#and the subtle of if he steps out of line too fast hes also risking athena

[modpoppy]

i foegot how fucking ibsessed i am with brendon everyone must listen to thisnnow

[randoimago]

Hi! May I request Alphabet Headcanons letters R, S, Y for Frederick (FE Awakening), Jakob, Saizo (FE Fates) and Seteth? Thank you.

Alphabet Headcanons

Fandom: Fire Emblem

Character(s): Frederick, Jakob, Saizo, Seteth

Type of Request: Alphabet Headcanons

Note(s): No problem!!

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Frederick

You two weren't together at this point. You were good friends and you decided to take care of him, making him sit still since he's usually the caregiver. It's a moment he thinks of often because it helped him realize how much he loves you.

Jakob

Something simple like a walk through a garden or just an evening by the fireplace would be his favorite moment. You two ended up having a deep conversation and there was a share of laughter and giggles as Jakob was a bit of a menace, but the way you smiled during that peaceful moment is forever stuck in his head.

Saizo

His favorite memory would be a time where he trusted a decision you made. The situation was complicated, and you both had different ideas, but you were so determined, and you asked him to trust in you. It was difficult, but it was the first time he put his faith in you, and he thinks about how that led to so many more memories he cherishes.

Seteth

Both you and Flayn were nowhere to be found and he was in a bit of a panic. Until he found you two in his office, having snuck in when he had left, and you both surprised him with a sign and a fish dinner. The pride and excitement you and Flayn had on your faces over making him feel special is a memory that he cherishes so much.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Frederick

He can be protective, but Frederick knows you can also take care of yourself. If you need him to step in then he will, but he trusts you to handle things yourself.

In combat, then he's getting to your side as fast as he can if you are in danger. Doesn't like being too far away from you in the first place, but he also knows that he can't be right next to you the whole time. Out of combat, he's good at glaring people away but he's not going to start any fights as he prefers to just pull you away from the situation.

Wouldn't really want you to go out of your way for him, but he won't stop you if you do want to defend him from others. He appreciates your help if you help him in combat. But should someone insult him or something along those lines then he does appreciate you dismissing them (just please don't start any physical fights on his behalf).

Jakob

He is very protective of you, but he's so subtle about it. If anyone is giving you trouble or making you stressed, then Jakob is behind you and sending glares and bad vibes their way. You get cheery smiles if you turn and look at him, but Jakob will gladly make the other person's life hell if they upset you.

In combat, Jakob is staying by your side. He's not going to risk being unable to save you. Will not let you get the smallest scratch. If he could fight the wind when it blows dust and dirt your way then he would.

Jakob wouldn't really want you protecting him in combat, but if you wanted to defend him verbally with quick wit or clapbacks then he'll be amused and cheer you on. He'll be quick to step in if someone tries to say anything to you though.

Saizo

Tries not to show how protective he is. There's a constant eye on you to just make sure you're truly okay when talking to new people or just someone he doesn't know. If you try to catch him in the act then he's quick to look away.

Is by your side during combat too, ready to deflect any attacks or just be there to keep you safe. He's not by your side the whole time, but you are in his line of sight.

Would never ask you to protect him, but if you did during combat or even stepping in when someone spouts nonsense to him, he's blushing so much at you coming to his rescue and he's quick to make an excuse so you don't notice how flustered he is.

Seteth

He's not as protective with you as he is with Flayn (thank goodness), but he can still be pretty protective. He just wants to make sure you're okay. Will not tolerate anyone disrespecting you either. Even if it's just joking comments, he will be ready to scold and lecture.

Not really one for PDA but will step in and use plenty of words if someone is verbally upsetting you. If it's a combat situation, then he's ready with his wyvern and lance. Doesn't care if they're an archer, he'll be ready to come to your rescue no matter what.

Seteth would prefer you to not try and protect him in combat, he doesn't want the risk of losing you. He wouldn't be able to handle it if something happened to you on his behalf. Out of combat, he'd prefer you being like an emotional support for him instead of actually getting involved in some argument.

Y - Yearning (how do they cope when they are missing you? are they alright with being without you for an extended period of time or would they prefer to be with you every day of their life without exception?)

Frederick

While he does miss you, he does still have a duty to Chrom and so he'll do that. There are moments when he does think about you and hope you're doing alright, but it won't ruin his day that you're gone.

Frederick would be okay if you are away for a while. He can send you letters and gifts, always letting you know that he's thinking of you or anything funny that he thinks you'd be amused about. Even if it is at his expense.

Jakob

Wanted to try to go with you when you ended up having to travel away from him. Ends up pouting like a puppy and is more of a little shit to everyone else because you aren't there to reign him in.

Of course, he'd want you with him every day of his life. You're his significant other and his soulmate. He is just a sulking and annoying mess until you come back home to him.

Saizo

Saizo doesn't wear his heart on his sleeves, so it seems like he's doing just fine when you're away for a period of time. He is very much worried that you're okay and constantly keeping an ear and eye out for any information about your situation.

Would like to have you by his side constantly but knows it's unreasonable to ask that of you. That doesn't stop him from giving you gifts when you come back, not able to actually tell you how much he missed you because he'd be a stuttering mess.

Seteth

He's throwing himself into his work more than usual when you're gone. Seteth still takes time for Flayn, of course, but without you there he just focuses on work and hopes that you're back before he knows it.

Seteth would like you to stay by his side every day, but he knows that isn't the most realistic unfortunately. Just know that he's always getting you flowers or something you like when you get back because he always misses you so much.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞 || helmut zemo, bucky barnes and sam wilson x reader

(this is a sequel to 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭-𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞, I recommend reading that first although it’s not 100% necessary... it would make this make a lot more sense though)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : it was just a matter of time before he upped the ante, all four of you knew that, but taking you all on a vacation specifically for this was a bit over-the-top.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 7.9k (hoo boy)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : smut (foursome/group sex + a scene that’s just zemo/reader, cockwarming, d/s dynamics, brief oral f receiving, a touch of dubcon/cnc but it’s very subtle and the reader is 100% consenting), established zemo x reader, sugar daddy relationship, ‘sir’ kink (with zemo), ‘daddy’ kink (with sam), orgasm control/denial, overstimulation, creampie, praise with light degradation, possessiveness (but also sharing, lol), exhibitionism/voyeurism, choking, brief anal mention, once again technically cuckolding but not in the typical sense, slight corruption kink?, too many robes, latin sokovian (or as I like to call it, serbukromanian), also assume that whenever the reader and zemo are alone they are speaking sokovian even though I write the convos in english for the sake of simplicity

thank you for being my beta @nsfwsebbie​ !!

                   When your Baron told you he wanted to take you on a vacation, you immediately assumed it would be to the mountains or some European city full of history and culture.  Instead, you were a bit surprised to hear he was interested in a beach resort, a private villa he had purchased in French Polynesia.

And then you found out he wanted to bring Sam and Bucky along too… and you were simultaneously more and less surprised.  More, because who brings tentative coworkers one barely gets along with on a romantic vacation?  Less, because of course he would do this.  Of course he had plans to dress you up in the tiniest bikinis he could find and show you off to the men who had already become pawns in his perverted game of social chess.

Not that you minded; you were the Queen of the board and it didn’t bother you if it was what the King wanted.

~

You spent the first night in the villa alone with him, which you appreciated.  It had been a while since you two had some real quality time together, and you were craving him more than ever, in every way.

After a beautiful day spent swimming in the crystal blue ocean and enjoying the sights your new temporary home had to offer, you took a shower and tried not to get too excited about how you might be spending the evening with him.  But, of course, you were only a few minutes into washing the saltwater off your body when you began to imagine his tongue on you, god that man could use his tongue to destroy you any way he wanted: with his words, with his kisses, or perhaps best of all with it tasting every inch of your cunt.  It was amazing how he could get on his knees for you and still have all the power.  He liked to make you keep eye contact with him while he did it, make you beg him to let you come, whatever it took to remind you that you were thoroughly and properly owned.

And you loved every second of it, you loved being helpless to him.  He made you feel so safe that being vulnerable with him by now felt like no risk at all.  You could remember early on when your fears and insecurities made you more hesitant to submit to him, and it was only with gentle patience that he coaxed you into it, never pressure or anger.  You weren’t a virgin when you met him but, sometimes it felt like you might as well have been since you were so inexperienced and undersexed then.  In fact, he was the first man, the first person other than yourself to make you come… and he made you come more ways than you had known possible.

Okay, so maybe the plan to not get your hopes up wasn’t going so well… you were already struggling to keep your hands from between your legs. Frankly, you would’ve already done it if you didn’t know that touching yourself was against the rules.

You’d gotten so used to taking care of yourself while he was in prison, at which point he obviously suspended that rule, and it was a hard habit to break at times.

You emerged from the bathroom in the fluffy robe you found on the door, smiling when you saw him lounging on the bed in a matching one, reading Анна Каренина (known by the West as Anna Karenina).  He looked contemplative, as always, and you always thought he looked especially sexy in his reading glasses.  You slipped into the bed beside him, resting your head on his chest as he found a position where he could read comfortably with his arm around your shoulders.

“You must’ve already read that book a thousand times, Helmut,” you sighed.

“And it gets better every time,” he mumbled back, turning the page.

You pouted slightly, nuzzling into his shoulder, and he chuckled.  “Is my little lutka in need of some attention?”

You nodded, and he kissed the top of your head softly.  

“Why don’t you keep me warm while I finish this chapter, hm?” he offered, and you involuntarily clenched your thighs together at his words.  He phrased it like a question, but it felt more like a gentle demand, and you were happy to agree either way.

“Yes, sir,” you hummed as you sat up and straddled his legs, undoing your robe and opening his to wrap your hand around his half-hard cock.

He reached his full potential with only a few slow strokes, and you found yourself absent-mindedly licking your lips as you saw the way your fingers just barely met with your thumb and imagined how your body would be pushed to its limits to take him.  Good thing you were already dripping wet even though you’d just been in the shower.

You indulged in rubbing your pussy over his shaft for a moment, enough to coat him in your wetness, before you lined up his tip to your entrance and sunk down onto him with a sigh, feeling like you could never tire of being stretched open by his thick cock.  

When your hips met his, and the tip of his cock brushed against the deepest parts of you, you had to bite your lip to suppress a whimper.  After so long apart, you were still readjusting to taking him and being on top didn’t make it much easier.

Honestly, you really weren’t trying to move; you just found your hips rocking slightly, seemingly of their own accord.  You moaned under your breath as your clit rubbed against his body, but you were pulled from your trance with a whine as he slapped your thigh.

“No moving, draga, I think I made myself clear,” he reminded you sternly.

“Yes, sir,” you breathed.

You were pretty sure that at some point, you were a patient person. But you couldn’t imagine that now, not when all you could think about was how amazing it would be to just ride him right there, memories running through your mind and making your inner walls ripple unintentionally.  He either couldn’t feel it or didn’t care, stoically continuing to read even as you were struggling to stay still.

Your plan was to be good for a while and then hope that you could convince him later… but you know what they say about best-laid plans, so you ended up cutting straight to the convincing pretty fast.

“Can I move yet, sir?”

“It’s hardly been a minute,” he frowned.

“Please,” you sighed, just barely moving your hips without even meaning to.

“Not yet,” he asserted, sounding a bit annoyed, but you needed this more than anything.

"Please let me move, please; I just wanna ride you so bad,” you begged.

He sighed, clearly irritated, and just when you thought you’d made a grave error, he finally put his book aside and looked up at you with a grin.  "If I had known you would be so whiny, I would have had you keep me warm with your mouth.”

You opened your mouth to respond but let out only whimpery moans when he ran his hands up your body, toying briefly with your nipples before wrapping a hand around your neck and pulling you down into a rough kiss.  Moaning into it, you couldn’t hold back any longer and started to rock your body atop his, savoring that perfect drag of his length along your walls that you’d missed so much.

Before you got a chance to really set your pace, he grabbed you tight and rolled the both of you over, pinning you under his weight as he fucked you in that way that was somehow rough and slow at the same time, moving his kiss to your neck and holding you down by your wrists.

“Fuck, th-thank you, sir,” you sighed, your cheeks warming when he chuckled against your skin.

“You really are too sweet, draga,” he whispered.

Your arms wrapped around his neck while your legs did the same to his hips, keeping him deep inside you while his lips and tongue teased your collarbones, his fingers interlacing with yours.

He spent the entire night somewhere between making love to you and fucking you within an inch of your life, making you come more times than you could count, only taking breaks from fucking you to eat you out like a starving man (and one time for a quick drink sometime around 3 a.m.).  It was no wonder, then, that you passed out just a few moments after he finally came inside you, sleeping soundly in his arms until well into the morning, nearly noon in fact, when the sun was streaming in through the massive window.

After a relaxed breakfast of champagne and fruit (the native pamplemousse was unlike anything you’d ever eaten before), Helmut encouraged you to shower again and meet him at the pool, which was a bit surprising since he normally liked to have you keep his come in you as long as possible.  “Our guests should be here this afternoon,” was his only explanation, and you had a few ideas about what that meant, all of which made your gut sink in an oddly pleasurable way as you were filled with anticipation.

“Wear that bathing suit I bought for you, the new one,” he added finally as he stepped out onto the back patio.

~

It might seem silly to have a pool on a property right by the beach, but on days like today, where the ocean water was just a bit too chilly, you were thankful to have the heated pool to take a dip in.  Honestly, you were a little surprised that Helmut didn’t make you swim in the ocean to see your nipples get hard through the tight black bikini, but then again, they were already getting there just from sharing a pool chair with him.

He was lying against the cushioned chair; your body sat between his spread legs as the back of your head rested on his chest.  And, this is entirely unrelated, but you really liked how he looked in the round sunglasses he had on.

You hummed contentedly as you reached up behind you to touch him, rubbing his shoulders and pecs.  You wiggled a bit, slowly, and imagined how it would feel if he got hard right against the small of your back.

"Mm, what's gotten into you, lutka?" he purred, rubbing your arms.

You rolled your eyes playfully.  "You know the effect you have on me, don't act surprised."

Just before anything exciting could happen, Sam and James entered through the fence, apparently already having changed into their swimsuits; you wished you had thought to wear sunglasses so they couldn’t catch you ogling their muscular bodies, but instead, you just tried to keep your cool as you waved hello.

“Welcome!” Helmut called out, both of you getting up to greet them properly.  “I hope your flight was alright…?”

“Yeah, it was great,” Sam nodded, “thanks.”

“You really own this whole place?” James added, glancing around.

“Yes, would you like to have a swim?  I hear it should be warm enough tomorrow for the ocean, but until then…” Helmut trailed off.

Sam went right ahead, diving in and smiling wide when he popped back up.  That man had such an infectious smile, you thought he should charge people to see it or something because you felt spoiled seeing it for free.

James jumped in behind him but seemed a little surprised when he returned to the surface to see you back in your chair with Helmut.  “Care to join us?” he asked you.

“Um, no, I already swam a bit this morning,” you remembered, suddenly shy, “I think I’ll stay by the pool a while longer.”

“Aw, I was looking forward to getting to know you better,” he pouted, and everyone else raised an eyebrow at that statement.  “Um, verbally, I mean,” he added, cheeks flushing slightly.

“What would you want to know?” you asked, sighing as you relaxed against Helmut’s chest.

“Well, what’s your story?” he shrugged, swimming up the edge of the pool to hang his arms over the edge.

“I… suppose it’s a rather short story,” you realized, “I was born in Sokovia, but my parents were immigrants.  I was a bit of an ugly duckling as a child, I think.”

“You look like quite the swan now,” James winked, and you hoped Helmut wouldn’t notice how much that affected you.  

“Oh, thank you,” you mumbled.

“Which reminds me, that’s a cute bikini you have on,” he complimented.

“Do you like it?” you hummed coyly.  “Helmut picked it out.”

“Why don’t you give them a better look, darling?” Helmut prompted, and Sam swam up to hang over the edge too as you stood up and fought the urge to cover yourself with your arms.  The Baron motioned his finger in a circle, silently instructing you to twirl so they could see the back, and you did though you felt a bit self-conscious about it.  Finally, once you were sure they’d had an eyeful, he let you sit back down in his lap.

“Cute, isn’t it?” he cooed as his fingers travelled slowly up your sides.  “It’s Chanel.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Sam dismissed, unlatching himself from the edge of the pool and falling into a backstroke.  “This is weird.  I just wanna swim.”

“You didn’t think this was seriously a free vacation, no strings attached, did you?” James shot back, getting up out of the pool and shaking some of the water off of himself before sitting down in the chair beside you two and letting his eyes wander over you.  “So, Chanel, huh?” he prompted, and you nodded.

“Helmut says I should only wear the nicest things,” you explained, sitting up slightly.

“Why does it matter?  You’d look beautiful in anything,” James cooed, and you felt a little dirty for how much you liked his attention.  Good thing you liked feeling dirty.

“And a rare wagyu steak would taste just as good served any way, but you wouldn’t put it on a paper plate, now would you?” Helmut countered.  “Well, maybe you would…”

James rolled his eyes but brushed off Helmut’s insult, returning his attention to you.  “I guess I’m just… hungry enough that it doesn’t make much of a difference.”

You reached up to trace your fingertip over the silver chain dangling off of his neck, biting your lip as you hooked your finger around it and pulled him closer.  “Are you hungry enough that you don’t mind that it’s another man’s meal?”

His blue eyes went wide for a moment before glancing down to your lips and back up to your unwavering gaze, your brow raised as if a challenge while his furrowed as if he were considering accepting it.

“If he’s willing to share…” James whispered back.

“Then kiss me,” you requested softly, pulling him closer by his dog tags one more time until your lips met.

The way James kissed you was… difficult to describe.  Gentle, but with this edge of intensity— like he was restraining himself, like there was so much more passion teeming beneath the surface.  You wanted to bring that out if you could; you wanted to see how far you could push him until he lost it.

As James carefully ventured his tongue into your mouth, only to pull back and nip your bottom lip with his teeth, Helmut kissed you too— on the back of your neck, that spot that always made you wet and desperate right away.  You moaned, and you couldn’t be sure exactly who it was for, but James sure decided to respond to it either way, tilting his head more to let his kiss explore you deeper.

Helmut’s teeth dug into your shoulder right as James nipped at your bottom lip like they had somehow explicitly coordinated to make you desperate; your right hand reached up to weave into James’ hair, your left squeezing Helmut’s wrist at your side.

The kiss ended just a moment too soon, and there was a delay before you blinked your eyes open to look back at James, who seemed quite proud of himself.

“Touch me,” you pleaded in a whimper.

“Where?” he asked, somewhat innocently.

“Y-you know where…” you mumbled.  

He grinned wide, all trance of innocence gone.  “I know, but I want you to say it.”

“My cunt,” you whispered, and he snarled just a bit at the word.  “Please?”

“Of course, which one do you want?” James prompted with a grin, showing you his hands as your eyes instantly gravitated to the metal one.

“I think you know which I’m going to choose,” you mumbled shyly, and he smirked as he reached forward with the vibranium arm to brush his fingertips over your stomach, moving down to the top hemline of your bikini bottom.

You just barely gasped when the metal digits swiped over your clit and began to rub gentle circles, almost too slow as if he wanted to tease you… which, of course, he did.

"Do you like the way he touches you, draga?" Helmut whispered.  His voice in your ear was like honey on your tongue, like honey everywhere.

"Yes, sir," you nodded, looking down at James' hand buried into your bikini.

"Hey, tell me you like it, too," James protested, "I'm the one doing it after all."

"I like it, James," you repeated, looking up at him.  "I… don't have a title for you.  Should I call you something when you touch me like this?"

"You can just call me Bucky from now on, okay?  I think we're well past close enough now for that."

"Okay, Bucky," you sighed, watching the way his jaw clenched when you called him by name, "please put your fingers inside me."

"Both?"

"Yes, please," you breathed.

"But my fingers are thick, they're hard metal, and you're so small and delicate…"

"I want them to stretch me out, just please—"

A loud moan of shock jumped out of your mouth when he pushed the fingers in all at once, and though it reawakened some of the soreness from when Helmut had fucked you the night before, it felt wonderful enough to make your back arch up from the strong body behind you, his erection now digging into your hip.

It was certainly loud enough to get Sam's attention, who suddenly appeared beside the chair while he towelled off his chiselled chest.

"Damn, what are y'all doing to her over here?" he wondered aloud as if he were concerned for your health.

"Just playing with Zemo's little doll," Bucky answered.  "She's really fucking tight, can barely fit two fingers."

"Wait, move over, let me see," Sam insisted, making Bucky pull his fingers out and Helmut holding you more firmly as Sam slipped his hand into your bikini as well, poking his fingers at your entrance before pushing them in.

His fingers were even thicker and longer than Bucky's, just by a slight margin yet enough to make you mewl and arch your back as your eyes fluttered shut.

"Fuck, yeah, you were right," Sam breathed, and you felt more hands running over your body but you couldn't even tell anymore whose they were; you knew one that reached to pull up your bikini top and expose your breasts was Helmut's, because only he would be so bold, but the fingers teasing your nipples, the rough palm running up your legs… they could've belonged to anyone, and that realization made your clit throb.

"Okay, okay, that's enough. I was here first," Bucky mumbled as you felt Sam's fingers slip out and the metal ones push back in— not to mention the thumb reaching up to circle your clit slowly.

He wasn't just exploring you this time; you could tell he had a mission.  The way he instantly curled into your spot, the way he moved quickly yet deliberately, all made your thighs begin to quiver.

Helmut kissed your ear, gently tilting your head to access your neck better where he began to suck hard enough to leave a mark, mumbling something in Sokovian about how good you were being for him and his guests.

You loved being good, and the praise made your hips lift a little so you could rock yourself onto Bucky's fingers; the three men chuckled proudly.

"Feels that good?" Bucky pressed, and you nodded quickly.

He fingered you even faster, harder, and you cried out.

"Ohhh fuck, Bucky!" you gasped.  "Bucky, I'm gonna come!"

"Oh no, you're not," Helmut groaned, giving you a quick spank on the inner thigh as you whined and jolted.  "James, take your fingers out."

"Do I have to?"

"You do if you want a chance to fill her with more than just your fingers…"

That worked right away, Bucky pulling back as you pouted at being empty again.

“Let’s take her inside, and we can continue this there,” Helmut suggested, and Bucky lifted you up into his arms as the Baron led the group back to the master suite.

The convenient thing about bathing suits is that it takes so little time to get naked, which is why the second the patio door was shut, Bucky and Sam were stripping as their hard cocks bobbed up against their stomachs.  As if that weren’t overwhelming enough, Helmut stepped away for a moment (which left you feeling more alone than usual) just as the men began to help you strip; Sam untied the back of your bikini while Bucky knelt and pulled down the bottoms, leaving you feeling exposed as you were totally bare before them.  Bucky smiled up at you and kissed along your thighs while Sam grabbed a handful of your ass and growled a bit under his breath.

When you looked over at Helmut, you saw he had actually dressed in his robe rather than stripping, nearly making you whine with disappointment.  But you couldn’t focus on that long as hands moved all over your skin, both of them still just slightly wet from the pool, and you shivered for both of those reasons.

You gasped when Bucky suddenly licked a thick stripe right over your folds, and if it weren’t for Sam’s arms holding you up, you might not have been able to stay standing.

Looking down at where Bucky was devouring you, he looked back up at you with a lot less dominating intensity in his eyes than you were used to seeing.  Not that you minded; after all, no one could do what Helmut did as well as he could, but maybe Bucky could do something different, and it would be just as enjoyable.  His tongue lapping at your clit was certainly wonderful so far.

Sam guided one of your hands back behind you to stroke his cock, your mouth falling slack, which he took advantage of by turning your face and capturing you in an open-mouthed kiss.  You heard your moans stifle against his tongue, felt his cock flex a bit as you smeared the precum you found at his tip.

“I think that’s enough for now,” Helmut interrupted, and everyone turned to look at him.  “Darling, come here,” he instructed with a curled finger that pointed to the bed, “hands and knees.”

You nodded and pushed the other men away, taking your place on the bed and looking up at him as he held your jaw gently.

"How long has it been since you had another man inside you, lutka?" he asked lowly.

"I can't even remember,” you admitted, “it's been so long…"

“Are you willing to try it?” he asked gently, no hint of domination or pressure in his tone, and you found yourself searching his eyes for the right answer.

“What do you want?” you asked him instead of answering.

“Draga, I’m asking what you want,” he reminded you, but you were afraid he would be hurt if you showed interest in the other men.  Sure, previous evidence indicated that wasn’t an issue for him, but your gut instinct was to deny your attraction.  So, you compromised. 

“All I want is you,” you answered first, “but…”

“But?”

“But is it awful if… if I want them to fuck me, too?”

He smiled, kissing your forehead.  “No, I don’t think so.  Only as awful as it is that I want to watch them fuck you.”

You looked up at him and smiled back, brimming with gratitude that he was so gentle with you.  It was fascinating how he wielded complete control over you and yet never used it against you.

“I have one rule, draga,” he added firmly, “you cannot come for them.  You only come for me.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And stay on your hands and knees, so I can always get a good look at you, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

He kissed you one more time before pulling away and sitting back in the chair in the corner with his ankle over his knee, looking at Sam and Bucky expectantly.  Every chair he sat in seemed to look like a throne as soon as he was in it.

“Well, get on with it, then,” he instructed, motioning to you.  The men looked at you and looked at each other before some kind of silent agreement took place and Bucky stepped up first.  Sam sat down to watch you as you felt Bucky stand near the bed behind you, flesh and metal fingers running over your back until you shivered.

Then he pressed his cock against you, coating himself in your wetness, and that made you shiver, too.

You braced yourself as he lined himself up, whimpering slightly as he pushed his cock into you as well as hearing him moan lowly.  The hand at your waist tightened as he hissed in a breath through his teeth.

"Fuck," he breathed, holding you still so he could fill you completely.  “S’tight…” he slurred.

“How does it feel for you?” Helmut asked you, raising an eyebrow as he examined your expression, your mouth fallen slack, yet your brow furrowed.

“It feels… different,” you stammered your answer.  You gasped loudly as Bucky started to move, and yes, this was very different.  His cock was curved differently and though it didn’t exactly reach any new parts of you (you were sure Helmut had already touched every part of you physically accessible), it did stroke them in new ways.  

He gained speed rather quickly, clearly too on edge himself to stay patient, and you didn’t blame him although it sent you moving faster toward the edge than you would’ve liked.  At first you wondered if it would even be a challenge to keep from coming like Helmut had demanded… you chided yourself internally for ever being so hubristic.

His legs pushed yours apart, spreading them wider, and he began to really fuck you in earnest, fast and needy and each slam of his hips against your ass harder than ever.  “O-oh fuck,” you choked, forcing your eyes shut and scrunching up your nose for a second when he slammed the tip of his cock right into the deepest spots inside you.  This position left you with nowhere to go, put your whole body on display for him along with giving you no escape from his onslaught of pleasure.  Worst of all was that you were pretty sure he wasn’t even trying that hard to make you feel good, and yet feeling used like that only turned you on more.

"Bucky, please, slow down," you whimpered.

"Absolutely do not do that," Helmut interjected sternly.  "Don't let her tell you what to do."

And, possibly just to spite you, he actually fucked you faster.  You sobbed and bit down on your lip, fighting everything building up inside you.

“You’d better not come,” Helmut warned through his teeth, “you’d better not fucking come.  You know how bad it would be for you if you came for another man.”

“Y-yes, sir,” you nodded.

But Bucky was slamming right into your spot, and he knew it, too. He knew how desperate you were becoming, and apparently, he didn’t mind at all that you’d be punished for it.  He leaned down to growl against your ear, “I know how close you are.  Don’t you think it’d feel so good to just let go and come on my cock?”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks as the force it took to hold back your orgasm became painful.  “No, it would only feel good to come for Helmut…”

“C’mon baby, just stop fighting it and come for me,” Bucky taunted, “squeeze me tight with that sweet little pussy; I know you need to so bad.”

He wasn’t wrong, but you blinked with teary eyes up at Helmut and wanted nothing more than to please him and make him proud of you.  “Please, m-make him stop,” you begged, “I won’t be able to hold back anymore…”

“He’s not going to stop until he comes, lutka, and you need to stay strong,” he explained, his voice soothing you slightly.  “You need to be my good girl.  Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered.

Bucky held your hips tight as he pulled your body back onto his cock, and you forced your eyes shut to try to focus on not coming.  No other man had made you come in your life but Helmut, and you had no intentions of breaking that streak.

“Think you can make me come before I make you come?” Bucky challenged.

“I have to,” you answered breathlessly.  “And I want you to come… I wanna make you come so bad, Bucky, please…”

“Mhmm?” he encouraged.

“Please, I want it, please come for me,” you whimpered.

“Fuck, I will,” he promised darkly, fucking you even harder.

Helmut interjected a brief instruction: “Pull out.” 

Bucky nodded a little, breathing heavily as you felt his cock throb slightly, especially at the base where each movement stretched you out even more.  It was so beautifully erotic and you were tensing every muscle inside you to try not to come, which helped speed him up quite a bit since you were gripping him so tight.

“Fuck,” Bucky grunted, “fuck!” 

He pulled out and instantly painted your back with a roar, sliding his cock over your ass as he pumped stream after stream of come onto you.  You sighed happily, satisfied that you had managed to stave off orgasm with perhaps only a few seconds to spare— you’d never been so happy to make someone come before because this time it brought relief that you had done well for your Baron.

Then again, you always felt that way when you made the man himself come, but this was different because you had been moments away from failing him.

Speaking of the Baron, he stared down at you proudly the whole time, kneeling down slightly to swipe his finger through the cooling spend on your back and bring it to your open lips.  “Mm, you really are my perfect little girl,” he mumbled as you sucked his finger diligently.  But he turned his attention away from you to call out across the room, “Sam!  It’s your turn.”

Your eyes went wide.  “W-wait, Helmut, I’ll come!”

“No, you won’t,” he hissed, eyes darkening again, “because I told you not to.”

And Sam was already behind you, taking Bucky’s place who had already cleaned himself up a bit and returned to his seat, letting the Baron pour him a drink which he gulped down in one go.

