in the way. Though her features instantly softened when she realised it was Masky towering over her. His white mask was even creepier up close. It looked old and worn out, it also had some red discolouration on the lower half of it with some minor erring at the sides. His demeanour seemed stiff as a deep growl escaped from his throat.

" Watch where you're going, goddamn it." He spoke as he pushed her aside to pass. " And clean that up right now. I mean Jesus Christ, your so much wasting time, you have less than ten minutes." The girl glared daggers as he spoke. Rage fueled her mind as she wanted to punch him square in the face, although she stopped herself, not wanting to cause any trouble. She just took in a sharp breath, closing her eyes she promptly cleaned up the mess. Hastily making herself some cereal she ate it as quickly as she could.

Masky watched her, however feeling disdain towards her as he did. His leg was still sour from where she had stabbed him, but he planned to get back at her by making the next week they had together a living hell. Staring at the clock, every minute or so he would check it to see what it said, and the moment the arrow hit exactly 7:30, he got up from where he was sitting. " Get the hell up we're going," He roughly grabbed the bowl in front of her and flushed the remaining bit of food down the drain. The girls just pursed her lips as her gaze turned bitter in the mere sight of him. She slowly got up and followed him outside. They were on the same path she took to get to the clearing she and Jack would fight in, but instead of turning left and following the path, he went in the opposite direction.

Confusion washed over her as she follower curiously, still not trusting him fully. " Where are we going?" She promptly asked as they were walking for a while. She could feel him roll his eyes, " Be quiet your voice irritates me." Not having anything else to do she just huffed loudly and followed the masked man she dislike so much with her arms folded over her chest. Her feet kept on hitting the many tree roots scattered around the path as she watched the leaves fall from the trees. Her mind wandered with them, she'd been so stressed this last week that she'd forgotten to enjoy her surroundings and she hand realised just how beautiful the forest truly was. That morning she felt a light breeze graze her soft skin as she looked up to the clear blue sky. The sound of rustling leaves filled her ears as she softly smiled at the beautiful sight of the trees being carried by the wind.

Without noticing that Masky had halted to a stop, she walked into him for the second time that day, he stood like a tree and the hard impact made the girl tumble a bit before regaining her stance. Though the man didn't even seem to notice, she softly grumbled under her breath before walking next to him. As she looked up and got a good look at her surrounding she was dumbfounded. In front of her was scattered some of the most beautiful looking flora in her life. The grass that covered the soil seemed lighter than the one she was standing on, different types of multicoloured flowers strewed in patches all around it and right in the middle, in front of them both, stood an old thick tree. It was remarkably tall, moss laid on its right side and it looked worn out over time. Its long brown branches twisted and turned as golden-green leaves spread all along with them. There was a thin stone pathway leading up to the tree and circling it to give room for someone to walk around.

" What is this place?" She softly spoke as her jaw had dropped from the sensory overload she was experiencing by the gorgeous scenery in front o her. Masky brought up his right hand closing her jaw, " This is going to be your first lesson, how to take care of this area of the forest. It's essentially the heart of it giving it its 'power' pet say, this tree is thousands of years old and you, as a middleman, have the task to not let it die." He said pointing at her as he walked through the stone path and stood in front of the tree, the girl soon following. " How do I take care of it? And what happens if I let it die?" She asked as she looked up at the tree then at him.

" Well, firstly, these flowers have to be watered every few days or they die out, and if they die out, the tree soon will follow after them. Also, the tree has to be checked and graded in 3 stages to make sure it's in the right order. Firstly, if the leaves change colour every season. When in the winter their silver and or blue, In Atom orange and or purple, spring red and or pink and then summer as you can see this type of greenish-gold colour or pure gold colour that has a whole meaning in its self. But ill explain the meaning of the colours later, when we get you a notebook you can write all of this down. But there is a deviation from this pattern the tree is most likely dying for some reason and you have to find out what the reason for that is. Second, if you notice that it starts to have some kind of sweet n=honey like odour then its sap is ready to be harvested and you'll have to harvest every last drop of it. Though this could happen any time there's no real regulation the when it can or can't, the sap is needed for magic. Lastly, You will also have to feed the tree a special oil-based serum that you will learn to make, you can do this around the time you water the plants, but f you see it rejecting it and not absorbing the oil then there's something wrong and you will have to inspect it and see if there's some kind of defect going on to fix. Now to answer your second question, if the tree were to die in your care then you will go through the most excruciating execution of your life." He spoke quickly almost as if he was dictating this to a whole class of people, though the way he announced the last sentence his tone got darker and it sent shivers up the girl's spine.

He put his hands behind his back and began to cercal the tree, the girl trailing close behind. " Now, I want to inform you that this is a type of safe space for you during the day as it prevents any magical creature from going through it. Only humans are allowed. Although, I do have to preface that there's a difference between creatures that descend from, magic and creatures that can do magic. A good example of this rule is Jack and I. He is a creature derived from magic and is not allowed to step through this in the day, and I being a human with the core and basic knowledge of magic, am allowed during the day." He spoke very fast and when he finished he took in a long breath and sighed. The girl listened thoroughly to every word he uttered but something seemed to be troubling her. " You keep on specifying that I can go here during the day. Why is that, does something happen at night?" Her tone was lased in confusion as she stopped to look around the small area.

" Well during the night this place becomes a breeding ground for death, many evil creatures come here to finish off their victims or to spend the night. This place doesn't look remotely similar at night. You'll be as good as done for if you were ever to be so unlucky as to be here untrained and unprepared past twelve. The biggest scum of this forest dwell in the night" The last few words he spoke dragged, his body seemed to tense up as he looked at her with his piercing brown eyes, which were the only thing she could see under his pale mask. "That's why unless it's something urgent do not go out in the forest at night if you're not well trained, do I make myself clear?" His tone was rough but she could tell that there was some level of concern tied within his statement, making her faintly smile.

" The first day ill be a little lenient, as to get you familiarized with the basic layout of the forest which you'll have to memorize." Clearing his throat he smirked as he slowly approached her. " I have the map to this place in my back pocket." He said stopping in front of her as he pulled out a big colourful map of the forest, the girl questioned how he was able to fit that in there. "That's why ill give you till tomorrow to learn it all." The girl's eyes went wide, she was sure he was smiling under his mask and she hated it. " What are you crazy how am I suppos-" She interjected but was soon cut off by the masked man chuckling in amusement, he got closer to her and put one of his gloved hands on her shoulder roughly pulling her towards him as he spoke.

" Well, I'm sorry to say this but there's no negotiation. Now, let's continue with our lesson. I kindly advise paying better attention to what I'm saying to make learning this by tomorrow easier. Because if you don't know let's just say things won't end well for you."

[kittyanonymity]

Team Miraculous

So uh, this was actually an accident. IDK about you guys, but I cried like a baby writing this. Always Find me Here by Transit was a heavy inspiration so maybe listen to that; also Already Over by Red. Uhhh, sorry for the angst?? 

Also this IS mlb X DC. Also also probably a one shot. 

Nevermind, here’s Part 2 lmao Part 3 

And the Actual Story: Ao3

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The Ladyblog goes live with a video.

Rena Rouge sits in front of what has to be a go pro, given the video quality; the girl is battered, bruises marring her skin, and tears are running down her face, mixing with the blood leaking from her lip. She takes a shuddering breath.

“My name is Rena Rouge, but you guys know me better as Alya Césaire. I… I don’t know why I’m telling you this now. If the code is… correct, and I did this right, then this is broadcasting internationally, despite the media blackout; and I’ll never be Rena again after this.” She sighed, her breath catching, “I just… I wanted the world to finally hear us.” Rena looked back at the camera, her eyes narrowed in rage. “For four years, Paris has been under siege by Hawkmoth, a supervillain wielding a magical broach, and his accomplice, Mayura. We’ve tried contacting the Justice League for assistance, only to be met with scorn. We-” Rena’s voice broke, and she grit her teeth, “We needed the help. Today, Paris burns.” She stands, her legs shaky, and she grabs the camera, turning it to the window of her room.

And Paris is on fire.

The Eiffel Tower is half collapsed in on itself in the distance, and the seine has flooded. Screams are faintly picked up by the microphone, and then Rena sniffles, and the camera comes back to her.

“Ladybug knows who Hawkmoth is. This marks the final battle, and I-” Her voice catches again, and her tears come fresher, more quickly, “I just want my parents to know I love them; my sisters too. I don’t know if we’ll make it out of this.” Her eyes fall, “Chat didn’t. We’re just a bunch of kids, why do we have to stop a madman?!” She’s screaming by the end of it, her chest heaving, and finally, she takes a shuddering breath, and wipes her eyes. Rena’s stare hits the camera hard.

“My name is Rena Rouge, and we have a job to do. Ladybug told me this video was ok; after today, none of us will be active. And if the League is watching…” Her eyes narrowed, “This is what you called a joke.”

The camera turns again, and with a few clicks, it’s secured around Rena’s chest. The heroine opens the window in front of her, leaping out into the dark Parisian morning. She runs across the rooftopss fluidly, until she comes upon a group.

Ladybug, Hornet, Carapace; Ryuuko, Viperion, Squeak; King Monkey, Pegasus, Bunnix; even Tora.

But no Chat Noir.

Ladybug nods at her as Rena lands; their leader is the most beat up out of all of them, her suit torn in places, leaking blood from her various cuts. Yet she stands with her back straight, despite the quiver Rena notices in her best friend’s lips. The camera is staring at Ladybug, but Rena looks at Carapace; her boyfriend hasn’t stopped crying, face set in an anguished scowl.

Alya doesn’t know how they’ll ever come back from this; the team. Her friends.

Ladybug breathes.

“This is it.” She says it quietly, but they all hear her; the world hears her.

Ladybug smiles, but it’s not even close to positive, “You have all fought by my side consistently since we were 13 years old; and I-” Her voice breaks, tears swelling in her eyes, as her hand clutches at something next to her; someone who is no longer there. “And I am honored to have known all of you, both in mask, and out. Hawkmoth has- he’s-” Ladybug grits her teeth, baring her teeth, and biting her lip until she bleeds; her voice comes out choked, “He has taken someone very dear from us; from all of us. Chat- Adrien- he was my best friend. I loved him, just like we all did.” Marinette’s breath caught, “And he’s gone. But we owe it to him to finish this. To bring that man to justice.” Her fists clenched at her side, and Rena watched as Ryuuko held Hornet close to her, the two girls crying; Rena made sure the camera saw too.

Let the world witness what they suffered.

Ladybug sighed, drawing her attention once more.

“And we will. This will end today, one way or another. I…” Pausing, Ladybug’s tears came back with a vengeance, “I cannot promise we’ll survive, you guys. I am… so so sorry.”

Ladybug turns her back, “And if you’re still with me now, then follow.” And then she leapt from the building, her yo-yo swinging out, and propelling her forward.

Towards the Agreste house.

One by one, Rena watched the heroes follow her, until she was left alone on the roof. She watched her teammates, her friends go ahead of her, and finally Alya sighed.

“I’ll follow you anywhere, Bug.”

And then she was off, catching up with her team.

The fight was messy.

Knowing where to find Gabriel was easy of course, and the world watched, horrified, as this man commanded dominion over the citizens free will; demanded they fight the heroes. By the time Ladybug and her team reached Hawkmoth’s lair, the sun had risen.

They’d cornered him in the basement, next to his wife’s coffin.

