#and to not wake up to the entire kitchen trashed right after i fucking deep cleaned everything

[bensolosbluesaber]

Returning a Favor (Zemo x Reader fic)

TFATWS Ep. 4 Spoilers!!

Summary: When your old friend, Sam Wilson, needs your help in Riga you drop everything and go. You knew they broke Baron Helmut Zemo out of jail, but you didn't expect to bond with the villain. (AKA: I thought getting hit in the face by the Shield would at least leave a bruise. Here's how that would go down with a fourth person.)

CW: Blood, wounds, some creepy behavior (not from Zemo), a few Y/N inserts

No smut yet, just cute cuddles and taking care of each other. Maybe smut in the future though! Let me know if you want a Part 2 or added to a tag list for potential future fics! I think the reader can be any gender; I tried to write it that way and be inclusive, but please tell me if I messed up!

If you know me in real life, no you don't:) I write most of my fics on @aurora521 and write on AO3 and fanfiction.net under the same name. Please don't come for me about finding Zemo attractive.

Hope you enjoy!

---

Returning a Favor

Meet me in Riga. -S

That was the text you received from Sam Wilson, your old military friend, yesterday. And now here you are, outside the Riga airport walking toward Sam in traditional undercover superhero attire- a baseball hat and sunglasses.

“Thanks for coming,” he greeted. “We have a little problem.”

“Is his name Baron Helmut Zemo by chance?” You asked, following him to a jet black sports car.

You were very aware of just what type of trouble Sam was getting himself into since you, a SWORD agent, still had access to all kinds of classified information.

“See for yourself,” Sam muttered, gesturing to the back door of the car and climbing in the driver's seat himself.

You hesitated for a moment, then opened the door and slid into the back. And yes, Zemo was there, lounging back with legs spread. He’s wearing a long coat with fur lining, a deep purple shirt, black pants, and shiny leather shoes. He nods to you and smirks ever so slightly. Bucky Barnes, who you had only heard about but recognized immediately, turns from his spot in the front seat and smiles at you.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N,” he says.

“And I you,” you respond.

Sam pulls out of the parking lot with a screech of tires. The ride is mostly silent, Sam and Bucky bickering occasionally. That made you smile, knowing that as much as Bucky annoyed Sam, this was the type of relationship he craved. Zemo watched you the entire drive, sizing you up.

The home they’re staying at is obviously the Baron's. He’s comfortable there, leaning against the counters, rifling through cabinets, lounging on the couch.

“So what am I doing here?” You finally asked.

The three men interact easily, and either Sam or Bucky is always watching Zemo. There’s no real need for a fourth person to get involved, at least not in your mind.

“Someone needs to babysit the Baron,” Sam explained with an annoyed sigh.

Zemo shrugged with a smirk so innocent it’s sinister. He’s still wearing that ridiculous coat.

“The two Avengers can’t handle him?”

“I believe your friends find it challenging to be around me,” Zemo answered for Sam.

“You shot a man in the head yesterday!” Sam snapped. “You antagonize Bucky at every turn. Forgive us for needing a break from whatever is happening in your fucked up head.”

Zemo tilts his head as if agreeing with everything Sam had just said.

“Anyway,” Bucky interrupted. “We have a lead on Karli. You can sleep off some jet lag while we’re gone, but starting tonight it’s your turn to keep track of him.”

You settled into a small bedroom. The moment your head hit the pillow, you fell asleep. At home it’s nearly ten at night; here it’s midday.

The trio is back all too soon, heralded by a slam of a door, and you force yourself to wake up to adjust to the time change as rapidly and effectively as possible. As you open the door to the living room, Bucky is stalking toward Zemo. He grabs the teacup from Zemo’s hand and hurls it against the wall.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” Bucky growled, staring at Zemo with an unnerving glint in his eyes.

“Take it easy. Don’t engage him,” Sam jumped up and grabbed Bucky’s arm. “He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.”

Bucky’s face softened slightly. Zemo stops tilting his head.

“Let me make a call,” Sam says and walks away.

“You want some cherry blossom tea?” Zemo offers Bucky with a mocking tone.

“No. You go ahead,” Bucky hissed, and after a moment of staring, he followed Sam out of the room.

You had watched Zemo for that entire exchange, noticed the slightest flinch and hint of fear when Bucky had grabbed that cup. The moment the other two men are gone and Zemo thinks he’s alone, he pours himself another cup. His hand is steady, but he draws a sharp, unsteady breath.

You move out of the room, and Zemo looks up at you from his spot on the couch. Without a word, you walk into the kitchen, taking a roll of paper towels and carefully picking up the shattered glass.

“I can do that,” Zemo says, speaking directly to you for the first time.

His voice is calm, accent thick.

“It’s alright,” you answer, then gasp sharply as a piece slices your pointer finger from tip to palm. “Fuck.”

You set the bloody piece with the pile of glass and hold a paper towel to your hand. You used the other hand to wipe tea off the wall and floor before picking up the glass piled on a paper towel and placing it in the trash, carefully tucked in other garbage.

“Let me.”

Zemo’s voice behind you makes you jump. You eye him for a moment wondering if there is some ulterior motive, some way he could hurt you or hold you hostage. Nothing comes to mind, not with Sam and Bucky so close, so you hold out your bleeding hand. He clicks his tongue at the wound.

When he takes your hand in his, his fingers are soft and warm. He moves your wound under a faucet and lets water run, rinsing the blood down the sink. He squeezes the wound a bit, and you wince as it begins to bleed more.

“We bleed to clean our wounds. It is the body’s way of protecting itself,” he says and presses a towel to your finger as he shuts off the water. “Ironic isn’t it. The very thing meant to protect us from future danger, often kills us first.”

“I’m not here to debate the ethics of superheroes with you.”

“Hold that,” he lets go of your hand and opens another cabinet. “I know how I feel about enhanced humans. There is nothing for me to debate.”

Zemo takes your hand back in his. You watch his face as he works. He uses his mouth to remove the wrapping from a butterfly bandage. The bleeding has slowed, and he uses the bandage to pull your torn skin back together. The cut isn’t terrible, certainly not the worst injury you’ve ever had, but it will scar. He adds two more strips, then places an absorbent pad over it and wraps it all in gauze.

“When we get back, I’ll change that for you.”

“I’ll hope you don’t get killed then,” you offer with a grateful smile.

He doesn’t respond but gestures to you to join on the couch. You do, keeping what you feel is a safe distance between the two of you. Zemo hands you a cup of warm tea, but as you grab it, he doesn’t let go. Your undamaged fingers brush his for a long moment and he chuckles.

“Promise not to take after your friend James? I quite like this tea set.”

Your eyebrows knit together as he smiles at his own joke and finally surrenders the cup to you. That’s the last words you two exchange, and when Bucky and Sam return ready for the next part of the mission, they find the two of you sitting in silence sharing a pot of tea.

___

When the three men returned, Sam and Bucky held an unconscious Zemo between them. You jumped off the couch, the book you had been reading discarded, and let them lay Zemo down.

“What happened?”

“John Walker,” the two men answered in the same disgusted tone.

You leaned over Zemo, finally seeing the blood and bruise on his right temple.

“This one disappeared for a few minutes, shot Karli-”

“Didn’t kill her,” Sam interrupted, sounding relieved.

Much like Sam, you sympathized with Karli’s motives if not her methods. And much like Sam, you were glad she hadn’t died.

“Then Walker knocked him out with the shield,” Bucky finished.

There was no jab at Sam this time for which you were grateful.

“Which is the only useful thing he did,” Sam added. “Zemo destroyed the rest of the serum, so right now he’s above Walker in my book.”

You looked down at Zemo, blood had dripped down his face and neck, though most of it was dried now. His eyelids twitched as he slept.

“Are you two okay?” You asked as you walked toward the bathroom.

“Fine. We ditched Walker, but we’ll need to get out of here as soon as we figure out what to do with Karli,” Sam answered, collapsing on the couch with a heavy sigh.

You dampened a washcloth in the bathroom and on your way back to the living room, grabbed the first aid kit Zemo had used on you earlier.

“What are you doing? He’ll be fine,” Bucky muttered.

He was sitting next to Sam now.

“Returning a favor,” you answered as you knelt at Zemo’s side.

You dabbed at the drying blood with the cloth, wiping it off his cheek, out of his hair. Somehow the coat came out unscathed. Sam and Bucky were talking about something behind you, but you were entirely focused on the unconscious man.

Zemo had a handsome, aristocratic face, and he walked like royalty, like he was untouchable. This was evidence he wasn’t.

You moved to the actual wound next. The cloth was soft, unreasonably so. A large hand wrapped around your wrist, squeezing tightly. You inhale sharply and shift your gaze to Zemo’s hand then his eyes. When your eyes met his, he seemed to relax, releasing you and letting his hand fall at his side.

“Apologies,” he grunted, mouth twitching with pain.

“It’s alright,” you answer calmly, very aware that the other men had stopped talking and were fixated on a potential threat. “Turn your head please.”

You put a hand on his cheek and turned him to face you to get a better look at the wound that was still seeping slowly.

“The new Captain America might force me to reconsider my stance on superheroes. I would enjoy seeing Sam and James have a go at him,” Zemo said as you prod the wound.

You wiped the cut with antiseptic, and Zemo hissed a bit at that but said nothing. Then, just like he had done to you, you placed three butterfly bandages on the cut. It wasn’t deep, just long and jagged.

“You’re my new favorite,” he joked with a little grin.

You laughed and walked to the kitchen for some ice. There were no packs, so you grabbed a bag of frozen peas, wrapped them in a towel and set it gently on Zemo’s temple.

“I can’t have you dying when I need this changed tonight,” you said, holding up a finger.

When you turned around, Sam and Bucky had both stretched out on the couch. They both wore annoyed expressions that Zemo got a whole couch and they got one to share. Bucky bumped Sam’s foot with his own, much to your amusement and Sam’s annoyance. He kicked his partner back, and you decided not to interrupt their little couples spat. Instead, you move to sit on the ground.

Zemo grabbed your wrist again, this time gently. He tucked his legs up, folding them into a V, and motioned you to share his couch. And you did, sitting in the same spot you had earlier, this time near his feet still clad in shiny black leather shoes.

“Hey, you two,” Sam called. “What’s this cozy little couch situation going on here?”

“You two could have a cozy little couch situation too if you’d just talk to each other,” Zemo shot back.

He didn’t even look at Sam, just held the frozen vegetables to his face, eyes closed.

“Y/N?” Zemo asked after a moment. “Can you get me an Advil? Or better yet, some sort of alcoholic beverage?”

“I’m not your servant, Zemo,” you sighed but stood and poured him a glass of some expensive alcohol from a bottle with Sokovian writing.

He sipped it, setting it on his chest between sips as he lounged on the couch with you. Bucky was watching you out the corner of his eye, and you were watching Zemo. Every few sips he would grimace, his lips pressing together and chest catching. Then he’d relax, exhale softly and shift the peas back into place. Eventually you picked up your book and began to read again.

Sam left the room to take a phone call a few hours later and came back shaking.

“Karli threatened Sarah, my nephews. I have to meet with her. Alone.”

“I’m coming with you,” Bucky jumped in, already on his feet. “Walker will be there, and you can’t handle the Super Soldiers and Captain Propaganda on your own.”

Zemo was either asleep or doing a good job pretending beside you. The pea bag had been returned to the freezer. He’d discarded his coat and was now wearing only his black pants and a deep purple shirt with shoulder holsters.

“You got him?” Sam pointed to the sleeping man.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you answered, setting the book aside and watching them prepare to leave.

Both men donned their costumes, Sam strapping his wings on, Bucky ripping the sleeve off of yet another jacket so his metal arm could move freely.

“Call me- us if you need backup,” you shouted after them, knowing full well they would do no such thing.

“If we aren’t back in two hours, take his ass back to jail,” Bucky called back.

Baron Zemo woke up the minute the door slammed shut, which made you doubt he’d been sleeping at all.

“And now it is only us,” he said in that thick Sokovian accent. “I will cook us something for dinner.”

He moved into the kitchen, boiling a pot of water while you watched. You perched yourself on the counter near him as he searched through cabinets. When he noticed you, he paused and chuckled before returning to the cooking. You watched in silence, keeping a close eye on him when he picked up a knife and began chopping tomatoes from a can.

He handed you a bowl of thin noodles with a thick red sauce. It smelled delicious.

“A traditional and simple Sokovian dish, a comfort food you might say,” he explained and joined you on the counter. “I made enough for Sam and James. Call me an optimist.”

Zemo didn’t talk much, you realized, as you enjoyed the food in silence. It was delicious, a bit like pasta. Suddenly, the back door clicked open. You glance around nervously, realizing just how wrong this felt.

“They shouldn’t be back yet,” you say quietly. “And they wouldn’t come in the back.”

“My old associates must have found me,” Zemo jumps off the table, and you notice the same nervousness as when Bucky threw the cup. He cannot know about James or Sam.”

You can hear a single person strolling toward the kitchen in heavy boots.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Zemo whispered, and before you could even process the words, he was standing between your legs and pressing his lips to yours.

His movements are slow and careful, trying not to be invasive as he moves his hands to your back, sliding one up to the back of your head. You wrap an arm around his waist and slide the other hand up the front of his purple shirt, splaying your fingers across his chest. His lips are soft and warm as they move against yours. His hand keeps you from pulling away, not that you’d want to.

“I heard you were back in Riga,” a new voice chuckled. “I had to see for myself.”

Zemo pulls back, feigning surprise, but kept an arm protectively around you.

“And as you have undoubtedly noticed, I am quite busy,” he replied. “Perhaps you could come back tomorrow? I’d prefer not to discuss our business in front of…”

Zemo nods to you. You were staring at the man who you recognized from work files. He was a former Shield agent. When Shield fell, he used the chaos for his own advantage, working for neither Shield nor Hydra and killing anyone who stood in his way. You suspected, but couldn’t be sure, that some of your best friends had been killed by him. Fortunately, you had enough self-control not to shoot him. His mere presence made you tense and uncomfortable.

“Of course, Baron,” he grinned and look at you in a way that made you shift closer to Zemo. “I’ll see you tomorrow, noon. The usual place.”

He gave the two of you one last look and left with a wink to Zemo. Even when the other man had gone, Zemo’s hands were still holding you against him.

“We will have to be gone before noon tomorrow,” he said looking down at you.

For some reason, you were both still wrapped around each other.

“You know who he is?” Zemo said, a statement masquerading as a question. “I am sorry.”

Your face was only inches from him, and you could smell his cologne. Zemo used the hand on your head to pull you against his shoulder. You set your head there, face turned into his neck, and inhaled deeply. And there he sat and you stood, hugging tightly for no real reason except that no one else was there.

Zemo pressed a soft kiss to your head, and rather than protest you let his lips linger. Finally, his head fell on your shoulder. After a moment, he slid you off the counter, took your hand, and led you back to the couch. Without asking, the two of you settled together on the couch, so close your sides pressed against each other. He pulled a gun out of his shoulder holster, and you froze until he set it down on the table, smirking a little.

“I don’t make a habit of shooting people I’ve just kissed,” he chuckled and raised an arm for you to lean against him.

You raised an eyebrow at him, surprised at the forwardness. You shouldn’t be, after all, he had just kissed you and held you on the counter of his kitchen. Helmut Zemo made no sense to you, but in the end, you curled against him. He shifted to lay on his back, head propped on the pillows he was laying on earlier while you tucked yourself beside him, head on his chest.

Zemo wrapped an arm around you. You put a hand on his chest, fingering the purple shirt. He was warm and soft, and you had to remind yourself that you could not fall asleep while you are supposed to be watching him.

“Why are we doing this?” You whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why are you?” Zemo turns his head toward you.

“I haven’t had someone to do this with in a long time,” you answer slowly, cautiously, knowing full well this was a man who could turn on you on an instant or hold onto information until the moment it was advantageous to him.

“Neither have I,” He replied. “German prisons don’t allow much physical contact. Besides, I hope that with enough time perhaps I may kiss you again.”

You tilted your head up to see a grin tugging at the side of his lips, lips that had been on yours a few minutes ago.

“Maybe with enough time,” you answer and brush a lose strand of hair out of his eyes, letting your hand trail over the bruise on his face.

He caged your hand in his, bringing your joined hands back to his chest and holding them there. You felt the rise and fall of his breaths and it soothed you. When they grew deep and steady and the tension seemed to fall from his body, you realized he was truly asleep, not faking like earlier. Soon and against your better judgment, you were dozing off in his arms tossing a leg over his so your limbs tangled together.

Your last thought before you fell asleep was how warm and comfortable you felt with Helmut Zemo, and how completely ludicrous such a thought was.

It wasn’t long before the door opening woke you, still secure in Zemo’s arms. You tried to move, sit up so Sam and Bucky wouldn’t see this little arrangement. You failed. Bucky came in first, stopping in his tracks as he saw the scene on the couch.

“What are you doing? Keep walk- what?” Sam ran right into Bucky’s back then froze.

Their eyes were wide as they stared. Zemo shifted awake beneath you, and you could imagine the smirk on his face. Bucky’s metal fist clenched, and Sam, ever the peacemaker grabbed his arm and opted for a more amicable approach.

“One of you better start talking.”

[hime-hana]

hey can i req being fucked bent over a surface or smfn with dom! changmin 🙁☝🏽thank u sm in advance n only if u want to!!

ji changmin x fem!reader

trigger warning(s): smut, sexual depictions, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, swearing

author note(s): i am very sorry it took me so long, i am currently on vacation and the internet is very iffy; hope you enjoy it; finally edited

16.45 pm

Renting a cabin for a weekend getaway at the beach was supposed to be fun. You, the best boyfriend in the world, his members and some of their girlfriends. In your mind, everything felt perfect, but Changmin would beg to differ.

He was mad. He was oh, so mad sitting at the white plastic table, piercing eyes following your silhouette. You only took a peek at Changmin, but you could feel it from the way he trashed his bottom lip between his teeth.

It was not cute like all the times you’ve told him a bad joke and he forced himself not to laugh at how silly you sounded.

It was also not sweet like when he watched you with beaming as you snuggled up to him in your sleep and he tried to take a picture without waking you up.

This time, his eyes went dark watching you wave at him from two feet away while playing tag with Chanhee and Sunwoo. And he wouldn’t have even cared that much if it wasn’t for the way your smile got a little bigger when Chanhee held your hand while running, body pressed against yours in an attempt to protect you, right before Sunwoo caught up with you from behind; arms locking around your chest before they dropped lower and he lift you up yelling you’re his now.

You noticed Changmin rolling his eyes at the younger boy’s words.

“As if,” is the response muttered under his breath.

If looks could kill Sunwoo and Chanhee would be deep under the ground now; the only thing making Changmin keep his sanity was the way your voice sounded like dripping honey when you sat in his lap a moment later. Panting and grinning down at him with childish innocence, he could never stay mad at you.

Your hand brushes through his black hair and he rests a hand on your thigh, fingertips drawing over your skin just like he did this morning. Your heavy eyelids were barely open when you were met with Changmin’s lips discovering your body like he did the night before.

“It’s too early, baby,” you whisper against the pillow as he waltzes his way between your legs.

“I just can’t get enough of you.”

“Later, please. It’s too early.”

His bottom lip sticks out, but he follows your words and pulls you against his chest without another word.

Right now you knew at was he was hinting; you glanced over again, a lusty spark filled his brown eyes, and another feeling you were not quite used to find in him-jealousy.

Looking at Changmin was enough to put you in the mood sometimes... or at all times, to be quite honest.

He taps your arm, and you give him a cheeky smile as he opens the door for you. You want to say something, but the words cannot come out when he has you pressed against the kitchen wall right next to the sliding door.

“Baby,” you murmur, but notice his eye roll. “why are you mad?”

He clicks his tongue, giving you that look.

That look which you knew all too well; that look he had on his face when he was far beyond frustrated because of some company meeting; that look when he could not grasp the new choreography right and the same look he always had on his face each time you teased him a little too much and he was about to ruin you.

Hooded eyes filled with a mad desire to have you, mark you from head to toe, tongue poking his cheek and a familiar smirk on his lips.

He lifts your chin with two fingers, catching you by surprise.

“Baby,” he cooed back at you, mimicking your voice, “why am I mad?”

His lips on yours felt like heaven but the way his teeth bite your bottom lip earning a loud whimper makes you remember that Ji Changmin can also be a devil.

Hands tug at your shorts, hurrying to get rid of them. Fingers already searching for your bare skin as his mouth drops from your jaw to the base of your neck.

“Maybe I am mad because some of them don’t know their place and my baby doesn’t seem to mind it either.”

You trace the fine lines of his abdomen, throwing your head to the side. Nipping at your skin, teeth grazing over your neck, and lips kissing you all over-Changmin always knew how to drive you crazy.

Another moan and you forget that everybody else can hear you. But this is exactly what he wants when he places you on the white table and kisses his way down to your core. The bathing suit is useless at covering your body when Changmin pulls the two strings holding it up. What a view, he thinks, licking his lips.

“I am also mad because they touch where they shouldn’t.”

His palms cross over your waist and your hips and you part your legs. Words are stuck in your throat and you repeat his name like it’s the only thing you’ve ever known feeling his fiery breath against you. But you need him too much and hope he won’t tease you too much this time.

You lift your hand, bringing Changmin in for a heated kiss. Your forehead lies on his shoulder when he inserts one finger into your wet pussy. He pumps it lazily, gaze watching you squirm underneath his frame. You were craving to feel him inside you. He takes the digit coated in you and brings it to his lips, tongue swirling around it. He moans and you swallow hard.

“Wanna know why else I’m mad?” he asks, passing his thumb over your lips as your mouth instinctively wraps around it.

He smirks and takes your palm into his before getting you off from the table. Your fingertips barely touch his bulging erection before he spins you around.

“Because this is how you make me feel, baby,“ he says, pulling his trousers down right before he grinds against your backside.

He slides past your wet folds, coating his cock in your juices and admiring the way you’re dripping all over your thighs.

“My baby always looks so pretty when I’m about to fuck her,” he whispers in your ear with the most gentle voice, pressing a kiss on your temple while his fingers tangle in your hair. And he pulls, hard. Making your back arch, head falling back with a loud cry when he enters you at once.Your knuckles go white as you grip the table, but Changmin is no help as he only pushes himself deeper inside your pussy. He should expect it by now, but he can never have enough of you. Of the way your cunt takes him so well; walls gripping his cock when he hits that sweet spot which always makes you beg him to go faster. Just like you do now. Even when your knees feel weak and Changmin lifts your leg and places it on the table as your body falls weak against it. Changmin loves it too much, having you right there in the tiny kitchen where anyone could hear all the nasty things you tell him to do to you. He plays with your hair again, lips coming down to bite your shoulder. He knows you are close by the way your moans turn into whispered cries of his name.

“Yes, baby. You should let everyone know I’m the one who fucks you like this every night.”

Your eyelids fall shut when the pleasure hits. Your entire body shivering while Changmin finds your hand and intertwines your fingers while you ride out your high with his cock still inside you.

“Baby,” Changmin whispers as he removes a strand of hair from your flushed face, “I’m gonna cum right here,” he stresses the last word with one harsh thrust.

You moan as a reply.

“And you...” he moves his hips against yours as your walls grip his cock again almost not wanting to let him go “don’t be so greedy, love,” he groans at the feeling. It always drove him crazy.

“I will fill you up, but my baby needs to do something in return.”

You turn your head when he pulls your leg back on the ground and lifts your hips higher.

“I’m going to fill this pussy-my pussy,” he smirks when he notices you biting your lip “with my cum and you are going to keep it inside while going outside and playing tag with Sunwoo and Chanhee again.”

You nod at his words. Changmin’s thrusts becoming slowing down as he releases deep inside your pussy, coating your walls, leaving you a whimpering mess.

He puts your bathing suit back on and kisses your forehead.

“Don’t drip any of it, angel. I want to fuck you with my cum still inside you after dinner,” Changmin whispers in your ear with a sweet smile when you step outside a minute later.

[tsoomie]

Hi! Not sure if your taking headcanon/Imagine requests but if you are how would Bakugou, Izuku, Kirishima, Mirio and Hawks react to having an S/O who has magic powers like the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s Doctor Strange? Like they can make Portals/Teleport, Clones, Astral project, and Summon objects and all that jazz? Sorry if this sounds very specific 😅

✎ reacting to their s/o abilities

꒷꒦ omg i’m so sorry that i didn’t get to this sooner. school is taking so much out of me right now and i forgot i had requests 😭 but n e wayyy-

꒷꒦ characters: midoriya, bakugou, kirishima, mirio, hawks

꒷꒦ warnings: none

# 𝘪𝘻𝘶𝘬𝘶 ─

he’d definitely be amazed by you. the second he had found out about your abilities he was already whipping out a notebook and jotting down bullet points of what abilities you harnessed.

he had shyly asked you if you could show him more of what you could do. with the way he had been clutching his notebook to his chest with a very deep blush you couldn’t bring yourself to say no to him.

as you two continued spending more and more time together his adoration for you grew and so did his confidence.

it was one day you decided to mess with him and had several of your clones spread out.

when midoriya had walked in he stopped immediately and looked around.

“bet you can’t find me.” you said and stuck your tongue out as the clones did the same. with a smirk midoriya looked around and slowly started making his way to the right.

you forced down a smile as he walked past you. that was until you felt a grip around your wrist. before a second could even pass midoriya had spun you around. he softly pressed his lips against yours and brought his hand up to caress your cheek.