When Sam pushed into the end of you, your natural instinct was to arch your back up to try to keep him from going too deep, but he growled and pushed your back down again with a strong hand that made you feel so small for a moment.  “No, baby, no running away… you’re gonna take it all.”

“Yes, daddy,” you breathed, yelping a little when he roughly shoved in that last inch.

From then on, he went much harder on you than Bucky had, spanking you and gripping your ass while he fucked you, and the most embarrassing part was how much harder it made it to keep from coming.  It was clear that he realized making you come would give him power over everyone else in the room for different reasons, and he was determined to gain that power.

“Does he fuck you this good, huh?” he groaned.  

“He fucks me better,” you shot back right away, making Helmut chuckle slightly.

“If your plan is to make her switch allegiances, you’ll have to do better than that,” Helmut taunted, and Sam doubled his efforts as one hand pinched your clit and the other groped your breast.  You almost lost it right there but managed to pull yourself together, your whole body shaking with the effort to keep the pleasure at bay.

“Well, if he can fuck you better then why doesn’t he?” Sam continued his leading questions, even though you could barely keep up a conversation at this point.  “Why does he keep pimping you out to us if he’s fucking you right all on his own?”

“Don’t you understand?” you breathed, your head falling down onto the bed as you were almost able to look back enough to see his face.  “This is my punishment.  He knows I don’t want anyone else; that’s why you’re here.”

Sam smiled, perhaps in pity, and yet you honestly had to close your eyes because his smile was so lovely that it could’ve brought an end to your restraint.  “Poor thing, he’s really got you whipped.  I… still can’t believe I’m doing this, but you feel too good to stop now.”

He yanked your head back by your hair for emphasis, making you yelp as he fucked you brutally.  Your toes curled and your fingers dug into the sheets, and you had to close your eyes because the way Helmut was staring at you made this all much too difficult.  Maybe it was just that he didn’t seem jealous at all, or angry; but he didn’t seem like he was getting any excess pleasure out of this, either.  It was… almost neutral, but something burned behind his eyes brighter than maybe you’d ever seen it, his legs crossed and his fingers interlaced as he waited for you to either hold or break.

With the top half of your body fallen limply onto the bed, you reached out above your head and felt Helmut’s hand grab yours, squeezing slightly, and it helped keep you grounded as you held his fingers.

“Oh fuck, ‘m gonna come,” Sam groaned out his warning, “gonna cover this pretty ass in my come, you want that?”

“Yes, please,” you shuddered. 

“Keep begging for it,” he demanded, rushing his words as you felt his cock start to throb against your walls with his impending orgasm.  

“Please come, please come, please come on me, Sam, please,” you chanted, over and over, struggling not to come and hoping that if you could speed him up, then you could make it.

He grunted through his teeth as hot ropes of seed covered your ass; though your body was left wanting, dangling on the edge so close to your release, your mind was satisfied that you had managed to follow your Baron’s rules.

Sam stepped back to admire his work, finding another spare robe to cover himself with as he rejoined the other men across the room.

“Would you like a drink as well?” Helmut offered to Sam, unfortunately letting go of your hand in the process.  Sam was still catching his breath, running his hands over his short hair as if he was processing everything.

“No, but are those cigars up for grabs?” Sam replied, pointing to the ornate box propped open, and Helmut nodded.

“Of course; what’s mine is yours,” he answered, presenting the box and lighter to him.

“Yeah, you can say that again,” Sam added flatly, the three of them all looking at where you were sitting, covered in come and waiting patiently for your next command.

Just as you feared they’d all have their cigars and whiskey and ignore you completely, your Baron knelt down to look at you face-to-face, smiling proudly.

“You did so good for me, darling,” he cooed, and your insides clenched as if you could come just from hearing that.  “You don't think I'm horribly cruel, do you?"

"No, sir," you smiled weakly.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised with a kiss to the tip of your nose as he stepped away to the master bathroom.  

You glanced at the other men— Bucky with his crystal glass of whiskey, Sam puffing at the cigar stoically— and wondered what, if anything, you could possibly say.

“So, how’s your weekend been so far?” Sam asked you plainly, breaking the silence.

“It’s only Friday night,” you realized, sighing as you tried not to imagine how much debauchery the Baron had in store for you.  Right now you were so exhausted that it sounded like too much work; and you were so desperate only for Helmut that the idea of anybody else being involved intimidated you.

Helmut returned quickly with a washcloth, sitting beside you on the bed and placing it gently on your back.

“As pretty as you look covered in come, I’d rather not make too much of a mess,” Helmut explained as he wiped you down with the damp cloth, your skin tingling and your body crying out for more of his touch.

“Will you fuck me, sir?” you mumbled, somewhere between an honest question and a desperate plea.

“Yes, I will,” he answered, making you hum happily, “and I’m finally going to let you come.”

You bit down on your lip, trying not to moan just from hearing that.

“But I’m not going to let you stop.”

The lump in your throat was impossible to swallow, but you tried anyway as he tossed the rag away and circled the bed, standing behind where you were laying limply.  He grabbed you by your ankles and pulled you down to where he needed you, covering your body with his as he kissed the back of your neck slowly.

“I bet you’ll come the moment I’m inside you, draga,” he whispered.  You nodded in agreement, gasping a bit as you felt his cock teasing your swollen, sore pussy.  Just the tip bumping into your clit was enough to make you think you could come right there, you’d been on the edge so long.

But then he pushed into you in one stroke, not rough yet enough to reignite the soreness of being filled by two men already, and your walls started to pulse around him.  A million words swirled in your mind, words about how perfect he felt and how you’d missed him so much and how no one could fuck you like he could, but none of them made it to your mouth where you could only moan loudly.

He wrapped his arms around you, he kissed everywhere he could reach, and waves of pleasure washed over you until tears filled your eyes.  You lost count immediately, coming on his cock over and over as you became a limp, whimpering mess right away.

“You two really did miss out,” Helmut taunted the other men between his own moans, “it feels so fucking amazing to be inside her when she comes.  She gets tighter every time… blyat, so tight I can hardly control myself.”

It was already hot to hear him speak to you like that in these moments, but for him to speak to someone else, to keep you from forgetting that you weren’t alone and that these men had just fucked you and were watching you come right now?  You hadn’t even imagined before what that would be like.

“Please, please, sir, please,” you chanted, your voice breaking until you could barely whisper.

“What is it that you want, lutka?  Do you even know what you’re begging for anymore?”

“I want whatever you want, sir, please,” you cried.  He reached around your body to rub your throbbing clit, and you all but screamed.

“I know you do, beautiful, I know,” he breathed, kissing your back and shoulder tenderly to calm you.  “I love you so much, draga, you know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I love you too, Helmut,” you whispered, “more than anything.  I love being yours.”

“Aw,” you heard Bucky briefly sigh.

“Dude, shut up,” Sam corrected him harshly.

“It’s sweet!” Bucky defended.

“It’s weird; this is all so weird,” Sam frowned.

“You didn’t seem to mind before…” Bucky trailed off.

Two of Helmut’s fingers swiped over your open lips and you immediately sucked them into your mouth with a satisfied hum, the taste of his skin always comforting you.  When he rolled you onto your side, it was so much easier for him to touch you wherever he wanted and it only did more to keep you overwhelmed with pleasure until you worried you couldn’t take much more.  But you kept sucking his fingers, tears still falling which he occasionally kissed away, until he took his hand away to wrap around your neck instead.  You nodded a little to let him know it was okay to choke you, and your loud moans fell to sudden silence when he tightened his grip.  

It made your eyes roll back, it made your walls flutter and your toes start to go numb, it made you wonder if you were going to pass out whether or not he let you breathe again because your body was already ready to give in.

You sucked in a gasp when he let go, sobbing his name as a particularly deep thrust knocked you right into your peak again.  He kept one hand on your neck as the other reached between your legs to play with your abused pussy as he fucked it harder than ever.

“I can’t come anymore,” you assured, shaking your head and trying to push his hand away from your sore clit.  “I— I can’t…”

“Yes, you can, draga, I know you can. Just relax and let me keep making you feel good,” he instructed, somehow both gentle and demanding all at once.

“I… I can’t…” you breathed, nearly incomprehensible between thick sobs, but you were already coming again in spite of your words, shocks of pleasure electrifying your body from the inside out.  He choked you out into silence again, praising you all the way through it.

“There you go, shh, it’s all right,” he soothed, “you’re so beautiful, darling, so good for me, just keep going…”

You reached back to lace your fingers into his hair and tug, which did nothing to deter him from kissing your neck just beneath where his thumb gripped it, same as your hand wrapped tightly around his wrist didn’t stop him from quickly rubbing your clit.

Breath filled your lungs when he let go, and you were so desperate for relief that you felt like you weren’t even in control of your words anymore.

"Please come inside me," you begged mindlessly, "please, I need you so bad, please…"

“Is that what you need?” he groaned.  “You need to be full of my seed?”

“Yes, please, want it deep in me— fuck, Helmut, please!”

He growled and bit your ear lightly, mumbling his promise to fill you up in Sokovian— sometimes you thought he spoke Sokovian when he was about to come because he was so distracted that he forgot English, but you didn’t think that at the moment because you were currently too cockdrunk to think about anything.

His low moan echoed right through your body as you felt his cock flex and throb with each pump of come, just as deep as you’d wanted, and you sighed happily at the familiar feeling, finally relaxing into the mattress.

But perhaps you relaxed a little too soon because he made you come one more time after he’d filled you, whispering something about he wanted to use your pussy to milk every drop from his cock, but after that finally he pulled out, and you collapsed face-down onto the bed, ready to pass out even though the sun was only just beginning to set and you’d slept until noon earlier.

“Well, I think we sufficiently knocked her out,” Sam chuckled.

“‘We’?” Helmut repeated, sounding a bit offended yet bemused as he redressed.

“Okay fine, you did most of the heavy lifting, but only cause you wouldn’t let her come for us,” Sam relented with a frown.

“I swear, I was this close to getting her to break,” Bucky interjected, sighing before taking another slow sip of his (third) drink.

“Yeah, what would’ve happened if one of us made her come, anyway?” Sam wondered aloud.  “She seemed pretty worried about whatever punishment you had in store for her.”

“Nothing too terrible,” Helmut shrugged, “I just would’ve fucked her in the ass.”

Bucky choked on his whiskey as Sam tried and failed to suppress a smirk.

“She lets you do that?!” Bucky blurted out between fits of coughing.

“She lets me do whatever I want,” Helmut replied, “I’m surprised that hasn’t become abundantly clear to you by now.”

“I guess we’re still adjusting to it, that’s all,” Sam explained.  “I don’t know about you,” he looked at Bucky, “but this is new for me.”

“I was born in 1917; everything is new for me,” Bucky frowned.

“Well, this is new for us too,” Helmut assured, “especially her, she was so inexperienced when she met me…”

He paused for a moment to reminisce before glancing at you lying prone on the bed and looked totally fucked-out.

“But look at her now!” he finished.  “She takes it all in stride.”

“Yeah, she’s a trooper alright,” Sam agreed.  “Be careful with her, Zemo, ‘cause I think if you hurt her too bad, Bucky here is gonna be waiting in the wings to steal her.”

“I— what?!” Bucky snorted defensively.

“Don’t think we can’t see you giving her googly eyes, not that I blame you or anything… getting deepthroated for the first time will definitely make you catch feelings,” Sam smirked before taking a puff of the cigar again.

“It’s not like that, I’m just… listen, I guess I’m just a bit more conventional than you perverts,” he frowned.  “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or anything, I just can’t imagine having a girl like that all to myself and letting anybody else lay a finger on her.”

“Not everyone is as insecure as you, James,” Helmut shrugged.  “Women can’t be stolen.  They can only go where they want to.  And she wants to be with me.”

He turned back to ask you if you agreed, but you were already fast asleep.  Smiling slightly, he grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed and unfolded it to drape over you; you instinctively cuddled up under it without waking up, letting out a quiet sigh.

“Goodnight, draga,” he whispered with a kiss to your forehead.  “Rest well, you’ll need it for the morning.”

[yandere-romanticaa]

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞/𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐚.

Sweet smiles, long walks and picturesque sun sets become common place with Childe as soon as you meet him. Word in Liyue travels fast and once he heard the stories about the odd traveler he can’t help but to be at least a little bit interested. He’s quick on his feet, already making his way towards the newcomer with that cheeky but sly smile of his. Childe being Childe, his mind wanders and he ponders just how much of a fight this stranger can really put up. The curiosity is bubbling up inside of him, his hands already picking up his new comrade as he twirls them in the air, an odd spark glinting brightly in his ocean blue eyes. If only he knew what he just got himself into… the same could be said for his adorable little comrade as well.

He’s a pest right from the get-go and if he’s being called out for his behaviour, he’ll just laugh, put an arm around your shoulder, press you closer against him and smoothly change the subject. He doesn’t mind when his more suspicious behaviour gets called out, it just means that you catch on fast which he likes, at the start… or so he thinks. If there is anything that Childe despises in the world it would be people who are weak, people who are unwilling to fight. You don’t need to be a master swordsman or anything like that in order to impress him, just show him that you have some ambition and you’ll be golden. But, he wouldn’t like it too much if his darling didn’t trust him. He seeks to earn your trust right from the start and he hates keeping secrets which is very much ironic on his part. He loves it when you come running straight to him, tears streaming down your cheeks as you hold him tightly, telling him about the scary stalker you think you have. He rubs your back gently and coos at you, his voice soothing your anxieties while not knowing that the true culprit was standing right in front of you. 

He always makes sure to present himself in the most incredible light he possibly can. You’ll never catch him sulking, he’s always ready for an adventure and he is always willing to pay for anything you want. It’s cute when you ask him how he can summon so much Mora but it still worries you. He buys you so many things, downright spoiling you like royalty that you actually start to feel guilty. How is this man not broke? It seems like you’ll never truly know, nor does he want to you to know.

It’s scary how many little things he notices about you. He studies you, his eyes always lingering on your form whether you realize that or not. He’s got eyes and ears everywhere, he always knows where you are. He often pushes his limits, scaring you on purpose just to see what kind of reaction you’d give him. Seeing the hairs on the back of your neck stand up straight, your face losing some of its colour, fidgety arms searching for your house key in order to get away from the subtle danger that your gut keeps warning you about. There is no denying it, it gives him a new thrill he’s never felt before. He’s such a creep when it comes to these things, purposefully leaving little hints around your house that you are never quite alone, his shadow always tailing you no matter the time of day. He pushes his limits far too often but always steps back if he feels that his cover will be blown. He is a very patient man, he can play this little game of cat and mouse for as long as he sees fit.

If he promises you something, rest assured he will keep his word. Yes, he’s a pretty easygoing guy but he never goes back on his word, and he expects the same from you. Do not break your promises to him, please.

He’ll feel conflicted once he realizes just how much he cares for you. It’s amusing in a way, but also a little scary -  the way his heart starts to pump the moment he sees you is something beyond this world, how his blood boils when he sees you talking to someone he deems to be unworthy of your time and attention (which is almost everyone you know…). It’s not something he can express through words, so he does what his heart tells him. Stay as close to you as possible, never let you leave his line of sight. To the outside world his clinginess may seem endearing, downright adorable even. Seeing two young lovebirds together is always a sight for sore eyes but alas it’s a pity that never sees the panic in your own. His grip is far too tight, his stare too intense to be considered normal, his lips always close to your ear. He’s touchy like that and he takes pride in it. He has no shame.

When it comes to kidnapping it will happen eventually, but when exactly is all up to you. If he senses that something’s off, that you fell for someone else or anything of the sort he will take you. Even if things are alright, even if you fell head over heels for him the urge to dominate your life is still very much there. He is just so confident in his own strength that he feels more on edge if he leaves you alone. Childe has more enemies then he could care to count for but if they ever found about his little soft spot there would be serious consequences. He urges you to just sit on his lap while he does his work, it makes things so much easier.

As a proud family man, Childe would understand your desire to stay in close contact with loved ones and he actually supports it. Of course, all of your movements will be heavily monitored and if he sees anything that he deems to be suspicious, even if it was just a false alarm, he is taking you back home and this specific privilege will be taken away from you. He’s not risking anything, and don’t even think about trying to pull some kind of stunt, especially if you are out in public. When you’re alone with him again, that is when you’ll expirience what true Hell feels like.

A true sadist through and through, he takes great pleasure in seeing you come undone by his own two hands. He can’t help himself even if his life was on the line, seeing you miserable is good entertainment. If he does cross the line though, he will go easy on you. This hot and colt treatment keeps you on edge, never quite sure when he will come running to you, peppering your face with kisses and giving you sugary sweet compliments or when he feels like using you as a human punching bag. That is arguably the scariest thing about him, how easily he can shift between that kind, older brother figure to the bloodthirsy warrior that so many fear, and rightfully so. He is two sides of the same coin and you are the one who gets to flip it - whether you want to or not.

[heaven-in-a-wild-flower]

Crows Headcanon: In Lockdown

Read this and more Crows headcanons on ao3 using this link

Chapter 1 (the chapters aren't related and do not continue the story, each can be read separately)

Kaz

Kaz yearns to vanquish the last of his enemies, to admire the bright red of their blood. He feels an ache in him that can only be sated by the sight of beautiful stolen kruge. He fantasises of the glorious feeling of having bested another. He shivers with desire when he thinks of all the fear he could be eliciting in people.

In other words, he's bored. What is a crime lord to do if no crimes can be done? (There is the option of ignoring lockdown and venturing out, but he's not stupid enough to risk getting a virus). He wakes up each morning and trudges to the rooftop because he wants to get some fresh air and some quiet (not because that seems to be Inej's favourite spot). He stays there for an hour or so, memorising various details of the city below (not Inej's smile. She loves sunsets and smiles softly at them). He's always incredibly calm after this exercise. It must be because of all the fresh air.

Then he has to go down and deal with the rest of his Crows, some of whom cannot stop talking at him (Jesper, of course). They all eat breakfast together at the table and chatter all through it. He misses being able to scare people away with just a glance and regale them with their secrets, just to watch them quake. The Crows giggle, how dare they, when he tries it on them. They aren't scared of him anymore and he hates it (loves it).

He then locks himself in his room and spends many hours plotting all the schemes he'll enact after the lockdown is lifted. Oh, the people of Ketterdam won't know what hit them. Someone keeps knocking and leaving food outside so eats that for lunch. He hasn't yet figured out who it might be. They're always gone no matter how fast he goes for the door. But no matter, he'll figure it out, he is Kaz Brekker after all, secrets bow to him.

In the evening they all sit down for a round of cards (sometimes even he falls prey to Jesper's charm). Kaz simultaneously trains them.

"What's the easiest way to temporarily blind someone?" he asks (This is more for personal entertainment than true training because he loves to rile Matthias up).

"Dirt in their face?" Inej asks.

"Bright light to the eye?" Jesper says.

"Tighten a blood vessel?" Nina suggests.

"Spit in their eyes?" Wylan adds. (Kaz will never say it, but he is so proud)

"You're all horrible," Matthias responds predictably, yet everyone hears him mutter, "Smoke bomb is best."

He goes to bed somewhat relaxed, an effect of not having to worry about being attacked in your sleep (or robbed, for that matter).

He'll never admit it to anyone, not even if you threaten to rob all his kruge but, maybe this lockdown situation with all his Crows is tolerable.

Inej

Inej misses the freedom. The freedom of being able to climb and slide and jump her way through any part of the city. Being trapped inside due to the lockdown causes a bit of anxiety in her. It does help to at least be able to see the entire city spread out before her like her very own feast and so she'll spend most of her morning on the roof, bottling up the feeling to last her through the day. She loves the sunset, but every time Kaz joins her at the roof, sneaking what he thinks are subtle glances at her, she can't stop smiling (a small gentle smile, but a smile nonetheless).

In the afternoon she, Nina and Jesper will try to cook. She laughs the most with them, her stomach aching in the best way afterwards. She loves them and endures their high energy goofy selves with equal parts fondness and amusement. The food isn't always the best, but the company is so good that she forgets the taste of it (most of the time, sometimes she has to yell at Jesper not to keep burning the food just to finish a good joke).

In the evenings, she'll sometimes practice some of her acrobatics wherever she can. She secretly gets thrilled by slightly scaring Jesper whenever he walks into a room and suddenly finds her dangling from somewhere. Sometimes when she feels anxious and desperately needs to be calmed, she'll ask Wylan to play his flute and fall asleep curled up wherever she is (Jesper loves taking pictures of her asleep in weird places and Kaz makes sure she always has a blanket on her but only when no one is looking).

Some nights she'll make some of her comfort food and Kaz will lean against the counter, claiming that he's helping (his presence helps her, always, even though he does not do any of the cooking). His absolute silence calms her, it feels both comforting and understanding and she loves the weight of his gaze on her, anchoring her. And every time she asks him to hand her something, their fingers brush and warmth bursts through her body. She loves these quiet nights they have, the way they are both magnetic to the other. She'll smile at him and he'll freeze and he'll move a bit closer to her and she'll tingle with awareness.

Jesper

Jesper, as we know, is a raging extrovert. He’s almost dying staying inside all day. He wakes up in the morning and gets dragged back in by Wylan who won't let him leave before he gives him a good cuddle in the morning. He indulges him, of course. He loves it. He didn't know that being wanted, being loved could feel like this. When he's eventually awake, he'll go chat up Matthias who also gets up pretty early to do his workout (although chat at is more accurate, considering that Matthias barely responds). He has taken to calling Matthias 'Matty' and Matthias loathes it (which means that Jesper does it all the time, of course).

Later, after Nina, Jesper and Inej manage to make lunch, he takes some up to Kaz. He leaves it outside his room and once he's in another room, he pushes any small metal object towards the door to make the knocks (because what use is it being Grisha if you don't use it for friendly pranks?). He hangs out with Nina in the afternoons sometimes and they discuss their favourite shows and characters. Those two will go on for hours without realising it and sometimes they won't even realise that they're being very loud (because that's what passionate fangirling/fanboying is like). As the fashion icons of the group, they also often do online shopping together. Sometimes he'll go from room to room (excluding Kaz's, not because it's locked but because it's, well, Kaz's) talking to everyone and trying to join whatever they're doing and he'll end up annoying everyone in one fell swoop, earning many comments along the lines of, "Wylan, what do you see in him?" Wylan would stroke his chin in thought and respond, "Hmm, you know what, now that you bring it up..." After this, Jesper will attack him with kisses all over his face and giggling, Wylan will forget whatever he was about to say.

Evenings are his favourite though, card time! The Crows refuse to bet kruge because they don't want to fuel his gambling addiction so they'll bet on random things. Losing one of the bets, Jesper had to take shots of Tabasco sauce alternating with shots of milk while singing Hot N Cold by Katy Perry (this was a Wylan dare, he is terrifyingly good at setting dares). The best one was when Kaz lost and had to dance to Watch Me (Whip/Nae Nae) by Silentó while following the exact dance steps (this was a Nina dare. She was laughing so hard tears were rolling down her cheeks. Jesper tried to record it, but Kaz knocked the phone out of his hands using his cane.)

In the nights, Jesper watches Wylan write some of his own songs (a hobby he has picked up recently). He simply can't look away, Wylan's face scrunched up in concentration is too captivating.

"Stop staring," Wylan will complain sometimes, blushing and blushing, "I can't focus!"

Jesper will brush his hand through his curls, kiss his head and respond, "I can't help it, maybe I just like your stupid face."

"I'll dare you to do something truly horrifying tomorrow," Wylan threatens with the sweetest smile on his face and Jesper immediately backs off. He loves this side of Wylan, the side only the Crows get to see. The side who isn't quiet and innocent, who isn't afraid to speak his mind, to assert his place. He gives him one long kiss on the lips, leaving both of them just a little bit dazed and goes to sleep. He falls asleep immediately, all his energy drained and the pillow smelling wonderfully like Wylan.

Wylan

Wylan loves waking up with his boyfriend right next to him, even if he grumbles and refuses to get off the bed as early as Jesper does. His laziness certainly pays off, he gets breakfast in bed so many times! When he does wake up, he'll be groggy for the entirety of the morning (Jesper calls him 'Zombie Boy' in the mornings and if he were more awake, Wylan would probably object to this, but since he isn't, he just grumbles and focuses on not falling face first into his food). He only truly wakes up at lunchtime. He loves making little desserts to surprise the Crows. All their pleased reactions make him blush and grin at once.

He sometimes pulls Jesper onto the couch with him to watch a movie (because he loves spending time with him, not because the rest of the Crows have been begging him to distract Jesper, okay, maybe both are true). Shockingly, Jesper does not like action movies, Wylan found this out the hard way when he put on an action movie the first time and Jesper fell asleep not even halfway through it. Jesper actually likes... romcoms. Wylan loves how Jesper cries and laughs simultaneously, clutching Wylan's shirt and burying his face in it during the sad parts and jerking back up to laugh at the jokes or repeat the dialogues with the characters. Wylan loves being needed like this. He never knew he'd enjoy giving comfort as much as he loves receiving it.

Sometimes it scares him how much he loves the Crows. He hasn't ever known family that didn't hurt him, that liked him as is, no modifications needed. To help deal with this deluge of feelings without getting overwhelmed, he writes music. He pours all of his feelings into his flute and when they come out of it, they are sweet and painful, loud and whispery, sharp and smooth. He doesn't think all the Crows understand this but, it is enough to see a passing smile when they hear it and it is enough for him to get those feelings out there. And the peace he gives Inej when she falls asleep to his music makes him think she understands (she does).

He enjoys torturing the others during card time in the evenings (he absolutely preens when he sees Kaz's approving nod). He'll never tell anyone, but he finds some of his most outrageous dares on Reddit (Kaz knows this, and is even prouder of him at the deception).

He also sometimes lets Nina style his hair. She enjoys it and he does too. He loves the feeling of her hands moving gently through his curls. Closing his eyes, he allows himself to imagine that it's his mother. If he shudders or lets loose a few tears, he pretends it was the cold or the pain from having his hair tugged at. Nina lets him pretend, she understands wanting maternal affection, she's an orphan herself. She thinks having it and then having it taken away due to situations like these is harder than never having had it at all.

He goes to sleep slowly, curling up like a cat and watching Jesper's face in the restfulness of sleep. Oh, how lucky he is.

Nina

Nina has mixed feelings about the lockdown because she's an ambivert. She misses meeting people, but is also really happy and comfortable just staying in and hanging out with the other Crows.

She wakes up in the morning, not too early and not too late, but obviously later than Matthias because who even wakes up that early? Anyway, she stretches and lounges in bed for a while, enjoying the warmth. When she wakes up, Matthias is usually about to go for a shower (so he's sweaty, very very sweaty). He tries to hug her, but she dodges. "No, no! Take a shower first!" He grins and grabs her again (Is this really what all his Fierdan training is meant for? He thinks so, yes). Even though she doesn't quite enjoy the feeling of sweat-slicked arms around her, she loves this side of Matthias. This playful, childish side that only she gets to see. Every time it pops up, she feels proud, honoured even that he trusts her enough to be himself with her. It makes her heart warm.

After all the breakfast shenanigans, she goes into a room and picks up her knitting supplies. She's picked up this hobby in the lockdown to kill time, but now she's actually quite enjoying it. She makes socks and scarfs and sweaters and beanies, all with bright colours and cosily mismatched. She then gifts it to the others. She knows that they don't like it and that is why she pretends that they are genuine gifts. They wear it and she loves how they look it in. It makes her crack up so many times (she also loves them for it).

Wylan lands up with a pink and yellow coloured beanie that is about two times too big for his head. It keeps falling into his eyes and making him look like a little poisonous mushroom. Jesper gets a giant rainbow scarf that he loves. He wears it all the time and makes sure to hit as many people with the ends of it as he rewraps it around his neck over and over again. Inej gets a bright blue sweater with green and orange polka dots that she drowns in. Nina knows that Inej likes the way it covers her hands and keeps them warm. Kaz gets purple and black striped socks that he claims he never wears, yet she sometimes sees them in the wash. Matthias is so aggressively supportive of her that he wears all her creations at once, a beanie, a sweater, two scarves and a pair of socks. He's like a human furnace and she loves to cuddle him in them (she also suspects that he loves this too and this is the real reason he does it, but she, of course, doesn't mind).

She loves using her dares in the evening to embarrass Kaz because that is her true purpose in life, she is simply superb at it. And the glares she gets in return fuel her very soul (and if it makes Inej smile, then that's just an extra benefit).

She sometimes has girl-time with Inej, where they paint each other's nails and talk about Kaz or sometimes they talk about nothing at all. They play music and simply enjoy each other's company.

She and Matthias go to bed cuddling, his warmth wrapped all around her, or her warmth enveloping him. She didn't know a pair of arms could feel this wonderful, but she knows that it wouldn't work with just any pair of arms. Only his, always his.

Matthias

Matthias enjoys the lockdown time. He likes all the extra time, which he fills up with all sorts of activities he's always wanted to try. He also feels anxious if he's being unproductive so it's a win-win. He wakes up early. The waking up part is easier than leaving the circle of Nina's arms, but he manages somehow. He works out, ignoring Jesper and that accursed name (Matty).

Later, he moves on to his current hobby, woodworking. He's working on an extra cupboard so that Nina has space for all her clothes (she keeps buying more because she's bored and online shopping kills time, but Matthias blames it entirely on Jesper). Everybody is a bit jealous of how productive he is during the lockdown, but they also love it because of the gifts they get from it.

Matthias made Kaz a new cane with more modifications and a better grip and took Nina's help to make sure that it matched his "aesthetic" (he's still a bit unsure what that means, but by the way Kaz's eyes widened, he knows Kaz liked it, so that's enough for him). He made Inej some new scabbards and the way she held his gaze and thanked him for it sincerely touched him (this is why Inej gets the most gifts, comparable only to how many Nina gets). Wylan got a dartboard with Jan Van Eck's face on it that he loves (It was supposed to be a bit of a joke gift, but Wylan is now a master of darts and enjoys it quite a bit, so there's that). Jesper got a holster that Nina insisted on bedazzling and when they gave it to him, his whole body stilled and tears filled his eyes. He leapt at them which Matthias nearly took for an attack before he hugged them (Matthias still thinks of this as a different type of attack, but he supposes that it is tolerable) (Jesper now tries to hug him all the time).