And Ladybug didn’t hold back.

“How could you!” She screamed, grief coating her words as she pulled the yo-yo tighter around Hawkmoth, “He was your son! And you killed him!”

“I didn’t know!” He roared back, and Rena was fast, but Ladybug was always faster. The girl’s fist lashed out, colliding with the man’s cheek so hard he fell to the side; Mayura yelped where Tora had her restrained.

Hawkmoth’s miraculous fell off, and Gabriel Agreste was laid bare before the world. Ladybug’s chest heaved as she took deep breaths, and then she bent down, and collected the broach; cradling it delicately. Like it was reverent.

“You have murdered my master, and your son, Gabriel. What do you have to say for yourself?” The man on the floor sobbed.

“I just wanted my wife back…” And Ladybug’s heart ached for the broken family at her feet.

But it didn’t excuse what he’d done.

Rena watched Ladybug turn to Mayura next, watched her walk over, and remove the peacock pin; Nathalie was let in her place, and Marinette growled.

“You’ll both be turned into the authorities.”

She stepped away, holding the red and black speckled object in her hands; Ladybug sighed, and mournfully, she whispered,

“Miraculous Ladybug.”

The swarm of ladybugs surrounded all of Paris, undoing the damage, the death, and Rena raced to the surface to witness it. Citizens milled about, many shocked and upset.

But there was one person who would not be back.

For when someone dies wearing their miraculous, their soul is claimed by it, and they become a part of it for the next holder.

Adrien Agreste would never wake.

Rena watched from the roof as the police showed up, and Ladybug escorted Gabriel out of the house along with Mayura.

They’d done it.

They’d won.

“Alya?”

Rena turned, and the camera was looking at Carapace as he walked up to her, and then Alya was crying.

“Nino, it’s over. We did it!” She sobbed, her hands coming up to cover her eyes, “But why doesn’t it feel like we won?” Nino pulled her into a tight hug, the camera pressed against the green of his suit.

“We’re all going to miss him Alya. There’s… There’s no replacing him.” Alya shook her head, her cries increasing.

“He didn’t deserve that, Nino! He- he-!” Nino held her tighter, burying his head in her shoulder.

“I know babe, I-I know…”

That was how the others found them, each hero joining them until finally Ladybug did as well. She only nodded, and they all left together, heading for the warehouse district.

Once they were secure, Ladybug turned to them, her expression pained.

“It’s time, guys.”

Rena watched as, one by one, each of them removed their Miraculous.

Kim and Max were first, King Monkey and Pegasus falling away; next was Tora, Juleka taking her place. Squeak goes next, and Rose is giving Mullo a teary good bye. Bunnix sighs, and then Alix is standing there, rubbing at her eyes. Luka hands his over with no preamble, giving Ladybug a small smile, and bidding Sass farewell. Ryuuko and Hornet both go next, and Kagami and Chloe hold hands while they give Ladybug their Miraculous; Pollen hugs her Chosen one more time before fading away. Nino goes next, handing Marinette the bracelet with a sad smile.

“Is… Is his ring safe?” Ladybug bites her lip as her eyes well with tears, and she only nods. Nino nods and moves aside, and now it’s only Ladybug and Rena, the others watching.

Rena smiles.

“You know I love you right, Nette?” And Ladybug’s eyes go wide behind her mask, and then she’s crying again. Alya reaches up, and removes the necklace, the magic falling away from her. The camera continues to roll. She hands over the jewelry, giving Trixx one last hug as they go.

But Alya is crying, staring at the girl who has been her hero and best friend for the last four years; the girl who has literally carried the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Ladybug finally nods, a pained look on her face.

“I know, Alya. I love you too.”

And then Ladybug is turning, a portal opening up in front of her.

“I’ll… see you guys sometime.”

And then the portal closes and Ladybug - Marinette - is gone; and Alya’s knees hit the concrete of the warehouse as her body shakes with the force of her cries.

The stream ends as the battery on Alya’s go pro dies, and the world echoes with the cries of a broken girl.

It is silent otherwise.

Bruce Wayne clutches the remains of a shattered glass in his hand as the broadcast ends. The blood on his hands has long since dried.

He needs to make a call.

END? NOPE!

Part 1 :HERE: Part 2 Part 3

Ao3

[foreficfandom]

Mystic Messenger - Domestic Disputes And Bad Habits (mysme x MC)

--- Zen ---

He hadn’t lived with anyone for years. After running away from home, he struggled with housing, sometimes couch surfing and sometimes he had legitimate leases. And when he lived with others, he was usually the ‘messy roommate’ because leaving home at a young age meant little opportunity to learn how to manage a living space. 

Even now, his apartment is relatively clean largely by virtue of him not owning a lot of stuff. He doesn’t cook so no dishes to clean, he doesn’t own loose knick knacks to spread around. 

When he housed you for a couple days prior to the first RFA party, he had quickly cleaned his apartment of empty beer cans and loose socks, which made it look like he was a man who kept a clean house. But unfortunately, that wasn’t the case, and by the next afternoon you noticed random articles tossed over chairs and upon the floor.

That was fine when it was only his space, but when the two of you began living together, Zen quickly had to learn that it wasn’t acceptable to shed his clothing upon the floor all the time, especially when the laundry basket was right there. No, Zen, get your loose socks out of the couch cushions. Zen, stop piling up empty cigarette boxes on the nightstand. Zen, once you’ve unwrapped the sheet mask from its plastic envelope would it kill you to throw it away, instead of leaving it on the bathroom counter?

He’s consistent when it comes to chores like doing the laundry and taking out the trash. But asking him to hang up his jacket instead of letting it crumple in the corner? It’s like getting blood from a stone. 

After a while, you finally get him to pick up after himself. “It’s our home, now,” you said. “Not just yours.” A promise that said he wasn’t alone, anymore. And he took it to heart.  

--- Yoosung ---

It may seem like his depression-ruled lifestyle seemed to change overnight, but that wasn’t the case. Sure, he did regain a lot of his motivation and energy, but simply getting a new lease on life won’t overrule years of neglecting yourself.

You’d text him in preparation for a date, only to arrive and find out he hasn’t even left his bed since he replied with an ‘I’ll get ready!’ More than once your dates had to be rescheduled because Yoosung had been stuck in bed, or still in his pajamas on his desktop. 

On the third time you voiced your complaints, Yoosung got a bit defensive. He couldn’t help it, it’s hard for him to maintain a tidy schedule after so long lacking the proper will. 

It was a terse discussion. Your first couple fight, if you will. “Yoosung, are you sure you’re okay? You don’t want to seek professional help?” “No, MC, I’m fine. What could a counselor possibly help me with?”

It was Yoosung’s own initiative to finally google some nearby therapists during a particularly slow morning. He didn’t tell you he’d been seeing someone until four sessions in, since he struggles with the idea that he might need help. You hug him tightly and treat the both of you to tasty pastries at a cute bakery. 

Yoosung took his therapy to heart. He started slow, working on self-affirming mindfulness and motivating himself to tidy his living space. Then he worked on his time management, which helped his schooling and energy both. 

Within the year, both you and Yoosung saw progress. He felt better, which made his life better. More time to live. More time to spend with you.

--- Jaehee ---

Domestic arguments didn’t arise until you moved in with her. Before that point, Jaehee and you meshed so gracefully, it was damn near magical. 

Even moving into her place and having to carry around heavy couches and unpack a million boxes didn’t dampen that honeymoon phase. You loved witnessing Jaehee’s hidden strength as she tugged your mattress down seven flights of stairs. 

But within a week of living with her, you noticed that you and her ... clashed when it came to interior living. You kept using up the hot water before Jaehee could take a shower. She would misplace your possessions thoughtlessly. The both of you thought each other as messier. 

It was like a new roommate situation. At first, the two of you tried to calmly talk these things out. But new issues would arise after the old ones were resolved. She didn’t like how you tossed your coat across the desk chair, or left the living room lamps on during the night. 

“It’s my apartment, MC!” “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought being your co-owner at the cafe we co-manage meant my co-money go into our co-rent!”

Jaehee went to work in a huff, leaving you to your own devices. Alone in the apartment, you decided to do some regular chores, and as you rested for a minute you absorbed the living space - you could see Jaehee’s touch in ever corner, thoughtfully and carefully labored over. It really almost seemed like your mindless efforts were invading her space.

When Jaehee returned that evening, the two of you tried to apologize at the same time. “Oh, sorry, you go -” “No, you, sorry for interrupting -”

“It’s just ... MC, I want to apologize for treating you like a naughty guest. You’re my partner now and deserve more say in our home.”

You made up and eventually the apartment evolved into a true home between the two of you. A perfect representation of your love.

--- Jumin ---

The dude can be shockingly conservative. In the beginning, it only manifested in him being somewhat of a prude. “I wish you wouldn’t wear that particular dress to the social. You look more beautiful when you show less skin.” “... you mean you’d personally prefer I didn’t show much skin, right?” “Yes? What was wrong with my previous sentence?”

But sometimes he’d be watching the news and blurt out, “I’m not sure if marriage between two men should be recognized by law.” Which leads to you trying to convince him that he’s being very unethical. 

He usually ends up saying something like, “I’m sorry, love, I’m rather uneducated when it comes to this issue,” and leave it at that. Because he’s not some right-wing jackass or anything, he just grew up in an isolated Christian family and never really got to socialize beyond that. So he never learned about viewpoints that challenged what he heard growing up.

It can be infuriating, though, especially with issues you’re concerned about. Because Jumin just kinda tries to compromise by taking a non-stance, since he just doesn’t have a strong opinion on things like reproductive rights or colonialism. It’s partially due to his sheltered background, and partially due to being raised to literally be conservative in his life dealings.

But after seeing you becoming more and more frustrated, he digs a little deeper and realizes that he’s kinda being an ass.  Eventually he begins to say things like, “I think you’re right, MC. Demonizing drug abusers is antithesis to their recovery. They deserve sympathy instead.”

But a pleasant surprise is his appreciation for climate conservation. He likes to donate and fund green power initiatives because he believes in preserving the environment and preventing nature exploitation. You join his efforts, and he finally understands how important it is to have solidarity from your significant other.

--- Saeyoung/707 ---

Being merely twenty-three years old (not to mention his neglected upbringing) leads to some rocky relationship problems. His self-doubt and anxiety can go wild during his worse days, making him revert back to his colder personality and try to push you away once more.

It doesn’t manifest as just him ignoring you. His mind can make him do some really round-about sabotaging. One day, you open the kitchen cabinets to see it all the objects thrown within haphazardly. You confronted Saeyoung and it took hours before he coldly confessed that he was considering throwing away all your favorite foods, before realizing how fucked up that would be and quickly replacing it all again. 

He knew it was his mother’s influence talking. And the thought made him sick. 

Sometimes, you responded to his darker days with loving patience and lots of hugs while he allows himself to break down. Sometimes, you choose to distance yourself a bit. Either way, Saeyoung’s mood eventually evens out. The two of you talk at length about why he feels the way he does, and why he’s propelled to do these things. As time goes on, his dark moods pop up less and less.

On a lighter note, Saeyoung can be a pretty messy dude. Partly because of his underlying mental issues, partly because that’s the type of guy he is. He doesn’t shower as much as you like him to, and he tosses trash just ... everywhere. If his bunker wasn’t so big, the clutter he alone produces would bury you both. No wonder he needed a ‘maid’. 