“found you puppy.” he whispered as he pulled away.

# 𝘣𝘢𝘬𝘶𝘨𝘰𝘶 ─

okay so with bakugou he knew of only a few of your abilities but he was never aware of how far they actually went.

really the only things he knew about were the clones and your ability to summon objects.

the day he had found out about your other powers was one of the days he had gotten really sick.

he was laid up at home, several blankets over him, an air diffuser to his side, and the trash can overflowing with snotty tissues.

you had found out about his predicament when you were getting ready for school. he had sent you a small good morning text and an explanation as to why he wouldn’t be at school.

you had been ansty the entire day and when school finally ended you didn’t hesitate to teleport to your boyfriends house.

after you had arrived you were teleporting between the store, kitchen, etc. and katsuki’s bedroom.

he was passed out in his bed so he didn’t see anything. well, except for the few times he would drowsily open his eyes and see you for a quick second before passing out again.

when he had finally gathered enough energy to somewhat fully wake up he saw as you would make an appearance, set something down and disappear again.

he was sure the medicine he had taken was making him trip until it happened a few more times.

“what the fuck!” he yelled as you appeared once more.

you screamed and dropped the small snack bag you had. “holy shit kats!” you yelled and clutched your chest dramatically. “you trying to give me a heart attack or something?!”

“you?!” he tried to tell once again but his sore throat caused it to only come out raspy and low. “the fuck was that?” he spoke trying his best to hold in a cough.

you gave him a confused look and waited as he pointed out your powers.

“get better and i’ll tell you. it’s a long story.” you said and kissed him on his forehead.

# 𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘰 ─

when it comes to mirio he already knew you were powerful. he had seen you in action many many times and knew that you harnessed some very badass abilities.

but at the same time, you only stuck to using a few of your powers during combat because you never really saw the need to go all out.

so again, mirio was only aware of a few basics such as clones, teleportation, shield spells, eldritch whips, and a couple of others.

he had even heard a rumor that you could manipulate time, shhh-

one night as you two were texting he had suddenly become needy for your affection and said he would sneak into your dorm.

no need, honey. i’m on my way! you had text back. mirio sat on his bed waiting for the second you would knock on his door.

instead he heard what sounded almost like a sparking sound above him and looked up. there he saw a portal and suddenly you were falling through it.

“hey!” you said gleefully, not realizing you had accidentally made another portal underneath you.

so instead of landing on his bed just as you had intended you fell into a dark portal. “shit!” you cursed as mirio tried to lean over and grab you only for the portal to shut on him.

your boyfriend couldn’t help but to stare at the now empty spot in surprise when suddenly a knock came from his door.

he slowly got up and opened the door and was met with you covered in dirt and picking twigs out of your hair.

“remind me to never use a power i haven’t completely perfected because i wanna look cool.”

at that mirio couldn’t help but to laugh as he pulled you into his room to help clean you up.

# 𝘬𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘢 ─

you were the new kid in school. ahem, not to mention kiri’s new crush too.

mans is a softie and you’re a cutie. you can’t blame him for catching feelings so fast 😩🥺

n e wayyy, class 1-a or rather the entirety of the school isn’t all too familiar with your powers. they’ve seen a bit of what you can do through training, but that’s about it.

when the bakusquad had finally got a better glimpse into what you could do it was during one of the days you had all been hanging out at the mall.

everything was going perfectly fine. you and kirishima were practically inseparable as you all wandered the shops.

bakugou was being bakugou ofc, mina and denki were doing their best to tease kiri and get you two together, and sero was busy trying to keep the two idiots out of trouble.

in the midst of it all several villains had decided to attack and were doing whatever they could to wreak havoc.

in an attempt to stop them and save people you were pulling out the full stops.

going between using portals to get people out, binding spells, shield spells, eldritch whips, and your sword spells.

needless to say the entire squad was impressed but did their best to help while also trying to keep an eye on you.

kiri on the other hand could barely focus. his full attention was on you and at one point he had almost gotten taken down only to have you swoop in and save him.

mans fell completely in love with you right then and there-

days after the fight he still hadn’t fully gained his senses. he wouldn’t speak to you, to caught up in replaying every scene of you fighting in his head.

when you had confronted him about his distance his self control fell apart and he grabbed your face to pull you in for a sweet kiss.

“you’re so amazing.” he whispered as you smiled at him.

# 𝘩𝘢𝘸𝘬𝘴 ─

okay there’s no doubt in my mind that hawks is absolutely mesmerized by you.

you’re both pro heroes who happen to be dating so basically he’s seen just about everything you can do.

of course though, one of the few things he’s not familiar with is astral projection.

and it’s not that you’re trying to hide it from him or anything. you’ve just never come across a situation where it happened.

the day it does happen, as you can guess, he nearly pees himself right on the spot.

you were both play fighting in the nest of blankets that hawks had laying out in the living room.

when he accidentally elbowed you too hard in between your eyes causing you to fall back and smack your head on the floor and pass out.

ouch

yeah, baby started freaking out bc he thought he had killed you.

he was already planning out ways to hide your body 🌝

due to the sheer force of everything you had accidentally separated yourself from you physical form.

you watched as keigo began wrapping your body in blankets while crying and apologizing for killing you. idiot.

you scoffed in disbelief and popped out of the astral dimension.

“what the fuck keigo!?”

he screamed and dropped your still unconscious body on the floor.

you just stared at him while motioning to your body.

“holy sh- you’re a ghost.” he came to the realization and smacked his hand over his mouth. “baby i didn’t mean to kill you i promise. please, don’t haunt me-“

“keigo, i’m not dead.” you laughed and disappeared. when you came back keigo was still apologizing and wrapping your body in blankets.

“this hurt way less when in my astral form.” you groaned and rubbed your forehead.

of course hawks screamed again, dropping you in the process, and making a run for it.

you laughed, not even worried about the pain as the events taking place occupied your mind.

[shinazugawaswife]

If You Love Him - Harry Styles

This is based on the song If You Love Her by Forest Blakk

This song breaks my heart every time I listen to it, and I just thought of this idea. It honestly made me so sad to write and I really got in my feels, so I’m sorry beforehand if it’s too sad, but I’m actually really proud of it so I hope you enjoy<3 (Olivia Wilde appears in this, and it’s in no way meant negatively towards her) 

Summary: you have a hard time living without Harry, and when you find out he’s seeing someone else it breaks your heart and you write a song to his new lover

Warnings: none, it’s just sad:’(

Not my gif, so creds to the owner

You sat in front of the piano, fingers brushing the keys, just barely touching them. You've been crying all day it felt like, and now you just felt numb. You were absolutely drained of all your energy and you felt like you could fall asleep on the spot, but every time you tried closing your eyes, old memories flooded your brain a thousand miles per hour and prevented sleep from taking you with it.

You missed him, fuck you missed him so much. It was so hard just breathing without him and it felt like climbing a mountain just getting through one day without Harry beside you. You barely slept, just the thought of waking up and not seeing him in bed next to you, was enough to start a waterfall of tears streaming down your face. Every day you were in physical pain too, your stomach was in knots, your head was pounding from all the crying and your body had gotten so used to just laying in bed that your muscles had started hurting too from lack of use.

Every day was a hell to go through, but today had been the worst without a doubt. Nothing could ever compare to the feeling you'd felt when you’d checked Twitter that morning and saw rumors that Harry had found someone new. It had been all over the internet after a picture had been caught of him and someone else from the night before. Even though your brain had begged you to stop looking at the pictures and just turn off your phone, you'd spent the entire morning reading articles and fan theories. Eventually, it had hurt more than you could bear and you'd put down your phone and spent the rest of the day soaking your pillow from your unstoppable fountain of tears.

Now it was some time in the middle of the night, maybe around 3 a.m? You honestly didn't know. You hadn't touched your phone since you'd tossed it away earlier and you hadn't moved from your bed until an hour ago when you'd made your way to the piano in your living room.

One time what felt like an eternity ago, Harry had found you absolutely devasted after you thought a heavy argument with one of your close friends had led to the end of your friendship, and he'd told you: "some times emotions are easier to feel if you express them through music" and he'd made you sit down on the same piano bench you were sitting on now, listening while you wrote a song about every emotion that you'd felt. You remembered how he'd been right, that the feelings had actually been more bearable after you'd sang the words. Maybe it would work that way this time too? Honestly, at this point, you were willing to try anything to minimize the painful aching in your chest.

You'd just been staring at the piano in front of you for the last hour though, no words coming to mind that could express exactly what you were feeling. You kept thinking of Harry with this new person: was he with her right now, lying next to her in bed? Were they cuddling? Did he pull her tight to his chest while his head rested atop of hers as he'd always done with you? Were they having deep pillow talks till far into the night, like the two of you used to? Did he touch her the way he'd touched you? Did her entire body ignite whenever he kissed her, as yours had always done?

You knew who she was, Olivia Wilde, the director of the movie Harry had worked so hard on the last couple of months. You remembered the day he'd come home, so excited that he'd gotten the role in the movie, and you'd been equally as excited for him and so fucking proud. Not once had you imagined that you'd be sitting here now, while Harry was starting a new relationship with her. Was she treating him right? You fucking hoped so. Even though you wanted to hate her with your entire being, you couldn't seem to be mad at her. Maybe she was giving him what you couldn't, maybe he was happier with her. God, he deserved to be so happy.

Suddenly a thought formed in your head and the fingers that had only been lightly touching the piano keys now pressed down to make the instrument play out a soft melody.

Take it If he gives you his heart Don't you break it

Your voice was weak as it escaped from your lips. You hadn't spoken to a lot of people the past couple of weeks, having barely used your voice and you couldn't even remember the last time you'd been singing. Losing Harry had made you shy away from your passion for music and writing, too many memories.

Let your arms be a place He feels safe in He's the best thing that you'll ever have

You kept going as the words formed in your head, directing the song to Harry's new lover. Even though it brought you so much pain to see Harry with someone else, you were willing to let him go if she was for him what he needed. All you wanted was for him to be happy and complete, you wanted him to have the world and you'd never been able to give him that.

Memories started appearing in your head like flashbacks behind your closed eyelids. Memories that you and Harry had shared, memories that made you smile slightly even though it shattered your heart to know that you would never share moments like them with him again. While being with Harry, you were the happiest you'd ever been and maybe you were never gonna feel that again, but it was okay as long as he was happy.

He always has trouble Falling asleep And he likes to cuddle While under the sheets

You'd spent many long nights next to Harry in bed, running your fingers through his hair and speaking softly to help him find sleep when it had been so hard for him. He'd always told you how there was no feeling that could compare to being curled up to you in bed, holding you so close to him that you could hear his heartbeat. The most peaceful moments you'd ever experienced with him were these intimate moments where you never wanted to move out of his embrace, praying that you could just stay in his arms forever.

Reality hit you now, that those moments were long gone, but you just wished with all your heart that she would hug him just the way he loved it and that she would be there for him during those sleepless nights he had when adrenaline wouldn't stop running through his body after working too much, or whenever a storm of thoughts in his head was keeping him awake.

He loves Pop songs And dancing, and bad trash TV

Harry's taste in music had always been something else. It was so wide, almost every genre of music was presented on his playlist, but you remembered you'd been surprised when you found all the cliche pop songs on there. You knew, of course, that Harry had spent five years in a boyband, singing pop songs, but to you, he just hadn't seemed like the type to listen to Ariana Grande and Katy Perry, but you'd been so wrong.

You couldn't count how many romcoms and shitty reality shows you'd watched with Harry during your time together. He'd always found them very enjoyable, and you would be lying if you didn't enjoy the times you'd been cuddled up to him on the couch while watching Love Island and discussing all the people you voted for and all the people you absolutely couldn't stand with each other.

He loves love notes and babies And likes giving gifts

A single tear escaped your eye and ran down your cheeks at the thought of all the love notes Harry had given you in the past. After you'd started dating, you'd worn his clothes so much, just because it smelled like him. His hoddies, shirts, sweatpants, jackets, you'd stolen it all from him, you're excuse being that it was more comfortable than your own clothes. Harry had never minded though, in fact, he'd always loved to see you walk into the kitchen in his shirt in the mornings or walk out of the house in a pair of his sweatpants paired with something like a white tank top.

At some point, he started putting little notes in the pockets of his hoddies or pants, knowing you'd put the items on the next day and find the sweet notes he hid. It was just small things like I love you or have a great day, love or excited to see you tonight, but they had always melted your heart, making you love him just that more.

Has a hard time accepting A good compliment

Harry had always showered you with compliments, every chance he got, always making you smile. You'd always made sure to tell Harry what an amazing person he was and how talented he was, how beautiful his music was and how absolutely gorgeous he looked, and every single time a sweet comment like that had left your mouth, Harry had blushed slightly while looking down at his feet. He would start making excuses, saying that it was nothing special every time you were amazed by a new song he'd written, and telling you he didn't know what you were talking about every time you'd told him how good he looked.

Knowing that he'd never been good at receiving compliments, you'd made sure to attack him with them all the time, and even though he never admitted it, you knew he thought about your words with a lot of consideration, eventually, you hoped, he started believing them.

You just wanted her to keep telling him those sweet things every day because he needed to hear them.

He loves his whole family And all of his friends

You thought of Harry's family and how he'd been so proud when he'd introduced you to them for the first time. He always put his family above everyone and though he didn't see them as much as he wanted to, he made sure that they never questioned how much they meant to him.

You'd admired the relationship he had with his family, especially his mother and sister, you could just tell how much he adored them. You'd never really had a home with that kind of love. You were an only child, so no siblings, and your mother had passed away while you were still young, leading your father into years of alcoholism and depression.

You'd never felt safe and loved until you met Harry, he was your family. That was probably the hardest part for you to let go of, the feeling of safety you'd had whenever you were wrapped in his arms or from simply being in the same room as him.

He was such a giving person, never asking for much. He had a lot of friends and they all adored him, how could they not? He had this ability to make you feel so special and he was such a good listener too, giving you all his attention whenever you told him something, not letting anything distract him.

So if you're the one he lets in Take it If he gives you his heart Don't you break it Let your arms be a place He feels safe in He's the best thing that you'll ever have He'll love you If you love him

You sang, and god, the words hurt. It felt like your chest was being pried open and your heart ripped out and shredded into pieces. You had to mov eon though, for your own good. You never wanted to forget Harry, he would always have a piece of you, but this grieve that you were feeling had to decrease, you could barely live a life when it hurt so bad.

If Olivia was the one for Harry, then so be it, if she made him happy you couldn't argue. Obviously you hadn't made him as happy as he'd made you, but you hadn't realized that until he'd walked out the door and it was too late. He had let go of you and now it was time for you to do the same, you just wanted, no needed her to treat him right.

On days when It feels like the whole World might cave in Stand side by side And you'll make it He's the best thing that you'll ever have He'll love you If you love him like that

You always thought that Harry and you could get through anything, and your relationship had been put to a lot of tests throughout your time together but never had you thought that one of these obstacles would actually get the better of you.

You remembered that day so clearly. The day your whole world fell apart slowly with every step Harry took towards your front door, and it all crashed down on you when he sat down in his car and drove away without even one last glance in your direction. You hadn't talked to him after that, but still, he remained the single thing on your mind 24/7. It hurt you how quickly he had moved on, but you couldn't be mad because you felt at blame for your relationship ending in the first place.

Harry had always said that as long as you stood together, then absolutely nothing could come in the way of you two, and the only time you hadn't been side by side, that's when you fell apart. You'd always appreciated him so much, sometimes you'd thought it was impossible to care so much for another human as you cared about Harry.

Your hands started shaking a bit and you could feel the tears slowly appearing in the corner of your eyes. You would never stop caring about Harry, he had such an impact on your life, what were you supposed to do without him? God, would this pain ever stop? As you started the second verse, the tears escaped your eyes and silently ran down your cheeks.

Kiss him with passion As much as you can

You missed kissing Harry. Just his touch had been such an essential part of your day and now that you didn't get to feel that, you needed it more than anything. When you thought of it, it was as if you could still feel his lips on yours, kissing you softly.

You'd kissed a number of guys before you met Harry and you'd thought all of them had been fairly good, but that was until you kissed Harry. You'd shared your first kiss one day while you'd been chilling at Harry's and he just couldn't stop himself as you'd stood in his kitchen and looked so beautiful. You knew Harry had experience, but you remember being completely taken aback by how comfortable the kiss was. It wasn't too wet, but not entirely without his tongue roaming your mouth either. He'd grabbed your waist while your arms snaked their way around his neck, and he'd tasted good after the smoothies he'd made for the two of you earlier that day. You hadn't been able to get enough and he had seemed to have the same problem because you'd barely taken your hands off each other for the rest of the night.

Harry was a very affectionate person and he’d loved holding you, kissing you, just touching you in general. It had made you feel so loved and now where that feeling had belonged in your chest, was just emptiness. You were certain no one could ever make you feel the way Harry had, he could make your entire body feel like it was on fire just by holding your hand.

Run your hands through his hair Whenever he's sad

It wasn't often Harry had been sad in front of you, let alone cried, but it had happened a couple of times, and many times he'd come home and you'd been able to see that something was wrong, but he would deny it. It wasn't because he’d been embarrassed to be sad in front of you, but he’d often pushed it away because he didn't want to burden you. You knew him well though and you could tell the second he would walk in the door, that something was wrong. If he didn't want to talk about it, mostly you'd just put a romcom on the television and pulled him into your arms while you'd cuddled on the sofa, gently running your fingers through his soft curls. You would do anything to brush your fingers through his hair right now...

And when he doesn't notice How amazing he is Tell him over and over

So he never forgets

On the outside, Harry had always made a great effort to appear confident and independent, but when you'd managed to get to know him behind that exterior, you'd discovered that he had a bunch of his own insecurities. He always questioned if his music was good enough, if his performances were good enough, if he was a good idol, if he deserved everything he had, if he was good enough.

Once you'd found out he felt this way a lot of the time, you'd always made sure to tell him how absolutely extraordinary you thought he was. You hoped that she would tell him too, help him build a better image of himself in his head.

You managed to get through the chorus again before your feelings became too overwhelming and you had to stop. Your fingers halted on the piano while your tears had become slightly more uncontrollable.

You couldn't help but think that you were pathetic for sitting here when Harry had clearly moved on with someone else. You'd realized how much your joy had depended on him, but you had to be able to live a life without him. How could you move on when Harry had completed you though?

It was cliche, but you felt like you were missing a part of you and without Harry, you would never be able to get it back. It was like he'd been too good for you, so he had been taken away from you. You had always known you didn't deserve him, but you'd tried your very hardest to be worthy of his love, but you weren't and now someone was making you pay for those years where you'd been granted his affection without actually deserving it.

What were you supposed to do? How the fuck were you supposed to live a life when your source of happiness had been taken away from you?

With tears still in your eyes and your body shaking, you removed yourself from the piano and went back to bed, hoping that maybe tomorrow would be the day he would come knocking at your door, because moving on from him clearly wasn’t an option...

——————————————————————————

A/n: I've got a bunch of requests that's been sitting in my inbox for so long and I'm sorry I haven't gotten around to them. A bunch of them are with JJ and I just haven't been in the mood to write for him lately, I've just kinda been diving deeper and deeper into my Harry obsession (when am I not), but I'll get around to them at some point. Again I'm really sorry, school is just really stressing me out too, so I haven't been writing much at all, please don't stop requesting though<3

[restapesta]

They were sitting in their car in the middle of an empty McDonald's parking lot. It was three in the morning, star-lit darkness, the world around them only lit up by the white light of the always-opened drive-through.

It had been a craving that brought them here. Ian waking up for a midnight snack, realizing that Mickey was quite awake too, unable to truly rest until he knew his husband was near, with him. He had been standing in front of the fridge inside their scarcely illuminated kitchen, with Mickey sitting on the kitchen counter, legs criss-crossed watching him. Ian had been contemplating what would be best suited to satiate his hunger, besides the man licking strawberry yogurt clean off the spoon.

A light bulb had lit up above his head.

"Get ready."

"What?"

He threw his hoodie Mickey's way. It was big on Ian most of the time, but it was good enough to keep a person warm. "Trust me, Mick."

Mickey placed the gray sweatshirt over his head, pulling it over his torso until he was engulfed in it. Ian rummaged slowly around for their phones, wallets, and keys, searching for them in the dark. His eyes had accommodated to it, and the moonlight filtering in through the windows helped.

"Where are we going?"

"You look great in my clothes, you know. And, you'll see."

He grasped Mickey by the hand, their fingers locked together in a soft embrace, feeling the warmth of each other's skin. Mickey didn't resist for a moment, trusting Ian with his entire life, following after him like a moth to a flame. The only sound echoing throughout the silent apartment had been the turning of the key inside their lock, and later on the slight thudding of quiet steps outside in the hall before their door.

First they got inside their car, both Mickey and Ian staying silent as the redhead drove through the Westside streets—empty and calm. They were enjoying the peace, the clock on their dashboard showing 02:47, and their bodies were still touching, Ian's palm resting flat against Mickey's pajama-bottom-covered thigh, the ones he felt no need to change out of. Ian was in his too, checkered and amusing, reminding Mickey of a grandpa. It was ten minutes before the logo came into view, large and inviting.

Mickey's stomach rumbled unwittingly as he glanced at his husband, noting the twinkle in his eye. He himself was draped in a thick black sweatshirt, the hood obnoxiously pulled over his head, wisps of hair poking out, flaming red.

"Really?" Mickey asked, a slight flutter in his stomach at the image of it all.

"Open 24/7."

"That's your response?"

"Come on, baby, you're just hangry. Let's get some food in ya'."

Mickey couldn't argue.

Now they were in the car, stuffing their faces with hamburgers and fries, downing them with Coke like madmen—something about late nights made them starved—talking amongst one another with mouths filled with food. With anybody else, it probably would've been disgusting and unattractive.

But not with them. Never with them.

They were playing a game.

Twenty questions that were turning into thirty, all asked with no clear goal in mind, simply the first thing to pop into either one of their heads, out of their mouths only for them to hear.

"Have you ever thought about playing the ?"

"You know I play guitar."

"Do you want a guitar for your birthday?"

"It's my turn to ask the question."

"'kay. Ask."

"How old are those tiny as fuck briefs you have hidden in our dresser and why the fuck do you never wear them?"

"Those are two questions."

"You're blushing."

"'m not."

"Answer it, bitch."

"Just so you know, those briefs are brand new and they fucking fit amazing."

"Why was I then denied the pleasure?"

"Mick—"

"As soon as we get home, you're putting them on."

"Fine."

"You're gonna try them then too."

"Why?"

"Your ass. Have you seen your fucking ass?"

Mickey grinned.

They lapsed into silence as they slurped on the last few sips of their Cokes, plastic squeaking in their hands.

Ian finished his drink with a loud sigh, discarding the cup with the rest of the trash that was sitting between them. Mickey followed suit. They were stuffed now and slightly sleepy, drowsiness appearing in their eyes.

Mickey watched as Ian leaned back in his seat. They had reclined them all the way, so Ian was practically laying in it, long legs sprawled out underneath the console. He placed his hands across his stomach, palms across one another.

"What was the best day of your life?" He asked like the sap he was.

Mickey smiled at the question, teasing, "It's my turn."

"Mickey."

"Okay, fine," He chuckled, not wanting to play that specific game of pull and tug, content with the peacefulness of it all. "Let me think about it."

First kiss. Engagement. Wedding. Anniversary. Too many moments to pick from, each stained with a problem they had faced and overcame, beautiful in their own fucked up ways.

He nibbled on his lower lip as he recalled a memory of compete and utter happiness. No problems, no worries, no sadness. It dawned on him, the sensation like drinking water after days of dehydration.

"Remember that trip to Oklahoma?"

A smile graced Ian's features, his eyes briefly closing as he seemed to recall the day. "Don't think I could forget."

"We spent a whole day at that fair. Rented out a room at some shitty motel. From morning till night we went on every single ride possible. Literally saw every attraction there." He was getting lost in the memory, chest swelling with happiness. "Kissed on top of the Ferris wheel at midnight when it was just about to close, like fucking dorks."

He turned around to glance at Ian. He was looking straight at him, the small upturn of his lips reading clear in his eyes, gazing at Mickey like he was everything to him in this entire world.

Whispering, Mickey said, "That was the best day of my life."

Ian grabbed a hold of his hand slowly, delicately, placing it in his lap, the action making warmth heat Mickey's cheeks. Mickey leaned against his own seat, mirroring his husband, eyes on him all the way.

"The best day of my life was the 21st of June, 2021," Ian said longingly as if he was reading the beginning of some old fairytale-type story.

Mickey couldn't help the laugh that escaped him at Ian's sweet earnestness. "You know the date?"

Ian shot him a look, no bite in it whatsoever. "Allow me to tell the story, please?"

Mickey bit his lip to stop smiling. "Okay, okay, you're allowed."

Ian smacked lightly at Mickey's chest, not moving an inch, still slumped in his seat lazily.

"That night I had a dream," He began. "It wasn't even like a dream. More like a fucking vision—and I know how weird that sounds, trust me. But it was literally like a vision, clear and vivid and everything.

"Anyways, the dream—or vision, whatever—was of you and me, sitting in two lawn chairs, staring out into the world. But the thing is, we were older. Like, ninety-year-old old. We were just staring ahead. Then at each other. The way we looked at each other is how we look at each other now—filled with a bunch of love and fondness. It was just the two of us, together, old and gray."