The part he enjoys most is relaxing with Nina. When they're cuddling he feels the warmth seep through his skin all the way to his heart. When he asked Nina if she was doing something to his heart with her Heartrender powers, she laughed and laughed and laughed. That made his heart thud louder and louder, making him believe that she really was doing something to it. All the cuddling reminds him of the first time they did it, huddling together in Fierda to conserve warmth. He doesn't know how it happened, but somehow he has her now and it is everything.

(Comment what you think about this, it would mean the world to me! <3)

Next chapter

Let me know if anyone wants to be added to the tag list.

[pyroclaststan]

The Reveal

CW: cursing—younger Kingsley used to curse up a storm outside the stutter, soft shit

Your left hand busies itself with your coffee, an almost-burn from the heat seeping through the cardboard holder, scalding in a way you can handle and appreciate.

Your free hand clenches. Unclenches. Clenches. An old song and dance that will never leave you; a reflex you can’t shake. You would start another internal diatribe about how that’s going to get you killed or found out one day, but your mind is too busy to start a fight: even with you.

Your shields are up, held close and tight to keep out the majority of the hive that moves through the city. Small stretches of the mind now and then assure you that you’re not being watched, but you always retreat quickly before you accidentally latch onto some feeling or thought that might drain you before your day has even begun. So far the coast has been clear, but that means nothing when it comes to the kind of people you’re hiding from.

The woman on the opposite end of the patio having coffee with her friends is glancing at you again over the lip of her mug. You sense no deception, no recognition… why does she keep looking at you? Small smiles your way you’re not used to receiving. Hunching down a little, you politely push her focus back to her friends, leaving behind the feeling that she’d mistaken you for someone else: you’re simply a kind old lady enjoying some tea. Keeping a mental watch on her, she is quietly fed small bits of supporting emotions until her group leaves.

An unbidden shudder climbs up your spine, so you tighten your grip into a tight fist as if you could physically wring it out if not mentally. Again and again, as always: the stress, anxiety, every bit of nerves—all compiling and in overdrive. Today is the day. The light pain of nails into palm takes the edge off before you sink into a spiral of thoughts about this decision. You take a drink to ease your mood.

“You’re late, Chrysantamum!” a voice calls out from behind you, startling you mid-sip of said scalding hot coffee.

“Fucking fuck!” you spew, your customary curse half garbled by liquid.

Luckily, your hands are fast enough to pull the cup away and mitigate most of the damage: just a burnt tongue and throat for you. Some light coffee spots for your clothes. A bundle of napkins takes care of those and the spill on the table.

That ridiculous name alone tells you who got the jump on you, let alone the fact that someone got the jump on you at all with your vigilance.

Ricardo Ortega.

At least you can say he learned not to jump out and surprise you from the front—you can proudly say he knows better after that kick he took to the chest… and the various incidents after. And he’s been apparently been experimenting with your name now that he’s learned that, too.

Delightful.

You suppress the collection of biting words and spicy curses you come up with in response to him, once again quietly regretting you ever gave him a name at all. More so, regretting that once you turn around, he will finally see your face.

Why, for the love of any and every deity you could pull from your repertoire, did you agree to this? Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile—you know this, but here you are: ever forward ever deathward towards his orbit. Your sigh comes from a depth you didn’t realise you had in you. There might have been a little Steel channeled into it, if you’re honest.

You can’t say you’re surprised Ricardo knew it was you. This is specifically the address you were supposed to meet at, he’s noticed a few curls poke out from under your mask when your hair wasn’t braided, and even with you sitting he’s learned your signature slouch by now. ‘Fucking fuck’ probably isn’t an everyday curse either, but who’s to say?

Looking down, the clothes on your back are also a dead giveaway. A decently okay grey button down that was liberated from Ortega’s locker at Ranger’s HQ, the skinsuit that anyone else would mistake for a turtleneck peeking out from the sleeves and collar, an ages old hoodie hole-filled and sun bleached on the back of your chair, your secondhand high-water dress pants not quite long enough for your lanky legs, and your ratty old stompers bear laces in a telltale Ranger blue—courtesy of Anathema.

Of the few things you paid attention to today you made sure you didn’t give Ortega the ego boost of wearing the Charge laces they’d also gotten you, though you hope he doesn’t notice the earring out of the many lining your ears. They’re stacked with studs instead of rings today, in case you need to slip your mask on and make an escape. You should’ve have by now.

You are a particular brand of patchworked charity both subtle and recognisable to the favoured few who get to know you. Today is the day they’ll get to know you. Again, you remind yourself how much you already regret it. You hope you’re a decent enough ‘you’ for them to get to know.

Right hand into your thick curls you pull silently at a coil, reminding yourself that this is you here, and eventually that’s got to be enough for someone. Even if it’s never going to be for enough you. You idly ponder what colour your new braids should be as a self-distraction tactic before slipping your hand out and deciding to crumple up a napkin instead, fiddling with the texture of it. One stim for another as you wait out your impending doom.

Ortega’s steps grow louder as he gets closer, telltale modded weight in each step, and your cheeks begin to heat up at the approach, the buzz of his mind coming into staticky focus. Ha! There’s a new nervousness building now, and a little panic? Or rather, a touch of anxiety over your looks—he’s rubbing off on you in the worst ways. But you can’t hide the thought: if he doesn’t like what he sees? He’s only ever known you—and kissed you—with your mask on. You never care to care how you look; you’ve never tried to dress in any way that wasn’t covert and unassuming.

Damn it. You remember you forgot your cap.

Yours, not the Rangers one Anathema also got you (always buying you merch in a heavy-handed gesture) that you pointedly only wear when Chen is around, always over your mask.

He hates it, you love that he hates it. You wish he’d like—

The Steel-related thoughts you have on that note are mashed down before they can even bubble up. No time for that molotov cocktail of clusterfuck.

This meet-up has been planned for nearly a month, allowing you time to stake out a place, begin preparations, and come up with ample excuses to back out. You didn’t.

Idiot.

You made Ortega swear on his life that he would keep your face out of the papers, off the net, and completely unaffiliated with anything having to do with him. The front of his shirt was in dire need of dry cleaning by the time you finally let go of it, losing your nervous edge once the deal had been done. This is a risk beyond any you’ve ever taken and you’re doing it because you like him enough to try and make your fake life a little more real. Because you like having friends. Fucking fuck.

You make a mental note to have ‘World’s Greatest Idiot’ put into any possible epitaph you may get after this.

A weighted pause. You just realised what he said. How are you late? He’s here an hour after the agreed upon time in classic Ortega fashion. He’d almost be exasperating if he wasn’t so calming at the same time. Stupid static mind, resisting your every touch but giving out just enough feedback to settle you.

Wrapping your annoyance, frustration, and nerves around you like a brittle shield, you gather any venom you have left as a defence mechanism. A hard look very softened by the blush on your freckled bronze cheeks as you hear his steps stop just on the other side of the cafe railing to your left. The white noise of his mind quiets so many of your errant thoughts, and while the impenetrability would usually annoy you, right now it is a soothing reminder than this is, in fact, your best friend beside you.

You pointedly ignore the growing heat in your ears. And cheeks. And throat. And stomach.

“I’m uh, not an expert on interpersonal bullshit, but aren’t nicknames supposed to be sh-shorter than your actual name?” you huff, trying to put as much edge into your voice as you can in your current state.

Finally you turn your head, an annoyed glare in Ricardo’s direction before he can get out his smart ass response. Refusing to be soft, refusing to make this an easy reveal and hopefully showing how completely uncomfortable with all of this you are. How far out on a limb you’re going.

He won’t get it anyway.

And if you did show it, he sure doesn’t respond to it: instead, his face is lit up like a Christmas tree. His eyes dart around so fast, taking in every inch of yours so quick that you fear they may come loose and fly right out of his head. His grin is blinding—amazed and beautiful—and it takes every ounce of self-control for you not to turn away from him or vault the fence and make a run for it. You avoid the temptation to look closer at what you briefly noticed was a very nice, very new suit… as a preventative measure, of course. Can’t let him see you sweat, or, y’know.

The two of you finally make real eye contact but after even a few beats it’s too much for you, so you pointedly look away from his gaze, sipping your coffee and allowing him the privacy to study you while he can. As if being looked at wasn’t already distasteful enough for you, having your features memorised and scrutinised gives you even less pleasure, but at least now he’ll stop pestering you about it. Not at all happy that you wish you could read his mind to find out what he thinks.

No sooner than you have that thought does the soft little ‘mierda’ come from under his breath, making you want to die on the spot—you sincerely hope you’re not becoming a tomato.

“Kingsley Chrysanta,” he half announces, half inquires. Testing the reigns of his newfound knowledge most likely. Placing the name alongside the face in his head, and connecting a string between them like the many on his whiteboard. At his blooming smile your heart speeds up and your stomach does a flip. Id-i-ot!

“Yeah yeah,” you mutter against the rim of your now empty coffee cup, “we get it: you know my whole name now.” You look back at him, holding his line of sight with a half-hearted sneer. “I can do it too, Ricardo Felipe José García Sparkles Ortega. See? We b-both know words.”

He’s got a look of triumph and an even brighter grin on that note, your teasing bouncing right off of his impenetrable shield of sunshine, like he’s happy you memorised his name. Ricardo’s airy laugh is almost mystified, and the exhalation that he lets out is suspiciously soft before he confirms, “It really is you.”

“Got it in one,” you can’t stop your answering smile, suddenly aware of how crooked yours is compared to his. And that halts you. How disheveled and awkward and unreal you are compared to him.

Don’t go there. Not now.

“Your speech is getting better,” he comments softly, carefully. “Looks like me annoying you into talking really is good for you.” His sly smile aimed down at his shoes.

Your speech has been getting better, though that is also a product of your own efforts, not just his: he always thought you said so little for no reason. Taking it slow, smaller sentences, and keeping calm have helped you manage your impediment—you get less frustrated trying to speak. You think less about the fists that gave you the problem in the first place. You ultimately refuse to acknowledge his statement, correct as it may be.

“My point still stands: that’s long for a nickname,” your deflection hopefully going unnoticed. “Don’t you, uh, usually just call me King? What happened to that one?”

He’s much closer now, leaning forward over the barrier in that way that puts him right inside everyone’s bubble: personal, personable. In his defence, however, he’s keeping his hands firmly on the railing, as if to stop the rest of himself from going right over. The twitch on his lips and the white-knuckled grip of his hands are the only clues to how much he’s feigning composure right now—well, that and the static to his mods. But still being patient, still keeping your direct space open, and keeping quiet about whatever is on his mind. Always so kind to you when you need it, and even when you don’t.

“Anyone can call you King: mine’s more personal,” he smiles even wider, nodding like his words are sagely.

“And long,” you frown, complaining just to complain. Being contrarian has been a trusted weapon in the face of Ricardo’s… everything.

“I think it works,” he answers your complaint with a smug look back at you. “Chrysanta, Chrysantamum. Get it?” A bright laugh. “It’s a good pun, with how your hair kind of reminds me of the flower in a way. ‘Cause of all the layers and petals, but instead they’re curls—plus we met in November! That’s that month’s flower, or the flower of that month, and…”

You’re stunned by the rationale he’s giving as he continues to list things off: insight and perception you’ve often accused him of not having. His hands are moving about, his head tilting to and fro, his expressions and gestures and movements all clockwork to you by now. But more importantly: he’s rambling, downright nervous, more focused on counting off on his fingers than looking at you. Suspicious. New. Cute. You focus back onto his words.

“…and it’s when I’ve decided your birthday will be, since you refuse to give me a date,” he finishes while you’re mulling over thoughts, a look in your direction for a reaction.

“Are you calling me a flower?” A frown, not taking any birthday bait.

The faces he makes go on a journey for a few moments before he collects himself with a small exhalation, rubbing at his forehead before dropping his hands into his pockets. He seems a little flushed. Probably not best to stand around in the Los Diablos heat.

A small smile perks up inevitably. “Would it be better if I answer that with the idea that I’m calling you my flower?”

You can’t even hide your groan on that one, responding to his repeatedly lifting brows with a furrow of your own. Half disgust, half embarrassment, all stomach flip.

“Stop! I’ll vomit. Or worse, get a migraine.” You make a face at him and rub your temple, but it only seems to delight him further. Shades of you he’s never seen before being revealed now.

“Right right, not in public.” He gives a conspiratorial wink, rotating left and right on his heels, as bad at staying still as you are—your leg’s been bouncing up a storm and your napkin can’t get much more crumpled. “Anathema should be showing up soon, anyway. We can save our personal stuff for later.”

You absolutely do not colour slightly at the innuendo in that statement, and you assuredly do not glance down at his lips. At this point your skin colour may as well be burgundy.

“Oh, so you gave them the wrong time so you wouldn’t be the last to arrive, huh? Should’ve known something was off when I got to actually enjoy a moment of quiet in this city.”

Aiming quickly, you bullseye him in the forehead with the balled-up napkin.

“Oooh, sassy when your shell’s off: now I get why ‘Thema voted for King Crab instead of the flowers.”

You make a very sour face. He cackles, his whole upper body bending back almost losing balance as he holds his stomach. You immediately reach out and force away the attention of everyone who’s looking to see what’s going on, making them all register the sound further away and from the opposite end of the street.

“Fucking fuck—f-for a nickname? That’s it. I’m moving to San Francisco and getting better friends.”

“That implies anyone else in the world would want to befriend you.” He states gleefully as he jumps out of your reach, dodging your swipe at him as you lunge from your chair.

“I’m sure some single, lonely Ranger up there might also have a th-thing for tall, angry vigilantes.” Your turn for a sly look. “Maybe there’ll be an uh, autumnal wedding—I’d still let you be my best man.”

“Just don’t get mad at me if I object: someone has to act in the groom’s best interest.” He shrugs exaggeratedly, matching your smile and banter.

Reflexive, telepathic pushes make the others on the patio and in the cafe ignore the two of you and your shenanigans. It’s draining, but you can pick up on how quickly your distractions melt away and Ricardo gets recognised again in his public face. You’d almost forgotten about that with the warm buzz of Ortega on your shields and occupying your mind. Dangerous to be so inside your own head that you forget about the ones around you.

Time to get moving then. A quick glance about as you step aside to throw away your empty cup—training telling you to check for exits, hats, and thoughts pointed at you.

“I suppose it would also be too cruel of me to subject, uh, anyone else to your friendship.” You straighten your shirt and pick up your mottled jacket and small bag, adding drama to your sigh as you slip them on to head out.

“Perish the thought: who’d last a day by my side with the trouble we get into?”

“Being your friend will be the death of me, I’m sure.” Funny in a dark way, considering how close you two have come to death together, so many times.

“And yet…” he shoves his hands deeper into his pockets and looks at you thoughtfully, walking down the street with a light pace, “…you still choose to do all this. With me.”

Falling into step, your tongue stills in your mouth. You question yourself and your intentions but ultimately: you decide to slip him a piece of truth. Walking the dangerous lines like he does but in quieter ways.

“I’ve uh, never really known wh-what to do with choice: I’ve always just done what I’m supposed to do. Everything that’s happened since I came here… it’s liberating and it’s terrifying, but it’s mine, right?”

You want to kick yourself for the little lilt to your voice at the end, but your eyes are too busy silently pleading for some kind of understanding and validation.

These little choices, these silent confessions, these quiet surrenders… these are everything you have to give to a man with the whole world before him. You have nothing else, and no one will never understand how much weight and truth is behind that. You’ve wanted nothing but to help people since the day you were decanted: you have always felt so deeply, all too easily touched by other minds, and once you picked from enough thoughts to develop the words and concepts for it, you knew you wanted to be a hero. A not-so-gentle reminder that it was them who taught you to fight the bad and save the good, but pleasing in that you know they’d disapprove of how you do that now.

From one government operation to the next, you stupid, silly fool.

In that, Ricardo has always been symbolic to you: heroics and freedom made flesh. You’ve known since the day he saved your life—in your early days, homeless and squatting with your first ‘friends’—that you would follow this man into hell. But now, you know him. You know you would do whatever it takes to protect him, because he’s not a symbol, he’s all too real, too human—and that has made him even greater to you. No longer content with being a shadow, but wanting to be a shield. He is an inspiration, yes, but he is foremost your friend and partner. Maybe something more.

He responds to your question with a fond, sincere smile and a nod, and you start to think maybe it might be the same for him.

“It always will be,” he says quietly, pausing mid-step to look at you like he’s really seeing you. Not like earlier, but like he does when you’re in your suit: searching, trying to reach out, but only as far as you’ll let him.

It’s a deep look between the two of you, holding too much meaning but from sides of understanding the other will never get. The white noise of his mind hinders any opportunity to glimpse what he’s thinking or feeling, leaving your telepathic fingers missing any chance to understand what that look of his means. The soft moment is interrupted by a cheerful, “Hey!” sung out in the distance.

A familiar mind practically screaming in elation and pointedly directed at you, impossible to ignore and so easy to pinpoint.

Anathema is in the middle of the street, wildly waving and doing a little jump as if there were any way that you could miss those red curls and freckled arms out there in the open, even if there was a crowd. With a laugh, they come running over to you and Ortega once you two wave back, enthusiasm filling the air with an almost heady energy.

Someone is happy to see you… you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to that outside of a fight.

“Look at you! It’s YOU!” Anathema declares with a flailing of arms pointed at you, looking between you, who looks rather uncomfortable with the attention, and Ortega, who is beaming and loving this.

He immediately hops to their side, arm around their bare shoulders pulling at their cut-off tank top’s strap to pull them in, the other also flailing in your direction.

“It’s them! They’re real!” he exclaims in response, partially mocking but another part still hyped up from the revelation. “Sidestep, in the flesh!”

The two of them are jumping up and down, holding onto each other and chanting your name repeatedly, either in an attempt to welcome you excitedly or to embarrass you completely. While their intent may be the former, you are feeling entirely the latter. More minds you focus on pushing away light up: these two draw so much attention.

“Please, stop,” you mumble looking around at all the owners to the minds you feel trained on you. “You’re making a scene… and my s-secret identity is supposed to be, y’know, a secret.”

They both stop their hopping, attempting to look sorry but their grins are just the opposite. Their frozen pose looks like circus act waiting to begin.

“You can’t blame us for getting excited—the big secret has been revealed! I mean, look at you!” Another manic gesture from Anathema. “You’re so! Wow! Real!”

“Thank you for your o-observation: scientists may now rest knowing the universe’s grandest mystery has been laid to rest,” you snark.

“Wow,” they sigh almost dreamily, “it really is you, dude.”

“I feel like we’ve established that ten, maybe, maybe fifteen times now,” you sigh exasperatedly. You’re absolutely not embarrassed or flattered, you’re just scratching your ear because you’re checking for all your piercings, not because of any heat.

“Well, you gotta forgive me, y’know? Like, you haven’t been exactly the most accessible person in our day-to-day lives given the ratio to how often you’re around and in the shit with us. And then here you are: unmasked, named, walking down the street with ‘Tega like you live here or something.” It’s a grand smile they aim at you, one that you can’t resist answering.

“Yeah, I’ve been known to wander to and fro in the city now and then. Usually uh, when a group of blue unitard wearing assholes get into trouble they can’t get out of themselves. Heroes, y’know? Can’t even match the same shade m-much less clean up their own mess.”

After about a full minute of laughter at that joke you fear Anathema might keel over right in front of you: they’ve got a death grip on their ribs and their face is as red as a tomato.

Ortega claps you on your shoulder causing you to flinch: you didn’t pick up his intentions to do that of course, or even notice him slipping in by your side, so you shoot him a dirty look that he doesn’t notice while he looks at Anathema.

“Vigilantes and their egos over here… can’t live with ‘em—“ he trails off.

“—Can’t live without ‘em,” they finish.

You suddenly understand Steel’s complete and absolute refusal to ever hang out with the three of you. In fact, you let out another one of his customary groans in respect for his sacrifice: having the three of you as allies.

“Did you chucklefucks rehearse this skit or have you been i-improv comedians the whole time? At least I know that if you’re hero careers fall through you’ll uh, have a back-up option.”

You’re getting nervous out here unmasked and in the open with two of the Los Diablos Rangers, and the effort to actively track and distract any minds coming your way is burning you out fast. It shows in the harsh tone you’re starting to adopt and the jokes you use to deflect: always the type to swing instead of run.

“I forget you have such a filthy tongue sometimes,” Anathema pouts, only partially serious. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“No, and I got it from my babysitter, thank you very much.”

Your flinch goes unnoticed but it’s still time to stop talking and get moving. Your smile is caustic, easily mistaken for an annoyed look with your joke, but you too easily told the truth.

You technically had a sitter, and you did pick up her incessant cursing as a defence mechanism: it makes for a good character trait and convinces people to leave you the hell alone when you don’t use your telepathy to do the trick. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel a bit good, too.

Ortega is frowning at you, but as you turn to look at him it disappears before you even see it. Instead, you get a grin.

“Truly, this asshole is where I hath lain my affections,” he bemoans, genuflecting along with his performance before carrying on to walk ahead.

“We never said you had taste.” Anathema’s elbow catches his ribs as he passes them, falling into step after you.

You roll your eyes. “Clowns.”

“Welcome to the circus, Saltstep,” they shoot back.

“Alright, I’ll concede to that one,” you rub your neck and cast a guilty look towards your friends.

Sometimes you find the heat all too easily and throw back harder than you mean to, never quite sure of how hard you hit. She taught you more severity than restraint, but the point of being under your own control is to be better than that. “I can show that I am capable of, uh, not being a dick head for at least an evening.”

“Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?!” Ortega yells, throwing his hands into the air dramatically, getting a good laugh from Anathema behind you.

“Please, don’t hurt yourself on our behalf, ‘Step,” they follow up, still laughing.

“Kingsley,” you supply, casting a look back and down at them over your shoulder. “You can call me Kingsley… that’s kind of the point today, right?”

A soft smile in your direction, followed by a hushed tone, “I hope you didn’t mind the song and dance back there, I just know that if we didn’t show you how happy we are to see you, you wouldn’t believe it.”

As good at reading you as you are them.

You rub your neck and flex your hand. Reality catching up to reassert it’s weight on your shoulders. You suddenly feel watched—seen. Anyone anywhere could be looking at you and you haven’t even been paying attention. You scan yours surroundings, peeking into minds and shuffling through emotions, guiding any and everyone to forget any glimpse of you. Your ‘don’t look’ aura is as hard as the expression on your face.

“…I believe it.” A truth that won’t kill you.

“So soft, Chrysantamum,” Ortega says sweetly from up ahead, making sure not to look at you or make a big deal of it. He knows you’ll run if put under any more pressure. Especially with where he’s leading you.

“Cállate, Rico,” a playful smack to the back of his head like you’ve seen his mother pantomime doing.

Oh no. She’s going see your face one day, too. Your regrets are playing Tetris at this point.

“Aww! I want a personalised nickname for ‘em too! Hmm…” they fall into silence for a while, making plenty of exaggerated sounds. “Yeah, I’m stuck on King Crab.”

“What?! Why?” you whine.

“‘Cause you’re so tough and snappy but you’re so soft underneath the shell,” they supply, far too pleased with themself.

“I like it,” Ortega laughs.

“You’re killing me today guys.”

You all stop walking. Or rather Ortega stops, and you crash into him—that damned blank spot of a man—and Anathema crashes into you, always speed walking trying to keep up with your legs.

Three Stooges, just like Owl said. You bristle at the thought of her and wrinkle your nose.

“You’re not dead just yet. One more stop to go,�� Ortega says, rubbing his neck as he turns and looks at you sheepishly.

“Huh?”

You turn your head and see exactly what he means: Rangers HQ.

“…No. Absolutely not.”

Before you can even side step either of them, they’ve both got you by an arm, planting themselves.

“King! It’s just the rest of the team: you know them.” Anathema’s looking up at you, trying to give you a half-assed puppy dog face you blatantly ignore by looking over their short head.

“Oh, yeah. It’s only Sentinel and Sunstream and the entire staff and whoever w-watches your security and visitors and Steel! Nothing big.” You stress the last name heavily, as if that should say all it needs to.

“It’s just Steel, Chrysantamum. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You can’t resist the modded strength pulling you towards the building, and stepping back onto Anathema’s toes will do nothing: even if they weren’t wearing boots. Their cut off shorts stop right above the knee, but a kick like that won’t work either. Damned invulnerability.

“Let’s see: he could say he hates m-me to my actual face, he could see my actual face, he could exist within the same r-room with me outside of my suit, I could exist in the same room with him—also outside of my suit…”

The moment they let go to throw their hands up in defeat you reach up, grabbing your hood and tearing it down over your face harshly, just as you all get into the lobby. You turn on the spot and step into Ortega’s space aggressively, fists balled.

“No one gets my name who’s not core team. No one gets my f-face who’s not core team. You erase, or let me erase, all traces of me from the, from the cameras and security checks, and any room we end up in I get to disable any electronics. I’m not taking another step until you agree.”

At this close a proximity, Ricardo has to look up at you. His face is soft and understanding, as Anathema walks away to handle the front desk clerk. “Hey,” his voice equally soft but serious, “I promised. No cameras, no press, no net. Nothing you don’t feel comfortable doing.”

“I don’t feel comfortable w-with any of this, but I can’t exactly wipe your minds and go about my merry way, now can I? You know that’s a lot of work, even for me.”

You both wince at that low blow, instantly regretting it slipping past but refusing to back down. Neither of you need to mention the name Riley to know the implications of your comment.

“Got it, you feel cornered,” he sighs. “At any point: any time—doesn’t matter when—you decide you wanna leave? Just tell me, and I’ll walk you out; we’ll take the back way out, the works.” His face softens a bit to an apologetic smile. “Buuut I definitely can’t let you into our security system without clearance: you’ll have to settle for tearing apart accessible wires. We’ll call it a security test.”

“Deal.” You stomp away, headed over to the elevator where Anathema is waiting, trying to gather your nerves into adrenaline.

Just think of this like a fight.

The doors chime and open and your stomach pools to the floor as those two step right past you and go in, one leaning on the left, one leaning on the right. Both smug.

Bastards. Trapping you in a small space, easily pacified, easily taken out. Right in the belly of the beast itself. Not like before: a new threat.

You step in and turn around, looking out the doors like they’re your last chance at salvation. Your hands clench and unclench, your breathing is getting a little rough, you start to sweat and thoughts—too many to sift through—start to bubble.

Please no, not a panic attack in an elevator with two people you see regularly.

A hand quietly slips into yours and gives it a squeeze. The doors are closing but you look to your left, at Ortega who is looking up at the floor display, not at all paying close attention to you. You get another squeeze and catch a small lift in the corner of his lips. A squeeze back and they lift a little higher.

You turn back to the closed doors, swallowing hard as the movement kicks in, and take in a deep breath to kick out the images of an older, crueler place.

You’re only about to expose yourself to the entirety of a government-owned and monitored team of superheroes. You’ve done worse. Like escape another government-owned and independently ran black site. This is a piece of cake by comparison—it only completely puts your life in danger. Your teeth grind as the beep of arrival sounds.

Chen is at the doors, just as they open, looking up from the papers in hand. He looks wide-eyed at you, trying to figure out who you are before his eyes go down to your hand in Ortega’s. He frowns and narrows his eyes at you.

Idiot, idiot, idiot!

[kae-karo]

If you're up for it. Banter prompt. Line #1 - "don't tempt me". Kaeya and Albedo.

hi dear!!! tysm for your patience while i took care of a few other things, and tysm tysm for the prompt!!!! 🥰🥰

three strokes of the pencil - T - 1.5k

tags: kaebedo, getting together, canon divergence, artist albedo

[read on ao3]

--

"I was hoping for a new subject to draw.”

“And you thought of me? I’m quite flattered.”

“Yes, I was unable to locate Master Diluc. It seemed most logical that you would know his whereabouts.”

Albedo comes to Angel's Share in search of Kaeya, and Kaeya is more than happy to provide his assistance.

--

“Ah, Kaeya. I was hoping I’d find you here.”

Kaeya turns at the sound of Albedo’s voice, quirks a brow. It’s rather unusual to find the alchemist anywhere but his lab, or out in the wild working on his art. Which begs the question of why he’s here, in the middle of a tavern.

Kaeya supposes that either of his preferred pursuits could be the motivator.

“Albedo. And what brings you to Angel’s Share?” He tips his head, tips his drink in Albedo’s direction. “I don’t suppose you’ve finally decided to take me up on my offer to share a drink?”

One he has steadfastly refused, and Kaeya suspects that this evening will be no different.

“I have little interest in alcoholic beverages,” he says, rather dismissive, and purses his lips. “And if I did, I suspect I’d be able to concoct something far more effective than…” Here, he just dips his head in the direction of Kaeya’s drink.

His favored drink. He coughs out an amused breath.

“I assure you, little can compare to a glass of Death After Noon, but I’d be exceptionally eager to try anything you come up with.” He flashes a smirk, finds Albedo’s reaction to be underwhelming as ever.

What a shame - even Diluc can be riled up if the right buttons are pressed, stoic though he pretends to be. But Albedo eludes him still, and Kaeya takes a sip of his wine.

“I shall keep that in mind,” Albedo says, a bit delayed, and Kaeya hums his appreciation. “However, I have more important tasks to attend to at the moment.”

“Ah, you were looking for me?” He’d said as much upon his arrival, and a flicker of interest sparks in Kaeya’s chest.

“I was. I could use some assistance.” In spite of his...almost-request, his gaze wanders the tavern for a few moments before landing once again on Kaeya, and Kaeya quirks a brow. “I was hoping for a new subject to draw.”

Now both Kaeya’s brows arch high on his forehead.

“And you thought of me? I’m quite flattered.” He lets his grin widen just a bit before taking another sip of his drink.

“Yes, I was unable to locate Master Diluc.” Kaeya’s pride sours a bit. “It seemed most logical that you would know his whereabouts.”

Ah. Kaeya takes another sip, finds his wine tastes a little more bitter than he’d like.