Yeah, it takes more than a few pushes to make him stop being a slob. He eventually owns up, but not without some effort. Everyone living in the house is grateful. 

--- Saeran ---

It took many months before Saeran felt stable enough to start integrating into normal society, and even longer before his daily schedule began to stabilize beyond surprise breakdowns, spreads of bad days spent holed up, or horrible dips in moods.

Saeran would always live with dissociative identity disorder, and during the first few years it could get tough. Both ‘Suit’ and Ray would be triggered seemingly without warning, and sometimes last for days. Ray did anything he could to earn your affection, ‘Suit’ defected his fears by trying to provoke you. 

Therapy and medication was an ongoing process. You and Saeran went through more than a couple of therapists before finding the ‘one’. Medications had to be tried then dropped because of side effects, or lack of effectiveness. There were long periods of months in-between where all he could do was hope this new treatment would be more effective than the last.

‘Suit’ once got particularly violent with you, not hitting but shaking you by the shoulders and screaming in your face, “Just say it!! You hate me ... you want to hurt me!!”

You found 'Suit’ later, crying and curled up in a corner. After long coaxing, he confessed that he was so afraid you were eventually going to hurt him, so he was pushing you to see if you’d do it. 

And Ray’d do things like blow away all his saved up money to buy you gifts in a desperate show of affection. Just because the two of you were living in a safe, stable environment doesn’t mean old haunts wouldn’t pop up.

Saeran eventually got better and better. Looking back now, Saeran is so much happier. He never lets you forget your amazing influence on him. “Thank you for saving me, my love.” 

--- Jihyun ---

He’s the perfect example of a loving boyfriend. After his two years spent in a therapeutic journey of self-discovery, he returned ready to be a reliable partner. And for the most part, he lived up to it, barring some moments where he accidentally gets sucked into bad memories.

Insomnia is the most common problem. Settling down to sleep means his mind gets easily swamped, and when he does manage to sleep he wakes up during the night and gets overwhelmed with memories once again. Some nights are worse than others.

He tries not to get up from the bed to avoid waking you too, but you eventually develop a second sense for his insomnia spells and you can feel it when he’s struggling. Then he feels bad that he’s affecting you this way.

See, that’s his problem that he can’t resolve on his own. He thinks of his problems as obstacles that bother others, and not the obstacles themselves. This prevents him from finding ways to truly resolve them. 

“I’m sorry, MC. Go back to sleep.” “... Jihyun, how many nights has it been since you’ve slept properly?” He measures it by the nights you’ve been kept awake too, and you stop him there.

“Don’t you see? It’s not about me. Think about your own health.”

And that’s not easy for him. He had obsessed over being a figure that offers unconditional love for so long, it’s hard to shed it. He thinks of his mother and his eyes grow wet. 

He and you find a relationship therapist, and it helps a lot. Jihyun’s two years of self-discovery did wonders for his mood, but it took a bit of professional aid to really unravel the really complicated stuff. 

He feels his state of thinking shift gradually, and it makes his life less cloudy, less stuck in those bad memories and regrets. Instead, he goes to sleep every night thinking about how much he loves you and his family. His heart falls asleep feeling light instead of heavy. 

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Oral Tradition

It was a little past midnight as the weary-eyed students picked up their luggage from the jet. The entire back of the plane had lifted up and a conveyor belt rolled out the attack aircraft they would be using  for the mission. It was like the big Beluga whale plane was giving birth to a killer barracuda.

The jet was outfitted with high powered explosives. The outer shell was made of a material that would shatter and turn into thousands of razor blades, just like the Storm Torpedo had shattered Norton. Huge turrets were armed not with bullets but with thousands of needle-like projectiles like how the sky weapon had devastated Herzog. It was as if the Gear Department had taken all the technology that had been used against the dragons in recent years and put it all in one airborne package.

Brian stood, his duffle bag over one shoulder, watching Ru’Yi collect her things. She seemed sleepy but still bright and happy. He didn’t try to say hi. Their last encounter was humiliating enough. 

It has always understood that through training and learning, even the least of the Hybrids could excel in all sorts of missions in regards to dragonslaying. From the beginning, Brian had distinguished himself in that regard. But at the same time, it was understood that pedigree and bloodline could close the gap between lack of education and training.

He was sure she didn’t mean anything by it personally. She just laid out the facts to him. Ru’Yi’s father and her mother were confirmed slayers of Dragon Kings. She had a better pedigree than even the Executive Department head. Bloodline wasn’t everything, but it was one of the ways you were evaluated. Even though she was not nearly as skilled as the rest, the crowd around her couldn’t help but part now that she had so clearly conveyed to them who exactly she was. She wasn’t even aware of their reverence. She just smiled and nodded in surprise assuming they were being chivalrous when they offered to carry her bags.

He should have taken the hint from his friend Aaron but she definitely put him in his place in her own way. He had no right object any longer.

Aaron stayed next to him, grinning ear to ear.  He raised his face to the warm sea breeze and sighed. “You look like a kicked dog. Cheer up will you?”

He tilted his head to him. “Sure.”

A uniformed woman, tall, with turtle shell glasses, stepped in front of them all. A small smile graced her lips. Her skin was an exceptionally dark and silky ebony. “I’ll be taking you to your accommodations. Please follow me.” Without waiting for confirmation, she turned and started to lead them down a narrow staircase to a passageway below deck.

“Welcome to the Aido-Hwedo. For the unfamiliar, she is a Yorktown-class Aircraft carrier, staffed with 1,273 persons, not including yourselves. We sail for months at a time patrolling for any sign of dragon activity. We are currently carrying 76 aircraft: 10 Seahawk helicopters, 35 Hornets and 31 Super Hornets. Your fighter the Javelin will be making the entry into the weather anomaly but we are here to support you in any way possible. The goal of this mission will be maximum air superiority.”

Despite the age of the vessel, everything was new and state of the art. The halls were spacious enough for them to walk unobstructed even as it was bustling with people. “My name is Lieutenant Summer Hart and I’m going to be your main point of contact.” She turned on her heel to face them. “This cooperation is based on the association with Mr. Baldwin as well as on the goodwill furnished by Principal Anjou. You are representatives and ambassadors here. So don’t do anything to make Anjou sigh in heaven.” She paused a moment and then smiled. “Oh… who am I kidding, we all know he’s in Hell.”

A ripple of soft laughter came from the group. They all had no experience with Anjou in real life, but his reputation for ruthlessness outlived any other trait he had.

Lieutenant Hart continued walking down the hall. “Because you are guests here, we won’t hold you to the full responsibilities of a sailor, however, we are expecting you to be on your best behavior and to follow the schedule of the ship. You are to report at 6 am for roll call. Breakfast is at 8 am. Lunch at 12 noon and dinner at 5 pm. If you are in need of anything we do have a shopping area here on board. As a guest, you are not expected to pay but please…” She glanced behind her. “Do not abuse the privilege.”

“Part of your responsibilities will be keeping your living area clean and tidy. We do not have maid staff on this voyage. At 9 am, your sleeping area will be thoroughly checked for cleanliness and infractions will be reported. Any contraband will be confiscated.” 

The hallway came to an end and she swiped her card. The wall panel suddenly slid open and they were led to what appeared to be something almost like a hospital ward with white walls lined with art and fluorescent lighting.. “This is where you’ll be sleeping. It’s cramped I know but you won’t be here for very long. I know you’re tired from the journey.”

She suddenly turned to Ru’Yi. “Sleeping areas are strictly separated by gender so I’ll show you to the women’s quarters.” She gave the others a fierce glare. “No men are allowed in the women’s area. If you are seen there you will be thrown into the brig. The area is clearly marked.”

Ru’Yi gave a shy little wince. “I guess I have a room to myself?”

“Not really. We weren’t …” Lieutenant Hart paused, rethinking finishing that sentence. Then her smile returned. “We can discuss that later.” She raised her eyes to the rest of the group. “Do you have any questions?”

Shimoda Masato raised his hand. “This is my first time working with the West Africa Branch. Can you tell me a little about your history?”

Liutenant Hart gave a curt nod. “Hybrids have always existed in Africa. While Mesopotamia is traditionally held as the ‘cradle of civilization’, it was the African plains and low forests that birthed humanity itself. We have the oldest relationship and conflict with dragons and their kind.”

She continued. “Our oral history cannot be fully explained by your traditions of the Dark King and the Light King. Our Creation Traditions do have dual gods, Mawu and Lisa. They are Brother and Sister as well as Husband and Wife.  Mawu is Female and Lisa is Male.”

Ru’Yi rubbed her chin.  “Mawu and Lisa are the same Dark King and the Light King?”

Summer Hart shook her head. “We cannot make that assumption. There are too many differences that cannot be explained by Cassell’s traditional knowledge.”

Aaron had an eager expression, pushing to the front of the group.  “Can you give us a brief run down?”

Summer looked a bit tired but couldn’t resist such an enthusiastic and curious audience. . “It was Mawu who created the earth while riding the Rainbow serpent, Aido-Hwedo, sliding across the ground and creating the hills and mountains. After the creation was finished, Mawu felt that the Earth would sink under its own weight, so she tasked Aido-Hwedo to support the earth in its strong coils under the sea.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “In Cassell tradition, there are two Dragon Gods over all dragons, the Dark King Nidhogg and the Light King Izanami. However, in our tradition, the creator duality itself has a parent: Minona. Our traditions are passed down from her, the Mother of the Earth’s creators. She taught us to use the palm tree to tell the future, that is… Alchemy. Minona herself is a twin, sister to the god Legba, which is consistent with draconic relationships and lore. Legba is the one who gave us our Soul Skills.”

The students were whispering and murmuring among themselves after receiving so much new information.

“So, what you’re saying is there are more than two dragon gods? Then how come we don’t read about them in other histories?” Aaron asked, with a puzzled frown.

Summer Hart gave him a kind but pointed look. “Because our traditions are oral, my dear friend. We did not write them down. There are no temples to explore, no ruins, no clay tablet to find.”

Aaron sighed mournfully. “I’m sure Anjou was really curious about it too. It’s a shame he didn’t get to know any of this. I would have loved to have taken a class.”

Summer didn’t respond to that. She simply turned back to the group. “Any other questions?”

Brian lifted his hand. “What sort of kit is on this ship besides the planes?

“The ship is equipped with 8 Mark 12 5"/38 caliber guns, 45 Bofor antiaircraft guns, 32 Oerlikon cannons. All are modified to deal with dragon targets rather than fighter jets. We’re running heavy with alchemy rounds.”

Aaron blinked in shock. He didn’t expect so much artillery. “From the gear department?” 

She shook her head. “We have our own engineers and alchemists to take care of our needs. But please do not be concerned. We pride ourselves on our alchemical prowess and we have a long history of dragon slaying.”

Aaron raised his hand again. “By any chance we could maybe learn more about your type of Alchemy and Soul skills?”

“I will have to ask the brass but… highly unlikely.” She checked her watch. “I will have to take our lone lady to her sleeping quarters. I suggest you get as much rest as you can.”

[fuckyeahharryhart]

PART 3 HARRY HART FAN FICTION Because they better give him a good story for the last Kingsman. In case they don’t, I wrote something myself.