Ian stopped and took a deep breath, leaning forward in his seat, locking eyes with Mickey who was listening carefully. Mickey straightened himself as well, and they were just sitting in their car, gazing softly at one another as Ian told the story, the remnants of their endeavor resting between them.

"So," He continued. "On the 21st of June, 2021, I woke up and all I could think about was that dream. It was like—like on a fucking loop inside my head, and each time I even glanced at you, I just saw the two of us, old and together.

"And I realized, as fucking weird as it sounds, that it was us. I swear Mick, it was you and me, years from now, just sitting in fucking lawn chairs, staring out into the world. Into each other's eyes." His eyes shone. "And all throughout that day, I knew that one day, we'd get there. That you and I would spend the rest of our lives together until we were wrinkly and gray and doing nothing but being together. Each time I even saw you from the cone of my eye, grumpy and frowning at whatever, I was so happy because I would get to spend the rest of my life with you.

"That, until the day I died, I would have you as my partner. My husband. My best friend. The love of my fucking life; by my side until there is nothing left in the world to do but sit by each other and just watch as time goes by.

"Just you and me, Mick. Until the end."

Mickey watched him inhale deeply.

"Best day of my fucking life, and I get to live it forever."

A tear slipped out of Mickey's eye. He felt it on his cheek, rolling down, hot against the already warm skin, yet all he could see was Ian. Ian with the shimmering orbs and that look in his eye like he was staring at everything he needed in life.

Mickey pulled his hand out of Ian's from where it was resting in his lap, then raised them to palm Ian's cheeks, pulling him in for a deep kiss. Lips moving together in the dark, serendipitous in all ways, the vulnerability for once a blessing instead of a curse.

"You never told me that story," He whispered against Ian's lips.

"It just felt right for me to know. Maybe we were just both waiting for this moment, unknowingly."

Another tear, filled with so much.

"We both live the best day of our life like that, Ian. Every single day."

Ian nodded, smiling against Mickey's lips. "I know, my love. I know."

They were sitting in their car in the middle of an empty McDonald's parking lot. It was four in the morning, star-lit darkness, the world around lit up by only them, the love palpable like a glow, allowing them to see clearly; see all the things that were important to them.

A person needed the match to their gasoline so they could light the fire that would burn and simmer. A person, too, needed the cord to their plug that would alight the darkness of the inside of their chest.

Because one would be lost without the glow in the dark. Or at least not be able to truly see.

[ldh-headcannon]

I Need You (CobraxReader One Shot)

Hey so I've made this small oneshot for Cobra. It's a little angsty, and pretty short. But i do hope people enjoy. It's been a little while since I've actually wrote anything like this. So I do hope you enjoy it enough.

I bolt upright in my bed as a loud knocking reaches my ears. I look around frantically, coming to my senses. The banging on the door continues incessantly as I crawl out of bed. I shuffle my way towards the door as quickly as I can. I throw open the door, too worried about the noise complaints that might come from my neighbors. As I open the door, I find a man that I know all too well.

He drops the fist he was slamming into the dark green wood. He lets out a sigh of relief as he pushes his honey blonde bangs out of his face. That’s when I finally take notice to the actual state he is in. Various cuts and bruises cover his entire body, and his clothes are shredded in places and blood splattered in others.

“Sorry to wake you up angel, but I could really use a nurse right about now.” He mutters before letting out a pained groan.

“Holy shit. Cobra, what happened to you?” I ask, opening the door wider to let him into my apartment. He gives a quick nod, “Thanks Y/N.”

After I grab the first aid kit from the bathroom, I lead him to the kitchen. He takes a seat at the table. He slowly slips his shirt over his head, discarding it onto the floor. He hisses and flinches in the process.

“I understand that you’re kind of fucked up right now, but do you mind not just tossing your dirty laundry all over my apartment? I just cleaned.” I grumble as I drag the other chair to sit in front of him. He lets out a soft chuckle, “I have blood running into my eyes, and you’re worried about a stupid shirt?”

“Don’t even get me started on the blood you tracked through here.” I say, taking out some disinfectant and cotton swabs. I take a deep breath as I restate my question from earlier, “I know you prefer leaving me in the dark, but please, open up to me. What happened to you?”

I look into his eyes for a brief second before tending to the new cut on his forehead.

“It’s nothing big Y/N. Some of Kuryu’s goons were trashing up Naomi’s restaurant, and I was the only one around. I had to help.” He explains, hissing at the sting from the peroxide.

“And how many were there?” I ask hesitantly. He remains quiet as I bandage up the cut on his left cheek. He keeps his stare downcasted. I take his chin between my fingers, and lift his face gently to stare into his warm, brown eyes, “Cobra please. You say that it’s you and I, through and through. Yet, you keep all your burdens to yourself. I know I can’t help you with everything, but, please at least let me try. I only want to help you.”

I continue to study his face as he contemplates what information he should tell me. He gives a deep sigh, “There were five of them. Two of them sporting bats, and another one a knife.”

“Jesus Cobra. Why didn’t you call Yamato or Dan for help?” I ask as I continue cleaning the wounds covering his torso. He winces as my fingers brush over one of the fresh bruises. I mumble out a quick apology.

“It’s fine. And I didn’t call any of them since I thought I could handle it. Besides, Naomi was in trouble at that moment, I had to act right then and there. I couldn’t wait for them even if I did call.” I bite my lip as I shake my head, “So it just had to be your job to save her?”

“I mean, someone had to help. I wasn’t seeing anyone else moving to help her out.” He explains with a shrug. I look over Cobra’s entire body, taking in the freshly wrapped up cuts, along the old ones that have faded into scars. I slam the left over gauze wrap on the table as I feel water begin to pool in my eyes. I hear a surprised gasp leave his lips.

“Angel? What’s the matter?” He questions as I stand up and turn away from him, so he can’t see the tears ready to fall. The chair he was occupying scrapes across the tile floor as he scurries to his feet.

I cross my arms over my chest, “I’m sorry Cobra, but you can’t believe that I can keep doing this.”

“Doing what?” I quickly swipe at my face, “Watching you play hero, having to be the one to fix you up when you come crawling to me all broken. It’s becoming too much for me.”

“I know it’s hard for you. But you’ve seen it out there. How bad this town has become. With more and more of those Kuryu douchebags showing up and wreaking havoc on our hometown. No one else is doing anything to stop them. Naomi, Yamato, Dan, and everyone else needs me. Just like I need you.” He explains, wrapping his arms around my middle, “Really. I need you. I will open up to you. I will try to come to you less beat up if I can help it. Just, don’t give up on me.” My eyes widen at his plea. I’ve never heard Cobra sound so desperate. His usually calm, soft voice breaking and cracking up for the first time since I’ve met him four years ago.

I sigh as I turn around in his grasp. I try to be careful of his wounds as I wrap my arms around him to return the hug. I hear him suck a sharp breath of air as I graze the newly bandaged areas. I start pulling away, but he holds me tighter. I return his gesture, hiding my face into the crook of his neck. I inhale deeply, trying to get a whiff of his cologne that’s barely remaining due to being covered up with the scent of blood and sweat.

“Ok. I won’t give up on you. Not now, not ever.”

He lets out a breath of relief and he buries his face in my hair, “Thank you, Y/N. Thank you.”

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The Enforcers: Part 6 (Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader)

wc: 1.5k

tw: none

masterlist

The steady burst of snow is burning your hands.

You're frozen to the bones. And all you can hear is the chattering of your teeth as you drag the limp body of your Leviathan down the shambles of a road that once led you to freedom, to success.

Your eyes snap open as you pull yourself out of the nightmare, clutching at your shaking form underneath the sheets. You stretch your arm out behind you to feel for the man you gave yourself to the night before but find nothing but empty space.

Had you imagined the whole thing?

The grey sheets are tucked so neatly around you, and the nightstand is devoid of any of your trinkets that you know you're not in your own room. Something clatters in the kitchen, and you hear Suguru curse, making you get up and toss off the sheets. Before your hand reaches for the doorknob, you notice your lack of clothing and grab the bathrobe hanging from a hook by the door. You tie the massive cotton item around yourself and fling the door open, not bothering to fix your hair before walking into the living room.

Before you can peek into the kitchen, a pair of blue eyes catch your visage and looks twice before a smile spreads across Gojo's face.

"Aw, shit. Yuki said you were wasted, but I didn't think-- I knew you had it in you, Su, but damn..."

Suguru appears a second later, wiping his hands on a dishtowel and catching you in his bathrobe, standing in shock in the living room. "Oh, y/n," he murmurs, and pushes his bangs out of his face. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry about the noise; I was trying to cook breakfast."

"No, it's okay," you whisper, and he gives you a lopsided smile, eyes roving over your figure clad in his bathrobe.

"Looks good on you."

"Yo, can you quit flirting and hurry up? I have to brief you two on your next mission before Toji tries to beat me to the pool hall."

"Right," you sit across from Gojo on the couch, and Suguru turns off the stove to sit next to you. You notice he isn't timid in front of Satoru, placing his arm around the couch behind you. Gojo notices this and says nothing, instead choosing to thump the file in his hands onto the table. You reach for it, then open the black folder, noting the heavy redaction on many of the pages.

"This might be your biggest one yet," Gojo states, leaning forward. "You're going to be recovering some evidence needed in our search for Kenjaku."

Kenjaku. The most elusive man in the entire CSB. Known for blowing covers of CSB Kitsune, organizing massive Leviathan casualties on staged recon missions, and relentlessly terrorizing the Grand Council with threats of bringing the CSB to its knees.

Your palms begin to sweat, and Suguru takes the file from your hands, letting you lace your fingers together to stop them from shaking.

"How do we know this isn't a setup?" Suguru wonders and then looks up from the folder. "And why is y/n coming with us? This is normally Leviathan work."

"Y/n is going in as a scout. But you'll be with her, along with four other high-level ops teams. It'll be presented as a routine inspection of the systems, but you two will orchestrate the recovery. The other four teams will assist with entry and extraction."

"And what kind of evidence is this?"

"Files." Your mind flashes to the files sitting in the trash on your desktop, and you inhale deeply. "Files from a computer linked to a DDOS attack from his base. You'll be going in and retrieving them with a thumb drive." The thumb drive is slapped onto the table, the silver color shining in the light of the living room.

"When do we leave?" you wonder, and Gojo smiles, showing all of his teeth.

"In twelve hours, right as everyone is getting off. The building will need to be empty when you two go in to prevent any suspicions or reports back to Kenjaku."

"Got it."

_____________________________________________________________

Geto drives you to the rendezvous, wearing an all-black outfit and glasses that he keeps fiddling with nervously. His tattoos are covered up, but that doesn't make him look any less intimidating.

Again, he's a "security officer". Well, one without a gun, which is probably why he's fiddling with his fake glasses so much.

You consider your cover - Information Technology Officer - and look down at your outfit again. Your dress pants and frilly white blouse look the part, but you don't feel the part.

"This is too easy," you mention, and Suguru glances over at you.

"I was just thinking the same thing."

"So I just go into this room, find the computer, and plug in the thumb drive?"

"You have to locate the one--"

"Row Eleven, computer eighteen."

"You're too good at this," Suguru laughs, and you chuckle, looking out of the window. The massive building looms ahead, and you feel your gut twist painfully. As you pull into the parking garage, you watch for the first set of teams to assist with entry. They'd be disguised as guards that will lead you into the building and up to the room, and then two sets of guards would come to get you and lead you out, taking the thumb drive with them as they depart.

But why so many people? Weren't you and Suguru enough to get in and get out with the evidence?

You step out of the car after Suguru parks, and when you get to the front of the building, you see the first set of guards. They open the doors to the main floor, where people are still milling about and wrapping up for the day. Next, you're walked to the elevators, where one of the guards swipes a keycard, his eyes looking everywhere but at you and Suguru as he presses the up button. His partner stands closely behind you two, but you consider the ultra level of security a comfort.

Suguru, however, is not so thrilled.

"Can you back the fuck up?" he turns and asks the woman behind you, who steps back at the forcefulness of his tone. You look up at him and notice a deep frown line set into his brows as you walk onto the elevator, unaccompanied. Suguru punches the "7" button with his knuckle and stands stiffly as the doors close on the two security guards below.

"Everything's going to be fine," you reassure him, taking his hand and squeezing it. "You'll see." He grunts in response as the elevator grinds to a halt, and the automated voice announces, "Floor Seven". The second set of guards meets you right outside of the elevators, one taking the lead while the other walks behind you as you walk past a row of frosted glass doors. A key card is swiped again, and you go past a wooden door that has no windows before walking down a less inviting hallway.

Row eleven, computer eighteen.

The guard in front opens a door leading to the computer room, and you're met with a fierce blue glow from the dormant screens.

"Ten minutes," Suguru advises you, and you walk past him, nodding.

"Give me seven."

You count the rows from the back of the room and find the eleventh row easily, then down the long path to computer eighteen. When you sit down at the screen, your fingers quickly type in the password: TOUR-DOZE-KURD.

You take the thumb drive out of your pocket and wait for the program files to load, searching through each and every one with lightning speed.

"If I was a suspicious file... where would I be..." You open the TEMP files and instantly find a massive .zip file just out in the open. You open the ZIP extractor and wait for the files to pop up, sticking the thumb drive into the computer and inhaling before the "finished" notification pops up.

However, when the files open, your eye catches on one, in particular, making your heart stop.

Release to Y/n on (unknown date and time).

Two and a half minutes left on the clock.

You drag the extracted files to the thumb drive icon, but you click on the folder addressed to you while they're downloading.

And you discover the same videos, the same audio files, the same documents that were dropped onto your computer. Yet, all you can hear is the rushing sound of blood in your ears as you click out and look at the other files, hundreds of names and release times labeled on files.

Two other names catch your eye, and you balk, fearing the worst if you open them:

Geto Suguru. (released).

Yu Haibara. (do not release).

Once the files finish transferring with only a minute to spare, you snatch the stick out of the computer and leap up, shutting the device down before rushing out of the room.

"Suguru, there's something very wro--" You stop in your tracks as you see two men dressed in grey Kitsune uniforms standing across from Suguru, their guns pointed at the two of you. Suguru's hands are raised, and you shakily inhale, feeling the thumb drive growing hot in your pocket.

"I know, baby," he whispers, eyes focused on the men blocking your exit down the hallway. "Looks like we've been set up."

_____________________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @missbonekitty @wack0-genius @thankuary @jsqeeut @r-i-m-f-009 @sunfloweroranges @leanne-tamashi @girlruby23@rein-icu @brownskinnedgirll @chanelmalandro @savantsoulfinder @jibe-gajima @chilledlucifer @amnxsia @kontentious @fuyuko26 @everybodylovescayrayray @flare-on

[drabbles-mc]

Protective Detail (4/?)

Nestor Oceteva x Reader

Warnings: language, violence, blood, guns, mild injuries, Nestor being a goddamn thirst trap

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: This chapter is a liiiiittle longer than the others have been but hopefully that’s not a problem. Did I do a deep-dive on Gino Vento’s google photos to be able to know what his body art situation is?? You betcha. Enjoy! xoxo

Chapter Index

Protective Detail Taglist: @masterlistforimagines​ @sillygoose6969​ @mydaiilyescape​ @lovebennycolon​ @the-radical-venus​ @gemini0410​ @garbinge​ @slutformayansmc​ @paintballkid711​ (as always, if you want to be on my taglists feel free to let me know!)

Despite the fact that the only thing on your agenda for the day was going to the grocery store, you still came into the kitchen in the morning to see Nestor sipping coffee in yet another button-down shirt and pair of slacks. You wondered for a moment if the man even owned just a pair of casual blue jeans.

“I don’t know where the Galindos shop,” you said with a laugh as you poured a cup of coffee, “But the grocery store I go to doesn’t have a dress code. I thought you knew that.”

He shook his head but you could see the smirk pulling at his lips, “This is just how I dress, Y/N.”

He didn’t use your name often, but each time he did you felt your entire body turn into jello for a few moments before you regained composure again. You took your time getting ready, loving that you didn’t feel rushed or like you were on a schedule. You told Nestor that he could drive, pretending that you just wanted the extra space in his car for shopping purposes. But you were also testing a theory that if you let Nestor have his way more often, he would let you know a little more about who he was as a person. Plus, you had to admit, you didn’t really mind his driving too much. Even if he did drive without the radio on.

Having Nestor with you while you grocery shopped was nice because you got to leave him in charge of pushing the cart while you perused the aisles and picked things out to eat for the next few days. You’d shove produce in his face and ask him if he thought it was fresh, and he would begrudgingly help you out, rolling his eyes at how terrible you were at telling if cantaloups were ripe.

The two of you were walking down the cereal aisle and he was shaking his head at you while fighting back a smile, “You’re like a child with access to a credit card.”

“Listen, Nestor,” you stood on your tip-toes to try and reach towards the back of the top shelf, “Coco Puffs have no age limit.”

He reached over you with ease and grabbed the last box from the back of the shelf and placed it in the cart, not saying a word as he continued pushing onward. You smiled to yourself for a few moments before snapping back to reality and speed-walking a few steps to catch up with him.

He was helping you bag items at the self-checkout and if you were honest with yourself, every now and then you would forget that he was with you to keep you from getting shot or kidnapped. Sometimes you even felt like friends, as much as someone like Nestor would let a person be friends with him.

Once you were out on the road and heading home, you looked over at Nestor with puppy-dog eyes, “Can we stop at Starbucks?”

He looked at you, shaking his head the second he saw the way you were looking at him, “The lines are always ridiculous. The ice cream will melt.”

You sighed, knowing that puppy-dog eyes most likely weren’t going to work on him but it was worth a shot anyway. You leaned back in your seat and scrolled on your phone, wanting desperately to play music to break up the silence.

Nestor passed the street that you normally turned off to get home. You looked over at him and saw how tense his body was. You sat upright, putting your phone back in your purse, “What?”

He nodded towards the rearview mirror, “Car’s been following us since we left the store.”

Your stomach knotted and you tried to take a deep breath but it didn’t help to calm you down at all. You instinctively reached for the glove compartment like it was your own car, and you were expecting Nestor to stop you, but instead he reached and opened it for you, not having to take his eyes off the road to dig around and get the gun out for you.

“You shouldn’t need to use it,” he placed the weapon in your hand and his lingered for a moment, “But just in case.”

He did his best to stay on busier roads, hoping it would be a deterrent, and also hopefully make it easier to lose whoever it was that was tailing them. You felt your heart pounding inside your chest—you had been hoping that your father had dealt with everything and that Nestor really was just an unnecessary precaution, but that wasn’t the case.

Somewhere along the way, the road went dead. Nestor was white-knuckled on the steering wheel and you were trying not to let your hands shake. He had been steadily increasing your speed, but even so the car had kept up and pulled up alongside you. You tried to get a good look at the people who were inside, but before you could, Nestor slammed on the gas and tried to speed ahead of them in one last burst to lose them.

Before he could successfully get in front of them, they swerved and hit the back driver’s side corner of the car. With the speed that Nestor had picked up they hit you hard enough to send the car spinning. By some miracle the vehicle didn’t roll, but you swerved off the road and slammed into an embankment, trashing the front of the car and pinning Nestor’s side. Even if he wanted to open his door and get out, he couldn’t. It all happened so fast, you don’t think you would’ve been able to explain exactly how the two of you ended up in that position even if someone tried to pay you to.

The other car pulled up, opening their passenger door. You had already undone your seatbelt and you instinctively shot the gun in your hand, busting the glass window. You fired off a second bullet and got the man who was coming towards you in the leg, causing him to drop. You were getting ready to fire off a third shot when a third man jumped out of the car and dragged him back throwing him in the back seat, the only sound in the air was a slew of curses of the man who was bleeding. You froze up, unable to take an easy shot that would take someone’s life.

“Just fucking go!” the man yelled as he barely got his accomplice into the back seat.

The car started peeling away before the back door was even completely shut. Clearly, they hadn’t been planning on you being armed at all, let alone ready to shoot. You took a shaky breath as you put the safety back on the gun. You turned to Nestor, who had a harsh burn along his neck from his seatbelt, as well as a cut and a welt on the side of his forehead from where his head slammed against the window while you were spinning out. You unclicked his seatbelt and gently tried to wake him without shaking him, not knowing how hard he had slammed his head.

“Nestor?”

He groaned in response, “Fuck.”

“Oh thank god,” you let out a sigh of relief.

“How many?”

“At least three,” you gently and slowly turned his head, trying to get a better idea of his injuries. You had a feeling that it was nothing serious—he was just going to be bruised and sore for a few days. His side of the car got slammed pretty bad when you went off the road. You pressed your lips together for a moment, “Still got feeling in all your limbs?”

He laughed, although it was weighted with sarcasm, leaning back against the headrest, “Yea.”

“Good,” you sighed, letting your body sink back into your seat as well, “All things considered, this could’ve gone a lot worse.”

He looked over at you, “Looks like we’ll be using your car for a few days.”

You slowly shook your head, “The ice cream is definitely gonna melt.”

His next laugh was genuine, despite the pain he was in, “You have the worst priorities in the world.”

“Hey, I checked to see if you were alive, didn’t I?”

After a few phone calls made to your father and some of his connections, you had a tow-truck and a temporary replacement car there in no time. It was convenient, the only thing you weren’t thrilled about was the fact that your father was the one who delivered it.

“What happened?” he ran to you and wrapped you in a hug

“They followed us out of the grocery store,” you said, taking a slight step back when he finally released you from his embrace, “Nestor noticed right away. They never saw my house.”

He nodded, “That’s good at least,” he held you gently by your upper arms, “How are you? Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, “Neck is sore from getting spun out, but I’m alright. I should probably get Nestor home so I can get his cuts cleaned up.”

“You have things to take care of him?”

You nodded, “Yea of course.”

“Is there anything else I can get you?”

You shook your head, “No, I think we’ll be okay. I just wanna get home.”

He nodded understandingly, “Okay. I love you, mija, you know that right?”

You smiled, “I know. I love you too,” you hugged him, “I’ll talk to you later and give you a full download of the situation, alright?”

“Alright. Please, drive safe.”

“I will,” you kissed his cheek, “Te quiero.”

“Te quiero,” he walked over and shook Nestor’s hand, “Thank you for keeping her safe.”

He nodded, feeling like there wasn’t much to thank him for in this situation, “Your daughter is a very capable woman.”

“She is,” with a final nod and one last look over at you, your father went back to his own car and took off.

You and Nestor waited for the tow truck to finish loading the SUV before finally piling into the car your father had brought for you. It was pretty reminiscent of Nestor’s SUV and you knew that was probably by design. In the back of your mind you knew your father probably wanted it to be your car so he could finally give you what he considered to be a real car. Truthfully you hated driving bigger vehicles, but you weren’t about to hand the keys over to Nestor.

“I’m sorry,” he said one you were both in the car.

“What’re you sorry for?” you asked as you buckled in.

“It never should’ve come to that, to you having to use my gun.”

You shook your head, “Don’t do that. You were unconscious. Not even you are cool enough to be able to pull that off while knocked out. Thanks to you, I get to sleep in my own bed tonight. So don’t beat yourself up,” you waited for him to meet your eyes, “Self-pity is the only thing that doesn’t look good on you, so knock it off,” you offered a small smile as you started the car.

He smiled as he settled into his seat but he didn’t say anything. The drive passed in silence, and for once you weren’t itching to turn the radio on. Part of you wanted to reach over and cover Nestor’s hand with your own, but you fought the urge. He somehow managed to keep his eyes open the whole ride home.

Once you started getting what was left of the groceries out of the car, Nestor asked for the house keys so he could do a check. You told him not to bother, that there would be no way a second threat would be lurking in your house after what just happened, but he insisted. It wasn’t a battle you were going to pick, so you handed over the keys.

The house was quiet, and you didn’t make any comment on it as you started unpacking the groceries. Nestor was sat on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, and the look on his face made your heart feel heavy. You texted your father, asking for one small, very ridiculous favor, hoping that he would grant it to you.

Once all of the groceries were put away, you went and grabbed your first aid kit from the bathroom and sat down next to Nestor on the couch. This time, he didn’t look annoyed about the closeness you shared.

“C’mere,” you motioned for him to lean closer to you so you could start wiping and cleaning out the cut on his forehead. Neither of you said anything while you tended to him. He cringed slightly when you used the alcohol, but he remained silent. You told him that after he showered you would put a bandage on it just as a precaution, but the gash wasn’t really that deep. It was more to make you feel better about it. You wiped down the burn across his neck with an anti-bacterial rub, but there wasn’t a whole lot else that you could do for it.

“How’s your side?” you nodded to his side that got slammed into the door of the car when you hit the embankment.

“It’s fine,” he wasn’t looking at you.

“Can I see it?”

He stood up, ready to go shower and wash the day away, “I said it’s fine.”

“Well if it’s fine then there’s no reason not to let me see,” you weren’t yelling but it was a firm tone that you hadn’t used with him before.

He sighed, not having the energy to put up a fight. He untucked and un-buttoned his shirt, pulling the one side out so that you could see his chest and ribcage. There were a few bruises starting to come in, but it didn’t look terrible. You tried to stay focused on the real reason you wanted to look at him, but you had to admit that you let your eyes linger a little longer than medically necessary. You hadn’t been expecting to see so much ink on his skin.