“I’m afraid Master Diluc is indisposed this evening,” he says easily, and lets his gaze drift away from Albedo for a moment - it’s true, of course, but he’s not entirely at liberty to discuss the details with anyone. He did vow, if only to himself, to keep Diluc’s activities under wraps.

Silence follows his words, but a quick glance over confirms that Albedo remains, and his expression has shifted to one of-

“You’ll suffice, I suppose,” he says aloud, then, and Kaeya’s brows lift.

“Will I? Well, I can hardly compare to the wonderful Master-”

“Do you have the time to spare?” Albedo interrupts, a little sharp, and Kaeya exhales the rest of his words with an amused breath. “Or did you have more wine to attend?” A nod at his mostly-empty glass. Kaeya lets a smirk touch his lips, then downs the remainder.

“My evening has just freed up,” he says with a touch of amusement, and Albedo nods.

-----------

“How...interesting,” Kaeya says, and hears his voice echo around the walls of the ice cavern. His gaze follows the dark rivulets where the ice has cracked and refrozen, illuminated in strange colors by the torches that Albedo has lit.

“I find that this cavern makes for some intriguing light studies,” he says simply as he returns from the fourth such torch to the easel that he’s set up near the entrance to the cave. The light flickers, entrancing for the way it dances along the walls, along the snow-dusted stone beneath his feet.

Kaeya can certainly agree on one thing, at the very least - the firelight does paint Albedo in rather intriguing shades of orange and gold. For a brief moment, he wishes for the ability to draw as well as Albedo, that he might capture this scene from his own perspective.

Albedo, gaze fixed in earnest on his sketchpad, turned a beautiful gold from the torch light and standing out in a rather spectacular way against the inky depths of the night sky.

“Should I be posing in any particular way?” Kaeya prompts, half to pull himself from wandering thoughts and half in earnest. The sooner this is complete, the sooner he can return to somewhere a little warmer. Somewhere with a bit more wine.

In retrospect, he should’ve perhaps grabbed a bottle for the road.

“No. I’d prefer to capture your…” A wave of his hand, and he glances up for a moment. “Your natural essence.”

“Natural?” Kaeya hums, and a smirk tugs at his lips. “If your aim is for something more natural, perhaps I ought to rid myself of this clothing…”

It’s entirely meant to fluster Albedo, and seems very much to do nothing of the sort.

“If that’s what feels most comfortable for you,” he says absently with another wave of his hand, this time attached to a drawing implement of some kind, though the dim light makes it hard to tell what type exactly.

“Don’t tempt me,” he says with a laugh, halfhearted though, for he’s once again met with Albedo’s...disinterest. Not even the disgruntled irritation such a comment might pull from Diluc, and it compounds his intrigue.

It also compounds the unease that settles in his chest - is it truly so hard to strip away Albedo’s stoic exterior?

“Are you finished?” he asks, then, interrupting Kaeya’s rumination on this particular roadblock. Perhaps it is this exact stoicism that piques his interest, and he tips his head, meets the eyes that Albedo fixes on him. Impatience.

Interesting.

“Now that you’ve suggested it,” he says, flippant to a fault, “perhaps I would feel a bit more natural with fewer layers.”

“Very well.” His gaze flicks up, then back down. Kaeya’s lips twist.

He sheds his cape and scarf first, though Albedo seems to find this development equally uninteresting. Fine, his belt, then, and he makes a point of letting his shirt fall open a bit. This, at the very least, earns him Albedo’s attention once again.

“Finished?” Still so bored, and Kaeya huffs out a breath that clouds in front of his lips.

“Hm, still deciding,” he tries, and Albedo blinks at him, now.

“I know that Cryo users are often less susceptible to the cold, but I would recommend not wasting too much time considering your decisions.” He speaks to his sketchpad, now, and Kaeya takes a few steps closer. “You still run the risk of experiencing ill eff...ects…”

Kaeya draws to a stop just on the other side of his easel, lip curled in a subtle smirk. When he extends a hand over the top of the sketchpad, Albedo does not move away, and Kaeya’s fingers brush his cheek.

“Care to keep me warm, then?” It’s bolder than he might usually be, but little else seems to get Albedo’s attention, and Kaeya’s rather impatient himself at this point.

Albedo’s lips part, and Kaeya lets his thumb drag across the bottom one.

“I see,” he says, then tips his head just a bit into Kaeya’s palm. “So you are interested in me in that way.” He hums as though considering the idea of that properly, and Kaeya’s eyes narrow. Had he suspected that to be the case?

If so, why-

Ah.

“If you wanted to confirm your suspicions, dear alchemist, all you had to do was ask.” At Kaeya’s words - an accusation of sorts, really - Albedo’s lip ticks up at the corner, such a subtle smirk that Kaeya might miss it if he weren’t so close.

“I prefer to conduct my experiments. After all, they tend to lead to rather…” A pause, and Albedo’s gaze drifts down to Kaeya’s exposed chest. “Interesting results.”

Kaeya’s grin widens, and he steps around the side of the easel.

“Was this not the expected outcome?” Kaeya prompts, teasing laced through his tone as he steps closer. His hand drifts, now, to trace along the edge of the mark at Albedo’s throat, and Albedo hums.

“It was, and it wasn’t. I might need to conduct a few more experiments in order to…” His hand lifts, drapes over Kaeya’s shoulder and tugs him closer. “More confidently confirm my hypothesis.”

“Oh, is that so?” Kaeya dips his head, lets his lips stop just short of Albedo’s. Warm breath brushes his lips, just a little bit too fast. “Well, I’m certainly more than glad to assist in your...research efforts.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” A quirked brow before Albedo’s gaze flicks down to Kaeya’s lips.

Kaeya huffs out a breath, rather entertained by this exchange, though it’s immediately stifled by Albedo’s mouth, warm and insistent against his. He hums into Albedo’s lips in amused surprise, but goes easily when Albedo drags him closer. After all, this is precisely the outcome that Kaeya had hoped for.

He wonders, as fingers twist into his hair, what else Albedo has in mind for future...experiments.

[letsperaltiago]

even in a crowded room, it's just me and you

Summary: Jake and Amy spend their date night staking out a nightclub in Brooklyn. It's safe to say that it doesn't go exactly as planned.

Rating: T-M ish (for now 😌)

Words: 10.3 k (welp)

Read on AO3 here

Pink, blue, green, yellow, purple. Every color imaginable cuts through the dark venue like a knife, quick strokes of light appearing only to disappear just as fast, to the beat of loud techno music that definitely doesn’t strike a chord with the two young detectives, Jake Peralta and Amy Santiago.

See, they’re not exactly here to party - there are so many other places, places that aren’t Club Enzo, they’d much rather pay a visit on a Friday night - but rather to work. They’re here to stake out the location and hopefully gather evidence that can put their perp, Axel Manson, in jail for handling and dealing a new drug called ‘Kandy’ - yes, with a ‘k’. Very creative. 

It isn’t exactly the date night they’d planned but Holt really needed their help and at least they’re spending time together - plus, there was no way Amy would ever deny their captain her help. The second the captain’s name flashed up on her phone screen, Jake knew date night was about to take a turn. 

Having just arrived at the nightclub and watching Amy shrug off her coat to give it to the cloakroom staff, thus introducing him to her undercover outfit, he doesn’t mind the sudden change of plans. Not one bit. Sure, the instant he’d met her outside the club and could see her bare legs, he knew she wasn’t exactly wearing a pantsuit or her usual jeans. Although her coat was hiding everything down to her knee and he didn’t know what to expect. It’s safe to say that he in no way, shape or form expected this. 

A dress, not too short but without a doubt short enough to make him do a double-take, clings to her body molding all the right places (which is everywhere, if you ask him) and, to top it off, it’s red. A deep, burgundy red that has him biting his lip to keep his jaw from falling to the sticky floor. Being the talented detective that she is (plus, Jake is shamefully bad at hiding his excitement) Amy notices the response, and in the darkness of the street, there’s no hiding the blood that immediately rushes to the apples of cheeks. 

“Looking much, Peralta?” Even if he’s the one to make her blush, he’s still the one who’s dropped his jaw on the cold pavement and there’s no way she’s letting him off the hook. A few months ago she would’ve swept gazes or subtle compliments under the carpet, rationalizing by telling herself that he was dozing off, not minding what he was doing, or simply being friendly. Although things have since then changed. Now Amy knows for sure that he likes her, thus doesn’t have to shrug his actions off with stupid excuses to protect her hopes and feelings, and can allow herself to act on his advances. A dynamic that’s been there since the day they met but has blossomed into honest to good flirting. Butterflies take over her belly every time she catches him looking at her, but She collects herself and her cloakroom number. 

“Was I that obvious?” He grins much like a kid getting caught with their hand in the cookie jar but is quick to recover because this is good - they are good - and he doesn’t have to worry about loving the way his girlfriend looks. Especially when she’s got her back turned and grants him a view that has him questioning his professionalism. 

“Yes.” In the meantime, she’s turned on her high heels and it all happens so fast, so smoothly and Bond-like. It offers Jake no chance of keeping up with her which means it’s safe to say he’s surprised, very pleasantly so, when she closes the gap between the two of them to help him unbutton his coat. His nice coat, she notices, compliments a sleek, navy blue button-up shirt that comes into view once enough coat buttons have been popped open by her nimble fingers. Having already dropped his jaw in the street outside and never fully recovered, there’s no way he can allow himself to do it again. Although a small hitch in his breathing does make an appearance and outs him. The sight of his girlfriend focusing on opening his coat for him as if it were part of their mission will do that to him. She’s too good, he thinks. 

Finally, she gets to the last button without her eyes straying, not once. Looking into his eyes as she pushes the coat - the first layer of more to come, later, he hopes - off of him, another hitch, one that travels through his entire body, shakes him to the core. Brown eyes and lipstick coated lips smirk at him, up through her dark lashes, because she knows he’s obsessed and she’s about to leave him hanging in that moment, all by himself. “You good?” 

“Uh- uhuh.” Jake swallows loudly, unable to speak. Five seconds later he’s proven right: she spins on her heels, away from him to hand his coat to the cloakroom staff, and creates yet another torturous distance between them. 

Jake is equally frustrated and thankful - frustrated because she should never be allowed to look at him like that and then turn away as if nothing happened; thankful because it gives him the time to reassemble himself. 

Amy stoves their cloakroom tickets away into her little clutch and then, for the first time, gets a good look at her boyfriend’s full attire. God, she loves it when he’s cleaned and dressed up nicely. He’s freshly shaved, hair is washed and as wavy as the length will allow, and has it paired with his nicest button-up shirt and black trousers. There’s no doubt, in her or anyone else in that club’s mind: Jake Peralta cleans up more than just nicely (when he wants to).

“This is giving me mad James Bond and Maxi Pads-vibes.” He’s the first to break the momentary silence between them, thumping bass in the background, and it’s as if it brings them back in the zone. Not a very sexy remark but definitely funny and, work-wise, probably pretty smart. 

“Shut up,” she chuckles immediately getting the reference, remembering Jake in his fancy three buttoned-tux and them tiptoeing around an abandoned building (and their feelings for each other) in an attempt to catch her nemesis, Minsk. As she hooks her arm with his, slightly leaning into him as they walk further into the club, lights, and loud noise, she wonders why she back then backed out of her initial plan to ask him to dance and used Gina’s grandmother as an out instead. Luckily, that’s in the past, and tonight, she has nothing to be afraid of or back out of. It’s them, him and her, against the world - or this loud club and Axel Manson, at the very least.

They walk into the dancing crowd, a sea of drunks, Amy comments making Jake laugh. After being bumped into multiple times, never being apologized to, they arrive at the bar where they’ll have to order anything but a tempting and delicious-looking cocktail. They should go out for cocktails someday, when they’re off the clock, Jake notes to himself as the woman next to him walks away with two enormous drinks while he on his part is left ordering sodas. Orange for him, a coke for Amy.  

“Thanks.” As silly as it might seem the butterflies in Amy’s belly make a reappearance at the thought of Jake knowing exactly what to get her, without even asking her, and it reminds her, bittersweetly, of the past boyfriends who’ve thought they got her what she wanted only to end up serving her what they thought she wanted. In more mays than one, Jake constantly reminds her of exactly why she’s with him.

“I would’ve gotten you Orangina but this club has the decency of not serving poison to their guests.” Jake hides a smirk by taking a sip, knowing she won’t punch or shove him, risking his nice outfit being ruined. When it comes to joking and messing around, something they’ve been from day one and won’t ever change. they’re just kids, both of them, It’s an eternal dynamic that can’t be changed. 

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.” She sips on her coke, leaving Jake hanging with a first-row experience of her lips perfectly enclosing the edge of the glass. “Anyways, what is the plan?”

Can’t she just tell him what the plan is? Sure, he could think of something but she’s already one step ahead of him, she always is, and has probably already thought of something brilliant - also she’s just that much hotter when she’s telling him what to do. 

“I’m thinking…” 

Thank God - his prayers have been heard. She picks up right where she left off. 

“... We play it cool, act like regular guests. Then we can split up, hope that either Mason himself or one of his men seek one of us out to sell us drugs. That would be proof enough for us to take him down. Although, objectively speaking, there’s a higher chance of them approaching me since I’m-”

“Super hot?” Wow, he certainly hasn’t gotten any better at holding back his first thoughts, has he? Proud of it or not, the words are out in the open and have earned him an amused look in return. Amy featuring a crinkled nose, grinning lips, and, all in all looking, cute as ever. Cute and hot at the same time ’cause his girlfriend has range. 

“I was gonna say “Since I’m a woman” but good to know where your head is at, Peralta. Very professional.” 

There’s that voice again, the sultry one he can’t act casual around; the one that gets him all hot and bothered even during times like these where it’s rather inappropriate and not very HR-friendly. Clearly, she’s joking around, messing with him on purpose, and normally he’s okay with that but not tonight - not when she’s looking like this and talking to him like that. On a night like this, there’s an extra-fine and fragile line between professional or personal. 

 The shape of a smirk on her glowing face paired with the insanely gorgeous dress and her let-down hair? She must know what she’s doing to him, right? And while it isn’t her responsibility whether or not he can control himself, the evening has just barely begun and he’s already miserable. There won’t be a lot of solving crime on his part if this moment sets the tone for the night. Damn his smart, incredible, gorgeous girlfriend. 

“If either of us makes contact with Manson, the goal is to lure him outside while the other calls for backup. If Manson is here then the rest of his gang surely must be here too, and the club will need to be ransacked. Sellers and buyers must be arrested. Our priority is to arrest Manson though. Got it?”

“Got it.” 

Drink in hand, plan agreed upon, they dance their way into the big crowd. Even sober, trying to keep up with the rhythm of the music whilst balancing liquids isn’t nearly as easy as everyone around them makes it look. A few songs later, having gotten used to the crowd’s unpredictable swaying and their cups gradually being emptied, Jake and Amy get into it. They feel themselves being a part of the sea of drunks and, even sober, it’s pretty fun. It’s been a while since they’ve gone out just the two of them, and despite the fact that this isn’t their usual spot and they’re on the clock, the sentiment remains the same.

Amy has her own, very unique, dancing style, and Jake is very much aware of this. It’s safe to say he’s grown to love her dancing, finding it adorkable (Amy told him that it’s not a real word but he doesn’t care) and another good reason to think of her as the coolest human being alive. Amy is a pro at getting caught up in people’s opinions but when she’s dancing? She forgets everything around her and simply has fun. Tonight is no exception: Amy’s limbs are kicked, punched, thrown right and left to the beat, accidentally hitting a couple of guests who, luckily, are too drunk to care. It’s her very own form of art and Jake is her biggest fan. 

“Dance with me!” She yells over the loud music, smile as wide as the Joker’s. She knows there’ll be missteps, she’ll fall out of the rhythm and eventually step on him. That hasn’t changed and probably never will. Although what has changed is the fact that now she doesn’t care. Now she’s confident in Jake’s feelings about her, knows that he finds her small missteps adorable, never annoying, and nothing she can do will push him away. 

“Is that a work tactic of yours?” He speaks into her ear once he’s finally closed the gap between them and they’re moving in somewhat synchronization to the beat of a remix of a song that was better off in its original format.

“Sure.” A giggle fights its way through the obnoxiously heavy bass and Jake is very thankful. Every sound she makes equals a spectacular symphony. One that he doesn’t want to miss. “Makes us look more legit. Will keep out cover intact.”

“Wow, look at you throwing around slang, Santiago. So legit.”

His teasing grin deserves a playful punch to fight off his smartypants comments.

“But do you think Manson will approach us if we come off as a couple?”

“Who says we’re a couple?” She grins devilishly, leaning in close so that their noses a pressed together. “We’re drunk. We don’t know what we’re doing. We might as well be strangers.” 

This time around she can’t hear it over the loud booming but his breath gets caught in his throat at the thought of Amy Santiago being his scandalous one-night stand. Of course, one night with Amy would never be enough for him but there’s something about this specific roleplay, undercover role, and the way she’s looking at him with luring dark eyes that has him fumbling into unprofessional land. Focus, Jake. He counts down from ten and Amy, oblivious to her boyfriend’s internal fight, pulls back, offering him a chance to collect himself. The bright lights illuminate her as she moves with a confidence that completely erases the dorkiness and leaves her looking like a goddess clad in red. Red as wine and all he wants to do is get drunk on her. 

The couple falls into a comfortable rhythm of moving about the floor, somewhat dancing, as they keep an eye on the constantly switching crowd. In the back of their minds, they have a picture of Axel Manson keeping them alert. Hopefully, it’s enough for them to be able to recognize the criminal if he were to show himself. 

“I wish we worked cases like this more often!” Jake yells, trying to make himself heard over the music. Even basically pressed up against Amy, hands on her waist, focused, she can’t make out what he says.

“What?” She yells back, leaning in further to listen as she tries to keep up the dancing, letting Jake’s hands lead her around the floor. 

“I wish we worked cases like this more often!” 

“Why?” 

“You look really hot in that dress.” He emphasizes his point by stroking her hip, getting a good feel of the red fabric hugging her beautiful curves. Curves that under more intimate circumstances would have him explicitly worshipping her. 

“Shut up, Peralta.” She rolls her eyes and tries to shake off his compliment, because, in reality, it does something dangerous to her. Dangerous and unsuitable under the given circumstances. 

“You do! In anything you wear but tonight is like... Wow, my mind is extra blown, babe.” 

She quickly pecks his lips in thanks, the light in her eyes enough for Jake to know that she appreciates his flirting - even when she tries to shrug it off. 

To allow herself some space, she takes a step back and thus the dancing recommences. Her very own moves are throw up, do, left and right while Jake stands back and admires the goofiness unraveling before him. Fortunately, everyone around them is too hammered to care and he’s got the view all to himself. He sticks to doing the bare minimum to look like he’s dancing. Shufflin on the spot at best. This way he can surveil the club (and Amy). 

“Incredible,” he cheers on, meaning it even though this kind of incredible isn’t for everyone. Although her moves indeed are questionable, Amy herself deserves every positive adjective in the dictionary. Wow, did he just make a grammar-based compliment? The Santiago-gene has really rubbed off on him, huh? 

Everything is easy, like fun and games, or at least it is right up until some drunk idiot, tall and handsome, Jake will admit, accidentally stumbles into Amy. She’s a trooper though: shakes it off and keeps dancing as if nothing had happened. Instead of apologizing, said man apparently sees this as an opening, a prompt for him to act on, and smoothly allows his hand to travel across the sleek fabric hugging Amy’s hips which, upon noticing the touch, abruptly stops moving. 

“Why’d’ya stop dancing, babe? You looked so good.” The strange’s voice is as sleazy as his rapprochement. Overall representing the kind of person no one deserves to be approached by. Drunk or not, Jake doesn’t care the least: this kind of behavior can’t be excused. No woman, or just person in general, should have to put up with this. Admittedly, the fact that the subject of this stranger’s idiocy is his girlfriend doesn’t make matters any better. From the feeling of his fists clenching, he can tell it makes it much worse. 

“Excuse me?” Amy challenges the stranger, takes a step back, not even caring that she bumps into someone else in the process of doing so. Her priority is to make sure that the unwelcomed hands let go of her. 

Then they both see it, both Jake and Amy, and like lightning coming from a clear sky, it takes them by surprise. It takes everything within them to not flinch or freeze in a way that’ll come off as suspicious, because this? This is without a doubt Axel Manson. 

“No need to be prissy, babe. Take it as a compliment.” 

Amy’s got her arms crossed in front of her chest and it’s clear as day, at least to Jake, that she’s in a standby position - a position where she isn’t fully sure of what her next move should be. On one hand, the perp’s moves are extremely inappropriate, especially with Jake around (even though he knows it’s a part of the job); on the other hand, she can’t act out and risk scaring Manson away. Now that he’s fallen right into their lap they need to figure out how to go about this in the smoothest way possible.

If they weren’t currently undercover, working a case that very much relies on being discreet and staying unnoticed, Jake would tell the prick to get lost. Instead, he has to take on a different role that he definitely hasn’t prepared for: the role of the random bystander that won’t intervene.   

Amy still has her back turned to Jake, facing their perp, and unfolds her arms to instead put one behind her back. Firstly, it makes her look less defensive and closed off; secondly, it allows her to send Jake a signal with her fingers: a thumbs up. Jake notices and even though he wants nothing more than rid his girlfriend of this creep, Amy is now his partner and not his girlfriend. Now is not the time to act on emotions, instead, he has to go along with whatever she leads him into. He trusts that she’s thought of a playbook to follow and knows what she’s doing. 

“Sorry, I was just... surprised, I guess,” she laughs off the momentary tension, at the very least tries to, praying that Manson won’t see right through this innocent, flirty act she’s about to put on for him.  

“That’s alright, baby. I can take it - especially when you’re as beautiful as you are.” 

Right amid people dancing and pushing their way through the crowd around them, Jake makes sure to stay at safe distance, hopefully staying out of the scene Amy and Manson have proceeded into. On his part, Manson has reached over to grab the hand of his newest catch and gives it a gallant kiss. Charming but not at all representative of his overall behavior, Amy thinks, meanwhile she acts as if the move truly impresses her. If it wasn’t for the fact that she had to stay in character for the sake of the bust, she would’ve told him off the second he bumped into her. Jake, feeling rather exclude but know it’s how it has to be, discreetly stays behind and watches the scene unfold. Sipping on orange, shuffling on the spot, acting as if some creep isn’t making a move on his girlfriend and colleague. An unpleasant feeling boils in his gut, but it’s not exactly jealousy - or so he tells himself because it’s his least favorite emotion and, more than anything else, he trusts Amy. There’s no reason for him to feel jealous. Amy is just doing her job and so she should. 

… Although he does feel unquestionable mistrust towards the other man and the urge to push him off of her is even stronger. Scum like him don’t deserve even a second of attention from a woman as lovely as Amy - undercover persona or not.  

“Wow, thank you. I sure don’t mind my view either.”

From a time preceding their current relationship and up till now, Jake has witnessed a bit of everything in terms of Amy’s flirting skills. Not that his own are any better but Amy’s can sometimes be… awkward and questionable. In reality, Amy Santiago is a natural but as soon as she’s consciously flirting, she gets all weird and fidgety about it. Her game is much stronger when she’s doing it unconsciously, going with the flow, like with him. As if they only know how to flirt with one another. 

Yet here she is, completely nailing this coquettish act, and even though it should bother him Jake also feels… captivated. This bold and cutthroat side of Amy that usually only appears when it’s just the two of them, within the intimacy of their bedroom, is suddenly out in the open and luring in a stranger with so much ease. Amy Santiago is without a doubt the best detective slash genius.

Mason takes a step closer, smooth to a point where it’s embarrassingly obvious that he’s done this a lot, and puts a hand on her hip. It isn’t until he can taste fresh blood that Jake realizes he’s been biting his lip. Focus, Jake, he tells himself and joins the random group of dancing people next to him, hoping this will keep his cover intact while he can keep an eye on the situation. Hopefully, he hasn’t noticed him and Amy dancing together before bumping into them. Amy knows what she’s doing, he keeps repeating to himself, completely drowning out erratic beats, people singing off-key to some pop song, and other distracting sounds. 

“What’s your name, gorgeous? And even more importantly, are you here with someone?” Manson’s dark eyes drill into hers with great, sleazy purpose. In all honesty, it throws her off a bit to be looked at like that by someone who’s not Jake, even worse a criminal. Concentration is key and Amy falls right back into the game with ease. On the outside nothing unusual is to be noted; on the inside, she fights to ignore the stranger’s strong fingers digging into the flesh of her hips as if she were his property. 

“Cassidy, and no. I’m just here to… explore my options.” Amy gives him her best flirty smirk, personally hating the reaction it earns her but, professionally, happy to see him fall right into her sensuous trap. 

“Well, Cassidy, I’m Axel and that sounds right about perfect to me. I also love to… explore.” He emphasizes his ulterior motive so obviously that it falls right under the category of an explicit plan. 

It’s funny to see someone who couldn’t be leading a more different life from her own think they have something in common, Amy thinks. It sure helps the fake smile she currently has plastered on her face, even when Manson strokes her hip and causes the soft fabric to bunch up around her thigh, revealing more of her golden skin. That’s her cue - it’s go time. No more fooling around. With the hand behind her back she signals towards the club’s exit and prays that, in that very second, Jake happens to be looking her way right. Get him outside echoes in her mind and she hopes it does in Jake’s too. 

What Amy doesn’t know is that Jake hasn’t left her out of sight for even a second. On the contrary, he’s quick to notice the signal and knows exactly what it means: things are about to start moving. His galloping pulse confirms it and he’s ready to follow them wherever they go. 

“How lucky for both of us, Axel. Should we, you know, get out of here then?” 

Amy feels like she’s in a movie, coming up with one smooth line followed by the next. Dropping line after line, spontaneous and mysterious, to a point where she almost can’t recognize herself. Although she can’t wait to bust this guy and be back with Jake, she does have to admit that it is very satisfying to see just how easy and indiscreet criminals are. It’s a fine line to walk. 

“Nothing would make me happier, doll.” Axel promptly places an arm around Amy’s waist, a bit lower than expected and the move is as smug as Axel’s grin. A grin that only grows from the satisfaction of having his arm around a beautiful woman who, he thinks, will get him laid. 

In the momentum of the turn they do, directing themselves towards the exit, Amy catches a glimpse of her boyfriend’s stare. There’s no begrudging his displeased demeanor, Amy thinks imagining if it were her in his place. There’s a lot of trust between the two, never any reason to feel jealous, but this kind of situation is different and (luckily) not circumstances any regular couple would ever encounter. There’s no room for jealousy - this is a matter of doing your job properly whilst also keeping your partner safe and unharmed. A partner which you more than just care for. Jake certainly has begun to entertain himself with the thought of love and this only enhances the pondering about his feelings for his co-detective. 

They share a look of mutual understanding, brief but it’s there, and it puts Amy at ease to know that he’s got her back in these most trying times of their operation. Manson’s hand keeps sliding further and further down her waist, obviously and shamelessly yearning for her hip and ass as if it were his right, and if it wasn’t for the fact that it was a matter of making the bust or not, Amy would’ve smacked his hand. Alas, she lets it slide, plays the role of the infatuated prey, and doesn’t flinch under the foreign palm taking a handful hold of her dress and the flesh beneath it. 

“Sarge?” Jake speaks into his phone, never letting Amy and Axel out of his sight. He can physically taste the disgust he’s feeling upon seeing his girlfriend be felt up but he’s putting his anger to good use. “Amy and I have found Manson. We’re currently luring him outside. Send back up and catch them the-”

Jake feels himself flinch at the sight of this criminal having his hands all over Amy while feeling more than just delighted by this conquest. Jake knows Manson has set himself up for great disappointment, but still, he can’t help it when the sight of Axel being a major creep has his word’s caught up in his throat. 

“I- uh, yes, sorry. Just keeping an eye out for Amy. They’ll walk out onto Fulton Street. Meet us there with backup ASAP. Not sure if he’s armed or not so be careful. He’s got Amy with him.” 

He hangs up the second he sees Axel and Amy make their way to the cloakroom. Needing to be sure of what to make her next move, without Axel noticing, Amy runs her hand up the perp’s strong arm, wardrobe number in between her index finger and middle finger. 

“Just need to stop by the lady’s room and... “ She bites her bottom lip into a natural pause. “... get ready for whatever you and I are gonna do once we leave this place.” 

She bats her long eyelashes at him. Past experiences with Jake have her trusting the simple but sultry move and its effect. It should work wonders. “Grab my coat for me, please? And perhaps I’m even lucky enough to find some candy in my pocket when I come back?” Cocked eyebrows suggest Manson read between the lines.

“What’d’ya mean, princess?” 

During the course of her career, Amy’s seen a lot of perp bluff which means Mansons already steps behind her. Even with a hand on her hip and trying to play it off as confused, the detective doesn’t fall out of character. She needs proof. 

“Oh please, Axel…” Amy grins before leaning in, lips almost grazing his ear. Lucky for her their perp can’t see how her legs are trembling from the adrenaline. “I know what you do around here. Share your candy with me and I’ll share mine with you. No one will know.” Her vixenish whisper echoes in her ears while her lips tease to touch the sensitive spot. Amy cocks an eyebrow playfully and there’s no way Axel can say no to that. 

“Of course, babe. I’ll be right here waiting. Don’t be too long though.” Axel’s warm, alcohol-drenched breath hits her face when he pulls back and it takes every fiber in Amy’s body to not pull back from where the man is leaning in close, smirking like he’s got her figured out. “I’m getting impatient.” 

“I’ll be quick.” She promises. 

Even from a safe distance away, Jake’s glowering gaze certainly doesn’t miss how Amy seals the deal their perp and how he runs starving eyes up and down her body as she walks off. While Jake would prefer that it was him she was torturing like that, he also feels confident about this operation. It’s going to work, he’s sure. Then he’s going to need a lot of making up for how little he’s gotten to enjoy her company tonight.

Purposely brushing past Jake, discreetly bumping his shoulder, Amy makes her way to the bathroom.