PART  3

FAN FIC

KINGSMAN III: REDACTED

MULTI PART SERIES:(My version of Kingsman 3)

Harry Hart x Original Character

Warnings: Reference to violence

Word Count: 5,000

OVERVIEW: After the events of Kingsman, The Golden Circle, Harry, Eggsy and the rest of the survivors rebuild their agency to it’s former level of integrity. A new player arrives unexpectedly, carrying memories of the past that will change the future of Kingsman.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Gwendolyn, having played her last card, shares a drink with Harry and Eggsy while she tells them who she is, where she came from and why she was spying on them.

------

The Black Prince Public House stood on a quiet corner in South London’s, Kensington. The pub dated back to the early 20th century and its name referred to the road where it stood. The wall were painted a dark forest green with black trim. Its name was displayed in gold. It was the place to go, its sign stated, for FINE ALES AND STOUT, but the three patrons inside, seated at one of the booths at the rear, decided that something a little stronger was appropriate after the evening’s turn of events.

Gwendolyn decided this was a drink she was waiting for her whole life and, therefore, if she was going to “celebrate”, was not the right word, perhaps “commemorate the occasion” was a better term, she was going to do it properly. She had acquired a taste for fine scotch and chose accordingly. She was quite sure the two men were slightly taken aback when she ordered three The Macallan 25’s, neat, for the table. She was fairly certain that this warm, friendly, unassuming neighbourhood pub would not carry The Maccallan M Edition, or the Silver Jubilee, or the Dalmore 64.  so she didn’t inquire, but even the cost of the three glasses would be relatively extravagant. The price wasn’t a concern of hers and she was sure it wasn’t a concern of the Kingsman, whose coffers went deep. She wasn’t beyond offending any gentlemanly sensibilities this evening. They were beyond chivalry. And she wasn’t about to tolerate either of them possibly ordering for her.

The two men regarded her if she were a new species of female. She probably was. There were female Kingsman agents, but they too, followed Kingsman protocol, regardless of gender. The behaviour, actions, mannerisms of all Kingsman were consistent, familiar, reliable, while she was under no such constraints.  If her behaviour this evening was unseemly, “unladylike”, she really couldn’t give a rat’s arse. She was here for a reason and her methods got her job done. Perhaps with less grace and finesse than she was hoping for, but she got her results.

The three short tumblrs of scotch were placed in front of them. It had been a very long time since The Black Black Prince had poured not one, but three from that particular bottle. As it was custom that the host, or hostess for this matter, make a toast and she didn’t yet make a move toward her glass, the two men waited to follow her lead. So now they decide to be polite, she thought.

“Well, then.” she began. She was slightly irritated at their seemingly perfect presentation, at least on Harry’s part. Eggsy was not beyond taking a more relaxed shape and leaned back into the booth. His tie was loosened and his suit coat unbuttoned. His hair slightly mused even though he did not participate in any of the more physical aspects of their evening, as if that was its natural state. He would have shrugged out of his jacket if it weren’t for his shoulder holster.

Harry Hart, returned back to his gentlemanly demeanour, sat straight, but comfortably, his suit and tie still perfectly in place. Even his hair had somehow returned to its initial state, smooth waves brushed back into shape. It made her feel somewhat uncomfortable to see him so poised after the physical contact they had made. She had flipped him over her head, had a knife to his throat, kicked him fairly hard in the shin, and he looked none the worse for wear. Only his expression, equal parts indignant, concerned, and vaguely offended, revealed that anything of interest had occurred.

In contrast, even turning toward him was likely to throw her off balance. A feeling she did not enjoy one bit. Just her quick glance in his direction and she could feel him behind her again, pressing against her, the long line of his legs, the broadness of his chest across her back, the sheer size of him, the smell of his wool suit and the cologne, soap or whatever made him smell so good and she felt a rush of blood rise up to her cheeks. She clenched her jaw and flushed. She was hoping that they would take it for her high emotional state after their confrontation, not the fact that she found herself neatly attracted to a man she only just met and almost twice her age.

His refined manner only made her that much more aware of her own disheveled state. Her hair, a black cloud that had been blown all over, her pedestrian attire, though not unattractive, in no way matched the elegance of their Kingsman suits. No cosmetics, no adornment, not that those elements of her outward appearance were particularly important to her, in the face of their stately masculinity, she felt decidedly unfeminine. And regardless of her feelings, she knew that her looks were as much of a tool for a spy as her words or actions. She convinced herself she wasn’t concerned just because she wanted Harry to find her attractive.

Her personal feelings seeped into her professional persona. She reeled back her thoughts and replaced them with a cool, calm, collected mindset with a specific objective. If she kept her personal feelings at bay now, she could let it all out after her mission was accomplished. She drilled into her brain, be smart now, feel later.

Until she felt differently, she approached this as she would any other meeting of an asset or target. What she needed from the relationship and how could she get them to do what she wanted was just as much about finding out what they needed, and how to make it seem she was giving them what they wanted.  Almost every relationship was based on a desire to be heard and understood. Wants and needs were always self-revealed, unwittingly or intently. She just had to listen.

Unfortunately, for this first meeting, she would be the one doing most of the talking. She knew being genuine, sincere, and honest, would be in her best interest.  The more and better we are heard and understood, she thought, the more we are willing to and want to engage and respond. The sensation of being listened to was a powerful motivator and feeling enhancer to all people, it was human nature.  It was why we befriended those that listened to us, worked for those that heard us, and fell in love with those that understood us.

——

“Well” she repeated, refocusing. She shifted her posture, drew her shoulders back, lifted her head a little higher, and held the space around her. Composing herself just as she would with any new asset would put her back on target. Remember your training.

“I’m sure you have many questions.” She opened up the table.

Harry, as direct as she, got right to the point.

“How are we to trust that you are really Merlin’s daughter? He never spoke of family.”

He folded his hands together, looking stern with a slight narrowing of his eyes, his brow with just a hint of a furrow.

Harry’s eyes roved over her, her posture, hands, the angles of her face. He listened to the inflections of her voice, searching for any tells that might indicate she was being less than honest. He looked for any hint of the tall Scotsman in this young woman. The loss of Merlin was still a wound that was raw. For both he and Eggsy. He wouldn’t tolerate anyone using his death as an excuse, no matter the reason, but especially if it was a false one.

“He wouldn’t have.” She replied bluntly. “

“ How much did you know of Hamish?” She asked.

She emphasised the pronunciation of his given name. Hay-mish.

“That is, before he came to Kingsman.”

The two men glanced at each other, but did not speak. Admittedly, they did not know of Merlin’s past. He never offered, and as gentleman, they never asked. They both knew that spies usually became spies because of something dark and fucked up from their past, and Harry had no doubt this was the same for Merlin. Hence, he never questioned his unwillingness to disclose his life prior to Kingsman. Harry was the same, just as unwilling to divulge his own personal information.

Eggsy, “That doesn’t mean anything. Anyone can say that.”

Harry leaned forward slightly, emphasising the importance of his words. They were low and sharp.

“If you really are who you say you are, then you know that his loss is one that we still feel every day.”

He shot a glance toward Eggsy, who more than anyone, felt the weight of his death.

“We will not condone anyone using his name for their own motives. Have you proof?”

She surveyed them for a moment. She considered her words and chose them with care. Her words were all she had and they carried a heavy weight. They had to be strong enough to deliver the message she was about to send. He eyes moved to her drink, still untouched.  Mindfulness was key. As was paying attention to their responses, observing them with the intent to understand. Through her words, she would see how they felt, what they were thinking, and most of all, what they wanted or needed.

She cleared her throat. She met one pair of eyes and then the other.  She poised herself to say something that, to her, held the utmost honour and importance. She took a deep breath in. At the end of her exhalation, she spoke. Her voice was low as well. Her words were even more powerful for her lack of emotion.

“My father’s favorite song was ‘Country Roads.’ by John Denver.”

The entire room seemed to suddenly quiet with stupefaction.

“My father was singing it, when he stepped off of a land mine to save both of your lives. And to save your mission. For my father, the mission always came first.”

For the two men, this was an impossible statement. No one, set aside Eggsy and himself had that knowledge. Not even other Kingsman.

Harry spoke, this time with frank disbelief. He wasn’t even questioning her. He was asking himself. Out loud. Without his familiar strength and surety.

“That is impossible. There is no possible way you could know that.”

With the same poise, the same simplicity, she explained.

“I was there when he died.” Observing their state of bewilderment, she clarified. “Via satellite and reconnaissance drones.” Which didn’t ease their confusion.

“If you worked with my father, you knew he was a brilliant strategist. He wasn’t merely good, he was gifted. He had the talent of an artist. Some of that talent filtered down to me. I’ll never be as good as he was, but I was good enough to hack the communication band that Statesman had in place for reconnaissance and I had access to audio and visual of the events that led to, and after his death.”

Impossible would never have the same meaning for them again. Because this young woman’s story was utterly impossible. Yet, here it was, an impossible situation.  

She turned slightly toward Eggsy and held his blue eyes with her grey. Her voice took on an undefinable emotion, “I know that he took your place on a land mine, Eggsy.”

And with that confession, he was forced to drop his gaze. Is this how Harry felt when he had to tell him that it was due to Harry’s own mistake that Eggy’s father died? Guilt was physical. It was a crushing weight on his chest that made it hard to breathe.

“I know that he died in the way that he wanted.”

She added with a note of empathy and understanding to slightly ease their guilt and their shock.  

“He was able to give his life for those close to him.”

Neither of the men could think of anything to say. Harry Hart, who was never at a loss for words, found himself unable to find a single word that would be appropriate for a time and situation like this.

Gwendolyn sighed internally. At least now she had their full attention. She was quite certain that she would not be interrupted this time around.

“Perhaps,”  she said. Her voice now carried a softer note. It was not the voice of an agent. It was the voice of a daughter.

“Perhaps, I should start at the beginning”.

“But first.” she paused and picked up her glass, holding her arm out toward the men, the glass in her hand.

Harry and Eggsy, first exchanging a look in the other’s direction, followed suit. Each man took a glass and waited, with the warm golden liquid breaking up the lines of dim light that hovered over their table.

She suddenly felt overcome once more, as she had been when she first stepped off the train and onto the concourse on her arrival. She channeled that emotion into her toast, which was brief and heartbreaking in its simplicity.

Holding up her glass, “To my father, Hamish Mycroft.” She paused. “And to Merlin.”

Each of them held the gaze of the other two as their glasses touched with a light, crisp ring. Each drank back its contents.

——

As three glasses hit the hardwood of the table. Gwendolyn began to speak. Her story was a long and complicated one. And unfortunately, the two men could tell, it would be a sad one. An unknown daughter of a colleague that you’ve known for most of your adult life doesn’t suddenly appear after his death with good news.

“My father, whose given name was Hamish Mycroft, was married. He had three children. Two boys and a girl. I was the youngest.”

The slightly blank, yet confused faces made it seem like she had already given them more information than they could process. She paused, gestured to the barkeep for another round. The scotch would do good to kick in soon, because her story was not going to get any easier.

“Before he had a family, he worked with far east intelligence, recruited after his time in the army, where he had been stationed in Tibet, Bhutan, and other East Asian territories.”

She nodded her thanks to the barman, who delivered their second round of drinks. The scotch should have been savoured, but she felt at the time, a tip back for her father was right, even though he would have been horrified to see her shoot back a scotch of such high quality. This one however, she would sip.

“While he was working as a field operative at the station in Bhutan, he met a very beautiful Bhutanese woman, Evelyn, my mother, who was also working intelligence, but as a handler. Based on their skill assessment, they were assigned to work as a team. They would run missions together. My father as the operative. My mother, his handler. Hence, I myself am half Scottish, half Bhutanese. If you’ve had difficulty pinpointing my ethnicity. It’s not a common pairing.”

