#but i just love how hes so mean and sharp tongued without getting actually offensive and horrible

[enden-k]

dr veritas "finally a moment of peace. should have squashed him. this gambler gets on my nerves. ughh annoying ass mf" ratio; dr veritas "you look pale. tell me if you cant hold on any longer. stay alive. i wish you the best of luck" ratio

I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOCTOR RAAAAHHHH

[allthingsarmin]

fckboy armin? + degredation is always a good combination <3

I was so excited to write this dose of Armin brainrot, omg 😩

If it’s alright with you, anon, I did this request in more of a headcanon format, but the ending is more of a fanfiction format. I’m also sorry I took so long to write this omg.

MINORS DNI!

Fem!Reader, FemBodied!Reader

TW: Mentions of NSFW topics + degradation, mean!armin, manipulation, fuckboy topics

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin whose style resembles that of the horny, manipulative, ghost-y men on campus yet is just too hot for you to handle. The way he wears dark silver rings on his left thumb, middle, and pointer fingers that accentuate his slender, pale fingers and clean-cut nails. The way the small, dark tattoos on his knuckles, right forearm, and collarbone add an aura of mystery and aggression to his being that just exudes sex. The way he wears a gold chain necklace with distressed jeans and a plain t-shirt that’s just a little too tight and shows off his pecks. Or the way he wears long black joggers and an oversized long-sleeve black shirt that makes him look taller. The way he doesn’t wear his mask correctly, always hanging on one of his ears which compliment his stud earrings and devilish smirk. The way he is broke because he’s always spending money on the newest, trendy shoes. The way he always uses way too much cologne… One look at him, and you can sense his ‘asshole attitude,’ but you can’t deny it makes your lower regions pulsate.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who’s body is so perfectly sculpted and toned that it leaves you thinking dirty thoughts in class. The way he sits in class with his sleeves rolled up, laying back relaxed in the chair, right leg bouncing out of boredom as his hard cock becomes noticeable in his grey sweatpants makes you want to run to your dorm and touch yourself. The way his abs call out to you to graze your fingertips against them when he lifts his shirt up to wipe away the sweat after walking home from the gym. The way his beautifully slender fingers hold his phone or push his hair back when he’s frustrated makes you think about how good they would feel inside you. The way his accentuated collarbone peaks through his thin t-shirts, allowing you to see the hickeys and imprints of love bites from god knows how many women makes you jealous. The way his skin is so pale and so soft that his blonde leg hair becomes barely noticeable. The way his golden hair brings out a plethora of the shades of blue in his eyes, and oh how his haircut suits him perfectly, shaping his jawline very well. How his beautiful blue eyes dangerously lure you into him, the soft but manipulative stares he gives you. How he can’t seem to maintain eye contact with you for more than three seconds because he looks at your breasts. The sinister yet sexy smiles he has plastered upon his face when talking with his friends about ‘some other whore’ he fucked the other day… Armin is attractive, and he knows he is attractive. Though you hate how arrogant his looks have made him, his suggestive stares and lip bites from such a handsome man make your heart flutter and mind only focused on one thing.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who is always posting thirst traps on instagram. You know… The pictures with the squinted eyes and the bitten lower bottom lip, either showing off his money or new shoes, pictures beside a nice car, suggestive pictures with the new girls he’s been fucking recently, biting his chain necklaces because he thinks it’s sexy. Only follows ‘successful’ men and offensive meme accounts but mostly follows half-naked women and supermodels. Leaves nasty comments on ugly womens’ pictures, calling them whores while he’s in hot girls’ DMs sending unsolicited dick pics and asking for nudes. Has thousands of followers, mostly from the party girls and rude men who go to his college. Won’t let you tag him in a photo unless he ‘looks hot.’

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who takes slutty gym pictures with his shirt off, abs out, shorts low enough to see his V line, hands in his hair, and a wink. Sends it to every girl in his snapchat contacts and posts it on his story with the ‘slide up’ text.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who hits you with the “you up?” at 2am on snapchat after ghosting you for two months. Tells you how much he misses your lewd moans and sloppy cunt, and then after pressuring you to give him nudes, he saves them and then doesn’t talk to you for at least a week.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who is so intelligent and dangerously manipulative. Who is so smart that he doesn’t need or want to pay attention in class, who convinces you to let him keep the nudes you sent him on snapchat, who reels you right back in when you try to move on from him.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who was nice to you at first, befriending you when you looked so alone, shy, and innocent, who only chose you because you looked so easy to take advantage of when he finally closes in on you.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who says he doesn’t want ‘any of that relationship stuff’ because all of his exes were crazy and that he only wants to date hot chicks.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who only texts you at ungodly hours during the weekdays and plays games like ‘20 questions’ with you so he can ask you if you’re either a virgin or a whore, if you like oral, if you’ve thought about him in dirty ways before… or truth or dare, asking you if you if you want to be his slut or daring you to send him lewd pictures of yourself.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who takes every chance he can get to turn anything sexual: the way your skirt is just a little too short that makes him suddenly grab your upper thighs, the way you innocently lick your ice cream cone on a hot summer day - he tells you to put your tongue on his cock instead, how you put your hair up in a high ponytail just makes him want to pull on it and kiss the crook of your neck… it all leaves him clouded with dirty thoughts.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who calls you ‘babe’ and refers to you as his ‘girl’ even though he has a million bitches on the side.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who makes you feel like shit about yourself because he’s constantly sending you womens’ profiles on Instagram, saying you should look more like them and ‘get a nicer ass.’

