#and you can tell he’s someone who rarely gets interrupted so her controlling the pace of the convo and him getting swept along

[wisteriagoesvroom]

“they do the racing [in monaco] don’t they?”

“yeah i literally wake up like a minute before, then drive”

“really? yeah you shouldn’t do that maybe that’s why you’re not… winning…”

“wot?”

“wot”

I.E. THIS IS FUNNIER THAN I COULD’VE DREAMT OF HELP

[hiraeth-witch-11]

Bond to Happen Part 8

Part 8: You Can Trust Me

Warnings: fantastical racism, threatening male behavior, Billy Russo

Word Count: 2600ish

Rose was beginning to get on Billy’s nerves. She’d grown bold and had begun openly flirting with you. He wasn’t sure if you even realized it, but you were certainly reacting to it. You’d blush or smile or say something nice in return and he didn’t like it one bit. None of this would work easily if you were distracted by someone else, he’d have to go with plan B and that would be much messier.

He ground his teeth as he watched you and Rose chatting together in the break room over a coffee, something he’d noticed you drinking more often even though he knew you preferred things with less caffeine. Billy was thinking about how he might be able to interrupt the two of you and put a stop to this without looking like he was jealous because- to be perfectly clear- he was not jealous. You were a means to an end.

As it turns out, his concern was unwarranted as he watched Rose brush a lock of hair off your face causing you to jerk back. It looked like you couldn’t stand her touch. That made things easier. Of course, he still needed to make sure you were comfortable with his touch, even when it was unexpected. That was something he was working on very carefully. But he was certain he could get you to want him, to need him. It was what his kind had been doing for millenia, after all.

******

You are so frustrated that you want to cry. Rose had been being ‘nice’ all week and you thought she was just trying to be your friend until she shared that she was into women. After that, you realized she was flirting with you and you found that you were actually open to it. You’d even started to reciprocate to show your interest. Rose was tall and kind with a wicked grin that often reminded you of Billy. You were attracted to her and you so rarely were in a situation where you felt safe to explore that feeling.

But you’d ruined it.

The two of you had been having coffee while on break and you’d been animatedly telling a story from college when she reached over and pushed a piece of hair back into place. It was a totally normal thing to do, especially considering the tone of your interactions, but the second her fingertips touched your temple, it just felt wrong and your magic recoiled into you like the snapping of a rubber band. You didn’t sense a threat, you didn’t sense anything negative in her aura, but your magic insisted that it wanted nothing to do with her.

So you swiftly apologized, explaining that touch was hit and miss for you and then you made a beeline for your office and closed the door. 

“Gods damn it. They make me this way and then keep me from actually being able to be this way. Makes no fucking sense,” you mutter to yourself angrily, throwing a sharp kick at your bean bag and then allowing yourself to flop onto it, face first.

******

“I’m gonna die alone, Kare,” you declare over the phone as you pace around your apartment. It’s not nearly as sparse as it was when you first moved in. Now decorated with various vining plants and a couple more unique pieces of furniture.

“I’m not going to let that happen, babe,” Karen says supportively over the phone. “You’re a catch, anyone would be lucky to have you. We just have to sort through those people to find someone you are okay getting physical with.”

“Uggghhh,” you groan dramatically. “She is so pretty, Kare, you saw her instagram, and she’s super fun to be around at work. I really liked her!”

“I’m sorry, sweetie. It’s not your fault.”

“My magic is an extension of me, I should be able to control it better, especially around someone harmless who I most definitely wanted to be able to touch me.”

“You mentioned it’s been better around some people, and is practically normal around your close friends. Didn’t you say you’re like weirdly comfortable around Billy?” She offers without judgment.

“You know Russo isn’t an option, Kare,” you sigh.

“I know he’s not ideal-”

“He’s my boss!”

“And he’s a little out of your mental comfort zone, but if your magic is saying go for it then maybe you should consider him,” she offers.

“Besides the whole boss thing, I don’t think he’s interested in me like that.” You rub your hand down your face and lie down on your couch.

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that if I was you,” Karen suggests cryptically.

“What do you know?” 

“I don’t really have any details, but Frank has commented a couple times about how quickly Billy has taken to you, something about him behaving differently around you.”

“That’s not really much to go on, Kare.:

“I’m just saying to keep an open mind.”

“I’ll try.”

It’s hard to sleep that night. When you try to relax your mind and body, all you can think about is the hum of the aura’s below you. You shift your focus upward, something you usually tried to avoid, and tune into Billy’s aura. It helps a little, like having a noise machine on while trying to drown out a busy street. You wonder what it would feel like to sleep wrapped up in the energy, protected from the noise of the world around you. If he was next to you, maybe you’d finally get a good night’s sleep.

You do eventually fall asleep, but your dreams are filled with the bloody tracks of some sort of big cat, the paw larger than your hand and pressing deeply into icy snow. You never truly see it, but you catch glimpses of black fur through the trees and you know it’s watching you.

******

Oakley Harding is not going to harm you, you think to yourself over and over again. It isn’t his fault that he triggers painful memories. He hasn’t done or said anything and your magic hasn’t alerted you to any danger to yourself. You’re safe. You swallow and push down the anxiety that is clawing its way into your lungs.

“How can I help you, Harding?” You ask politely. You aren’t sure why he’s stopped by your office everyday this week. The man doesn’t ever actually need anything, but the visits keep getting longer. The two of you didn’t have much in common personality wise and all you really knew about him was that he was an unpresented member of a shifter family.

“I brought you some coffee, thought you might want a break,” he offers, holding up a hot starbucks drink. You tell yourself once again, that it isn’t his fault you don’t know him well enough to accept a drink from him. The only reason you did it with Russo was because of how thoroughly your magic trusted him. Frank, Foggy, and Matt were the only other men you were comfortable around alone, and even then, you had your bad days.

“That’s sweet of you, Harding. I’m actually still working on mine from this morning, but I’ll accept yours and save it for later,” you say, gesturing to the coffee Russo had brought you.

“Of course, you can never have too much coffee in our line of work,” he jokes, sitting down across from you and setting the coffee onto the small table next to your bean bag.

“How’ve you been liking it here? You’ve been on for a month now, right?”

“Two actually, and I really enjoy my job. It’s simple, but never gets boring,” you reply honestly.

“I bet,” he grins, brown eyes flashing with something you refuse to allow your anxiety to label. “I heard it feels good for witches to use magic, any truth to that?”

Oh dear, you think, surely he doesn’t mean it like that.

“I mean, I can only speak for myself, but often it’s like taking a deep breath after being underwater. Unless I’m tired and then it’s like holding my breath for just a little too long. Either way it’s just kind of normal for me at this point.”

He nods and you release the tension in your shoulders as he seems to accept your answer. 

“You ever use it in your personal life?” 

“If you’re asking if I use it illegally, the answer is no,” you try to laugh, but it comes off a little strained.

“I’m sure you don’t, Blue, you’re too much of a good girl for that, aren’t you?” You think he’s leering at you now, but you’re not sure if that’s the right word. Whatever it is, you don’t like the expression on his face.

“Was there something you wanted to ask me, Harding? I do have some reports I need to get back to.” You really want him to leave, but he hasn’t said anything that you could use to justify your actions if you choose to be impolite.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date with me tomorrow night? We can get some dinner and then watch a movie at my place. Get to know each other better.” 

“No, thank you, Harding,” you say firmly, but not unkindly. You stop yourself from listing all the reasons or excuses you have. No is a complete sentence, you tell yourself.

“Aw, common sweetheart. It’ll be fun. I’ve seen how you look at me and I feel the same way. You live in the boss’s building, yeah? I can pick you up at 7. How’s that sound?”

Sweetheart feels like some sort of derogatory term as it falls from his lips. 

“Harding, I am not interested in dating you or spending time with you outside work. My answer is no.” Firm, polite, no excuses. You’re doing great, you tell yourself. Karen will be proud when you tell her.

“Playing hard to get isn’t attractive for someone like you, Blue. We’ve had a great time talking these last few days. Why are you changing your tune now?” He’s getting angry, you can tell by the pulse of his misty red aura. 

“I respect you as a coworker, Harding. There is nothing else going on here. I have some work today, so I’d appreciate being alone for the rest of the day.” You stand, hoping he’ll leave. He doesn’t. Instead, he stands and steps into your space, towering above you.

“You think you can do better than me? Hmm? Common, baby, you know you aren’t gonna get a better offer. It’s so easy to report someone for illegal practice these days, I wouldn’t want to do that to you. Come out with me tomorrow. If you don’t have a good time, I won’t bother you again.”

You can feel his breath on you and your fight or flight response is fully triggered. You don’t run or fight this time, you freeze. His right hand is balled into a fist at his side, his left hand is reaching for your face. Your heart is pounding and you can’t decide whether to yell or run or shove him away. Thankfully, someone enters your office unannounced. You can’t see them with Harding blocking your view, but you can feel a soothing aura push past Harding’s.

“Am I interrupting?” Russo asks.

“Only a little,” Harding says, stepping away from you and smiling goodnaturedly at Billy.

“No,” you say at the same time.

“We were just wrapping up anyway. I think Blue and I came to an understanding, isn’t that right, Blue?” 

Billy is glancing between the two of you. You’re sure he knows something is off, but you doubt he’s expecting anything untoward of Harding. 

You don’t respond to Harding’s threat, still half frozen in a tangle of panic. He leaves the room anyway, likely thinking you would do anything to stop him from reporting you. You know he doesn’t actually have any evidence, that he doesn’t actually know anything. But he knows that just a rumor of wrong doing on your part could ruin your life.

“You alright?” Billy asks, closing the door behind Harding. You can breathe easier now that it’s just the two of you.

“Is Frank in?” You ask instead of answering. You know Frank would believe you. You’re not sure about Russo.

“No, he’s on an assignment, won’t be back in til Monday. Why?” Russo leans back against your desk.

“Like won’t be back into the office or won’t be off assignment until Monday?”

“The latter. What’s going on? I could practically hear your heart pounding when I came in and Harding’s been antsy all week,” he asks evenly.

You look at him, assessing. Is it worth risking your job and home over the chance that you can trust him? He's been good to you so far, but Harding has worked here longer.

“You can trust me, Blue. I haven’t let you down yet, have I?

You shake your head, he’s right.

“Harding asked me on a date, wouldn’t take no for an answer, and threatened to report me for illegal magic usage if I didn’t go with him,” you blurt out before you can lose your nerve.

Surprise then anger move over Billy’s face, before it settles into a controlled mask.

“Thank you for trusting me,” he says softly and you nod, unsure of his reaction. He’s angry, his aura is practically vibrating with the emotion, and as practiced as his mask is, you can see it in his eyes. You just aren’t sure who the anger is directed at. 

“I’ll take care of him,” he says. You exhale sharply in surprise.

“You believe me?”

“Of course I do, Blue,” he looks shocked that you would ask that.

“You didn’t even ask me questions, not even if I was sure that’s what I heard. You’re just going to take me at my word?” You have no brain to mouth filter right now.  Billy straightens and looks you right in the eyes.

“I believe you and I will take care of this. You don’t need to worry about Harding, he won’t bother you again. Do you understand?” The last words are almost gentle, if not for the hard look in his eyes.

“I understand. What are you going to do?” You’re curious because the look in his eyes says murder, but surely that isn’t an option.

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

“Yes,” you say, surprising yourself with how quickly you answer now that your anxiety has eased.

“Then let’s just say he will no longer work for Anvil, alright?”

You think he’s lying, you know he must be. The tone, the phrasing, the look still so apparent in his dark brown eyes. Instinctually, you brush your magic around his aura to feel for the truth. Everything you feel tells you he’s being honest, it’s in conflict with your own eyes and ears, but you trust your magic. It’s never been wrong as you’ve kept Matt, Frank, Karen, Foggy, and everyone at Anvil safe. It’s always told you the truth. So you nod and you allow yourself to relax.

“Do you want to go home? I can take you there now.”

“No, I’ll be fine. I’ve got some things to finish up in here,” you say honestly.

Billy looks at the extra cup of coffee on the low lying table. “Is that his?”

“No, he brought it for me. I wasn't going to drink it, I just didn’t want to be rude.”

“I’ll get rid of it. If you need anything, or you change your mind and want to go home, just give me a shout,” he instructs, holding your gaze until you agree.

“Thank you, Billy.” You’re sincere in your thanks and you hope he hears how much meaning those words are trying to convey.

“Don’t thank me, sweetheart. You deserve so much more than this,” he says almost wistfully before leaving your office, quietly closing the door behind him.

You never heard from or saw Harding again. Officially, he was fired and moved out of state. Unofficially… Well, you didn’t let yourself think about that.

Series List

If you want to be put on, or taken off my taglist, feel free to tell me!

@evyiione, @kayhi808, @ellooo0ooo, happydeanpotter

[keouil]

some things never leave a person

“how does it feel knowing you got captain america wrapped around your finger?” rated t. 2k+. steve/nat. also on ao3 / twitter / cc

“You’re staring.”

Steve snapped his eyes back up, nearly giving himself whiplash. He sat up straighter. “No," he insists. "No, I’m not.”

Sam gave him a knowing look. The tips of his mouth curled upwards, an amused glint in his eye.

“Look, man,” he began casually, running his fingers over the rim of his beer. “I get it. Recovery ain’t easy and it’s a big new world you woke up to. If I was in your place, I’d probably take all my chances, too.”

“Uh-huh,” Steve drawled unsurely, taking a sip of his drink and regarding him. Asgardian mead pleasantly made its way down his body, warming him up to more liquid courage. “What do you mean by recovery?”

Sam opens his mouth to elaborate, when a loud clang from somewhere behind them interrupts their conversation. 

They look back and see Darcy with a mournful look on her face, holding on to the flute of an otherwise shattered champagne glass littered on the floor.

“I can, like, totally pay for that,” she mumbles sheepishly into the crowd. 

Pepper is by her side the next second, already picking up fragments of glass and disposing of it just as quickly. Tony just laughs it off, and just like that, the party continues. 

The overhead skylights from the makeshift bar he assembled in the Avengers Tower glistened under the wide sky. Pop music wafted all over the bustling partly, filled to the brim with a generous number of people enjoying themselves. Thor with his hand clasped on Jane’s waist, whispering something that made her laugh; Hill and Rhody on an animated conversation by the end of the bar. All of them, in a rare moment, loose. 

Steve locked eyes with Natasha from the corner of the room. 

His grin, then, comes just as embarrassingly easy. He waves. She gives him a small smile before turning her attention back to Barton. Steve frowns.

“Jesus,” he hears Sam hiss. “You got it bad, Cap.”

.

.

.

It’s not a gradual thing. 

Steve isn’t someone who minces his words or plays diplomatic charmer. His vitality burned, in a way foreign to a world that had long been too jaded of proper men and archaic chivalry. 

Captain America, back from the dead, yes: but also, and it was growing easier and easier to see, he himself ushered in a resurgence of basic morality stripped from ages of misuse and abuse. It was a basic thing, human decency, and he had simply reminded the world of exactly how easy it could be.

Steve came to carthage burning, but he flamed the embers of fire without ever having to wield a weapon. It was his nature to simply walk in the line of fire. And Natasha knows, if she is ever as sure of anything, that: he would no sooner rot in hell than let someone else walk over the flames for him, he had to be made to.

“Steve,” warns Natasha, a steady hand clamped over his shoulder against the fracturing landscape all around them. “Let me handle this.”

It was then he would turn to her, sometimes, and it scares her: the naked vulnerability he displays, the unyielding confidence in his frame, the complete and utter surrender of control. It is a ghastly little thing, the weight of his unburdening, but it only ever dawns on her when the ringing in her ears have stopped and the guns have mellowed: “Okay,” he nods once. “I trust you.”

.

.

.

Natasha should have seen it coming sooner.

It’s not that Steve hangs on her every word, is on her beck and call, or does whatever she tells him to do at the drop of a hat. He doesn’t tail after her like a lost puppy, because for all intents and purposes they were evenly matched at almost every pace; he was the commanding officer, she the shadow leader.

But maybe what tears at her conscience is that it also goes like this: hey nat,  he would say, thanks for having my back out there, or been awhile since i drank with someone, or i’m here if you need to talk too you know? or, and perhaps most damning, is: how about a friend?

Steve was acclimating slowly to the surface, in a way that he knows best and works for him. It is an intimate baring of his soul, and the stripping of her own to make sure it doesn’t totally push him over the edge just before he learns to plant himself on the ground again. It’s easy, then, to play a part: if only he didn’t blindside her with improvising the script every so often it leaves her breaking character more often than she likes.

Because Steve was not of the divine kind, the one measured up to the greatness of gods. He had such grounded faith; and Natasha, for all she deemed herself worthy, had already started carving herself a place six feet under. 

.

.

.

“It’s a transference thing,” Sam tells her one day in a low voice, when they’re waiting for transport and Steve is somewhere behind going over the mission details again with Fury. “But he means well. If it’s any help, this is actually an important breakthrough in the recovery process.”

Natasha feels herself ruminating over his words, because Sam would know about it best, working at the VA and all. He would probably know, too, then: “But,” she falters, her entire body in knots. “Why me?”

Sam doesn’t take a beat to answer. “Why not you?”

.

.

.

Steve loves so nakedly, both unforgivingly kind and passionately earnest: it is like fresh mildew unfurling from earth, dusk creeping at dawn; a silent but steady little thing. It is comforting, the rhythm of his heart: but oh, does it burden.

.

.

.

“How does it feel knowing you got Captain America wrapped around your finger?”

Natasha staggers a little, stopping the momentum of the sandbag just before it hits her square in the face. Her eyes flitter over the ring, making sure Steve was still busy testing the limits of Sam’s misery by boxing, before turning back to glare at Clint on the other side of the bag. So much for a sparring partner.  “What?”

“Come on, Nat,” Clint returns, sounding a little too cocky for her taste. He pushes the sandbag to her side a little. “He’s like a dog with a bone around you. It’s cute, really, if not a little stalker-ish.”

“That’s not—he’s—” Natasha stammers, trying to reign it in and getting her breathing under control. “Steve is just adjusting. Fury assigned me to make sure he does that as smoothly as he can.”

“Right, of course,” Clint doesn’t drop the knowing look on his face, but the edges of his eyes soften a little. He ignores the way Steve glances at their direction none too subtly, a worried frown on his face. “It’s scary, isn’t it?”

That sobers her up instantly. 

Natasha nurses her features into steeled determination, squaring her shoulders and tightening her jaw: but just as telling, however, is the slight crack in her voice when she says: “I’m fucking terrified.”

[myrwritesfootie]

Like The Old Days - Chapter Two - Mason Mount

Who: Mason Mount x Original Female Character Words: 1629 Disclaimer: I do not know Mason Mount or anyone else mentioned in these writings. Note: So the first chapter was just mainly an introduction, this chapter is nearly double of the previous chapter and I hope you all like it.

July 31st, 2017. Arnhem, Netherlands

The weather was quite chilly for a day in the middle of the summer. Not that it was a strange occurance in the Netherlands. It was one of the things I disliked the most about living in this country. I am someone who preferred the sun and the warmth. Unfortunately that was not going to happen anytime soon.

Despite the dreary weather, I knew that I would have to enjoy the summer as much as possible before it was over and before I would start on my last year of education. Just one more year and then it was time to find work. Something I just didn’t want to think about just yet. I actually liked my school years until now.

The voice of my friend next to me pulled me out of my thoughts.

“Iris? This is like the third time you blanked on me, what’s going on in that head of yours?” Marie asked and I quickly blinked, a guilty expression on my face. “I’m sorry Mar. What were you saying again?”

The blonde sighed - clearly exaggarating, the smile on her lips giving that away as well as she looked at me  over the edge of her sunglasses, bright blue eyes looking into my own hazel ones. “I was asking if you were up for going out for a drink this afternoon, after I finished work. It shouldn’t be a long day and they say that the weather will only get better by the end of the day. Pretty please?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. It was an ever returning question from Marie whenever the weather was nice in the city. “Fine, we are going out for a drink, but we are going to bring our own drinks and we are going to the park,” I encountered. Marie squinted her eyes for a moment, but then nodded. “Deal. I’ll ask Frances, Yvette and Sanne as well to see if they want to come.”

Even now I could already tell that the park was going to be packed. The park in the middle of the city was one of the most beautiful places in Arnhem, at least in my opinion. Whenever the sun was shining, it was busy. The slight slope in the grass made it a perfect place for sunbathing but also to have some barbecues in the summer. It was as if a big part of the city made its way into the park and my friends and I were definitely no exception.

The morning at our secondary school was one that finished pretty quickly. Marie and I were busy with our second year, with two more years to follow after this. After that university would probably follow if we were to choose for that, but so far I have not been interested in that. It meant more years at school while I knew what I wanted the most; I wanted to do something physical. I wanted to mean something for people, I wanted to travel. I did not want to get back in the school benches once more when I was done with this level of education.

So while Marie left to get to her job, I went back home. A home where a young brother had been bouncing around the house for some time now because our local football team Vitesse had been having a good pre-season so far and new names had been signed. With the Johan Cruijff Shield coming up at the start of the season, the football vibe was big in our house, with my brother bouncing off the walls. I liked football too but I had to admit that I didn’t like our own competition much. That’s what you get when you get hooked on the Premier League. The pace and level of that league was so much higher than our Eredivisie so who can really blame me, right? So where Sam - my younger brother - had a yellow and black obsession, I had a red one. A Liverpool shaped one.

The moment I walked into the house, it was clear that my mum was pissed off. “Sam de Jong, how many times do I have to tell you that you don’t get to kick that ball around inside.” The sight of shattered pieces on the floor that had previously been a longdrink glass came into my view as I walked into the living room.

“I’m sorry mum! I was trying to score the winning goal.” I couldn’t help but laugh at the words of my ten year old brother. As soon as I saw the look on my mother’s face, I bit my lower lip to stop myself from laughing.

“I just came by to let you know I’ll be at the park for the afternoon and also probably for dinner,” I quickly said, before leaving the room again so I could get upstairs, not wanting to witness the disaster that Sam was about to face.

It was only a short visit at home. While I freshened up after school - and listened to my mother yell at Sam while making him clean up the mess that he had made, I quickly looked through some messages on my phone where the other girls already showed that they had bought drinks and food already for the park.

Once I got the message from Marie that she was on her way to the park, I left the house as well. The park was only a short walk from my house but because I was known as the lazy one of my friends (and it was probably true as well), I picked the bike as my form of transport to the sunny greenery in the centre of the city. It didn't take long for me to find my friends, who had perched themselves on a large blanket in the grass. Many people had thought the same thing as we did. Other little groups had formed on the grass, some guys were kicking a football around while yelling at each other. In English. Which wasn't that rare here in Arnhem.

As I reached my friends, I just heard the last bit of a sentence Francis had said. "- is pretty cute." I rolled my eyes at the words, Francis was probably one of the biggest guy crazy people I had met but I loved her for it. I followed her gaze and found the footballing guys on the end of it. Oh, and Francis had a preference for athletes.

"Of course you have found the cutest guy in the entire park already," Marie said as she waved at me, holding out a glass with some fizzy drink in it. I looked over my shoulder and had to agree with Francis, however. The brown haired young man standing closest to us was not bad on the eyes. They were probably around the same age as us.

It was always good to spend free afternoons in the sun with my friends. For a moment there was not a worry in the world - although my mother would counter that at my age I did not have any worries. Laughing seemed to be the best remedy against long boring school days. I tried my best to zoom back into the story that Marie was telling. "So my brothers were in the backyard, mum kept yelling at them to grey inside for dinner, that they had to stop fooling around. They didn't listen at all, continued playing rugby and next moment, the ball went through the window. Mum was livid." I shook my head, a laugh escaping me as I thought back at the scene between my own brother and mother. 

"Your brothers aren't the only ones good at breaking glass. Sam wanted to score the winning goal for the Johan Cruijff Shield and thought it was a good idea to do that inside. I walked in on -"

Before I could finish my sentence, this time I was interrupted by a sudden football hitting in the middle of our picnic cloth and knocking glasses over, the ball ending in my lap. I was too surprised to jump up like some of the other girls were doing. 