“Even though the agency opposed ‘close and continuing’, inter-agency relationships and relationships in general, Hamish believed that he could live a normal life. That he could have a wife and family despite working in intelligence. They were an example of having a successful home life in addition to a successful career and they were very happy for a long time.”

Merlin as a husband and father were the farthest roles that Harry and Eggsy could imagine him in. The brusk, often testy, disagreeable scotsman, with all the warmth of a potato, with a wife and children.

Gwendolyn continued with her story. Pausing after a long stretch for a sip of her scotch, but for the most part, continuously and without any interruption from the two men. They were both a bit stupefied that one of their closest, most respected and trusted colleagues had an entire past of which they had no knowledge.

—

Hamish was smitten at first glance. On Evelyn’s side, it was more appropriate to say that she tolerated his presence . And even that was putting things kindly. Eventually, he was able to win her over with his rough Scottish brogue, his biting sense of humour and dry wit. Underneath the sarcasm and abrupt, even gruff personality, she sensed a very kind soul who possessed a good heart. It was simply being protected by a shield designed to keep people at arms length.

Though as handler and operative, there could be no shields. There could not be even a hairs breadth distance between a team, let alone an arms length. The operative’s life was literally in the hands of the handler. If they weren’t working, existing, breathing as one, it would be only a matter of time until the operative would find himself in a position where he needed his handler, but the handler wouldn’t be able to provide. Or the agent, not fully trusting his handler, withheld crucial information, therefore setting up his handler to fail in the case where he needs life threatening assistance. These relationships often ended in the death of the operative, as he had to fully entrust not only the capability of his handler, but also fully trust the person behind his earpiece. The relationship had to be based, on not only on professional compatibility, but on a personal and emotional connection as well.  Whatever jesting nature, or standoffish front either of them first presented to each other dissolved when they were on mission. The trust was profound. It was scary to know the circumstances they had been through together and how much each of them put their lives in the hands of the other.

Their relationship was highly personal, intense, and emotional. The nature of their relationship was a powerful force behind their choice to be together and to devote their loyalties to a single agency, with a singular mission, to preserve life and to protect the innocent. However, this often resulted in taking out some very bad, very large, very powerful players off the world’s stage. When they both proved themselves more than capable individually, and even beyond exceptional as a team, they were brought on to the Maximum Threat, Maximum Risk Special Operations Division, or MTMR.

The MTMR, only dealt with the worst of the worst, and then the unthinkable of the worst. These were the terrorists, the warlords, those with enough power and influence to bypass almost any law, any treaty and any world decree. Those who would violate human rights and the rules of engagement. They were the worst of the worst, but also the lowest of the low. In their eyes, life was a commodity to be traded, abused or without value and discarded at will. This is what happened when psychopaths achieved power. Without empathy, without a conscious, without a sense of right or wrong or any moral accountability, without any value of life. These were the most dangerous and most difficult enemies to engage. Not only could they commit the most horrible atrocities, they were usually narcissists as well, dynamic, charismatic, even charming. Therefore, their inner circle was comprised of sycophants who provided his narcissistic supply. They eliminated those that were either immune to their charms, or were beginning to understand the true nature of their personality, which was that of a very highly functioning psychopath.

In this division, Hamish did not operate in the field, but joined Evelyn in strategic planning and outcomes. They worked as a team. Hamish, with his knowledge of the field as a Special Operations Officer, possessed the skills to operate weapons and explosives, to take on missions to gather intelligence and destroy targets in hostile environments. He knew the dangers, the variables, the best strategies.

Evelyn provided critical thinking.  She had the ability to predict outcomes, to make the most difficult life and death decisions without hesitation and be a leader to her team . The pair became an invaluable asset to the division. It was proof to them, when the agency acknowledged their value, not as separate agents, not as a handler and operative, but as a team, that they could be in the world of espionage as husband and wife with a family. The agency saw that their success was based on not only their expertise, but BECAUSE of, not despite their relationship. The closeness, the sheer absolute trust that they had in each other, and their love kept them committed to each other and their work. They experienced both a fulfilling family life and successful professional life for longer than anyone could hope for in their line of work.

During their successful tenure in the MTMR Special Ops, one operation took precedence over all others. They were both actively involved, not only in gathering intel, but in the entire intelligence cycle.  First, with planning, identifying possible threats and what they needed to know about the threat with world leaders and decision makers. Collection, which was the division they both began in, the physical collection of target information through operations. Analysis, examining the new information, looking for connections, key points, new developments, and combining it with what they already knew, creating useful and actionable intelligence. Lastly, was Dissemination, where the new intelligence was discussed with politicians and decision makers who then decided whether to take action or if more information was needed.

It was during one of these cycles, where Evelyn and Hamish were assigned as head officers of a mission. It was a mission that resulted from intel that their team had collected, analysed and produced. The target was an international underground world leader, not of any established or recognised government. He threatened to destabilise society. Not through government or any means of authority. He wasn’t targeting positions of leadership. He wasn’t engaging in the trickle down theory. He was starting at the bottom. First, was taking out crops, tainting water supplies, poisoning livestock. He did not bother with small areas. He targeted the largest ones. Locations with the most impact and the widest effect.  Civil unrest was next. Which turned into peaceful demonstrations. Then came active protest. Followed by violent protest. Then it was rioting, looting. And when fear took hold, it was domestic terrorism. He was using the countries own people to destabilise the structure, the foundation of civilisation, which was based on people working together.

Apparently, he was not one to follow the saying, “The fish rots from the head down.” Meaning that without sound leadership, the people will eventually turn bad and die off. When in actuality, the guts, the contents of the fish begins to rot first. Perhaps the warlord followed this philosophy. Corrupt the innovators, the providers, the creators of sustenance, essentially the life givers, and civilised society will begin to rot from, not the head down, but from the inside out.

In conjunction with the US, the British Armed Forces and other key international allies, they were able to coordinate an airstrike. It was successful in so much that they destroyed their enemies home base, their world HQ and well as almost all of their high level leadership. However, they missed their main target. Also on the strike list, was the home of Azal Aamon, which was where he was supposed to be at the time of the strike. His family, wife and two children were to be collateral damage. Unfortunate, but sometimes unavoidable in times of war. But after reviewing the DNA evidence to confirm the targets as deceased, his family was identified, but Aamon’s DNA was not found. No one had knowledge of how he was able to avoid or survive the attack. The last piece of intel that they had verified, was his location at the time of fire.

———

Inside the Black Prince, Gwendolyn paused. She reached for her drink, lifted the glass to her lips, and took a small sip. Harry saw her jaw working as she let the scotch rest on her palate, allowing it to reach all the areas of her tongue so she could appreciate its aromatic notes before she swallowed.  It was a gesture he was familiar with, one that he made every time he enjoyed his own drink, but it was especially interesting to see this decidedly, he was not a sexist in any way, shape or form, but this particularly male gesture take shape on her extremely feminine and delicate face. He felt decidedly uncomfortable. So he simply took her lead and followed suit with a swallow of his own. As did Eggsy, who was leaning forward at this point, his elbows on the table and his tie even more undone, as were the few top buttons of his shirt. Harry as always, remained properly attired.

She looked at both of them, her eyes inquiring, silently asking if they had any questions, if they needed any clarifications, to see if they understood. To confirm that they believed her.

Harry was particularly intrigued. Out of all the coincidences that seemed to be happening, he knew precisely, the mission she was referring to. The British Armed Forces did take part in the Aamon mission and he knew this because he was part of the BAF at that time.  He had been directly involved in the operations side of the mission. How was it possible that he had this experience in common with Merlin and it never came up in conversation? He thought back to the rare times where they would share stories, sometimes while waiting out a mission, or after a successful one, over a drink just like this. He recalled sharing a few stories from his time in the military, but thinking back, could not recall a single instance that Merlin even mentioned his time in the army, or anything really prior his employment with Kingsman. Harry only knew that he had been military. Out of all the possible connections that they had, one of the biggest ones that they shared remained unknown until after his death.

Gwendoyn was regarding him thoughtfully, knowing that he had made some kind of connection or realisation, but she didn’t mention it and he was grateful. He tipped his head, asking her to please continue.

“As you can imagine, this was seen as a failed mission on paper, since they did not terminate their main target. But in many ways it was a huge success. An operation of this scale, with multiple targets on the board, with international military and intelligence coordination, with minimal collateral damage, is typically unheard of, and my parents were honoured to have lead their intelligence division. I’m not sure if Kingsman participates in this particular tradition, but after high risk missions of this nature, officers and operatives, if it is feasible, are offered time off, mostly to decompress. The agency is aware that if their officers and operatives work at that level of intensity for prolonged periods of time, they will burn out. It’s not possible to sustain that level of stress at length without a chance to wind down.”

It was quiet. Gwendolyn has stopped speaking. Harry could see that she was taking time to collect her thoughts again. He wasn’t sure why she needed to. She was recalling a very complicated and personal story with an eloquence, a clarity and a dignity that he respected very much. She wasn’t just reminiscing about a story, reciting history, or a past event. Their comprehension was important to her. This wasn’t about her “getting something off of her chest”. He had the feeling that she could be very happy never having to say any of these words ever again. She wasn’t looking for support or understanding. She was making sure that THEY understood her story. It wasn’t sympathy for her that she wanted. She was looking for absorbtion  Particularly from Harry. Most likely because he had the longest relationship with Merlin. But she was fixing him with a very intense gaze that he was not quite sure what to do with.

Harry already felt a particular sadness. He knew where this story was heading. He might not know the specifics yet, but you didn’t need to be a spy to know there was no happy ending for her. Out of a family that was once a mother, a father, and two brothers, this woman was the only one sitting in front of them. His respect for her was growing with each moment. He was feeling quite sorry now, for treating her so roughly.

She picked up her story, dusted it a little, found where she left off and resumed. Her voice became detached once again, but her words never faltered.

“We were all on break. Because they both got time off, that meant the whole family was on break. It was very rare for us. For the family, for me, those times were very special.  I don’t remember many other times we had that kind of chance. Of course, outings were still agency outings. I was really too small at the time, six, but that was our life. I didn’t know any different then. But my parents, because of their positions, were at high risk for retaliation and we always had protection with us. My brothers and I had protocol, even back then. No speaking to strangers, at all. Never speaking about my parents, never offering any personal information. Never giving out my name. If we were ever to get lost, we were never to ask for them or speak their names. We had one number to call and it was not even theirs. It was the agency’s number, created just for us to have in case of an emergency. There was actually a person whose job it was to be prepared if they ever received a call from us. Very few people, and only those with high security clearance, had information about our family. We were referred to as assets. Not by our names.”

As she continued, The more emotion left her voice, the more matter of fact she became, as she became more composed, more stoic, Harry felt his sadness slowly turn into inevitable dread. He was also aware of the second mission that followed up the first air strike. He was also assigned operations support for the BAF’s involvement. He had heard stories about what had happened at intelligence HQ, but never anything confirmed. If she had been involved in that, it was worse than he thought.

------

Look for future posts :) If you made it this far, thanks for reading! Feedback, likes and reblogs are always helpful and much appreciated. If you have a chance, would love to hear your thoughts!