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who becomes more controlling as your sexual relationship continues, basically forcing you to let him check your phone in case you're messaging other dudes and being naughty for men besides him but gets defensive when you want to see his phone.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who refuses to eat you out but expects you to praise his cock with your slutty mouth and wet tongue.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who doesn’t really care about your personal problems or pain, and whenever you tell him you’re hurting on the inside, he offers to let you come over to his house so that he can fuck you: “once my cock is inside you again, you’ll forget all about your sadness.”

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who doesn’t use condoms because he ‘can’t feel anything’ when he wears them, so he just assumes that you’re on birth control when he cums inside you.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who violates your privacy when he’s online gaming with his closest friends, Eren and Jean, as he tells them through the microphone about how tight and wet your pussy is and how much you enjoy being treated like a slut, your mouth full of his cock and pussy dripping with his cum… going as far as sending secretive videos he took of you to them where you’re whimpering and begging for Armin’s cock.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who pressures you to do risky things you don’t want to do, but you just can’t find the courage to say no to him when he stares at you with his intense blue eyes… like when he asks you to sit next to him in the back of the class then without your approval, sneaks his slender fingers into your panties and starts harshly playing with your clit. He devilishly smirks as you try to suppress your cries of disapproval. Or like when he convinces you to let him take videos of you when you’re in a position that exposes your slick cunt to him so well. Or even how he manipulates you into trying something new that you’ve never been comfortable with, like swallowing his thick cum, letting him put you in a full-nelson, maybe letting him choke you while he spits in your mouth.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who finally closes in on you, begging you to help him study for the upcoming test since he wasn’t paying attention in class because ‘you’re just so distracting’ to him, acting so smart and innocent and respectably in front of the teacher when Armin really knows that your slutty outfits and wet pussy says otherwise… so you excitedly go over to his dorm, thankful that finally it will be a normal get-together where you could actually find out more about Armin instead of finding out more about how he likes his cock sucked. Upon entering his dorm, it is apparent that he never planned on studying with you as his textbooks are nowhere to be found, and he is sitting on the couch half-naked with Netflix on the TV.

ᵔᴥᵔ “Oh hey, y/n, didn’t expect to see you here so soon,” he says nonchalantly. You unknowingly stare at his broad shoulders, his strong chest, and of course his V-line that is not hard to miss as he carelessly talks shit about his teachers. “See something you like?” arrogance seething from his teeth as he brushes back his blond hair. You don’t say anything as your face grows red. He takes your hand and leads you to the couch. “Come on, let’s watch something.”

ᵔᴥᵔ The sound of skin slapping drowns out the voices on the TV. You don’t even know how Armin managed to get you into this position again where you’re so submissive under him, giving into him yet again. He flips you over on your back, and he props himself up, looking over your figure that’s so pathetically displayed below him. You can see his angelic hair stick to his forehead as the sweat drips down his soft but sharp cheeks. The look in his eyes has gone dark, and his smile is sinister as if he was a predator about to devour a prey. He wickedly laughs as you grind your needy cunt against his hard cock. This is where he really gets mean.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin loves to degrade you like the whore you are, constantly reminding you just how easy you are to take advantage of, how easy you are to win over with just some dick, how easy it is to make your sloppy cunt squirt and tingle from multiple orgasms, how easy it is to make you whimper and beg for his thick cock to make a complete mess of your pussy.