"I'm so sorry ladies, my friend over there did a terrible job controlling the ball." A male voice spoke up in a British accent. It had to be one of the guys who had been kicking the ball around just a few meters away from us. A look up confirmed that it was the cute brown haired one who had come over to collect the ball in my lap. From up close he was even closer. Dark eyes matched his hair and a smile was on his lips, a shy one at that. He was our age, maybe just a bit older but when he smiled he had crinkles next to his eyes. It was Marie who found her voice back as the first one, of course she was. 

"You can definitely say that. He should learn how to play football." The guy standing with us left out a chuckle, even though I did not understand why it was so funny what Marie had said. 

"I'll let my friend Mitchell know." His gaze moved in my direction, since I had the ball. "I really am sorry…" he trailed off, not knowing which name to add to the end of the sentence. A very smooth way to ask for my name although I didn't even realise it. I scrambled onto my feet finally with the ball in my hands. "It's Iris. Here's your ball back." I held out the ball to him, his fingertips brushing mine for just a second as he took it from me. 

"Thank you Iris. I'm Mason."

[specialagentsergio]

only if you knew

summary: Spencer’s in love with you, but you’re in love with Emily.

pairing: spencer reid x f!reader (unrequited), emily prentiss x f!reader

category: angst

content warnings: description of a panic attack, mentions of bullying and homophobia, swearing

a/n: my take on a fic inspired by heather by conan grey. writing is a hobby i've had for years, but this is the first time i've posted any of it. i hope you enjoy it.

a/n 2: bi!reader, fem!reader bc emily is a lesbian

word count: 3.5k

song: heather by conan grey

series masterlist || masterlist

Spencer isn’t looking for a relationship when he meets you. He wants a relationship someday, but he likes his life the way it is for now. He doesn’t want it to change yet. He thinks that’s why it took him so long to realize he was in love with you.

You join the team a few weeks after Rossi does. Hotch has been wanting to add another profiler to the unit for a while. The fiasco with Gideon’s loss of Sarah and subsequent disappearance, then Emily’s sudden resignation, finally convinces the board that it might not be a bad idea to have more than five profilers on the team.

Morgan and Hotch already know you. You come from the sex crimes unit, and the BAU had worked a case with them a month before he joined. You were just an agent trainee at the time, but Hotch saw promise in you, and has kept an eye on your work ever since. (Spencer wonders how he never ran into you at the academy; you’re only a year older than him and you both joined the Bureau in 2003. Eventually he realizes it’s because you weren’t remediated.)

Despite an awkward introduction (he gives you his spiel about handshakes and how it’s safer to kiss, and you respond with, well, if you insist, prompting laughter from Morgan and Prentiss, and leaving him at a loss for words as his face turns red), you quickly become friends. Your mutual love of reading is how you initially connect. Then he notices you only ever cut off his infodumping when you’re working on a case, and it’s always with a gentle, “redirect, Spence.” Outside of work, you seem genuinely interested in what he has to say, even going so far as to follow up on things you had to interrupt earlier.

You also bond over your shared love of Doctor Who, and begin to join him at Penelope’s place each time a new episode airs. It’s not long before he considers you his best friend.

Spencer tells you things he rarely puts a voice to. He tells you about his kidnapping and subsequent Dilaudid problem (he still struggles to call it what he knows it was—an addiction) after the South Padre Island case, when he doesn’t pick up on Adam’s dissociative identity disorder until it’s just a bit too late.

On the one year anniversary of his solving of the Riley Jenkins case, he recounts what happened the day his dad left in a wavering voice and you run your hand up and down his back when he cries.

He even tells you about the goalpost incident and the real motivation behind that act of bullying, a detail he omitted when he told Morgan about it. (He didn’t have a crush on Alexa Lisben, the prettiest girl in school. He had a poorly concealed crush on the football team’s quarterback.)

You also open up to him in a way you seldom do to anyone. You tell him about the bullying you experienced in high school over your shared sexuality. You tell him about the worst cases you saw in the sex crimes unit, and on a day when you’re struggling, you tell him what the worst day of your life was.

He’s had great friends before, and still does, but he’s never had one quite like you.

Spencer can’t say what the moment he fell in love with you was. He can’t pinpoint when your friendship became something more to him. But he knows the moment he realized he was in love, and he doesn’t need an eidetic memory to recall it perfectly.

It’s such a small thing, nothing big and grand like film and literature portray. He’s showed up to the roundtable with a new haircut. Hotch asks him if he’s joined a boyband, which he doesn’t quite get, but Morgan finds very amusing. You catch up to him on his way out of the bullpen and say, “I liked your hair long, but it looks great like this, too.”

That’s when he knows.

The realization is like a punch to the gut, yet it’s not unpleasant. His world feels turned upside down, but upside down is looking like a fine place to be.

And you just carry on like nothing’s happened, like you haven’t just irreversibly changed his life with twelve words.

---

Spencer spends a few weeks sitting with this new information, mulling over his feelings and weighing his options.

Does he tell you he loves you? The FBI holds annual seminars discouraging fraternization between employees, but it’s mostly aimed towards preventing relationships between supervisors and their subordinates. There’s nothing in the regulations preventing two agents in the same standing from dating (which he knows because he’s read the entire handbook). A visit to HR and a form filed away makes that perfectly acceptable.

But as much as he wants to be with you, he’s terrified of losing your friendship. It’s one of the most important things in his life. If he confesses and you don’t return his feelings, it very well could ruin it. Things would never be the same between the two of you again. He can hardly tolerate the thought of that.

He has everything to lose, yet also everything to gain.

All of his speculation is operating under the assumption that you’re single, but he’s confident in that. You tell each other everything��there’s no way you wouldn’t mention seeing someone. You’ve always told him about any dates you’ve gone on in the past. And if, for some reason, you’d keep it a secret, he’s a profiler. He studies human behavior. He’d notice something going on.

Spencer finds out he’s wrong in what he thinks must be the worst possible way, because you don’t tell him yourself. He finds out you’re taken by accident.

It’s only a few weeks after JJ’s forced departure. They’ve just wrapped up a case in Connecticut, and Hotch postpones their flight home to the next morning so they can all get some solid rest after a grueling three days. Rossi offers to take them out for dinner at the hotel’s restaurant, and everyone takes him up on it.

You and Emily excuse yourselves a bit earlier than normal, but he knows he’s not the only one hurting over JJ, so he chalks it up to that. He finds himself following suit not even five minutes later when he fails to stifle his seventh yawn of the night. He steps off the elevator to the fifth floor and hears some quiet giggling from down the hall, but doesn’t think anything of it, just heads towards the room he’s sharing with Derek. It’s the door right after the one leading to the room you’re sharing with Emily, so there’s no way for him to avoid seeing what breaks his heart.

Emily has her hands on your waist as she presses your back against the door. You’re trying to scan the keycard and open the door from behind, a task you’re struggling with because she won’t stop kissing you.

Spencer freezes, his own keycard dropping from his fingers onto the plush carpet.

“Emily, Emily,” you whisper against her lips, trying and failing to suppress your laughter. “You have to let me open the door.”

“Mmm, fine,” she relents with an exaggerated sigh. She presses a kiss to your nose before taking a small step back so you can turn and scan the card.

Your eyes leave Emily’s face and land on his. You just stare at each other for a moment, unmoving.

Emily notices, of course, and asks you, “what’s wrong, baby?” before following your gaze to him.

That finally snaps Spencer out of his daze and he blurts out, “Sorry!” His voice cracks and he clears his throat as he bends down to pick his keycard back up. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to, to—disturb you. I’m just, just really tired and I’m gonna go to bed now.” He keeps his eyes on the carpet as he passes by the two of you, ignoring you when you say his name.

“Reid—” Emily starts, but he’s already letting the heavy door fall shut behind him and pressing his back against it. His breathing is shaky and he grips the strap of his satchel tightly. He doesn’t bother to turn on the lights—he knows they’d be too much right now—and starts to sway from side to side in an attempt to self-soothe.

It doesn’t work, so he begins pacing across the room, back and forth and back and forth until he stumbles over Derek’s go bag and any semblance of control he had breaks. His tie feels too tight and the way his bag is thumping against his thigh as he walks is maddening. He pushes his satchel off of his body as fast as he can, then claws at the knot of his tie, pulling on it until it’s loose enough to slide off over his head. He throws it across the room.

He starts pacing again, unable to stop one of his hands from flapping as his breathing grows erratic. He trips over Derek’s bag again and kicks it in retaliation, just barely holding back a shriek of frustration and agony and panic because oh god oh god I can’t breathe it’s all too much, too much, I can’t breathe.

Spencer can’t breathe because he loves you, he loves you, he loves you, and you don’t love him back.

---

He loses time.

It happens, sometimes, when he has a shutdown.

One moment he’s pacing across the hotel room floor, trying in vain to catch his breath, and the next he’s letting out an involuntary whine when the room lights turn on. Whoever flipped the switch turns them back off immediately.

Slowly, Spencer comes back to himself.  

He’s sitting on one of the beds, hugging a pillow to his chest as he rocks back and forth. His back thumps lightly against the headboard with each motion. He can breathe again, but they’re the wobbling breathes that come after crying. He touches his face and it feels wet.

“Reid.”

It’s a whisper from across the room, and he tenses on instinct.

“Reid, it’s Morgan,” it continues, and Spencer relaxes. He recognizes his friend’s voice now. He makes a small humming noise to indicate that he’s listening.

His eyes have adjusted to the dark now and he can see the vague shape of Morgan walk forward and sit on the bed across from his. “Are you okay, kid?”

Spencer’s breath hitches as he tries to respond. “I.... no,” he whispers. He hasn’t remembered what happened yet—something else that can happen when he spirals—but he feels all hollowed out inside, like someone has scooped out everything that’s him and left behind only a deep, aching pain in their wake.

“What happened?” Morgan asks quietly.

“What happened,” Spencer repeats under his breath. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes as he thinks. What happened.  What happened, Spencer?

“You left dinner,” Morgan prompts. “You said you were tired and were going to go to bed.”

That’s right. He left the table and headed to the elevator. Got off on the fifth floor. Walked down the hallway to their room and found—

It comes back in a rush, without warning.

You’re laughing as Emily kisses you, the hand not struggling with your keycard tangled in her hair. Emily places an affectionate kiss on your nose when she pulls away. You freeze when you see him, and Emily calls you baby.

The memory takes his breath away again, and he feels hot tears falling down his cheeks.

“Reid, Reid.” Morgan’s voice interrupts his thoughts. “Stay with me. You’re okay, kid. You’re okay.”

All Spencer can do is shake his head, because he’s not okay, he’s so terribly far away from okay right now.

“Tell me what happened, kid,” Morgan urges. “Then I can help you.”

Spencer lets out a humorless laugh. Can’t Morgan see that there’s nothing he can do, can’t he see that Spencer’s in a thousand pieces on the floor? “You can’t help me,” he says, his voice hoarse from countless tears he doesn’t remember shedding.

“You don’t know that. How about you tell me what’s wrong, and then I can decide?”

“No, I do know that, Morgan,” he snaps. His rational brain recognizes that he’s acting out, that Morgan doesn’t deserve his anger; he’s not who Spencer’s actually angry at. But his emotional brain is the one running the show right now, so he continues, “Did you know?”

“Did I know what?” Morgan asks calmly. He’s keeping his cool, trying to deescalate the situation, and that makes Spencer even more upset. He doesn’t want to calm down, he can’t calm down, not when his world is falling apart.

“Did you know that Emily and (Y/N) are—are fucking?” he spits out. He can’t bring himself to say that you’re in love, despite the fact that the way you were looking at Emily can’t mean anything other than that.

“I... No, I didn’t, Reid,” Morgan replies. He’s not lying, but Spencer almost wishes he was, just so he could have someone to yell at right now. “Why is that upsetting for you?”

Spencer doesn’t answer. He’d never admitted his feelings about you out loud before, not even to himself, and he sure as hell won’t do it now. He knows the moment Morgan figures it out, because he can hear him sigh.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he says. “I know how you feel.”

“Oh, right,” he scoffs. “Derek Morgan, god’s gift to women, knows how I feel right now.”

“Come on, Reid. Being able to leave a bar with someone on my arm doesn’t make me immune to the pain of liking someone who doesn’t like me back.” Derek’s voice is gentle, so much more gentle than he deserves right now, considering all Spencer’s done since he stepped foot in their room is lash out at him.

“I don’t like her, Morgan,” he says quietly. “I love her.”

Derek doesn’t say anything for a while. He doesn’t try and reassure him that he’s okay, that he’ll get over it. He doesn’t use that awful line of there’s plenty of fish in the sea. He just sits in silence with him. It’s exactly what Spencer needs. He doesn’t know how Morgan knows this when he didn’t himself.

Derek always seems to just know.

---

The morning comes before he’s ready to face it.

He wakes up to the sound of the shower running. His head hurts and his eyes feel puffy and sore. A beam of light is cutting through a gap in the curtains, landing on his face.

Spencer rolls over in bed and curls in on himself as his memories from the night before catch up to him. He stays like that, a lump under the covers, until Morgan comes out of the bathroom freshly showered.

“Hey, kid,” he says. “You awake?”

Spencer just grunts in response, unwilling to do anything that isn’t staying wrapped up in this cocoon of blankets. You’ve always called him a “Spencerrito” when he does this. He pretends to hate the nickname, but really, he finds it endearing. Now, though, it just hurts.

Any thought of you and the little things you do, the special things you do, the things that make butterflies sprout in his stomach, things that just yesterday made him feel warm inside, now make him ache all over.

“The jet’s set to take off in about an hour,” Morgan tells him. “If you don’t wanna fly, we can drive back together.”

The offer is tempting; spending an hour in close quarters with you and Emily knowing what he knows now, is not his idea of a good time. But he knows what he has to do. He’s known from the moment he saw the way you looked at Emily last night.

About a year ago, you’d come to his apartment on a Saturday night, looking truly downtrodden. You had been on a date, but it didn’t go well. “I’m scared I’ll never find someone,” you’d confided in him, your eyes filling with tears. “What if there’s no one out there for me, Spence?”

He hadn’t been sure how to answer. After all, he often felt the same way. So he’d put your favorite movie on the TV, dug some ice cream out from the back of his freezer, and stayed up late with you, watching one movie after another until you both dozed off in a tangle of limbs and blankets on his couch.

Slowly, he pushes himself into a sitting position on the hotel bed and looks at Morgan through the strands of hair hanging in his eyes. “You can’t tell her.”

Morgan raises his eyebrows in surprise. “I wasn’t going to, Reid.”

“I mean it,” Spencer insists. “(Y/N) can’t know. Emily, either. They... I don’t want to ruin this for her.”

“Hey,” Derek says, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “My lips are sealed, kid. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Spencer sighs. “Thanks,” he mutters, then attempts to rub the sleep from his eyes. “An hour, you said?”

---

He sequesters himself in one of the corner seats on the jet. He gets multiple worried and confused glances from everyone, including you, but no one pushes, as his body language just about screams, “leave me alone.”

Twenty minutes into the flight, someone slides into the seat across from him and he reluctantly looks up from his book. It’s Emily, looking properly nervous, folding her hands in front of her on the table.

He’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed that it’s not you.

He is sure that he doesn’t want to be talking to Emily right now, though. She took you, she took you, she took you, she took you, runs relentlessly through his mind. He pushes the thought away, glancing down at his book and running his finger across the pages to try and keep himself calm.

“Reid,” she starts hesitantly, and he drags his eyes back up. “I know you’re mad that (Y/N) didn’t tell you about us.”

Well, you’re not wrong, he thinks bitterly. It’s just not for the reason you assume, Emily.  

“But, um, that’s not on her,” she continues. “I asked her not to. And it wasn’t just you. We didn’t tell anyone. Only Hotch knew before last night, and that’s because we had to tell him.”

“Why?” Spencer asks bluntly. He does, technically, know the answer. Emily is very private when it comes to her life outside of work. It makes sense that she wouldn’t want to go around announcing her relationship status.

But Spencer doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t understand how she can be in love and not want to shout it from the rooftops. It doesn’t make any sense to him that she wouldn’t want to show you off and introduce you as my girlfriend. He can’t comprehend how she can have you, be loved by you, and not want everyone to know it.

Emily’s slightly taken aback by his question, and she bites her lip as she considers how to answer. “I just... really prefer to keep my work and personal life as separate as possible,” is what she settles on.

“Kinda impossible to do that when you’re seeing a coworker,” Spencer shoots back, then mentally scolds himself. You said you wouldn’t ruin this for her, Spencer. Don’t ruin this for (Y/N).

Her chuckle is nervous. “Well, yeah,” she concedes. “But we make it work.”

Spencer then asks a question he doesn’t really want to know the answer to before he can stop himself. “How long?”

Emily’s eyes fall to her hands as she poorly hides a smile. “Eight months.”

Eight months. Eight months. You’ve been with Emily for eight fucking months, and you never told him, never even hinted at the fact that you were seeing someone. You kept him in the dark for eight months.

You let him fall in love with you when your heart already belonged to someone else.

He doesn’t want to be mad at you. He knows he’s not being fair. He really, honestly, wants to be happy for you, happy that you found what you’ve been searching for, but reality seems hellbent on making that as difficult for him as possible.

“Please,” Emily says, “if you’re going to be mad, be mad at me. I was the one who asked her to do this.”

He stares down at his book for a full three minutes before finally muttering, “Alright.”

He sees her shoulders slump in relief in his peripheral vision. “Thank you,” she whispers, and then she leaves.

Spencer watches her walk across the jet to the couch and sit down next to you. He looks down before you can look at him because he knows he won’t be able to handle what he’ll see in your eyes. It’ll be love in your eyes, but love that’s not directed at him.  

Emily took you from him, she took you, she took you, his mind repeats until Spencer makes the first of what’s to be many attempts to accept the truth.

Emily didn’t take you from him. You were never his to begin with. 

---------------

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5 ships I hate, why I hate them, how to (kinda) fix them, the better ships you should be doing in that universe, and why you should ignore me and keep writing them if it makes you happy.

Note: this is done for amusement, please don’t be offended; I’m not attacking your ship, I’m just listing some ships I do not always care for, and how I think they could be improved, and maybe made brilliant, by clever writing.

In no particular order, and focusing on ships that often annoy me, with no attempt by me to say anything meaningful or popular about the current state of any particular fandom. I’m also a firm believer in the idea that there’s no such thing as a bad ship, only a badly executed ship, so my objections to these is less a dislike of shipping, or the paring, and more that they raise writing issues that I think are difficult to fix in a satisfying way. That’s why in a lot of the examples below I prefer AU ships to ones that try to messily work it into the cannon. Anyway, enjoy... I guess?

 Marco x / anyone (Animorphs)

Why I hate it: Animrophs is an intensely character-driven story, where the tension of each book comes from the conflicts, external and internal, that the five Animrophs (and Ax) face during a long, hard, traumatic war.  And while several of the character are paired off romantically, it’s always to emphasise character conflict over their different points of view. Jake and Cassie are a pair because Jake’s struggle with having to make hard, grey, morally ambiguous choices as leader is highlighted by Cassie’s burning need to make the right choice, the lesser evil, the choice that leaves some small shred of humanity and dignity and kindness left in this bleak world. Tobias and Rachel are a pair as their arcs deal with literal and figurative loss of humanity, as the slow accumulation of trauma over time turns these happy(ish), normal kids into psychologically ruined husks of their former selves and destroys them slowly, one fight at a time.

Marco’s arc, isn’t about either of these things: Marco’s arc, is about the bright, clear line between A and B, between problem and solution. Marco is a utilitarian, a pragmatist: his concern isn’t the burden of leadership, or the cost of the decision, but about how to put that all aside and make hard decisions that actually work regardless of cost. It’s not about what to do, the path is obvious: the bright, clear line of ruthless logic, but how to do it. His match, his counterpoint, the other character who’s all about the logic of taking awful decision in a way that actually works for the team, and his foil, his female counterpart in this, is not a romantic partner, but his mother: Visser one, making the exact same hard, difficulty ruthless decisions using logic and maths, but for the other side of this war. A romantic paring gets in the way of this arc because a partner doesn’t help him with that bright, clear line, and worse, any attempt to pair him of with either Rachel or Cassie breaks up not only a cannon paring, but their respective character arc.

How to (kinda) fix this: Marco’s arc is, at the end of the day, a trolly problem. So make sure whoever you ship him with is one of the people tied to the tracks. Introduce a character he crushes on, and then in the second act reveal that they are either a Controller, or in the family of a Controller or the proximity of the target of their next mission in a way that will make them collateral damage ,and let Marco struggle with what happens when that bright, clear logical line from A to B cuts through someone he actually loves; you know, like it did with his mother. See, even trying to fix this ship is weirdly Freudian.

The far better ship you should be doing: Ax x / EVERYONE. Ax in human form is described as a worryingly pretty, worryingly androgynous male of indeterminate race. He is a literally Bishonen alien hedonist with no familiarity with human senses, poor impulse control in human form, and no knowledge or understanding of human courtship rituals, and he can shape-shift, including into other members of the core team if needed to compel a mission, he calls Jake his prince,  and he is incredibly close to Tobias, the lonely outcast woobie that the LGBT fans adopted as their poster boy. Come on, the potential for shipping, both with wacky hijinks and sad, tragic star-crossed lovers’ trope is endless. Every line dedicated to Marco shipping is a line of text that could be dedicated to Ax trying to eat a Cinnabon erotically on his first date as a human and hulking out mid way because he forgot just how good they are. What could be better than him leaning into to erotically kiss a team-mate, and then fucking up due to his failure to understand human mouths, making weird mouth sounds, and then licking crumbs of the table in the middle of the mall, in front of the entire school, while his crush awkwardly tried to pretend this is normal? What’s wrong with you Marco-shipper people, do you hate fun?

 Riz/Tem (beastars) Why I hate this ship: Okay, just to quickly ask a question, to people who un-ironically like this as a serious ship and not a dark joke, just one little question: What’s wrong with you? I mean,are you okay? Keep taking the meds: the show is VERY clear on that point.

It’s like those people who say Joker X Harley Quinn is their ideal dark, edgy relationship: no it’s not, it’s abusive! Morticia x Gomez is dark and cool but CONSENTUAL and HEALTHY. This… this is a deeply imbalanced person murdering someone and telling themselves after that fact it was special and rare and magical. ITS HOMICIDE! And even if you write that out (and you shouldn’t, because that changes the character arc of every other major character) it’s still got more red flags that a soviet military parade. This is the botulinum of a toxic, one-sided teenage infatuation. Riz’s entire arc is about how he projects his thoughts and feelings about himself onto this idealised, made-up version of his and Tem’s relationship which, from Tem’s point of view, never existed. Riz never loved Tem: he loved the idea of Tem, the idea that someone would see the real him, see his inner pain and accept him anyway, but he never once told Tem this. He didn’t warn him “Hey, because of you I don’t feel I need my meds any more, do you mind if I try not taking them and we can meet and talk about this in a safe, well-lit pace?” He’s not honest with Tem, and on top of that It doesn’t make sense from the point of view of either of the characters for them to be actually, romantically in love (although  they were clearly close friends), because it undermines and cheepens Riz desire to just be seen and accepted for his real self, and the cannon Tem X Els ship. It also doesn’t make sense from a story point of view: Riz is a shadow archetype for Legosi. He’s what Legosi would have become if someone hadn’t interrupted his attack on Haru. That’s why Legosi needs to beat Riz with his own hands: because then he’s beating the darker version of himself he’s been carrying with him, and he can finally move on with Haru guilt-free. Having Riz and Tem’s relationship actually be what Riz imagined it to be undoes that. It undoes Riz’s interesting, dark inner struggle between truth and fantasy, it turns Tem’s tragic, unsolved murder that sets the entire story in motion into a just sort of weird Romeo-and Juliet suicide. It’s ruins the character arc not only for Riz, but for Legosi, and also, by extension, Louis and Haru, because Legosi’s internal angst over whether or not herbivores and carnivores can have a relationship as true friends needs this example of a tragic, flawed, toxic, failed friendship to bounce off of.

How it could (sort of) work: an AU where Riz’s attack on Tem is interrupted and Tem lives with a slight arm injury, and doesn’t tell anyone out of his complex feelings for Riz. Meanwhile, that bunny girl from the gardening club had been brutally devoured and Rz and/or Tem are so horrified with how close this was to their own near-miss, they start to investigate the murder, and in doing so get caught up in Louis’ inner struggle. Because that’s how the story needs to work, it’s about duality and struggle: and if Riz takes Legosi’s role, and by dating a herbivore he de facto takes the role, so Legosi must take Riz’s. This could be a great AU!