[iatasbcl]

I just wanted to be sure to not make you uncomfortable! Can i request an oneshot with connor and his s.o self harming/having depression? If you dont want to so it it's fine with me either!! 🥀

Rain Clouds

Pairing: Connor RK800 x GN Reader

A/N: Thank you for asking beforehand! it’s been a hot minute since I wrote for my boy, also a quick reminder: requests are open!

I didn’t write the self-harming part because I’m not very comfortable with that. The portrayal of depression here is based on my personal experience since you did not specify a scenario. It does not represent everyone’s experiences.

Warnings: Depression, minor?? panic attack, overall it just has sensitive subjects,,, please don’t read if it makes you uncomfortable 

W.C: 1.8K

Connor wasn’t ever designed for this. He wasn’t created to show any empathy or sympathy, he wasn’t made to bring anyone comfort.

Yet here he was, in a dim room with a very, very distraught human. You, to be exact. You were sobbing, your hands covered your face as tears continued to wet your face. He didn’t expect this to happen when he chose to visit you after you didn’t show up at work for a few days.

He had known you for about half a year now. You were one of the few people at the precinct to welcome when he first joined as a machine. You only grew closer and closer after that, with you and Hank helping him realize he is deviant and guide through the mess that was humanity and emotions. He… liked being around you.

He was admittedly worried, you acted different prior to today. Your usual cheery self had gradually morphed into a quiet, distant one. You didn’t laugh at Gavin’s attempts to make you chuckle, you didn’t smile while greeting him, you didn’t even pet Sumo when Hank brought him to the precinct. You’d fall behind on work, barely eat and quick diagnoses showed that your stress level was constantly high.

Something was wrong, and he needed to make sure you were alright. He’d seen patterns similar to yours in Hank before and he didn’t want to even think about things escalating that far.

“I’m fine, you shouldn’t worry about me.”

Your words lacked sincerity as your neglected appearance contrasted them. The dark circles around your eyes got heavier, your hair looked as if it was left uncared for, you were severally dehydrated and probably hadn’t eaten a sufficient meal in a while. You didn’t like it when he questioned you on it.

“I said I’m fine, just been too lazy to cook anything.”

In retrospect, he should’ve given you the space you needed. He should’ve known persisting on the matter would only cause your stress to get worse. But he didn’t, he just wanted to help. He cared for you too much, he couldn’t handle it if something had happened to you.

“Stop analyzing me!”

Your burst was justified, but he truly did not know how to react to it.

“God, do you think that’s all that life is? You will just go around scan whatever you like and give back some diagnostic that nobody asked for? Are you just a fucking machine, Connor?”

You immediately froze after saying that, your breathing was heavy, and tears started to trickle down your face. Connor didn’t know what to say. Just a machine. He was acting like a machine. Your words stung but he pushed that aside.

“Fuck… I’m so sorry I didn’t – I didn’t –”

A sob interrupted your apology and you moved your hands to cover your face again. Your body slowly descended, and you sat on the floor. Connor could feel his own stress level increase as he stood upon your shaky form, not knowing what he is supposed to do. The storm overrunning his mind was kept at bay, though. Showing you that he too was afraid would not make things better.

Your breathing started quickening and getting heavier when you finally faced him. A quick scan showed that your heart was racing abnormally. Contemplations filled his mind, should he call an ambulance?

He moved closer to you but stopped when you immediately moved back, “Don’t, don’t come close.” You stammered in a trembling voice.

“Okay. Okay, I’m sorry. Uh - what do you need? What can I do?”

You shook your head,” I dunno, fuck-” your choked voice only got croaker as you tried to speak, “It’s okay… just, just focus on your breathing.” Connor was only doing what he felt might help you and getting your breathing to stabilize became his current objective.

“…trying,” you closed your eyes and Connor continued to stare at you as you struggled. “water, need water.”

He nodded and got up. With hurried footsteps, he went into your kitchen and brought you a glass of water. He came back to you and stood still for a second. Should he get closer? Should he help you drink it?

“Con. Help.” That was his cue. He kneeled next to you and held the glass to your lips. You drank it steadily, as much as you could. The glass was lowered, and he was ready to back off, to give you your space. But you reached out to him and held his hand. He could feel the pressure of it as you squeezed it tightly.

The pattern of your breathing started to follow a consistent pattern after that and as time went on your trembles began to decline but you still shuddered.

+

Carrying you to bed was an easy task. He’d done so as per your dizzy self’s request and helped you lay down and made sure you were adequately hydrated. 

He glanced over you and saw how drained you looked. The idea of you, the one he cared about so much, being so broken hurt him. He wanted to ask, to know how long you’d suffered in silence without him noticing a thing. He wanted to know how to help.

Now wasn’t the time, though.

“You shouldn’t waste your time here.” Your croaky voice snapped him out of his train of thoughts. “You can go Connor; I will be fine.”

“Can I stay? I want to be with you.” he pleaded.

Your vision once fixated on the wall now focused on him, hollowness seeped through your eyes, a sharp contrast to how they looked the first time he met you.

“Connor…”

“Please. Please, don’t push me away.”

You blinked and bit your dry lip. After thinking for a few minutes, you said, “Okay. Okay, you can stay.”

+

The following day he’d made you breakfast, or at least tried. The food looked nice since he’d followed an online tutorial, but he wasn’t sure about the taste.

You didn’t look happy nor sad about him cooking for you but barely ate half of what he made.

“Fucking hell.” You said under your breath, he didn’t know if it was because of what he made or because of how physically and mentally tired you look.

Last night wasn’t mentioned. He didn’t say anything, and you didn’t bring it up, so he thought you didn’t want to talk about it.

“Thanks.” You said suddenly after you finished eating, “For, for looking out for me, I mean.”

He nodded, “You don’t have to thank me. I only wanted to make sure you were okay, I’m sorry for pressuring you.”

He had done his research as you begrudgingly slept, understood that what happened to you was known as a panic attack. He’d delved deeper into it to understand what caused the shift in your personality, but he still was not a licensed therapist or the kind of android made for that purpose and thus he didn’t want to make assumptions.

You scoffed, “No, it was my fault. I… usually get snappy when this happens. I still shouldn’t have said what I said. I’m sorry. Just don’t scan me all the time, okay?” “Okay.”

He tilted his head after a while, “Is it okay if I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure.”

“Has this happened before?”

You froze. “Does it matter?”

The way you spoke was rather deadpan, “Well, yes. But if you don’t wish to talk about it, it’s fine.”

“I’d like that. I don’t… I’m not ready to talk about it.”

Connor put his hand on yours and rubbed it, “It’s okay.”

+

Day by day he’d try to show you that he appreciated you. That he did not see you as a burden. That you mattered to him. It was hard, your self-doubt and lack of any sense of personal worth created a wall that he had to carefully try to breakdown. He did want to advise you to seek professional help, but you seemed defensive when he suggested it the first time.

You started showing up to work again after a while, you still did not show much passion for it and looked incredibly uncomfortable when someone would question you about it. So, he’d try his best to push people off your back, as awkward as it was. 

+

Rain was pouring outside. Connor could hear splashes and vehicles passing by every second. It was rather peaceful. Your head rested on his thigh as he hummed a tune he recalled hearing you sing a few months ago.

“Connor.”

“Hm?”

“What’s wrong with me?”

Your question made him pause, you sounded almost… empty. Devoid of any actual emotion like someone who was internally defeated.

“I kept denying it for so long. Kept telling myself that today was just a bad day, tomorrow will be better,” you let out an unsteady breath, “But it never did. Everything became so… joyless? I couldn’t enjoy things, couldn’t enjoy work, couldn’t enjoy any shows, couldn’t enjoy speaking to anyone.”

Connor slowly realized that you were opening up to him, so he listened thoroughly and stayed quiet.

“Things only got worse. I didn’t have it in me to do anything anymore. I didn’t keep up with work, didn’t clean my apartment, didn’t cook, didn’t eat, didn’t do anything. I felt gross.”

 You sniffled and lifted your head, “I didn’t want to bother anyone with it. Thought It would go away, that nobody deserved to be forced to help someone like me. didn’t want them to see me any differently.”

“I am just so fuckin’ tired, ya know? It’s like I am running in a circle. I’m tired of being so worthless. I’m tired, Con. I just want it to stop.”

You looked down at your lap while Connor started to comprehend what you were saying. His LED spun and circled until it settled on yellow. “This does not make me view you any differently. You are still the person who helped me when I deviated,”

He held your hand and you latched on to him, letting out soft whimpers as he rubbed your back. “I might not completely understand what you are going through, but I still care about you and I want to help.”

“But I am not the crucial help you need.” You stopped crying into his chest and looked up at him in confusion. “I know you think it might be useless but please consider attending therapy. I will tag along if it will make it more comfortable for you.”

You stayed quiet, this time actually considering what he offered. “what if they didn’t care?”

“Then we will look for the right person. Together.”

You bit your lower lip and hesitantly nodded, “You will be with me, Con?” your fingers intertwined, and he pressed his forehead against yours.

 “Yes. Every step of the way.”

[danyka-fendyr]

Don’t Call Me Pumpkin

Hey everyone! So, I’m determined to put out my promised 3 Spencer Reid Halloween fics, but also I’m a lazy hoe. Which brings us to where we are now. Me, watching The Haunting of Hill House, writing a Spencer Reid Halloween fic that takes place on a pumpkin farm. Because I desperately want to go to a pumpkin farm even though there is not one even anywhere remotely near me because I live in one of the sunniest places in the world now and pumpkins would DIE here. This has not been edited. Fight me.

Wordcount: 1681

Permanent Taglist: @dreamwritesimagines @rhabakoli

Warnings: None. All fluff. A little bit of innuendo.

“Spence, seriously, where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere fun,” he promised.

“C’mon. At least give me a vague statistic for a hint baby.” 

You fussed with the blindfold Spencer had reluctantly put on you. He hadn’t wanted to, but you had been more than up for it since you loved a good surprise. Spencer rarely surprised you, so you knew the surprise factor had to be important to him. Hence one of his purple ties currently being on your face.

“Okay.” You could hear him blushing from being called baby. “Over 800 million of what we’re going to see are currently available in the U.S.”

“Oh my gosh you’re taking me to a strip club?”

“No!” Spencer frantically objected.

You laughed. “I was kidding, Spence. I know that’s not your thing. You prefer blindfolds, right?”

You wiggled your partially obscured eyebrows.

“Sweetheart,” he whined.

“Hey, you know there’s no judgment from me. I hate handcuffs, so we’re even. But seriously, are we almost there?” 

“Yeah, we are. Just a couple more minutes.”

You could hear gravel crunching under the wheels of the car, and you were forced to wonder once again where you were. Knowing your boyfriend, he could have taken you anywhere. He was almost never spontaneous, which only served to make his spontaneity more so. After a few moments, you felt the car come to a stop, and you couldn’t contain your grin.

“Are we here?”

���Your use of the present tense on the word here would indicate that you already know we are, in fact, here.”

“You’re right, I do. Now get me out of this car so we can do a dramatic blindfold removal!”

Spencer laughed before coming over to your side of the car and opening the door for you, taking your hand and helping you out. He placed his hands on your shoulders, steering you forward towards wherever he planned on taking off this blindfold, while you didn’t even bother trying to contain your smile. It smelled like dirt, and you had a few theories as to where you might be.

“Okay, are you ready?” He asked.

“No. There’s one more thing I want to do before you take off the blindfold. Can you turn me around?”