ᵔᴥᵔ “You really didn’t think I invited you over just to study, did you?” he snickers as he cruelly and slowly thrusts into your aching cunt, making eye contact with you and grinning as your face turns red. He grabs your throat, choking you, and begins to thrust faster which pulls shaky moans from under your breath. He inches close to your ear and whispers, “you even came over here without wearing underwear under that short skirt of yours…” he switches to the other ear, “and when I started touching your dirty cunt during the movie, you were already so wet,” you shiver at his words. He pulls back and gives you a gentle slap with his left hand, his rings stinging your face, and uses his right hand to twist your perky nipples. He begins to laugh, “but I’m not surprised that a filthy slut like you - my filthy slut - would think of such impure thoughts during something as innocent as watching a movie.” Armin leans closer to your face again, still thrusting into you at a quick pace. His warm breath raises goosebumps on your skin. He harshly grabs your mouth and tells you to open, which you submissively comply with, and he spits into your mouth which causes you to whimper. He smacks the side of your thigh. “You like being treated like some depraved slut don’t you?” You don’t reply, but the fluttering in your tight pussy says otherwise. He flips you onto your stomach, your breasts mushing into the couch, and without warning, he forces his girthy cock into your tight pussy. He is thrusting into you at an ungodly pace, making you scream and moan incoherent words. “What’s my little slut saying? Use your words, baby,” he teases. At this point, you can only call out his name. “A-armin…” He begins to torturously thrust into that one spot, and within seconds, you're bucking your hips, intensely squirting onto his couch and leaving a sopping wet dark spot. “Fucking whore, gonna have to buy a new couch because you can’t control your filthy cunt,” he growls into your ear. He quickly flips you over onto your back again, wanting to see your face. Your face is contorted with such pleasure; your eyes are rolled to the back of your head, and your mouth is wide open with drool dripping down your jaw. Armin shudders, his cock getting even harder in your tight pussy. “So hot… such a lewd slut.” He immediately brings out his phone, taking a picture. “Want me to show my friends what a cock-hungry whore you are?” You quickly nod. “So fucking pathetic,” he snarls. “I’m going to destroy your cunt, slut.” He shoves his warm tongue in your mouth, gently grabbing the hair on your foggy head. “I’m gonna break you in so bad,” he mumbles, wiping the tears from your face.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who maybe in fact does want to have that ‘relationship shit’ with you ~

__________________________

Requests are open, and feedback is appreciated <3

[ptergwen]

Hi can u do where like arvin grandma takes him to church and he meets a ‘nice’ girl but really she’s kinda like him and he finds her smoking behind the church thanks

angel

w/c: 1.4k

warnings: swearing, smoking, and suggestive themes

a/n: alright i went overboard this is pretty long 😭 sooo enjoy

-

“grandma, do i really have to-“

“you’ll come say hi to her. she’s a real sweetheart, arvin,” emma pats her grandson’s hand, which she’s leading him by through their pew to yours. she’s been gushing about you all week.

your parents and her ran into each other while buying groceries, and they spoke for a bit. about upcoming town events, about the heat, about their families. you and arvin of course came up. judging by how lovely your parents are, emma had a feeling you’d be the same. that sparked her idea to introduce arvin to you.

she likes the thought of arvin hanging around a nice girl. she’d wanted the same for her own son, although it didn’t quite work out. it’s only a matter of time before she’s pimping lenora out to a pearly white smiling church boy.

“you say that about everyone, grandma,” arvin sighs, lighthearted but with a hint of annoyance. he’s not so sure he’s into nice girls. or, that nice girls would be into him. no offense to you because his grandma has been talking you up, and you do sound great, but maybe not for him.

emma puts on her best smile as the two of them approach you. “just say hi, won’t you? give her a chance.” “alright, if that’s what you want,” arvin mumbles back, running his now free hand through his hair. your mom gasps in pleasant surprise. “oh, emma. wonderful to see you again,” she greets, you and your dad standing up so she can get over.

the women hug while arvin stands there, disguising an eye roll for a look up at the ceiling. you squint at him and smirk to yourself. you’re intrigued.

your parents had mentioned something about you meeting a boy, your mom more enthusiastic than your dad. he wasn’t too on board with it. he’d said the “russell boy” had a reputation, said he was rowdy and whatnot. that was meant to scare you and your mother off. she dismissed it, and your interest was only piqued.

“yes, dear, so wonderful,” emma agrees, grinning at your dad over your mom’s shoulder. he takes a step towards her, making small talk. “how’s it going?” you watch arvin while the three of them catch up. he’s got his hands in his pockets and a clenched jaw. he doesn’t look particularly thrilled to be here. not at church or in your pew.

you snicker at him, and he snaps his head in your direction. the movement is sharp, yet somehow subtle. you’d been expecting the kid to bounce off the walls from how your dad described him. he actually seems pretty quiet. intimidating, yet quiet. it’s hot.

arvin catches a small smile from you. he nods in response, then shifts his attention back to his grandma when she nudges him.

“remember i was telling you about my grandson?” emma asks your parents, both of them affirming. she glances over at you. “this is arvin.” “hi, nice to meet you,” he drawls and extends a hand for your mom and dad to shake. your mom keeps it short and polite. your dad does it with a firm grip, one that arvin matches.