The better ship you should be doing: Pina/Riz (with a dash of Pina x Els), no, seriously, I’m not shitposting. You want to give Riz a redemption arc with a cute woolly boy? How about a story where Pina, out of a need for closure about at happened to him, starts to visit Riz in jail and they talk, mockingly at first, confrontational at first, but later Pina slowly becoming more fascinated in Riz and Tem’s life and asking Riz for more and more detail until they both bond over their shared traumatic experiences and their sense of loss for Tem’s senseless death, Tem’s unfished life casting a shadow over both off them. Eventually, the two of them find, from Legosi who still has the diary, that Tem had planned out an elaborate and beautiful first date with Els that he never got to take her on, and Riz, guilt ridden and sad than Tem never got this beautiful moment, decides to ask Pina take her on that date for Tem, with Riz coaching him by phone cyano-de-Bergerac style, Riz finally getting some closure that he helped one of Tem’s wishes come true and finally acknowledging to himself that Tem had a life and loves outside of him that were cut of short by his actions, and just crying over his lost friend, as Pina and Els slow-dance in Tem memory. Or if you just want to see Tem awkwardly date a carnivore boy from school, why not something less creepy and more wholesome and ship him with Jack? That would be cute AF, and more importantly, not romanticize brutal murder. Or an AU where everything is happy and nice, I’d argue at that it’s no longer Beastars at that point, but if it makes you happy, go for it. Let’s not shame anyone here.

 Snape X Lilly (Harry Potter)

Why I hate this ship: honestly, it’s not for the reason you think; I just like Snape too much as a tragic character, and making him in any way happy destroys his arc in my opinion.  The objection’s others have raised: that Snape acts in a worryingly possessive stalker-ish way towards Lilly, and that if Voldemort had gone for Nevil rather than Harry as a child Snape would have remained a loyal death eater, are true and I acknowledge them as having some validity, but that’s not why I can’t stand this ship. Snape is supposed to be a morally and emotionally complex, tragic figure. That “After all this time?” line was the best line in the Deathly Hallows.  Snape is supposed to show the equality destructive and redemptive power of  love. It’s sort of trinity: Lilly shows the pure power of true, unconditional love in her sacrifice to save Harry, Voldy shows what self-destruction and cruelty a life without understanding love leads to, and Snape sits somewhere in the middle: his one-sided  un-requited love being both the cause of his darkest, and his greatest actions. His curse, and his redemption, fall and rise. Making him happy messes that up.

How to (kinda) fix this ship: make them miserable. Make them fall for each-other only to be pulled apart by circumstance (you know, like they were in the darn original source material). You’re serious about making this a tragic, dark romance? Don’t ship them when they’re at school: Ship them during Voldemort’s rise to power, in the 80’s, after Lilly is married. Have the original Order of the Phoenix send her to meet with Snape and use their previous relation to try to milk some information out of him. Have her feel conflicted about it, have James furious about it, but have her do it anyway for the greater good. Have her meet up secretly with Snape who is angry and distrustful, knowing his must be a trap, and talk. Have the relationship slowly build over time against the backdrop of a cold-war spy thriller, as Lilly slowly realizes that she has some lingering feelings for Snape, but can’t reconcile them her loyalty to the order and her family. Make this a love story of conflicted feelings, divided loyalties, and spy-work against the background of drawing war-clouds. Have Snape offer to leave Voldemort, if she’ll leave the Order, and run away with him, but by that point she knows she’s pregnant and chooses to stay, out of loyalty even though she’s crushing on Snape. Have him show up at the rendezvous expecting for her to be there only for James to lead an Order Ambush, and a fight to ensure, on top of Tower Bridge in the howling wind and rain, Snape surviving but having his spirit crushed and fleeing before Lilly can tell him her true feelings. Make it big, and melodramatic, but above all, make it tragic.  Because that’s the only way Snape works as a character. Always.

The better ship you should be doing: Ginny X Nevil or Luna x Nevil: You want tragic lovers, at school, with divided loyalties, who never get together in the main cannon because a Potter ruins it and gets the girl? Ginny X Nevil. Write what was happening that final year Harry wasn’t at school when they took Dumbledore’s Army and make it work in earnest. Heck, you could even have Snape, as headmaster, hated by them but secretly trying to protect them as a secondary character to their secret, forbidden love. You don’t want to break up Harry X Ginny? Luna X Nevil is sweet and wholesome, but also tragic as they never get a chance, having their school life taken over by the horror of that final year and the need to fight for their very souls in a school run by Death Eaters and the trauma of the Battle of Hogwarts meaning that in order to put away the past and move on, they need to leave each other behind. Hell, do an AU where they canonically end up together, why not? They deserve happiness.

 Dean / Sam AKA Wincest (Supernatural)

Why I hate this ship: They’re brothers. The show even makes a joke about how squick this is. Several times.

How you could (sort of) fix this ship: You can’t: They’re brothers. The show even makes a joke about how squick this is. I guess a body-swap arc could fix this, as it’s less squicky if its just their bodies with someone else’s minds,  but seriously, the reasons why this shouldn’t exist are extensively covered in the show, and it was hilarious.  To be honest, I don’t hate this ship done as a joke, but I have seen some dark spots on the internet, and I can say with all honesty it’s not always treated as a joke. Some folks are really invested in this, and all I can ask is, is your home life okay?

Now, done as a joke, I’m 110% behind this. This is exactly the sort of insane wacky bullshit that makes for a good crack-fic. For example imagine that the supernatural threat of the week was book that made anything written in it come true, and the brothers are trying to find and destroy it, but they keep getting distracted by their burgeoning romantic feelings for each-other, and suddenly realise that the owner of the book is a fan on the in-universe novels, and writing slash-fic in the book. They need to find the writer before they make them do something they’ll both regret, but it’s just so distracting when Sam’s beautiful eyes are right there and- dammit, Sam, it’s happening again! Make Sam less concerned and even a little amused, with it, but make Dean hate what’s going on. Especially when the writer’s description suddenly makes Sam noticeably better hung that him. Make the villain turn out to be Becky from “Sympathy for the devil” and end with them trying to take the book away as she writes frantically to force them to do her bidding, and you’ve got yourself a good fic.

The better ship you should be doing: Cas/Sam or Cas/Dean or Cas/Sam AND Dean fic. Duh. Once again the show-runners beat the fans to the mark and pointed out that this is the best ship, and then they took it away just to fuck with us.

 Any Katniss ship that ignores her obsession with Emotional Security Logic. (The Hunger Games)

Why I hate these ships: Katniss is, briefly put, a mess before the books ever start, her father’s death and harsh upbringing have arguably given her PTSD before she ever volunteers for the reaping, and it doesn’t get better from there.  In psychology, Emotional Security Theory (EST) is a hypothesis that the heightened emotions surrounding repeated violent exposures leaves children vulnerable to dysregulated distress responses and eventual psychopathology, aka, why Kat be so messed up.  Her internal monologue makes the books completely clear that her choice in partners is not motivated by normal affections, but by deep, deep fear. A fear of loss, abandonment and death that leads her to make every decision about what minimises her, and her sister’s, exposure to potential physical and emotional harm. It’s frantic, fraught, cold survivalist thinking. And the other characters in the book notice and acknowledge it! “Which of us will she pick?” “She’ll pick whoever she can’t survive without.” Kat doesn’t like herself for it, but she does eventually admit to herself that she makes her decisions like this.

How do we fix this ship: Ship Kat with whoever you like, but give her a good reason to pick them: and in Kat’s mind “A good reason” is based on Emotional Security Logic, she needs to have a pressing reason why this ship makes her and her sister safer. Do that, and you’ve got yourself a good Katniss story. Don’t do that, and while you may or may not have a good story, the person staring in it isn’t Katniss Everdeen anymore.

The better ship you should be writing: Finick X Annie. Or, Haymitch prequel ships

FinAnn. This, this ship has some real potential to it, and is criminally underutilized. Finick and Annie’s relationship is one of the most tragic and romantic in the story, and has so much to offer. Or, if you want to have a hard-bitten character from district 12 struggling with trying to find love in the hellish combat of the games, do a prequel in which Haymitch finds love in the capitol during training, but loses then in the area and turns to drink as a result. Heck, you could even have some fun with this and turn it into a dark comedy, or a great tragic love story, whatever you like. It’s got potential, and his backstory is vague enough you could do a lot with it.

So, tell me below why I’m wrong, and have fun with your writing: just because I hate that ship doesn’t mean you should. Enjoy yourselves.

I’m off to write awful Ax/Pina/Luna Polyjuice’d into Nevil/Cas/Finick fiction set at an anime high-school that fights a magical war against other fictional schools, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

[hela-avenger]

To the Stars Who Listen- Part 4

Author: hela-avenger

Word Count: 1863

Summary: When Loki desires to never fall in love, he casts a spell to prevent such a thing from happening. Except, well, in the matters of love and magic, you never know the result it may have in the end. Loki x Reader

A/N: Since I am surprisingly very ahead in my writing schedule I will be updating Tuesday and Thursdays for the rest of the month! I hope you enjoy this part! Tags are open! (Send me an ask/message/response.)

TTSWL Masterlist

“How do you have your powers?” you ask the moment you find Loki walking the hallways. He makes a sharp turn but you manage to keep up with him. “I thought the ankle monitor was supposed to prevent you from using them so how did you use them yesterday?” 

Loki’s pace quickens and you huff in annoyance. His long legs allowed long strides which left you at a disadvantage. You made up for the increasing distance by practically jogging to remain by his side. 

“Come on tell me.” 

You grab a hold of his wrist forcing Loki to look at you. Something ignites within you as you stared into his eyes. You could feel the answer to your question at the tip of your tongue. It was brushing against your mind in a teasing manner.  

Loki takes immediate notice of the manic glint in your eyes and is quick to tear himself away from your trance. 

“Stop that,” he snaps. “Do you have any idea of what you’re doing?” 

That seems to really break you as you shake your head from the haze it was pulled into. You frown and take a step back. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…” 

You stumble back from him blind to the mail cart that was coming your way. Loki barely manages to see it when it hits you right on your hip sending you crashing down to the ground.

“Y/N!”

The distracted intern is quick to pull their headphones out muttering a string of apologies. You don’t pay them any mind as you felt an intensity start to grow throughout your body. 

“I’m so sorry Agent Y/N. I didn’t see you cause I was strolling Instagram on my phone because this job gets so boring sometimes. I am really sorry though! I really need the money so please, please, please don’t report me to…” 

The intern helps you up and you find yourself lured by the confessions that are falling from their lips. 

“Keep going,” you tell them. “Tell me everything.” 

“Not another word,” Loki exclaims at the intern before pulling you away. “Now go!” 

Loki then turns to you. 

“Stop and gain control of yourself.”  

“I want to hear the truth and you have eagerly taken their place.” 

You pull all that power inside you and haul it into your hands. You take up the lapels of his suit and slam him into the nearby wall. 

“Speak the truth.” 

Loki is rightfully surprised by the sudden strength you displayed at the moment. 

“Your powers have certainly grown since last night.” 

The words manage to stir you but not enough to gain full control.

“Why am I-” you scowl as you notice the position you’re in. You feel like your brain is made of cotton as you tried to make sense of the last few minutes. “Ugh, I can feel it everywhere. It’s pulsing through my mind pulling me deeper inside.” 

Loki can feel your hands shake but they did not release him. 

“Nat told me everything. You promised to train me. You promised to teach me control because if I didn’t… I could die.” 

You look up pleading at him for help. 

“Please, do something,” you whisper. “I can feel it burning.” 

Loki takes a hold of your wrists not needing to pull on his seidr to look for yours. It was pulsing lively right at the tips of your fingers. 

“You want to know how I unlocked your handcuffs with a snap of my fingers?” Loki asks. “You want to know how I got an ounce of my power back?” 

Eager to know the truth, you nod. 

“Like this.” 

You watch as his hands begin to feel warm on your skin. 

“I’m siphoning a bit of your power to myself,” Loki explains. “I can’t take much because of the monitor, but it is enough to be able to do trivial things like unlock doors and handcuffs.” 

He releases you but you can still feel it pulsing through your veins. 

“It’s still too much.” 

No confession of any kind could sate the power within you. The power had grown enough to desire a physical outlet. 

“Hit me,” Loki offers. 

“What?” you exclaim in surprise.

“Hit me.” 

Your hands are now itching for the violence but Loki didn’t deserve it. Even if he was asking for it. 

“I am the God of Lies,” Loki continues. “They call me Silvertongue for the way I can spin stories that will make you even doubt the truth you just told. I am everything you despise. So… hit me.”

The burning in your veins intensifies and you are quick to release him just so you could slam your hands to the wall beside him. Loki is trapped between you and the wall but he’s well aware of the damage you’ve inflicted. 

The wall cracks and splinters reaching the ceiling which then causes some flakes of plaster to snow down onto you both. 

You feel light. 

You can breathe freely now and your thoughts are clear and concise. 

Loki watches as you return to yourself. The power quickly retreating after having its needs met. You look defeated as you warily look up at him.

“I’m really dangerous, aren’t I?” 

Loki simply pulls your hands away from the wall holding them in his own.

“You were always dangerous,” Loki states. “We all are.” 

“But I could really hurt someone now,” you argue. “Just look at the wall!” 

Loki doesn’t need to because he felt the strong pulse himself. 

“I thought we had a few more days but your powers have grown exponentially since I last saw you. For that misconception, I apologize.”

“So what do we do now?” 

The answer to your questions comes from an unexpected source. 

“Stark will like to see you both in the conference room.” 

Tony, Steve, and Thor are the ones waiting for you in the conference room. They all shared a grim expression which did nothing to ease your nerves. You look up at the screen that Tony has up that displayed the image of you, Loki, and the cracked wall. 

Loki casually takes a seat at the table but you can’t bother to do the same. 

“So you know.” 

“FRIDAY made me aware of the situation,” Tony states as he waves the screen away. “You lost control.” 

“Yeah, well I’ll pay for the damages,” you answer. “And I should probably apologize to the intern…” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony interrupts. “I’ll handle everything.” 

Tony looks over at Steve and nods for him to jump in. 

“We’ve all discussed it and thought it would be best for you to be relocated to the uptown Avengers Facility. You’ll be safe and have ample space to practice and gain control of your powers.” 

“I’ll also be away from everyone,” you point out. 

“For your safety,” Steve reassures. 

“And for theirs,” you state with a heavy sigh. “Ok, that’s… that’s a smart decision.” 

Loki rolls his eyes at your submissiveness. He raises his hand to warrant their attention which he’s quick to receive. 

“What does that mean for me?” he asks. “I am meant to train her.” 

“We know,” Thor steps in. “And it has been decided that you will be moved alongside with Y/N to continue her training. You will be restrained with the same rules but you will be free to move anywhere around the property there. I think you will enjoy it, brother.” 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Loki mutters as he leans back in his chair. “When do we leave?” 

“Tonight,” Steve answers. 

“And just before you get any ideas,” Tony asserts with a glare in Loki’s direction. “The standby Avengers are currently residing there and they are well aware to keep an eye on you. So if you step out of line, you’ll be sent back here and locked into your room and your room alone.”

“The threats are completely unnecessary,” Loki chuckles. “I already gave my word I would help.” 

“He’s right,” Thor agrees after his brother. “As long as it benefits him, Loki will do as told.” 

Steve nods believing him while Tony remains suspicious. He glared at Loki waiting for the fallen prince to break. 

Loki didn’t. 

“As entertaining this staring match is, can I please have the room?” you ask them. “I just… I just need to clear my head of some things.” 

“Of course,” Steve nods. “Be ready by 7. I’ll fly you guys out there.” 

“Lovely,” Loki comments as he starts to rise from his seat. You’re quick to grab a hold of him and motion for him to remain in his spot. 

“Stay,” you ask him. “I have some questions for you.” 

You ignore the shared look of concern between your teammates as you focused on Loki alone. They filter out of the room with hesitation but don’t offer a comment. The moment they leave the room you take the seat next to Loki and speak. 

“I know we’re not friends, I know you don’t owe me anything, and I also know you’re only doing this to gain your freedom from that ankle monitor but can you please be honest with me?” 

Loki notes how tired you look now. It was something he had never seen in you before which was making him act in a similar manner, promising something he rarely does.  

“I’ll be honest.” 

Sensing that he spoke true, you ask the question that has been bothering you since this whole thing began.

“Why me?” you ask. “Why do I have this power? Why am I cursed with it? It makes me cruel and vindictive and I hate it. Why me?” 

“I don’t know why it chose you,” Loki answers. “But it only further confirms that you are truly special if it didn’t kill you. As for your supposed curse, this power is simply trying to protect itself. You’ve been attacked twice now which is when this cruel alter ego of yours arises. The moment you gain control these incidents will no longer occur.” 

You run your hand through your hair unhappy with his answer. 

“So how are you going to teach me control?” I ask him. “You said it yourself. You’re the God of Lies. What do you know about the power of Truth?” 

“I, out of everyone, should know the extent power of the Truth,” Loki states. “If I didn’t, then how would I comprehend my own gift of lies.” 

You seem displeased at his response.  

“Without the truth, lies wouldn’t exist,” he continues. “We are two very necessary sides needed for balance.” 

“I’m just human and you’re a God,” you remind him. “This delicate balance is off.” 

Loki reaches for your hand surprising himself with the act. He wonders if this was your doing again. Your power making him act on his empathetic emotions that he rarely paid attention to. 

“You will gain control of your powers,” Loki states. “And when you do, it won’t matter if you’re human and I’m a God because you might find yourself even stronger than I.” 

You find yourself surprised when you notice that the words he’s spoken are completely true.

TTSWL Tag: @catsladen @is-it-madness @manyfandoms-marvel @mejusttryintogetby @illogicalfangirl @ariel-snow-tmnt @islinglivesinshire @musicconversedance @missmadwoman @smaranshakthi @adaydreamingdragon @poetic-fiasco @like-a-wildfire @jasminecalia @ha-tep @charbokbok @setsuna-meiou31 @ms-blvck @country-cowgirl-101 @bepo-is-sorry

Loki Tag: @unicorniorosacomefrutillas @thesilentbluesparrow @oddly-drawn-muse @josiehosiedaninja @hp-hogwartsexpress @sadwaywardkid @wolf-lover74 @sizzlingbarbarianglitter @sigyn-nightshade @aoirohi @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals @just-a-donut-who-reads @day-dreaming-fox

All Works Tag: @jmb959 @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @hellocookiecutter @steve-rogers-personal-hell @buckybarnesyard @not-zari-tak @strangersstranger @thefridgeismybestie @ariel-snow-tmnt @badhollandfluff​ @what-a-flammable-heart​

[athenasbloodyspear]

The Viper: Chapter Two

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Find this fic on Ao3.

This fic is 18+ for violence and eventual sexual content. Please read at your own risk.

Master list

“I know where to find her.” Nat pipes up from her spot at the table. 

No one had moved since the Viper had shot out the security camera. 

Tony whipped his head to look at her and scoffed. “Oh? Are you an omnipresent God who knows all? Because if Friday can’t find her, I think we’re fucked.” 

“I know a place in the city where someone like her could disappear. Where I would disappear if I were her. It’s a hunch, but I have a feeling it’s where she is.” 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Care to enlighten us?” 

“The Mist.” Nat said simply. 

“Okay that just sounds fake.” Sam scoffed. 

“It’s not.” Nat snapped, “It’s an underground nightclub in Brooklyn. Famously has no cameras anywhere. The name is a nod to the fact that it’s a blind spot in the city. It’s filled with people in similarly seedy professions and rich and powerful people looking for illegal fun.” 

“Alrighty then. Sounds like my kinda place.” Tony rubbed his palms together. Steve just groaned. 

“You’re telling me this woman would hide out in a nightclub full of people who potentially know there’s a bounty on her head?” Bruce chimed in. 

“Yes. It’s highly frowned upon for outside business to interfere with the fun inside, so if anyone is hoping to make the hit they would have to wait for her to leave. Hence why I bet she waits there a long time.” 

“How do you know about this place Nat?” Steve countered. 

“How do you think I know about this place, Rogers?” She spat back. 

“Whatever, you two. Suit up for an evening at the club and meet us all back here in an hour.” Tony interrupted before Steve could stick his foot in his mouth. “Banner, you’re excused.” 

“Thank god.” Bruce sighed. 

“The rest of you are going. I’m staying here to monitor cameras with Friday and see if I can scrounge up any more interesting tidbits on our new friend.” 

“Great.” Bucky muttered to himself. A club. His favorite thing in the world. 

Not.

--

After a particularly complicated series of sneaking into various clothing stores in Manhattan you’d finally stolen something acceptable to wear for your evening of fun. 

You could feel the adrenaline pumping through you still. This whole thing was a massive gamble and you knew that. 

At any moment it could all come crashing down. In a lot of ways. 

You hadn’t been this out of control in a very long time. It was terrifying. 

But you would gamble with your life if you had to. It didn’t matter to you anymore. There was only one thing that did and you would give everything for it. 

So you’d continue to spiral out of control. To rely on others' choices. 

You didn’t have any other options. 

--

Bucky was relieved to discover that while this underground club was a club it at least wasn’t deafeningly loud. At least not in every section of the club. 

He was horrified to discover that the “underground” descriptor wasn’t only figurative. The club space was in the basement of a non descript warehouse that screamed Hydra wannabe. Everything in the club was a shade of black.  There was an upper floor, where the team was currently spread out, with many lush couches and smaller tables. It was more reminiscent of jazz bar’s he’d been to in the 40’s. The upper level had a metal railing that looked over into what could only be described as a pit. There was a large black marble bar along one wall of the lower floor and the rest was a dance floor. Or at least that’s what Nat had said, all he could see was a sea of bodies smashed together writhing. Apparently that was dancing. 

Even more horrifying was the fact that there were no windows. Not a single one. And the only exit that anyone knew of was the single door they came in. It was eating his skin alive. He felt so suffocated. Trapped in a way he hadn’t felt in years. 

He knew if he voiced this to Steve, he would immediately tell him to go home and the rest of them would probably be fine on their own. However, there was something keeping him here. He felt a pull towards this enigma of a woman and he needed to see her with his own eyes. Something in his gut told him she needed his help. He didn’t really know how or why, but his instincts were rarely wrong and he was tired of ignoring them. 

Even if his instincts were fighting within him at the moment. 

“Anything?” Nat questioned through the coms from where she sat on a sofa, pretending to chat with some diplomat from a country Bucky couldn’t think of right now. 

“No one who looks like what I think I’m looking for.” Steve replied. He’d been the only one who had offered to venture downstairs surprisingly. Bucky didn’t know how he could do it. 

“Sam?” Nat prompted. Sam had taken to exploring some of the strange and windy back hallways of the upper floor that lead to restrooms and stock rooms and who-knew-what-else rooms. Again, Bucky didn’t know how he willingly ventured into this creepy hell hole. 

“Nada.” Sam mumbled, “Have seen lots of faces I recognize from front pages of magazines. Most in compromising positions. Gonna be hard to forget.” 

“Gross.” Bucky muttered. He heard Nat’s soft laugh filter through the com. “I haven’t…” Bucky started. His thought cut off abruptly. 

He was standing at a railing, looking down on the pit from an aerial view, when he saw her. 

She was stunning, even though he knew she was trying to keep a low profile. It wasn’t anything in the way she looked necessarily, even though she looked amazing in her slim black velvet suit. When she shifted he noted that she wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath the blazer and he hoped that there was some sort of tape involved to keep the lapels in place on her chest. The smooth expanse of skin he could see between the jacket was nearly too much to handle already. 

No, it wasn’t the outfit that made her stunning. She simply was so commanding and present that her energy was intoxicating, even from his perch a floor above. He didn’t understand how everyone around her wasn’t staring at her. He couldn’t really remember what he was supposed to do now that he was faced with her. 

She was the new him, he realized. Her hair fell to her shoulders, almost a direct replica of the mop of tousled locks on his head, only darker. He noticed she didn’t look nearly as robotic in this space compared to the videos he’d seen of her. 

I knew it. He thought. This is the real her. 

“Care to finish that thought big guy?” Sam chuckled through the coms, snapping Bucky out of whatever trance he’d fallen into. 