One… Two… Three… Four… Five… Jake spins around on his heels and follows her into the bathroom, making sure to do so unnoticed by Axel. 

“We’re in the clear,” Amy informs him when she sees Jake peep his head into the room. 

“You’re brilliant, Ames!” Jake beams, stepping up to her and instantly earns himself a proud smile in return. Amy can’t help but notice how right it feels when he places his hands on her lower arms, almost as to make sure she’s safe and really there with him. Her warms skin feels so good in his hold and it hits him how much he needs her to be okay and… his. “You okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay. And I think he’s buying it, Jake! I tried to lure him into giving me some drugs. I will let you know if he does… Did you call Terry?” 

Jake can tell she’s proud of herself and can do nothing but nod in agreement. So she should be. “Yes, backup should be here within a couple of minutes, ready to take him down when you exit the club. Also of course he’s buying it! That act you’re putting up? Impossible to resist.”

“You been thinking about that a lot, babe?” 

They’re on the clock, Jake is aware, but she sends him a teasing wink (oh, she knows), and before he can even wrap his mind around just how turned on he is, she’s moved on as if nothing had happened. Moved on to apply lipstick in the reflection of the dirty bathroom mirror as if he wasn’t even there. The red tip of her lipstick traces her full lips oh so slowly, taunting him with every inch and curve, and it has very unprofessional, untasteful per se, scenarios flash before his eyes. The muffled sound of the bass is momentarily replaced by the remembrance filthy sounds. It all crowds his mind so fast, making remaining focused almost impossible, and if they hadn’t had a major drug lord waiting for them then he’d definitely taken advantage of how Amy was currently leaning against the sink, back turned to him, in an attempt to apply the lipstick as precisely as possible.  

“Oh, Ames…” Though he really shouldn’t, he allows his hand to wander onto her hips, the ones he’d hated Axel so much for touching… Besides hating him for the obvious stuff, like being a criminal and whatnot. “You’re all I ever think about.” 

Even with her hair let down, falling in raven waves and covering some of her exposed shoulder, neck, and arms, there’s little left to the imagination. As animalistic and primitive it might sound, Jake internally thanks Amy for her pick of dress, a spaghetti strap dress that shows off her strong upper body. Handling perps might just be the best workout.  He does realize that he’s only making it worse, more agonizing, for himself to wait out their mission however he simply can’t help himself, and before he can bring himself to cease, his lips are attached to her shoulder blade… then back nape of her neck… then the other shoulder. Her skin tastes like a mixture of her vanilla body wash and the smoke-filled air of the club. 

Their eyes meet in the reflection of the mirror, both smirking knowingly; they’re both fighting the urge to throw professionalism out the window and tear each other apart - right here, right now. How wonderful it would be to simply unhinge, give in to the vicious atmosphere of the club. Take each other home like a spontaneous hookup on a night out. Alas, right now is not the time for adulterated play pretend. Right now, even with his hands feeling dangerously good on her, closing in on the zipper running along her spine, their duty and urgent matter at hand is somehow stronger. With one last kiss to the skin of her neck and a shared look in the mirror, they wordlessly promise each other: later…

 He offers her hip a squeeze and clears his throat. Smiling to show support. 

“Let’s go get him.” 

“Y-Yes. Let’s.” 

After checking herself in the mirror one last time, she spins on her heels. Their eyes meet, outside of the mirror this time, and Amy feels confident walking out - Jake is right there behind her. Like always, he’s got her back. 

“You look great!”

Having already exited the bathroom, Amy knows not to turn around, risking looking suspicious, but she can still smile to herself, and oh does she. Blush, a lot of it, as well. Luckily said blush simmers down and impossible to detect by the time she’s back with Axel. From the dance floor, Jake keeps an eye on their every move and it’s with great delight he notices Axel’s wallet falling from his pocket when the man shrugs on his coat. Having already put on her coat, Amy checks to see if her flirting worked and to her happy surprise, it did. In the depth of her pocket, her fingers come across a tiny, sealed plastic back containing a couple of tiny heart-shaped pills object: kandy. 

Amy smiles to herself and Jake is quick to notice: she’s got the drugs and all the proof they need to take Manson down. 

To the detective’s advantage, the pumping music drowns out the wallet’s fall and Amy is quick to latch onto Axel’s strong arm thus prompting him to lead her outside, into her trap. Coats hanging off of their frames, walking side by side, they make their way through the front door. Amy’s lungs hitch for the fresh air outside, nervously so, internally praying that reinforcement is waiting for them outside as to not be left alone with the shady criminal for longer than needed. One thing is being told they’ll be there: another thing is actually seeing the familiarly blue-clad reinforcement there waiting for you. 

Click clack. 

Her black heels hit the pavement, they have officially left the safety of the crowded club, and this fact, along with the absence of the blinking red and blue lights, triggers a certain nervousness in Amy. An uneasiness screaming that everything is at stake right now - the case as well as her own life - and that there’s no room for indiscretion. 

It’s a well-known fact: Amy Santiago always brings her A-game. Although this specific mission demands even more detail-oriented and throughout thought decision-making on her part. One little misstep can cause a domino effect of danger and chaos, and she’s not about to topple over the first piece. 

“Terry!” 

On his part, Jake feels just as uneasy, if not even more, about the lack of backup. There’s a limit for how close he can stick to Amy and their perp; walking too close will only raise suspicion meanwhile walking too far behind could compromise the mission and, more importantly, Amy’s safety. 

“Where are you guys? Amy and Manson have left the club. They’re making their way south on Fulton Street, and I don’t know for how long I can trail behind them before Mason grows suspicious.” 

There’s an irritated undertone to Jake’s voice he simply can’t bite back - it’s not as if he’s trying to hide it - but his girlfriend is currently charming a dangerous criminal and no one but Manson himself knows where he’s taking her. If they get into a car this entire case will turn into a chase and ticking clock situation.

At this point, if Manson as much as hails a cab, Jake will have to do something. Step in, one way or the other, to free Amy from the situation or at least stall. There’s no way Jake is allowing a criminal to drag his girlfriend along as bait for a wild-goose chase. Alonge the thought is a hard pill to swallow. He always worries when she’s working a case; the second she’s out of sight a thousand horrible scenarios flash before his eyes because he can’t imagine a world without her. Amy is very much capable, he knows, and she doesn’t rely on him for anything, nor should she, but if he can keep her safe then he sure as hell will. 

Then it happens. What he dreaded the most. Mason waves over a cab which immediately pulls over to park next to the couple. 

A hundred feet or so keep Jake, and Manson and Amy apart. Step by step he gains speed, gains in on them, with fiery eyes glued to his girlfriend in hopes of some kind of signal from her. Manson gallantly opens the door to the cab for her. Polite for a criminal, Jake thinks to himself as his fists turn white from clenching. 

Dutiful as ever, Amy she gets into the car. He catches a glimpse of her face and certainly isn’t met with what he had imagined; Amy’s shaking her head no at him, frowning and warning him with a harsh stare. Does she just expect him to keep his cool and step back from the situation? It feels very much like a punch to his gut. Can’t she see she’s in danger? 

His feet never cease, on the contrary, they pick up the pace, completely disregarding Amy’s deterring signals. The car door smacks shut capturing Amy inside the cab but even then, through the dirty cab window, she’s very clearly telling him off. Her expression only becomes clearer with every step he takes. 

Manson, still very much oblivious to the situation that’s about to be called into existence, makes his way around the cab and gets into the back with Amy. The sound of his door shutting behind him affects Jake the exact same way the sound of a gun going off would: adrenaline overrules his clear thinking and protocol for the given kind of situation is off the table. Protocol means nothing when a dangerous drug lord is about to drive away with your partner - partner slash girlfriend, that is. It doesn’t matter that she’s the NYPD’s best detective. All Jake sees is red and the following words come flying out without warning. 

“Sir!” 

He waves his arms in the air to hopefully catch Manson, or at least the cab driver’s, attention. Perfectly synchronized with Jake’s outburst, Amy’s eyes send him daggers but there’s nothing she can say or do… It’’ll blow their cover. So instead she sits back, acts as if she doesn’t know the lunatic who’s calling out for her date, and waits for the horror that is Jake Peralta’s improv skills. 

“You forgot your wallet back at the club. They’re holding onto it for you. They uh- told me to run after you and let you know.” He’s out of breath from running up to the cab and leans against it as he tries to catch it. Jake has to admit that he deserves the prize for the worst cover story in the history of cover stories. All he can do is pray that their perp will believe it - even if it’s with an inch of mistrust. 

“What?” Manson spits, halfway out the cab and sure as hell looking pissed - pissed like a man who’s getting momentarily cockblocked by a random stranger. 

“Your wallet. Someone’s found it and I was sent to tell you.” Jake stutters from his position on the sidewalk. He can feel Amy glaring at him from her spot behind the window, begging him to look at her so she can let him know exactly what she’s thinking: idiot!

“You couldn’t have brought it with ya, ya moron?”

All night they’ve seen him in nothing but a good mood so it sure does intimidate Jake, just a tiny bit, to experience Manson growling and scowling like an agitated beast. 

“I- uh, sorry. I’m just… super hammered. My brain is probably broken from all the vodkas and… orange drank and whatnot.” 

Jake doesn’t even have to look at Amy to know that she’s rolling her eyes at him. 

“Whatever.” Manson peeks into the cab. “I’ll be right back, darling.” 

Amy smiles without saying a word, but the second Manson is out of sight she’s practically kicking down the cab door. 

“What the hell, Jake?! What are you doing?” 

During their few months of being together, he’s never seen her this mad. Not at him, not at anyone. Even the mattress incident has nothing on the pure acrimony she’s currently displaying. The red color of her dress suddenly carries a whole new symbolism. 

“What do you mean? Ames, he was going to drive you off to God knows where!” 

Why is she so angry when he’s just trying to protect her? His expression slowly starts to match hers and he doesn’t like this color on him - not one bit. 

“Don’t Ames me! And I have my tracker and gun on me, plus backup is just around the corner!” She refuses to step down from her case and it’s as if they forget that Axel Mason will be back before long.

“You don’t know how far away backup is. Also, a tracker and gun won’t keep you safe against a man like Manson!”

It takes a clenching of his jaw to contain himself. Heavy breaths have him feel like an enraged bull, provoked by her red dress (even though technically bulls can’t see color - Amy told him so) and matching stubbornness - an attribute of hers he usually admires. Right now it’s hard to admire though. Even if he knows his girlfriend is very much capable of doing whatever she puts his mind to, he also knows he’d never forgive himself if she was to be harmed in any way, shape, or form; even worse if he’d done nothing to stop it. He’s read through Manson’s criminal record and knows what the man is capable of. 

“So what? You’re running interference because you, the great Jake Peralta, need to keep me safe and be the one to save the day?” 

She’s taken a few steps away from the cab to join Jake on the sidewalk. It’s not for the sake of keeping him company though. Oh no, her arms are very much crossed, body language very clearly cutting him off completely, and if it weren’t for the fact that they’re in the midst of quite a fight, Jake’s eyes would comment on how the crossing of her arms enhances her chest. 

“It’s not like that, Amy. It’s not about being the best or saving the day.” 

“Then what?” She barks and all at once everything around them seems to go silent. It definitely doesn’t ease the weight on the young man’s shoulder, the feeling he seems to be holding back for reasons unknown. How does he explain that he cares deeply for her, perhaps more than he’s ever cared about anyone before, without saying the three magic words? That would be too soon and most definitely the wrong time. 

Still, with Amy Santiago looking at him like she currently is, eyes begging to understand but also filled with fury, he knows that he’s in the wrong and she, as so often, is right. He had no right to interfere. She had it under control and he let his personal fears overrule his professional rationality.

“I’m-” the words get stuck in his throat and he has to clear it to continue. 

“I’m afraid of not doing enough. I know that you’re a total badass but it’s so hard for me to stand by and act like it’s all out of my hands, when my mind is telling me that I can do more and that I’d never be able to forgive myself if something were to happen to you. It’s hard to stay out of your way when I feel the way that I do about you - even if I know you’re fully capable.”

 His nervous shuffling on the spot and adverting gaze cuts right through his previous angry demeanor, a much more insecure side of Jake shining through at perhaps the most inconvenient time. Amy wants to listen and discuss this with him, she truly does, because no matter how much she pisses her off, she also really likes him too. 

Timing is damned, not on their side, and Manson is now once more walking out of the club as he lights a cigarette. Jake, back turned to the club, remains perfectly oblivious to the incoming confrontation. 

 On her part, Amy has a perfect view of her undercover admirer. “Shit.” It’s unclear and mumbled under her breath, enough for Jake to notice but without being able to see Manson, the detective remains confused. “We need to stall.” Manson makes his way towards them and an oh so familiar situation presents itself: they’ve got to think fast.

“Kiss me,” Amy commands through her teeth. 

 “What?”

 “He’s back! We need to stall till the 99 gets here so I need you to shut up and kiss me. Now!”

To an uninformed Jake, this very sudden order profoundly confuses him. The very specific kind of confusion and disorientation reminds him a lot of that time Johnny and Dora staked out the park - he can almost feel the tree pressing up against his back and Amy’s lips on his - and the similarity of the situation will soon catch up with him.

 Usually warm and kind but now burning and stressing brown irises glower at him and Jake knows: he needs to act now; trust her and whatever process her brain has mapped out. So he acts.

Like a whirlwind, he pulls her in by her dress’ soft fabric and shoves her up against the side of the cab, so hard that a thump can be heard. It’s a kiss that, in more than one way, takes her breath away. It’s warm, passionate, and quick but still deep enough to make her toes curl. In a perfect scenario, she would let Jake go on, deepen the kiss and take them where she wants to be, but an entire case is relying on her self-control. 

 “What are you doing, you perv?!”

She pushes him off of her, as dramatically as physically possible, and the anger in her eyes makes an encore.

 Jake has never heard her scream with such high pitch and power, and it’s an understatement to say that it takes him a second to recollect himself - both because of the insanely hot kiss and the sudden scream fit. 

 “Hey! What is going on!?” Manson’s cigarette is long gone, adding itself to the collection of cigarette buds in the streets of Brooklyn. Too focused on hurrying back to the cab where his sidepiece of the evening seems to be in trouble, he fails to notice the exchange glances between the two detectives. Glances that confirm that this is is - their new plan. Like an actor walking onto her stage, Amy quickly switches from Amy to Cassidy.

 “I wanted to smoke a cigarette while you were getting your wallet, but this freak forced himself onto me!” She makes sure to spew out the word freak, hoping it’ll cover up her true feelings for her partner. 

 Amy Santiago is unrecognizable, fully merged with her role as club girl Cassidy, and Jake can’t do anything but play along as they both embark on the craziness that is a very serious game of play pretend. Hopefully backup will make their way to them before Manson has the chance of reducing him to a pile of blood and bones.

 “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you little shit?!” Their perp forces himself in-between the two, punching Jake in the shoulder, hard enough to have the smaller man trip backward. Only by a thread does Jake manage to stay on his feet. 

A threatening that has Jake backing up against, so much that he eventually hits the wall behind him. Now he’s really begging for backup to arrive. 

Yes, he does have his badge on him, hidden under his shirt, but flashing it could cause further hostility and threat to him and, of greater importance to him, Amy. Jake stares straight into the eyes of an enraged Alex Manson, scared but also mildly annoyed by the fact that this macho idiot feels such strong entitlement when it comes to Amy – a woman whom he’s known for approximately thirty minutes. 

Not that there’s ever a good time to feel entitled to decide over a woman.

 “We were just talking.” Hopelessly so, but still, Jake tries to reason with his opponent. Mason obviously caught them with their lips locked. All according to Amy this is the plan that will get them out of this disaster, safely and successfully, and, more than ever before, Jake really hopes she’s right.  

 “Talking? Do you think I’m blind!? I saw you making out against the cab, feeling her up with your filthy hands and lips!”

 At this point Manson has a strong hand on Jake’s chest, keeping him captive against the wall with what feels like a promise to not only threaten but also hurt. A million thoughts race through Jake’s mind. 

He’s not dying, not today, not when an idiot like Axel Manson thinks he can get away with miscellaneous criminal activity and treating women like garbage. Over his dead body, only metaphorically, of course, he thinks and bites the inside of his cheek.  

Over Manson’s notably broad shoulder he manages to get a hold of Amy’s eyes. For the first time since he, to Amy’s great dismay, chose to confront Mason, Amy’s death stare is directed at their perp rather than him. Discreetly, making sure to not make any sudden moves and draw attention to herself, Amy reaches down for the hem of her dress skirt. Her eyes never drop from Manson’s figure, even as she gently lifts the skirt a bit, revealing the handgun she’s been carrying around - Mr. and Mrs. Smith-stylez.

 By all means, even with his life is at stake, Jake takes a millisecond to notice just how fucking hot that is. If this is the last thing he sees before he goes then he won’t complain. If he does survive, then he’ll have to suggest that they buy her a nice garter for them to mess around with. He’s quickly snapped out of his fantasy when Manson pushes him harder into the wall.

“Did you hear what I said? Do you think I’m blind!?”

 Jake’s floundering. 

“It was- uh- an accident.”

 The weight on Jake’s chest instantly increases even further, threatening to crush his bones (or so it feels). Then he sees Manson’s free arms being lifted from his side and prepared to throw what Jake guesses is the first punch.

 “Don’t fuck with me, shithead. Me and a couple of friends from the club are in search of a new punchbag and right now you look like the perfect candidate…”

 Jake knows he should be fearing for his life but all he pays attention to is the fact that their perp has practically just admitted to his gang being inside the club. Just as he’s about to flash a self-satisfied grin, the first punch collides with Jake’s chin.

Amy hears Jake groan out in pain, the gun ready to go, out of the corner of her eye, she sees a familiar blink of blue and red lights around the corner. Backup - she can safely reveal herself and help Jake. 

 “NYPD! Let go of him and put your hands in the air!”

 In one swift motion, well-practiced and with ease, Amy has her gun pulled from her thigh holster and pressed into Manson’s back. The criminal freezes on the spot just as he’s about to throw another punch and allows Jake to free himself as three cop cars pull up to the scene and surround them. Amy doesn’t budge, continuously holding Manson at gunpoint. Her arms tremble from the rush. Still, she doesn’t cease until the sarge tells her to and two of her colleagues have Manson handcuffed.

 “We’ve got him, Santiago.”

 A heavy breath, one she’s held since Manson forced Jake up against the wall, is set free from her lungs. Newfound calmness and satisfaction rush through her veins. 

After carefully securing her gun and putting it back in its holster, slowly coming down from the adrenaline-driven high, the thought of Jake and the punch he just took floods her mind. Adrenaline and anger fully clouded her mind but now that she can think somewhat clearly again, worry takes possession of her entire body. It’s as if her legs, without her brain having to order them to, instinctually take her to where Jake is being taken care of by Terry and a first aid kit.

 “Jake! Are you okay?”

 He barely has the time to turn around. Amid his turn, she throws herself at him, arms around his neck and if Terry hadn’t been right there, holding the bloody cloth that’s been drying Jake’s bloody nose, she would’ve kissed him to the moon and back,

 “Uhmpf-“

 Her hug punches the air out of him, and he should care (with being punched and crushed and whatnot) but he doesn’t, because it’s her and all he wants is for her to be okay. He recovers from the hug attack right away and naturally his arms come to wrap her up. The pounding ache in his lower face, nose, and lips, swollen and slightly bloody, somehow melts away under her touch. Technically, that doesn’t make sense but that’s what he does to her. A loud pounding reappears, this time coming from his heart rather than his head and he knows he’s alive and back with his favorite person - the most badass person he knows, too.

 “I’m okay, Ames.” A pleasant mixture of her lavender shampoo and the feeling of her soft skin (she always brags about moisturizing) lets him know he’s back in his safe house and for a second he closes his eyes, lets himself slip into a momentary trance where no one or nothing can touch him. Neither of them knows for how long they stand there, simply holding each other in silence but eventually, the sarge clears his throat, obviously feeling like the odd one out during this happy reunion.

 “Amy, you and I will head back to the 99 with Manson for your debriefing. Jake, I’ll have officer Wilson drive you to the hospital for a checkup and debrief you there.”

 The couple quickly pulls apart, brutally pulled back to earth, and realizes that there are other people, notably their boss, around.

The night is far from over. More than anything else, Amy wants to be the one to take Jake to the hospital, hold his hand while they wait for the final verdict, but she also knows better than to make professional demands based on personal needs. She opts for a simple “Of course, sarge.” Jake as well.

 To the couple’s relief, Terry sees right through them, smiles, and nods approvingly. Terry loves respecting HR-guidelines but, more than anything, Terry loves love. 

“I’ll give you five.” He gives them both a pat on the shoulder, then he walks off to help with Manson who’s currently painting the dark Brooklyn night with a quite colorful chain of curses. 

The blue and red light flash across Jake’s side profile, enhancing his bruised lip, as his eyes follow the Sarge. Amy watches him watch the scene unfold, and while she would’ve preferred no punches and bruises at all, it definitely doesn’t make undercover, dressed-up Jake look any less hot. She might even go as far as thinking it’s… extremely sexy.

 “You’re an idiot.”

 Her voice instantly catches his attention and him looking right at her only gives her a better view of the slightly split lip. So much for a solid plan, she thinks and cups his cheek in her hand as to inspect him. 

He winces a bit but never refrains. 

 “I know.” The sigh is one of defeat. 

Amy is quick to catch on a runs her thumb across his cheek in a soothing pattern. “But at least we got him,” she comforts. 

 “Yeah, but you were right. I was being reckless and impatient. I should’ve stayed back and let you handle it... Like I know you can. I’m sorry if it came off as me not trusting you or whatever. It wasn’t my intention to compromise you or the mission.”

 “I know…” Carefully to not hurt him her hand slides off his face to instead grabs his hands. “But I do appreciate you apologizing.”

 “Of course. I was wrong and you were right. The Jake and Amy story.”

 A warm, familiar chuckle is shared between the two, somehow resynchronizing them, because this really does feel like Jake and Amy – whatever story they’re currently writing.

 “But there’s one thing I’m going to need you to apologize for, detective Santiago.”

 A charming grin is enough to let Amy know he’s about to hit her with something for her to roll her beautiful brown eyes at. And he, on his part, can’t wait.

 “Oh, and that is?” 

 “I’m going to need you to apologize for looking so fucking hot tonight.”

 “Jake…” Blush instantly replace her normal skin tone. Even months into their relationship he still manages to do things to her that she can’t control. Especially looking like this, all dressed up, tussled hair and bruised face working in contrast. 

 “Like, even with Manson all up in my face, all I could think about was you in that red dress…” He runs his hand along the fabric hugging her hip. “And don’t even get me started on the thigh holster. I was so afraid that I’d die tonight and never get to peel it off of you.”

 “Jake!” She skips forward and shuts him up by planting her hand across his mouth. “The officers or the sarge could hear us!”  

“Ouch!”

 “Oh my God, your lip! I’m so sorry!”

 “It’s fine.” He winces once her hands fly off of him and free his sore lip. “I really should head to the hospital, huh?”

 “Yeah, you really should. Are you going to be okay?”

 “Totally.” Jake confirms, nodding his head yes. “See you at your place later? I’m sure the hospital will let me go home tonight.”

 “Sounds like a plan.” She nods, trailing off but then the opportunity for a clever comment presents itself and she can’t resist.  “If you can you stick to it this time?” 

A teasing glimmer in her eyes and cocky smile lets him know just how proud she is of her own comeback.

 “You got me, babe. But yes, promise I will stick to the plan this time. I’ve learned from my mistakes.”

 “Good...” Without further prompting his girlfriend leans in close, close enough for her breath to tickle her ear, and drops a bomb that’s been threatening to explode since they first walked into the club.

“... And if you can’t then I’ll have to teach you a lesson, detective Peralta.”

Oh, how the hospital better let him go home tonight. 

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

the drug, the dark, the light, the flame, Ch.IX.ii

[previous] [next] [Ao3]

A brand new chapter of my work for this year’s @geraskierbigbang in collaboration with the wonderful @gen-syz-art as my artist 💕

Take a look at @gen-syz-art incredible art for this chapter here ✨✨✨ (beware of spoilers)

___________________

Looking for Jaskier takes some time. 

The gardens almost seem even bigger than they were last time, and there are so many different scents that Geralt can’t isolate the one he’s looking for from the rest. 

He could just ask, for in his search he comes across eight different people, and at least one of them should know where Jaskier is, but Geralt makes a point out of finding him on his own. 

It takes him almost an hour to finally come across a willow tree, its long vines falling all the way to the ground like a curtain, and be greeted by Lucio that pokes his nose out of them. 

Stepping inside is like stepping into a sanctuary, into a safe place, completely detached from the outside world. 

The curtain of vines surrounds the tree from all sides, and the sun that breaks through them makes this hidden little world feel even more magical. There’s enough space to fit quite a few people, the willow old and generous, and Geralt thinks that it’s probably the best place to spend long summer days, hiding from the heat and from the outside world in general. 

Jaskier doesn’t notice him at first, too preoccupied with writing something in a notebook he’s got open in his lap, but when Asra perks up to greet the witcher, he raises his head. 

“You found my hiding place,” he smiles, bright as the sun. 

He pats the empty space beside him, and Geralt comes closer before he even thinks about it, getting down into the grass and resting his back against the tree trunk, as well. He tries to get a look at what Jaskier is writing but the younger man hides the notebook from him as soon as he notices.

“Searched the entire garden,” Geralt chuckles in response.  

After an entire day spent in bed and a proper night’s sleep, he feels like himself again, the wounds on his thigh now healing much faster and the pain almost gone. He doesn’t limp as he walks any longer.

“This is one of my favourite places of the entire estate,” Jaskier says, and he’s so torturously-close that Geralt can’t help but lean towards him until their shoulders are pressed together. “If I’m not in the mansion, I’m here.”

He’s got a dark-green chemise on, the sleeves embroidered with gold thread, and every time a ray of the sun catches on it, it shines, and though Geralt himself prefers much more subtle colours and designs, he can’t deny that it looks beautiful. 

 “I can see why,” he nods. “It’s peaceful here.”

Jaskier hums an affirmation, his eyes closed blissfully. Geralt still can’t quite get used to just how relaxed he is in his presence, how there isn’t even a hint of fear that he is so used to feeling on other people. That almost makes him forget about the world outside the mansion and his role in it. 

He thinks, once again, how when he’s with Jaskier, he can be more than just what his mutations make him.

And then, it finally hits him.

It’s not that he wants to return to the mansion.

It’s that he doesn’t want to leave. 

***

They spend almost half of the day in Jaskier’s little hiding place. 

Jaskier tells him more about his time in the Academy and, when Geralt asks, tells him that though he’s got an honours diploma for all seven liberal arts, his heart and soul have always belonged to poetry and music. When Geralt considers it, he’s almost surprised by just how easy it is to think of Jaskier as a bard. 

Can a prince also be a bard? An illegitimate one probably can. It’s a perfect disguise.

Bard.

It’s easy to refer to him by that name in Geralt’s mind.  

After Jaskier tells him that, he finally lets the witcher see his notebook, filled with poems, neat lines or runes crossed out and then written again over and over. Geralt doesn’t understand much in poetry but the lines that he reads are filled with such emotions that they pull on the strings deep in his heart.

Once he gets to the unfinished poem that Jaskier was working on when he’d found him, Jaskier snatches the notebook from his hands and refuses to give it back, a beautiful shade of red spilling over his cheeks. 

Geralt can’t quite stop himself from reaching out and running his thumb over the soft skin, and before he can pull away, Jaskier intercepts his wrist and tugs him down onto the grass, laughing as Geralt blink in mild confusion, his body suddenly unable to resist, though Jaskier’s strength is nothing compared to his. 

They stay lying side by side in the soft grass for what seems like hours, Jaskier reciting poems and ballads by heart, and Geralt just listening. At some point, he lets himself get convinced - somehow - to also recite something, and he entertains the bard with a highly indecent poem about a farmer’s daughter and a knight that he and his brothers used to giggle over when they were still kids in Kaer Morhen. 

Jaskier plays courtier, gasping at the crudeness, but then breaks into laughter, unable to keep his act up.

He rolls onto his stomach, propping himself up on both elbows to get a proper look at the witcher, and reaches out to brush a stray silver strand away from his face. 

Even if Geralt’s life depended on it, he wouldn't be able to decide whether he likes this quiet comfort or the maddening teasing more. 

And though the knowledge of having to leave in a few days is a constant reminder somewhere in the far corner of his mind, he allows himself - if only for a little while - to put it aside.

***

“Do you want to see the sunset?”

The library is painted gold and scarlet with the light of the setting sun, and the colours play beautifully on the silk of Jaskier’s chemise. 

Geralt doesn’t necessarily want to move, more than comfortable on the soft settee and with Jaskier half-asleep in his arms, but when in the last two months had he been able to say no to this man?

Jaskier’s eyes light up when Geralt hums an affirmation, and the next moment he’s already up on his feet, alerting the dogs napping peacefully on a chair by the window. They jump down onto the rug, ears perked up and tails wagging, feeling Jaskier excitement in his scent the same way that Geralt feels it. 

He lets himself be pulled away from the settee, Jaskier’s warm fingers wrapped around his own, and follows him into the hallway and towards the wide staircase. 

“Come on, we’re going to miss it,” Jaskier urges, adorably impatient. 

Geralt’s healing thigh gives a little stab of protest as they pick up the pace, nearly running up the stairs, but Geralt’s had much worse, so it barely registers with him. 

They make their way up onto the fifth floor and down yet another hallway to the very end of the west wing of the mansion, where Jaskier pushes open the door of a bedroom and they rush inside, towards the balcony doors, the golden light streaming through the glass, nearly blinding. 

Jaskier lets go of Geralt’s hand to push down on both door handles, throwing the arches open, and for a second, the view takes Geralt’s breath away. 

This high up, they can watch the golden disk of the setting sun as it slowly makes it's way down, touching the treetops of the pines in the forest. In the distance, Geralt can see the glimmering ribbon of the river, and all around the mansion, there are valleys of flowers in full bloom. The scent is sweet and heady, almost intoxicating, and Geralt takes in a deep breath, feeling his lungs expand in his chest. 