“strong boy,” he comments. “oh, you think so?” arvin jokes back. that earns a glare from your dad, who perceives it as him having an attitude. you take it upon yourself to say hi to arvin next. one, because you aren’t liking the tension. two, because you want to.

you step past your dad so you’re in front of arvin. “i’m y/n,” you say with another smile. “arvin. nice to meet you.” he sticks out his hand again, which you ignore, going straight for a hug. he’s not sure where that came from. either way, he hugs you back by your waist. you lean in to whisper in his ear.

“you wanna get out of here?” he’d fucking love to. he already promised lenora he wouldn’t sneak out of service again, though. “can’t. my sister’ll kill me for it,” arvin murmurs back, you pulling out of his arms. he finds himself disappointed by the absence of your body. your parents and emma are back in their own conversation, so you can speak freely.

“aw, cute. you’ve got a sister. you listen to her?” you’re teasing, a glint in your eyes. you don’t seem like the sweetheart his grandma made you out to be. arvin likes that. “she’s a...” he lets out a breath, trying to come up with a way to describe lenora’s love for church. “you know, this stuff’s important to her.”

“not you?” you wonder, clasping your hands behind your back. “nope. i reckon you’re the same,” arvin hums and scratches his gelled hair. “listen, how about i meet you out back later? nice girls go to church, don’t they?” he throws the last part in to flirt. you pick up on it, poking at his chest and lowering your voice. “who says i’m a nice girl?”

“come on, y/n/n. service is about to start,” your dad interrupts, taking you by your wrist before you can protest. “see you later,” you call to arvin. “yeah, see you.” he grins as him and emma walk back to their pew, where lenora is anxiously waiting for them. they’ll grill him about how he likes you later. right now is the lord’s time.

your words ring in arvin’s head the whole time the reverend drones on about whatever he does. so, you’re not a nice girl. he can’t wait to find out what that means.

when the service ends, lenora and emma line up to speak with the reverend and everyone else waiting. arvin sets off to find you. you’re the only two not still in there, so it shouldn’t be hard. he heads out the back door because he doesn’t want anyone, meaning your dad, to see him.

you’re leaned against the building with a cigarette between your fingers, puffing out a cloud of smoke just as arvin spots you. your lips turn up in a half smile when you take another drag off of it.

“there you are,” you speak, words muffled from the cigarette. you retrieve a box of matches from the waistband of your skirt and dangle it before him. “need a light?” you’d noticed a pack stuffed into his jeans earlier. he’s not so good at hiding them, if he was even trying to. you could teach him a thing or two about being more lowkey.

arvin pulls a cigarette from his pack and shoves it into his mouth. “didn’t take you to be a smoker,” he rasps as you strike the match up, bringing it to his cigarette. you then throw it on the ground and stomp it out with a knowing smile. “i told you, i’m not what you thought i was. whatever my mom told your grandma.”

“mm,” he confers, breathing in and taking the cigarette from his mouth to exhale. “heard you were a straight a’s student. you’re in lots of clubs and all that.” you scoff, bringing your own cigarette to your lips again, further blurring his good girl image of you. “when i cross out the d’s and lie, sure.” arvin chuckles at that and leans back against the stone wall.

“you’re not like your family one bit, huh?” he already knows you aren’t. “nope. i think they’re the reason i’m like this, anyway,” you admit, fingers innocently circling over his bicep. innocently. “i’m doing the whole rebel without a cause thing.” your hand squeezes at his arm, waving out your cigarette and dropping it in the grass.

“what about you? my dad said you’re a fighter.” arvin clears his throat and looks down at your feet. they’re moving, closer to him. “sometimes, for my sister. i was tellin’ you she’s different from the other kids. they pick on her.” that gives you a new sort of admiration for arvin. you thought he was cool, now you think he’s also kind. he thinks you’re... beyond words. in a good way.

“sounds like you’ve got a good heart to me.” you press your fingers into his skin, this time with a smile that’s sweet. he isn’t sure if he prefers this one or the one that has something sinister behind it. “well, thank you,” arvin drops his hand to your hip, adding on, “angel.” he’s well aware of what he’s doing by calling you that name. you click your tongue.

“angel? mhm, i’ll change your mind about that.”

[calpalirwin]

Phantom Pain

Summary: Trauma bonding turns into a full blown crush with Bucky

Word Count: 2.9k

And away, and away we go!

__

You heard the startled gasps behind you as you lowered your body before pulling yourself up on the pull up bar again. “Yes?” you questioned, repeating another rep.

“I-I-I-” a teenage boy's voice stuttered. “Mr. Stark!” he yelled in slight panic.

You sighed, letting go of the bar and landing on your feet. “Yes?” you repeated, turning to face the lanky teenager with his mop of brown hair, and his companion, a girl a few years older, stifling giggles into her hands, both of their cheeks flushed. “Oh,” you said in realization. “You must be Peter. Uh, Tony’s in the lab, I think.”