“I uh…” Bucky started again. “I’m lookin at her.” 

He heard voices come through the coms, asking where the hell he was and where she was but he couldn’t speak.

He watched her, you, toss back a shot of some dark liquid. 

As he stared, your eyes shifted up and locked with his. 

Every sound in the world disappeared for him. Bucky couldn’t hear a thing but the pounding of his own heart. There was a string between the two of you that went taught as you stared at each other. 

Some part of his brain registered his increasingly frustrated friends trying to get his attention through the coms but he didn’t even dare blink, let alone speak. He was convinced that if he even twitched you would disappear into the smoky haze of the room. 

“I see her.” He heard suddenly through the com. Steve must have spotted you across the room from him downstairs. “I’m closing in.” 

Bucky watched the corners of your mouth peel into a tiny little smirk. His dry eyes forced him to blink and when his lids opened again, you were gone. 

Fuck. He thought. 

“What the hell was that, Buck?” Steve snapped through the coms. “I lost her. Anyone else still see her?” 

“The only way out is the front door.” Nat breathed. Everyone shifted instantly to beeline for the front. Even if you snuck out before them, Bucky knew you couldn’t have gone very far. 

--

You careened out the front, gasping in fresh breaths of air as you peeled to the left and down the sidewalk at a quick pace. You felt grateful you’d forgone the heels for high top sneakers tonight as you needed to haul ass. Fast. You didn’t really know why you suddenly felt the need to flee. Your intention had been to attempt to speak to them inside, where you had the upper hand.  

But every well laid plan had flown out the window when you’d locked eyes with the Winter Soldier. Or Bucky as he was now called. 

He looked the same. 

He looked different in every way possible. 

It ripped a hole in your chest. 

So you ran. 

You paused briefly to stuff your fingers to the back of your throat, forcing the liquor you’d nervously pounded out of your stomach. You were gonna need every bit of your cunning. They were all there, and you were vulnerable out on the street now. 

You were so fucking stupid. 

Why had you run? Why did you run from him? 

You heard the door crash open a half a block behind you. 

--

Bucky was the first one out the door. Sam had to wind out from the back of the building, Nat had to disentangle herself from conversation and Steve had to make his way up from the bottom floor. He was at an advantage. 

His instincts were telling him that he needed to be the first one to intercept you. He felt territorial about it. He didn’t know why, but something shifted while you had stared at each other. It was a glimmer, nearly lost in the recesses of his mind, but he knew you. Somehow. 

When he looked to his left, he captured the image of you, curled over your knees, emptying your stomach onto the curb. 

What the fuck? 

“Please don’t run.” Bucky yelled. “Please I swear we don’t want to kill you.”  

He watched you straighten yourself up, wiping the back of your hand across your mouth. 

“That sounds exactly like something someone who wanted to kill me would say.” You chuckle. 

Your voice. It’s… exactly like he imagined it. 

It’s nothing like he imagined it. 

Before he can process the whirlwind of emotions in his head, you’ve taken off. He bolts after you. After a few strides he hears the door blow open behind him as the rest of the team flies out of the establishment. 

He has to get to you first. 

--

You sprint as hard as you ever have. It hurts more, now that you’re fully in control. You hate it. 

You love it. 

It makes you furious.

You careen around corners and slip between crowds of people, trying your damnedest to throw them off their trail. Eventually you skid to a halt next to an older BMW parallel parked on a busy street, slamming your elbow into the corner of the back window, shattering the glass. You reach through the now open hole and manually unlock the drivers door, not caring that the remaining glass catches and opens your skin. 

“Wait!” A voice calls across the street. It’s him. You fight the urge to cover your ears. That voice. 

You scramble into the front seat, reaching under the dash to rip the wires of the starter out of the plastic covering. As you fumble with your hands you glance up, watching the Winter Soldier fling himself expertly through moving traffic towards you. 

“Shit shit shit.” You mutter to yourself. You finally free the wires,  ripping the ends open and tapping them together until they spark and the engine roars to life. 

Thank god. 

You shift into drive, rip up the E-brake and prepare to step on the gas. You glance once behind you to monitor the traffic roaring down the one way street. There’s an opening. 

When you shift your body back forward to grab the wheel, he’s almost to you. His eyes are wild. 

Pleading. 

What are you doing? 

I’m holding your hand. 

Why? 

I don’t know. 

The pain in your chest is nearly unbearable now. You force your facial features to shift into a wide smirk and flip him off before slamming on the gas as hard as you can. 

The e-brake holds the front wheels in place as the back wheels squeal on the ground, spinning the vehicle around in place until you’re facing the wrong way down the one-way. 

Finally. 

You punch it. 

--

Bucky watches you tear off in the stolen car, panting for breath. 

There was a moment. Just a moment where he’d seen something in your face and then a mask had locked down over your features. 

He couldn’t make sense of it. The agony in your eyes when you saw him just now. 

He must know you. 

How? 

“I lost her.” Bucky pants into the coms. “I… lost her.” 

Nat and Steve came sprinting up behind Bucky, placing her hands on her knees to suck in hair. 

“I’ll tail her.” Sam called. Swooping up in the skies and taking off in the direction where Bucky’s eyes were trained. 

“I don’t understand.” Nat pants. “She would never have been found if she didn’t want to be.” 

“Why did she run?” Steve questioned. 

“I don’t know.” Bucky murmured. He couldn’t keep his eyes away from the last place he’d seen your car. 

“What happened in there Bucky?” Steve turned to look at him. 

“I… don’t know.” He murmured again. 

“I’m gonna need more than that pal.” Steve prompted, placing his hands on his hips. 

“She… She looked at me.” He choked out. Steve guffawed, dropping his head back to look at the sky. Beside him, Nat eyed him curiously. “I can’t explain it, but it felt… like I knew her. Like we were connected somehow.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean Bucky?” Steve clipped. “You just stood there while she ran.”  

“Shut the fuck up Steve.” Nat snapped. 

“What?” Steve turned to her then. “Don’t you think it’s a little weird that he was basically paralyzed in there?” 

“No.” She snapped. “I think that there’s some deeper story here we don’t understand and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s a part of it.” 

Steve looked to Bucky then, a little more sobered now, and murmured. “You know her?” 

“No.” Bucky said immediately. “At least, not really. But there’s something. She looked at me like…” 

Like you did when I was falling from that train. 

Just then Sam dropped out of the sky and landed next to them. 

“She must have noticed me and ditched the car a few blocks over. Went into a subway station.” Sam sighed. “Needless to say, I lost her.” 

The whole group stands together, panting staring down the street where they’d last seen you. 

Bucky finally breaks his silence.

“I need to find her.”

--

His damned voice.

TAGLIST:

@maxsaturdayhatesnarwhals

[smol-and-grumpy]

Golden Cage - Chapter.03

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: She’s a spoiled little princess — at least that’s what people say. Her father is the King of all Kings, the man who everyone fears. Then, along comes Dean Winchester, the one guy who manages to see into her soul, but — — is Dean really who he says he is?

Chapter Warnings: Fluff, angst, violence, teasing, I dunno, those chapters area always packed with everything, man.

WC: 5942

Beta’d by: @deanwanddamons​​​ <3

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

“Adam,” She says and Dean’s body goes rigid instantly. Everything he felt before — the warmth that crept up his spine turns ice cold. He frowns at her and takes a step back while he shakes his head. 

Did he hear it right or did his ears and mind play tricks on him? He can’t tell, because he can’t sort the thoughts that are flying around in his head.

Adam? 

What’s with Adam? 

Who the fuck is Adam?

“What?” Dean hisses out and he’s irritated, how can he not fucking be? He paces around, for fucking good measure. A fucking perfect moment, fucking destroyed. Princess has a way with timing, doesn’t she?

“I’m sorry, it’s just— Adam,” 

There it is again, the name. The fucking stupid name of another man. He’s not jealous. At least he thinks he isn’t. At least he shouldn’t fucking be. But the name rubs him the wrong way, he can’t fucking lie about that.

Y/N’s about to say something more, but Dean interrupts her with a snort, “I don’t know what’s your turn on, princess, but calling another man’s name while I’m kissing you is not really my thing,” 

He tries to play it cool, doesn’t let on that it fucking bothers him.

“No, no!” She sighs and exhales audibly. 

There’s also a frustrating sound coming out of her throat that almost makes him chuckle and above all, fucking weak. He tries to stay firm, though.

“What is it?” He asks, with visible irritation on his face. He can feel the creasing of his forehead.

“Adam is—” She says and pauses to let out another audible sigh, “Adam was— He was a soldier of my dad’s. He was a good guy.”

Dean frowns some more. He has no fucking idea where she wants to go with this. Adam was a good guy, so what? Does that make it okay to say the other man’s name?

“God, I’m all over the place,” She groans.

Dean doesn’t say anything, just looks at her with one raised eyebrow. Yeah, because she fucking is. What’s the point of mentioning some other dude?

She clears her throat, “Okay, right. I’ll start again,” She looks at him, her eyes meeting his, and Dean has the feeling that he needs to listen to it, even if he doesn’t necessarily want to. 

“Please, be my guest,”

“All I want to say is that I had a fling with Adam and, and, and… Well, he took my virginity, and you wanna know what happened?” She gestures with her hands and paces around the room. Now she’s the irritated one. It would be cute if he wasn’t so damn confused.

He can’t say anything but stare at her with a fucking frown etched so deep it seems like it takes over all of his fucking face, “No? I mean, I’m not really into knowing what happened when he took your virginity, to be perfectly honest with you?”

“Not that!” She gestures with her hand and groans, “God!”

“Then what? I mean, am I jealous? Yeah, maybe? But you don’t need to rub it in?” 

Well, he doesn’t know why he admitted it. Damn fucking Adam, seriously?

“Fuck’s sake, Dean! Dad found out and fucking castrated him! He’s still alive, but he moved away to god knows where! Because that’s the thing that happens when someone comes too close to me!”

Dean needs a moment to let her words sink in. And then he can’t control himself anymore. There’s a burst of loud laughter, it rumbles in his chest and he tries to hold it in by clasping his hand over his mouth. Dean feels a rush of contentment, feels fucking relief. 

Y/N stops her pacing and stands akimbo while she stares him down. She watches until he finally composes himself and Dean has to brush away at one single tear that rolls down his cheek from the corner of his eye. 

He strolls over to her after, his hands taking hers away from her hips to raise them both to his face, places careful soft kisses on her knuckles.

“Aren’t you afraid of what could happen to you if he found out?” Her voice is whiny. It’s adorable, really.

He brushes a hand over her face, his knuckles skimming over her cheek. Dean bends down to kiss her gently, leaves his lips on hers for a little too long and not long enough, because he knows that he has to leave, at least for tonight. He breaks the kiss and leaves his forehead on hers while he rests his hand on the back of her neck, “Princess, I told you before and I’m telling you again. I fucking love taking risks.”

  I fucking love taking risks.

She still hears his whisper, his voice was deep and soothing. 

Is Dean for real? He loves taking risks? He’s absolutely kidding, right? The risks he’s taking right after he kissed her last night is of disastrous magnitude. He could get fucking killed but he does not fucking care! It blows her mind!

Dean went away right after the lingering kiss that left her all hot and bothered. She was glad that she was about to hop into the shower anyway, was glad that she could wash off the tingly feeling, used the showerhead to stimulate herself, and found release quite quickly. No wonder. After the kiss, it was quite easy because when she closed her eyes all she saw, tasted and felt, was Dean. 

Y/N settled into bed after, but it was hard to find sleep, since even though she came, there’s something inside her that she couldn’t satisfy. A longing that she knew only a man could help ease. Preferably, she’d like that man to be Dean. She laid awake for some time, kind of hoping that he felt the same, hoping that he would sneak into her room in the night since his room is just down the hall, but sadly, he never did. 

Maybe he changed his mind? Maybe he thought that she wasn’t worth all the risks anyway? Would she blame him if he did change his mind? Probably not. 

*

She wakes up the next day with the tingly feeling still there and she curses Dean because how did he do that? How can he make her body want so much more with just one fucking kiss? That’s not fucking fair!

Quickly, she hops into the shower, in hopes of finding another release to ease her body. And like last night, she does. Quite quickly, too.

After getting dressed, she walks down the stairs, ready to face the day, ready to go into work but stops mid-step when she notices that Max’s already sitting on the couch just right below, reading something on his phone. Upon noticing her, he stands up and lets his phone drop into his pants pocket before straightening his suit.

“You sure like to take your time, don’t you?” There’s a rise of his eyebrows.

“I’m not needed in the restaurant today and only do inventory, so sue me for waking up later than usual. Besides, you have a phone, Max. Why didn’t you just text if you want something?”

“Eh,” Max shrugs, “Boss’ orders. He needs to speak to you.”

She rolls her eyes as she makes her way down the steps, “I have to go into work,”

“You just said you technically don’t need to be in! Don’t shoot the messenger, Y/N. He’s waiting in his office.”

Y/N groans when she makes her way to her dad’s office. She knocks three times, deliberately loud, for fucking good measure. But still, she barks in right after, not waiting for approval.

To her surprise, her dad’s in there alone, which is rare. He’s usually surrounded by his men.

He looks up from his papers when he notices her, only lifting his eyes from the papers far enough to spare her a quick glance, “Sit down, Y/N.”

She nods and settles herself into the heavy and ancient-looking chair standing across from him and his desk. The room is kept in dark wooden tones, something she doesn’t really approve of, but he wouldn’t let her remodel it, saying it represents his dark soul. She can’t agree more.

There’s another silence as he finishes reading a paragraph. He signs it and places his pen down before crossing his hand on top of the papers, his fingers intertwined.

“Why do you want to speak to me, Dad? I’m about to go to work.”

He sighs, as if he doesn’t understand why work is so important to her. Honestly, she doesn’t think he really understands her at all. Probably never has. They’re too much alike, personality-wise, but also she looks a lot like her late mother and she thinks that it pains him to even look at her. At least he gives her the impression that it does.

“I want to ask your opinion on Dean.”

Her heart starts to race. It picks up speed so fast that she thinks the thumbing can be seen on her chest. Why does he want to ask her about Dean? Does he know something? Does he know that they kissed? Where is Dean anyway? Oh god, she hopes he’s okay!

Y/N ignores the thumping of her heart, wipes out the irritation off her face, “What about Dean?”

Her dad leans back in his chair, seemingly unfazed and she breathes relief because he doesn’t catch on that her heart is pumping fucking fast, “What do you think of him? Do you think he can be trusted?”

“Yeah,” She says and tries not to squint because it comes out of her a little too fast. She tries to make a longer pause afterward, “I think he showed that he can be trusted, as he protected us yesterday.”

He clicks with his tongue, before he lets out a sigh. She hates that because she can never read him. 

“Good,” He leans forward and picks his pen back up again, “I trust your words, princess.”

Princess. Dad had never called her that for ages. He used to when she was younger. That’s why other people picked on it as well. Bobby used to call her princess all the time.

He raises his eyebrows after a pause and trains his eyes on her, “He told me you pointed your gun at him?”

The color rises to her cheeks. Dammit, why did Dean have to tell dad? Just why did he think that it would be a fucking good idea? 

Y/N nods her head while looking down. Like a kid who’s been caught. 

“I did.”

“You never point a gun at your own people, Y/N!” He scolds.

“Yeah, well look who’s talking,” She spits back, because who is he to talk, really? She’s seen him pointing guns at people all the fucking time.

“At least I know how to handle one!” He scoffs and stops to snort, “Are you finished with your inventory?”

“No, I’m planning to go in now.”

God, she’s annoyed. But she’s trying her best not to really show it, though.

“Take a break, go get breakfast, and then you wait until Dean’s back.” Her father says.

“Why? Where is he?” She’s curious as hell, but she tries to sound nonchalant. 

“Learning the ropes from Benny. He’ll be back later and will take you to the shooting range.”

“Ugh,” She rolls her eyes for the effect.

Her father chuckles, “It was Dean’s idea but I agree. If you want to get into the business, you have to know how firearms work.”

Y/N presses her lips into a thin line, tries not to grin because that would be too obvious, “Fine.”

  Dean’s standing by the door as Benny paces around the back office of a restaurant that’s situated not too far from the mob’s HQ. 

The owner’s apparently late in paying this month's protection money, he’s been told. Azazel suggested that Benny takes Dean along to learn the art from the apparent best.

Benny had his people waking the family up in the apartment right above the restaurant that they are living in, and pointed a gun at all of them as they brought them down to the office. Now the father is sitting on a chair, his hands bound behind his back as he faces Benny. The wife is on the sofa, holding her children on either side of her body. The kids have their heads buried into their mother’s stomach so as not to have to watch what’s going on and she covers their ears for them. 

It’s a heartbreaking sight and Dean’s disgusted, but he has to fucking play the part, doesn’t he? It’s actually the worst feeling in the world and even though he knows it’s a part of the job and he’s seen much worse, he can never get used to it. He will probably never be able to. He’s actually glad he’s the consigliere and doesn’t have to deal with this kind of thing on a daily basis. But still, Dean needs to do them because it’s expected from him to follow fucking orders.

“Tomorrow, I promise!” The owner says in broken English. Dean has read the files and knows that they are Armenians. Coming over to the States to pursue a dream with the whole clan. The father looks up at Benny with pleading eyes, “Please!”

“You had a fucking week,” Benny growls, “What will a day longer get you? You think you can go follow some rainbows and dig up some pots of gold?” 

“We’ll have it for you tomorrow, I promise, please! I’m waiting for my cousin!” The man pleads.

Benny stops his pacing to chuckle. He swings his gun, hitting the man on the side of his face. The blow is so hard the guy topples over and immediately one of Benny’s men steps in and tips the chair back with the man still strapped to it. 

The blow makes Dean flinch and he looks over to the mother, who has her eyes closed while she cries to herself silently. Her children are wailing as their mother pulls their faces deeper against the sides of her body. 

“What will your cousin do?” Dean asks, and he knows he’s interrupting because Benny sends him a side-eye, however, Benny doesn’t dare to shut him up. 

The man spits blood onto the carpet floor in his own office. Dean’s sure that the stains will be a bitch to get out, but that’s probably the least of the man’s worries.

He looks at Dean now, ignoring Benny who has a tight grip around his gun, the knuckles already turning white. Dean knows it’s partly because Benny’s irritated that he interrupted him.

“Please, sir. He sold his house to help me. He has an appointment at the bank later today.”

Dean nods. He believes the owner and he’s always good at reading people. He can detect if someone’s shitting him. Not that Dean thinks it’s super that someone has to sell a fucking house just for them to be able to pay protection money. The restaurant isn’t doing well apparently, he has read that too. They pay more to the mob than they are earning, which is seriously fucked up in Dean’s eyes.

“We could wait a day.” Dean looks up and meets Benny’s eyes, challenging the man. He’s really not intimidated by the dude but he knows that Benny’s intimidated by him. Maybe because Benny doesn’t know him yet, doesn’t know what Dean’s capable of, but the guy acts as if he respects him, so Dean takes that.

Benny sends him a glare before he snorts out a laugh, “Yeah, and then what? There’s always gonna be another day and another,” He rambles on, and then he turns to the owner, walks closer to the poor guy. Benny skims the barrel of his gun over the man’s cheek, “What guarantee do you have for me, huh? What can you give me so that I will take your word for it?”

The owner is breathing heavily before he spits blood onto the floor again. This time a tooth comes out with the spit. He’s also bleeding from his nose.

There’s silence in the room. All the other guys are standing around, but they don’t interfere. Fucking cowards. How can you watch this and not at least feel something? Every shred of morality is brainwashed out of their minds. Dean’s not surprised, actually. He’s only slightly irritated.

“Shall I take your wife for the day, huh?” Benny chuckles darkly, his face only inches from the man’s.

Dean looks over to the mother, her silent sobbings turn to little whimpers as she shakes her head and whispers no, no, no, over and over, like a broken record.

“Or your kids? Huh? You have a beautiful daughter, how old is she?” Benny grins.

“No!” The wife shouts while she lays her arm around her daughter. The girl is hugging her mother just a little tighter, too.

Dean guesses that the girl is not older than twelve and Benny’s clearly going too far with that. 

“Hey,” He interrupts Benny, “We don’t harm kids.”

Benny snorts as he stands up straight before sending Dean a glare. His eyes are dark, furious. Dean doesn’t budge, doesn’t let the man intimidate him. Why should he, Benny’s a fucking wimp. 

Dean ignores Benny and turns to the man on the chair, “Right, we’ll be here again tomorrow, have the money ready. Meanwhile, people will be watching your every move, making sure you don’t flee, you understand?”

He hears an audible exhale from the mother and the owner nods frantically, “Yes, yes! Thank you, sir! Thank you!”

Benny places his gun into his holster, his eyes are still on Dean. He watches as Benny bites the inside of his cheek and storms out past him, bumping into his shoulder deliberately on his way out.

*

As Dean makes his way out through the back of the office, he’s greeted by Benny who slams him against the wall and pins him there. Benny’s breathing is ragged as he moves his face closer to Dean’s. 

“Just who the fuck do you think you are!” Benny hisses, his breath stinks of alcohol. It’s not even nine-fucking-AM. The dude has a serious drinking problem, apparently. 

“I only have Azazel’s best interest in mind,” Dean shrugs and stays calm. It’s not hard. He’s not afraid of Benny at all, “Do you think he would be happy to hear that you threatened to take one of the kids?”

Benny gasps, his mouth opens and closes as he tries to come up with something to piss Dean off. When he can’t think of anything, he purses his lips to a thin line, “Fine. Whatever!” He pushes himself away from Dean with force and Dean has to flinch at the quick pain he feels in his shoulders. 

The other man walks to his vehicle and gets in, driving away, before Dean could even push himself off from the wall. 

  Y/N walks into the dining room with the intention to get some coffee into her system. She can’t say that she’s not upset about not going into work and somehow she’s also a little happy that she gets to see Dean again, gets to be alone with him. She wonders though, if he’ll think that she’s a basket case for mentioning Adam, wonders if he really isn’t upset about her mentioning another man’s name when he kissed her. 

To her surprise, she finds Bela sitting at the table, drinking her own cup of coffee.

“Hey?” She says, raising her eyebrows at her friend. Bela seems to be a little jumpy because the woman chokes on her coffee upon seeing Y/N, and she coughs while holding her palm flat to her chest, “I didn’t expect you here.” 

She really didn’t. Bela usually calls before coming over, but what does Y/N know really, her house is a goddamn open place for people of the family. People come and go around here, there are security standing at the door, but they would let anyone in who they know are family. Besides, at this time of the day, Y/N’s already at work so it could be that Bela drops in every now and then without telling her? 

“Yeah, uh,” Bela clears her throat, “It was just a spur of the moment. I really like the coffee here and I thought I could get one before going into work.”

Y/N glances over to the big clock hanging on the wall. It’s past eleven. She turns back to her friend, mutters a “Yeah, sure,” and sees Bela’s cheek turning bright pink. 

Before Y/N can say more, her phone vibrates in her back pants pockets and she finishes it out, stares at the message from Dean. Her heart thumbs ridiculously fast and the thing with Bela suddenly not important anymore. The other girl takes her purse and walks into the kitchen with her half-drunken coffee mug, and Y/N can’t mind because her thumb already swipes over her phone to open up the message.

 D: How are you today?

 She looks up to see the maid bringing her coffee and she thanks the woman with a nod. Her lips curve up to a smile as she thumbs over the keyboard on her phone.

 Y/N: Not good. I’m not allowed to go into work because you ran to my dad and whined about me pulling a gun on you.

D: Hey, in my defense, I almost shit my pants

 She chuckles at that. 

 Y/N: You’re so dramatic. So, when will you be back? Apparently you’re out with Benny?

D: I’m already back.

 She looks around, even looks behind her, because that’s something Dean would probably pull. She imagines him to be a guy who would jump out from somewhere to scare the shit outta her. 

 Y/N: How? I would have heard you because I was downstairs all the time.

D: Oh, sweetheart, I’m just good like that. 

 She snorts as there's another message coming in.

 D: Meet me in my office? I’m in the one that belonged to Bobby, obviously.

Y/N: I’m having coffee.

D: Bring it with you. Get me one, too. Black.

D: Please?

*

She’s making her way to Dean’s office with two coffees in hand, walking slowly as she goes because she didn’t put them on a tray and doesn’t want to spill them about. 