“Can I go shower now?”

You nodded, “Yea. Thank you.”

You didn’t have the energy to go and get changed, so instead you melted into the couch, pushing the first aid kit to the floor. You heard the shower turn on and then, for the first time, he put music on. Your eyes went wide, thinking for a moment that you must’ve hit your head at some point too and were hearing things. After a minute went by, you finally let yourself relax, not even wanting to turn the television on and risk drowning out the melodies drifting out of the bathroom. You didn’t know what kind of music you were expecting Nestor to listen to, but what he was playing was much more mellow than you thought it would be.

You were resting with your eyes closed when there was a light knock on the door. You got up, smiling because you knew what it was. You opened the front door, smiling at your father’s newest assistant who looked like he was only a couple weeks out of college. He stood there with a smile as he held out a brown paper bag to you.

“Your dad said you needed these?”

You smiled and nodded, “Yes, thank you so much,” he nodded and went to walk away when you caught his attention again, “Hey, I never caught your name.”

“Ricardo. You can call me Ricky.”

“Thank you, Ricky.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N. Have a good night.”

You shut and locked the door and put the bag in the freezer, grinning over the fact that your father was still willing to indulge you in silly things like this even after all this time. You snapped back to reality when the sound of the shower and the music both shut off. The door creaked open and you fought the urge to peak into the hallway.

After a few minutes went by and Nestor didn’t reappear in the living room, you took it upon yourself to go to him. You grabbed the bag out of the freezer and two spoons before making your way down the hall.

You knocked lightly on the door, not used to it being shut. His voice was quiet on the other side, “Yea?”

You opened the door and fought to not let your jaw hit the floor. Nestor was lying on his bed, eyes closed, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. All you could think about, though, was the fact that he was lying there with no shirt on, just a pair of sweatpants. You truly couldn’t believe the number of tattoos that the man had. His chest, stomach, and arms were completely decked out in ink of all kinds. You hadn’t given much thought to him having tattoos—you saw the one on his neck and his hands but other than that it never really crossed your mind. Your quick glance earlier didn’t do his extensive body art justice.

And his hair wasn’t braided—his long, thick curls were thrown up into a messy bun on top of his head. You were certain that there would never be a better look for him than that. You wished it didn’t take such a rough day to get it out of him. You cleared your throat slightly, chastising yourself over how your mind instantly flew to some very unprofessional places.

“I come bearing gifts,” you said as you walked over and sat on the edge of his bed, “Well, gift. It’s just one.”

He opened one eye, smiling as you set the pint of ice cream and spoon on his nightstand, “Which of your father’s assistants had to drive that over?”

You laughed, “The new one, Ricky.”

He forced himself to sit upright, “Poor kid.”

He reached for the ice cream and your eyes were glued to his forearms, figuring it was the safest place for you to study as you digested all of the new ink that you were seeing. You were trying not to gawk but he was making it really difficult for you. You bit down lightly on your bottom lip, unable to force yourself to look away.

He noticed you staring and immediately became very aware of how he looked, “Fuck, sorry. Let me grab a shirt.”

You shook your head, “Stop. This is your home too for now. I don’t give a shit,” you laughed, “After today you can wear whatever you want,” you took a scoop of ice cream out of your pint, “Your hair looks good like that, by the way.”

He smiled, slowly pulling his legs up so he was sitting cross-legged by his pillow, “Thanks. You tell anyone and I’ll kill you.”

You laughed, “Hey, man-buns are in right now.”

He chuckled as he methodically scooped away a layer at a time. You pulled your feet up and sat the same way he was, the two of you facing each other. Neither of you said anything as you ate, and you soaked up the moment.

“Can I put a bandage on your cut?” you asked as you put the top back on your ice cream container.

“It’s really not that bad.”

“I know but it’ll make me feel better.”

He shrugged, nodding, “Sure.”

You gathered up your spoons and what was left of your ice cream and walked out of the room. You tossed the containers back into the freezer before going to grab the first aid kit off of your floor. After thinking about it for a moment, you made a pit-stop in your room and changed out of your clothes, opting for a pair of sweats and a baggy t-shirt.

By the time you walked back into his room, Nestor had put on a t-shirt moved to the edge of the bed, swinging his legs off so his feet hit the floor. You sat down next to him and looked at his forehead. You sifted through the different-sized bandages you had before you found one that was satisfactory. You leaned in, gently applying it to his forehead.

You rested your palm on the side of his face, lightly tracing your thumb over the bandage to make sure it was completely on. Nestor’s eyes were closed, and without thinking better of it, he leaned slightly into your touch and you froze, not wanting to give up the contact. You tried to relax your body, but you couldn’t.

A few seconds later he opened his eyes again, and realized what he was doing. He sat upright and cleared his throat, not sure what to say or do. You forced yourself to break the silence, “Need anything else?”

He shook his head, “No. Thank you. I know I’m here to keep you safe but you definitely saved my ass today.”

You chuckled, “And you can save my ass tomorrow,” your expression grew a little more serious, “But really, you good?”

He nodded, “I’m good.”

“Okay,” you rested your hand on his knee for a moment, “Goodnight, Nestor.”

You went to take your hand away as you stood when you felt his come to rest over it, completely enveloping it, “Goodnight,” he gave your hand a soft squeeze.

You walked out of his room, shutting the door behind you. you turned off all the lights in the house before going to your room and collapsing onto your bed. You stared up at the ceiling, trying to process everything that had happened that day. You traced over the top of your hand where Nestor’s had been and, despite the day the two of you had had, you found yourself smiling.

[trillian-anders]

the assistant

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

warnings: violence, angst, fluff, smut && SPOILERS

word count: 6.8k

description: part 1 of 5. CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS, PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED THE FILM. you’ve been working for the thrombeys for four years now, the last three years of your service being a glorified babysitter to the most annoying, self-absorbed, dickhead hugh ransom drysdale.

You wanted to smack that dumb smirk off his stupid dumb face. 

Hugh Ransom Drysdale. The bane of your fucking existence. Standing there with that stupid fucking smirk on his face, he fucking loved this. Watching as you cleaned up his mess. A crying girl on his doorstep and you, his assistant (aka babysitter), trying to calm her down enough to get her to leave his house. This dumb contemporary floor to ceiling windowed, minimalist, empty souled house. The girl had been picked up at a bar last night. Charmed by his handsome face, the money he was careless to spend, the way he spoke to you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world. 

It was a fucking joke. A trick. You’ve seen it a million times and you’d be willing you bet that you’d see it a million more. 

The door blocked her view of him, your clear view of him from the side, sipping on a mug of coffee in his hands and fucking smirking. 

“He won't even see me?” You hated when they cried. Like each of them had this idea that they’d go home with Ransom Drysdale and fuck him so good that he’d tie them to his bed and never let them leave or something. 

You sighed heavily before replying, “Mr. Drysdale has business to attend to, he’s unavailable at the moment, but I can leave him a message if you’d like?” You did this maybe five or six times a week. In the early morning hours, after his sexual escapade and some rest, Ransom would wake early and leave for the gym. In that time you were supposed to ‘take out the trash’ as he described it. This morning, the girl left dazed and confused in the fog taking an uber back to her home, but returning an hour later trying to plead her case. It was giving you a migraine. 

The girl stepped back from the porch, shoes crunching against the gravel as she searched the windows for his face. “FUCK YOU RANSOM.” She shouted, flipping the bird into the air. The man hiding to your right, choked on his coffee in laughter as you watched the girl get back into her car and disappear from sight. 

“What's on the agenda today Ransom,” You shut the door quietly, turning to face him, “Because if I have to do that again tomorrow I’ll quit.” He scoffed in indignation. 

“You’re not gonna quit,” He drained the rest of his mug, “You can’t even leave the house long as you got that.” He gestured towards your leg. Sitting firmly on your right ankle was a house arrest bracelet. One meant for him, but carefully bribed into being put on your own leg. The stupid son of a bitch got away with murder, after the death of his late Grandfather’s housekeeper by his own hand and the attempted murder of the girl that got the entire Thrombey fortune, he stayed the lucky son of a bitch he had been his entire life. 

Evidence was mishandled, not enough proof. That whole, ‘beyond reasonable doubt’ thing. The rich asshole got fucking house arrest and court mandated therapy. Even after there were three fucking witnesses to him attempting to murder Marta Cabrera. 

Money oiled the gears of the justice system, letting the trust fund baby slip through without consequence. That’s where you come in. 

You worked for the Thrombey’s before. As a tutor to Meg when she began to fail her english class. For whatever reason, Lynda and Richard Drysdale liked you, assigned you a new task. Their sweet baby boy Hugh, called Ransom by everyone but the Help. You’ve worked for Ransom for three years now. The first year before the death of his Grandfather and Thrombey patriarch, and now two years after his death and wouldn’t you know it. Hugh Ransom Drysdale wrote a fucking bestseller. 

Everyone wanted an insight into this family. Harlan Thrombey always said there was so much of him in Ransom. He wasn’t lying. 

Ransom wrote the first of what you knew would be many new Thrombey family murder mystery novels. And he was reaping in the cash. He was two months away from his next big release. Something you’re sure would fly off the shelves just as quickly as the first. 

“Don’t worry,” He said, “I’ve got a deadline to meet.” His coffee mug abandoned by the front door for you to clean up, he left you to officially start your day. He retreated into the study he created for himself to crank out the last four chapters he needed for his book, maybe. 

Due to circumstances beyond your control, you were the one placed on house arrest. As long as no one was notified that Ransom left the perimeter of the house you were being paid well, and you being paid well meant your younger sister gets taken care of. You were able to send her money every month to help with the fact that she was staying with an estranged aunt. It hadn’t been easy once your mother died, but the Thrombey’s lighten the load so to say. 

That’s why you were washing Ransom’s sheets that reeked of sex, picking up and disposing of torn panties and tossing used condoms the fucking dick couldn’t be bothered enough to toss two more feet into the trash can in his on-suite. You’d invested in rubber gloves. 

On days that Ransom had to meet with his probation officer he would wear a dummy bracelet. It got him by and soon the fucker would be over and done with house arrest all together. You’d be able to move back home then. Hopefully. 

“Ransom, you ever gonna eat today?” You knocked on the open door of his study, bringing his attention from his computer to you, who held a bowl of pasta in your one hand. He sighed, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes. There were multicolored post-its surrounding his computer. Your mind made the connection with how similar it was to his Grandfather’s own workspace. You gently placed the bowl on his desk, turning to pour him a tumbler of whiskey from the small bar in the corner of the room. 

“I don’t know how the old bastard ever cranked out two books a year,” His neck cracked. “How is that even possible?” He took a large bite of the pasta, squinting at the screen. His eyes quickly shifted to yours, watching you set down the glass of whiskey in front of him. He grabbed your wrist. “Stay.” It was an order. “Sit.” You took your place in a chair across from him. 

“Harlan wrote every day,” You told him, “You write whenever you’re not off sticking your dick into anything that breathes.” He laughed at that. 

“Not everything that breathes,” He typed a few more words into the word document, “I haven’t fucked you yet.” Your core pulsed, he said yet. 

Audibly you scoffed, “I would never willingly fuck you Ransom.” You pulled your legs up onto the chair to make yourself comfortable. He smirked at that, eyes not leaving the computer screen. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” That stupid smirk. You hated that fucking smirk. So condescending. 

When you first met Ransom you were probably very much like the girls that you now pry out of his bed at 8 am. You had been tutoring Meg at the family home, sitting at the kitchen table going over Othello when he sauntered in, digging through the cabinets for snacks. You could feel Meg tense up next to you and that’s when he turned. He was so fucking pretty. Blue eyes, well kept hair, cashmere sweater, those broad fucking shoulders, and on his face, stretching that full bottom lip you wanted to tug between your teeth, was a smirk. 

That pulsing throb between your thighs soon was quickly forgotten as he opened his mouth and began to speak, “How’s it going Meg, trouble reading? Or do they not teach you how to read when you’re a liberal? Lord knows you guys never fucking understand anything anyway.” Meg snapped back at him, but you were stunned. You could tell he said that on purpose, knowing it would make her go off on the tangent he was now, finding a sick pleasure in it. That was the first time you’d seen the smirk. You’d lost count of how many times you’ve seen it since then. 

“I really hate you Ransom.” You sighed, sinking further into your chair. He had almost finished off the bowl of pasta by now, whiskey long since emptied. He thinks it’s funny, you hating him because he responds looking you in your eyes, maintaining his smirk, 

“I know you do baby.” He liked to do that. Call you pet names. Once he had even pretended you were his wife when you accidentally walked in on him and a girl he had been balls deep in, bent over the back of the couch. He fucking LOVED that one. The girl had cried, embarrassed, apologizing as she picked her bra up from the floor and slunk out the front door behind you. That was a while ago. Pre-Murder. You should have seen it then. How insane he actually was. 

Ransom was incredibly smart and was a quick thinker. It was part of the reason that he had gotten away with murder in the first place. You knew that. It showed in his novel. He would have you read chapters, give him your opinion, before writing and rewriting. Showing you again. He’d ask you if you could figure out who was the murderer, a sinister glint in his eyes, arms crossed, standing above you waiting. He could only be satisfied if you didn’t have a clue. 

It was a gift, you supposed, the ease in which he wrote to make every character a possible suspect in completely new and incredible scenarios. He had three books in various states of completion that he was chipping away at, the one he was currently working on seemingly better than the previous published. 

His Mother, the one who gave him the silver spoon and cursed him for having it his whole life, was suddenly proud of him. His Father, now divorced from his Mother, would come by weekly asking for money. Ransom loved that too. His Dad got nothing due to the prenup, leaving him penniless. The cushy job he had at Lynda’s real estate empire was gone, and now Dad was working at local agency scraping by on low commission. Last week his Father came to the door while Ransom was writing and muscled his way not too kindly past you into the house. 

“Ransom!” He called, finding his way into his son’s study. You quietly shut the door, returning to folding laundry. The door shut tightly behind him and sounds had been muffled. It’s only when their voices went from calm to a screaming match did the door wretch open and Ransom followed his Dad out, both red faced. 

“We’ve given you everything in your fucking life and you can’t even give one iota back.” Ransom opened the front door, gesturing to the porch. 

“Get the fuck out, and don’t come back.” His voice stern and commanding.

“Fuck you Ransom.” With that he was gone. The silence that had settled over the house was thick, Ransom’s hand still resting against the closed door before he took a breath and, without taking a glance in your direction, returned to his study. Closing the door. 

The echo of that argument sat in the house for the rest of the day, Ransom leaving soon after to find a body to lose himself in. If the murder trial did anything, it made Ransom into a bad boy and girls fucking loved it. He wasn’t, technically, guilty after all. 

You attempted to clear the bowl in front of him, but was stopped by his hand. His eyes never left the screen as he brought your hand to his lips, placing a kiss in your palm, before dragging your arm to his other shoulder, hugging himself with it awkwardly until you gave in and wrapped your other arm around him, holding him tightly for a moment. 

He was soft sometimes. His Mom never held him when he was a kid. He was left alone a lot while she was building her empire. Babysitters never stayed long, nannies came and went. Sometimes you truly felt bad for him, other times you remember that he was a dick and that he loved to play tricks and torment anyone and everyone that was supposed to take care of him, including you. The only difference was you weren’t able to leave. 

He let you go soon after that, letting you clean up the mess from dinner and stoke the fire place warming the house that always seemed too cold. As you stood by the fire, arms wrapped around yourself you could feel him behind you, coming to wrap his arms around your waist, leaning his head on your shoulder as you stared into the flames. There was a moment or two of silence as you both stood there. 

If this were any other situation, if Ransom loved you, if this was someone who loved you, if this someone cared enough to care about the things you care about, this would be kind of romantic. But it’s Ransom, and he didn’t care about anyone but himself, he definitely didn’t care about you, and he one hundred percent didn’t care about anything you care about. “I’m going out.” 

His arms left your waist and his chest left your back leaving you cold. “For fucks sake Ransom, I don’t feel like throwing out a girl tomorrow morning.” You turned to watch him throwing his coat on. He smirked. He fucking smirked. 

“I’ll give you a break and throw her out myself then.” And he was gone. 

Hours later you’re woken by the sound of Ransom coming home, sure enough he wasn’t alone. Soft giggles and a bang, he’s shoved her against the wall beside your room. There were muffled groans as you assumed she found her knees right there in the hallway. He got off on this shit, you knew. Often stopping somewhere outside your door to start his sexual escapades. Knowing you were mere feet away, like some half-assed exhibitionism. It wasn’t long after that the girl squealed and there was more muffled talking before they moved to his bedroom. To which you shared a wall. 

Your bedroom, before you were a live-in, housed a bunch of items you believed graced a teen boy’s bedroom walls at one point. And still, shoved in the corner, were playboy model cardboard cutouts, “They’re vintage, mint condition, and worth a lot.” Sure, Ransom, sure they are. Arcade games, framed patriots jerseys, a lacrosse set from his high school days. You were shoved in the middle of it all, a single bed shoved against the wall surrounded by what once was a room full of teenage boy memorabilia. A shrine to his youth. 

The headboard soon came knocking and hope for sleep was lost. The girl’s moans escalating to shrieks. Either he was as good as he says, or these girls really care about his ego. Either could be true when there’s more than one comma in your bank account. 

The kitchen was much quieter. A steady rocking still came from upstairs, but thankfully it was muffled by the floor. As you made a cup of tea you figured you would see if he had printed off a new chapter ready for you to read. You hope he wouldn’t have gone out without finishing it anyway. 

You were not sure why you cared to be honest. You had this love/hate for Ransom. He was an annoying prick who did something really fucking horrible, but he also made it very clear to everyone involved that you had nothing to do with it. There was a scary moment there, after his arrest, when you were brought to the station for interrogation. You hadn’t known he had even gotten up to any of these crimes. He kept you completely in the dark and he was sure to let his arresting officers know that. You hadn’t even seen him since the night Harlan died when he left the party stranding you at the estate. 

Money does crazy things to people. The threat of his steady income leaving was enough to push him to do something crazy. He was lucky enough that the recorded confession magically was erased. He was lucky for dirty cops. He was lucky that even though his mother despised his lifestyle she didn’t want him to go to prison. He was so lucky. Now with his first novel sitting highly on the bestseller list, he seemed even more lucky than he did before. 

His study was on the opposite side of the house from his bedroom, muffling the sounds enough for you to flip through the packet left on top of his keyboard. Three chapters away from completion you were following the detective through paces where things felt more confusing than ever, the clues were unclear and there was not much to go on, but the tension between the eldest son of the victim and his ex-wife were mounting and it was hard to believe that maybe this guy had nothing to do with it despite what was described as an ‘air-tight’ alibi. You read through the chapter twice, scribbling your thoughts in red pen along the margins. 

“What do you think?” You jumped in your chair, looking up to see Ransom in the doorway. 

“You scared the shit out of me,” Your hand still clutching your chest. He had a glass of water in his hand, chest bare, solid navy pajama pants slung low on his hips. His chest hair always got you, just a little bit. He tugged his bottom lip between his teeth and pushed off the door jam to walk into the room, taking a seat in the chair you occupied hours ago. “It’s good,” you cleared your throat, “I’m not sure how much longer I can wait for you to finish to be honest.” He chuckled softly. 

“Let me see.” You handed him the packet and his eyes scanned the margins, reading your comments. They were mostly reactions, that’s what he liked. He wanted to know how you reacted to everything he put in front of you, did you like the romance, the tension, the lust he was trying to write between the ex-husband and wife? Or was it too distracting from the plot? Is the detective too unbelievable? He’s a character for sure. Can you figure out whodunnit yet?

“What are you doing out of bed?” You asked, spinning the chair side to side, waiting for him to put the packet down. 

“I told you I was going to kick her out.” He took another sip from his water. You scoffed, 

“And you couldn’t start doing this sooner?” A smile stretched his lips,

“I like how much it bothers you.” 

“It’s annoying,” you said, “Worst way to start my day.” He laughed. 

“That’s the only reason?” He asked, throwing the packet back on the desk, leaning back in his chair. Smirking. 

“You’re such an asshole, you know that?” You pushed back from the desk, moving to exit the room. He quickly grabbed your wrist, tugging you over to his side where he looked up at you, 

“If you wanna take their place, just let me know.” Your other hand came up to smack him on his shoulder, causing him to laugh as he released you, letting you take your exit. 

“Dick.” 

You found him the next morning at his desk, looking as though he had very little sleep. “Babe could you get me some coffee?” You yawned in the doorway, 

“Sure.” It didn’t take long before you were setting the cup in front of him. “Your therapist is coming by at one.” He nodded, not looking up from his computer. “I’ll come get you when it’s time for you to get ready.” 

He was focused. You weren’t sure where this focus came from. It was every once in a while that he would find this stroke of inspiration and write for a whole day straight. Hopefully he will be finished his book before schedule and be able to get ahead for the next one. 

Soon he was washed, dressed, and ready for the one person he dreads the most. He hated therapy sessions. There were only ten more he needed to do before the court mandate was over. Ten more weeks until you were able to get this lovely ankle bracelet off when you would hopefully be able to go back to the routine you had with him before. Where you’d sleep in your own shitty apartment and show up to work a 9 to 9 five days a week. 

After sessions he was always moody, quiet, and tended to need his favorite single malt restocked the next day. Not exactly in line with how he should be tending to whatever revelation the therapist has been streamlining him to, but that wasn’t any of your business. You could say though that during the last 42 weeks of sessions this refractory period was shortening to less and less time, maybe tonight you won't be peeling him off the floor of the study and dragging him up to his room drunk off his ass. 

While in the session you were trying not to listen in on, you were sunk heavily on the living room couch, drinking coffee and reading the latest chapter he had slapped into your hands before entering back into his study. The book was so close to being finished, the last two chapters leading you to the big reveal and aftermath. The climax was steady taking hold and you were more sure than ever that the eldest son had something to do with it. You didn’t know what he did, but it was something. 

He looked mad enough to kill as the Doctor left. Slamming the door, barely missing the Doctor’s jacket sleeve as he made his hasty retreat. Ransom stood seething for a moment by the front door, a chill running down your spine. He had murdered someone before, something you try to forget seeing as you are forced to spend so much time with him. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. It felt like an hour before he moved. 

“I’m going out.” The words spoken sternly as he stomped his way up the stairs like a petulant child, returning moments later, cleaned up, eyes blank, before grabbing his coat and slamming the door loud enough to make you jump. 

Aside from Ransom’s Mother never being around and aside from his Father’s string of extramarital affairs and aside from his Grandfather’s need to push him in every direction but close, you wish you could say that Ransom had a good childhood. But he didn’t. When he was little the kids picked on him for being rich, and when he was bigger they only became friends with him because he was rich. He was such a bully. At least, that’s what his Mother told you once drunk off chardonnay at his birthday dinner last year. 

Disappointment. 

That was a clear sentiment for the small family get together, and by small family get together you meant the dinner you cooked and Ransom looking like he’d rather be in prison than listen to his parents bicker over his Father’s new (Not so new seeing as he’d been caught kissing her by a PI before Harlan’s death) girlfriend. She was smart enough not to come. 

This night was looking a lot like that one. Ransom, after his parents left and you began to tidy up, began to scream at you. 

“What gave you the fucking right you dumb bitch?” He was spitting, face red as you cleared the dishes. “You’re only here for the money. The fucking money. How much is she paying you huh?” The bottle of expensive whiskey he had been drinking throughout the night was in his hand, swinging it around and taking pulls straight from the bottle. “Not enough obviously because you would have let me fuck you a long time ago.” 

Your face flushed red as your own anger began to rise. He continued, “Never, ever, fucking again will you allow my parents in this house, do you understand me?” His unoccupied hand grabbed your arm tight enough to bruise, turning you to face him. His eyes wild and unfocused. “I said do you understand me?” You not so gently wretched your arm from his. 

“Don’t touch me.” He always fucking did this. Blamed you for things you had no control over. Lynda approached you about a dinner for Ransom’s birthday. It was her name in your paystubs. You can’t say no. 

“How dare you-” He began, but was cut short.

“No Ransom. No.” Like scolding a fucking dog who put his paws on the table. You threw the bowl you currently had in your hands into the sink, turning to fully face him. “I am only here for the money and I am only here because your Mother pays me a lot to be here.” His jaw clenched. “But I’m also here because I’m the only fucking person who even remotely cares about your ungrateful prissy spoiled ass and if it wasn’t for me you’d be sitting in this fucking glass house, alone, with only your own self-righteous attitude to keep you company. So don’t you ever touch me like that again. Do you understand?” 

He loudly clunked the bottle onto the kitchen island, stumbling in your direction as you backed yourself into the sink. His trial had just concluded two weeks ago, Fran’s murder fresh on your mind and you wondered if you just made a terrible mistake. Over the course of this rant, the alcohol was sinking into his bloodstream, it turned his anger into a crippling depression. One that resulted in his hands softly grasping your shoulders, and tugging you into his body. His face found your neck and slowly started to grow damp with what you realized were his tears. 

Your heart broke a bit, too much empathy, even for this asshole. Your arms came to wrap around his shoulders, letting him cry it out. 

That was the first and only time you saw Ransom cry over anything. If he hadn’t been as drunk as he was you knew that moment would never have happened. The sweet little moment that made your heart ache was quickly gone the next morning when Ransom made you coffee and thought it would be hilarious that after you thanked him for being so sweet he joked that he poisoned it. You could still recall the cackles of laughter as you spit your coffee into the sink. 