He steals a look towards Jaskier, who doesn’t seem to notice it, too mesmerised by the golden light. It reflects in his eyes, making them look bottomless. Had their lives been different, Geralt would’ve let himself drown in that depth. 

“Oh, isn’t this just gorgeous?” Jaskier asks in a breathy whisper, never taking his eyes off the horizon. 

Geralt takes a step closer to him without even fully realising. It’s like in the past two days he’d grown so used to having Jaskier in his arms that he can’t keep a distance between them anymore. His scent, his warmth, the feeling of his skin - everything about him is drawing Geralt in, and he’s helpless against it. 

Finally, Jaskier looks away from the setting sun and at Geralt. He keeps their eyes locked for a long moment before his gaze drops to Geralt’s lips, and Geralt can feel his heart skip a beat before picking up its pace. The fire in his chest flares up, so bright that it’s almost painful. 

Jaskier takes a step towards him, suddenly so close that all Geralt needs to do is dip his head, and he’ll finally learn what his lips taste like. He holds himself back with all the self-control he’s got but it’s running out fast. He knows that this will make everything worse, that it will make leaving more painful for both of them, but he still desperately hopes that Jaskier would close in that remaining distance between them. 

Because then, maybe, it would be easier to justify Geralt’s absolute powerlessness against him. 

Without it fully registering with him, Geralt wraps an arm around Jaskier’s waist, holding him close, the bard’s breath ghosting over his lips. 

The moment seems to last forever, Geralt’s self-control cracking and breaking like porcelain, but just before he can make the mistake that he so longs for, Jaskier presses his fingers to the witcher’s lips, creating a barrier, and leaves a kiss over them, laughing as he breaks away. 

Geralt fails to bite back a low growl, disenchantment curling into a ball in his chest like a small animal, its little claws digging deep into his heart. 

And still, despite himself, he cannot hold all these torturous little games against Jaskier.

“Is that blush I see on your cheeks, my darling?” Jaskier murmurs, jumping up to sit on the bannister.

Instinctively, Geralt holds him tighter, unwilling to risk his safety. 

“You’ll fall if you’re not careful,” he says flatly, ignoring the question. 

They’re still so unbearably close, and Geralt can’t deny himself the pleasure of bringing his other hand up to rest it on Jaskier’s thigh, fingers pressing into the soft flesh just enough for it to be justified as him making sure the bard is safe. 

Jaskier doesn’t make any move to get away from the touch, and when Geralt runs his thumb over the inner side of his thigh, his lips part on a soft little gasp. 

It’s impossible not to think about the bed back in the room. About just how easy it would be to lift Jaskier up and carry him to it, lay him down onto the silk and velvet, biting marks into his neck. Impossible not to imagine all the sweet little sounds he would make.

Up on the bannister, Jaskier is higher than him, and when he reaches to tip Geralt’s chin up, there isn’t much he can do but comply. 

“What do you want, Witcher?” Jaskier murmurs, his ankles locking behind Geralt’s back to keep him close. 

Standing between his spread knees is just more than Geralt can take, and he tightens his grip on the bard’s thigh to keep himself grounded. Knowing that there are going to be bruises left, and Jaskier is going to have his skin painted with them for days, marked and claimed, does absolutely nothing to help the situation. 

“I want you to stop putting yourself in danger,” Geralt growls, low and impatient, almost threatening. 

He’s referring to much more than just sitting on the bannister, a five-floor drop on the other side, and they both know it very well.

Jaskier’s scent spikes up with sweet, heady notes of arousal even as he hisses at the tight grip on his thigh. Geralt bites his tongue painfully not no lean in and nose at Jaskier’s neck, right under the jaw, where that scent is the strongest. If he does, he won’t be able to hold back anymore.    

Jaskier’s eyes light up with a spark of mischief, almost a challenge, and it only takes him one perfectly calculated move to twist out of Geralt’s grip, standing up on the bannister and laughing victoriously. 

Geralt’s heart drops at the sight, and he grabs Jaskier’s hand tightly, ensuring his balance. The bannister isn’t necessarily narrow, Jaskier could probably lie down on it if he wanted to, but he could still slip, and that is not a risk that Geralt is willing to take. 

The fire in his chest gives way to the rush of adrenaline, and he sighs deeply, calming himself down. 

This is going to be the death of him. 

“I’m putting myself in danger,” Jaskier grins, walking the length of the bannister in theatrically slow steps, his hand still in Geralt’s tight grip. “What are you going to do about it?”

Oh, there are so many things Geralt could do about it. 

In his imagination, he presses Jaskier up against the wall of the balcony, bites into his lips, parting them with his tongue. He sucks marks and bruising kisses into his neck, the skin there so flawlessly smooth that the love-bites stand out like blood-red flowers against it. He leads Jaskier back inside, pulls him down onto the bed, undoing the intricate lacing and buttons of his clothes. 

He takes him apart with hands and lips, drinking in every little whimper and moan, until Jaskier is trembling and gasping, and does it all over again. 

But none of that can go further than his imagination. 

So instead, he just yanks Jaskier towards him, catching him before he falls, and grins to himself at the way that he yelps in surprise. A small but pleasant victory.   

“Balcony bannisters are no place for a prince,” Geralt murmurs, and the last word just slips. 

He bites his tongue way too late, never having meant to say it out loud, to admit - so incautiously and foolishly - that that is what he’d somehow grow to think of Jaskier as. If it’s not true, then he’s just childish for believing something he’d heard in a nearby town, and if it is true… then I can turn out to bear far worse consequences, for both of them. An illegitimate prince hidden in a giant mansion in the middle of nowhere is unlikely to afford for his identity to be known. And the King certainly doesn’t. 

For a long moment, Geralt feels like he can barely breathe, waiting for a reaction, but Jaskier just gives him a long, slightly puzzled look that could mean just about anything, and, finally, gives him a charming smile. 

“You’re right,” he says. “It is no place for a prince.”

 ***

The three days after that go by in relative peace. 

They spend most of the time in the gardens or in the library, reading, talking or just being in each other’s presence, even if neither says a word. 

Jaskier decides, at one point, to give the cooks a day off and take over the kitchen, entrusting Geralt with the venison brought in by his hunters earlier in the day, while he’s busy with herbs and vegetables. Geralt doesn’t really protest, used to helping out in the kitchen in Kaer Morhen, and Jaskier does look ridiculously good in an apron. He does turn out to be rather bossy in the kitchen but Geralt fails to find it in himself to mind. 

They play with the dogs, both Asra and Lucio now used enough to the witcher to trust him, napping with their heads in his lap whenever Jaskier’s is unavailable. They’re just as unafraid of Geralt as their owner, and for Geralt, who is used to animals hissing and growling at him, it’s almost touching. 

At night, if the sky is clear, Jaskier lures Geralt out into the gardens to lie down in the grass and watch the endless stars shimmer in the sky. He remembers a lot of astronomy from the Academy, and tells Geralt about the constellations high above, as well as making up his own ones based on what he sees in the sky. 

It gets cold at night, and he keeps close to Geralt, safe and warm under their shared cloak. Geralt keeps an arm around him and presses his cold nose to his temple every now and then to make the bard giggle. 

Jaskier almost kisses him more times than Geralt would be able to count, but each time he breaks away, laughing and leaving him with nothing. Geralt knows that he’s just waiting for him to break first, and it takes him everything he’s got not to. 

A couple of times he comes very close to pushing Jaskier up against the nearest wall, for he never stops his torturous teasing, but on some level, he almost enjoys this inability to have him, because though the fire in his chest can grow painfully hot, no-one’s ever made him feel like this. 

It helps, in a way, that Jaskier is always hearing his intricately embroidered shirts with sleeves that cinch in on his wrists and high collars that keep most of his skin hidden, because Geralt isn’t sure that he’d able to think about anything other than the marks that he could leave on that skin had it been any other way. 

And that… well, that ends up playing against him. 

It’s his sixth morning in the mansion - the second to last, he tells himself repeatedly - when he fails to find Jaskier in any of the places that they would usually spend the morning in. 

The first place that Geralt searches through is the downstairs library that seems to be Jaskier's favourite room of the mansion. There are books that they’ve left behind the night before, pieces of parchment all over the table, and Jaskier’s cloak but no sign of the bard himself.

When Geralt doesn't find him there, and then in the gardens, and then in the smaller library upstairs, there is no other place that he can think of other than Jaskier's bedroom. It's still relatively early in the morning, and maybe he's too unwilling to get out of bed just yet, warmed by both Asra and Lucio. 

Reluctantly, Geralt makes his way up to the last floor and to the door of Jaskier's bedroom. He'd never been inside, and for some reason, it feels unnerving. All the time that he’d spent in the mansion, he’d only been on the fifth floor twice: first when Jaskier was giving him a general tour, and then when they rushed to the balcony to watch the sunset. 

Jaskier’s rooms have remained something almost forbidden, a place where Jaskier would disappear to at night and then leave in the morning. Something private, sealed off to all guests.

After standing outside the door for a few long moments, Geralt knocks, expecting to hear the now-familiar tap-tap-tap of the dogs' claws along the floor because they're always the first ones to check, but gets no answer. 

Feeling like he shouldn't be doing this, he tests the door handle, and it turns with no resistance. 

The bedroom is just as big as he'd imagined, with a canopy bed lined with wine-red velvet and arch windows that let through the soft morning light. There are large paintings in golden frames hung on the walls, stacks of parchment and books on the table by one of the windows, a chandelier for what must be a hundred candles on the high ceiling. 

It’s a gorgeous room. 

But right now, Geralt can't quite concentrate on any of that, because all he can look at is the open door to the bathroom in the far end of the room. He can hear water splashing softly and then Jaskier's footsteps that he'd grown to recognise among all others. 

His throat suddenly feels very dry, and he can't bring himself to say something, nor can he turn around and leave, giving the younger man his privacy. Instead, he just stands and watches, waiting for... he doesn't even know what, exactly. 

Jaskier stays out of his field of vision for some time, murmuring some song under his breath, and when Geralt does finally see him, he's got his back to him, a silk dressing gown flowing down his body in waves. 

For reasons that Geralt can only assume to be cruel fate, Jaskier keeps his robe off his shoulders, just a little above the line of his elbows, like a voluminous shawl. It covers his arms below the elbows, his lower back and his legs, providing some modesty, but after only seeing Jaskier in his silk shirts, barely any open skin, Geralt feels like all air had been sucked out of his lungs.

The half-discarded dressing gown provides Geralt with a perfect view of Jaskier's neck and shoulders, drops of water still shining on his beautiful pale skin, of the curve of his spine and the lines of his shoulder blades that Geralt wishes he could follow with his lips and fingertips. 

He can see the soft outlines of muscles, the little birthmark just above Jaskier’s right shoulder blade, just a few tones darker than his overall pale skin, the thin white scar on the curve of his left shoulder.

And there's something else, too. Something Geralt didn't expect but that looks so elegant on Jaskier's body that it causes little to no resonance in the witcher. 

Right between Jaskier's shoulder blades, perfectly centred, his skin is adorned with a delicate, geometric design. It looks like white ink, just brighter, standing out against the skin, almost glowing in the low candlelight of the bathroom, and though Geralt's never seen anything like that before, it looks beautiful. 

He'd only seen tattoos on Skellige and in Novigrad, but this one is so starkly different from all of those, so delicate and precise, that it feels like it doesn’t even belong to this realm. Unusual that a member of the royal family - legitimate or not - would have something like this but perhaps this is exactly what marks him as one? Hidden under all that silk, Geralt never would’ve known he had it if he hadn't seen it now. So how can he assume that other members of the ruling family don’t have one?

It’s way too late when it registers with him that he’d crossed the room already and is now only a few steps shy of the open bathroom door, unable to take his eyes off Jaskier. 

Jaskier, on the other hand, seems completely aware of his presence. 

“Did you want something?” he murmurs, completely unfazed as he brushes past Geralt and into the bedroom. 

His hair is still wet from his bath, falling into his face in loose locks, the smell of pomegranate sweet and heady in the air, almost making Geralt’s head spin. 

Jaskier’s collarbones are a sharp outline, the delicate skin stretched tight over them, and though Geralt’s always had a thing for it, he can feel a sharp spasm of pure lust somewhere deep in his abdomen from just how bad he wants to bite into them. 

Without fully thinking his actions through, he catches Jaskier’s wrist and turns him around, so they’re face to face again. Jaskier gasps but doesn’t resist, his cornflower-blue eyes snapping up to meet Geralt’s.

His bare chest rises and falls in slow, even breaths, like he’s completely unbothered by the state he’s in, by Geralt seeing him like this. 

“I was wondering if you were going to let yourself in if I leave the door unlocked,” he murmurs, taking another step towards the witcher, until there is no more space left between them. “If you came looking for me while I was still in the bath, what would you have done?”

He shifts, pressing his hips to Geralt’s thigh, and it resonates through the witcher’s entire body like lightning when he realises that under the thin silk of the dressing gown, Jaskier is completely naked. 

“Would you have helped me with my hair?” the bard goes on, that same intoxicatingly sweet murmur. “Or would you have simply fucked me right there and then?”

And at that, Geralt snaps. 

He grabs Jaskier’s thighs, lifting him from the floor, and sits him down impatiently onto a chest of drawers just behind his back, not even trying to bite back a growl when the bard wraps his legs around his hips, knees spread wide apart. 

His dressing gown has more than enough fabric to keep him covered even like this, but Geralt’s head reels from knowing that it would only take one brush of his fingers to get it out of the way, letting the heavy silk slip down Jaskier’s thigh. 

“You’re killing me,” Geralt growls, low and dangerous, leaning down to Jaskier’s ear, and he shudders in response. 

Jaskier keeps his balance with one hand flat on the polished wood of the chest of drawers, but the other one is in Geralt’s hair almost immediately. He leans in unbearably close, his lips brushing over Geralt’s in a feather-light touch as he lets out a shaky breath. 

“Then make me pay for it.”

At that moment, there is nothing that Geralt wants more than to kiss him, Jaskier’s lips parted and bite-swollen and right there. 

But he’s leaving tomorrow morning.

And so instead of Jaskier’s lips, Geralt bites into his neck. He sinks his teeth into the tender skin right under the sharp of the bard’s jaw, where his scent is the strongest, and sucks a bruising, blood-red mark into it, making Jaskier arch his back and gasp the witcher’s name. 

Geralt pulls back, for just a second, his gaze fixed on the fresh love-bite, standing out sharply against Jaskier’s pale, smooth skin, untouched by anything or anyone else. He looks owned, claimed, taken. 

But it’s not nearly enough. 

Geralt bites another bruising kiss right next to the first one, pressing his tongue to the fresh mark to both soothe the pain and make Jaskier even more sensitive. And then another one. And then another one.

He loses himself in the feeling of Jaskier’s skin, the sound of his voice, his gasps breaking off into soft whimpers when Geralt bites just a little too hard. In the scent of dried herbs and vanilla and pomegranate, only made sweeter by the intoxicating sweetness of lust. 

Geralt leaves a scattered pattern of love-bites all the way down Jaskier’s neck, sucks three marks onto his collarbones, growling with pleasure, and he’s more than sure that there are going to be fresh bruises on the bard’s thighs from just how tight he’s still holding him.

Jaskier keeps him close with his ankles clasped behind Geralt’s back, his breathing deep and fast like he can’t get enough air. He looks unbearably gorgeous like this. 

Geralt’s mind is hazy with lust and pleasure, his cock hard and throbbing under the now painfully-tight leather of his trousers, and he doesn’t have to look to know that Jaskier is in the same state. His scent tells him everything he needs to know. 

And it would be so easy, so fucking easy to just carry Jaskier over to the bed, undo the belt holding his dressing gown closed, and fuck him, tearing more of those beautiful whimpers from his chest. 

But that would be a far greater mistake than the one that Geralt has already made. 

He takes in as deep of a breath as his lungs allow him, and takes a step back, pressing one last desperate kiss to Jaskier’s neck, now covered in his marks. 

Geralt doesn’t have anything to say for himself, but he doesn’t have to, for after just a few seconds of catching his breath, Jaskier grins at him victoriously, like it’s all a part of his little game and he’s not affected by it in the slightest. 

“I’ll take that as the answer to the question of whether or not you would’ve fucked me if you’d gotten here a little sooner,” he murmurs. 

Geralt doesn’t try to stop him when Jaskier jumps down from the dresser, adjusting the folds of his dressing gown. It’s more than hard to keep a hold on his self-control, and he fears that any touch could send it all to hell. 

His heart is beating fast and hard in his chest, and he’s still painfully hard, but it brings him a sense of possessive satisfaction to see Jaskier’s neck and collarbones marked with his teeth. Those love-bites won’t fully fade for more than a week. 

“Now, if you don’t have the intention of undressing me, I need to change,” Jaskier says, walking over to the wardrobes in the opposite corner.

Geralt watches his every move, still standing by the chest of drawers, not willing to risk it and close in the distance between them again. He wants to ask about the symbol on Jaskier’s back but it seems unfitting to bring that up now. 

Jaskier picks out his clothes and takes them out of the wardrobe, already reaching for the belt on his dressing gown when he seems to notice Geralt’s gaze.

“I’m not giving you easy ways out, Witcher,” he grins, even as the belt starts to slowly give way. “Turn around.”

He clicks his tongue, and from somewhere under the furs and pillows on the bed, emerges Lucio that Geralt had not noticed before. Jaskier whistles to him and, when the dog jumps down from the bed to sit next to him, indicates at Geralt with a move of his head.

“Ambush, Lucio,” he says, never breaking eye contact with Geralt. “He’s a purebred hunting dog, Witcher. If you move as much as a fraction, he will let me know. Now turn around.”

For a lack of a better option, Geralt does. 

He can hear the dressing gown fall to the floor in a soft whisper of silk, and knowing that Jaskier is right behind his back, completely naked and covered in his marks is making it hard to breathe. But Geralt can feel Lucio’s razor-sharp attention on him, and he knows that if he tries to get even the smallest look, Jaskier will immediately know about it, and the entire little game is going to be ruined. 

No, he stays with his back to Jaskier the entire time he’s changing, forced to listen to his own quickened heartbeat, and it seems like an eternity has passed until Jaskier revokes his command and Lucio loses all interest in the witcher. 

When Geralt finally turns around, he finds Jaskier wearing a black chemise with blood-red rose petals embroidered into the sleeves, the colour matching the love-bites on his neck almost perfectly. 

Geralt hasn’t told him yet that he’s leaving tomorrow.

But gods, he’s going to miss him.

[your-wings-of-freedom]

Thunderstorms (Reiner x Reader)

Authors Note: First AoT & Reiner fic! I am always generally confused about the geographic layout of things so just overlook the details that doesn’t line up with the anime. Pretend it’s okay. Thx. With my Reiner, we pretend he’s not the armored titan (shh). I have no idea where I’m going with most of my fics. I write blindly and it ends up with verbal diarrhea. I’m sorry if nothing makes sense. But if you’re still following me after my first fic, then you’ve signed up for my chaotic writing and I make no further apologies. Also, I never edit any of my stuff so expect a lot of errors. If it’s out of character, honestly - let me know! I feel like I’ve not written him well, to be honest. He’s a lot harder to write than I thought! Warnings: None. First fic though so - goodluck reading it! Words: 3,168

The weather forced everyone to take cover in one of their many base camp buildings set up in areas outside the walls. Whilst it wasn’t ideal when they were outside of the walls and in Titan territory, they really had no choice. With the heavy torrent of rain and the darkened sky, their vision was limited – and Levi had experienced such a situation before and it didn’t bode well. Had his rage not fueled him at the time, he probably wouldn’t have made it. It was not something he was putting his soldiers at risk. 

Hence why they rode a little further and took cover the evening. It was just a basic set up, enough to house them to give enough rest; a kitchen area, dining area and two rooms – usually set up for medical attention and the other for supplies. In these situations, the dining tables are moved to sit against the wall so the group can make camp for the night on the floor. Usually it wasn’t as disgusting as it sounded because Levi would have had everyone clean the area top to bottom. But some key factors prevented Levi from putting his squad to work; they were in titan territory, there were no cleaning supplies for such a trivial task – except, perhaps medical supplies, but their priority lied with the priority of his soldiers.

Whilst there wasn’t a stable set up, there was something similar to a ‘supply shed’, so everyone placed their horses in there, tying them up to whatever they could find and improvised a stable with what they had, before heading inside the building opposite. 

You, and your team mates stood around in the room, shivering slightly from the cold as the Captain addressed the group. “I know our current condition is not ideal, but we’ve been through worse. This is titan territory and we’re currently sitting ducks, but the weather will likely hold the titans off. It’s more risky riding out in the weather like this. I suggest you get whatever sleep you can while you can. As soon as the rain lets up, we’ll make continue onwards. I can’t say whether it’ll be an hour, a few hours, or until the morning. Everyone move the tables against the wall and make do on the floor.” “Sir!” voices called out in unison as they accepted their last order before bunkering down for the evening. There didn’t seem any point in having someone as spotter since you couldn’t see past the pelting rain. Levi, however, sat himself near the window regardless. The man never slept. The boys, mostly Reiner, helped move the tables to the side while the others chose their spots to rest for the evening. You watched as Mikasa, Armin and Eren set up together in their little group. It came as no surprise to you. It was at that point you could hear the sound of thunder rumbling. Your eyes widened a little in fear, you could feel your heart beginning to beat in a fast rhythm. You looked around for a safe place to set up and found an area little off to the side in a corner, away from everyone. The room murmured with hushed tones as people were mindful to keep their voices down for those who want to rest. You sat with your back against the wall, knees pulled up to your chest and arms wrapped around your legs. Your eyes glancing around the room, trying to focus on your teammates rather than the sound of the thunder that seemed to drawing closer as the rumblings became louder. Mikasa, Eren and Armin were lying on their stomachs, facing each other and just talking. Armin was smiling, Eren was giving a small smile, Mikasa’s eyes had softened, so they must have been talking about something nicer than the subject of Titan’s and future missions. Sasha and Connie and Jean seemed to be resting together, hoping to catch a few moments of precious sleep. You weren’t going to be getting any sleep soon. Or at all. You never did sleep when thunderstorms happened. You knew it stemmed from your childhood, from when your parents weren’t around when you were little, and you had to deal with the loud noise by yourself.

 Reiner and Bertholdt were finishing up moving the last of the tables. They didn’t really need to as there were already plenty of space to accommodate everyone, supposedly they were too busy quietly talking to realise. They were always together, those two. You never minded. But sometimes, just sometimes, it would have been nice to be able to speak to Reiner alone. In those times, it felt awkward to have Bertholdt there, and you can see that Bertholdt seem to feel uncomfortable being there too. But he never seemed to take the initiative to go and do something to leave you and Reiner alone. You never resented him for it. He treated you like a friend so you can hardly feel any resentment toward him for it. He seemed to have a shy streak to him, so perhaps it was that? Who knew. A loud clap of thunder had you flinching violently, and a strangled whimper-ish sound caught in your throat as you tightly shut your eyes, willing for the sounds to stop, quickly catching Reiner’s attention as he glanced over to the person he had come to care about in a much different way to how he cares about his comrades. “Hey Y/N. You lonely over there? Come and sit with us.” Reiner whispered loudly enough to be heard by you but not enough to disturb others. You didn’t respond. You couldn’t respond. The fear trapped your words and you were desperately trying to make the sounds stop. “Are they asleep?” Bertholdt asked as he glanced over at your curled form, looking as though you fell asleep sitting up, your head ducked so your features were half-hidden. “No, I don’t think so.” Reiner murmured, brows narrowing in concern. “Hang on.” He quickly excused himself as he stood up from where he was sitting with Bertholdt.

 He crouched down in front of you, “Hey. You alright?” “Yeah.” But the waver in your whispered tone betrayed you. “Really?” Yeah, Reiner was not at all convinced by your answer. Why would he be? He’s seen you sad, he’s seen you angry, he’s seen you happy… but he’s not seen you like this before. “Seriously, Y/N. What’s going on?” you didn’t have verbally answer. The sound of a loud crack of thunder gave away what was ailing you right now. You tried to muffle your fear but with Reiner being so close to you, it was hard to get away with it. He was quick to put two and two together. Particularly when your hands flung up to grip the sides of your head. You hated this. How pathetic you must look to the one you seemed to like and, perhaps, even found yourself flirting with. “You’re scared of the thunder?” You didn’t answer. God, you couldn’t answer. You couldn’t even look at him. You were rendered weak. Pathetic. You had no right being in the Scouts, let alone riding as Levi’s second team if you were scared of something so trivial such as thunderstorms. He seemed to have picked up on your distress. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re all allowed to be afraid of something you know.” Another loud crack of thunder that had the windows shaking, caused you to cry out in pure fear and lunge at Reiner. You heard him grunt in surprise, body tensing because he hadn’t expected to suddenly be holding you in his arms. The shock wore off as quickly as it came, and he wrapped his arms around you without another moment’s hesitation. It wasn’t the cold that had you shivering, it was the fear that had you trembling. You gripped the front of his damp shirt in the balls of your fists, burying your face in his chest. If there was ever a time to humiliate yourself, tonight was the night. You knew those who were still awake were watching, particularly when that last cry tore from your throat before you could even muffle it. Even Levi glanced over from watching the rain outside with his stoic expression. He didn’t say anything, nor did his features give anything away. Whatever it was, Reiner seemed to have it under control, there was no need for Levi to intervene unless a matter was brought to Levi’s attention.

 The tips of Reiner’s ears were red from being flustered at having you throw yourself at him the way you did. He had been trying to summon the courage to ask you out for weeks now but never seemed brave enough to do so. And when an opportunity arose like this, for him to step up, he still hadn’t a clue what to do. Perhaps if it was anybody else, it might have been different. He can act as that ‘big brother, pat-on-the-head, you’ll be alright kiddo’ guy. But with you – no. He really wanted to be there for you, he really wanted to make an effort, get you to notice him – particularly when he’s struggled to open up and say things. He’s low-key hoping you would pick up on the subtle hints he’s dropped. But you hadn’t. Either you weren’t interested or you were completely oblivious. If it were the latter, then it only makes Reiner fall in love with you even more; you’re still able to carry such an innocence about you in this grim world. It’s an adorable trait.

 Selfishly not wasting an opportunity, and to also generally help you too, he did what he thought was best, and he hoped he wasn’t overstepping the line by doing so. Holding you a little tighter, he maneuvered himself in two swift movements so that he was the one with his back to the wall, though his torso twisted to the right because you were still clinging to him like a frightened child. With his frame, it helped shield you from curious eyes and grant you that small piece of privacy. His arm came around your lower waist to anchor you to his side, his other arm dangling off the top of his bent leg. He glanced over at Bertholdt who was watching curiously and helplessly, Reiner simply gave him a nod of acknowledgement, hoping his friend would get the message that Reiner might not be moving from this position tonight. As uncomfortable as it might be, the aches and pains would be worth it if it meant being able to hold you, though preferably if it wasn’t under such conditions as this. Even with Reiner beside you, protectively holding you into his side, you still trembled with fear from the sound above you. Reiner eased the loneliness you felt, but he couldn’t ease the sound. The thunder was right above them, there was no reprieve between the loud claps and cracks, it was a constant low rumble threatening to erupt in a loud crack above them.

 Whenever it did, your breathing hitched in your throat and you pressed yourself harder into his side. “Hey, it’s alright. I got you, okay? ‘M right here. It can’t hurt you. It’s just noise. That’s all it is. Just noise.” Reiners voice was enough to calm you down from the hysteria rising in your chest, ready to break forth into a panic attack. He seemed to have realized this when you weren’t trembling as violently as you had been before. He couldn’t seem to calm you down by physically reassuring you, so perhaps he could distract you by talking? It would seem you wouldn’t be getting any sleep regardless. “Why are you so afraid of thunder?” He did his best to ensure that his tone didn’t come across as ridiculing or patronizing; again, he really didn’t want to mess up this opportunity to form a deeper connection with you. Your hands still gripped your head, palms covering your ears in an attempt to block out the thundering sound, but your attempts were futile. But Reiner’s voice made its way through the sound you found frightful of the night, and it pulled you from that scared place. “Um…” you started, voice wavering as though you were on the verge of tears. “I-I just remember being scared one night… and no one was around… I don’t know where my parents were… and… I was just so scared… I didn’t know… I remember getting out of bed to go look for them, calling out to them… but the thunder got louder and louder until …” You recalled that night quite clearly. You were scared of the loud rumblings. So you got out of bed to find your parents and as you were helplessly calling out to them, a loud crack of thunder had you screaming and running for a safe place to hide – which ended up being closed in the pantry. You sat there, knees drawn up, small fingers gripping your hair as you cried helplessly. You just wanted the noise to stop. You just wanted your parents.