Peter nodded mutely, before quickly dashing out of the training room, leaving you face to face with the young woman. “Gay,” you said simply. “And I think Vision’s with Tony.”

Her blush deepened, as she too, hightailed it out of the room with a muttered “Tony has a brother?”

You chuckled quietly to yourself. Of course your brother wouldn’t have told his newest members about you. Something about it not being vital information, and liking the shock value of it.

“And this is the training room,” a voice you did recognize said as Steve came into your line of sight, a man matching his stature trailing behind him silently. “Oh, hey, Stark.”

“Capsicle,” you greeted with a salute.

“Stark?” the other man asked in confusion. “I thought-”

“Fortunately there’s two of us,” you corrected. “Or unfortunately, depending on your opinion of Starks in general. Y/N,” you introduced yourself, offering out your hand.

“Bucky,” the man said, shaking your hand.

“Nightmares, again?” Steve asked you, his eyes glancing about the room.

“Sometimes you frighten me with how observant you are, Rogers,” you said grimly.

“Nightmares?” Bucky questioned, intrigue painting the features of his perfectly sculpted face.

“An unfortunate lingering side effect of my time in the Army, yeah,” you explained. “Something I’m sure you can relate to,” you added with a pointed glance at Bucky’s left arm which was completely metal, your mind already curious to how it worked, and how to make it better. “Working out helps. Something about physical exertion canceling out mental exertion.”

“Well, I might have to join you some time. See if your theory holds up.”

You held out your arms, gesturing about the giant training room. “Feel free. Everything here is open 24/7 to accommodate the mad geniuses and PTSD freaks.”

“And which one are you?” Bucky asked. And you knew it was a stupid question given what little information you had already provided him with. But you could also recognize a flirting edge when you heard one.

“I feel like the answer’s obvious. But, in the event that it’s not, I’m both. Pleasure to meet you, Bucky. And welcome to Avengers headquarters.”

~~~

A couple nights later, you were in the lab tinkering about, when you saw Bucky walk by in gym shorts and a tank top, his hair pulled back in a small bun. “Can’t sleep, huh?” you called out.

His body tensed as he whirled around, relaxing when he saw it was you. “Yeah. Thought I’d try out your theory.”

“It’s a good theory,” you assured, before refocusing on what you’d been working on.

“You have a lot of faith in a theory I’ve yet to test for myself,” Bucky said, stepping into the lab with you.

“I don’t do faith. I do facts,” you replied bluntly.

“Mmm, then how do you know it’s a good theory?”

“A good theory isn't whether it’s proven to be correct or not. A good theory is about being able to be repeated and replicated. Tested multiple times over and over. My theory just also happens to be correct.”

“Wow, you are a Stark.”

“I’m not an idiot, is what you mean. But rest assured I don’t have the same level of arrogance my brother inherited from our father. Or at least, I like to believe I don’t. But, results don’t lie. The physical exertion that comes from working out is enough to distract the brain from the mental exertion that comes from unwanted memories. Is it perfect? No, because it’s not a cure. But it does well enough anyway. And you can take my word for it. Or Rhodey’s, or Sam’s, or Steve’s. And that’s just the military crew. Or, you can test it for yourself. As I said, it’s a good theory. Very testable.”

Bucky’s tongue clicked in his cheek. “Mmm, and if it’s such a good theory, why are you here in the lab instead of in the training room?”

“A distraction, is a distraction, is a distraction. And I have work to do.”

“And what is it that you’re working on?” he asked, stepping closer to peer over your shoulder.

“Prosthetic limbs for amputees. Ones that aren’t hunks of metal. No offense.”

“None taken. I didn’t exactly get a say in the matter.”

“Right… Sorry…”

“No, don’t apologize. Something more… realistic looking would be nice. But the metal’s worked so far. Enhances already enhanced abilities.”

A shudder went down your spine. “Right. Super soldier strength mixed in with whatever tech is loaded up in that thing. I’ve taken a lot of hits in my day that I’d hate to experience again, but I’d do it if it meant a guarantee of never being on the receiving end of being hit by that. Like… the damage you were able to inflict on Tony, even in his suit…” you let out a low whistle. “Damn… no thanks.”

“Sorry? I think?”

You laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “Please. It’s not that he didn’t deserve it. The amount of times I wish I could clock him myself… My only regret was having not been there to actually see it.”

“Why do I get the feeling you and Tony don’t actually get along?”

“Oh, we do. It’s just… typical sibling shit, I suppose. We had different ways of coping with our parents dying. He went the standard billionaire spoiled brat route. I went to the Army. He took over the company. I stayed in the Army. He realized the damage the company was actually doing and became Iron Man. I was part of that damage.”

“Shit…”

Again, you waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t get me wrong. He’s my older brother. I love him. He’s rectified a lot of his past by helping turn Stark Industries into the Avengers. He's, dare I say, gained a conscience. But he’s also far from perfect. Still too arrogant for his own good. But I like him a lot better these days than I used to. I mean, I’m here.”

“So… you work for him? Doing what exactly?”

“Yes, and no. I live and work here, yes. But I don’t necessarily work for my brother. I help him and Bruce out a lot. Perks of not being an Avenger myself means I’m here to keep working when they’re gone. But, for the most part I keep to myself doing my own project.”

“Right, the prosthetic limbs. Personal reasons?”

“Yeah, you could say that. Seen my fair share of wounded vets. And seen my fair share of their struggle with shitty prosthetics. And even if they are complete shit, they’re also expensive. But I’m in a position where I can make non-shitty ones and, pun not intended, not have them cost people an arm and a leg. So, that’s what I do. Each prototype gets me closer and closer to making them as realistic as possible. Restoring range of motion you won’t get with cheap plastic wrapped around steel. It’s like… a complete limb transplant. Or that’s the ultimate goal anyway. Make prosthetics so real it’s like you never lost a limb in the first place.”

“That’s… noble of you.”

You shrugged. “Let’s just say I have a soft spot for broken things.”

Bucky smiled at that.