Y/N actually doesn’t know why she got his coffee in the first place. Dean can easily just call up the maid if he wants to have a cup of coffee, or anything else, but again, she doesn’t know what’s happening with her nowadays anyway. There’s a strong urge to please people. The urge has always been there. Maybe because she thinks that pleasing people will get her the recognition she wants and she can’t help but do it, even if she doesn’t like these people and what they’ve become at all. She has a rebellious streak, apparently. At least there’s that. It somehow makes her think that she’s probably not entirely corrupted by her urges.

“Hey,” She shouts out as she arrives at the door to his office that’s closed. She realizes that she can’t possibly open it up with two coffees in hand, “You gotta open for me.”

She can hear some shuffling inside, hears the clicking of dress shoes along the floor as Dean walks to open the door. 

Dean opens up the door wide, an easy grin sitting on his face, “What about please and thank you?”

“I could just toss the coffee in your face, how’s that about please and thank you?” She scoffs playfully as she walks to his desk and places the two coffees onto it. 

“You really brought me a coffee?” Dean asks in surprise as he closes the door and joins her at his desk, taking a seat at the big wooden table where he still has a lot of files spread on top. 

She frowns, “Well, yeah? You said please.”

He chuckles, “Is that the way to get you to do things around here, huh?” 

He stares at her with raised eyebrows as he takes the cup and places it to his lips. Oh god, his sinful fucking lips. All of a sudden, the images of last night come flooding into her mind and she can feel her ears burning. She thinks Dean must know because he pauses to stare at her some more, and the grin on his face turns cocky before he takes a sip of his coffee, groaning in satisfaction as the liquid goes down his throat. 

“Right,” She says and clears her throat, trying to get the image out of her mind and changing the subject at the same time, “Dad said you’d take me to the shooting range?” 

Dean takes another sip before he sets the mug down with a nod, “Yeah, that is correct. You up for it?”

“I mean, do I have a choice?” She clutches her coffee between her palms and shrugs. 

“Y/N, I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to, okay? I just thought it’d be good if you know how to shoot and actually hit your target. It might come in handy one day, you never know.”

She sighs, “See? I don’t have a choice.”

“You do. You say you don’t want to and I take you somewhere else, pretend we’ve been to the range just to not upset your father.”

He’d take her somewhere else? Where? Does she really want to know? Well, yeah, she does but her mind also says that Dean’s right. She should fucking know how to handle a gun. He’s right that it might come in handy. There are enough rival mob gangs around who are more than ready to take their place, apparently. Not that she cared that much about it.

“No, it’s okay, we can go.” She says at last, after a long thinking period. 

Dean nods, but he doesn’t smile. Neither does she. 

“Can you be ready in ten minutes?” He asks instead as he tips his mug back and swallows down all the coffee. His Adam’s apple is bopping and she has to bite down on her bottom lip so as not to squeal out loud. 

How can someone make drinking coffee hot as fuck? Dean Winchester can and she might hate him a little for it.

“Sure.” She says, hiding her face behind her own mug as she drinks up her own coffee.

  Dean’s surprised to see her bring him coffee. It was supposed to be a joke and he couldn’t help but smile brightly as he saw her juggling two mugs in her hands. 

And when she sat in his office looking all flushed because he’s sure she thought about the kiss they shared — because he’s been thinking the same — he wanted to get up and walk around to kiss her again, just because he’s allowed to. Just because he fucking knows that she wants it as much as he does. But it would be too risky around here, he knows that too.

Jesus, he’s been thinking about her since he left her room last night. Had to fucking rub himself off while he took a shower, and while he closed his eyes, all he fucking saw and felt was her. He came embarrassingly fast but his dick never really softened after that. It stayed semi until he fell asleep to images of her, debauched and spit slick next to him.

That’s definitely not normal, neither is it good, he fucking knows, but apparently his dick didn’t get the memo yet. 

He’s waiting in the foyer, looks through some emails on his phone when he waits for her to come down from her room so he can take her to the shooting range.

Somehow, though, Dean was hoping that she would say that she didn’t want to go. Maybe he wanted to whisk her away, take her out, make her forget her name, escaping her golden cage for a couple of hours. But she’s a fucking good girl and apparently, she likes to listen to her head. So whisking her away would have to wait for another opportunity.

Dean notices her walking down the stairs and as he looks up, his heart might have stopped beating for a moment. She’s changed from her food-stained work pants into a skirt. 

A goddamn fucking skirt. 

What makes her think that wearing a skirt to a shooting range is o-fucking-kay? Fucking princess, seriously. Dean mutters curses under his breath as he stands up and slips his phone back into his pants pocket.

“I’m ready,” She beams and Dean’s still grumpy as he curses silently. 

He takes another look at her, eyes her up and down. The skirt isn't really short but it gives him enough of a view of her thighs, something he knows he shouldn’t fucking stare at. At least not when he’s in this goddamn house.

“You really wanna wear that, princess?” 

Y/N frowns before she presses her lips together, pulling a pout. Jesus, that’s not fucking fair. He would just love to take a bite from those pouty plump lips. It’s also not fucking fair that the combination of her appearance and pout makes his dick stir in his pants. God, why did he think taking her to a shooting range would be a good idea? Clearly, his heart did all the thinking when he suggested the idea to her dad. His fucking heart should maybe talk with his fucking dick first before suggesting another stupid thing. And maybe, his fucking head should jump in next time and scold at every other part of his body.

“Why?” She says before her mouth widens to a grin. 

Oh, she fucking knows why. Dean’s not really sure if he should be proud of the cheeky girl or not.

“You know why,” He grumbles.

She takes two steps closer, moves right into his fucking space, and stands up on her tiptoes. Her face is close to his. Close enough so he can smell the traces of her shampoo, can smell her perfume that fucking clouds his mind, “Does it turn you on?”

Dean pulls a frown. Not because he wants to, but more because he has to. God, yeah, he loves it, loves when she knows what she wants, but this is not a good place to rile him the fuck up. 

His hands grab at her arms, pushes her back onto her feet, “Let’s go,” He mutters between gritted teeth, and she fucking chuckles as he pulls her along and out the door. 

*

Y/N kept teasing him so much on the way to the range, that Dean popped a fucking boner, which again, it’s not fucking fair because he’s usually able to control himself, and he’s pretty good at it. It’s a thing he’s actually proud of because of all the undercover missions he’s been on, but hell, this mission is giving him headaches — and boners, apparently.

She kept moving her skirt up to her thighs, inch by little inch, while she crosses and uncrosses her legs, showing him more and more, and even though Dean tried not to look, he couldn’t resist a glance. He’s just a man, really. While she hitched her skirt higher, he couldn’t help but notice the holster.

Dean lifts his eyebrows in question, “You wearing a thigh holster, princess?” It does something to him, he can’t lie about that.

“Duh, where else should I keep my gun?”

This fucking girl, seriously. 

He groaned, more out of frustration than anything else, and she just fucking giggled. 

There was also a time that she watched him while he drove. He could feel her eyes on him, and he caught her pressing her thighs together, which made him chuckle to himself in silence. He’s not the only one affected.

They arrive in the parking lot of the shooting range that belongs to the mob and he gets out first because he doesn’t want to be sitting there and stare at her thighs when she gets out. Maybe also because he’s a little afraid that she’ll flash him her ass — which he’d actually love to see, but not when they’re out in the open —  so he gets out and rights his suit to conceal his boner as best as he can. 

Dean walks ahead, tries to not let her see his front. Doesn’t want her to see that he can be affected so easily. Doesn’t actually want to give her the satisfaction. She is a girl who likes to play, he has noticed, but again, so does he.

However, Dean has to stop mid-walk towards the entrance to the range because she doesn’t follow. Turning back, he lifts his arms and lets them fall to his sides frustratingly, “Do you need a special invitation or something, princess?”

“Ha!” Y/N giggles when she notices his still visible boner. 

She’s laughing to herself as he pushes past him, making sure that she touches him and Dean catches a whiff of her alluring scent, it makes him fucking light-headed. 

He rolls his eyes dramatically and only hears her calling out for him to move his ass. 

So fucking bossy. 

Yet, strangely, Dean doesn’t find it in himself to care.

*

The few people who are inside of the shooting range when they make their presence known, quickly clear the room. 

Dean frowns and lets out a sigh, thinking how pathetic it is that they don’t even bother to interact. There was no fucking hello, or even a nod. In fact, they didn’t even look at Y/N, and by proxy, they avoided looking at Dean as well. 

Fucking cowards. 

He pities her, for real. What a lonely life she must lead. Everyone is afraid of her, when in reality she’s just a cinnamon roll. A dirty-minded and cheeky one from what he gathered, because she’s teasing him with that fucking skirt. Dean should be embarrassed that a simple skirt can rile him up so much. 

The man who’s on range duty comes running towards them as the last of the people left through the front door. The employee breathes heavily and Dean knows that the guy most likely checked every room and told the people to leave because the princess has arrived. It’s not what he wants and by the look of her distraught face, it’s certainly not what she wants, but Dean has no say in this. 

“Cleared it for you, sir,” The guy says to Dean, doesn't even look at her and that is really fucked up. She’s standing right the fuck here, “I’m taking a lunch break. Will an hour be enough?”

Dean looks at her, but her gaze is trained on her toes. He clears his throat before he looks back at the man, “Yeah, okay,”

The man nods and retreats as they both watch him leave. 

As soon as the man’s out the door Dean lets out a sigh, “Well, this was hard to watch, even for me.”

“Yeah,” Y/N finally looks up from her toes and tilts her head up to meet his eyes, “I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be treated like that.”

She shrugs, “I don’t know any different, and honestly, can’t we not talk about it? Can we just get this shooting thing over with?” 

Chapter.04

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

[inkandpen22]

Shared Minds and Shared Souls (2/?)

Pairing: Spike x Female!Reader

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fighting, mentions of violence

Word Count: ~2.6k

Part Summary: Y/N is starting to get used to her role in the Summers’ house and with the Scoobies in the days following her arrival in Sunnydale. Much to her surprise, she enjoys predictability of her new routine and the normalcy of it. That is until a troublesome figure in Sunnydale makes his acquaintance and knocks Y/N through an unforeseen loop.

Masterlist

Aunt Joyce being surprised to see me is an understatement. It took Buffy and I both pressing her back down on the hospital bed to keep her from leaping up. Then, she thanked me up and down for coming. Which lead to her insisting she’s fine. She’s been covering at the hospital the last few days, but now she’s finally home. Her surgery went well, thank God! With everything going on, Joyce needs to be well. I don’t think Buffy could take another blow and poor Dawnie needs her mom. I know what it’s like to lose a mother, not fun. It’s Buffy and I’s goal to keep life as normal as possible for Dawn. The routine is I drop Dawnie off at school while Buffy plays Slayer. Then, I come back here and take care of Joyce. From there, I pick up Dawnie and prep dinner. In truth, I’m liking the predictable schedule. It’s odd, I thought I’d hate it here. I’ve never been the sort for the mundane lifestyle, but I haven’t been around family in years and it’s nice. 

While I prepare lunch for Joyce, I listen to the rock station through the boombox they keep on the counter. The house has been rather quiet since Buffy and the other Scoobies have been out doing researching Glory. Giles’s Magic-Box shop is their headquarters. Well, here and there, sort of double at meeting spots. Whenever the house is this quiet, I have to have music or the tv playing in the background. Otherwise, everything gets all noisy. Sunnydale has so much pent up energy, both good and evil, that it messes with my head. All I hear are the voices in the silence, so many voices that it starts to sound like static. I have mentioned this Buffy, I wouldn’t want to stress her anymore. 

My peace is abruptly disturbed as the kitchen door swings open and someone flies in hiding under a blanket. I jump, dropping my knife on Joyce’s sandwich. Smoke radiates from the figure like they’re a walking fire pit. Tilting my head, I watch in awe as a bleached haired man struggles to shut the door, knocking around the blinds. Who the hell is he? He dramatically flails his arms around to get the blanket off with a huff. Instantly, I see the green aura glowing around him. His eyes meet mine with a tilt of the head like a confused puppy dog, granted I did it too. 

“Who in the bloody hell are you?” He curses sassily. 

His accent is enough information to tell me who he is, Spike. So, this is the pain in the ass, psychotic vampy who is tangled up in a love-hate relationship with my cousin. She’s all caught up on Riley, Mr. G.I. Joe, when she has this dude pining after her? Boy, Buffy needs my guidance in more than one department. 

“Good afternoon to you too, Spike,” I greet him by name, much to his surprise.

Cautiously, he moves into the kitchen as I continue about my business. “How do you know my name? Where’s Buffy?” He asks, peaking around the house for her. 

“Don’t worry,” I assure him calmly. “Army Barbie is with her team of misfit toys working on Glory stuff.” 

Before I have the chance to blink, Spike is across the room has me pinned against the fridge. His face scrunched and his fangs daunting. While gripping my neck until I can hardly breathe, he leans forward and presses his body to mine to keep in place. I struggle in his grip, clawing as his hands. “You’re Glory, aren’t you?! Hm?! Messing with me?! What did you do to Buffy?!” He shouts. 

“Spike,” I choke. “You have to-” I gasp for air as he squeezes tighter. 

As a psychic, every time I have skin to skin contact with someone I can enter their mind and memories. It’s like watching a montage of someone’s entire existence. The recipient relives the memories too at the same pace as me. This allows them to kick me out if they so wish, all they have to do is realize what’s going on. However, like being in a dream, it’s rare that they do. I have little control when it comes to entering, it’s like falling. If I wish to leave, it takes a kick, like waking up from a dream. I have to be terrified by a memory or experience immense pain, those are the usual triggers. 

The moment Spike touched me, he opened the gate for me to see, feel, and hear everything he ever has in the form of visions. I can feel my mind slipping and images begin to flash before my eyes like bursts of light. Then, my vision goes black... 

A woman in 19th century clothing stands before with big eyes and brown hair. She’s so beautiful.... Suddenly, a pain pierces my neck.

Next thing I know, I’m sat on an old blood soaked sofa with a dead woman in my lap, bleeding from the neck. I feel hungry for more. 

“My wicked, wicked, Willy,” Dru purrs, peering up at me from her position on the floor with longing eyes. I shove the body off of me and crawl to her. God, I love her. 

I jump through time, landing in the middle of a fight with a young Chinese woman who I recognize as the Slayer. I manage to grab her and bite her viciously. She mutters something in Chinese to me. 

“Sorry Love, I don’t speak Chinese,” I state, tossing her to the side. 

Then, on a subway trained with a later slayer. I’m on top of her, gripping her neck as I twist it, killing her. For good measure, I steal her leather coat. I’m quite fond of it. 

I hover over the most recent Slayer, and perhaps the most annoying one, Buffy Summers. I raise the plank of wood in my hands to kill her. Suddenly, I’m hit over the head and fall to the floor. 

With a jolt, I’m back in the present moment. “Jesus and Mary!” I yelp, the back of my head throbbing. What the hell did Joyce wack me with? Or should I say Spike. 

The vampire stands before me wide-eyed, confused by what just happened. Having had enough reminiscing, I press my hands around his that grip my neck and send a powerful shock, causing him to drop me to the floor. I cough as I catch my breath. God, I can see why Buffy doesn’t like him! Spike recovers quickly and picks me up by my hair. I scream at the surge of pain and dig my nails in his hands. Soon, I’m against the wall and I bump my head. 

“Where are they?!” He barks in my face. “Tell me or I’ll kill you!” 

“If I were Glory and I had taken Buffy, how would killing me help you find her?” I question his logic amongst the fighting. For being over a hundred years old, he’s not exactly wise. 

Spike growls, not finding humor in my mockery. I’m not exactly threatened by the big-bad-bleach-crazy ole chap with the winkley-vampy face. I could have him on his undead ass in two seconds if I wanted. 

“Spike!” Joyce’s voice interrupts our altercation. Both of us turn our attention to the archway to see my aunt standing there in horror. She wraps her robe around herself tightly. “Let Y/N down! She’s my niece!” 

“Oh bollocks!” Spike swears, releasing me instantly. 

I fall to the floor on my knees again. Well, this fun- what’s wrong with people in this town?! 

“I… uh…” Spike stumbles over his words as he helps me up by the bicep. He brushes down my shirt and hair nervously. “Sorry about that. I thought-” 

“You thought I was Glory,” I finish for him, slapping his hands off of me. 

“Are you okay, Y/N?!” Joyce checks worriedly, staying cautiously in the archway between here and the living room. 

I hum, reaching up and running my fingers through the back of my head for any bumps or bleeding. Whatever she hit Spike with it fucking hurt! 

“Did I hurt you?” Spike asks, sounding genuinely concerned. 

“Not really,” I admit quietly and look to my aunt who’s the real reason my head is pounding. “If you ever hearing banging like that, never come downstairs! You hide!” I command of her. “Even if it did sound like I was getting murdered,” I grumble, glaring at Spike. 

“Well, as long as you’re alright. I’ll head back up,” she complies quietly. “But only if you’re sure!” She checks. 

“I’m fine, really!” I try to ease her nerves. It’s not good for her to worry. I shove Spike out of the way to approach her. “I’ll bring your food up soon. I might have to remake it,” I tell her as I spot her sandwich on the floor behind Spike. 

“You don’t have to do that,” she insists. 

“It’s okay! If you can wait one moment, I’ll just use some magic,” I announce, holding out my hand toward the counter. I conjure up a turkey sandwich just like I created before. I could’ve whipped one up this way earlier, but I was enjoying the task. “There you go!” I hand the plate over to my aunt. 

Spike blinks rapidly, stepping forward to stand beside my aunt. He stares at me in astonishment, “you’re a witch?!” 

“No, that shock you felt earlier was all in your head,” I sass, looking at him like an idiot. 

“You didn’t tell me there were witches in your family,” he says to Joyce, sounding offended. 

“We didn’t know ourselves until Y/N arrived a few days ago. She’s here to help out until I’m all better and… well…” Joyce shifts on her feet uncomfortably. “That Glory girl is gone.”

On that note, Joyce thanks me one last time and heads back upstairs. I relax once I hear her shuffling upstairs in her room. Taking a scan around the kitchen, there are broken plates and food scattered across the floor. I was so far into Spike’s head that I missed the reality and all the ruckus. Of course, I felt his hands around my neck, but my vision was impaired with his memories. 

“Let me clean up,” Spike requests, already squatting to pick up the bits of broken porcelain on the tile. 

“No need,” I state with a flick of the wrist. Within seconds, all the broken plates and scattered food is gone. The boombox that we’d knocked on the floor and caused to skip is now all fixed neatly on the counter. Soon, Nirvana is coming out of it without a problem. 

Spike rises from his position quietly starring at the perfectly spotless kitchen. I move around him toward the living room, already thinking of the next item on my agenda. I still have a few loads of laundry to go through and there’s cleaning that needs to be done. If I set those going with some magic before I head out everything will be done before Buffy’s birthday party tonight. Except, one issue, in this town, I don’t feel comfortable dividing up my power in case of an emergency. I could be attacked on the way to Dawnie’s school with the track record of this town. Plus, I’m Joyce’s sole bodyguard during the day, I need all my energy. 

“Hey wait,” Spike calls as he jogs to block my path. He holds up his hands as if that’s going to keeping me from walking away.

 With raised brows, I wait for the important reason he must have to be interrupting my to-do list. 

Wait... ew, I hate that! I have a to-do list! What am I, a 1950’s housewife? 

“Are you honestly Buffy and Dawn’s cousin?” He asks, still not convinced that it’s possible for the Summers’ to have family other than each other. 

“No,” I answer calmly, causing him to perk up. “I’m really Dolly Parton in a disguise!” He rolls his eyes, muttering curses under his breath. “You know, the rumor is the blonde hair is a wig,” I ramble to add more spice to the sarcasm. “And she just walks around Tennessee without anyone noticing her!” 

“Yep, you’re definitely related,” he determines unenthused, stepping aside. 

“I’m glad I’ve convinced you. Now if you don’t mind, I have stuff I need to do!” I step around him to head out and pick up Dawn. 

“I’m coming too,” he declares, following on my heels. 

I snicker, stopping in my tracks. “You’re coming with me to pick up Dawn from school? In the daylight... ” I add. 

“Yeah uh… just meet me at the crypt,” he decides, already heading back to the kitchen. 

“Wait, what?” I blurt out as I grab his wrist. “Why would I do that?” 

He glances over his shoulder, “I came to show Buffy something, but you’ll do I guess.” 

“I’m not Buffy though, I’m no Slayer,” I laugh lightly. “If it’s important I’d show it to her.” 

“You’re a witch, aren’t you?” He asks the obvious. 

“Well yeah,” I shrug. 

“Can you fight?” He continues, clearly leading somewhere. 

I stutter, “I mean I know spells and-” 

“Then you’ll do,” he declares. “We can tell Buffy about it later,” he adds, walking away. 

Buffy is made for this, literally! Unsure of myself, I shake my head. “Spike, I-” 

The vampire rolls his head back with a huff of annoyance. “All you God-forsaken women!” He groans under his breath. “I swear, one of these days I’m just going to lose my patience and kill all of you,” he sasses, facing me. “Except Joyce... and maybe Nibblet,” he determines as if that’s generous of him. “But definitely Harmony and that bloody annoying Cordelia if she ever comes back from LA!” He points at me sharply. “And you missy are testing me too!” 

Um, excuse him! He didn’t not just say that to me! “Oh buddy, you’re testing me!” I laugh mockingly. Little vampy here has another thing coming if he thinks he can threaten me. 

Spike chuckles wickedly and his face changes back to vampy style. He growls to reveal his fangs. I step back cautiously. I didn’t mean for him to take me literally! Abruptly, he comes charging at me. Oh great, not again!

_____________________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream 

[doux-amer]

Okay, so I no longer have the energy to discuss Marvel stuff at length, but I enjoyed Black Widow, to my surprise. I went in with low expectations, but it ended up being solid. Was it a groundbreaking movie? No. But I’d rank it as one of the best MCU films and it felt like a nice change of pace from your standard MCU fare. The film avoided prioritizing action over character arcs and didn't interrupt the story with unnecessary and often distracting humor.  It's become increasingly obvious over recent years just how much the MCU has started to suffer from what made it unique and innovative in the first place—an interconnected cinematic universe. Everything feels like it's a stepping stone to some big event (hah, in that way, it's emulating the comics well), with characters's stories hastily and sloppily pushed aside for The Main Team Event TM. 

And that's why Black Widow worked. It didn't have world-ending stakes. It wasn't about one Big Bad (the big bad in this story, much like in CA:TWS, is the system which is why the "main boss" didn't have to be impressive and intimidating on his own). The story felt quiet and contemplative in between the action scenes. It was very intimate and the story benefited tremendously from that. What happened in this movie was something that would mean very little to anyone other than the people directly involved and would go unnoticed. 

This isn't something that the whole world will know about and praise her for, and no one treats it as such, both in terms of the characters and the people behind the film. With the exception of a few lines and moments, this film isn't cringeworthy, in-your-face, and ultimately shallow GIRL POWER GIRLBOSS OMG FEMINISM which Captain Marvel and Wonder Woman (and that one stupid as hell scene in IW) both leaned into and imo, were either hindered by or even suffered from. This story is very much one about the patriarchy, misogyny, agency, etc., but it tries to see what the personal ramifications are and how sickening and even banal it all is. It’s about how the world works and treats women, no matter who they are. It’s about how Dreykov, for all his power, is a dime a dozen. The world made it possible for men like Dreykov to exist and do harm. The world goes on without him there, and in the wake of his death and the destruction of the Red Room, his victims still have to deal with all the pain and figure out what they want to do, how they want to do it, and who they want to be afterwards.

Obviously, we also got to see more of Natasha and who she is, what makes her tick, and how her past formed the person she is now. And yes, I dislike Scarjo so I was ready to not care about the movie, but god, I love Natasha and miss her so badly. I ended up unexpectedly crying when the film started and didn't stop until the opening credits ended, not even because something was sad but because that was Natasha! When kid Natasha whipped out her gun and shielded Yelena, I recognized both that skill and heart instantly and it hit me hard. You got that repeatedly throughout the film, and it knits together all the little pieces of Natasha we got throughout the decade. It gives her consistency and strengthens what we already know drives her: her desire to atone and protect and her yearning for a family.