That was the day he began writing his first novel. 

He came home alone tonight which was strange. And far earlier than normal. You usually were in bed, or holed up in his study by the time he arrived him after a night out. Staying out of his way as he drug a bubbly hopeful girl up to his bed to satisfy his own needs for the night. He found you tonight, sitting outside, watching Netflix on your tablet by the firepit you had decided to light, a hot cup of tea sitting on the end table next to you. Cozy and wrapped in a blanket. 

You could feel his eyes on you from the doorway. You tapped the screen, pausing your show and turned to look at him. His hair was slightly mussed, face flushed, and socked toes curling from the chill. He was looking at you strangely. 

“You’re home early.” You placed the tablet down on the end table, turning to face him. He nodded, crossing his arms and leaning against the door jam. 

“I just needed a drive.” There was a soft smile on his face, well that’s new. 

“Is everything okay?” He never tells you anything, but the sentiment matters. He looked to his feet, nodding. 

“I’m probably going to try to stay up and finish the book tonight.” He shifted himself back into the house, your voice calling out to him, 

“Come sit out here for a bit. It’s calming, just take a break from thinking for a minute.” He sighed and looked at you again, debating something in his head. 

“I need to be alone.” You tried anyway. He disappeared from sight. And that was that. 

The next day Ransom began acting even more strangely. The book was finished, the last two chapters handed wordlessly to you as he left for the gym on what you’re assuming was no sleep. That wasn’t the strange part. The strange part was when he returned three hours later bearing a box of donuts from your favorite bakery and two lattes, on his face was a smile. 

“What did you do?” You accused, “Did you poison this?” You gestured towards the latte he placed in your hand. 

“No.” He laughed, sliding the box of donuts to you. You stared at him skeptically before taking a sip. Tastes normal. 

“Are you sick?” Your wrist coming to lay across his forehead, temperature feels fine. 

“No.” He laughed again, pulling your wrist from his forehead and kissing your palm before opening the box of donuts, pulling a cinnamon sugar donut to his lips. “You just told me the other day how you missed these and I figured since I passed the shop on the way back it wouldn’t hurt to go pick some up.” It was suspicious. You continued to look at him skeptically. He sighed, placing the donut on the counter, grabbing the latte from your hand he took a large sip of it. “I didn’t fucking poison you Y/N.” 

Okay.

Okay. You examined the box of donuts, pulling out the bear claw that was begging to be eaten. Still warm. You moaned in delight as soon as the warm pastry hit your taste buds. You really had missed these. Opening your eyes, you saw Ransom staring blankly at you before his eyes shifted to the packet by your side. 

“All finished?” You swallowed and nodded, sliding the packet marked with red over to him and as he began to study your notes you tried to think about what could have possibly gotten him in such a good mood. The Doctor’s visit was odd enough. Yes he was angry when the Doctor left, but then just a drive? Not a blackout drunk, bringing two girls home to pleasure himself with and accidentally falling into a line or two of coke night, but a drive? 

Maybe therapy had been working? Maybe he had a breakthrough? He finished the novel. The eldest son had something to do with it, his airtight alibi just that, a cover for the crime having been committed at a different time than the coroner’s estimated time frame due to him freezing the body and allowing it to thaw in the house. 

You had asked Harlan how he came up with such incredible stories once. He said they just popped into his head fully formed, his brain moving faster than his fingers. He kept a little notebook with good ideas and would simmer in them as long as it took for a stroke of inspiration. The rest was just typing. 

He smirked at some of your comments, ‘what a fucking joke’ you wrote next to the eldest son’s monologue about being passed over, his whining, annoying, self centered crying about how life wasn’t fair. 

“What’s the smirk for?” You asked, removing the lid of your latte and dipping part of the bear claw in it. 

“The lack of sympathy for Greg.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes. 

“He’s a fucking loser.” Ransom’s eyes met yours, “I bet you see a lot of yourself in him.” That made him laugh. 

“What? You don’t like spoiled rich men?” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest. You rolled your eyes, taking another sip from the milky sweet latte you didn’t know would feel like your life’s blood right now. 

“I think you know the answer to that.” 

“I think you find me endearing.” Ransom smirked. Your neck flushed. 

“I find you annoying,” You admitted. “I only put up with you because of my paycheck.” He licked his lips.

“Sure,” He closed the packet, pushing it aside to take another bite of the donut, cinnamon sugar dusting his lips. “You put up with me because you’re secretly in love with me, but you know that I would never get with The Help.” This made you laugh. 

“If you want me to be the Help I’ll gladly call you Hugh if it means you leave me alone.” He placed his paper cup on the counter, circling around to you. 

“I like when you call me Hugh.” His hands came to rest on your upper arms, grinning. 

“You’re disgusting.” He laughed at the clear displeasure on your face, spinning your stool around to him, and you leaned back, creating some distance as he came to stand between your legs. 

“You don’t mean that do you baby?” His fingers toying with the ends of your hair. You could feel your nipples harden in excitement, body betraying you. A wet growing between your legs. 

“Ransom what are you doing?” You said in exasperation. You weren’t blind. Ransom was gorgeous. You’d maybe, possibly, gotten off to the thought of him once or twice or maybe more than that in the four years you’ve known him. But he was also a scumbag who fucks and then throws girls out hours later. His moods were hot and cold. He had major Mommy issues and he’s not technically guilty of murder, but he’s a fucking murderer. But also… he’s been going to therapy and after that fight on his birthday last year he’s never laid a hand on you in anger again, there’s been some arguments sure, but he’s mostly nice to you. Caring even. 

“Why don’t you love me Y/N?” His voice almost came out as a whine. He was playing with you. 

“Ransom stop.” You pushed him away gently. He was fucking smirking. 

“Usually there’s a ‘don’t’ in front of that.” Cocky bastard. 

“You’re the worst person I know. And I hate that fucking smirk.” You picked at your now cold bear claw, trying to turn from him. 

“Why don’t you wipe it off my face then?” Your eyes met his and you glared. 

“What’s gotten into you today? Maybe you should go out early. Find some girl to satisfy whatever you’re going through right now.” His hands met your hips, spinning your stool back around to face him. 

“What if I want you to satisfy whatever I’m going through right now.” His groin fit right up against your core and you could feel his throbbing heat between your legs. Fuck. 

“Don’t make this mistake Ransom.” You placed one hand gently on his chest, attempting (but not really) to push him back. His forehead coming to rest against yours. “You don’t want this.”

“This is the only thing I’ve ever really wanted.” His breath mingled with yours, sweet, cinnamon and coffee. 

“You’re not thinking straight.” His lips brushed against yours, tongue coming out to wet his lips, his eyes locked with yours. Why weren’t you pushing him away? Your breath hitched as his tongue accidentally grazed your bottom lip. 

“The only clarity I’ve ever had in my life has been when I’m with you.”

His lips pressed heavily against yours, pushing you back against your bedroom door as his hand came to tangle in your hair. He was all consuming, body hot and heavy against yours. Your core was thrumming with want, moisture pooling in the crotch of your yoga pants. His hips were rolling into yours and you could feel the hard length of him against your belly. His lips quickly moved across your jaw to your neck and you could hear yourself moaning softly as he licked, sucked, and nibbled on the sensitive skin below your ear. Your hands clenching the soft material of the t-shirt by his hips, dipping your fingers slowly into the waistband of his shorts. 

His lips parted from your neck, hand tilting your head back so he could look into your eyes before taking your mouth once more. His mouth moved down this time to the tops of your breasts, hands leaving to shift the thick wool cardigan off your shoulders and onto the floor before dropping the straps of your camisole and exposing them to the air, nipples already pebbled in excitement. 

You hadn’t dated in a while, unable to because of your paid house arrest and before that the way Ransom had worked you to the bone picking up after him. And the touch from someone else always felt better than your own. His hands felt huge on you, protecting. 

Your head met the door as he enveloped your right nipple in his mouth, rolling the sensitive bud on his tongue until he felt the left neglected, and switched, beginning to toy with your right nipple between his finger tips. Moans and heavy breaths were the only sounds in the hallway as Ransom made his way down your body, slipping your yoga pants and panties off your hips as he found his knees before you. 

“Ransom-” 

“Shhhhh,” He pressed his lips against your naval, working his way to your trembling core. His hand lifted your right thigh, draping it over his shoulder as his eyes focused in on your, what you knew must be soaking, wet pussy. His eyes met yours from his knees, your legs trembling with anticipation, eyes locked as his pink tongue came to meet your pussy for the first time, a shuddering breath being released from you urged him on further. 

His thick fingers spread your lips open, exposing your clit to his gentle assault. A building pleasure in your core as his tongue began to skillfully work, pulling moans from your mouth. How was he so good at this? Experimenting with different strokes, different pressure, finding what you like. 

“Just like that, oh my god.” He rolled his tongue against your clit, eyes finding yours once more, keeping pace. You could see the corner of his mouth pull up in a smirk as he began to work you up to climax. “You’re such a fucking asshole, I hate that fucking smirk.” Head hitting back against the door as he used his fingers to tease your opening. “Oh my god.” Your hips bucked against his face, causing him to use the arm currently wrapped around your thigh to splay open on your abdomen, holding your hips still. The wet noises and soft grunts from the man between your thighs only caused you to grow closer to your release. 

“You taste so fucking good baby,” moaned between your thighs. 

“Don’t fucking stop.” You scolded. So close. So fucking close. He obeyed, continuing his assault on your dripping pussy, fingers entering your tight channel to stroke against your sensitive walls. He buried his face further into your pussy, nose coming to rest in the soft curls there as he watched you come undone. Your moans escalating in volume as you felt your body tighten with pleasure, hips begging to buck against his face as he rode you through it. He continued to lick and suck on your clit until your hands found his head, pushing him away, legs shaking as you dropped against the door, knees coming to rest around his body. 

That fucking smirk, “How was that?” He asked, face glistening with your cum. 

“Fuck you Ransom.” And he fucking laughed the bastard. What a fucking dick. He brought his face back to yours, gently claiming your lips. The tang of your pussy ever present as you felt him consume you. Your heart was still racing as he picked you up from the floor, bringing you into his bedroom and ever so gently laying you down on the sheets you had just changed two hours ago. 

His eyes were shifting between yours, a strange expression on his face. 

“You can’t kick me out tomorrow Ransom,” Your breathing was heavy as he began to work at your neck, his hands going to remove his gym shorts. “I can’t leave.” He pressed his lips back to yours as you felt him rub the tip of his dick against your clit, your body shaking with over-stimulation. It felt so intimate. Before, his eyes on yours as he brought you over with his tongue and now as he slowly enters you, stretching your walls with his thick cock, eyes not breaking contact he sighs,

“I think you’re the only person I’ve ever loved.” 

[caffeinatedbraincell]

Hi I tried to write some Joe x Nicky angst w/ a happy ending (predictably, it turned out to be mostly fluff). TW for a panic attack~

Read on AO3

In the end, Nicky thought, it was the most pedestrian thing. He wouldn’t even have looked twice, had he not already been on edge from when Joe had spilled hot coffee on himself at breakfast.

Joe was spending the afternoon with Nile at a convention, and Nicky had decided to make the most of his solitude by cleaning their entire house from floor to ceiling. He was sweeping their bathroom when he saw it - two small, oddly-shaped pieces of wax paper that hadn’t quite made it into the dustbin. He bent down to take a closer look.

Something about them was familiar. Something was wrong. Nicky set down the broom and dust pan. He picked the bits of paper up to examine them. Then, his gaze snagged on something in the dustbin, and the chilling reality of what he was holding clicked into place.

It was a Band-Aid wrapper. The wax paper had been peeled off the sticky edges so the Band-Aid could be used. Which was ridiculous. Ridiculous, because they didn’t need Band-Aids. They healed instantly.

Nicky took a measured breath and stood up slowly. He walked back into the bedroom and picked up his cell phone.

“Hello? Andromache? Yes, I just wanted to ask real fast - did you by any chance come by our place since we saw you last weekend?” He paused. “No, no, I know. Yes, I know we asked for time off, of course you would call ahead.” He listened as Andy asked if he and Joe were okay, concern creeping into her voice. “Yeah, boss, we’re fine. But, ah, something just came up. I’ll call you back.”

He knew Andy wouldn’t buy it; he’d hung up way too abruptly. But Nicky needed time to think, he just needed a moment, one moment of quiet, could the ringing in his ears just shut up for one damn second-

He sat down on the edge of their bed and took a deep, deliberate breath. Why would there be a used Band-Aid wrapper in his and Joe’s house? Nicky had just given himself a papercut while clearing the stack of junk mail in the living room, and his immortality was still working. So that left Joe. But Joe’s immortality had to be working too, because…

Because we have to go together, Nicky thought, devastated. That’s the rule. That’s how it fucking works.

No one knew for sure how their immortality worked. He tried taking another deep breath, but it didn’t feel like any oxygen was reaching his lungs. He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, and they came away wet.

Nicky startled as a ragged sob was ripped out of him. When had he started crying? Why couldn’t he catch his breath? He slid to the floor and kneeled next to their bed, curling in on himself as he gasped for air. His heart thudded like it wanted to beat out of his chest.

Yusuf, he thought as his vision splotched black around the edges. He blinked rapidly at the worn bedskirt. What was going on? He reached around for his phone to text Joe, but suddenly couldn’t find it. Yusuf, come back, come home, he begged, giving in to the darkness as his head dropped heavily to the floor.

Nicky woke an indeterminate amount of time later, disoriented and tucked into bed. The curtains had been drawn and the lights shut off, but a couple candles flickered softly on their dresser. There was a covered glass of water next to him.

Nicky groaned, sitting up against the headboard. Despite the tremor in his hand, he managed to down the entire glass without spilling a drop. As he set it back down, the bedroom door cracked open.

“Nicky?” Joe’s eyes widened when he saw Nicky awake. He silently closed the door behind him and practically ran to Nicky’s side.

Joe sat down in front of Nicky and reached for his hand, raising it helplessly to his trembling lips. Joe kissed his palm, his knuckles, his fingertips, as if grounding himself against some great weight. Nicky didn’t miss the way Joe’s fingers flitted around his wrist, as if Joe was resisting the urge to press his fingers to the pulse there.

“Amore mio,” Joe asked, voice cracking a bit. “What happened? You were- you wouldn’t wake up. Oh my love, why didn’t you call me?”

“I couldn’t find my phone,” Nicky replied. He furrowed his brow, trying to piece together the disjoint bits of memory floating around in his head.

“It was centimeters from your fingertips.”

“I don’t know, Joe, I-” Suddenly, Nicky’s eyes widened in realization. He gripped Joe’s shoulders and looked into his eyes, dead serious. “Joe. If I ask you a question, do you promise not to lie to me?”

“I- Nicolò! God forbid I ever lie to you, my heart. Why would you need to ask such a thing?”

“Are you still healing?”

Joe froze. “Wait. Wait, Nicky, are you-”

“Answer the question, Joe.”

Joe reached up to clutch Nicky’s wrists where his hands still rested on Joe’s shoulders. “Yes,” he whispered. “I- I broke a glass in the kitchen, on accident, when I went to get you water just now. A small shard got stuck in my hand. But it healed completely, I’m fine now.”

“Show me,” Nicky demanded, uncharacteristically firm. “Where? Which hand?”

“Here. This one,” Joe splayed his left hand out in Nicky’s palm, watching as he inspected it thoroughly. “Nicky?”

“What?”

“Please, amore-” Joe swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Please, if you can, tell me what happened? You were unconscious when I came back, and…”

He trailed off, looking down at the bedsheet to hide the unfairly persistent tears pooling in his eyes. Nicky made a soft noise of concern, reaching out to cup Joe’s face tenderly.

“Hayati, I didn’t mean to scare you. I think it might have just been a particularly bad panic attack.”

“You rarely get panic attacks without triggers.”

“Yeah. Nothing major happened, it was just- I found- Joe, there was a Band-Aid wrapper in our bathroom. Do you know how it got there?”

Joe snapped his gaze up to meet Nicky’s. “Hold on, that’s what this whole thing has been about?! Nicolò, ya amar, you could have just asked me. Remember when I went for a walk last night? There was a toddler who fell down in the park, and his mom had her hands full with an infant, so she asked if I could help her put a Band-Aid on his scrape. There were no trash cans nearby, so I waited until I got home to throw the wrapper away. My heart, you couldn’t seriously have thought I would lose my immortality and…not tell you?”

There was a suspended pause. Then, Nicky looked away. “Forgive me, Yusuf.”

“No,” Joe choked out. “If I have given you any reason at all to believe that I would hide such a thing from you, then it is I who should beg your forgiveness. I’m sorry, Nicky. I promise, I swear on all that is holy, on our very love, that you will be the first person I tell when that day comes. Please, my life, I-”

“I know, Joe. I know. I’m so sorry for thinking otherwise. Come here,” Nicky pulled his husband into his arms, leaning back against the headboard and tugging the duvet over them both. “Just stay with me for now, like this. I need to hold you. I need to feel that you’re okay.”

Joe drew a shaky breath, inhaling Nicky’s scent and pressing a languid kiss to his collarbone. He wrapped his arms around Nicky’s waist. “I’m okay. I’m always okay with you. Nothing can take me away from you. You know that, right?”

Nicky hummed, smiling into Joe’s hair. “Of course. Ti amo così tanto, tesoro. Just stay a moment more, and then we’ll see about dinner. You’re probably hungry after the convention.”

“Mmm,” Joe nuzzled closer. “It’s also fine if you want to just hold me like this forever, you know. I don’t mind.”

Nicky laughed softly, and Joe felt it like a gentle roll of thunder beneath where his head lay on Nicky’s sternum.

“Worry makes people insane, doesn’t it?” Nicky murmured after a beat.

Joe tilted his chin up to look at his husband, who promptly took advantage of the angle to lay a kiss on Joe’s parted lips. “You’re not insane, amore.”

“I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

Joe sighed, relaxing back down in Nicky’s arms. “Next time, just text me instead of literally passing out with panic, okay?”

Nicky’s eyes crinkled in a warm smile. “Okay. I promise.”

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

Sigh. It’s quiet today, so I guess it’s about time to talk about 12x06: Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox.  

This is an episode without Cas, so clearly it revolves entirely around Cas (I'm kidding, but only a little bit).  It’s also a bottle episode and a meta writer’s wet dream, so excuse me while I nerd out - this is a long one to unpack, and I have spent too much time doing it for you.  That’s ok because, as Sam says:

DIVE IN AFTER THE CUT BUDDIES!

The Asa montage is where we start.

Asa is a Dean mirror. The parallels are pretty clear - he’s a scruffy rough around the edges hunter, Mary is the reason he got into hunting, he wears a ton of flannel, etc.  If you remain unsure, the writers throw this in at the very beginning in the montage of Asa’s life as a hunter So That You Know:

Bucky: Hey, you know they make new cars, right? Asa: I don’t want a new car. This is my lucky car. 

***Canadian!Dean confirmed.

Shaine Jones may also be the Canadian Jensen Ackles.

I don’t make the rules ok?

Back in the US, the boys surprise Jody with a visit. 

In case you forgot the episode prior to this one:

Side note: domestic Jody gives me life. 

We’re clearly supposed to see how Jody is a mom figure for the boys, and it feels nice for them to have that, especially since Mary is Taking Some Space.  Their entire dynamic warms even my cold black soul.

[romantic scene of a couple silhouetted against a sunset while sweeping music plays on Jody’s TV. The couple kisses.] 

DEAN

[his mouth full of pizza] Jody, you watching some kind of chick flick here?

JODY

Well, Dean. I’m a chick. 

Kim Rhodes YOU ARE A DELIGHT.  A side note - I know this exchange is supposed to be funny, but I feel sad for Dean (who clearly is a rom com chick).  This is a perfect example of Dean struggling to present some fabricated image of heteronormative masculinity that’s not the heart of who he actually is.  His surprise that a “badass sheriff chick” can also enjoy rom coms makes me fucking upset.  

ALSO:

Anyway, Asa has passed on and the boys tag along with Jody to the wake in support.  

SAM

Yeah, no, Jody. We… we know you’ll be fine, but… you know, we never go to hunter gatherings, outside of bars. Dad always said they were trouble, so…

DEAN

Yes, you’d be doing us a favor if you let us tag along.

***more receipts that John Winchester was an isolating abuser.  They could have at least had a normal HUNTER life and friends who hunted.

SAM  

That is a big house. [Music continues playing, coming from inside the house now]

***We now establish one “theme” of the episode.

JODY

Family home. Asa was just a guy. 

AKA pretty brutal implication that Asa didn’t have a family of his own.

Speaking of implications:

[Jody removes her coat and the three of them begin mingling. Dean finds his way to the kitchen and a cooler full of beer] DEAN

No label. Well, that’s a red flag. 

****LOL WHAT THE FUCK IS THE REASON****

....

....

....

GIRL SEND HELP

Enter Bucky, who is actually (SPOILER!) the villain of the episode.

Do all hunters just walk around with this manly flannel/weird symbolic necklace combo?  Looking at you Bucky and Dean.  

Dean is surprised to find that people know who he is:

But doesn’t seem to have an issue with it until -

***Someone who just bragged the entire five hour car ride about killing Hitler shouldn’t be this concerned about what people are saying about him right? 

Or is he thinking it may involve something he isn’t comfortable sharing - since apparently there are things Dean doesn’t feel comfortable sharing as established by the prior couch conversation with Jody?  Hmmmmmm...

***Compare the expressions.  The “you’ve died four times” response is the same as the smug/proud “I killed Hitler” face.  The reaction to the “stories” is the “hey this is my personal business” reaction Dean had to Sam’s Japanese erotica art form comment. He is thinking specifically about something personal.

I wonder what it could be.

I don’t think any one had to teach Max Banes the art of seduction, but also thank you.

Also, manifesting Dean being raised by Max and Alicia’s Cool Witch Mom instead of John Trash Winchester.  Because that’s what we’re supposed to think here, correct?  Two sibling hunters usually present a brother mirror.

Worth noting Sam’s surprise that witches can also be hunters.  The John Winchester Bigotry Brain Rot runs deep.  (GOD the Sam-witch thing would have driven him crazy I LIVE FOR THAT).

Dean escapes to Asa’s office/room and proceeds to go through his things.

[Dean is in Asa’s office and finds an angel blade mounted on blue velvet inside an ornate glass-lidded box. He opens it, reaches in and pulls out the angel blade, comfortably spinning it in his hand when Sam walks in.]

SAM

Hey.

DEAN

Oh, hi. This is a real Angel Blade. I mean, this guy was legit. 

***that’s weird, why does Canadian!Dean have an angel blade?  We haven’t heard anything about angels yet, and it wasn’t in the opening montage.  Hmmmmmm, I say. Hmmmmmmm...

***Sam is also concerned about The Stories They Tell 

This one particularly:

Honestly I don’t know why he’s THAT surprised that people know he was possessed by Lucifer?  Didn’t he start like multiple apocalypses?  That’s something people tend to be in the know about. Anyhoo.

DEAN

Yeah. Apparently we’re a little bit legendary. 

SAM 

Yeah, but, I mean, so was Asa. Then a hunt went bad, and he ended up hanging from a tree, alone in the woods.

DEAN

He died on the job. No better way to go. 

SAM

You really believe that? 

DEAN

Yeah. What, you don’t? I mean, come on, Sam, it's not like we're in the “live till you're 90, die in your sleep” business. This? [Dean points at Asa’s hunting wall] This only ends one way. 

***Insert deep internal screaming about 15x20 here***

It’s Jody’s turn to be uncomfortable as we find out she and Asa were more than just friends and everyone knew it and Said Things About It and Told Stories About It.

HMMMMMMM...

Dean is surprised that Jody not only enjoys rom coms, but ruggedly hot men. Another thing they have in common.

As Dean comes to terms with the idea that Jody can be a mother figure and also a human person with a life and her own feelings and needs and thoughts, enter the person whom said lesson is actually about:

This is a Kim Rhodes Facial Expression stan account now.

So cute how Jody knows immediately that Dean is not okay.  Time to reach:

JODY

Huh. Is that why you spent the entire ride up here telling me in extreme, excruciating detail how you killed Hitler, but, uh, you neglected to mention the fact that your mom is back from the dead? 

***look, it’s another Dean doesn’t like others knowing personal information parallel!***

DEAN 

Yeah, no big deal. 

JODY

That’s a lie.

DEAN

JODY …

JODY

Look, maybe this isn't my place, and this is epic stuff, but

JODY

Yeah. Because what if I’ve changed. What if they changed? What if it just didn’t work out the way I wanted?  If you wanna talk about anything

***Killing Hitler used yet again to show Dean doesn’t care about oversharing hunting stories, but he doesn’t like for people to know personal ones.  Also, Jody mentions her son and her husband.  Her family and her romantic partner.  

Dean wasn’t just reunited with Mary this season. He was also reunited with Cas, after saying goodbye to him at the end of Season 11 when he headed to what he thought was going to be his death as the Amara-bomb.

So, this conversation isn't just about Mary (the “anything”).  It’s also about Cas (the”...absolutely anything”).

Mary chats with Mama Fox and more Points Are Made about hunters not getting to have a “normal life” or family:

MARY

I saved his life. 