~~~

For the next handful of months, it wasn’t uncommon for Bucky to find you awake in the lab, or for you to find him awake in the training room.

Some nights, the two of you would work out your frustrations of the memories that haunted you both, and you’d tease him about how it wasn’t fair you always drenched through your shirt while he barely broke a sweat, smiling at the way he’d laugh.

Other nights, the two of you would swap war stories while he watched you work in the lab, and when you gathered up the courage to ask to run tests on how the tech in his arm worked to further your own research, he willingly obliged.

“So… were you just an enlisted soldier, or an officer?” he asked one night while you tinkered away.

“An officer. Made First Lieutenant.”

“That’s just below Steve. Which…”

“Is still lower than Sergeant, yes,” you laughed. “Technically anyway. But as an officer, I would still outrank you.”

“What happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… no offense, but First Lieutenant isn’t exactly brag worthy. I imagine you meant to go further. What happened? Was it the damage you mentioned with Tony?”

You nodded. “Yeah. The same accident that started his whole Iron Man gimmick was the same accident that ended my career.”

Bucky nodded, and you knew he wanted to ask more, but didn’t want to pry or overstep. And you were grateful for that. It was one thing to own up that your PTSD stemmed from an incident that ended your military career. It was also one thing to own up to how your experience in the military drove you towards creating prosthetic limbs. But to admit that there was a deep personal connection between the two? That wasn’t something you liked to fess up to. “I’m sorry,” Bucky finally said, feeling the need to say something about your half confession. To acknowledge it without asking more.

You smiled wryly at him. “It’s f-” Your face twisted, and your fingers white-knuckled the table as pain flashed through your leg.

Bucky’s eyes went wide. “You okay?” he asked, moving around the table towards you, his hands hovering nearby in case you fell.

“Knife!” you gasped out, gritting your teeth and humming loudly to keep from screaming out in the pain you knew wasn’t real. “Get me a knife!”

Bucky stood there, frozen, staring at you in horror.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” you barked at him. “I know you have a knife on you! Give it to me! That’s an order, Sergeant!”

That snapped Bucky into action. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, rummaging in his pockets. “Here!”

The sharp steel glinted in the lights as you took it from him and promptly shoved it deep into your right shin.

“What the fuck?!” Bucky yelped, jumping back. “WHAT THE FUCK?!” he repeated when no blood came pouring out of the wound as you yanked the knife back out.

“Aaaahhhh,” you sighed in relief, the pain ebbing away. You relaxed the tension in your body, breathing slowly. “Fuck… hate when that happens.”

“What… the… actual… fuck?” Bucky asked for a third time in a low whisper.

“Relax, it’s fake,” you said, flashing the knife. “See? No blood.”

“I- I-” he stammered.

“It’s called phantom limb pain. Happens in amputees all the time.” You took a seat, pushing up your pant leg to your knee, detaching the prosthetic and tossing it uselessly onto the work table. “Piece of shit,” you muttered, before pulling a tape-recorder out of your pocket. “Prototype 27. Failure, as of,” you spared a glance down at the date on your watch, speaking that into the tape recorder as well. “What?” you asked Bucky who was staring at you with his mouth hanging open.

“That explains… so much. But… why didn’t you just tell me?”

You shrugged. “It’s not something I tell people. Lost my leg in an explosion caused by weapons my family made? Yeah, not exactly a conversation starter.”