The supporting cast was good too. You could tell they had fun and you could tell they had the acting chops. I get very leery of actors who go over the top in the MCU because almost all the time, it ends up backfiring and undermining their character, but David Harbour had a lot of fun with Alexei and it never bothered me. And I think that's because, behind all of the bombast, there was real emotion behind it that he took seriously and the others did as well. Rachel Weisz...I mean, I don't think I need to say anything more. You expect her to be good and of course she was. And Florence? Yes, this might not be 616 Yelena in many, many ways and I can see how that's upsetting to people (this applies to the Taskmaster as well), but if you see MCU Yelena as her own person, man. Florence overshadows Scarjo which, well, isn't surprising considering her brilliance, but I will say, though, that part of it is because Yelena is a much more energetic character whereas Natasha is more introverted and even a little awkward and shy at times. 

I loved the relationships and they all felt real to me. When they said they were a family? I believed them. When you saw them grapple with what they'd done in the past and what they did to each other and to other people? That felt real too. 

And the action scenes! Wow, did I miss actually good fight choreography after three horrible shows full of goofy af fight scenes that had bad choreography and were terribly shot (the less we talk about Loki, the better, though TFATWS, which probably should have had the slickest shots had by far the worst cinematography). The fights were engaging and you really sensed the urgency and danger in every fight. I felt like Natasha was in danger, that she would get hurt. The hits HURT and you could tell how painful that walloping was (with the exception of the ridiculous scene where Dreykov punched her repeatedly in the face and there was no sign of impact). Everyone felt very human and very easy to break. 

The flow was great and maybe it was slow for some people, but I liked that. I liked that the story took its time to unfold. I liked that you didn't sense any impatience or panic. Everything happened in its own time, but it never dragged for me. There was a great balance between emotional, quiet moments and bursts of action, and neither felt like they undermined the other, a frequent issue I have with MCU works (yet again, one of the best examples and most recent ones is Loki; I hated the fight sequences because they felt so unnecessary and they truly disrupted the flow of things).

Were there things that I wish we got more of or thought could have been tightened up better? Yeah. I wish we got to see more of the Widows, for one thing. I also think it would have been interesting for Natasha to mull over the brainwashing she had versus what Yelena went through; what Yelena went through was much worse and similar to what Bucky went through, but Yelena has the excuse of being a victim with little to no free will whereas Natasha? She was psychologically messed with, but she wasn't being mind controlled. It would've been interesting to see that explored more in depth. I wish we got to see more of the Taskmaster. Etc. etc.

More than anything, though, what left me sad and disappointed after my initial joy and feeling of enjoyment dissipated, was the fact that this came too late. This is a movie that should have come right after CW, and we should have gotten a Black Widow movie right after the Avengers and before TWS or at least after TWS. This is, by far, the most unanimous take and it makes me wonder how everyone at Marvel feels about that, that this is, more than anything, the opinion that's being echoed consistently amongst reviewers and moviegoers alike. And it will never ever ever ever ever fail to piss me off that Markus, McFeely, and the Russos didn't know the Black Widow movie was going to even happen and they ended up offing her. That's a massive decision and I don't know, MAYBE you should have had some more communication! Maybe if that happened, Natasha wouldn't have been fridged (she shouldn't have been in the first place, and one of the things I deeply appreciated about this movie was that it pushed back on the wrongs that male directors and writers have done to her (e.g., Whedon's awful approach to her forced sterilization in AoU, the Russos and M&M saying Clint couldn't die because he had a family as if someone who isn't a parent is less important and less deserving to live and as if Natasha's relationships didn't matter)). Maybe we would have gotten more solo movies with her. We can still get more BW movies, sure, but Natasha herself deserved more. 

And that's why, despite thinking this is one of the best movies of the MCU even if the story itself isn't particularly sensational and not being blown away by it (again, I didn't think it was impressive, but I thought it was very solid), despite being pleasantly surprised by the fact that I enjoyed a MCU movie which is rare for me and walking away with barely anything to be disappointed about let alone upset about, despite thinking that this is the story Natasha deserved and being relieved and happy that this is what she got and this is how she's going to go out, I was still left sad for what could have been and what she deserved. 

[casualmaraudering]

/ so, inspired by a fanart i did recently have some fem sirius being a lesbian and having a lot of conflicting feelings!

cw: internalised homophobia, religious (catholic) themes, very brief contemplation of nudity (i guess)

*

*

“-inspired by this confidence, I fly unto thee, O Virgin of virgins, my mother; to thee do I come, before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions, but in thy mercy hear and answer me,” Sirius slowly whispers to herself, head low, breathing in the scent of smoking incense and burning candle wax.

The chapel is empty - rightfully so, seeing as it is nearing 1 am by now. Only the faint light of the candles atop of the altar shines in the room - it’s far too cloudy for the moonlight to come through the stained glass. There’s no sounds in the air, aside an occasional ambience of the night.

Being by herself, and with no chance of anyone interrupting her, Sirius kneels at the kneeler in the main portion of the small chapel. Rather than in front of the main altar, she’s at the side one, with a marble statue of Virgin Mary right in the centre. She had been taught by a nanny - the one who cared for her since birth - that it’s Mary you should go to if you seek guidance and, most of all, forgiveness. The purest of souls, she had been, and that she continues to be, blessing peace onto those who truly seek it. It’s what she had believed in, and poured that belief into Sirius, urging her to pray, rosary in hand, every night before bed.

It has been years since then, though. Sirius’s view of the world is so much different, now that she’s nearly an adult woman. She has met a great number of people, read a great number of books. Her beliefs are so much more than what they’ve been when she was little, mindlessly following her parents’ every step and command. She is worth more than that, now she knows.

And yet, here she is, once again, kneeled with a rosary in hand, just as she had been as a child. Except when she was small, things had been so simple. That whirlwind of emotions inside her chest and constant battle in her mind were nowhere in sight, not the way they are now, ever-present, constantly nagging her and making it hard to breathe.

She prays for so many things. Forgiveness. Guidance. Knowledge. An answer of any kind, really. A push towards one of the sides of war her mind and soul are battling. She doesn’t know who to believe, she doesn’t know if she should feel dirty or proud, whether she should seek penance and plead remorse, or let go and follow her heart.

If only Mary could answer her. Just that one question. Yes, or no.

Is what the people say true? The nuns and pastors and her parents, are they right? When they say that people like her are a plague on this world, that they’ll burn in hell, is this what awaits her?

“Is it wrong of me to love a woman?”

No answer ever comes, of course. None ever does.

God works in mysterious ways, Father Connolly would say. Frankly, Sirius thinks he’s full of shit.

She has gone through almost twenty beads on her rosary when she hears the unmistakable sound of the chapel doors opening.

She freezes, breathing out quietly, squeezing the rosary in her hand, waiting for a teacher to call her name. She’s no stranger to detention, of course, but maybe this time she could talk her way out - she left her bed, yes, but only to pray in the chapel. Surely whatever nun caught her out of bed after curfew will understand that.

“Sirius?”

At the sound of that voice, her breath catches in her throat. The very same voice that got her kneeling here tonight, torn from the inside, aching with confusion. Burning with desire.

“Remus,” she replies, hoping her voice sounds at least a bit relaxed, not giving away the sudden pace of her heart and the coil in her stomach. She shoves the rosary into the pocket of her jacket, and she quickly turns around, standing up.

Remus walks towards her from the darkness, lit by the gentle candlelight. For the first time, Sirius sees her with her hair loose, falling in curling strands around her face and down past her shoulders, resting on her chest. She’s wearing a nightgown - a white, thin fabric, from the looks of it.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Remus says at sudden, gesturing at the kneeler.

“I was done anyway,” Sirius replies with a smile. She sits down on the kneeler, trying to appear relaxed.

Remus nods, and steps closer to sit right next to Sirius, leaning against the brick wall of the altar, facing Sirius with her head just slightly cocked to the side.

“What are you out here for this late?”

Sirius chooses to shrug - she can’t exactly say why. It’s not like she could tell anyone at all, yet alone Remus of all people.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she replies finally.

“So you decided to pray?”

“You have said before that I’m ‘the religious type’,” Sirius reminds her with a smile. “It’s just… I had a nanny growing up. My parents are pretty well off, and it’s like a thing in our family to have someone take care of the kids full time. And that nanny would have me pray before bed, every single night. She said that if I ever need guidance or forgiveness or comfort, I should pray to Mary.”

“And you’re looking for guidance? Or forgiveness?” Remus nudges her with her shoulder, smiling in that particular way of hers that makes all of Sirius’s insides feel as if she’s on fire in the most pleasant of ways.

She looks gorgeous in the faint candlelight. Her hair is wild, curling here and there, a few strands over her face yet she doesn’t seem bothered by it. Sirius can just faintly see the scattering of freckles on her nose - a nose flushed red just slightly, likely cause of the cold outside. Her lips are red too - plump, smooth, soft.

And once she lets her eyes wander, Sirius can’t stop it. Her long neck, the necklace she always wears resting on it. Her collarbones, barely visible from under her hair. A few freckles disappearing under the edge of her gown.

She isn’t wearing a bra, Sirius notes, cursing herself for even noticing. And yet, when Remus leans back on her forearms and turns her head to look around her chapel, stretching her body in an outright sinful way, Sirius can’t not look. The curve of her breasts hidden by the thin fabric - just barely there and yet at the same time drawing her eyes in, taunting her.

“Say,” Sirius says at last - slowly, carefully choosing every word that falls out of her mouth, still letting her eyes bask in the glory of the woman before her. “-do you think that if something is out of your control - you try to go against it as much as you can, but it’s not possible… is it sin? You can’t help it no matter how hard you try, it’s like… engraved into you. Is it still unforgivable?”

Remus is silent for a moment, her head still turned forward towards the chapel. And so Sirius’s eyes remain fixed on her, the curve of her body, the way the fabric falls around those curves, covering some but still letting her see just enough of her silhouette.

Licking her lips, Sirius’s mind wanders back to the thoughts she rarely lets herself have - what would she look like without that nightgown covering her? What would it be like to see her here, posing on display, her whole body uncovered and shameless?

Is loving a woman so bad, if clearly women were made to be worshipped? Sirius can’t imagine not letting her eyes sway around Remus’s body, wishing so badly to as much as see it, touch it just once. It would only be natural to follow those desires. And if this is the forbidden fruit, as if Eve were the forbidden fruit… Adam had succumbed to her. How can Sirius not?

“You are who you are,” Remus answers. She turns back towards Sirius, scooting a bit closer. “-and don’t the texts say that God made us in his image?”

“They do, but-”

“Then how could something within your nature be wrong? If it’s that much out of your control that you can do nothing to stop it, how different is it from breathing? From eating? From living? It’s a natural part of you, and it was intended to be a part of you. You don’t need to ask for forgiveness if there’s nothing to forgive.”

Sirius lets her eyes hit the floor, breathing slowly.

If what Remus says is true, why has she heard, over and over, that people like her are not welcome within their communities? Why have all of their teachers preached against it and acted as if it’s the greatest sin one could commit?

“I know a lot of people talk, but often enough, they don’t know what they’re talking about,” Remus continues, seemingly reading into Sirius’s thoughts or straight into her soul. “We’ve had so many classes on it, read through pretty much every page of the Bible. Do you remember any lines that said it’s sinful? Even one?”

She doesn’t. Maybe she’s forgotten, but honestly, she would have remembered. It would be engraved into her conscience just like everything she had heard people say about it. Her thoughts circle around it every night, when she can’t sleep. Every word, every threat, every stab right in the heart. Sinful, unnatural, wrong, Adam, Eve, Hell.

And yet she doesn’t remember stumbling onto it in the one source that does matter most.

“Of course, you could always read through it again, but I don’t see the point, honestly,” Remus keeps talking, shrugging at her, once again with that smile. “I can tell you, if Mary could tell you, she’d say that you’re good. It might seem terrifying at first, but you’re not the only one that feels this way.”

Sirius blinks slowly, brows furrowed in confusion. It’s as if-

“D-do-... are you-... what?”

Remus laughs - and truly, it is a marvellous sound, one Sirius could compare to what she thinks a choir of angels would likely sound like - and she gets up, brushing off any dirt from her gown.

“I know what you’re talking about, yes,” she confirms, taking a step back, but turning around so she can still look Sirius in the face. “Trust me when I say it - you aren’t the only one.”

She smiles, and Sirius feels like her brain isn’t quite catching up with what’s going on at the moment. And then Remus takes a few steps towards her and brushes a strand of Sirius’s hair behind her ear, her face close enough that Sirius sees the reflection of flickering candles in her honey eyes.

It’s a short, fleeting moment - Remus is there, with her eyes and freckles and hair and nose and smile and smell of chocolate and vanilla -and then she’s gone, taking a step back, then two, then three.

“I’ll see you around. Goodnight, Sirius.”

She steps away. Turns around. And with that she leaves, her white gown fluttering with her movement, her hair bouncing with her step, disappearing into the darkness. Sirius is left to herself in the empty chapel, heart hammering, chest flaming with emotion, stomach tight with desire.

God have mercy on me.

[woopboopboop]

caffeine crash

A/N: fashionmajor!harry has been living rent free in my mind and i thought i need to get it written so here it is! tell me what are your thoughts on this or if you have any other fashionmajor!harry ideas or any ideas tbh. my ask is always opened. happy reading! :)

TW: one or two foul language

[coffee binging, demon dummy and disturbed sleep with fashionmajor!harry]

The ringing sound grows closer each second before she opens her eyes to realise that she has fallen asleep on the couch, again. y/n sits up groggy and disoriented, blinking for a few times to adjust her vision against the bright light illuminating the longue. She doesn’t pick up the call right away but rather shifts her gaze from her phone to the clock on the wall.

11:47 o’clock at night.

It is still early but for someone who haven’t been sleeping well for over a week, all that she can think of is that she is finally going to have more than four hours of sleep. More than four hours of heavenly sleep.

When her eyes return to her phone, the ringing stops. She waits for a few more seconds for another ring while picking up her book from the floor and shuts her laptop. The sleepiness catches up fast when the flat is silent and comfortably cold. Both make her look forward to her precious slumber. Since there is no sign of upcoming call, she stacks her book on her laptop, ready to carry them to her room.

Then her phone rings.

Voice cracking and breaking with sleep, she answers the call without looking at the screen which left her wondering who the hell decided to ruin her potential four hours of sleep. “Hello?”

“Hey. It’s Harry.”

“Hmm?” The voice on the other line is low causing her to take a moment in recognising who it is. From the top of her head, there’s only one Harry that she knows.

“y/n, you’ve gotta help me,” he says in a hushed tone, “I think this studio is haunted.” Well if it isn’t her beloved flatmate and his untimely joke.

“Styles,” she says, stifling a yawn, “I know I barged in your room in the middle of the night last week. I’m sorry, alright? Doesn’t mean that you can pull a prank on me like this –”

“I’m not joking, y/n. I swear the fucking mannequins in this studio moved!”

Leaning back on the couch, she closes her eyes and sighs. “The mannequins? Really?”

There is rustling and she can hear his whispered curses. “y/n, please. I need your help.” There’s a slight quiver at the end of his words and her eyes open. “Can you… can you come get me?”

Any other day, she would ignore the call but she doesn’t find it in her to do so at that moment. She is a bit surprised to be honest. It’s rare to hear her flatmate who is usually confident (overly confident most of the times) and a tease that scared.

What if something is in fact happening to him? Certainly, it is not ghost but there are other possibilities. She sighs once again; guess she’s not going to have her good night’s sleep any time soon.

“Fine… just – where are you?”

///

The hours spent looking at the bright laptop screen where he is currently working on his sketches is straining his eyes and the angle in which he has been hunched at in the chair is starting to grind the muscles on his back. He finally let go of the mouse, rolling his head back and taking off his earphones as he closes his eyes.

The studio at night especially during a non-assignment week feels a little… off. At any other time, the place is filled with ticking of sewing machines, typing of keyboards, clicking of mouse and of course questions of who have extra pins or needles echoing around the room.

It’s lively.

Now, it’s empty except for him and there are only two sounds that he can hear; whirring of the air conditioners and also the faint music from his earphones.

Creak. His eyes snap open, head turning to the left side of the studio where the sound comes from. Okay, make that the third sound he can hear.

Maybe it’s not a good decision to do so because as soon as he turns to face that side of the studio, he is looking straight at all of the mannequins placed there. And it is silent. And creepy. One of the mannequins stand out more than others. Its dead eyes are looking directly at him.

“God, who think that giving them eyes is a good idea?” He grumbles to himself, shaking away any weird feelings and quickly turning to his laptop.

For the next minutes, his earphones are discarded on the side of his laptop while he focuses on his work. Halfway through adding shading and shadows on the sketches, out of the corner of his eyes, there is a slight movement. He tries to act unbothered despite his heart picking up pace at the thought of anything other than him in the room is moving.

Creak. He freezes then, heart thumping while he glances surreptitiously over the eerily looking mannequins crowd. He is not sure which is worst; the one with the dead eyes looking straight at him and is still doing so or one of them, that he is pretty sure has been facing the large studio window minutes ago, has its head tilted towards him.

The latter. For sure.

“Fuck’s sake…” he whispers, trying to control his breathing from getting too rapid. Looking over his fourth cup of coffee, he is nodding towards the array of disposable brown coffee cups on the table. “Of course, it’s the coffee. Too much coffee probably. God, I’m so tired and this took hou –”

He shuts up immediately when there’s another creaking sound. This time, when he turns his head ever so slowly, there is no movement but the mannequin that has its head tilted before has its arm stretched out half way.

God forbids if he is looking away from that thing again, he is surely going to be attacked. Eyes still on the mannequin, he grabs his phone blindly and call whoever is on his recent calls list without even planning on a proper course of action. All done from the corner of his eyes.

The sound of ringing fills his ear as he watches around him, taking in if there’s any shift happening. “Come on… pick up… pick up!” He hisses over the line. It feels like forever before it clicks and he hears a female voice, groggy with sleep. He takes off his phone from his ear for a moment to see who exactly is he calling.

y/n.

She is rightfully irritated over the phone given the fact that he is interrupting her sleep but his safety is more important. There’s no way he is going to be dead before finishing his study and totally not because of those damn mannequins.

However, he is also very much aware that he is not in any way equipped to deal with spirits, ghosts or demons. Not alone, at least. So, any chance that he has to get help is important even if the last resort is to beg for it. Since saying the studio is haunted and one of the mannequins is moving are not enough sign for help, he relents the last of his pride and go for the last resort.

“y/n, please. I need your help.”

There’s a three very long seconds after his short plead. And in that seconds, he keeps his eyes on the mannequin, waiting for it to make another move. Then, at last, he hears her sighs heavily and asks him where he is.

As soon as y/n hangs up, he realises that he is left alone with the creepy crowds on the left side of the studio. Fear creeping up his spine and he just hopes that if anything could happen right that moment, it is for y/n to be there a little bit faster.

///

It's not until she is out the door the question of how she is going to get to Harry strikes her. Hers and Harry's campuses are not that far from their flat with hers being closer compared to his. The only problem is that he is approximately 10 minutes away from the flat and she sure is not going to walk 10 minutes to his campus at night.

Re-entering the flat, she checks if she is lucky enough to find his car keys hanging by the wall hook near the front door. And she is, which brings her to this moment of driving his car to pick him up.

At times she wonders why he opts for walking when he could just drive. It defeats the purpose of having a vehicle she thought but then again, it’s Harry. Most of the times, she doesn’t know what is going on in his mind.

As she reaches the gate, she prays with every fibre in her body that she will get through the guard without any bombarding questions. Surprisingly, entering the campus is made easier with a piece of vehicle registration sticker with a campus logo. She gets in with a once-over and friendly hand raise.

"Well... that's easier that I thought it would be," she mutters to herself while navigating her way to the fashion department building by following the signs and remembering what Harry had told her.

Thankfully, the studio is on the ground floor and the large windows gives her access to see whatever is happening inside. From afar, she can make out a side profile of a figure. Afraid that she is going to honk at a possible stranger, she reaches out for her phone and dial his number.

The person seems to be startled before bringing their phone up to their ear and she hears his voice. It is in fact Harry.

“I’m here,” she says. She sees him straightening up, presuming that he is going to stand up and leave. Yet, he is still fixed to his previous position.

“Oh! Okay, alright. Um… can you come in?”

She rests her head against the steering, exhaling slowly. She swears if it isn’t for the fright in his voice, she would turn the car around and drive home. “I don’t know the wa–”

“Use the main door. The studio is on your right, first door.”

///

He doesn’t know he has been holding his breath until he exhales slowly when he heard the door to the studio opens. To know that he is not alone is relieving. So relieving that he wills to peel his eyes for few seconds from the mannequin to look over to y/n who is standing at the door with exhausted frown on her face.

He looks tired, she decides, but unscathed which is good. Her eyes trails following his to the other side of the studio and sees a herd of mannequins. She has to admit, they do look creepy. And with those eyes? She understands why Harry would be petrified because holy mother of god those dead eyes are looking straight into your soul.

Harry senses that she is not going to be standing there and waiting for him for the rest of the night. After all, he is the one who asked her to come and get him from the studio. Eyeing the demon dummy (a very fitting name if you ask him), his hands are doing the work of closing his laptop without shutting it down and practically just shoving all of his stuffs in his bag.

“It’s 12 on a Thursday night. And here you are, making friends with whatever spirits there is in this place,” she says to him bitterly, leaving Harry who is frantically locking the door behind her.

Harry is not really in a clear mind to give a retort. The rest of the coffee cups had been thrown into the bin in the hall as he follows her out of the building to the car park.

“Tell me, Styles. Am I not right if I say you’re hallucinating?” She asks as they drive away from the campus. She would love for him to drive the car home in return of disturbing her sleep. That is if she doesn’t notice his restless hands.

“I am not hallucinating! I see it with my own eyes!” He says defensively, turning his head to have a proper look at her while making his point.

“They are just plastic. Why don’t you just get out from there? It’s not like they are going to chase you.”

“Mannequins. I can’t just look away!” He shifts his gaze out the window, occasionally glancing to the side mirror, hoping those creepy herd don’t suddenly have functioning legs. “What if they grip me by the neck when I turn my back from them?”

She shakes her head. “You had too much coffee.”

At the mention of coffee, he remembers all of the sketches that he needs to finish. If he can’t finish all which he intended to do before all his plan went down the drain, at least, he can finish half of it. And he almost did. “Well, I need to finish my sketches,” he grumbles.

The tires spin beneath them. y/n shifts gears and the car rolls to a stop in front of their flat building. “No. You need sleep.”

The rest of their way up to their shared flat is filled with silence. Even when they are already in it. Both don’t feel like talking; y/n can’t wait to finally sleep while Harry starts to feel whatever happening just now is a little bit ridiculous.

“Hey, y/n,” he calls out. She has her hand on her bedroom door handle then, ready to push it down. “This stays between us, right?” He gestures the space between them, internally cringing a bit on the how he is embarrassed about the whole thing.

It is annoying to have him call her at ridiculous hour of the night but the reason behind the call is amusing nonetheless. “Your secret’s safe with me,” she shrugs.

Well, he half expected that. He thought that he is never going to hear the end of it for at least two days. Seems like she let it slide like she always does with most things.

“Besides, you’re worrying about the wrong thing. You should be worried about the mannequins standing outside your bedroom window tonight. Watching you sleep.” She says as she wiggles her eyebrows with a smirk on her face.

Okay, maybe he speaks too soon.

He gives her side-eye, seeing her entering her room. From the look of it, she surely is enjoying taking the piss out of him. “Hahaha. Very funny.”

As he enters his bedroom and flicks the light switch on, he hears her laughing and bidding him a ‘Good night.’ One thing that he knows is that it is not going to be a good night. He also knows that his bedroom light is going to stay on until the sun rises.

[sol-korolevas]

DISCORD BLURB REQUESTS;

the darkling x reader & nikolai x reader 

decided to upload them onto tumblr dot com for archiving purposes. :3c most of these are nsfw

—“I’m not going to touch you unless you beg.”

His touch waxes desire into your skin, igniting warmth through your bones. But it’s not enough, and you know he’s doing it on purpose. The Darkling is a man of insatiable greed, which is why he has you underneath him, limbs chained, and skin littered with countless markings of his own making. 