LORRAINE

[scoffing] What am I supposed to say to that? After you, Asa got so… Hunting was his whole life. He never married. Never had a family, kids. And now… enjoy the wake. 

***sending Mary on a guilt spiral about Asa (mirroring her other guilt spiral about hunting as a life for her own sons)

Speaking of mirrors:

BUCKY

And Asa loved that Jeep. Fuses were shorted, fuel line was busted. Ah, he didn’t care. He’d just roll up his sleeves, he’d get right to work. 

Time to learn about today’s Big Bad.

BUCKY

Jael. He’s a crossroads demon. And he hangs people. It’s his thing. Snaps their neck, slits their throat. He’s a real piece of work. 

***Wait a second.  Jael is a demon?  Don’t...angel’s names usually end in “el” in SPNverse?

Samandriel.

Uriel.

Gabriel.

Raphael.

Gadreel.

Castiel.

HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM.

Anyways the demon [questionable] killed Asa and now everyone  is trapped and also In Grave Danger.  

BUCKY

Exactly. Right, so five years later, Jael– he came back, and he came for Asa. 

JODY

How so? 

BUCKY

Asa was seeing this woman, right? She had a kid. 

LORRAINE

Marlene. 

BUCKY

Yeah, Marlene. Jael got into her. It didn’t matter that he was killing people, he wanted Asa to know it was personal. He gets off on it. 

***that’s so weird, didn’t someone else in the show start seeing a woman with a kid - 

what a sexy little coincidence.

oh and didnt  a supernatural being come back right around that time too - 

HMMMMMMMM.  No killing though.  That’s the difference between angels and demons, I guess.

(meanwhile Dean has been drinking alone outside - as he does, and is realizing he can’t get back in)

HI QUEEN

Also, this immediately took me to 

this show isn’t fair.

****sob break****

Jael Posession 1:

So curious how there are two siblings and then one gets possessed by something Satanic and the other one is good at seducing men.

SO FUCKING CURIOUS.

Jael Possession 2:

Elvis. Random.  Though he was the guy who brought up the Stories Sam Was Surprised Were Circulating -

He was also oddly interested in it.  Methinks Elvis thoroughly enjoyed the Jael possession.

Bilie gets Dean back in the house.  The words “one-time deal” are said a lot of times.

BONUS: Jensen why are you so pretty:

The hunters get to work, and I live for Max Bane’s pentagram aesthetic.

MAX

I like a Fifth Pentacle of Mars. It’s got more character. 

***TBH, same.

Jael possession 3:

****Kim Rhodes is even better when she is playing evil.

JODY/JAEL:

I had so hoped you’d kill your mom. Wouldn’t that be a riot? 

[Mary draws the angel blade and charges at Jody. She cuts Jody’s arm before Sam wrestles her away.] 

SAM

No! Mom!

MARY

What are you doing?! She’s a demon. We kill demons. 

******WOOF MARY - I REPEAT TO YOU THAT THE JOHN TRASH WINCHESTER BRAIN ROT RUNS DEEP.

Also did you immediately flash back to this with me?

Gets me thinking that Dean’s feelings for Cas are made twice as complicated by the fact that he is also a supernatural creature.  Another Reason Why John Winchester Would Disapprove.

****Just as he would Disapprove of Sam Being Possessed By the Devil and all that (never forget he told Dean to kill him because of the whole made unclean by demon blood thing). 

Right on cue:

JODY/JAEL

Oh, I have heard so many stories about you Winchesters. And I desperately want the Lucifer thing to be true.  

***Stories again. Jael proceeds to go into Stories That Are Dark Personal Shameful Secrets:

JAEL

As for the rest of you, I have been inside your heads. I know all about you. For example, the twins. Too frightened to tell anyone that they actually came to say goodbye to their daddy. Or the grieving mother who hated the fact that her son was a hunter so much she’d hide his gear, she’d sabotage his Jeep, anything to keep him from hunting. Not that it worked. Could’ve tried harder, huh? 

[She gestures at her own face] And this meatsuit you all seem to care so much about. She actually fantasized about a life with Asa. Can you believe that? Like that worthless man– 

***HMMMMMMMMM

[Bucky gets off the floor and sneaks up behind Jody/Jael] 

BUCKY 

Shut your filthy mouth. 

[Jody/Jael grabs Bucky by the neck and forces him to his knees] 

JODY/JAEL

And you. Bucky. Brave, brave Bucky. I was there that night. Tell these nice, stupid people what you did. Tell them what you took from me. Asa was mine. 

***Excuse me? THIS IS GETTING VERY...subtextual.  A dark timeline supernatural being/hunter relationship [ending badly because demons only know how to take, consume and possess]? ...Asael?  CURIOUS. 

They chant the exorcism, a different hunter doing each iteration (beautifully done) 

and send Jael back to hell, but not before Bucky shares his Shameful Story - he’s the one who killed Asa.

Elaboration:

BUCKY

Asa, he was just all– he was just always so stubborn. Look, we were in the woods. [We see the scene play out as Bucky describes it] Jael, he… he was taunting him. Asa wanted to chase him, but he didn’t have the angel blade. I said, “Let’s go back.” He called me a coward, and he shoved me, so I shoved him back, and he fell. He hit his head. Asa? I didn’t mean to do it. But it was a mistake. Asa. Asa? An accident. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. Asa hated that damn demon so much that I just…

DEAN

Oh, you thought people would buy that Jael killed him? So you hung your best friend to cover your own ass. 

BUCKY

What are you gonna do to me? 

ALICIA:

Tell everyone, every hunter we meet. They’re gonna know your name, Bucky. Know what you did. 

MAX

You like stories. This is the story everyone’s gonna tell about you. Forever. 

***Shameful Stories that Define You, what a theme.  Also, definitely a supernatural being potentially having some subtextual feelings for Canadian!Dean.  Hmmm.

***Funeral pyre and side discussion about how Asa did have a family, and children, and a potential supernatural sidepiece.

In conclusion, Supernatural is a love story.  Thank you for watching this dark timeline/Canadian dub.  You’re dismissed for the day.  Go eat bacon.

[staticscreenwriting]

The loneliest time of the year || Part two

Part 2 of 4

Summary: With a broken heart and the fear of having failed as a father, Frankie returns to his parents house for Christmas. What is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year feels quite lonely. Though when an old friend shows up unexpectedly with her young son in tow, Frankie’s Christmas seems to gain a little more happiness. Can they help each other fight the ghosts of their pasts and overcome their fears ?

A/N: This is part of my 12 days of Christmas / Advent special. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated.

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Four messed up pies

By the morning of December 9th a heavy blanket of snow rests upon the world like a tick coat of marshmallow fluff. 

A restlessness surges through Frankie as he turns from his left to his right to his back then repeats the process all over again. He kicks away the blankets then pulls them back. Sleep doesn’t come easy these days. In fact sleep hasn’t come easy in a while. It’s a price you have to pay for leading the life he leads, has led. For doing the job he did. You see things, bad things, and they stay with you. Not always but in the quiet moments they creep back into your mind and all you can do is stare and hope they fade again soon. Fill your brain with other things. Occupy your mind.

It’s moments like these that his fingers are twitching and his body is aching for release. For something to numb his mind. Help him forget. 

There aren’t a lot of things that Frankie is proud of. In fact he can count them on one hand. One of them is his ability to fly. He's a damn good pilot … most of the time. (He is when someone doesn’t force him to navigate an overloaded plane across the Andes). He’s proud of Rosie. Despite his flaws and shortcomings he managed to create something so utterly perfect, that’s something to be proud of. And the. There’s the little coin in the pocket of his jacket. The one he fumbles with whenever he’s anxious or stressed. It’s gold and smooth and it proudly displays a big number 10 in the middle of a triangle on the front of the coin.

10 months. That’s a proud achievement. 

It could be more. It should be more! He really tried but after coming home from Colombia, one man less than they went in, after his girlfriend broke up with him and took Rosie with her. After everything. He needed the psi to stop. Just for one goddamn minute. He felt immediate regret wash over him when he woke up the next morning. Called Pope. Entered a 12 step program.

10 months and he feels better. He likes himself more now. But in those 10 months the voices have gotten louder, the images clearer, his heart feels heavier. 

With sleep being so far out of reach, he kicks off the blanket and drags his body out of bed. The smell of coffee hits his nose as soon as he steps out of his room, it drifts from the kitchen all the way up the stairs. 

His parents are sitting by the kitchen counter, mom holding onto a big steaming mug of coffee while his dad is deeply invested in the morning. Paper, glasses perched low on his nose. This is home, it sends him straight back to his childhood. If only, he thinks, if only he could provide this sense of warmth and domesticity for his own child. 

A knock on the front door shakes him from his thoughts. As he swings it open, a sharp sting of cold winter air whips at him, nips at his nose, his ears and his bare feet.

“Frankie hey, oh sorry did I wake you?”

(Y/N) is once again bundled up in layers of cozy clothes, keeping her warm and sheltered from the harsh weather. She looks cute. Absolutely fucking adorable. But in that moment, he doesn’t really notice that. Doesn’t notice Leo standing behind her either. His entire attention rests on the steaming pie she holds in her hands. 

“You made a pie?”

“She made 4.” Leo speaks up, his voice dripping with irritation and annoyance. 

“Thanks for throwing me under the bus, dude!”

Frankie regards the exchange with a fond smile pulling at the corners of his lips. There’s something so distinctly familiar in the way she interacts with her son, so unapologetically her. The way she’s always been. But now grown up entirely. A mother. 

“Why did you make 4 pies?” He asks, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“Well I didn’t plan on making 4. The first one I mistook salt for sugar so you can imagine how it tasted. The second one I put way too much sugar in, might’ve been trying to compensate for my mistake with the first one but yeah that one did end up in the trash as well. The third … well I got pretty invested in an episode of unsolved mysteries and forgot it was in the oven so it turned out um — “

“Black. It was burned to a crisp.” Leo chimes up again, this time more amused than annoyed by his mother’s baking escapades.

“Yeah. It burned. But number 4 is looking pretty good.”

She looks up at Frankie with a smile so radiant it rivals the sun reflecting on the snowy ground. Pride shines in her eyes as she holds the pie towards him.

“Did you make me a pie?”

“Not exactly. It’s mostly for your folks. They agreed to watch this one while I got shopping for his Christmas presents.” (Y/N) explains, her tumb motioning towards the little boy over her shoulder. “This is a thank you to them for being literal angels. “

“Oh man you wouldn’t be saying that if you had to live with them growing up. I can’t tell you how many times dad unplugged my console while I was in the middle of a game.”

It’s a joke, of course it is. He really lucked out in the parents department and he’s not too proud or too shy to admit it. Maybe, he thinks, the good parent gene might’ve skipped a generation with him. His ex will surely agree with that statement. 

“Hey uh — you mind having some company while shopping ?”

“You wanna go shopping for toys?”

“I need to get some presents for my daughter.”

“Oh that’s right, you have a kid too. “

He doesn’t blame her for not remembering. He doesn’t strike people as the father type. And really, he hasn’t seen his little one in quite some time.doesn’t see her during the entire Christmas time. Is he really much of a father anyway?

“Sure yeah! I’d love some company.”

Maybe, Frankie thinks, this will help him drown out the voice. Those that tell him bad thoughts, whisper mean things. Maybe it will help him filter out the images. The blood. The suffering.

Frankie was never overly fond of the extreme commercialization of what should be a peaceful family holiday. But maybe this year he is,a little bit at least. Because those bright colors, the loud noises, the crowds, the ads assaulting you from every corner, that all will help drown out the dark. At least for a moment. 

“Alright lemme just get changed real quick.”

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Five days a week

“What the fuck is this?”

“It’s uh … it’s a … a game?”

“A game where you have to catch a piece of … poop.”

A wave of laughter tumbles from (Y/N)’s lips as Frankie holds up the brightly colored box, proudly displaying a drawing of a smiling turd. 

“It’s so dumb. And that says a lot coming from me, I can appreciate a good fart joke. But this is …. this is just dumb. “

“ It's what the kids these days want. I guess …”

“Would you buy this for Leo?”

“Absolutely not,” (Y/N) replies before taking the box from his hand and placing it back on the shelf between several more games of a similar kind. “But he wouldn’t like it anyway. Leo likes books and animals and fantasy movies. He’s so smart sometimes I wonder where he got it from.”

“You kidding me?” Frankie exclaims, “you’re so smart and if I remember correctly, you always carried around books when you were younger.”

(Y/N) just shrugs at his words though Frankie can’t make out a faint blush of red dusting her cheeks. “Leo is such an easy kid, always has been. Sometimes I wonder if that’s really the way he is or if he just tries to be that way because of me. Because he knows that I have to do all the parenting by myself and he feels he’s responsible for helping me along.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re doing good with him. Least you know what to get him for Christmas, what he cares about, what he’s interested in.”

His heart feels so heavy. His words seem to weigh down on his tongue like a stack of bricks. To admit your own failures to yourself is one thing, to admit them to someone else is quite another story.

“What do you mean ?”

“I — I have no idea what to get for Rosie. I don’t even know when I’ll see her next. She stays with her mom 5 days a week. I only get her on the weekends and even then her mom often finds a reason not to let her stay. Special occasions? I don’t get to spend those with her. Bet she doesn’t even recognize me anymore next time. She’s just a baby …”

This can’t be happening. He’s not going to start crying in the middle of a Toys R Us like a hyperactive toddler on a temper tantrum. Not in front of a beautiful girl who has been nothing but kind to him. This can’t be happening.

(Y/N)’s hand settles on his arm with a gentle touch. Almost as if she’s afraid he’ll break any minute now. And honestly, he might.

“Tell me about Rosie. I know she means the world to you and that’s all that matters Frankie. You’re trying. You’re trying so hard and I’m sure there’s lots about her that you know that no one else does. She’s your baby too. So tell me about her and we’ll figure out what to get her.”

And so they sit down on a swing set, one that’s definitely not meant for adults to sit on and have deep discussions, and Frankie starts talking. Once he starts it’s like a cork has been popped. It pours out of him, all of his pride and admiration and love for Rosie. All that has been brewing for so long now bubbles over. 

“... and she, she loves cuddling onto my chest and just listens to me. She doesn’t understand a word but she looks at me with her big beautiful eyes and it feels like I’m telling her all the biggest secrets of the universe the way she looks at me. Sometimes I sing and she — she falls asleep immediately.”

“That’s adorable.”

“Nah I think it's because my rendition of Eric Clapton is just real bad and boring.”

Their laughter is quiet, almost as if they are afraid of breaking the spell of this moment. Sometimes you find yourself at your most vulnerable during the big moments of your life and sometimes you do in the middle of a Toys R Us, sitting on a swingest that just barely holds your weight while a plastic giraffe looks over your shoulder and Kacey Musgrave’s rendition of “I’ll be home for Christmas” plays over the same overhead speakers that have been installed there in 1983.

“I just don’t want to disappoint her.”

 He’s already disappointing himself and that hurts bad enough.

“Frankie, let me be honest with you. She’s a baby, she’s not gonna care what you get for her. This is more about you than her. Whatever you get she’s gonna like it. Babies are easy to please, gets harder the older they get. We’ll find something cute for her but um … I think you should call her.”

“She’s a baby, she doesn’t have a phone yet.”

“ Really? I had Leo on a newborn data plan the second he popped out.”

Frankie raises his eyebrow in confusion.

“I was joking you dingus. Of course you’re gonna call her mom. There’s this thing, I don’t know if you’ve heard about it, it’s called FaceTime. You can actually see ther person on the other side. “ 

“ Very funny. I know what facetime is … “ 

“ Then call them. You said it yourself, the little one doesn’t understand a word of what you’re saying but that doesn’t matter. You’re there. You’re showing interest and taking initiative. It shows you care. And I think seeing her might be good for you too, even if it’s not in person.” 

“ You know, that sounds like a pretty good plan. “ 

“ Yeah? “ she asks him, a hopeful glimmer in her eyes, in her voice, in her entire being.

“ Yeah. “ 

“ Alright! Now let’s go find some presents for the little princess. May I suggest a cellphone? “ 

This time her laughter isn’t quite. It’s loud and radiant and the way her own joke amuses herself, is so goddamn endearing to Frankie. 

“ Ah shut up. “ he replies though his voice too is dipped in amusement as he throws his arm around her shoulders and they walk down the shiny linoleum floor, past dolls and teddy bears and Star Wars action figures.

And it feels right. Like the fit together perfectly. Like puzzle pieces slotting into place. 

And that feeling is damn scary.

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Six-hour flights.

The floor of (Y/N)’s living room is covered in wrapping paper. Reds and greens and silvers and golds hide what once was a nice dark cherry wood floor. There are bows and ribbons and gift tags in all shapes and sizes and colors. 

“ Looks like Santa’s workshop in here, “ Frankie exclaims as he drops down on the floor next to her. All the presents they’ve purchased, neatly lined up in front of them, ready to be wrapped. Though to be fair, Frankie is quite sure he’s not gonna do a lot of wrapping himself. Sometimes you gotta admit defeat. And he ain’t too proud to admit that he is a horrible, horrible wrapper. 

“ Yeah, I know I’m making a big fuss over things like this. Wrapping and the tree and stuff like that. I just — I don’t know it just makes me happy when I see that my actions put a smile on the faces of the people I love. “ 

“ Oh I wasn't judging. It’s sweet. “ 

For a while they stay in comfortable silence. Just them and the radio playing old Christmas songs. (Y/N)’s hands do quick work on the presents, Santa’s elves would be jealous. 

It’s the first time in a long time, that silence doesn’t make him feel uncomfortable. That it doesn’t open up the gates for the voices to grow louder and the bad images to consume his head. No, this silence feels comfortable. It’s soft and warm. It’s tinted in golds and reds. 

Maybe, he thinks, maybe seeking the company of someone who exudes joy and warmth does him good. Someone who knows him but not the bad. Never the bad. The faults, yes, the fears even, but not the blood that stains his hands or the vices he so desperately tries to fight.

“ What was the best Christmas present you ever got? “ (Y/N) speaks up as she glides a pair of scissors along the ribbon turning it into shiny curls. 

“ Millennium Falcon playset.” 

“ You and a million other little boys. “ 

“True. What can I say, I was easily pleased. What was yours ?”

(Y/N) thinks for a moment before a wistful smile settles on her face. 

“My bubblegum pink roller skates.”

“Oh, I remember those!”

And he did. Squeaky pink roller skates with 4 pastel blue wheels and glittery silver laces.

“I remember the following summer all you did was skate up and down the street.  “

“Yeeeah but that wasn’t entirely because of the skates.”

Frankie combs his hair from his face, he really needs to get it cut, and looks at her in confusion. “Huh?”

Another chuckle falls from (Y/N) ‘s lips. “I can’t believe you didn’t notice.”

“ Notice what?”

“That I had the biggest crush on you.”

Frankie is grateful for the fact that he’s not taking a sip of his drink right then, it surely would’ve ended in a spit-take. He was a nerdy kid, a nerdy teenager too. Kinda shy, a little lost. He wasn’t usually the boy that girls fancied.

“Me? You had a crush on me? “

It doesn’t make sense, not really. She was the one that was fascinating and exciting. Though he didn’t think of her that way when they were kids, he knew she was beautiful even back then. He hadn’t been interested in her romantically because she was a few years younger but that didn’t meanie didn’t realize the magic she held.

“Yes, you. You were cool, Frankie. You were older and you knew stuff about cars and planes and you could name every Star Wars spaceship and you had a skateboard. “

“I was a horrible skater.”

“Sure but it wasn’t so much about the skating as it was about the aesthetic. You were cool and you still are cool”

Frankie shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly. She thought he was cool, still does. No one ever thought he was cool. He isn’t a smooth talker like Pope and even he himself can admit that look wise he isn’t even playing in the same league as Will and Benny. But if (Y/N) thinks he’s cool that must mean something. Right ?

“You were the one traveling all over the world with your dad and you thought I was cool?”

She sets down the scissors, let’s her hands rest on her lap. There’s a sense of nervousness exuding from her now. Like the words she wants to speak are resting on the tip of her tongue and yet they are so difficult to speak.

“Maybe that was part of it too. I never had a real home. Nothing stable at least. Except for my grandparents’ house. This was home and you were, you are, forever entwined with my idea of home. Sometimes I missed this place so much that I’d sit in my room and my little brain would think of all the fun adventures we could go on if only I was old enough to hop on a 6 hour flight by myself. I’d ask grandma about you every time I called and she always told me what trouble you got into.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yeah and that only made you more exciting in my eyes. Then she’d offer to let me speak to you but I was too chicken shit to do it. Thought you might look right through my facade and realize how into you I was.”

“I was so oblivious, I can assure you I wouldn’t have noticed.”

“Well … it’s too late now.”

“I guess so. Just — next time you fall in love with me let me know, alright.”

Her laugh rings through the room like bells, like songs, like whispers of a childhood magic long forgotten.

“That only sounds fair. It’s a deal.”

“Good, now …. would you mind wrapping my gifts for Rosie?”

“Nope, but in return would you come see Leo’s play with me next week? My dad can’t come and I think Leo would like to have some more people there that support him. And he seems to think you’re cool so …”

“Huh guess if you both think so it must be true.”

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Of course I’ll come. “

She smiles and it sends a weird flicker through him. Like fire, like electricity. 

“ Now let me teach you how to curl the ribbon properly.”

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

compromise is made out of peace but history's made out of violence

Fandom: Kamen Rider Amazons Characters: Mizusawa Haruka, Izumi Nanaha, Takayama Jin / Chihiro, Nagase Hiroki / Mizusawa Mizuki, several orphanage children Song: "Sing Along," Sturgill Simpson (playlist here) Warnings: Well, this is Amazons fic, so if you've watched Amazons I'm sure you can guess, but--TW for references to cannibalism, although there is no actual violence. There is also, in the third part, a small amount of blood.

well i know you know that you’re killing me, but it’s worth it just to see you smile

.

The couch in Jin’s apartment is old and beat-up and not especiallycomfortable, but Nanaha’s draped one of her many shawls over it, and so it makes the entire room seem warm anyway. Haruka sits nearly at attention, nervous, hands half-folded on his knees, and says, again, “Thank you, Ms. Nanaha.”

She just flaps a hand at him from where she’s working in the kitchen. “It’s fine, I like to cook. And I figured having you over might keep Jin on his toes, he gets too full of himself.”

The entire apartment smells of food, rice in the cooker and vegetables and spices and sauces and chicken. Especially chicken. Haruka shuts his eyes and breathes the scent in, and it calms him so much that when he realizes how good he feels he’s shaken again. Did meat always smell so extraordinary? It was difficult to sit while she was cutting it up; he wanted to offer to help just so he could steal bites, eat it raw and feel the texture against his teeth…

He shakes himself, keeping his eyes shut, and Nanaha says, very calmly, “See, this is why I didn’t let you help. I can’t let Jin in the kitchen when I’m cooking at all.”

“I—” He flushes hot. “You can tell what I’m thinking about?”

“Not really, just an educated guess. Jin tilts his head the same way when he’s thinking about food.” Suppressed laughter audible in the back of her throat. “Among other things. Anyway, if you eat all the chicken raw then you won’t get to taste it when it’s cooked. You can help with dishes after, Jin’s terrible at that.”

He nods, eyes still shut against his own embarassment. “Yes, Ms. Nanaha.”

Another deep sniff, and it’s astonishing, how he can smell the meat in the pan, tracing the shifts in its flavor as it cooks and soaks in sauce. There’s another scent, too, underlying the cooking food, and he’s not sure what it is, but it’s intoxicating.

The floor creaks, the fridge door opening, and the strange scent moves too, and Haruka’s eyes snap open as he realizes that what he smells is Nanaha, and she smells like food.

He’s so hungry. And she’s right there. It would be so easy, she’s not even two meters away and just smelling her he can almost taste—

The apartment door opens, and a moment later Jin thumps down on the couch next to him and murmurs, cheerily, “Teeth off my girl.”

“I, I wasn’t, I don’t—”

“’course you do.” Jin slaps him on the back, almost friendly. “Who wouldn’t?”

“Don’t talk about eating me like I can’t hear you,” Nanaha says, not looking up from her cooking. “Dinner’s almost ready, anyway, you can control yourselves for two minutes.”

Haruka buries his face in his hands. “Does it ever stop, Jin? Are we always hungry?”

He can hear Jin grinning. “Always, always. It’s about self-control, Haruka. Secret is, when you get down to it, we’re all made out of meat. Me, her.” Hand on his shoulder, mouth next to his ear. “You. It’s all meat.”

Haruka shudders, and then shudders again as he realizes that he can still smell Nanaha, that she smells like she would be the best meal he’s ever had. And he can smell Jin too, different, gamey but good, and his mouth is watering.

The edge of a plate bumps his hand, and he looks up at Nanaha, who smiles down at him and says, “Here. Dinner. It’ll take the edge off.”

--

bitter air and the winds of spite

.

Chihiro has been sleeping on the floor of Hiroki’s bedroom for a week, ever since the day after he ran away from 4C, and he’s not sure he can stand it anymore.

It’s not the floor itself, the floor is fine. He’s got a few blankets. He’s got a pillow. The carpet is soft and not dirty, because as much as Hiroki tries to talk big and act rough he likes his things to be clean. The room is warm and full of life. But Hiroki is in bed, asleep, and the smell of him is overwhelming.