“I get that, but… c’mon. It’s me.” He gestured at his left arm.

“Yes, you who- and please don’t take offense to this- doesn’t remember the trauma of losing his arm, and has never experienced the pain that is phantom limb pain.”

“I don’t remember the trauma thanks to years of more trauma that is being brain-washed, and having my mind controlled,” he replied in a clipped tone.

“Yes, the entire world is aware of your trauma, Barnes. Must be nice to have people be aware of what you’ve gone through.”

“People would be aware of what you’ve gone through too, if you’d tell us instead of hiding in jeans and sweatpants!”

“Why would I tell people?! For sympathy?! Or to hear them tell me that I deserved it?! Because news flash, both of those outcomes fucking suck!”

His face crumpled. “Why would anyone think you deserved this?”

You scoffed at his naivety. “It’s poetic justice, Bucky. My own family took my leg. They took Tony’s heart, too, but hey! Look what he made as a result! Isn’t it fuckin’ marvelous?! Tony Stark loses his heart, but gains a soul. Y/N Stark. Loses his leg, and nobody cares.” The words were bitter on your tongue.

“You don’t strike me as the pity party type.”

“I’m not. That’s why I don’t tell people. And yes, maybe there’s a selfish part of me that does what I do strictly for me. Maybe I never would have thought to do all this if I wasn’t an amputee myself. But I’m here, and I’m doing it. And I’m not going to use my story to gain attention and credit that I don’t even want in the first place. Tony thrives in the spotlight. Me? Never been my thing.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think your project’s pretty great. And I don’t see your personal attachment to it as a hindrance. If anything, I bet it pushes you further. To keep trying, even when what you have is already worlds better than what’s available already. But I also get wanting to keep parts of you to yourself. The sympathy vote isn’t the best feeling.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled. “And I’m sorry for what I said about how it must be nice to have people aware of your trauma. Well… I’m sorry for how I said it. There’s quite a laundry list of things that will turn me into an asshole, and phantom limb pain ranks pretty high on that list. But I didn’t mean it as an attack, and if it came across that way, I do apologize.”

“Don’t worry about it. To an extent you’re right. The whole world knowing what happened to me… it dulls the shock value of a lot of things. Justifies a lot of my actions. So, for the most part, it’s incredibly beneficial. But sometimes I wish I could just… I dunno. Be Bucky without people making their assumptions about what that means.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I try to make it a habit of drawing my own conclusions about people rather than listening to the assumptions others have made about them. So, at least with me, you can be Bucky, and that can be however you want it to look.”

“Thanks. I’d uh… I’d like that.” He smiled softly at you, and you smiled back, watching as a blush crept over his face. “Um… Are you going to need help back to your room? Cuz I can help, if you need me to.” The blush grew darker as he shifted his eyes about the room.

“Uh…” you stammered, a blush coming to your own face. Normally when you tossed aside a rejected prosthetic, you either stayed in the lab until you made a new one, reattached the useless one and begrudgingly dealt with it until you felt up to making a new one, or, in super rare cases when you were sure you were alone, wheeled yourself about the headquarters in a chair. But, here was Bucky, offering to help hobble you off to your room. And the thought of him helping support your weight, or God forbid carry you was enough to make your heart sped up. “Even without the weight of a leg, I’m still not exactly light, or small,” you told him. You weren’t as tall as Bucky, that was true, and you certainly didn’t have super soldier serum running through your veins. But you were still very much the standard rugged American soldier type with broad shoulders and well-defined muscles of your own.

Bucky just scoffed at the notion before picking you up in his arms.

“Jesus, fuck!” you exclaimed, throwing an arm around his neck to help support your weight as he headed for the door of the lab. “I swear if you drop me…”

Bucky chuckled, his chest rumbling into your side. “Relax. I’m not gonna drop you. Now, tell me where I’m going.”

You rattled off the quickest route to your room, both hating the vulnerability of being carried in his arms, and loving the security of it.

“See?” he beamed proudly, as he set you on your bed. “Told ya I wouldn’t drop you.”

“Thanks…”

“Anytime.”

“Bucky, wait,” you called out when he turned to leave. “Um… Would you mind maybe staying?”

“Here? With you? In your room?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, the 1940s gentleman thing is real charming.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s um… You know I’m gay, right?”

“Well… That makes the, uh… oh, I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but that makes having a crush on you a lot easier. Or a lot worse, depending on how things go.”

He blinked at you in confusion, not sure if he was hearing you correctly.

“I like you, Bucky. So are you gonna stay?”

He grinned, happily walking back over to you. “I like you too. And yeah, I’ll stay.”