Though your body aches, it’s the fire within that burns you from the inside out. 

A soft whine escapes your lips as he brushes his knuckle against your nipple, a smirk playing on his face. You arch into his touch and you hear a low growl rumbling out of the Darkling’s throat. 

His hand travels lower, down your stomach, your hips, lingers - much to your frustration - at the dip between your inner thighs. 

So close, but not enough. 

“Stop teasing,” you say, your own voice a low and needy growl. Your jaw tenses as the Darkling tuts, before leaning down to press a chaste kiss on your cheek. 

“I’m not going to touch you unless you beg,” he whispers, moving his hand back onto the plane of your stomach. “You know how to beg don’t you, *volchitsa*?” 

A wolf never grovels, never closes her eyes in the face of her enemy. 

But tonight, under the covers of darkness and darkness himself, your body trembles and you relent. 

“Please, I need-I need—” your voice cuts off when you feel his cold finger brush against your clit. 

“And? What do you *need*?” He’s swirling it, just by the tip of his finger, a ghost of a feeling that forces you to gasp and arch forward again despite the restraints. 

“Please, touch me, fuck me; I want- no I need - you,” you say, letting out a groan as you feel his fingers stop. 

You hear him chuckle and you feel him press his lips once more on your cheek. 

But through the tether between the two of you, his own lust intertwines with yours. And it has grown the moment you answered him. 

“My little wolf,” he purrs as he slides a finger into your wet heat. “I’ll need to hear more of that from your mouth for the rest of the night.” 

 —“For the love of fuck.” “Yep, that’s me. I love to fuck.”

—“Somehow, i always seem to end up here. With you.” “Soulmate shit, it’s hardcore as hell.”

Tonight, it isn’t Tolya’s snores that woke you up. 

It’s the feeling of someone pressing to your backside, leaving no room in between your bodies that wakes you up. You know, by scent and touch along, who’s behind you, but before you sigh, you feel their hand pass under your cotton shirt. 

“For the love of—” you stop as Nikolai laughs softly, rolling a nipple between his fingers. You try to talk, but he shushes you with a light pinch. Just a foot from where you lay is Tamar, who could see everything that is happening should she wake. But before you can attempt a protest, you feel Nikolai squeeze your breast. “—Fuck.” 

You realize he’s having a grand time behind you as he laughs quietly, his hair tickling your neck. Nikolai never made such a daring move on you, especially when he knows very well what will happen should even one of his crew sees. Yet, it’s also quite like him to attempt this. 

And now, you’re torn between your lust and embarrassment. 

“Yes, my dear Sun Summoner, I do love to fuck,” he says, rolling his hips against your ass. You attempt to grind back, feeling his cock growing hard through his linen. He came to you wearing almost nothing, not even his coat. 

But, you have to give it to him for his preparedness. So you angle your thrust back and hear, to your delight, a choked groan slipping out of his mouth. The same mouth that had licked you until you were crying out his name a few nights prior. 

But when Tamar shifts in front of you, you flinch and shield your heated face with your hands. Behind you, Nikolai moves his attention down to the seam of your trouser. 

“Now, now, where’s the bold little [Name] I know so well?” Nikolai asks, hot breath fanning across your ear. He then presses an open-mouthed kiss onto the delicate shell, before nibbling against it. You can feel his grin when you tentatively slide your hands down. “There she is,” he says, with enthusiasm lacing each syllable. 

You begin to force yourself to relax into his touch as he moves his hand in a circle against your stomach. But then you become impatient, hand pushing his own down to where you want it the most. 

“This is the second night in a row,” you murmur, sighing as Nikolai tugs your trouser down. You’re already wet; you don’t need him to prep you, you think, as the feeling of his cock diminishes every other desire for fingers and tongue. “That I always end up here, in this position, with you.” 

You feel movement as Nikolai frees his cock. He slides down a little, hand smoothing down your arm as you wait. Somehow, the realization that you’re going to get fucked amongst a room of sleeping crew members only makes you want it more. 

“You’re the one person I’ve always wanted,” Nikolai says, kissing down your spine. “I think we’re soulmates right? It has to be why we’re always like this at night.” He slips a hand underneath your upper thigh and parts your leg. 

Your fingers cling onto the material underneath. “That’s not an excuse for your lewdness.”

A breath hitches within you as you feel his cock brush against your heat. You attempt to push against it, giving Nikolai silent permission to fuck you already. 

“You’ll need to repeat three phrases of ‘I love you, Nikolai’ before I fulfill your desire, love,” Nikolai says, nuzzling against your flesh. 

 But the idea of doing what Nikolai asked feels much harder than it should be. Tamar’s face is still facing yours when you look at her. 

Oh, you think, she’s really going to be mad in the morning. 

“I love you, Nikolai,” 

With one swift move, he pushes in, bottoming out with a guttural grown. You almost cry out in surprise at his sudden action. Nikolai shushes you again as he places his hand on your waist. 

“I love you, Nikolai,” you repeat, fingers digging into the ground. 

His thrusts are short and shallow - tossing between taunting and keeping quiet. 

“I love you—” you’re interrupted as this time, his cock slides deep into your heat. “—Nikolai.”

Next time, you’ll be the one who’ll surprise him. 

—“I really don’t care. You still look hot and i’m trying not to kiss/fuck you senseless right now.” “No, I'm not letting you go. It’s too early to get out of bed.”

The thick curtains obscure most of the sunlight streaming in. You cannot even tell if it’s morning outside until you feel Nikolai stir beside you. 

To your amusement, servants have come and lit the candles, just as you prefer.

Both of you are still very much naked and very much awake, but only you are making a move to rise. 

Immediately, two strong arms pull you back, easily bringing you flush against his chest as he presses a kiss on your forehead. 

“Saints it’s too early, the sun isn’t even out yet so neither should you,” Nikolai says softly. He groans and wraps his arms around you, keeping you from escaping. You crane your neck best you can, only for Nikolai to brush his knuckles against your stiffening nipple. 

You twitch, body squirming at the sudden contact. The blankets move away, revealing the expanse of skin all the way to your knees. And if you try, you can feel his cock stiffening again, just with a little—

“Nikolai!” 

Before he can bring himself to hover over you, you push back against him until he’s lying down on the bed again. A smirk plays on your face as you straddle him, tongue licking your lower lip. 

And like the arrogant King he is, he has his arms folded underneath his head. “My lovely volchitsa, I thought you wanted to rise early?” 

It’s rare he uses your nickname, but it means he’s looking forward to *something*. 

You know what that something is. And so you push back and align yourself with his cock, the previous night’s activity still present, sticky and tantalizing, against the flesh of your inner thighs. 

“I don’t care,” you tell him, nudging the tip against your lips, teasing him. “You’re underneath me right now and I want to fuck again until we’re both senseless.” 

Your mouth splits into a feral grin, all teeth glistening white and ready, as you slide down. A loud groan escapes you as you begin moving, feeling the rush of lust compelling you to toss aside all rational thoughts. Nikolai’s moaning lingers in your ear - as lewd and lascivious like you wanted - with his hands gripping your waist, keeping you above him. 

His cock’s always nice, always filling you up and—and—

“I’m going to come,” Nikolai says, mouth parting. 

You’re about to chide him for not lasting long before you see the beautiful blush spreading across his face. Or feel the way his hands tighten, nails digging into your skin as he starts picking up pace, fucking into you faster. 

And a dark thought enters your mind, enabling you to slow down your pace. You press his hands against your waist and watch as his jaws tense and the skin between his eyebrows pinch. 

“[Name], what are you—?” 

You stop him by reaching down and pressing an open-mouth kiss on the corner of his lips. “Nikolai, *you* can only come after *I* do.” 

His shoulders relax and he grins. You let his one hand move down until his thumb is rubbing at your clit, causing you to moan. Saints, Nikolai knows exactly what you need to satisfy you. 

“Is this what you want as well, love?” he questions, flicking at your clit without stopping. “But I wager you want more, I wager you want to come with a little more than just my thumb?” 

You don’t even bother to respond. A strangled cry slips out of your mouth as you begin to move again, that last rope of control snapping inside you. 

 “I fucking hate everything about you.”

“I would like you to be by my side.”

The Darkling’s stormy gaze lingers on your face. You feel more trapped than ever with his presence. Nothing more but a chained wolf; nothing more but an animal trapped inside the flesh cage of a body. As you’ve decided to be, as your mother wants you to be. 

“I hate you,” you say, voice low, teeth baring into a silent threat. A promise forged in violence and bloodshed. “Everything, fucking *everything*; I hate you so much.” 

Metal chains clink together as you move forward, an urge to lunge at his pale throat clawing through your ribs. Your breathing is coming out in rapid pulls and exhales and you think your chest is about to burst with the amount of fury rumbling within. 

And yet, the Darkling remains calm and still, his cold gaze trailing from your arms down to your body. A sigh, worn and weary, slips out of his mouth as he kneels on one leg. He’s close, you can feel the power — the suffocation it brings makes you gasp for breath. 

Through it all, still,  you still feel the pull towards him. 

“Stop this,” you tell him, just as he cups your cheek with his hand. 

He cannot be soft towards - he cannot be anything but cruel and merciless. 

And yet, as he tugs on your collar and trails his hand down your arm and teases the flesh of your neck with a brush of his fingers, you realize you would rather fall back to the old you he had nurtured. 

“Despite everything, *volchitsa*, you’re still eager for me,” he mutters into your skin, igniting the familiar warmth from within you. 

You can be that, you think. You can be that, or you can continue to crave defiance and blood. 

 “Try to stay quiet, understand?”“I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”

“—and then I had to use my thigh strength to grip onto the back of the whale and plunge a spear into its spine.” Nikolai makes a motion to show you what he did. 

You laugh and applaud, before pushing yourself away from the ship’s railing. 

“So, Lady Sun Summoner, how was my story?” Nikolai asks with a large grin on his face. “Was it as dashing and heroic as the tales told in storybooks?”

“Hm, perhaps, but—” you pause, leaning against him. “—I think you deserve another reward, from me this time.”

Nikolai huffs, opening his mouth, before closing it. His eyes widen and you catch a glimmer of understanding as he pulls you flush towards him. “I knew you had something in mind when you gave me that look of yours.” 

He kisses you, deep and full, on your lips. 

Eventually, you pull away and lower yourself. Nikolai watches, mouth lingering on a smirk, his head moving only to take a look at the entrance to the deck below. 

You press a finger to your lips. “Try to be quiet for me, okay?” 

And in a swift movement, you have his cock out, its appearance causing your jaw to slacken. 

But because you’ve never taken a cock ever into your mouth, you start with a lick to the underside of his crown. Nikolai hisses and grabs you by your head, muttering a curse as he looks at you with need. 

A smirk curls onto your face as you give the tip of his cock a kiss. “So sensitive.” 

“This is, quite frankly, the first time someone has taken my cock in their mouth.” He lets out a breathy laugh. You don’t hear any embarrassment in it, but you still giggle. 

“Hollow your cheeks, love,” Nikolai then adds as he taps your cheek. “And don’t use teeth.” 

You do as he says, making sure to keep your teeth from touching his cock as you slowly inch it into your mouth. Nikolai’s hands are gripping the side of your head like a vice, even more so as you lightly squeeze the base. 

He’s long and thick and you figured you cannot have him all the way in. 

Your tongue swipes at the underside of his cock, tasting the flesh, letting it pulse against you. Nikolai’s hips are moving, bucking forward. Finally, you begin to move your head back and forth, while your hand continues to twist up and down what your mouth cannot take in. 

“Fuck, fuck, [Name], where did—*shit*!” Nikolai’s moans and curses only makes you eager to move fast. Though he’s bucking his hips like a mad dog, you eventually realize you can control your movement easier by yourself. 

All you need to do is groan, allowing the vibration to build against his growing pleasure. 

You can touch yourself - you want to - but tonight’s for him.

Hair is sticking to both of your faces as Nikolai bites his lip. For a fraction of a second you think he’s not going to make any noise at all. But then, just as you feel something salty and warm flood into your mouth, you hear a guttural growl slip out of him. 

He slumps down, body trembling, but face looking satiated.

“My dear [Name], you just made me a very happy man,” Nikolai tells you, brushing a hand through his hair. He then leans forward and takes you onto his lap. “I want to make it up to you.”

You laugh, brushing away the cum with your hand before licking it off. Nikolai’s eyes linger on your face, darkening with desire again. Then, you kiss him on the lips, allowing him the pleasure of sampling himself through you. 

“I’ve always wanted you to fuck me with your tongue,” you tell him, quietly. 

[colehasapen]

(CHAPTER 6) there's a river full of memory STAR WARS

Previous // First

Two pairs of young eyes lock onto him immediately when Waxer steps into the room, a stubbornly scowling General Skywalker following close enough that the Lieutenant could feel his breath on the back of his neck, and Captain Rex bringing up the rear. Pace and Patchwork, who had been standing stiff and at the ready, hands inching towards their weapons, relax at the sight of them, though the two medical officers do look annoyed at their unannounced arrival. Waxer sends them an apologetic look, eyes slipping pointedly towards General Skywalker with a silent ‘what can you do?’ and a sheepish shrug, before he looks back at the two younglings on the biobed, who were still stiff and untrusting.

“General Skywalker.” Patchwork greets, unimpressed, but Waxer’s attention is on the two chubby-cheeked faces staring back at him, at one familiar face in particular.

Little Force gods - Pace wasn’t lying. Waxer never suspected that the medical officer would lie about the situation they were in, but this was Commander Cody. He’d built the Commander up in his mind as someone untouchable; he’s fierce and fiercely protective, nearly unstoppable in battle. Reasonable and dutiful and loyal, he was everything every clone wanted to be. They’d already lost their General, and Waxer knows that he isn’t the only one looking to their Commander for stability. He’s always been there for them, no matter what, a solid rock in the storm that is their life.

And now he’s a tiny cadet.

Smaller than average, Waxer could tell with just a glance, he had been tucked under General Kenobi’s cloak, fluffy curls sticking up every which way. Paler in the way they all had been before they had left Kamino, having rarely ever seen natural sunlight, and without the characteristic scar that set his face apart physically from every other vod. He’s staring at the newest arrivals with wide dark eyes, peeking over Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

He really is a cadet, all chubby cheeks and innocent eyes, and Waxer wants to tuck them both away, safe and warm and away from the darkness of a Galaxy at war - but he knows both of them have already seen and experienced enough darkness, even at this age. Seeing them makes Waxer think of little Numa, and he wonders how she’s doing, if she’s safe and fed and if her uncle is taking good care of her.

General Skywalker lets out a curse, oblivious of the medics’ annoyance towards him for bursting in instead of waiting in the main bay like the junior medics had requested when they’d entered, but Waxer shies back sheepishly at Pace’s displeasure. Angering Pace never worked out for anyone, and it was even worse when Patchwork was there to add his own bad mood to the miasma.

“They really are little kids.” The General says, stepping around Waxer to move closer, while Captain Rex comes to a stop next to the other trooper, helmet unmoving from where the two younglings sit, body tense. “Wow.”

Little Obi-Wan is stiff, blue eyes darting between General Skywalker’s face and the lightsaber on his hip. Waxer has a moment to wonder if the little Jedi might have been more comfortable with Commander Tano, before General Skywalker reaches the biobed the two younglings are occupying, and Obi-Wan’s fist plants into his face.

Chaos erupts. General Skywalker is stumbling back with a yelp of pain, hand flying up to his nose, right as Captain Rex darts forward to catch his Jedi as he flails. Waxer can only watch in shock as Obi-Wan stretches out a hand, and General Skywalker’s lightsaber answers, leaping away from the Jedi’s belt and into the kid’s curled fingers as he herds Cody back and away.

The snap-hiss of a lightsaber activating fills the room, and everything stops. No one dares to even breathe too loud as blue light illuminates the youngling’s pale, frightened face and glare. “Who are you?!” Obi-Wan demands, voice shrill with fear.

“Woah, hey kid -” Patchwork steps forward, hands spread, grey eyes wide and a bacta patch that Waxer finds suddenly suspect on his nose, but Obi-Wan’s eyes don’t leave General Skywalker’s face, “- you’re okay. That’s just General Skywalker - he’s a Jedi.”

The little Jedi startles, “He can’t be!” The youngling shakes his head frantically, and General Skywalker flinches. “He - there’s so much Darkness now! There’s Darkness in him!” He sounds frantic, like there’s something he’s desperately trying to make them understand, pupils dilated in terror, mere pinpricks in churning gray.

“Not this poodoo again.” General Skywalker hisses bitterly, “Listen kid - I’m a Jedi Knight. Just because I came to the Order a little older -”

“You’ve murdered!” Obi-Wan interrupts furiously, and Waxer startles, watching the small Jedi push Cody even further behind him, protecting someone even now. “Can’t you feel it?!” The hands wrapped around the lit lightsaber shake, and the room feels cold all of a sudden. “You killed innocents - it’s stained you! Filled you with hatred! It’ll grow - and -” the kid gasps like he was running a marathon, “- and then you’ll be just like Xanatos! Dark and angry and - and - and!” He lets out a sob.

Objects not pinned down rattle, and General Skywalker rears back as if Obi-Wan had hit him again, eyes darting around the room to see everyone looking at him. His face is pale, eyes wide, and Pace steps forward, once again putting himself between the kids and General Skywalker, face blank.

“You need to leave, General.” The CMO says quiety, and the Jedi’s shock turns to anger.

“You can’t believe what he’s saying-”

“Don’t care. You weren’t supposed to be in here to begin with.” Pace interrupts, putting his foot down in a way that rarely anyone gets to see, and the General gapes at him. “You’re upsetting my patients. Out.”

“General.” Captain Rex says nervously, stepping forward to grip his General’s elbow. “You’re scaring them.” His voice is quiet, soothing despite his own unease in the way all good commanders learn. “You should go get the men settled.” The Captain’s eyes are darting between the two younglings and the Jedi.

General Skywalker’s shoulders droop after a long moment, and he starts backing away and towards the door. Before he leaves, however, Waxer speaks up, “Sir, maybe you should send Commander Tano in?” He suggests, “Someone closer to their age might help them feel safer.”

“And Kix, Sir.” Patchwork pipes up, “He’s got a gentle touch. Good with cadets.”

General Skywalker nods, eyes lingering on Obi-Wan and his lightsaber in the youngling’s hand, then he turns and flees. It’s a weight off of all of their shoulders, and the sound of a lightsaber deactivating has them all relaxing.

Little Obi-Wan is quiet, still shaking, and he’s watching General Skywalker leave with open confusion, but he doesn’t fight when Captain Rex steps forward to gently pull his General’s lightsaber from the boy’s hands with a few soft murmurs of encouragement.

Waxer’s always been torn about General Skywalker. On one hand, the Jedi treats his men well and allows them more freedom than most clones get; he’s friendly with them, unreserved, and his friendship with the Chancellor means that the 501st always eats well and gets their requisitions filled quickly. But at the same time, Waxer has seen the mission reports. He’s high enough in rank that he can easily access them, and as someone who worries for his vode in the Legion they work with the most, Waxer had made a habit of reading them to take note of who would need a hug the most the next time they managed to meet up. He had seen the numbers, had seen the casualties that followed when the General went off on his own missions and disobeyed orders.

For every time it worked in their favour, there would be five where it didn’t. The mission would always be completed, but at a massive cost, usually paid in the lives of his men.

He respects General Skywalker, likes him even, and he would follow him into battle like he would any Jedi, but Waxer doesn’t trust him, not like he does General Kenobi. Learning that he had killed before isn’t so surprising, and while it doesn’t have the same impact on Waxer, who had been trained by killers to kill, Little Obi-Wan’s fear of him is reasonable. He was fresh from slavery and cruelty, the memory of it fresh in his mind. He had known vode like that, who had been mistreated beyond the norm, and who seemed to have a sixth sense for possible threats because of it.

“Was that really a Jedi ?” Cadet-Cody asks, his high, young voice rising above the tension in the air. He’s watching them all, confused and oblivious to their stress, but his dark eyes are sharp and intelligent. “Why are Jedi here?” His brows are furrowed, so much like Commander Cody’s but also so different. “I didn’t know that Jedi came to watch reconditionings.”

Waxer feels a little gutshot.

No . No - no that couldn’t have happened - not to Commander Cody. Waxer feels like the floor had been ripped out from under him as the breath is stolen from the room. Reconditioning was what every clone feared the most, even more than they feared decommissioning. Being decommissioned just meant death, and every trooper was well aware of their mortality, they all knew that they’d die and march on someday. They had accepted it because it’s just the life of a clone trooper.

Reconditioning though?

It’s a hell none of them want, to have their minds and identities wiped away while their bodies remained, a mocking show of what would happen should they step out of line. For clones, their identity was the only thing they owned and could control, and to have it all wiped away?

It was a horror that haunted them all.

Oblivious to the storm he had just released, the cadet - not Cody, if he had been reconditioned the child isn’t Cody; are they dooming this little one to another fate worse than death if they bring Cody back? - turns his wide eyes onto Obi-Wan in awe. He leans closer to the older youngling, “Are you a Jedi?”

Obi-Wan flinches, finally dragging his eyes away from the door to turn his attention to the boy next to him, “I -” he stutters for a moment, before his expression shutters, and he ducks his head, “- no. I’m not.”

Taglist: @a-mediocre-succulent @yellowisharo @spoofymcgee @roseofalderaan

[davosmymaster]

To the Ends of the Universe

A/N - Hello!!! How’s everyone doing? Just wanted to say thank you to the people who left a comment/liked the post about this one shot. I really hope this fic won’t dissapoint anyone.

Special thanks to @wonders-of-the-multiverse​ who has been there from the very first second. This fic initially started as both of us just daydreaming about the Master as usual and well, here we are XD. She was also my incredible beta reader.

As some of you know, English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistake. This is also my first fic on tumblr YAY

I really hope you have a good time reading this!!!

WARNINGS - Blood, mentions of nightmares, it’s pure fluff basically with hints of angst

PAIRINGS - Dhawan!Master x Reader (The Master x Reader)

WORD COUNT - 6,062 words

TO THE ENDS OF THE UNIVERSE

 The dimly lit hallways exploded in a bright white light as you rushed to the medbay, the loud thumping of your heart stuck in your ears as you forced your legs to keep the pace for just one more second.

 As Opposed to The Doctor’s, The Master’s TARDIS had always looked quite dark and unwelcoming, almost as if it wasn’t pleased with having anyone wandering around inside her. This time, however, a white flickering light guided you through the maze-like corridors to your destination. It was a big change from the dirty tricks she used to play during the first few months of your stay.

 The floor under your shoes quaked as the ship took off, the harsh trembling sending your body forwards and your shoulder crashing against one of the metal doors. You rubbed the tender spot for a second, the worry that had overwhelmed you at the sight of blood quickly being replaced by a wave of pure annoyance and agitation.

 “You could help me a bit here” you whispered through gritted teeth towards the TARDIS, the pain in your shoulder slowly dissolving into numbness.

 A low groan seemed to come from the walls and the energy inside it. The metal disappeared as the door slid open to reveal the grey colour of the medbay.

 “O-oh” you gasped “sorry”

 Once inside the room and without a thought, your body automatically went for the second drawer in one of the cupboards.

 Traveling the stars wasn’t as safe as you would have liked, and both the Master and yourself had gotten hurt more times than either of you remembered. As years and years passed you had surprised yourself in the most appropriate situations, becoming aware of the fact that you could find almost anything in the medbay at this point; even if you couldn’t understand the advanced medical technology a time lord could have gathered all over time and space for god-knows-how-long.

 “I’m back!” you announced when the control room appeared in front of your eyes again. The figure of the Master was leaning against the console, eyes too focused on his own empty fists to be considered normal. His hair was more disheveled than usual, the fringe coated with blood as it brushed across the top of his eyes. “Master”

 He jumped in place at the sound of your voice, one of his hands instinctively going to his coat’s pocket as a reflex. The wound on the side of his head was still bleeding, although the oozing flow of blood seemed to have lessened considerably since you had last seen him. His skin was much paler than usual and the dark rings under his eyes were looking much worse than that morning. You couldn’t help but think that he looked miserable, even beyond the blood staining his face and clothes.

 “Are you alright?” you whispered. You took a step forward cautiously and didn’t look away from his eyes, trying to find all the answers to your questions in those big brown orbs.

 “Why wouldn’t I be?”