He tends to fall sleep on his stomach, vulnerable, the back of his neck exposed. One of his arms dangles over the edge of the bed, so close that Chihiro could reach out and grasp it. Breathing slow and even, pulse steady.

Chihiro drifts off with his mouth watering.

Later in the night he wakes, and the scent is still there, Hiroki in the bed so close by smelling like prey for the eating. Slow and sleepy, he sits up and says, “Hey, Hiroki?”

No answer but an unconscious sigh, and then Hiroki rolls over onto one side, facing the wall, his back entirely open. He’s slim, too, even in the dim light Chihiro can practically count his vertebrae, and in counting become lost in a dreamy imagining of what they might taste like when crushed between his teeth.

He's moving before he’s even really aware of it, like a sleepwalker, crawling the short distance from his nest of blankets to the edge of the bed. The closer he gets, the more the scent fills his nose until he’s certain he can taste it, the siren call of fresh meat making his mouth hang open. He leans forward and presses his face close to the back of Hiroki’s neck and breathes it in, drowsy and hungry, and oh, it would be so easy to taste, so easy to bite—

He’s scrambling backwards right as Hiroki wakes up with a startled snarl of, “What the fuck do you think you’re, Chihiro, what the fuck.”

Chihiro’s already hiding himself in his blankets again as he stammers out, “Sorry, I’m, I don’t, I mean, I think I was asleep, I think I was dreaming, I’m sorry.”

Hiroki stares at him for a long moment, looking affronted and alarmed, and then says, “Just stay off my bed and don’t be a fucking freak. Go back to sleep.”

Chihiro mumbles assent and pulls a blanket over his head. “I’m sorry,” he says again, even as he rolls the scent around his mouth, the memory of that pulse so close to his teeth, and tries to pretend that his stomach isn’t growling.

---

after the war of the words has ceased all that’s left is the deafening silence

.

The staff of the orphanage was always minimal, and with the death of the principal the others all fled, leaving Mizuki to handle everything. Her mother has somehow managed to transfer the orphanage accounts to her, so managing things isn’t especially difficult. They’re mostly self-sufficient, anyway; most of what the children eat, they grow themselves, and they’re all learning to cook together.

Tonight they’re making rice bowls. The rice is already cooking, of course. Two of the older girls are cutting up vegetables, a younger boy is mixing a sauce, and Mizuki is cutting tofu. The tofu is homemade too; she’s been consistently surprised and delighted by how good it is. She was mostly a vegetarian already before coming here, for reasons that she doesn’t ever plan on explaining to anyone here, but the food they make together has made it a pleasure.

The girls are singing a song together, cheerful and bright, and as Mizuki looks up to ask if they can teach her the words, her knife slips and opens a red gash along one finger. She yelps, dropping the knife and grabbing for a square of paper towel to keep from bleeding on the tofu.

The kitchen has gone still.

The girls are staring at the bloody knife, now on the floor next to Mizuki’s feet. The boy, Kuhi, is frozen with his whisk in the sauce, gaze fixed on her cut finger. Mizuki stares back at them, blood soaking into the paper towel, and for a moment.

For a moment.

She feels hunted.

And then the children all visibly shake themselves and she fights the feeling back and says, “Kuhi, could you go get the kitchen first aid kit, please? Natsu, please find me another knife, I’ll get this one into the sink but I don’t want to use it on the food anymore until it’s been thoroughly cleaned. Shina, I’d appreciate it if you’d check to make sure none of the tofu got blood on it, we should throw away any that’s gotten contaminated.”

They all nod, and Kuhi runs to the corner of the kitchen where the first aid kit is stored while Mizuki gets her knife into the sink and washes her hands. It’s not a bad cut when it’s cleaned, it was just the location making it look nasty.

Kuhi bumps her elbow with his head when he comes back, affectionately, and says, “Do you need me to help you bandage it?”

She nods. “That’d be very helpful, Kuhi, thank you.”

The tension doesn’t come back into the room, even when he’s wrapping gauze around her finger and taping it closed. Smiling, she reaches out and brushes hair from his face with her uninjured hand. “Thank you very much, Kuhi. I appreciate your help.”

He nods, smiling brightly at her. “Of course, Miss Mizuki.” The end of the tape goes neatly into place. “We love you.”

“I know.” She hugs him, watching Shina hesitate over the trash can before she throws away the few cubes of bloodied tofu. “I love you all too.”

[obsidianfr3sk]

The puppet of the sad eyes

Hi! I haven’t posted a one short in a really long time, have I? Jaskdbsj well, um... I had promised this fic to my mom @healing-winston-pratt a while ago, and since yesterday everyone was talking about Winston, I said to myself “this is a good moment to post the fic, Obsi”. So... here I am:’) 

Gosh, I feel akward. I swear I am not like this xjhksfdhds (who am I kiding, I’m just as akward as I seem) (reference not intended) It’s just that... like, there are another characters in the Renegades trilogy that hit me too close home, but Winston just hits me in a place that no other character has done before, and I wanted to write a little bit about him. I mean... not gonna lie, it’s a sad fic. But it has a happy ending! Angst-Fluff as they say in my village (? 

Two quick notes: First, trigger warning for mentions of sexual abuse. It’s nothing explicit, it’s just mentioned, but anyways, I want to warn that if anyone feels uncortable reading it, don’t worry, keep scrolling. Second, I tried to tag everyone who reblogged the post made by @chikuyi-hiro (fuck, I can’t tag them), the one where we all claimed to be part of the Winston Pratt defense squad (? I’m sorry if you didn’t want to be tagged sjkdfhskjddsj Also, um... tell me if you would like to be tagged in future works of mine. If everything works out, I will be posting two one-shorts this week (one halloween themed and the other will be my contribution to Osby October) so... if you want to see them or other fics like that, I can tag you:’) 

Well, Obsi, let them start reading, for fuck’s sake.

*le da el dibujito que hizo en el kinder* Hope you like it mom:’)

A03 link

Tag list: @nodrianbcyes @dawniebb  @alecjamesartino @everyone-has-a-nightmare @plain-jane-mclain @honey-harper-official @itsalittlebitchilly @novas-egg-beater @sanktaleksander and all the “Winston Pratt Defense Squad” (?

From the first day she appeared in his life, Winston realized that Nova gave him the creeps. He first thought it was because she was Ace Anarchy's niece, but no.

What gave him the creeps was that Nova didn’t sleep.

Leroy had told him not to comment on it. Winston didn't know if it was because he thought he was going to hurt the girl's feelings or if it was because he didn't want Ace to listen to him and take it as a personal insult. Winston didn't care either way, because it wasn't like he was going to shout it from the rooftops.

It was just an observation.

Nova gave him the creeps.

Maybe it was because sleeping was the best part of the day for him. He could disappear for a few hours into a deep, dark void. Get rid of any emotion he was feeling. No one was going to be able to hurt him, and if they did, he would never know.

Because when Winston slept, it was as if he didn't exist. It wasn’t like he could do it very often anyway.

Not only because now they had to live in a filthy, smelly tunnel. It was also because Winston hadn’t slept well for a long time.

He was lying on a piss-smelling mat Leroy had found in the trash. “If you don't want it, you're more than welcome to sleep on the floor,” he told him when Winston dared to mention that thing reeked.

Winston didn't want to sleep on the floor. If Honey could sleep on pissed mats, so could he.

His back itched.

The mat not only had piss on it, but apparently, it also had fleas. How nice.

He began to scratch his back, feeling like a freaking orangutan. Hettie looked at him critically, dozing from the little wooden bed he had so lovingly made for him.

“What are you looking at, bitch?” he asked.

Hettie crossed his arms and shook his head. In the cathedral, we wouldn’t be like this.

He kept scratching himself. “Sorry to call you bitch,” he mumbled. “You put me in a bad mood.”

I don't like you looking at me. I don't like you to analyze my every move. I don't like you watching me when I'm changing. I do not like you.

Then someone opened the door without knocking. Winston was about to shout “INGRID, GET OUT OF MY TENT” when he realized it was not Ingrid.

It was Nova.

Winston froze with his hand on his back. “Um... can I help you?”

It might be the first time he'd spoken to her directly, after that awkward moment during her second day at the cathedral, when Winston had tried to make conversation with her, and Ace had told him to stay away from Nova.

“I don't want you to do the same to her,” he had told him sternly.

Winston clenched his fists and clasped them against his chest.

It would never have occurred to him to use his powers on her.

But it seemed that Nova had taken to heart not speaking to Winston because indeed she did not speak to him the entire time they were in the cathedral. Before the Day of Triumph.

(What a stupid name for a day by the way.)

“Can I borrow a toy?” she asked in a small voice.

A toy. Nova wanted a toy.

“Ah. Yes, yes, yes…” Winston said, pulling the covers off (which also smelled like piss). “I… I have a lot of toys. Look.”

And he went to the second tent. Winston had to cower slightly to be able to move around there. Honey was always nagging him for his bad posture and he always told her it was the tent’s fault.

The last time that had happened, they were eating frozen pizza in a corner they had assigned for those kinds of times when they sat down together to gobble up leftovers.

“You can't blame inanimate objects for the rest of your life,” Honey exclaimed, losing her temper (for the eighth time that day).

At that moment, Winston felt his blood run cold. For the first time in his entire stay with the Anarchists, he wondered if they knew.

Do you see the marks of his hands on my body? Do you see me tremble at the slightest touch?

Do you see me behind the makeup?

The fear left as fast as it came. Ingrid threw a napkin at him and asked him (very unkindly) to pass her another slice, and Leroy pointed out to Honey that all objects were inanimate.

No one had noticed.

What a relief.

Watch me try it, Honey. Watch me try.

In that other tent, Winston had a pink toy kitchen. He had found it a couple of weeks ago in a garbage dump, and he had brought it to the tunnels by himself, despite complaints from his fellow anarchists. He was left speechless when he realized it was full of toy food and even a couple of blue plates and blue teacups. He spent the entire afternoon organizing his new kitchen, and he was not put off by Ingrid's constant teasing.

He had loved it. And he was sure Nova was going to love it too.

“Look,” he said, “I have everything here—” he lifted a light orange basket “—This is the little basket where I put the fruits, and this—” he pointed to a green basket “—it is the one with the vegetables. I even have a mini pumpkin, it's very cute.” He opened a compartment below the sink. “Here are the non-perishable items. Do you know what non-perishable means? It's... Look, I have a can of sardines. It's fake, of course. Do not try to open it, it’d break. Oh, also in the oven—” he opened the oven door “—I have some cookies, an apple pie, some croissants… it’s that how is pronounced?  Croissants . I don’t know, do you know? Is Artino a French or Italian surname?” Nova didn't reply. Had he offended her?  Shit . “Nova?”

He turned and realized that Nova hadn't followed him. He hurried back to the first tent and found Nova very comfortable sitting on the floor, playing with Hettie.

The puppet looked at her with demonic eyes.

No. Not her.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Winston yelled. “He's mine!” With one hand he snatched Hettie from her and with the other he squeezed the toy croissant. Nova was startled. “Don't touch him again! DO NOT PUT YOUR LITTLE HANDS ON HIM AGAIN, NOVA, OR I DO NOT RESPOND! DID YOU HEAR ME?!”

Nova started pouting, and with that, Winston snapped back to reality.

He looked at Hettie, lazily dangling in his right hand, looking up at him with a smile. His little eyes weren't demonic.

They were sad. Like Nova’s were at that moment.

He was saying , “Why don't you let me play with other kids, Winston? You never play with me anymore.”

I never played with you. Not since he did.

“Sorry...” he mumbled to Nova while putting the croissant in his pocket. “Damn, I'm sorry. Don't tell your uncle I yelled at you, please.”

Nova frowned a little. She looked more embarrassed than upset. “I just wanted to see it. He’s nice.”

Do you think so?

“Yes, but ... he was asleep,” he excused himself, putting Hettie back on his bed. “He doesn't like it when people wake him up. But I see that for you that is not a problem, huh?”

Nova lowered her head. “Sorry…”

“Nah. Do not worry. We are fine. Are we fine?”

Nova nodded quickly. The good thing was she wasn't going to tell her uncle. Ace would kill him if he found out.

It wasn't like Winston cared much if he died or not though. It was just that he didn't want Ace to kill him. It would be a bit embarrassing considering his current condition.

“Would you like to see a puppet show?” Winston asked her.

“Puppets?” She turned to see the wooden bed. “Puppets like him?”

“His name is Hettie.”

“Hettie,” Nova repeated.

Winston found it adorable.

“No, other types of puppets,” he replied. “Puppets I make with this—” he waved his hands in front of her face “—with my little hands.”

Nova wrinkled her nose and gently pushed his hands away, letting out a loud, joyous laugh.

It was the first time she seemed happy since the first day he saw her. How nice it was to hear a child laugh.

Children generally yelled when they were near him.

“I do,” Nova replied enthusiastically. “How will you do it?”

Winston settled down beside her. “Okay, we'll need a flashlight first… do you have a flashlight?”

Nova thought for a few moments. “Yes!”

"Well, go for it!" he exclaimed pointing into the distance as if he were a pirate. "Run, Novie, run!"

And Nova laughed again.

Her laughter echoed through the tunnels and in Winston's head.

He stared at Hettie, listening to Nova's feet pacing through the tunnel in search of the flashlight she mentioned. At one point, Leroy's voice interrupted the sound of her footsteps and asked her what she was doing (in a slightly gentler tone than he used to address the rest of the world) ( very  slightly gentler tone). Nova replied that Winston was going to do a puppet show for her.

“How?” Leroy asked.

Winston rolled his eyes.  How else, Leroy?

“With my little hands,” Winston whispered to himself.

And Nova responded as if she had heard him.

“With his little hands!”

It was such a large flashlight that Nova had to carry it with both hands. Winston moved quickly to take it, but she drew back as if assuring him that she could carry it by herself.

These modern women.

Nova pressed the power button. It did not turn on. She hit the lantern a few times until finally, a yellowish light illuminated the tent like a torch. Winston blinked many times to get used to the sudden change of light.

“You’d be a great engineer,” he stammered. Nova looked at him as if she didn't understand. “Forget it. Aim it over… there,” and pointed to the area of the tent that had a wall behind it.

She obeyed. Winston crawled closer to the stage and wiped the sweat and dirt from his hands on the patched pants he wore.

That sounded so stupid. Stage. It wasn’t like he was going to act or something.

He shot Nova a look. She was expectant.

And smiling. Truly smiling.

That made Winston smile too.

He made the first shadow. “What animal is this?” he asked.

“A moose!”

Another giggle.

Another shadow. “And this one?”

“An elephant!”

“Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner, ladies and gentlemen! And that was a difficult one!”

More giggles. More shadows. “For two hundred dollars more, Novie Artino, what is this animal?”

“It is easy!” she assured. “A goat!”

“Geez! You’re wrong!” Winston exclaimed. “It is not a goat! It's... Cyanide! Because he’s old and stubborn!”

He thought Nova wouldn't laugh. Cyanide was her favorite anarchist, and he knew it. However, that was the shadow that made her laugh the most. And the truth was Winston laughed even more.

“And wait, there’s more!” Winston went on. “Guess this one!”

Nova had a hand on her chin. “It's... it's a spider!”

“No! It's Phobia!”

“Because he’s ugly!” Nova laughed.

“He’s ugly indeed!”  What other shadow? What other shadow?  “And what about this one?”

“A duck!”

“What duck!” Winston laughed. “It's a swan!”

“It's Honey!” she screeched, pointing at the shadow with her finger.

“The one and only, Novie, the one and only!”

One more. A dog.

Nova immediately knew the answer. “Ingrid!”

“YES! BECAUSE SHE’S A TOTAL BITCH!”

At this point, both were laughing so hard they were almost out of breath.

If Leroy or any of the others had listened (which they surely had), Winston wouldn't mind at all if they got mad at him and ignored him for the rest of the week. They could pretend he didn't exist for the rest of his life and he wouldn't care. Seeing Nova happy made it all worth it.

Winston was happy too.

Nova wiped a small tear from her eye and looked at Hettie fondly. “Do you know what my mom did when I went to sleep?” she asked.

“What did she do?”

“She read me stories,” Nova replied. “She said that pretty stories would scare the nightmares away.”

Winston nodded. Probably someone had read stories to him when he was little, he just didn’t remember.

“Could you tell Hettie a story?” Nova begged. “Shadow puppets and everything. That way, he would have pretty dreams.”

Hettie? Dreams? Hettie couldn’t dream. And neither did Winston.

But he didn't want to ruin the mood.

“Of course.” He wiped the sweat on his pants. Again. “Let's see… Pay attention, Hettie. Your prettiest dream is about to start.”

He cleared his throat.

Pay attention, Hettie. Your worst nightmare is about to start.

“Once upon a time there was a rabbit,” Winston said, “that lived in the Land of Rabbits.” A rabbit shadow emerged from the corner of the stage. “The Land of Rabbits was… not a good place to live. There were eagles in the sky—” the eagle replaced the rabbit for a second “—that watched the rabbits, waiting for the first chance they got to eat them. So the rabbits had to hide in their tunnels.”

Nova stifled a comical gasp of astonishment.

“But there was this rabbit—”

“What was the rabbit’s name?”

Winston couldn't come up with a better name. “Hettie.”

Nova nodded in approval. “Did you hear, Hettie?” she asked the puppet. “You and the rabbit have the same name.”

You. You. It’s always you.

Everything always ends up being about you.

Fucking Hettie.

“Yeah, so Hettie was there. Being a rabbit.” Hettie Rabbit jumped happily throughout the light.

“He lived with Mama Rabbit and Papa Rabbit. They were the Rabbit family.”

“You say ‘rabbit’ a lot.”

Winston laughed, a little more tense than before.

Rabbit. Rabbit. Rabbit. Rabbit. Rabbit.

Hettie.

Fucking Hettie.

“But one day, Mama Rabbit and Papa Rabbit had to leave Hettie alone,” Winston continued. “And they left him with their friend…”

Hettie Rabbit became a hungry, violent, and heavy-breathing creature.

It became him .

“Their friend the wolf.”

Him. The wolf. The wolf. Him.

Hettie.

Winston sighed.  Fucking Hettie.

“So… so…”

So. So. So. So what happened?

Nova turned her head slightly. She had the same question.

Winston knew the Rabbit was a fucking idiot. What else happened to rabbits that entered the wolf's mouth? No one told that rabbit to go in there. But that rabbit had no other choice. He had nowhere else to go.

Or maybe he did have another place to go. If only he had been smarter…

“Um… Hey…”

If Hettie had been smarter, he would have warned Winston that when the wolves got too close, nothing good was going to happen to the rabbits.

But Hettie was a jerk.

Hettie. Hettie. Fucking Hettie.

“Winston!”

Her voice was like a needle that broke the bubble that enveloped him for a second.

“Novie?”

“What happened to Hettie?” she asked.

The mere question made his blood boil.

More shadows. The wolf, hungry and dangerous, on top of the rabbit, terrified and defenseless.

Nova was no longer smiling.

“Well, what happens to all rabbits,” he replied. “The wolf ate him. The end.”

The flashlight gave up and went off again.

Finally.

Winston turned to Nova. He didn't expect her to be happy. Winston certainly wasn't.

But he didn't expect to see her furious either.

“What a shitty story,” she spat.

“Excuse you?”

Nova stood up abruptly. Her turquoise pants were as dirty as his. “I said it was a shitty story. It isn’t like my mom’s stories.” She crossed her arms. “Do it again.”

“I won’t. I'm not going to tell another story,” Winston replied, standing up as well. “This is how it ends.” He walked over to her and put his finger on her chest. “El fin. The end. The end of all endings.”

“No!” Nova yelled as she clenched her fists and slammed her foot against the ground. “That is not the end!”

“I don’t care! It's my end!” Winston exclaimed imitating her. “Just like Hettie is my puppet! And I won't let you play with him!”

Nova's cheeks puffed out like a balloon. “Well, I'll play with him anyway!” she yelled, yanking Hettie off his bed. “You don't play with him! He feels alone! He told me!”

Winston tried to grab Hettie, but Nova pushed him away just in time.

It was a six-year-old girl versus a nineteen-year-old teenager. He could just kick her in the face and run.

But for some reason, he didn't do that. “Idiot!” he said taking Hettie’s arm. “Puppets don't talk!”

He tried to snatch it from her a second time. Nova grabbed his leg. “They talk to me!”

“It’s not true!” Winston insisted. “Liar! Liar, liar, pants on fire!”

Nova struggled too. “Your pants are on fire! You’re the liar!”

Hettie sided with Nova. You know that this is a very serious accusation, right? Why are you making up that kind of thing? Why are you lying to us, Winston?

Winston Pratt was many things. But he was not a liar.

He would never lie about that.

Why don’t you believe me? Why do you think I’m lying? I don’t want to make you suffer. Why would I want that? Only villains want to make people suffer.

Why would I be a villain?

Why would I be a liar?

He pulled Hettie toward him so hard, he ended up bringing Nova with him. She slammed into his chest and gave a slight groan.

Winston, not quite sure what he was doing, hugged her. He hugged her as he would have liked to be hugged.

When he told his parents the truth of his nightmares, his sleepless nights, and his constant fear, instead of covering him with kisses, hugs, and words of affection, they had called him a liar. Just like he had just called Nova.

He would never lie to them. Not about that.

Winston thought she would run away. He thought that she would also be terrified of any display of physical contact.

But Nova didn't. Nova hugged him too.

And Winston… Winston burst into tears.

Hysterically.

“Why are you crying?” Nova asked, worried.

“No, it's just... it's just...” he said between sobs. “It's just that I'm so sorry I made you angry.”

“I was not angry,” Nova corrected slightly defensively. “I panicked.”

That made him let out another sob. “Did I scared you?”

Nova clung to him tighter. “Yes. Your eyes changed.”

Winston sniffed with her purple jacket. “How?”

“They were... angry,” Nova explained. “Not sad. They didn't look like Hettie's.”

Winston separated from Nova. Hettie was crushed between the two of them. Despite the fight, he had remained intact.

Seeing him was like looking in a mirror.

Winston was not the puppeteer. He was a puppet.

It was Hettie’s fault. Winston’s fault.

Nova was looking at Hettie as well. She took him in her hands and caressed the buttons of the little suit with affection. Winston put his arm around Nova and gently shook her. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry,” Nova replied. “I won’t tell my uncle.”

Winston tried to laugh, but all that came out of his mouth was another sob. “Thank you for your kindness.”

Nova turned to see him. “Don’t cry. Stop it,” she ordered sternly.

He stopped crying. It was like… magic. 

You have balls, Novie. You have balls.

Her expression changed from annoyed to astonished. “Your makeup isn’t ruined.”

Winston stroked his cheek thoughtfully. “It’s… it’s not makeup.”

Nova reached out her hand and caressed it as well. “It's your face,” she whispered.

“It's my face,” he repeated.

She sat on his outstretched leg, looked away from him, and didn't let go of Hettie.

“Did the wolf really eat the rabbit?” she asked.

You and your damn rabbit.

“Really, really,” he replied.

Nova frowned sadly. “Poor little thing…”

“Poor little thing?” Winston snorted. “He deserved it.”

“Why?” Nova asked, very confused.

Why not? Why wouldn't he deserve it?

“Because… he shouldn’t be hanging out with wolves.”

And Nova turned to see him as if he had said the greatest nonsense in the world. She crossed her arms again, and very confident of herself, she said, “But the wolf shouldn’t be eating rabbits in the first place.”

Winston raised his eyebrows.

She was not an idiot.

But that was not how the world worked.

Nova returned her attention to Hettie.

Seeing her there, sitting on top of him, so helpless and confident, made him realize that he couldn't let something bad happen to her.

Not like others had let it happen to him.

“Nova,” he called her. Nova raised her gaze from the puppet. “If you ... if you ever meet a wolf, you have to tell me.”

“There are no wolves in the city,” she chuckled. “But if I do, I'll tell you.”

Winston chuckled too. “No, I mean... a wolf is not just an animal,” he explained. He scratched his back. He fucking hated bugs, really. “A wolf can be anyone who makes you feel bad. Has someone ever made you feel bad?”

Nova had to stop to think about it. Winston felt his heart beat faster.

Finally, she replied, “Honey once told me that I had a terrible accent and she couldn’t understand a word I was saying.”

He sighed in relief. Winston didn't know how he would have reacted if Nova...

If the same had happened to Nova.

“Okay, that's Honey being Honey,” he assured. “I mean... if someone... you know.”

Nova wrinkled her nose. Of course, she didn't know.

It was good that she didn't know, right? Or was it bad?

“Look, for example... We hugged a while ago, right?”

“Yes.”

“And I have my arm on your shoulder—” he raised his arm slightly. “—And you touched my cheek—” he held her fingers “—and right now you're sitting on my leg.”

He moved his leg in such a way that it made Nova jump slightly. “Yes,” she replied with a laugh.

“And is that okay with you?”

Nova nodded.

“I am glad. But if someone ever touches you or puts you in a situation where you are afraid, feel bad, or do not understand... run away. And you tell me, or your uncle, or Leroy, Honey… heck, even tell Phobia or Ingrid. But tell someone.” He put his hands on her shoulders, hoping the despair didn't show in his high-pitched voice. “Don't be like the rabbit.”

Don't be like me.

“But the rabbit didn't know about the wolf.” She stroked Hettie's cheek the way she stroked Winston's a couple of minutes ago. “It wasn't Hettie's fault.”