“…I guess it just never went away? … Pathetic isn’t it?” Reiner listened quietly, his heart sinking a little at imagining how scared you must have been at such a young age. The thunder never scared him, but even as a kid, he was still scared of things. And he stood by what he told you earlier, “No, it’s not. We’re all afraid of something. If it’s not these titans, then it’s something else. It’s alright though. It’s what it means to be human.” “But thunder? Of all things?” “Hey, I’m afraid of bugs so…” He felt you smile against him and then heard a faint little laugh. His heart skipped a beat hearing this, trying not to smile knowing he made you smile and laugh. Proud of himself that he was able to do so considering you looked and sounded ready to breakdown at any given moment. “Reiner?” Oh god, the sound of his name falling from your lips – ‘No. Stop it.’ “Yeah?” “Are you really afraid of bugs?” “No… Spiders though… Anything that’s got more than four legs.” Again, he heard that little laugh emit from your lips. He longed to glance down and see you smile and laugh again, but with your head ducked out of his view, he couldn’t see a damn thing. But, as fate would have it, the loud crack of thunder had the windows rattling violently, even disturbing those that were sleeping. You couldn’t take it anymore, and in that moment of pure fear, you broke. The scared cry of a little girl muffled behind hands that were trying to hold back the sobs. Your eyes tightly closed as you do your best from breaking down any further. Your Captain’s awake and on the other side of the goddamn it! But here you are, trembling violently and crying out for the man sitting beside you, “Reiner!” it was a helpless cry, one that actually really tugged painfully at his heartstrings. “I’m here.” He murmured as the hand that had been resting on his knee came over and guided your head down onto his chest. Immediately you could hear the steady sound of his heartbeat and your eyes flung open, the couple of tears you were holding in quietly escaping but nothing more. The violent trembling ceased to a mere shiver, but that was something Reiner couldn’t fully help with. He took most of the struggle away already. His other hand wrapped around the curve of your waist as he continued to hold you. Your small banter aside, he’s just only now realizing the seriousness of your fear of thunderstorms. Every single person in this room had a trauma of some sort; whether it related back to their childhood, or as of recent. Your trauma had become apparent to him, and he wished he knew sooner. He could have kept an eye on you as soon as the thunder began rumbling from a distance. He could have done something to prevent you from curling into a frightened ball, thinking you had to suffer through this alone despite being in a room full of people that are supposed to have your back; not just on the field, but off the field too. They weren’t just colleagues. They were comrades. Brothers-in-arms. Family. “If there’s ever another thunderstorm. You come to me, alright? ‘M not letting you go through this alone. Don’t care what time of the night it is, you come to me. Got it?” “Yeah, promise.” You murmured, your muscles already beginning to relax against his form. “Thank you Reiner. For everything.” “Don’t sweat it.” Had it not been for your Captain sitting across on the other side of the room, you would have leaned up and given Reiner a kiss on the cheek. Perhaps it was just as well because you would have put that poor boy in such a flustered state. For now, you were content where you were. You felt Reiner shift slightly so he could, at the very least, get semi-comfortable for the rest of the evening. His hand still remained clasped over the side of your head, holding you to his chest in an attempt to keep you grounded and block out the rumbling sound outside. His thumb absent-mindedly stroking your temple (honestly, he probably doesn’t realise he’s even doing this); between his firm hold, gentle caress, steady heart beat and the even rise and fall of his chest, you were easily lulled to sleep. This might have been the first time in over a decade or two that you managed to sleep through a thunderstorm. Reiner couldn’t sleep. How could he? He had you cradled against him! And, oh, how gloriously right it felt. He was too nervous to move. What if he woke you? He was even more nervous that his heart would start beating wildly in his chest and disturb you, so he forced himself to keep calm with deep, steady breaths and hope that would keep his heart beat at a normal, steady pace. Eventually, though, he must have succumbed to sleep, because Bertholdt found you both asleep together; you, curled up in his side, basically using his chest as a pillow, and him still holding you protectively against him – even in his sleep. It seemed almost cruel to disturb you both. But the rain let up, the sun is out, it’s best they move. There’ll be other moments like this to look forward to. At least, you hope so. You hoped this wasn’t just a ‘pity one-night-stand’ kind of thing. Not that you knew this, but for Reiner it certainly wasn’t. He said you weren’t alone, and he meant it. You had him. So long as you want him by your side, he’ll always be there. He’s got your back. Just come to him. Whatever you need, he’s there. | Tags: @commanderserwin

[luvlyrv]

Naughty | pt. 3 | Irene x F!Reader | Mafia!AU

Summary: Two crime bosses entangled in a deadly and tension filled rivalry start to find themselves entangled in a different kind of relationship.

Not without going through a lot of death, pain, fighting and teasing first of course.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I don’t know if I have the time to write a lot right now so I’m posting the things I already finished and are sitting in my draft. Enjoy reading! Irene and Y/N’s relationship kinda uhhh gets complicated from here on out lol

Completely unrelated but, how many times can I rewatch every single ‘Red Velvet: A Mess’ video? The answer is way too many.

Date: 1/12/21 (written)

Series Masterlist

Part 3: A Dance to Remember

Irene is looking over a hung up map of the city in her office when she heard a knock.

"Come in."

Seulgi, her second in command, entered the room. She held a plastic bag in her hand and had a pissed-off looking face. She walked towards Irene's desk and threw it there.

"A gift, from Y/N to you presumably." She announced.

Irene stepped away from examining the map and turned around to look at the bag on her desk. The bag had a horrible smell, and as Irene got close enough to see its contents she understood why. All 10 fingers of the recent informant Irene got in contact with. She gave out a low and short chuckle.

"Why are you laughing?" Seulgi was furious, because this was not how things were supposed to go.

"She's interesting, isn't she?" Irene asked playfully.

"Yeah, interestingly good at fucking up our plans, Irene." Seulgi still wasn't having it.

"Don't worry, you know me." Irene said as she strutted down to sit on her chair. She sits and looks up at Seulgi who now had a confused face. "I always get what I want, and what I want is to win this game."

Seulgi bites her lips, knowing that Irene had plans stirring up in her brain. She sighed and sat down across from her boss.

"You know I'll always be one step ahead, right?" Irene asks Seulgi.

"Of course. So, what do you want me to do now?" Seulgi responds.

-

If Joseph was being honest, tonight there would be a gala hosted by some rich businessman you frankly didn't care for. What you did care for however, was the fact that Joseph said Irene was supposed to be there.

You stood in front of your vast closet. You had to choose the right outfit for tonight. Something fashionable, prim and proper, yet not too glamorous as to make you stick out like a sore thumb. After several moments of contemplation, you decided on a maroon dress that hugged your body. It fell just right above your ankles. It was a simplistic dress, one without jewels adorning it nor any extra patterns, but the simplicity was what made it so beautiful to you.

You quickly change into the dress and brush through your hair, trying to make sure you wouldn't look like a mess when you would inevitably be surrounded by snotty rich people. For safety, instead of settling on heels you decided that perhaps nice-looking flats would be enough. You also grab a fitting purse and inside the purse was only your pistol and a tracker.

When you leave your house, you find Taehyung patiently waiting outside. He's looking fashionable himself in his tuxedo. When he catches sight of you he smiles and looks at you up and down.

"You certainly will blend in."

He opens the passenger seat for you and then makes his way to the driver's seat. He begins to take the both of you to where the gala was, and to pass the time you reviewed the plan over with him.

"Taehyung, you're purely there for recon. Don't get a trigger finger, and no matter how bad things seem don't butt-in. We really can't risk blowing our cover."

Taehyung just nods in response.

"I'll either plant a tracker on her or we'll have to follow her on foot and car. Just... don't worry about me too much. I really can't afford you getting anxious and well..."

"Yeah, I get it."

You didn't want to remind Taehyung about the fact he blew the last mission you guys had that was similar to this.

You know you're finally at the gala when you see a building with expensive cars surrounding it, lights lighting it up like a heavenly palace. You grab an intricate mask that covered your eyes from the dashboard of the car. Luckily, it looked more like a fashion statement that went with your dress rather than an attempt to hide your identity. Taehyung also wears a matching mask, with the plan being that the two of you would sneak into the event and then play it off as girlfriend and boyfriend if anyone asked.

After walking the perimeter, you finally found a spot in the back of the building with a clear route to sneak in with. The two of you enter the building with ease and began to bustle about. Taehyung would always be a couple feet in your vicinity, looking out for your back. Meanwhile you would be scanning the area for a woman that matched Joseph's description.

Beautiful, he said, you can't help but to chortle at the thought, but that did pique your curiosity about her. Joseph said she was short in stature but likely going to wear heels. Black hair and pale skin. Nearly a guarantee that she would be accompanied by her underboss, Seulgi. Brown hair and cat-like features on her face.

Honestly, Joseph's description was vague and shitty, but you'd make it work. After all, all you had to do was look out for a person who's face screamed "I've murdered and seen murder".

Of course, one can always try to pass off as innocent and pure, and most probably wouldn't notice. But you knew that among people like yourself, someone like Irene would be noticeable. Her body language should say it all.

After an hour of searching though, you begin to feel your hope falter. You couldn't find anyone that seemed to fit the description of Irene or Seulgi. You sigh, until you feel a tap on your shoulder. You flinch and quickly turn around, only to calm down when you realize it's just Taehyung.

"Jeez, you scared me."

He chuckles a bit before his face turned a bit more serious.

"Sorry about that, I just wanted to say, maybe that's her?"

He points to a far off corner, and you feel like he's hit a mark. You open up your purse just slightly. You gently grab the tracker and hide it within the clutches of your left hand. You begin to walk over to the corner Taehyung pointed to, and smiled to meet a woman that seemed like Irene. As you begin approaching her she notices your presence and turns over to you with a blank face.

You bow down in front of her and extend your right hand with your left behind your back.

"May I have a dance with you?"

The woman quirks up an eyebrow, a strange look on her face. Nonetheless, she hesitantly gives you her hand. They're small, and despite the cold look she was giving you they felt incredibly soft and warm. You begin to dance with her.

"May I know your name, pretty lady?" You ask her.

"Hmm," she hums to herself, "you can call me Irene, and I'll let you know that I'm thoroughly unimpressed right now".

Even though she says she's unimpressed, she continues dancing with you, her hips swaying with yours. After only a couple seconds of silence she asks you the same question.

"And who might you be?"

"Your lover for tonight, perhaps?" You try to play sly with her. As bad as a line that was, you smiled anyways. Irene lets a sharp exhale out of her nose.

"Now I'm really unimpressed." She says with a small smirk on her face.

As the orchestral music crescendos, you dip Irene low to the ground. Your left hand is on the dip on her small back as she allows her weight to rest on you. You hold her steady for a couple seconds as you secretly press the tracker into her dress. You're excited to know that the first step of your plan was complete, and you feel your heart rush with excitement.

Or was your heart rushing for a different reason?

You pull Irene back up and close to you, the both of you pressed up together chest to chest.

"Did you enjoy the dance, Irene?"

"What is it to you?"

You laugh a little at her response and pull away.

"Well, if you're not going to answer I suppose you won't. Farewell for now, Irene." You slip out of sight from Irene and into the crowd of other dancers. For a second though, you finally notice a girl that you would assume to be Seulgi, staring down at you with a confused glare.

You quickly make your way back to Taehyung and force him to follow you to the car.

Your ears are red. Your face is flushed. Your heart is beating so fast.

Taehyung turns on the car light and takes off your mask, shocked to see you sweating so much. He puts his hand on your forehead.

"Shit, Y/N are you sick?"

You shake your head no.

"Just nervous. I mean. Shit I think Seulgi might've known." You explain to Taehyung. He just nods. Another part of you, deep down inside though, is repeating the feeling of Irene's hand in yours, the feeling of you holding her, the subtle waft of peaches of cream coming from her body. Why were those thoughts in your head?

"Taehyung, pull out the laptop. Let's just wait for the party to end in a bit and then follow."

"Alright then."

Taehyung grabs the laptop from the back seats of the car and turns it on, pulling up the software that blinked where the tracker was. You sighed with relief, as it looked like it was still on Irene.

Now all you had to do was confront Irene when she entered a place where she thought she'd be safe. It was as simple as that.

The problem though, was that it was as simple as that. A feeling of uncertainty and anxiousness began to squeeze your chest. Things... shouldn't be this easy. Things rarely ever came this easy. No way could it be that easy to fool your rival, right? You try to calm yourself down though. After all they never removed the tracker from Irene. Even though Seulgi glared at you, that could just be because of your close vicinity with her, not because she thought you were out to kill Irene.

Yeah, things would turn out fine.

[knives-and-narcissi]

I am so excited for all the things you have coming but this one in particular

“Stains “ has me soooo interested

Well hey there @spacevoltrongirl!

Oh thank youuu! OMG don't do this to me ha! I've been having the urge to dive into this so much recently, but I gotta get ahead with other bits first. I'm trying to get myself back into some sort of rhythm with my writing again.

HOWEVER.

It is definitely getting written, and since I'm as keen on doing something for this as you are for hearing more, let me share some background for this (sort of?) AU under the cut - beware, it's long lol.

Highschool Caste setting, keeping things as close to Isayama's world as possible.

Historia and the gang are 18, last year of high school. Levi is 30 and of course the school janitor.

Hange and Erwin are there as head of science and head of history, but the rest of the crew are also around - disgruntled Moblit: science deputy, Nanaba and Mike teach sport, Onyankopon teaches math and has a huge crush on Hange (who is oblivious, much to Levi's annoyance - "can you two stop flirting in intellectual - I just cleaned and Erwin is gonna spew his lunch.”)

Queen Bee Historia has abandonment and self worth issues which drive her to comply with this perfect, 'It Girl' image. In reality, she's lonely as hell and just wants to have the courage to be herself and have real friends that value her for who she really wants to be. But she can't see that EVER happening, so her walls stay firmly up, her crown securely on and her mascara unsmudged.

Levi has a dark past that no-one except Hange and Erwin seem to know very much about, although there are rumours that he was once linked with notorious Ackerman mob boss Kenny The Ripper. Levi doesn't want to talk about it, he just wants to mop floors and empty trash cans. Don't ask him about it.

Eren is the outcast kid who doesn't fit in. An accident involving his parents has left him with pretty bad anger issues - Jean is normally on the receiving end, due to some jealousy over a girl Eren has a secret crush on, although he tends to get in trouble with the faculty sometimes too.

Gothkasa is just drop dead gorgeous but not interested unless you have green eyes, anger issues and your name is Jaeger, much to Jock Jean's heartbreak. Like Eren, she also lost her parents as a child in mysterious circumstances that no-one really talks about. Mikasa is distantly related to Levi. She doesn't know; Levi does. He tries to keep a subtle eye on her.

Armin, as ever, is a love. He's into anime and solving equations with Onyankopon on his lunch break. Oh, and he's best friends with beautiful Gothkasa. They're doing their best to take Eren under their wing.

Levi sees a lot of his younger self in Eren sometimes. Before he knows it, he's stepping in during a fight between Eren and Jean, which leads to him becoming some sort of big brother type figure that troubled misfit Eren latches on to. He ends up hanging out at Levi's store shed frequently during lunch, venting while Levi lets him steal his cigarettes and turns a blind eye.

Oh yeah, Levi's smoker. A habit that he picked up during his mysterious youth, although he fucking hates it. He's doing his best to quit - he sticks a nicotine patch on under his overalls every morning. It often ends up in the wastebasket of his shed, especially when Eren shows up.

Before long, others are approaching Levi for advice, much to Levi's horror. He literally just wants to mop floors and empty trash cans - did he mention this? But he doesn't have the heart to turn the kids away. "Gonna get a new sign for the shed - Janitor and Agony Uncle. Then you brats can pay me." He never does much talking of course. Just asks them blunt questions and spouts bullshit lines like "choose the path with least regret," or "you have to make that choice for yourself," or "fuck off now I gotta go clean some toilets."

Historia has her own group of disciples, the most clingy of which are Reiner and Ymir. They mean well - but Historia is well aware of the fact that they cling to her image, and not the real her. Stains begins at the point where Historia decides to take a chance and show a little of the real her to Ymir, who reacts in a way she wasn't expecting, but then suddenly she's moved away with little explanation, and Historia is left feeling rejected and even more determined to keep her guard up.

Historia is intrigued by Eren and his relationship with Levi, as well as Levi's easy-going rapport with all of the other students too. She finds herself becoming jealous of everyone's ability to go and offload to the cranky janitor, but she knows doing the same would ruin her pristine image. So instead, she watches from afar. A lot.

Levi notices her watching; the stuck up Queen who's never once approached him like the others. And he sees through her far more than she realises. Like Eren, she reminds him of someone.

Historia is fast approaching a breaking point in her life. Sick of being the golden girl, she risks her image in pursuit of something she knows a good girl would never do. But once the damage is done, and lines are crossed, there's no going back.

Levi knows all too well that some stains don't come out in the wash.

[fabricated-misslieness]

Peter Parker x gender neutral reader with powers

Powers inspired by Fetch from Infamous Second Son

(I made this moodboard earlier on in the week to keep inspiration, since I didn’t have the time to write this then. This basically describes the reader)

Part 2 here

Requested: No

Word Count: 2512

Warnings: Swearing

Everyone knew (y/n) as the star of the track team, but to certain others he was a little more than that.

To the people in your classes, you were the quiet kid, the one that the teacher always seemed to forget to call. Yet they couldn’t seem to be that angry at your luck, maybe it was your charm, or maybe it was that sweet smile of yours.

To the quiet, shyer students, you were the nice popular kid, the one that would pull bullies away from others whenever you saw a situation arise. Ironically, the bullies were usually other popular kids.

To the popular kids, you were the one that they all liked, despite not talking much. You could say one sentence in an entire conversation and it would make them grow fonder of you.

To the kids in your art class, you were the one that always had a tip for their artwork, a tip that never failed to help. You were the artistic kid who got praise from everyone and would not hesitate to praise back.

To your best friends, you were crazy, in the good way. You had a risk to try every day and a gorgeous hide-away spot hidden in plain sight. But you had the tendency to disappear without a trace, though you were always back by a day or two. As for where you went, it was a mystery. They asked, but you never gave a direct answer.

To Peter Parker, you were someone that gave him subtle hints. Hints to what, he didn’t know, but you always winked when you saw him and didn’t have the time to speak, which was rare. You usually approached him, gave him a suave greeting, and sometimes a small pick up line. Ned told him they were pick up lines, but he didn’t actually believe that they were. The constant of the confusing equation that you were, though, was your smile. It was genuine. Not pitiful, not forced, not mocking, but truly, truly genuine.

It felt nice for someone, someone who wasn’t all that close to him, to smile at him in that way. He was used to the pitiful stares from people who knew what happened to his family, the forced ones he got from people trying to act nice, the mocking ones he got from Flash and his friends when they taunted him.

But to Spider-Man, you were an enigma. He’d usually find you spray painting the side of a building. Of course, he didn’t know it was you. Your ‘disguise’, he called it a disguise but it clearly wasn’t one, was a painting mask, one that blocked toxic paint fumes, and a beanie. Really, it was that simple. 

You couldn’t blame him, though, anytime you had the small gut feeling he, or for that matter any other law-abiding citizen, was nearby, you’d bolt.

Your powers came in handy for that.

Speaking of which, he wanted to know where those powers came from, if they were tech or superpowers, if you ever had to replenish, if they consumed something like energy, if you could do something other than run faster and let the trails linger, and several other questions.

Everything you did with them left a neon red glow or  trail, sometimes you even used them for your artwork.

Anyway, what even was the crime you did for Spider-Man to come after you?

Vandalism, straight up graffiti. That was certainly a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man kinda job, huh? Helping grandmas cross the street, old hispanic ladies get directions, stopping people from loitering where they shouldn’t be… non-Avengers level stuff.

Your graffiti was mostly political/social movement stuff, but sometimes it was a way for you to express yourself.

Nobody knew about your powers, hell, you didn’t even know where they came from. That was why you never told anybody, but man was it a hard secret to hold. Your reason was that they’d push you to become a superhero, like Spider-Man. That, however, wasn’t the biggest of your fears, nor the biggest reason.

You were scared. What would they think of you?

What would they think of the real you? The ‘you’ you wanted to show them.

You sighed, looking at the artwork on the wall. You’d worked as the ideas came to your head, even with how messy it was, it looked good. You felt like it represented you.

Even with how good it felt to paint your feelings out, your recent thoughts about how your friends, or really anybody at all, would react had altered your mood.

“How does Spider-Man do it?” You muttered to yourself. How did he keep a different identity, from superhero to teenager? At least you thought he was a teenager. Every time you ran from him he’d scream for you to “come back” or “slow down”, and he’d always sounded like a teenager.

“How do I do what?” Before you could run just like the other times, he webbed your wrist to the wall, too late to realize it was fresh paint and you had your watch on.

You shrunk back, side-eyeing the artwork and struggling against your restraint, forgetting in a state of panic that you could easily break it with your powers.

Spider-Man could see the panic in your eyes, and he was quick to calm you down.

“Struggling won’t--” No, Peter, that’s not how you reassure someone. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He was relieved to see panic to falter that teeny little bit.

“I just want to make a deal.” It struck him a few seconds later how wrong that sounded. “N-Not a drug deal, or anything.” 

The panic subsided, though the uneasy feeling didn’t. You were amused at his mixup, thought you didn’t show it.

“You stop spray painting areas where you’re not allowed, and I let you go with a warning.”

You raise an eyebrow, pulling down your mask slightly so that he could hear you properly. Peter couldn’t help but think you looked a little attractive that way.

“You’ve seen the activism stuff I’ve done.” He has, and he was all for it, but it was still vandalism. “The world needs to listen, and if they can’t, they have to see.” You stuffed your hands into your pockets. You would’ve assumed that Spider-Man would be all up for it, but it seemed like he wasn’t.

“Trust me, I agree with it, it’s just that it’s illegal.” He crossed his arms as if to intimidate you but it had no effect on you.

You huff, furrowing your eyebrows. “You know that’s bull, Spider-Man.”

“Look, I love your artwork, but you have no permits.” He insisted, which was making you grow more and more agitated.

“You don’t have to be lawful good.” Peter raised his eyebrows at the DND terms, but you couldn���t see that. “These are statements for the world. And they’re—“

Spider-Man gestured towards the graffiti behind you, which was clearly not a statement.

“Alright, you got me there.“ You roll your eyes, “I can stop these, but I will not stop the important ones. I put them in those places because I need the people to see.”

Spider-Man was conflicted. On one hand, you were morally correct. On the other lawful hand, the spray painting was still illegal. He didn’t know how he should act on this.

Once again, he could clearly see you growing frustrated.

He steps forward to put a hand on your shoulder, but as his hand lands on it, your powers let out a neon red shock.

It doesn’t affect you, but it clearly affects him… and the web on your wrist.

He collapses face-first on the ground of the alleyway.

“Shit,” You kneel down next to him. “Of all the times for these stupid powers to backfire, it’s now?”

You stand up, debating on whether or not you should flee from the scene, leaving the red clad superhero on the ground.

Your moral compass was pointing to no. You couldn’t just leave him here alone, he seemed hurt.

You’d never done something like that on accident, not to this degree. Anything else remotely similar had been used as self defense, to some mugger or two, and all it did was stun them for a sec so that you could run away.

You turn him over to check on him.

He appeared to be fine physically, but then again if he’d only fainted he’d be up and running by now. 

You sigh, stretching and getting ready to pick him up because he didn’t exactly look like a light-weight. Now, where was the nearest hideout?

Peter woke up in a sleeping bag. The first thought in his head wasn’t where he was, rather, why was his mask on? 

He moved to take it off but then remembered what happened last night.

Then he asked himself, where am I?

He strained to sit up. It felt like he’d been hit by a truck several times.

He first looked down because his head throbbed with a splitting headache. When he found himself stable enough, he looked at his surroundings. 

The first thing he’d noted to himself was that this was definitely not his bedroom, nor was it a place he recognized.

The second thing was, the place was dirty as all hell, it looked to be an abandoned warehouse. The only furniture seemed to be placed there by squatters, which was technically what you were, since this was your hideout.

You walked carrying a dunkin donuts bag. “You’re up?”

Without the beanie and the mask, he could finally see who you were. “(y/n)?” He whispered under his breath, hoping you wouldn’t catch that. You were the person who gave him hints, and also the star of the track team. No wonder you were able to run away from him that fast, even with your powers. He felt stupid, it was so obvious who you were.

“Yeah, that’s me.” You snicker, sitting next to him. You take note of the way he sways as he sits as if he were dazed, which he most likely was. “I’m going to assume you know me. As much as I’d like to guess who you were, I think that’d be a bit rude.”

Despite how dizzy he felt, Peter couldn’t help but notice you acted as if whatever happened in that alleyway didn’t happen.

You were being nice to him, even when he started that argument.

“I brought food, even if you won’t eat it in front of me.” You hand him a sandwich and a cup of water. Peter nods, taking the drinks but keeping them next to him. “I checked you for any serious injuries, had to pull back your suit.”

You notice the way he leans back from you, you take it as a sign of worry.

“Don’t worry, there was nothing serious. I didn’t check under your mask either, if you’re worried about that too.” You thought he would’ve assumed you didn’t from your previous comment about his identity, but panic can make you forget things, you guess. “Just bruises, and I think I gave you a concussion. They’re probably from that red burst... sorry about that by the way.”

“Probably?” He asked.

You hummed a yes, rubbing the back of your neck. “I don’t actually know much about these powers.” You played with the neon light of the glow stick you always carried around with you, in case you ever needed a recharge. You ‘pulled’ the light from the stick, admiring it. Spider-Man seemed to admire it too, though probably in an investigative manner.

After a while of molding it into different forms, you put it back on the stick. Peter took that as a sign to speak up.

“You don’t mind me knowing your identity?”

You stare up at him with a cheeky smile. Peter thought you looked beautiful under the red glow of the glowstick. “I wasn’t trying to hide it.”

Peter flushes a bright red, thankful for his mask. He nods slowly, pretending he was processing the information.

“I should.. leave.” He stands up, a little too fast for his dizziness. As a consequence, he nearly falls back down, if it weren’t for your fast reflexes.

“I think you should stay a while.” Your smile was wonderful. “Wait ‘till you feel fine.”

Peter looked out the small windows of the warehouse, it was still dark out. That was a relief, since that day, or maybe tomorrow who knows, was a school day. “Okay.” He mutters adorably. He plops back down on the sleeping bag.

You sit next to him again, taking a bite of your own sandwich. “I don’t imagine you’re actually hungry.” He nods back at you.

“You should take these back.” He makes an effort to shove the items back in your bag, but you stop him before he can.

“No, you should keep them.” He can tell you seem worried.

“Y’know, I think my concussion is--” He tries to stand up, yet you pull him back down.

You gave him an all-knowing look, “It’s not. You’re still swaying.”

You see the spider eyes narrow at you, and you can’t help but think he’s adorable. It’s almost like Peter trying to figure out if you’re flirting with him or not. “You’re nice.”

“I caused your concussion.” You reply.

Right, you were the one that pulled Flash away from him. He’d heard the stories from the other kids, too. Man, you seemed absolutely perfect.

The rest of his time with you he insists on making small talk, even if you tell him not talking might help him rest up more. You weren’t exactly sure if it would, and he wasn’t either, which was one of the reasons he insisted.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for him to stop swaying. He had a small headache, which would most likely last for the rest of the day, but the dizziness had left him.

His main priority was to get out of there, not only to get home, but also because you were making him flustered. You liked teasing Spider-Man, despite not indulging in blush because of the mask. You could tell by the way he looked down or how he fiddled with his fingers.

“I think I’m good now.” You made him stand up to make sure he was telling the truth.

He passed that simple test so you showed him towards the exit.

You checked your phone, “12 am.”

He nods, sandwich bag webbed up to the drink for easier carriage. “Uh..” You hadn’t expected Spider-Man to be this awkward. “Thanks..?”

“Yeah,” You smile. “No problem.”

He turns to head out but you stop him with a hand on his shoulder. He nearly jumps back when you press a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“See ya around?” Your smile turned cheeky.

“Y-Yeah!” He exclaims out nervously. A second later, he’s right out the door. Even if he has a mask on, he’s not risking embarrassing himself in front of you.

“God, why do I have to be so awkward?”

[perditaalottachocolate-blog]

Cat-Blocked

Happy birthday ❤️ ❤️ @australet789 ❤️ ❤️ !!! I hope you’re going to like this little fic based on your Ladybug episode art!

A sincere thank you to the amazing @goblin-alchemist, who not only betaread this fic suggesting valuable adjustments, but also came up with the title and the ending!

Summary:  Lila might try and try, but no matter what her newest plot to poison Marinette’s life is, Adrien will uncover it and come to his dear friend’s rescue.

AO3 / fanfiction.net

***

‘Oh, no! My lucky pen is missing!’ Lila lamented, her lower lip trembling and eyes already wet. ‘I can’t write the math test without my lucky pen!’

‘You can borrow one of mine!’ Rose chirped, viciously pink pencil-case at the ready.

‘Nooooo,’ the Italian girl wailed. ‘That was my favorite pen! Purple, my favorite color too.’

‘Maybe you left it somewhere?’ Nathaniel supplied. ‘When was the last time you had it on you?’

Lila pursed her lips in an exaggerated manner as she considered this question. ‘I had it when I went to ask Adrien about an equation I didn’t understand. He’s so wonderful at explaining things!’ she exclaimed. 

‘You didn’t sit with us,’ Nino reminded her. 

Adrien just nodded. He watched his classmate and latest modeling partner closely, trying to figure out in time, what she was up to.

‘That’s right!’ Lila snapped her fingers. ‘I sat in Marinette’s seat. She was running late, as usual.’ The girl sent their class president a condescending look. ‘It must be soooo hard for you to get here on time with all the tasks you have with your parents at the bakery!’ She continued with faux smile. ‘I guess some of us are lucky their parents don’t expect them to work!’

Marinette growled under her breath, but she left this hidden insult without any answer. Instead she pointed to her desk. ‘I don’t see your pen here, Lila. You must have left it somewhere else.’

Lila narrowed her eyes at the girl. ‘I’m sure I left it there. I remember I stood up when you came.’

‘No pen here, Lila,’ Alya rolled her eyes.

‘Can I check?’ The Italian girl fluttered her lashes innocently and headed for Marinette and Alya’s desk, despite the fact that it contained no pens whatsoever. 

She stumbled over Marinette’s backpack, scattering all the contents on the floor.

Adrien caught a glimpse of purple as Lila opened her jacket and then he heard the clatter of a falling pen, just a bit later than the rest of Marinette’s things. He moved fast, his shoe covering the pen and kicking it deep under Nino’s seat. His seat buddy didn’t even blink as he stepped on the pen and moved it even further away, obscuring it from view for better measure. Good old Nino, he probably had no clue as to why Adrien took the pen, he just followed Adrien’s lead.

‘Oh,’ Lila sighed. ‘I’m okay. It’s nothing! I’m sorry Marinette, I stepped right into your backpack.’

‘It’s oka-’ Marinette started.

‘But look, what’s this?’ Lila gasped feeling the floor in the place where she dropped the pen just a moment earlier. ‘Isn’t it my-’

‘Lila, I found your pen!’ Nino exclaimed, turning around and bending to pick the pen that was now next to Nathaniel’s desk. 