Confused, Spencer did as you asked, and you carefully placed your hands on his face so you had an idea of where you were going before you leaned forward and kissed him. Tasted like coffee and cinnamon, just like he always did. You could do this all day, but you had a surprise to get to, so you pulled back.

“What was that for?”

“So I could see if I liked it.” You shrugged.

“...Well? Did you?” He asked.

“Baby, I always like kissing you. Now let’s do this thing.”

“Okay pumpkin,” he said.

Every fiber in your body stiffened as it hit you. Spencer never called you pumpkin. You had to drive a while, certainly long enough to get out of the city. It smelled like fresh dirt.

At the same moment he removed the blindfold, you yelled, “Babe! Don’t call me pumpkin!”

You pouted, glaring over your shoulder at his handsome, handsome face.

“I waited until we were here!” He justified.

“Still ruined the whole surprise.” You sighed, staring out at the vast fields of pumpkins before you.

“Is it ruined if I say we can pick out any pumpkin you want?”

You gasped, suddenly giddy. “Can we get multiple pumpkins?”

“Whatever you want, love.”

“I love you!” You threw your arms around him, letting him catch you.

He laughed, setting you down again after a moment. “C’mon, let’s go.”

You two made your way through the pumpkin patches, and you both inspected every pumpkin that came your way. You had gone pumpkin hunting with Spencer before, so you knew how this worked. He was looking for a pumpkin that matched certain characteristics he had in mind, the most halloweeny pumpkin, the pumpkin to rule over all other pumpkins if you will. You, on the other hand, were looking for something a little bit less exact. You were on the hunt for your pumpkin.

You never knew what it was going to look like, but every year, you went in search of the pumpkin that was right for you. It called to you, in all of its sweet orange glory, a bright beacon in the midst of all of these other pedestrian pumpkins. It was somewhere in this field, waiting for you to find it. Your pumpkin soulmate, if you will, ready to be taken home with your more human soulmate.

“Do you see anything?” Spencer asked you.

Some years, you found your pumpkin in the first sweep of the fields. You would see it and you would just immediately know. Last year had been one of those years, and Spencer had come to dread them since they meant him wandering a pumpkin patch with a very heavy pumpkin in his arms that you insisted was your baby and that no one else could have. This year was not to be one of those years though.

“No. Not yet. Which is kind of a bummer since I was hoping to check you out. I didn’t get to stare at you in the car like I usually do. My day feels incomplete without a chance to drool over you. I’ve been deprived.”

Spencer blushed. He was so easily flustered. It was one of the things you had loved about him, even before you started dating. The cute little way his ears would turn red and he would stare down at his feet, fix his tie. Today he wasn’t wearing a tie though, instead, just a sweater that you knew was very, very soft from all the times you had stolen it from him. 

“C’mon silly. Let’s go look for your elusive pumpkin.”

“You’re deflecting Dr. Reid,” you sing-songed.

“I am not deflecting, I am prioritizing. Can you think of anything more important than pumpkins right now?”

“You.”

An easy answer, and it made him blush again. It was going to be a great day.

It was set to be a great day regardless though. The sky was the perfect shade of cloudless, washed-out blue, almost gray, and the air was perfectly crisp. The dirt in the pumpkin patch was exactly the right consistency between dry and muddy, and overall, conditions seemed to be perfect. Plus Spencer knew how cold you got and made sure you had dressed appropriately.

You two wandered through the pumpkin fields for hours. It took Spencer a long time to find his pumpkin. He was pretty hardcore about exactly how long the vine had to be. You put him to shame though.

“Seriously love? Nothing yet?” Spencer said around a rather rotund pumpkin.

“No. But we’re close. I can feel it.” 

You had been saying this for the past three hours since you had arrived.

“All I’m saying is, maybe we could take a break. I could take this guy back to the car, we could buy some apple cider...I hear it’s really good here.”

Your boyfriend’s persuasion meant nothing to you though, as you stopped dead in your tracks.

“That’s it.”

“What, the apple cider?”

“No, Spence, that’s it!” You said excitedly, pointing at one of the many orange gourds in the patch. “That’s the one!”

“Oh thank goodness,” Spencer huffed, adjusting the pumpkin already in his arms.

You beamed proudly at a rather large pumpkin. You might not be able to carry it, actually. You should have gotten a wheelbarrow, but you hadn’t exactly thought this through. It was incredibly round, but not too round, not quite preternaturally so. It’s vine was cut quite close, which you weren’t generally fond of, but you liked on this particular pumpkin. It looked a little dinged up, but you didn’t mind. It was the one.

“What are you going to name it?” Then, before you could answer. “Might I suggest Curbit?”

“Spence, my darling, I love you more than life itself, but that name sounds like Kermit the frog if he was a traffic cop.”

“It’s a shortening of Cucurbita Pepo, the technical name for pumpkin,” Spencer said, sounding slightly offended by your description of his name.

“Tell you what, next year I’ll name my pumpkin Curbit and you can name yours Pep, but this guy? This guy is a Gourdy.”

“Gourdy? You sure?”

“Yep. Positive.”

“Okay.” Spencer grinned at you over the top of his pumpkin.

“Now I just have to survive carrying him out of here.”

It wasn’t easy carrying Gourdy out of the pumpkin patch. It involved a lot of huffing and puffing from both of you since Spencer was still carrying his own pumpkin which he had named Peter. Eventually, though, you made it out and got yourself a wheelbarrow so that you could continue browsing your selection of gourds.

You and Spencer bought several different various other gourds, less picky in your pursuit of these. They would probably just end up eaten at the end of the day, so looks mattered less than potential taste. When you were finished though, you were more than satisfied with your selection.

“So, did you have fun today?” Spencer asked, wheeling your purchases back to the car.

“Um, heck yeah!”

“Good. I was hoping that would be a good surprise.” He smiled at you.

“It definitely was.” You picked up your pumpkin, setting it securely in the back of Spencer’s car before sticking your hand securely in Spencer’s back pocket. You absolutely adored the surprised look that crossed his face before fading into a very smug smirk. He leaned forward to kiss you, pulling you closer with one hand while the other tangled into your hair.

“Hey,” he said. “You know what I think we should do when we get home?”

You grinned, pulling your lower lip between your teeth. “Pumpkin carving?”

Spencer shook his head, laughing at you before detaching himself and putting his own pumpkin in the back of the car. “Yeah, pumpkin. That’s exactly what I think we should do.”

[spookyold-saintjm]

I [Don’t] Wanna Be Free - Part 2

AHWM Yancy x female reader

Part 1

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Warnings: Swearing, violence, mentions of death, and shit that just doesn’t make sense sometimes because that’s how the AHWM world operates. ~just some angsty fluff~

Summary: You left Yancy behind and it’s tearing you apart. Yancy might consider life outside the bars, only for you. And Mark doesn’t know you have the box. You’re going to make some stupid decisions.

A/N: So I didn’t think people would actually even SEE this but wtf thank you. I tagged anyone who commented or asked to be tagged but if you want to be added to the tag list when I update next let me know I guess?? I can do another part if youse guys want. Thanks friends.

_______________________________________________________________________

A few weeks later, you were back at base, sitting around a table with a group consisting of yourself, Mark, and a few others from your team. You sat with your feet propped up on the table, arms crossed casually, and answered questions and put in ideas when necessary. But only when necessary.

Because they were still searching for the box. The whole point of getting this group together to begin with. You still had it. And only you knew about it. Well, you, and Yancy.

You couldn’t put your finger on why you couldn’t bring yourself to tell Mark. The two of you had been a team, building your wealth and power in the underground slowly but surely over a few years now. But something just wouldn’t allow you to trust him, or anyone he associated himself with. Not for a second. 

Especially not now that you knew what the box contained. And you had the creeping suspicion there was more to it than the key.

You glanced up from the notes you’d been pretending to take to eye the others you and Mark had temporarily hired for the job. The blue-haired boy you sat across from, who only went by Eth, had been repeatedly sticking a knife in and out of the wooden table you were all seated around for almost the entire discussion. He was young, sure, but had been quickly hardened by getting into the work at such an early stage in his life. The two of you didn’t exactly get along.

He met your eyes as Mark continued to talk, a devilish grin creeping up from the corner of his mouth. You let your face fall flat in response. Try me, little boy.

“y/l/n's being a little quiet over there,” he announced when Mark had paused to pull up a map on his computer. “Something you’re not telling us?”

You glared back at him, prepared to snap back at him, but Mark jumped in for you. “If y/n wants to talk, kiddo, she’ll talk. Right, y/n?”

Just to spite the boy, you only nodded and flashed your teeth back at him. He let out a low growl, and twisted his knife deeper into the table. “I don’t like this bitch, man. I don’t care who’s in charge, she’s up to—”

No one could stop the crash that ensued when you lunged across the table, kicking the knife away and grabbing the boy by the throat before he had the chance to move. You forced his face up to meet yours as you stared down at him from your kneeled position on the table. You dared him to call you a bitch again, to question you again, and squeezed a few seconds at near full strength before releasing him.

Eth sputtered and coughed in a struggle to restore his breathing as you slid your feet to the floor in a cat-like motion and made your way around the table to drop back into your seat. The other hired hands stared back at you wide-eyed, but Mark, not quite as stunned, simply watched you and waited until you turned back to face him as if nothing had happened.

Mark cleared his throat to regain the attention in the room as the boy turned his head and spat onto the floor, now somewhat recovered.

“Alright. Well. Okay. So, as I was saying, we can—”

* * * * * * * * * *

Later that night you stormed into your apartment, only just coming down from the fuming anger that had carried you through the rest of the meeting. You walked through your bedroom and into the connecting bathroom to wash your face with some cold water and rid yourself of the grimy feeling of being back at base for another day.

So what, maybe you were a little more on edge than usual. Maybe because of what day it was. A day you’d tried not to think about, yet spent your nights dwelling on more than you’d ever care to admit.

It was the third Sunday of the month.

Visitation at Happy Trails had come and gone. You knew, because you’d look up the hours. You watched the time pass on your watch through the day, feeling a sense of dread leading up to the time you knew the doors to the prison would close for the night. You knew it was silly for dwelling on it. How were you going to show your face, the face of an escaped convict, at the very prison you’d escaped from only a short while before? Sure, Yancy had offered it in his parting words to you, but he had no concept of the outside world and its consequences. You knew that. And still yet…

Shit. Shit. You were really going to do it.

You threw on a black sweater with a heavy hood to cover your head and part of your face. Black gloves, boots, and pants with utility pockets for any tools or weapons you might need in the chance disaster could strike.

Finally, you reached into the triple-locked drawer in your closet, pulling out the long rectangular box that had started all this new madness. Regardless of being unquestionably alone, you felt the need to be as quiet as possible as you turned the lid every so slightly, and lifting it from its place once you heard the gentle click from inside the box. You tipped it over just enough to drop the single item inside into your open hand.

A key with the ability to unlock any door.

  You grasped the heavy, iron object, wrapping your gloved fingers around it and taking a moment to revel in the power you could feel buzzing inside. No, you would tell Mark about this. You couldn’t.

And now you were going to put it to use.

------

She wasn’t coming.

He’d been sitting on a bench in the hallway, watching the clock from the moment visitation hours began. Not on purpose, of course, he was just bored. Bored. And hoping, that just maybe…

No. Of course she wouldn’t. Why would she come? She hadn’t wanted to be there, period. He’d helped her get out, and that was that. She had no more use for him.