It was useless. It didn't matter how many times Nova repeated it to him.

Winston knew it was his fault.

But he also didn't want to argue about it anymore. Now he didn't matter. Nova was the only thing that mattered.

Nova was everything.

“Nova. Please, Nova, do you swear you will tell someone if you find a wolf?”

Do you swear you will never be like me?

“My Uncle Ace says swearing is terribly wicked.”

He squeezed her shoulders lightly.

Ace could go fuck himself.

Winston wanted to be certain that she was going to be safe, that she knew what she had to know.

Nova had to know if something bad happened to her...

Winston couldn't speak for the other anarchists. He wanted to believe they would do the right thing, but people kept surprising him in the worst ways. But Winston needed Nova to confirm that she knew that if something bad happened to her, he was going to believe her with the same intensity that others had not believed him.

One thing they had in common was that neither of them was a liar.

“If you swear it to me, I'll let you play with Hettie.”

Her face lit up. “Seriously?”

“Seriously, seriously.”

Nova giggled. “I swear.”

Winston offered his fist and Nova bumped into it.

He was silent, but his mind was racing.

It didn't matter what happened in the future. Winston was going to believe Nova. Forever. Because Nova wasn't going to be like him. And he wasn't going to be like the people who hurt him, either.

“Do you want to play with Hettie?” he whispered to her.

Nova stared at Hettie for a few more seconds. She smiled at him and returned him to his bed with the delicacy that only a girl her age could have. “No. He is already asleep. Tomorrow will be another day.”

And before Winston could respond, Nova squeezed his hand in such a way that she inadvertently pushed him into the void.

Winston fell asleep.

He slept better than he had in a long time.

[justjessame]

Starting Over Chapter 12

“Brooke?”  I shook my head when I heard Connie’s voice on the other end, the sounds of cartoons playing in the background told me she was home.  “Are you alright?”  The worry in her voice made me feel guilty for not calling more often, or checking in at least.  

“I’m fine, worrywart.”  I settled into my spot on the couch, smiling as I caught a whiff of Bucky’s scent.  “I -”  I took a deep breath and bit my lip.  “I’m sorry I haven’t -”

Connie shushed me.  “Stop,” I closed my mouth, worried that she was going to tell me that she didn’t have time for fairweather friends and that she had a family to take care of now.  “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Brooke.”  It felt like my heart restarted.  “I can’t imagine how you must have felt coming back.”  I heard a rustling in the background and then the noise that had sounded like cartoons went away and it got quiet.  “Sorry about that, Bryn wanted to watch Tangled again.”

I smiled, my goddaughter, or she would have been if I’d been here to do the honors was three years old.  “Tangled is a good one.”  I was happy that Connie was willing to talk to me, that she was willing to make time, even if I’d pushed her away.  “Is that her favorite?”  

Connie laughed and I was happy to hear that it was as familiar to me as my own.  “She likes all of the princesses.  Joey is thinking we’re going to have to push up the trip to Disney by a year.”  I was grinning at the thought of Joey Amoruso playing girl daddy through the Magic Kingdom.  “Don’t worry, I made sure she got to see Beauty and the Beast, too.”  That got a laugh out of me.

“I can’t help loving Belle,” I argued, and listened to her snort.  “How’s your mom?”  Connie worked at her mom’s beauty salon, she’d started as soon as she was tall enough to reach around a customer’s head into the sink to wash their hair and after high school didn’t blink about going straight into cosmetology school.  

“You know Mertle,” her mom’s name was Ismerelda, but some hard of hearing old lady had misheard it once and called her ‘Mertle’ to our forever hilarity.  I laughed.  “She makes me do Mrs. McGillicutty’s hair now, every damn week, just because she got tired of doing the same style over and over.”  I remembered Mrs. McGillicutty, she was a sweet lady, but a little dotty.  “Today was my half day, Bryn’s preschool runs a half day every other day.”

“Who keeps her on the off days?”  I got up to grab a drink and listened as Connie told me all about the nightmares of finding childcare, even with an extended family like hers.  Falling back into the type of conversation that two friends have, if one had gone away for a while.  I grabbed a glass of water and my eyes landed on the flowers that Bucky brought me, a smile finding its home on my lips again, I sat down at the table and talked to Connie while I pulled the vase closer and played with the petals.  

Before we said our goodbyes, a good hour and a half after we’d started talking, Connie finally asked the question that I knew she had to have been burning with since she saw my name appear on her phone screen.  

“Not that I don’t LOVE hearing from you, Brooke, but what brought this on?  Why now?”  I’d wandered back to the living room, curling into the chair that Bucky sat in, letting the residual scent of him cradle me.  

“I met someone,” she squealed, causing a tiny mimic to happen from the background and I chuckled.  Good God, she had a mini me.  “You’d know him, actually -” I bit my lip.  “EVERYONE knows him or knows of him.”  I squinted, shit, should I tell anyone?  

“Tell me EVERYTHING.”  But then I heard a male voice, Joey her husband.  “Shit, the conquering man returns.”  I snorted.  “You are NOT off the hook, Brooke.  I expect details and a NAME.”  I promised she’d get both and then we said goodnight.  

I’d missed a text while I was on with Connie.  Another attempt at a selfie, this time it had part of another person that I found out was supposed to be Sam when I read the accompanying text message.  “See UR cuter.”  I was grinning, but the next message made me sigh.  “Stuck w/ Sam. :(“ 

Sad face emoji indeed, I thought.  Contemplating what type of reply I could send to a 106 year old without pushing him away or over a cliff, I went back to the kitchen where his flowers were still holding tight.  Thinking about how creative I felt like getting, I found the largest bloom, went to the bathroom and brushed out my hair. I tried to remember what the women from Bucky’s younger days might have done to look tempting.  Dramatic eye, red lip, then putting the flower behind my ear I hoped like hell that I didn’t look completely ridiculous before clicking off a shot and sending it.  

“Too bad. Sam’s a lucky guy. :*”  

I was washing off my work and thinking about reheating some more leftovers for dinner when my phone chirped.  Glancing down I was left smiling by his answer.

“No, I am.”  

Dinner, a shower, then bed.  Well, after a LONG staring contest in the mirror where I did my own personal pre-bedtime mantra.  It was rote, and I did it with the same vigor that I’d done it with every other time.  And I was just as certain that it would work as well.  

Without Bucky, I had my bed remade and I was settled back on my pillows.  The soft blue glow of the television had been a nice addition, so I flipped it on.  Turning the volume down so it was the same murmur that was soft enough to not keep me awake, I hoped it would work as a surrogate for the anchor that Bucky’s presence seemed to be.

The flashes came red, blue, unnameable colors. The feelings of pain and suffering, darkness and terror creeping closer and trying to pull me back.  I still couldn’t see what caused it, where the pain came from, what was so terrifying that I felt trapped by it.  What or who was trying to drag me back to wherever I’d been was still as unknown as it had been when Thanos snapped his gold encased fingers and after the Blip the answers were still unavailable.  I didn’t feel as pinned down or as in danger or being yanked away from home, so I was still tethered to reality.  I just had to wait through it, to survive the feelings that I couldn’t figure out, until the flashes of colors came to let me know the end was coming and I was waking up - coming home again.

I woke to a text from Connie.  

“It’s McGillcutty’s day. Come visit me. PLEASE.”  I shook my head at the plea, but it wasn’t like I had plans or a job to get to.  I hoped she knew I wasn’t planning on spilling ALL while she was cutting hair and styling the neighborhood ladies, because I hadn’t been gone so long that I’d forgotten how fast gossip travelled.  

“Fine.” I hit send.  I got ready and grabbed some toast and a bottle of water.  My bag with a book, my earbuds and a charger for my phone, just in case, and I was out the door and heading to Connie’s mom’s salon.  

I was at the salon by the time both slices of my toast were finished and most of my water was gone.  Tossing the napkin I’d wrapped my breakfast in in the trash when I walked in, I almost missed the hush that fell over the entire room when I entered.  Almost.  Shit.  Standing up I realized that all eyes were on me.  Great.

“Brooke!” Connie beckoned to me from her station at the back of the shop, one she’d picked out when she was still washing hair.  “Put your eyes back in your heads,” she rolled her eyes.  “It’s JUST Brooke.”  I shook my head, only Connie would try to brush off the fact that I just walked into the neighborhood hen coop after steering clear of it for a full six months, and I looked five years younger than I SHOULD.  

Her mom grinned at me and called out a “looking good, Brookie” as I passed, getting a little red added to my cheeks, but aside from that Connie had shamed most of the clucking hens into at least pretending that they weren’t amazed by the very sight of me.  I made it to Connie’s station and found that she’d prepared for my visit by grabbing one of the waiting area chairs and brought it back so I wasn’t stuck leaning against the wall or counter.

Plopping down, I watched as she went about styling Mrs. McGillicutty’s hair.  After I’d said a polite hello to the elderly woman, of course.  It was almost mesmerizing, watching Connie wrap each curler with the blue washed thinning hair of the bird thin woman.  And as she wrapped she talked.  

“You remember how Tawny and Sam were planning on getting married the year after we did, right?”  I told her I did, and she snorted.  “Yeah, that went south so quick.”  I heard Margaret Andrews pipe up from two chairs down that it wasn’t all that surprising.  

“They were on again and off again so much growing up, I’m surprised either of their mamas let them make that much of a plan.” She offered up.  I bit my lip, the hen house was raring to go.  

Connie’s eyes met mine and I could see them sparkling with mirth.  And we were off, the mission seemed to be to get me back in the swing of things and she’d brought the troops.

I got another ‘selfie’ in the middle of my visit with Connie and I glanced at it and bit my lip.  It was marginally better.  Bucky was at least visible and discernible this time.  I couldn’t tell where he was, but the message wasn’t optimistic about my odds of seeing him soon.  

“Baltimore w/Sam.”

A sigh escaped and Connie glanced up from where she was cutting Kelly Taggert’s hair.  Since Kelly was someone who wasn’t exactly in our sphere prior to leaving school, much less before the Snap, Connie held her curiosity at bay.  Too bad Kelly didn’t get the memo.

“Bad news, Brookie?”  I glanced up, thinking about reminding Kelly that very few people had the privilege to call me that, and she most definitely wasn’t one of them, but held back.  This was Connie’s place of business after all.  

“Not really.  Just spam.”  Fuck it, why give her any grist for the mill?  Connie could smell my bull from a mile away, but Kelly didn’t know me from Adam.  

“I hate that, there should be a way to input a block for those automatically -” and she was off.  I grinned at my phone as I typed a reply to Bucky. 

A selfie was out of the question, not with this crowd.  “I’m socializing. Willingly.”  

Kelly was still telling everyone, because her voice could pound a nail into a wall it was so fucking loud and annoying, all her ideas for dealing with spam texts, emails, telemarketing calls and on and on.  I almost felt bad about setting her loose.  Until my phone chirped and I got another selfie from Bucky looking shocked in answer to my text.  

Tucking my phone away, I set back and let Kelly rant until Connie finished her hair.  

I stayed until closing and it wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it would be.  Connie told me that her sister-in-law was keeping Bryn after preschool, and we had some time to just relax and chat.  I had a feeling she made those specific plans after we talked on the phone, she was just that freaking curious.  

She grabbed two cans of soda from the breakroom and plopped into the swivel seat her customers usually sat in while she played fairy hair godmother.   “Spill.”  I rolled my eyes as I cracked open my can.  

“You only invited me to hang out today to ply me for information about my personal life, didn’t you?”  I squinted over the top of the can as I took my first drink.  She grinned and nodded, not the least bit shamed.  Swallowing, I dramatically sighed.  “Fine.” I couldn’t stop the smile that started growing at the thought of Bucky.  “Do you remember when Mom and Dad took us to the Smithsonian?”  

She was staring at me like I was crazy and didn’t know where I was going to go with the trip down memory lane, but she nodded as she opened her own drink.  “Yeah, we were like ten.”  

I bit my lip.  “We were,” it had been a fun trip, just Connie, me and my parents.  For Connie who had siblings and me as an only child - we both had a blast.  “We went to the Captain America exhibit.” 

“God we went to ALL of the exhibits it felt like, your dad was gaga over the Air and Space one -” she stopped, suddenly HEARING what I said.  “Wait, the -”  Her eyes met mine and went wide.  “NO.”  

“I bumped into him,” my hand went to my chest, still a little bit tender.  “He’s - he’s amazing.”  

Connie leaned forward and looked almost exactly like she had when we were 15 years old and I told her that Todd Garrison kissed me behind the bleachers during the pep rally.  Wide eyed and excited, she bit her lip.  “Is he -” she looked like she couldn’t quite decide what to ask first.  “Tell me EVERYTHING.”  So I did, within limits, sort of. 

[justthehiddleswrites]

Destiny Has Other Plans | Loki x OFC (Alexis Randall) | Chapter 6

Pairing: Loki x OFC

MASTERLIST IS HERE

Summary: When Loki goes to ask his father for permission to marry, he is shocked to discover his destiny has already been made for him.  He is already betrothed to Sjofn, the daughter of the King of Vanaheim.  An arranged marriage to bring the two kingdoms closer together and strengthen the bond.  Never mind that Sjofn and Loki can’t stand each other.  

After The Battle of New York, Loki is sent to live at Avengers Tower as punishment for his misdeeds.  But it doesn’t mean he has to like it.   A year later, he has adjusted to life on Midgard but has avoided any romantic or emotional entanglements, still bitter over his lost love.  Dr. Alexis Randall is skilled at helping others fix their relationships as a couple therapist, but can’t help her own love life.  A chance encounter with Loki in a dive bar has life altering consequences for both of them.  Now, Alexis and Loki must figure out a way to co-habit without killing each other in the process, plus navigating impending parenthood and other roadblocks along the way.

This Chapter:   Alexis comes clean with Clint and Loki, Alexis and Clint decide to get the better of Tony and Bruce.

Warnings: Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Smut, Angst,  Semi-Public Sex, Mentions of law enforcement, Oral Sex, Cursing, Vaginal Sex

Taglists are Open, please let me know if you wish to be added.

-

Clint stood there with his arms crossed as Alexis told the entire sordid tale of Loki and her, from the encounter in the bathroom at The Whiskey Front Room to the dinner and Ashlynn to last night. There was a sense of relief as she told Clint everything. A weight lifted. No one but Loki and her knew everything, not even Hannah. Clint continued to stare at her as she finished up.

Her feet shuffled from side to side, scooting pieces of cereal around on the kitchen floor. “Are you going to say something?”

Clint pressed his lips together. “Did you really get arrested for punching a guy at a club who grabbed your ass?”

Alexis stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter. “That is what you took away from that?”

Clint chuckled with her. “I mean, it is a badass move. Pregnant woman bloodies a guy’s nose.”

“I had to learn to take care of myself at an early age. I didn’t have people looking out for me.”

Clint threw an arm over her shoulder. “That is all changed now. We are your family now. Which means taking care of each other. Besides, I have never seen Loki this happy… well, ever. And I would like to keep him that way.”

“Me too.” She bent down to pick up the scattered cereal.

“Allow me to help.” Clint grabbed a broom by the fridge and swept up the cereal from the floor and threw it in the trash. “Speaking of keeping Loki happy, you should probably know about the bet between Bruce and Tony?”

Alexis’s brow furrowed. “What bet?”

-

Loki woke to Alexis shoving his shoulder hard. “Wake up, Loki, it’s important.”

He jolted upright with a start. “The baby! Is everything okay?” His hands flew to her belly.

She frowned. “The baby is fine. It’s about Bruce and Tony.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed. “What have they done now?”

Alexis gave him the quick rundown of Tony and Bruce, conspiring to get photographic evidence of their relationship. Loki clenched his fists.

“I’ll straighten this out.” He rose to get dressed. Alexis caught his wrist.

“While I appreciate your willingness to beat the shit out of them, may I suggest something a little less bloody?” Her eyes twinkled as she gazed up at Loki.

“What do you have in mind?” Loki sat down beside her on the bed.

“What if we have a bit of fun with them? Ratchet up the discord between us. Have a big blowout right in front of them. I am sure Clint would be willing to help.”

Loki’s eyes flashed. “How is Barton involved in all of this?”

“He is the one who told me about the contest.”

“And he would help?”

Alexis’s lips curled into a smile. “I am certain I can convince him to do so.”

Loki dipped her into his lap and kissed her. “I love the way your mind works.”

“Why thank you.” Alexis chuckled.

-

Tony and Bruce watched Alexis and Loki like a hawk, often making excuses to pop in unannounced. Loki and Alexis started locking not only the front door but the bedroom doors as well. They also no longer stole kisses and glances in the common areas. Alexis missed pulling Loki into an empty room to make out, but knew the payoff would be worth it.

“Legolas,” Tony caught Clint one day. “You still lurking in the vents these days?” Tony popped a chocolate-covered pecan in his mouth.

Clint’s mouth twitched. As expected, Tony came to him with information on Loki and Alexis. When Alexis came to him for help, Clint jumped at the chance. He often felt excluded from the Avengers’ activities because of his more unusual habits. Plus, he loved seeing Tony taken down a peg or two.

“Why?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Noticed anything unusual going on between the Trickster and his baby mama?” He popped another pecan.

Clint shook his head. “Not really. What are you looking for?”

Tony shrugged his shoulders. “Signs of a relationship. Hugging, hand holding, kissing. That sort of thing.”

Clint rubbed his chin, making Tony sweat for a minute. “Now that I think about it, I have noticed something different between the two of them.”

“Yeah… Spill.” Tony offered a pecan. Clint waved it off.

“They seemed to despise each other. I even saw her hurl a glass at Loki’s head. If you ask me, they are one argument away from Alexis up and leaving.”

“Really? I thought they were looking pretty cozy the other day.”

“Well, you don’t live on the same floor as them. You don’t hear the yelling.” Clint hooked his thumb. “Now if you don’t mind, I have to meet Nat in the gym.”

Tony waved him away, deep in thought. “Yeah… sure… whatever…”

Clint waited until he was out of sight before smirking. He had sowed the seeds. Now for Loki and Alexis to finish the job.

-

Loki stomped into Bruce’s lab later that day.

“You’re late.” Bruce didn’t bother to look up from his screen.

“Are all women so infuriating, or is it the pregnancy that causes them to be so?” Loki groused as he leaned over Bruce’s shoulder, breathing on the man’s neck on purpose.

Bruce scratched his neck in irritation, turning to face Loki, hoping the god would step back. He didn’t.

“Trouble in paradise?”

“More like a continuing hell.” Loki rubbed his forehead. “She is insufferable. Whining and complaining. I am contemplating having Stark relocate Alexis to her own quarters for the duration of this pregnancy.”

“Is it really that bad?” Bruce wrinkled up his nose.

Loki threw him a derisive glare. “I would rather share a bed with my brother at this point.”

“Doesn’t he snore?”

“The walls shake.” Loki retorted. “So excuse me if I am not in the mood for chitchat.”

Bruce became flustered, hands waving in the air. “Right… right…” And he hustled away to find something to pass the time until he could leave the awkward situation.

-

Loki shut the door, and Alexis popped up off the couch.

“So…?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

His face pulled into a wide grin. “Bruce appears to have believed our ruse.” Alexis jumped in place and spun around in glee. Her chest bounced up and down that caught Loki’s attention.

“Excellent!” She came over and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Clint says Tony took the bait too. Now to let them stew.”

Loki’s arms wrapped around her waist. “You have become close with Barton. Should I be jealous?” He raised an eyebrow.

Alexis’s lips twitched into a smile. She ran a finger along Loki’s chest. “Are you jealous?”

Loki leaned down to nuzzle against her neck. She smelled of perfume smelling of vanilla and spice. “You minx.” he purred. “You are mine and mine alone.”

Alexis gasped as she gripped his arms. Loki’s lips ghosted over her neck, causing her to shiver. Her nails dug into Loki’s jacket.

“Bold words.” Alexis countered, breathless.

Her hands slipped underneath Loki’s jacket and pushed it off his shoulders. He shook it off to the ground. As Loki undid the buttons of his shirt, Alexis tugged her dress over her head, dropping it to the side.

“I have only just begun, my love.” He kissed the tops of her breasts, fumbling with her bra.

“It clasps in the front. You mean having sex in a bathroom is not bold.”

With the flick of a finger, Loki undid the clasp and slid the straps off her shoulders. He squeezed her breasts with his hands.

“You lack an imagination, my darling. Allow me a small demonstration.”

His lips latched onto hers, nipping about her lips with his teeth. As Loki walked her back in the room, Alexis tugged at his belt and trousers. Her fingers made quick work of his zipper, pushing them down to Loki’s thighs. His cock popped free.

“I appreciate your lack of underwear these days.” Alexis teased as she stroked his shaft.

“As do I.” He turned her around and eased her onto the couch, placing her on her hands and knees facing the back of the couch.

Loki’s fingertips ghosted up and down the back of her thighs. Alexis moaned, her head dropped onto the couch.

“Loki, please… I… need you..” She hissed.

“But teasing you is so much more fun.” He cupped her ass while rubbing the tip of his cock along her slit. Alexis wiggled her ass against him. “It appears I am not the only one who likes to tease.”

Loki impaled himself with a single thrust.

“Fuck!” Alexis bit her lower lip. Her breasts and belly hung low while she propped herself up on her elbows on the back of the couch.

Loki gripped her hips and continued to snap his hips against her. He pressed against her back and reached over to pinch her nipple. Alexis came with a moan. Her walls clenched around Loki. He grunted as he thrusted twice more and spilled inside of her.

Alexis collapsed onto the couch, spent and exhausted. Her head spun.

“Loki, I need…” She grabbed his arm, and he shifted out of the way to have her lie down on her side on the sofa.

“What is it, darling? Are you hurt? What can I do?”

Alexis wasn’t sure what was going. It was the third dizzy spell in a week. She made an appointment to see her OB/GYN later in the week, and Dr. Cho found nothing unusual in her tests.

“I just need a glass of water.” She lied, not wanting to scare Loki unnecessarily if it turned out to be nothing.

Loki rushed to the kitchen and came back with a large glass of water. He lifted her head up to sip.

“Here…” He slipped his arms underneath her and lifted her off the couch.

“Loki, I—”

He cut her off. “Please allow me to take care of you.”

Loki pulled her close to his chest. She relented and allowed Loki to carry her to bed. The bed they were now sharing. Her head hit the soft pillow with a sigh. Loki pulled the covers over her and settled next to her.

“Hmm…” She hummed. “I’m sorry.”

Loki kissed her cheek. “No apologies. Rest. We still have the grand finale for Bruce and Tony.”

“Bruce and Tony…”

Loki laid awake until he was certain Alexis was asleep. He did his best to convince himself Alexis’s fatigue was nothing out of the ordinary, but deep inside where he didn’t want to admit he knew something else was going on. He pushed away his fear drifting into a restless sleep.

-

“I’m telling you, Bruce, you are being punk’d.” Tony snapped back.

Bruce scratched his head. “I don’t know, Tony. They seem to be on the outs. I think you are wrong. “

Tony held up two fingers as he leaped over the back of the couch to lie down with a bounce. “Two words.. fore.. play.”

“That’s one word, Tony.”

“Whatever. They have it. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were already sleeping together.”

A door slamming down the hall punctuated Tony’s sentence. And then another door opening and slamming. Alexis stomped into the living room.

“Speaking of the devil…” Tony started, oblivious to Alexis’s mood. Loki soon followed.

“Darling, I—” Loki started.

Alexis whipped around and stopped in her tracks. “DON’T EVEN TRY TO EXPLAIN YOURSELF LOKI! I’M DONE, I’M LEAVING!”

Loki chuckled. “No, you’re not. You are being hysterical. Come back and we can talk—”

“HYSTERICAL?!” Alexis screeched, resisting the urge to smile. Loki was playing it perfectly. She noticed Tony sitting up on the couch. Clint had appeared from nowhere. Time to drop the bomb. “You think I’m hysterical for being upset at catching you fucking someone on the couch?!? I sleep on that couch, LOKI!” The tears flowed freely from her eyes. The adrenaline pumped through her. “I trusted you.”

Loki stepped forward towards her. “We never agreed to be exclusive. Was it not you who said I shouldn’t change my life just because you were here?”

Alexis reared back and slapped Loki across the face. “You fucking bastard! HOW DARE YOU! I never want to see you again!” They now have a full audience, with Steve and Nat slipping into the kitchen. Even Thor peeked his head into the room.

She stormed away towards the elevator. Loki grabbed her wrist, but she yanked free. “Touch me again and lose the hand.” Alexis’s vision darkened at the edges and her head became fuzzy.

“But, the child—” Loki protested.

“Loki…” she called out, her voice wavering.

His eyes snapped to her, and he saw panic reflecting at him in her eyes. “Alexis, darling, you are—”

“I don’t feel…” Her legs wobbled before giving out underneath her. Loki lunged for her, catching her before she hit the floor, cradling her body in his arms.

“Alexis, wake up.” He shook her gently. “The trick’s over.”

Alexis groaned but didn’t wake. Loki glanced over his shoulders to find the rest of the Avengers staring at the two of them, frozen in place.

“Don’t just stand there, call the doctor!” Loki bellowed.

Everyone scurrying about, Tony yelling out to JARVIS and everyone else pretending to be busy at something. Thor came behind and grabbed Loki’s shoulder.

“I am sure everything is going to be fine, Brother. She is strong.”

“I wish I shared your confidence.”