‘No, you didn’t!’ the girl snapped. ‘It’s right he-’

‘Look!’ Nathaniel took the offensive item from Nino’s fingers. ‘It’s your lucky pen!’ he called happily.

Lila looked to Marinette, then to Adrien and Nino. She pursed her lips. Her eyes flashed with rage, before her face morphed into a well practiced elation.

‘Oh, thank you, Nino! You saved my test!’ She cast the boy a pleasant smile before going back to her seat. 

Adrien didn’t know any Italian, but he was pretty sure what Lila mumbled on the way was some extremely bad cursing.

***

‘I swear to you, I didn’t sleep a wink last night!’ Lila complained. ‘I basically moved to the bathroom.’

‘You poor thing,’ Mylene cooed. ‘Did you eat something bad?’

Lila fell silent for a moment, her gaze skipping over the audience. When she made sure Marinette was there, at the back of the crowd, she shook her head theatrically.

‘It’s not possible. I only had pastries from Dupain-Cheng’s bakery yesterday,’ she looked at her fingernails. 

‘You did not!’ Marinette stood up. ‘I was manning the counter all afternoon and I didn’t see you.’

‘Ah, I was at a photoshoot all afternoon and we got the pastries on the set,’ Lila supplied innocently. ‘They tasted a little stale, but I thought since they’re from the best bakery in Paris-’

‘You must have eaten something else, Lila. Remember, there were no pastries at the set yesterday?’ Adrien put a hand on Marinette’s shoulder as he stood by her side. ‘Father forbids them, because they can easily stain the prototypes.’

‘But I-’ Lila started.

‘Besides, if there were any pastries from Dupain-Cheng’s patisserie,’ Adrien winked at Marinette, ‘they wouldn’t have lasted long in my presence,’ he patted his belly. ‘No Dupain-Cheng treat can go stale if I can help it.’

He pretended he didn’t see Lila’s murderous gaze. It wasn’t hard since his vision was momentarily obscured by a fresh, buttery croissant that Marinette just took out of her lunchbox and offered to him. She was a true friend, knowing what he liked.

***

‘It’s not here!’ Marinette cried. ‘I definitely put it in here yesterday!’ She nervously shuffled through the contents of her backpack, trying in vain to locate the art project that was due for the day.

‘Maybe you left it on your desk at home?’ Alya asked.

‘I swear I packed it yesterday, as soon as I finished attaching the rim. I used red silk, it creases terribly if not stored in the right manner.’ Marinette was now throwing everything out of the backpack, as if the huge project could somehow hide at the bottom. ‘You know how scatterbrained I am in the morning.’ She tipped the bag upside down and shook it, but only a few cookie crumbs fell out. ‘And this is half of our grade!’ She tugged at her hair.

Adrien helped Alya to stack Marinette’s books neatly on the desk. He risked a discreet look at the last row, where Lila was busying herself with her phone, seemingly not taking satisfaction in the drama happening at the front of the class. 

‘Pssst, kid,’ he heard Plagg’s whisper from his pocket. ‘Look at her right hand.’

Adrien did as he was told. There was a fragment of silk wrapped around Lila’s ring finger, so slim, it wasn’t difficult to miss it if you weren’t looking for it. Red in color, could have been mistaken for a ribbon from afar, if it wasn’t for the ragged edge.

‘The rest is in the locker room dumpster,’ his kwami continued. ‘Wanna be the knight in shining armor?’

‘Thanks, Plagg,’ Adrien muttered under his breath.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ came a reply. ‘There’d better be cheese in this for me.’

‘You got it,’ the boy replied with the corner of his mouth.

‘Is this your project?’ A few minutes later he presented Marinette with a slightly crumpled, but still very impressive collage on French fashion of the first half of the 20th century. A bit of red silk was missing, but the work wasn’t destroyed.

The angry thump of fists wrapped in red silk from the last row was almost as satisfying as Marinette’s squeal of gratitude. But they both dimmed in comparison to the moment Marinette climbed to her toes and planted a hearty kiss on his cheek. And even Plagg’s snicker couldn’t ruin it for him. Marinette gave the best cheek kisses among his friends after all.

***

‘What do you mean by “it’s ruined”?’ Alya fixed her glasses as she inspected the contents of Marinette’s PE bag.

‘Ruined, as in it’s all holes,’ Marinette raised a pencil. At the other end dangled her PE t-shirt, or rather what was left of it. 

The rest of the class gasped in unison. The garment was barely in one piece, larger and smaller holes visible in the material. The subtle flower pattern, Marinette’s trademark signature, was barely noticeable The gymnastic shorts were in no better condition. 

Lila took the t-shirt in two fingers and tsked at the item with a sympathetic smile. ‘It looks like clothes moths,’ she noticed. ‘Look! A few of them are still there!’

‘Ew, ew, EEEEWW!’ The girls screeched. 

Marinette dropped the bag and its contents to the floor. 

‘I can’t go to classes in these,’ Marinette sniffed. 

‘I’m sorry, Marinette!’ Lila patted her shoulder compassionately. ‘I had no idea you had pest trouble at the bakery.’

‘Yeah, she has pest trouble all right,’ Plagg commented for Adrien’s ears only.

‘Tell me about it,’ Adrien sighed. His fingers were already dancing over the screen of his phone.

Marinette sat at the bench, sniffing from time to time, while other girls tried to comfort her. Lila kept at the edge of her group, her fake sympathetic smile plastered to her face. 

There was a knock on the door and Gorilla’s large head appeared in the crack. Adrien shot from his place and took the package his bodyguard brought at his request.

‘Here,’ Adrien passed it to Marinette. ‘I know it can’t replace the clothes you made yourself, but this is the best I could do on such a short notice.’

The girl watched him with the eyes of a deer caught in the headlights as Alya grabbed the package and emptied it on Marinette’s lap. The Ladyblogger whistled appreciatively.

‘A designer tank top, gym shorts, sweats and a hoodie? Nice job, Agreste,’ she praised. 

All the other girls flocked to Marinette again to inspect the garments. 

‘Gabriel brand!’ Rose exclaimed.

‘This is the newest collection. It’s not even in stores yet,’ Marinette whispered in an absent minded voice, as if the reality still hadn’t registered.

‘What?!’ Lila cried, then realized what she’d done. ‘I mean, that’s so amazing and so nice of you, Adrien.’

This time it wasn’t Adrien’s imagination that his name came from her lips as a hiss through clenched teeth. It wasn’t even a warning. It was a threat. To him or to Marinette, he couldn’t tell yet.

***

‘Well, I can’t prove anything,’ Marinette groaned, as she rubbed her ankle. ‘But I could have sworn I slipped on something on those stairs.’

Three pairs of eyes followed her line of sight to the very empty steps. Nino and Alya shrugged, ready to brush it off as yet another example of Marinette’s clumsiness. But Adrien thought he saw a fresh stain, a bit wet patch on a step, that might have been occupied by something slippery. And hadn’t he seen Lila ostentatiously devouring a banana at lunch table? He had lost his appetite in an instant.

‘Can you walk?’ Alya crouched next to her friend. ‘Classes start in a minute or so.’

Marinette gave her a brave little smile and pulled herself up against the railing. She winced when the hurt ankle took her weight, but she just clenched her teeth and set out for their next class, in something between a limp and a hop to save the aching leg, with Alya as her crutch substitute.

‘Oh, no, Marinette! You fell down the stairs?!’ Lila lamented. She pushed herself from the wall she’d been leaning on and jogged to the four of them. ‘You have to be more careful or you might seriously hurt yourself one day.’

Marinette grumbled something under her breath, as she hopped on, but Adrien saw that now not only her teeth, but also her fists were clenched.

‘I know a great orthopedist from when I got hurt saving Jagged’s kitten,’ the Italian girl babbled happily. ‘I could get you a visit if you want to.’

‘I thought you got tinnitus then?’ Nino tilted his head.

‘Yes, of course. But the jet blast was so powerful it knocked me off my feet. The doctors said I could have lost my leg,’ Lila fluttered her lashes and puckered her lips. ‘That orthopedist was a lifesaver!’ She proceeded to grab Adrien’s arm and smiled sweetly at him. ‘And if you ever need a visit, you just have to ask!’

Lila’s breath reeked of bananas making Adrien’s stomach twist into a tight knot. There was a very flat banana peel stuck in her purse, looking just like a peel might look like after someone slipped on it. 

Adrien disengaged himself from Lila’s grip. ‘Hey, Marinette, wait!’ He called. ‘I don’t think you should use that leg now.’

Marinette and Alya stopped, their brows raised in confusion.

‘Let’s take you to the nurse’s office, shall we?’ he announced and then without further ado wrapped Marinette’s hands around his neck and lifted her princess style, just like he had done tens of times as Chat Noir. She was as light as a feather and despite her initial uneasiness, she relaxed in his arms pretty quickly.

‘Okay?’ he asked and she nodded. ‘Great, then off we go. Agreste Taxi at your service!’ He winked and took off to the aforementioned destination.

He didn’t fight the sly smirk upon hearing Lila’s angry thump behind him. He carried Marinette around the school for the rest of the day, even after her ankle got better. After all, what were good friends for?

***

Adrien would be lying if he’d said he didn’t like his self appointed role as Marinette’s protector. He kept close to his good friend ready to ruin every scheme and disprove every lie Lila had been cooking, and in those rare cases when he was too late, he did his best to take care of Marinette in a way that would not only be enjoyable, but also a subtle (or not) jab at their nemesis. 

His role had a few unexpected advantages, like having to carry Marinette princess style on more than one occasion, or getting plenty of “thank you” croissants and quiches. The cheek kisses were also a nice bonus.

It’d been a week since Lila’s last attempt at sabotaging Marinette and it seemed like maybe she finally got the memo. Adrien reluctantly relaxed and he was slowly getting used to the fact that his protection services weren’t needed. Lila kept as far from Marinette as she could, not giving him even a shadow of a chance to come to the rescue. She settled for giving him the stink eye every now and then.

Yet his protective mode was still on. He still swept the corridors for potential dangers before his friend left the classroom. He still kept an eye on her locker and her backpack just in case someone wanted to tamper with them. He had to stop himself before giving Lila the “I’m watching you” treatment.

And now his *protect Marinette* senses were screaming at him *DANGER*DANGER* in big red letters. He left his post at Marinette’s side for just one lousy break and it turned out to be the opportunity Lila had been waiting for. Adrien saw her approaching Marinette at the other end of the corridor. He broke into sprint hoping he’d get there in time to stop any “accident” or “mishap” that Lila had in store.

‘Hey, Marinette! Can I-’ Lila started.

Adrien sucked in the air as he gasped for breath, wrapping himself around Marinette in a protective hug.

‘What the-,’ Marinette mumbled confused, from somewhere close to his chest. ‘Adrien?’

‘Did you just hiss at me?’ Lila asked accusingly. 

‘Are you purring?’ Marinette whispered to his sternum.

He didn’t even know how to address those questions, so he looked around searching for rescue. What he didn’t take into consideration was that his sprint had attracted the attention of nearly everyone in the hall. Jaws dropped. Fingers pointed. Gasps were heard. A ripple of murmurs spread through school like wildfire through dry grass.

‘Dude,’ Nino breathed out, standing beside an equally shocked Alya, ‘just a friend?’

[katherinewilliams221b]

For A Greater Good Fun Facts and Self Assesment (spoilers)

Long Post

What worked and what didn’t:

I think the overall structure worked pretty well. The most difficult part was, with the plot and subplot already created, scattering all those ideas throughout the text in such a way that at least made some sense. I regret not writing more about Mer Yankelevich, I feel like the crumbs I left on the way were not enough; in my attempt to make it subtle it lacked information about her. The key piece was of course her sister, and I should have introduced her sooner.

MC’s evolution. I feel like Kate’s learnt a lot with this experience (I’m not only referring to the Deathly Hallows or Grindelwald) When it started, she was very discreet and kept a low profile, not knowing what to do really, not taking more risks than necessary. And then she ended poisoned and splinching just to protect a document she thought was important. I hope her evolution is noticeable for the reader.

Worldbuilding. Grabbing HP concepts that were forgotten and full of potential, plus a dash of original ideas from me and blending them with muggle features was my absolute favourite part of the process.

On that note, I dont own these concepts: Durmstrang, Igor Karkarov, Nerida Vulchanova, umbrella flowers, fanged geraniums, billywigs, Appare Vestigium, glow-worms, trick wand, chamaleon ghouls, 

If you’ve read the fic and thought: “everything happened so fast” or got a general odd feeling about the timeline it's because I made a series of  monumental mistakes: setting a chapter limit, telling you about it and then tried to stick to it.  At first the idea sounded nice: this is my first “big” story  with complicated components. I should (and I did) do an outline of what I want to happen in each chapter and stick to it methodically so I don't forget what's happening or lose track of the plot. Well...it kind of backfired. So I wrote the first 3 chapters and at that point I thought “okay everything is going as planned, I’m going to put it out there”, bam, instantly cursed. After that it got ridiculously difficult to make the story that I wanted. Why? I needed chapter space that I convinced myself I couldn’t add. Dumb.

The major consequence of this was the lack of character backgrounds. It started out good, but as I kept writing and publishing I realised that I missed some great opportunities to make amazing ocs. That’s Corentin’s fault in a way: he wasn't going to be a major character, really, just a piece to help Kate a bit. But we all fell in love with him so what was I supposed to do? Also, Sheyi Mawut owns my heart and he got just a bit of spotlight. A shame.

I wish I had written more about them, but I think I wasn’t ready just yet to make it even more complicated.I just wanted to prove I could concoct a mystery plot and now that I know I can manage a fair amount of information I think I can take it a step further and deepen new ocs a little bit more.

I’m thinking about the datura series and I know why I got blocked and tired of writing it; it wasnt going anywhere because I wasnt prepared, and I didn’t do the months of outlines and planning that I did with this one. I’ll come back to the datura story one day, subjecting it to a sever rewrite. The ideas are there, I just need to be organised.

Although the chapter limit was problematic it was also a good exercise of managing space and deciding which things were unnecessary for the story. I dont think there’s any filler chapters, perhaps the last ones, but there is important information there too so... However this sentence  from the blog  wordsandstuff reassured me (and I think I did a good job at that?)

If you set out to write 10 parts and you write a fantastic story in 8, you haven’t failed and it’s not too rushed. Concise writing is an underrated talent. Focus on how effectively you engage the reader, not for how long.

I spent more than year writing this! When I started, I had a lot of ideas, I wrote the last two chapters then the first 3 and I really thought it was going to be that way with the rest of the story... okay... lesson learnt. #humbled

Other thoughts:

I received a couple of comments on ao3 that said that they were pleasantly surprised. Maybe I should change the tags because they are misleading? Clearly this wasnt what people were looking for lol.

One particular comment stood out to me and quoting it said:  “You did not choose the easy way with a fiction with so few characters from the fandom.”  And I’ve been thinking about this since I read it. It didn’t occur to me that there were few mystery fics (maybe I should write more things like that? Maybe throwing some power couple detective work 👀 ) In any case, I’m glad  I contributed with something different to the fandom, and the fact that the Charlie bits are very scarce but people who read it still liked it is really flattering.

I wanted to make sure that all the characters had strengths and flaws, I didnt want to severus-snape them so maybe I overdid it with that bit of introspection kate does at the end...

Also, I did the kiss and fade thing twice to mention sex. I know some people dont like that but since it wasnt the point of the story and I havent done research on how to write sex scenes I didnt include them. I have that on my “to learn” list.

Conclusions:

Writing the whole thing was incredible. It's my first ‘big’ project and its not a great work (there are some things I wish I did better, thats what you get when you are an agatha christie wannabe) and not writing more character backgrounds will haunt me to this day,  but I think it's at least good for a first series and I’m proud of it. I loved spending hours doing research and trying to piece together this puzzle. And of course I’m not an expert and I dont want to sound pretentious (like this is my first story) but if you are planning to write this type of genre I can be another source of tips and tricks for you.

If I read the story after a while and I dont cringe, I would call that a success.

FUN? FACTS!

Bakunawa really belongs to Filippines mythology

Snapdragons have different meanings, one of them being: “grace under pressure or inner strength in trying circumstances”

The entrance to Grindelwald’s room was going to be in the duelling classroom, strangely shaped as a triangle. I had this system where one of the round candle lamps descended and lined up with a line on the floor (serving as separation for duels) it created the Deathly Hallows symbol. I couldn’t make that work because it wouldn't make any sense for Nerida Vulchanova to shape a room like that.  Here are some sketches:

Lucius Malfoy was going to appear as the Ministry employee that goes to Durmstrang, but after revising the events of the OoP I realised it was impossible.

Kent Jorgensen was going to be around Kate’s age and the charms teacher and he would have a small crush on her. After seeing some pics of Pen Medina, I rewrote the character completely.

The series was going to be 6 chapters long (I’m glad I decided not to) one for each month. The chapter names were ridiculous: January of Beginnings, February of reputation, March of Students, April of Discoveries, May I? and June of Endings. #tragic

The Dolohov family was going to be a part of the plot but I had to erase that part because it was unlocking another layer of complexity that I just couldnt handle.

I dont remember exactly the chapter but I got really confused with the names Rhode and Hodges and there’s one chapter where I accidentally mixed them (I corrected it I think), but for a while I could stop calling Rhode, Hodges, and vice versa lmao

Here are some sketches that helped me describe and imagine things

Thank you for accompany me in this journey, especially if you endured the process with me lmao. You’ve been here for over A YEAR! <3 Mindblowing

Also I’d love to know your opinions about the way you read the story, I mean, I know some people read it as I published, and some other readers found the story already finished, what are the differences? Should I stop the updating system and drop a story all at once? I know it is difficult to keep up with a complex story if there’s a lot of weekly or monthly gaps between the chapters, so I wanted to know.

Sending you a virtual hug 💜💜

[ofendlesswonder]

“It’s three in the morning.” if it moves you :)

3. “It’s three in the morning.”

Cat’s just started to drift off when the ringing of her phone cuts through the haze of sleep in her mind, and she groans as she rolls onto her side, reaching blindly for the device sitting on the bedside table of her hotel room.

Leaving behind CatCo was supposed to stop phonecalls at ungodly hours of the night (or morning, she supposes, as she glances at the time, her eyes bleary as she forces them open), and her thumb is already hovering over the ignore call button before she recognises the name on the screen and feels suddenly wide awake.

“Kara?” Cat answers with a question, because since she’d left National City, she hasn’t had any contact with her former assistant. Not directly, anyway – Cat has been keeping an eye on her from afar, though, with a google alert for both Kara Danvers and Supergirl set up on her phone, and she tells herself that it’s not weird, that she just wants to see how Kara is faring in her new role (the answer is, ofcourse, excellently).

“It’s me.” It’s Kara’s voice, but not in a way that Cat has ever heard before, the words loud and slurred, music pulsing in the background, and is she drunk at a bar?

Could she even get drunk?

Has she lost her powers again, rendered human, and wondered what the fuss was all about?

“Kara?” Cat repeats, her brain not quite working atfull speed. “Are you alright?”

“W-why wouldn’t I be alright?” The words are strung together, and it takes Cat a moment to decipher what she’s said.

“Because,” Cat replies, rolling onto her back andstaring up at the pale blue ceiling of her suite, “it’s three in the morning, and you’re calling me drunk after we haven’t spoken in months. Did you mean tocall me?”

“Yes.” Kara says it with certainty, and Cat can imagine her perfectly, sitting in a leather booth somewhere in a dive bar, her head nodding eventhough Cat can’t see her. “It’s not three in the morning here.”

“No, I suppose it’s not,” Cat acquiesces – she’s onthe east coast, visiting D.C., which will hopefully become her new home, if she plays her cards right, and she’d completely forgotten about the timedifference. “Why are you calling, Kara?”

“I… I miss you.” Kara’s voice is smaller, now, less certain, and Cat’s throat feels tight as she swallows, because she misses Kara, too, but that’s a secret that she’s sworn to take to her grave.

It wasn’t the only reason she’d left her companybehind (she was growing bored, felt like she needed a new challenge, a new adventure), but it was definitely a contributing factor. Cat had no idea when Kara Danvers had managed to worm her way under the sky-high walls that surrounded her heart, but by the time she’d realised, it had been too late, she was in too deep, and the only way she could think of to stop her falling even further in love with her unsuspecting assistant was with time and space, two things that she’d gotten by packing up her belongings and leaving National City behind.

(Not that it had worked, not really – she stillthought of Kara often, but at least here, with half a country separating them, Cat could avoid any kind of temptation, any risk of doing something reckless,like drawing Kara into a kiss and ruining everything).

“Kara…” Cat doesn’t know what to say, knew that ‘Imiss you, too’ would send them tumbling down a rabbit hole that would be hard to come back from. “Do you want me to call someone to come and get you?” Cat’s sure that the sister wouldn’t be too hard to track down.

“There isn’t anyone.” Kara’s voice is small, and sad, and Cat aches at the sound of it. “Alex has Maggie, Winn has Lyra, J’onn has M’gann and James has been doing everything he can to avoid me, lately. Lucy left and… so did you.”

The words come out quick and fast, and Cat struggles to keep up, especially when she has no idea who half of those people are.

“Are you okay, Kara?” Cat asks because she absolutely doesn’t sound it – Kara, who is so bright and full of hope, sounds completely and utterly defeated, and Cat’s chest feels tight, wishes she could be there to comfort her.

She wonders if Kara had already tried to call herother friends before she’d landed on Cat’s number, and tries to ignore the flash of pain that being a last resort sends rippling through her.

“No.” Kara’s laugh is bitter. “I have someone here, you know, that wants me.”

Cat’s jaw clenches at that, images flashing throughher mind, of Kara kissing someone else, a face lined with shadows but Cat knew that whoever Kara chose to be with, they would be handsome or beautiful, ageappropriate and decidedly not her boss.

“Then shouldn’t you be on the phone to them, and not me?” Cat counters, sitting up in bed because after this there’s no way she’s getting any more sleep tonight.

“You see, that’s just the thing, Cat.” Kara’s voice sounds so very tired. “I know it would be so, soeasy to let myself be with him, but I… I just can’t stop thinking about you.”

The words almost stop Cat’s heart dead in her chest.

She’d known, of course she’d known, about Kara’s crush on her – she wasn’t blind, and Kara wasn’t exactly subtle, but she also wasn’t delusional, knew that there was a world of difference between admiring someone (an older, confident someone) and actively wanting to pursue some kind ofrelationship with them.

“Kara…” It’s barely even a croak, but that’s all Catcan manage, clears her throat before attempting to continue. “You’re drunk, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” Kara replies. “What’s that saying? Drunk words are soberthoughts? Maybe I just needed a little bit of liquid courage to admit the way I feel.”

“Even if that’s true,” and Cat didn’t want it to be (couldn’t let herself believe it might be, lest she fall apart), “why are you telling me this now? It’s been months sinceI left.”

“I was trying really hard to forget about you.” Kara’s sigh is heavy. “But I never could. And I guess seeingeveryone else so happy, I… I want that, too.”

“You could have that,” Cat says, gently. “With… withwhoever it is you have over there.”

“He pales in comparison to you.”

“I’m not so sure that’s true.” It’s Cat’s turn tosigh, now, sure that she could never offer Kara all of the things that she deserves – and she deserves the world. “I think you should go home, Kara. Get some rest – you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“No, I won’t.” The music in the background fades, and Cat wonders if she’s stepped outside. “I won’t feel better until I see you.”

“Kara - ”

“Where are you?”

“Too far away for you to make it tonight.”

“I think we both know that that’s not true.” It’s quiet, but it’s an admission all the same, and Cat wonders if Kara will regret trusting Cat with her closely guarded secret in the cold, harsh light of day – not that Cathasn’t known for all this time, anyway.

“Regardless, I don’t think you should drink and fly.”

“Why not? It’s not like I’d hit anything. Well, maybe a bird.”

Cat allows herself one moment to dwell on that visual before replying. “You might fall out of the sky.”

“I wouldn’t.” There’s that certainty (and stubbornness) again. “Where are you?”

“I really think you should sleep on th - ”

“Fine, I’ll find out myself,” Kara huffs, and Cat can only blink as Kara hangs up on her, the dial tone ringing in her ear. She rings Kara back immediately, but there’s no answer, and Cat hits redial as she climbs out of her bed to pace, mind filled with visions of Kara hurtling into buildings or falling out of the sky, too inebriated to know what she’s doing.

The tap on the glass probably shouldn’t have startledher, all things considered, but Cat still jumps when she whirls to find Kara hovering outside of her balcony door. At least she’d had the wherewithal tochange into her suit, won’t have been spotted flying cross-country in civilian clothes, and Cat supposes, as she slides the door open, that any pretencesbetween them are long gone, now.

“Are you crazy?” Cat hisses as she ushers Kara inside, and she’s never been so grateful that Carter’s spending a few weeks with his father as she is right now. “What if someone had seen you?”

“What, like ‘Cat Grant gets late night call fromSupergirl’ wouldn’t give you a big media boost?” Kara counters, and she’s clumsy as she collapses onto Cat’s bed, kicking off her red boots and fallingbackwards with a sigh.

So, still drunk, then.

Cat allows herself a moment to drink in the sight ofthe other woman in all her glory, in a way she’d never dared, back when they’d used to work together. Kara’s eyes flutter closed, the light of the mooncasting shadows over her face, and she’s so beautiful that it almost hurts to look directly at her.

“What were you thinking, Kara?” Cat berates her, standing at the foot of the bed with her arms foldedacross her chest, only suddenly becoming aware of the fact that she’s wearing only her pyjamas, the cotton fabric thin and clingy, and she feels exposed,vulnerable, as Kara’s eyes flicker open to meet her own. “Flying out here like that? What if you got hurt?”

“I was fine,” Kara huffs, leaning up on her elbows.“And I was thinking that I needed to see you. To make you believe that I’m serious.”

“I’ll believe you more when you can stop slurring yourwords.”

“Drunk words are - ”

“Sober thoughts,” Cat finishes, “yes, we alreadycovered that.”

“We did?” Kara frowns, and really, she has absolutelyno right to look that adorable. “Oh.”

“See, you’re not even going to remember this in themorning,” Cat sighs. “You’re going to wake up in Washington D.C. in my hotel room and think I’ve kidnapped you.”

“I’m staying the night?” Kara perks up at that.

“Well, I’m hardly letting you fly anywhere else.”

“We’re in Washington?” Kara clambers out of the bed to go to the window, pressing her face against the glass to look at the twinkling lights beyond.

“How do you not know where you just flew to?” Catasks, alarmed. “Come to think of it, how did you find me?”

“Um.” Kara glances away from the window to look at Cat’s face, looking more than a little guilty. “So, don’t think I’m creepy for this, but… I kinda, sorta, know what your heartbeat sounds like, so I just… followedit.”

“You… followed the sound of my heartbeat… across the country?”

“Yes.”

“Your hearing is that good?” Cat is impressed, morethan anything.

“Kinda,” Kara shrugs. “Once I’m familiar with a sound, if I really, really focus on it, I can pretty much follow it anywhere.”

“And you’re so familiar with my heartbeat because…?”

“We spent two years working together, Cat. I picked it up.”

“That’s how you always knew I was coming,” Cat murmurs, more to herself than anything – it hadbeen notoriously difficult for her to sneak up on her former assistant, no matter how hard Cat might have tried. “Do you have any other weird habits Ishould know about?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay, then.”

“Cat, about everything I said before - ”

“Don’t.” Cat cuts Kara off with a wave of her hand,not wanting to hear what she said next. “I meant what I said before – you should sleep on this, before you say anything else. If you still feel the same in the morning, when you have a clearer head, then we can talk about it. But only then.”

“So you want to talk about it?” Kara asks, her eyes looking so very hopeful, and Cat’s throat feels tight, because god, she’s never wanted anything more. “I’m not just… showing up here barking up the wrongtree?"

“No, Kara,” Cat murmurs, doubtful Kara will remember any of this in the morning. “But you need to get some rest. Sleep it off.”

She’s about to clamber into the bed, suit and all,before Cat stops her, handing Kara a pair of pyjamas and promptly spinning on her heel when Kara began to tug at her suit – apparently drunken Kara has verylittle modesty, and Cat’s sure that she won’t survive the sight of the other woman half-dressed, ducks into the bathroom for a moment, instead.

She can’t help but pinch herself to check that thisisn’t just all a dream, that she isn’t imagining the fact that Kara is here, all of the things that she’s confessed to tonight. She doesn’t allow herself toread too much into what it might mean, because for all of Kara’s assurances, she is still drunk, and things might well change when she wakes up in Cat’s hotel room, and reality sets in.

By the time she deems it safe to emerge from thebathroom, she finds Kara already under the covers, her eyes closed and her breathing even, and Cat shakes her head wryly, more than a little jealous ofthe other woman’s apparent ability to immediately fall asleep.

She can’t resist the urge to step close to Kara, topull the covers, abandoned at her waist, up to her shoulders, before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. She’s about to walk away when ahand shoots out to grab her wrist, stopping her in her tracks, and when she turns back around, Kara’s eyes have blinked open.

“Where are you going?”

“To sleep on the couch.” Not that she’d get muchsleep, anyway – not with the way her life has just been turned upside down.

“But there’s plenty of space right here.” Kara’s thumbrubs against Cat’s wrist as she uses her other hand to pat at the other side ofthe bed.

“Kara - ”

“Please?” She asks, gaze pleading, and oh, how doesCat have any hope of denying her?

With a sigh that holds no trace of reluctance, shemakes her way around the bed and slips into it, her breath catching when Kara shuffles towards her, reaching for one of Cat’s hands and pulling it around her waist.

Cat wonders, as she rests her forehead against theback of Kara’s head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, when Kara had become so emboldened. Maybe it’s just the alcohol, but it seems like more than that, somehow, and she wondershow much has changed since she’d left National City, how much she’s missed, whilst she’s been away diving.

There’s no time to ponder that now, though – she can ask Kara about it in the morning, along with the million other things on her mind. She’s convinced she won’t be able to sleep a wink, worrying too muchabout what tomorrow would bring, but she finds that, with her arms wrapped around the one woman she’d never dreamed of getting into her bed, it comes easier than it ever has before.