The final few minutes ticked by, and and Yancy watched through the window into the visitation room as parents, siblings, spouses, children, and whoever else had shown said their goodbyes to those of his fellow inmates who were fortunate enough to have visitors.

All this time, and he’d never set foot in that room. Not once.

He tapped a foot lightly, quickly, to the beat of a song he’d been working on. Anything to distract his mind. The last few weeks had both given and stripped him of inspiration at jagged intervals. 

He flinched when the guards opened up the heavy iron doors leading into the hallway, and straightened himself so that he was lounging idly on the bench when his friends emerged.

A few gave him cheerful greetings as they passed by, high on the feeling of seeing their loved ones one more time. Others were silent and solemn, already missing whoever had been forced to leave them behind yet again.

“Heyy, Yancy!” A man with curly hair and glasses came bounding by and gave him a friendly clap to his shoulder. “We’re gonna go watch that new show Tiny was talking about, wanna join us? We’re making popcorn!” 

Yancy look up at his friend and shook his head, tossing him his casual half-smile. “Nah, thanks, Bam-Bam, youse guys go ahead. I’ll catch up another night.” He let out a yawn and stretched out his arms toward the ceiling. "I’m beat.”

His friend tilted his head slightly to the side, not expecting Yancy’s answer, but nodded before jogging to catch up with the rest of the group headed toward the entertainment room. “Whatever you say, bud,” he called back. "We’ll save a seat for you just in case!”

As soon as everyone had rounded the corner, Yancy allowed his shoulders to drop and a heavy breath to escape his chest. He glanced up at the clock one more time before he stood and turned to walk toward his cell.

His steps echoed down the now-silent hallway. “C’mon, Yancy boy,” he muttered, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He stopped walking only to lightly kick the wall in frustration. “What was youse thinkin’ would happen?”

------

You were in.

The key worked as easily as you’d hoped it would, and after you’d scaled the fence with the help of some equipment you’d snatched from base, you’d come in through the back side of the prison as quiet as a mouse. For a prison full of people who’d committed some pretty nasty crimes, the place wasn’t all that well guarded. But you’d learned from your brief time on the inside that Mr. MurderSlaugher made certain that inmates had nothing to want for. 

He was, in fact, a little too good at his job. But that was a matter for another time. 

The facility was already lights-out once you’d arrived, so you pulled out your night-vision goggles to peer down the extensive hallways. A few guards here and there, but you were pretty quickly able to tack down their movements and weave around them while subtly disarming the security cameras, all the way to the cell block that had become your destination.

You stood for a moment, back pressed against the wall just around the corner from his cell, listening for any concerning sounds or disturbances. You could hear a slight shuffling, but determined it was the movement of only one body. You could only hope it was him.

You steadily let out the breath you’d been holding and glided around the corner. You tip-toed over to the cell, and, forcing yourself to push through the burning urge to turn around and run, you stepped in front of the bars.

You quickly scanned for signs of movement. You were lucky. Yancy’s cell-mate was sleeping soundly, a light snore lifting from the top bunk.

But on the bottom bunk...

You saw his silhouette pressed to the far end of his mattress, his knees pressed into his chest, his head down. It was enough to cause you to pause. Even though the two of you had developed a bond over such a short time, you still didn’t know him all that well, or what he was capable of.

But it was too late to turn back. You unzipped the secret pocket in your pants leg and pulled out the skeleton key. It was near impossible to unlock a prison cell without making some slight noise, but you’d managed to open the door just enough to slide inside before a quiet creak sounded through the cell like a bomb. 

Yancy’s head whipped up, spotting you immediately, and you froze. 

He stared at you for several breaths, then frantically rubbed his eyes. When he pulled his hands away—

“y/n?” he blinked, his voice a mumble. “y/n…is—is that you?”

You took a single step into the cell, and nodded slowly. Yancy stared back at you a moment longer, his body straight and stiff.

“I…”

He practically leaped out of his bunk and was all at once in front of you. You had to tilt your head up ever so slightly to meet his eyes, and when you did the faint light from the hall revealed the glistening wet that lingered. You pointed to your own eyes with a small smile, silently questioning him.

“Me? Cryin'? Wha—nah, I'se was just…ah—“

You abruptly pressed your hand to his mouth to shut him up and peered up at his cell-mate. He hadn’t moved, but you couldn’t take any chances.

Yancy stared down at you, his eyes even wider. You shook your head, and, slowly, dropped your hand. Before you could make another move, you were constricted by a set of arms wrapped tight around you.

His embrace was tight, urgent, as if this was the first time he’d done this in a very long time. You managed to put your own arms up and around him, and gently placed your head against him. You caught the slightest tremble in his shoulders, and felt a fog forming in your own eyes when he spoke once more.

“Youse really came back.”

_______________________________________________________________________

@rats-this-username-is-taken @dragonangel201 @just-a-werido @ultra-mysticartisanbouquet @theworsttrashofall @writer-girl99 @pupylvr4905 @fastidious-and-a-mess

[onthevirgeofdestruction]

I’m having a bad night and I was wondering if you had anymore a whole castle au headcannons? Maybe something to do with Patton?

I’ll do you one better:

Words: 1,253 Warnings: Nightmares, spooky Characters: Logan, Roman, Patton Universe: Whole Castle Genre: Found Family Fluff Additional Tags: Sleep, comfort

“You should be in bed” with Patton having a nightmare. Perhaps he tries to hide from it and either Logan or Roman have to comfort him. From Anon

  Logan was sipping his valerian tea while reading a recent study about methods to increase comprehension in classroom settings. Teaching math meant that Logan often struggled with keeping the student’s attention and engaging the class, so he tried to stay on top of the current information. Roman leaned against him, reading a romance novel and sometimes giggling airily to himself.

  The pair had already sent Virgil off to bed, much to his many objections, and the house was quiet and comfortable. A weak rain pattered against the windowpane, but there was no other sound that filled the air between the quiet jovial noises and fluttering of pages. Roman yawned widely and covered his mouth, leaning hard against Logan after a lengthy period of contented reading. He continued reading, determined to finish his chapter before bedtime. Logan had other plans, however, and leaned over to kiss Roman on the forehead.

  “I am headed to bed, darling,” Logan said softly and hugged Roman around the shoulders while he read.

  “But what if I get cold?” Roman objected to losing his wonderfully cozy source of body heat.

  “That’s what bookmarks are for. The ability to follow your spouse to bed,” Logan smirked and pulled himself off the couch with a tired grunt and a small creaking protest from his knees.

  “But he’s almost confessed his love!” Roman objected sourly, pouting up to Logan. “Just a little longer?”

  “I love you, but a consistent sleep schedule is important so I can tolerate petulant teenagers continuously,” Logan said humorously and pulled up Roman’s hand to brush a kiss against his knuckles. Roman turned pink but pushed his lower lip out at Logan nonetheless. Logan just smiled at him and went to the kitchen to rinse out his mug before heading to bed. Roman shifted over to where Logan was seated to steal his residual body warmth while he worked on finishing this chapter. He really wanted to see the confession.

  Through a series of unfortunate circumstances, the protagonist hadn’t confessed yet and Roman stubbornly stayed up for that sweet, sweet gay vindication, though he fought yawns and heavy eye-lids to continue forward. He just wanted them to kiss! The rain had settled while he pushed ahead reading, and the house was eerily silent without it. Sometimes he could even make out a particularly loud snore from Logan even though his snoring wasn’t that bad. Roman pulled his legs up for warmth and continued reading.

  A weak whining sound broke through the silence and Roman stiffened. It was a little spooky, echoing down the hall and across the living room. He wasn’t sure if his tired and over-active mind was playing tricks on him in the dark. The kiss had to be a few pages away at this point, so he persevered when he didn’t hear any further noise. He told himself he must be overtired.

  Another sniffle and a whimpering sound carried through the silent house and Roman shot upright in a panic. It was extremely spooky at first, his sleep-addled brain creating ghosts in a house they were the first owners over. Logic won over that it couldn’t possibly be a ghost, but it scared him for a completely different reason, now. One of the boys was upset. Roman quickly slid in a bookmark and got up, heading into the hall. He followed the sound to Patton’s room and creaked open the door slowly to see Patton illuminated by the night-light crying into his stuffed rabbit doll.

  “My prince,” Roman quietly cooed and Patton stiffened, looking up slowly and then quickly hiding under his covers. Roman’s heart broke a little, but he headed in any way and sat on the edge of the bed a safe distance from Patton. The last thing Roman wanted to do was spook him like Patton accidentally did to Roman with his muted cries in the middle of the night. “What’s wrong, Patton?” He asked genially, waiting patiently for an answer instead of pushing for one as he longed to while Patton hid under the sheets.

  Roman was exhausted, fully aware that was his own fault, but he knew he could get testy when he was short on sleep. He also just really wanted that gay kiss and confession he had been waiting for the entire book for and a little petty part of him wanted to pick back up the book and read while he waited so he could get to bed faster. But Roman sat there quietly, waiting for an answer that hopefully, Patton would feel well enough to give soon. Patton’s head slowly popped back out of the sheets and he looked morosely at Roman in the pale light of the room.

  “I had a nightmare. ‘m okay,” Patton muttered into his blankets, not able to meet Roman’s eyes as he finally confessed why he was awake so late. “I didn’ mean t’bother you,” He whispered.

  “No, my darling prince. You didn’t bother me. In fact, you should wake someone to help you instead of suffering alone at night. Nothing hurts my heart more than to think of you crying alone,” Roman consoled Patton softly, offering him a reassuring smile. “Did you want to talk about it?”

  “No,” Patton shook his head and drew small circles in the sheets with his fingers, balling up under a soft blanket and holding his rabbit plush tight to his chest.

  “What would you like, then? How about some warm tea and honey?” Roman offered, hampered slightly by a yawn.

  “Please don’t leave,” Patton whispered.

  “You want me to stay in here with you?” Roman furrowed his eyebrows. Patton just nodded weakly. “Where would you like me to be?” He asked, feeling a little confused. Patton was only recently capable of consistently holding hands with Roman or Logan and Roman wasn’t under the impression Patton would want anyone close to him while he was vulnerable like this. “I suppose I can sit in the chair,” He muttered quietly. Patton moved closer to the edge of the bed and looked pleadingly at Roman. “You… want me to lie down with you?” Roman asked, feeling unsure. It took Patton a moment to work up the courage, but eventually, he nodded solemnly. Roman swallowed for a moment, trying to maintain his composure. “Anything for you, sweet prince,” Roman smiled softly and kicked off his house slippers to crawl across the mattress and slip under the sheets.

  The twin bed was easily taken up by Roman, and as hard as he tried he couldn’t give Patton the amount of room he normally wanted. Patton sniffled a few times in the dark and Roman murmured a small soothing lullaby under his breath. Without being able to directly combat what was scaring Patton, helping him get back to sleep seemed like the next best thing. Patton yawned and laid back down, holding his rabbit doll tight and sometimes shooting not-so-furtive-glances Roman’s way. Little by little, Patton shifted closer to Roman until he was curled into Roman’s side and Roman had to fight to keep his relaxing tone as he quietly sang.

   Soft, tiny, unbelievably adorable breathing eventually came from Patton instead of sparse sniffles and he melted into the mattress next to Roman. Roman smiled, his heart feeling overwhelmingly full, and closed his eyes. The book could wait. He had something much more wonderful and much more important right here. Roman sighed with contentment and let the exhaustion take him off to the land of dreams.