 He quickly backed off, putting as much space between the two of you as he could. You watched him wander the room, walking in one direction before changing his mind the next second. You clenched your hands around the medical supplies, the weight of all the things you were carrying reminded you why you had left the room in the first place.

 “Have a seat somewhere” you demanded, although it sounded angrier than you had intended, almost like a bark. “You’re still bleeding”

 “YOU DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!”

 Your heart hammered in your chest as a response. The silence fell between the two of you, the atmosphere suddenly running out of air. He looked like a madman right there in front of your incredulous eyes, bleeding and pointing at you like he pointed at his enemies after stating a threat. He had never glared at you with angry eyes before.

 The Master had been acting odd for some time now. It all started with a change in his plans. One day, for no apparent reason, he took you on a trip to one of the most beautiful planets in the universe. The blue dunes of sand under an orange bright sun permanently eclipsed by one of its forty-three satellites. It seemed to be the perfect place to have some rest, at least it was until some of the natives recognized the Master and threatened to kill both of you.

 Surely ‘the most beautiful’ didn’t imply ‘the safest’, as the few civilizations that lived there had been at war for more than a millennia. The only thing all those aliens had in common was, somehow, the desire for the Master’s dead body. When the TARDIS set off again, as far away from the planet as she could, you realized he had done the first good action in a long time: he had left behind two civilizations unified for a cause greater than themselves, to get rid of him once and for all.

 Most of the time you couldn’t choose where to go, he always traveled whenever and wherever he needed in order to gather weapons or artifacts. Other times it was merely to have some fun, and on some rare occasions you would manipulate him to use his bloodthirstiness to do some justice.

 Those trips weren’t as usual now, or maybe he just had stopped telling you the truth about his intentions. Burning planets, dangerous ships and poisonous waters became beautiful trips to sightseeing constellations and the most delicious dinners served next to the colorful Medusa Cascade. No matter how beautiful or safe the place seemed to be, there was always someone or something interrupting the dates you were trying to enjoy with the Master. Not that he would call them dates, anyway.

 You used to read him like an open book. When he said “you’ll slow me down” in reality he meant “this is gonna turn nasty and I want you as far away from here as possible”. When he said he wanted to be alone, that was probably the last thing he wanted. And most of all you were almost a hundred percent sure that the strange words he whispered into your hair when he thought you were asleep meant “I love you” in Gallifreyan.

 But you still hadn’t managed to persuade the TARDIS to get you a Gallifreyan dictionary with the words’ pronunciation. It was definitely a work in progress though, or it had been until you realized that the Master and yourself had been slowly growing apart for the last few months.

 “(Y/N)” he said, his voice almost as low as a whisper “I- I shouldn’t have-”

 “You’re right, you shouldn’t have” you responded firmly. There were a lot of things you were willing to forgive him for, but yelling and mistreating you wasn’t one of them.

 He groaned in pain then, drenching his fingertips in the blood clot in his temple. Your own heart shivered in your chest at the sight, concern quickly burning your insides as a white hot fire ran through your veins.

 “Don’t touch it!”

 You quickly walked the space keeping you apart and gave him a gentle smack to his wrist. He avoided your eyes, fixing them instead on the rolls of unopened gauze, alcohol, towels, and those strange alien band-aids that accelerated the healing process up to five times faster.

 In a flurry of movement the Master moved, his hands quick to try and snatch them from you. But you had known him for a long time and knew exactly what he was like.

 “I can do it myself, I’m not a child”

 “I know you can-” you replied softly, your mind trying to convince itself that he was acting weirder than usual because you had underestimated the damage caused by the blow he had suffered to the head. “-but I’m not as sure about the rest of the sentence.”

 He raised one eyebrow in response and you watched him try not to grimace in pain again.

 “Here” he pulled away from you and walked to the front door of the TARDIS, opening it with ease. The old wood-like doors pulled back to reveal a black nothingness filled with thousands of distant flickering stars “I need some air.”

 The Master took a seat at the border. His back rested against the doors, one of his legs dangling out into space, the other bent beneath him on the floor.

 “You’ve definitely taken quite a hit.” you laughed, “There’s no air in outer space!”

 He smirked with closed eyes, calmly breathing in and out through the nose. “Don’t tell a Time Lord what can and cannot be in outer space. Now get to work, if you’re not going to let me do it myself.”

 You took a seat in front of him in the small space between his figure and the open door, one of your legs also dangling out into space. Leaning in, you pressed the gauze soaked in alcohol against the open wound to finally stop the bleeding. The Master clenched his jaw as much as he could, hissing in pain.

 “Sorry” you apologized, “Keep the pressure on yourself, I’m gonna clean you up.”

 He leered at you, the corner of his lips smirking lasciviously. You rolled your eyes, taking the wet towel in your hands and proceeding to clean the dry blood away from his chin and cheek. You cleaned his short beard the best you could and tried to get rid of the blood clots in his fringe, unsuccessfully to your dismay.

 You could feel his eyes piercing yours, his fingers gently sliding across the skin of your shoulder, softly brushing your hair to get it out of the way. You fixed your eyes onto his own only to catch him avoiding your gaze, his attention stuck on staring out at the endless sight of the universe.

 The Master kept his eyes fixed in nowhere in particular while you worked on his wound. You slowly opened one of the band-aids and tried to avoid his hair as much as possible, so you could place it on the side of his head; just above the temple. Now you just had to wait a few minutes to remove it. You had used those curious things several times before and although the healing was sped up, the thing never failed to leave some kind of scar. But even with those odds stacked against him, the Master was always lucky enough to never get scarred- likely thanks to his own unique biology.

 You let yourself fall limp against the door and tilted your head to whatever the Master was looking for. The sight was beautiful as it had always been, millions of stars were almost swallowed by the black nothingness that separated planets, constellations, solar systems, and asteroids. And even at the incredible sight of all of this, you struggled to find something that could possibly retain the Master’s attention for more than a split second.

 “Are you alright? You’ve seemed a little distant lately” you asked again.

 Fixing your eyes on his features you searched for any sign of discomfort, either physical or emotional. At the lack of response your gaze started to wander, his hand catching your attention as he played with something inside of his coat pocket.

 He was likely twisting and curling the TCE between his fingers. It was a trait you had noticed during your time travelling with him, his fingers fidgeting without fail whenever he was deep in thought. It happened every time, he would either tap four beats on any surface he could find or get something to entertain his restless fingers with, most of the time the ‘thing’ being his TCE.

 The memories from the day filled your head then. He had looked distant the whole time, from the very first second he landed the TARDIS in one of the three planets that formed the solar system of one of the seventeen suns in Kasterborous. It was the closest you had ever been to Gallifrey and, still, it was far enough to not be able to admire the beautiful planet that had watched the Doctor and the Master grow into adults for centuries.

 “I’m just planning my next scheme to trap the Doctor”

 You nodded, although you didn’t believe a thing of what he said.

 The words of what you had been thinking for endless nights poured from your lips before your mind could make up an excuse for his strange behavior, like all the other times. No one could blame you, after all you were just trying to protect your heart and mind from shattering.

 “Is it me?” you asked finally, your voice betraying you and showing more emotion than what you had intended.

 The Master suddenly turned his curious gaze to you. So he was paying attention then…

 “Don’t you think I haven’t spotted how distant you’ve been lately” you added, although lately didn’t seem to be the right word. Obviously you had realized how much time he spent alone in the library and how his visits to the room you both shared were becoming less and less frequent. He always claimed he didn’t need to sleep as much, but you had been apart for enough time for you to notice that it was just a cheap excuse to not be there.

 “Do you not want me to be here anymore?”

 He frowned at your words.

 “W-wha-”

 “Are you still happy?” you asked with a hoarse voice, feeling the familiar weight of tears building up in your eyes at the low wheezing sound of the silence. You clenched your jaw and tried to swallow the tears. “Don’t lie to me.”

 He just stared at you in silence for a second, mouthing like a fish out of water, until he finally blinked and tried to make a sound.

 “I-is not-”

 “Just-” you cut him off, feeling again like a lie was about to spill from his lips. “-you seem sad, distant, you’re not happy and you’re lying to me.”

“No-NO!” You snapped when he tried to talk again, “Don’t try to deny it, I can tell. I know you”

 “So…” Anxiously you took a shallow shaky breath “It has something to do with me, doesn’t it?”

 He pressed his lips together for a second but soon relaxed again. Changing his expression, the shimmer in his eyes shifted as he smirked slightly, the dark circles under his eyes failing to achieve the frightening look he was striving for. Maybe it would have worked with anyone else, but not with you.

 “You humans are so vain, always thinking the universe spins around you.”

 “I’m being serious, Koschei”

 He took a breathless gasp, almost as if he had been hit. The name of a time lord was one of the biggest, best-kept secrets in the universe. Only a handful of people had known (or would ever know) the real name of the Doctor, and due to the Master’s lack of sympathy and his trouble to connect with people to an emotional level, even less had known or ever would know his.

 ‘How many?’ you had asked when he confessed his real name one night, his forehead pressing against your sweaty collarbone.

 ‘Only you’ he had whispered, right before kissing your shoulder “and some Time Lords at the Academy, but they are not important.” you heard him take a deep breath, his nose pressed against your throat “All dead now.”

 Those times seemed out of reach. You even asked yourself if he regretted telling you.

 “Not you.” he whispered defeatedly, his head falling to his lap “It could never be you.”

 “What is it then?”

 He shifted his whole body to face you, squirming in his place and unable to keep still. He removed his hand from his pocket, clasping your own tightly.

 “It’s me.” he whispered in a choked breath and looked at your eyes “It’s so selfish of me to want you forever even though I know I don’t deserve you.”

 “Don’t say that!” you replied, struggling to believe the honesty in his voice and eyes. “You’re not serious. You can’t think like that after everything we’ve been through!”

 He focused again on your hands firmly entwined.

 “I believe it because… you’re so good” he looked away briefly towards the stars, before turning his gaze back to you again. “And people like me don’t get good people by their side or moments like this.”

 The Master stroked your palms with his thumbs, suddenly finding them more interesting than his own thoughts. After a few moments he gave a shaky sigh, backing off once more.

 “And if the past few attempts haven’t been proof of that, then I don’t know what could it be.”

 “Proof?” you questioned, “Proof of what? And what do you mean by the past few attempts?”

 He froze in place, and you frowned at his sudden stiffness. His shoulders tensed and body solid as he sighed deeply, his eyes fluttering closed as he tried and failed to relax his posture. The Master grumbled to himself in defeat, his hand dipping back into his pocket and playing with the TCE or whatever he had found to fiddle with once more.

 “I-it’s nothing. Just rambling.” he shrugged in an attempt to consolidate his own thoughts, but not even you believed his body language. “You do it a lot, ramble I mean, ugh, it’s your fault. I’m getting your bad ha-”

 “Does it have something to do with the last few stops?” you insisted, although you knew from personal experience that pressuring the Master to talk more than he wanted was never a good idea “All those… extravagant places, the two dates at the Medusa Cascade…”

 “Dates?”

 You would have laughed at his disgusted look if the atmosphere wasn’t so tense between the both of you. So you just gave him a crooked smile.

 “Yes, Master. That’s what it’s called when a person takes another person for dinner to talk and have a good time, especially when the place is that fancy. I loved it even though...”

 He watched silently as you told him about the whole date and everything that happened afterwards, despite him being there by your side. Although the dinner had started off with good intentions, it had quickly slipped into a tone of awkwardness through no fault of his own. So much so that the chasing and ‘running for your lives’ had been very much welcomed, although he didn’t notice it. He even apologized once you got into the TARDIS. It was fair to say that he was beyond annoyed the first time.

 A month later, when the second date was just another failed attempt in another restaurant in the Medusa Cascade, he had been furious. That was one of the reasons why the console room (or the living room of the house the TARDIS was disguised as) was even messier than usual. He had broken some chairs and cups before following your steps as you had stormed out to the library.

 The Master realized as he watched you talk that there would be no such thing as a perfect time. He silently admired the star light reflecting in your eyes and highlighting your features, oblivious to everything else. He couldn’t believe the fact that fate had found a way for both your souls to meet and connect. It didn’t matter in the end how much he had tried to distance himself from any other form of life in the universe, because at the end of the day you had always been there, always. He didn’t believe in fate, but when he looked back at the few possibilities there was for him to meet a person that he truly cared about, it was hard not to succumb at the idea of a force greater than himself pulling the strings to figure everything out.

 Even if he dared to think for a split second about not seeing you again, he wouldn’t be able to keep his pieces together. The Master wanted to do the right thing for once, and if fate surprisingly existed, he was certain it absolutely despised him. Countless times he had tried to have a full minute in silence with you, just enjoying each other’s company with a beautiful view, and the same amount of times his plans had been ruined by someone or something trying to either kill him, obtain revenge or obtain revenge via killing him. Until that precise moment he had never had regrets about all the people he had annoyed.

 He wondered what he could do now. Kasterborous was the last place on the list, and he was beyond exhausted from trying. On the other hand, he couldn’t give up on you. His best dreams were always about you, but so were his worst nightmares. And whenever and wherever he was he could always be sure about two things: his love for you and his conviction that as long as your heart was beating, so would his.

 How had he expected to make it perfect when your lives had always been so messy? After all, that was the whole basis of your lives: chaos, adventure, nothing ever occurring according to plan. And still, everything seemed to always find a way to fall into place. Not even the tardis had felt like a home before you, but now home seemed to be in his hands whenever he held yours, and he would be so lost if your hand ever left his.

 A sudden current of hope swallowed him whole.

 “Travel the universe with me.” He whispered, loud enough for you to hear.

 You couldn’t help but chuckle at his pleading. However, your laugh died with ease when you turned around to find a pair of saddened eyes.

 You leaned in and stroked his beard in your palm, using a few seconds to admire his lips and features. Sighing, you repositioned yourself with both of your hands in his lap, your eyes staring intensely at his own as you held his attention on yourself.

 “I already travel with you, idiot.” You gave his hands a gentle squeeze, “What’s wrong?”

 The Master took three shallow breaths, his sight lost somewhere in your hands above the fabric of his trousers. You moved away from him again, gazing worriedly to how distant he seemed to be from his own flesh. It was at that moment that his hand emerged from the concealment of his thick purple coat pocket, his fist trembling and knuckles a stark white colour.

 An idea quickly surged in your brain, and you fought to swallow the dry lump in your throat at the fear of something serious happening to him.

 However, that fear quickly vanished when his fist relaxed and his fingers slowly curled open; revealing what was inside for the light of day to see.

 For a split second you thought he wasn’t holding anything, but then your mind acknowledged the shape of a ring sitting proudly in front of your incredulous eyes. The ring was so tiny in his large hand that you couldn’t properly see it until his fist was completely open and flat, it seemed almost a crime to keep something so beautiful concealed in the shadows.

 The ring was silver, encrusted with white circular gemstones that you didn’t even bother to try and name as without a doubt they weren’t from Earth. The central gem shined a dim light almost invisible until he lent his hand to the side. For a second you could have sworn you had seen a fine black line inside of it, the thought quickly dismissed as a trick of the light as your eyes filled with unstoppable tears once again.

 The only thing that could make you look away from the small piece of jewelry was a gentle squeeze to your shoulder, that and the fact that the Master had quickly stowed the ring away in his coat pocket once more. Your trembling body kept your eyes locked on the empty space it had once inhabited regardless, that was until you heard his panicked voice breaking through the loud thumping of your heart in your ears.

 The Master had positioned both his hands against your cheeks which were now wet with your tears, his thumb tracing the contour of your cheek and drawing you away from your reverie. Only then did you dare to look at him again.

 “I-I’m sorry. I-” he took shallow breaths, blinking away the tears forming in his eyes at light speed. “I’m so sorry. Don’t cry, please. Don’t cry.”

 “W-” you tried to ask, but the words in your mouth didn’t seem to appear fast enough in your mind “W-what’s that?”

 He leaned in and pressed his forehead to your own, still wiping away the tears that littered your cheeks with his thumbs. Even from that angle you could discern how one tear slipped away from his right eye, licking gently at the hot skin behind only to die in the corner of his lips.

 “Nothing.” He stated with a shuddered exhale, suddenly cutting himself off by chewing his lip “It’s nothing!”

 “It’s a ring!” You cried in return.

 From all the things you expected from the Master, marriage was very low on the list. He despised most planets and sassily commented about any tradition and culture that wasn’t his own. You had never even bothered to think about marriage, especially after knowing that weddings on Gallifrey were mostly arranged, a mere game to obtain political power and status amongst the community. In Gallifrey weddings weren’t enjoyed and at the end of the day, they didn’t mean anything either; it was just a convenient tool for both parties.

 But you weren’t a Time Lord.

 You were human.

 Just one more human traveling the stars.

 During your travels, you had learned that the meaning of marriage was a timeless concept to the future of the human race, no matter how long someone had been away from Earth or how many millenniums had passed since the Solar System had been destroyed to dust. Some things simply stayed the same.

 So he knew what marriage meant to the human race, and most importantly, he knew what marriage meant to you, for the both of you.

 “No” he tried “No, it’s…”

 “Don’t lie to me” you growled, pushing his shoulders back “Don’t you dare lie to me. I’m tired of getting pushed away. You always, always, do that. And it hurts”

 You buried your head in your knees, your arms wrapping around yourself tightly as tears silently escaped your eyes without remedy. It happened regardless of how you felt, were you happy? nervous? sad? You didn’t even know at this point. The thing with the Master was that he was always so hard to comprehend, despite all the years of traveling and living together. In the end he was always true to his spontaneous, chaotic natures, never failing to surprise you at the least expected moment.

 The Master moved closer, this time pressing his forehead to your shoulder. A second after you felt your own shirt getting damp, your heart tightening in your chest even more, if that was even possible. Knowing that not only was he only trying not to cry in front of you, he was also trying to hide, trying to find somewhere safe to let himself break. It was hard not to think about how much exhaustion and courage it was taking him not to get on his feet and run as far as he could.

 He always had struggled to put his emotions into words, and expressing the depth of his feelings for you was still something he wasn’t quite used to. Even though he had never said I love you openly, you also knew he didn’t need to.

 The Master was the kind of person whose acts always said more than his words. The way he supported you in everything you wanted to do, the soft whispers to wake you up and his habit of making a single cup of coffee in the morning just for you (mostly because he didn’t like the taste). You had spent an endless amount of nights in his arms when you couldn’t sleep, countless days curled up tightly next to him when sickness took over your body. You didn’t remember what nightmares felt like anymore, you hadn’t had one since the first night he shared with you. Yet still, you preferred them to the terror swallowing your body whole when his own nightmares woke you up in the middle of the night.

 “Of course it’s a ring.” he finally admitted, “Im selfish enough to not want you with anyone else or anywhere else. I want you here for as long as we have.”

 His confession was sealed with a feather light kiss against the exposed skin of your neck. “I’ve been trying to ask you for a long time, but it never works out. I fear this will have to do”

 When you pulled away, he quickly wiped all the tears from his face in a rapid and almost angry manner. But even with his cheeks partially dry, you could still see the redness tinted around the edges of his eyes and the tip of his nose, still spot the remnants of tears clinging to his eyelashes.

 You pulled his hands away from his face and cleared away the final tears that slipped across his cheeks. A choked sob tearing from his throat as he tried to take a steadying breath. You could clearly see the conflict he waged with himself, especially so when his hands turned into fists and his jaw clenched so tightly you feared he would break a tooth.

 Pressing the tip of your thumb against his lip, you caressed the soft skin you were dying to kiss. Looking deeply into his eyes, you could tell he seemed to be finally paying full attention.

 “Look at me.”

 “I’m looking at you.”

 “No, you’re not.” You exclaimed, “You’re thinking, not looking. Stop torturing yourself in that head of yours and just… look at me and see.”

 Frown lines marked his face and you took the chance to get rid of the white band-aid that stuck to his forehead; revealing the pristine healed skin underneath.

 “What do you want me to see?” The Master ventured after a moment of silence.

 “How much I love you.” You brushed the tip of his nose with yours and slid your hand against the soft hairs in his jaw. “You need to see it, and believe…”

 His short chuckle was melody to your ears.

 “It's impossible not to see it, love.” He smiled sadly, your skin shivering under his touch as he slid two fingers under the fabric of the shirt’s collar. Lazily he outlined your collarbone, his hands roaming and exploring your skin as though it was an uncharted planet.

 You smiled to yourself, knowing it was yet again another sign of his nervous quirks; the constant need to entertain his fingers with something.

 “It’s there every time I look at you.” The Master continued, “And unfortunately, I never believe what I see.”

 Somehow, you already knew what he was going to say, the words nestled deep within your heart. Closing your eyes, you gently pressed your lips against his own, the moment brief and chaste before backing off almost immediately afterwards.

 “I’ll have to make you then.”

 Leaning forwards your hand reached outwards, pulling the pocket of his coat round as you brazenly dug down into his pocket. It wasn't hard to find the tiny piece of jewelry, but it was definitely harder to free your wrist from the Master’s grip.

 “Please…” he begged with pleading eyes “What are you…?”

 Eventually, and without a word, he let your wrist go. You licked your lips, feeling the coldness of the ring nestled against your own palm but too afraid to open your fist to give it a proper look.

 Taking a deep breath, you finally encouraged yourself to do what had to be done.

 Even before giving the ring a second look, you slowly slid the piece of jewellery on to the place it belonged; where it would always belong. Then with baited breath you drew your gaze carefully across every inch of it, committing every shine, every detail to memory. The circular gem in the middle caught your attention for a lot longer than when you had initially seen it, and you found that the more you fixed your eyes on it, the clearer the thin black lines became inside of the gem.

 You could tell it was gallifreyan, the entwined circles were hard to mistake for any other language, the black dots inside the circumferences were almost impossible to see. You struggled to find the meaning, even with the knowledge from the classes that The Master had given you in the past.

 He seemed to be holding his breath when your eyes watched his features again. Noticing your eyes on him, he swallowed loudly. His whole figure relaxed. His shoulders falling back against the wood-like door, his constant frown fading and hands falling limp in his lap. With nifty fingers brushed away his fringe in an attempt to remove the hair from his eyes.

 He was clearly overwhelmed by the situation and you did understand his reaction, after all he had been trying to propose for a long time.

 “What does it mean?”

 His grin was the biggest he had ever made, his eyes recovering that special shine you hadn’t seen in months.

 “Why do I even bother trying to teach you?”

 “Why do I even bother treating your wounds if you make me want to punch you in the face afterwards?”

 “Uhm… let’s see…” He jokingly teased. Catching your left hand, he brought it closer to his eyes, his gaze fixated on the ring perched on your finger.

 With a steady voice and growing confidence, The Master pronounced a series of sounds that you couldn’t quite comprehend, your mind still flaring with recognition for them as the words he always whispered in your hair during the night.

 Before you could protest about not speaking gallifreyan, he promptly translated.

 “Hold my hand to the ends of the universe.” He took your hand and gently pressed his lips to the ring and the skin around it.

 “This is my promise” he finished with a whisper.

 Your breath was caught in your throat. You only remembered you needed to say something when he warily gazed to your own incredulous eyes. You had no idea what he would decipher in your gaze, as your own torrent of emotions were hard to decode even by yourself. But you caught sight of the huge amount of hope installed in his eyes and your heart hammered in your chest at the sight.

 “Yes, I do.”

 The Master chuckled, your attention catching a glimpse of the happiness exploding in his eyes. It was like watching a supernova explode in before you. He let his head fall to your intertwined hands once again, sliding his fingers to tighten his grip around your own as he held your hand.

 “I wanted to propose to you.” he smirked, “Not marry you on the spot. We have time for that.”

 You chuckled and he lent in, his lips gracing your cheek as he kissed you once more. With his breath hot against your skin, the Master released a shaky, relieved whisper.

 “Thank you, love.”

 With a gentle touch, his hands wandered to the small of your back urging you to lay down on top of him. You followed his guidance with little resistance, hands pressed against his chest as you could hear the rapid beating of his hearts despite the numerous layers of clothing he always wore.

 Excited at the sound, you shifted your hand directly above his hearts, the gemstones in the ring sparkling and reflecting the flickering light of the stars on your finger.

 “I love you.” You whispered as his hands traced circular lines in your back. He made an amused sound and kissed the top of your head.

 “I love you too,” He answered without a moment's hesitation.