__

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[oumaheroes]

Stargazing

Word Count: 2030

Characters: England, France- FrUK

---

‘If you could go back to any era, which would you choose?’ There is a stone in-between France’s shoulder blades, something that finally tips the scales from being comfortable into not, so France rolls onto his side, cradling his head in his hand.

From his spot in the grass next to him, England turns his head lazily, the movement long and slow. His eyes are the last to move, fixed on the stars, and they find France’s with a sharp flick, ‘What?’

‘Are you too drunk to listen?’ France lifts a heavy arm and reaches across the small distance between them to brush some errant hair away from England’s forehead and lets it stay there, tangled in his roots. France himself is wine soft and slow, warm in his stomach and chest from both the day and the drink which settles within him.

England huffs, ‘More like drunk enough that I can stop pretending you’re worth listening to.’

France hums indulgently, far too jovial at the moment to search for any unintended offense, ‘oh, the lies you tell yourself. They do amuse me.’

England frowns, head still facing France and cheek pillowed in the grass.  Wine is not enough to soften him entirely, it seems, ‘that is rich, coming from you.’

France brings his hand down from England’s hair to lay it across his mouth, ‘I’m not starting anything with you this evening, I’m too full.’

England opens his mouth and, very gently, bites the meat of the pad of France’s hand. Just to show that he could and to be difficult, showing that he won’t go down without a fight. France’s small input in the ridiculous battle is to leave it there, refusing to give in. Eventually, England lets go and moves his head away, although not before pressing his teeth down just that bit harder. France reclaims his hand and allows him escape without protest.

‘What drivel did you ask me?’ England looks back up at the sky again, high and cloudless above them.

‘If you could be in any era again, any that we have lived through,’ France repeats, ‘which would you pick to go back to?’ He has caught England in a good mood, one where he has allowed himself to be seen, for a time, without anything sharp covering him. Drink has made him pliant and loose tongued and France, in a similar mood, is keen to make the most of it.

England rolls his head slightly back, considering the question, ‘How long do I get in the era?’

‘No, don’t do that, don’t make it technical. It’s not a difficult question.’

‘It most certainly is, running water always influences things,’ England’s mouth twists in a wry hint of a smile, ‘and it’s one thing to pop back to the Tudor times for one of the court parties and quite another to have to spend more than a week there. I do not lament the loss of hose and codpiece.’

‘I do, they made my legs look fabulous.’

England snorted and rolled his eyes, ‘Why am I not surprised.’

‘You’re avoiding the question,’ France twists away from him briefly to feel for the wine bottle they’d been drinking from. It had rolled away slightly, the slight incline of France’s garden causing it to move easily as they shuffled about and he takes a long swing of it before laying it between them, neck resting on England’s stomach. He’s past beyond the point of using glasses now.

‘I’m not avoiding the question, I was trying to-‘

‘No stop, you’re ruining it; I’ll go first,’ after brushing the grass underneath to clear it of stones, France returns to lying on his back, arms behind his head, and ignores England’s tut of annoyance, ‘I think I’d actually want to go back to the days under Rome, just for a visit.’

England sits up on his elbows and takes a sip from the bottle himself, ‘I hadn’t expected that of you.’

‘No?’

‘God no. I would have thought you’d want to go back to one of your King Luis. You know, peak opulence, decadence- all that faff. You still love the fancy balls and the clothes, and the needless tat that came with it,’ England takes another sip of wine and runs his tongue over his teeth, ‘the dances and the jewels, the silly little court rules of behaviour. The gossip.’

France chuckles, ‘you were so funny every time you were dragged along- so out of place! You couldn’t go more than an hour before letting your true colours slip free.’ England was never truly refined for very long, especially when it came to the Versailles’ court standards.

‘Anyone with a lick of sense was immediately out of place,’ England quips drily and lays down again, placing the cork back in the wine as he goes.

It sounds nearly empty- shame. It was a nice year and the last of the bottles that they’d brought out to the garden. Dinner had been a late, informal affair in France’s kitchen- homemade bread and creamy, locally made cheese with chicken. Simple and filling, comfort food for the both of them. The summer heat made them both unwilling for anything too excessive and the entire day had been spent doing lots of nothing much at all; England lounging about in shorts that France refrained from teasing him about lest he stop wearing them.

‘Yes well,’ France lifts his head and clumsily bats him in the stomach with the top of his hand, ‘despite that indeed being extremely enjoyable, I do mean it. My choice of era, I mean.’

England makes a soft noise that gently demands elaboration, a low rumble in the back of his throat but France needs no prompting. He presses a knuckle into the softness of England’s stomach and feels him breathe in deep and slow.

‘I’d love to have nothing to be responsible for again. Everything was done for me, as a colony- the way my cities were built, the improvements made to my industries, the negotiations for trade and commerce, everything. I’d like to revisit being a child, in the closest sense of childhood our kind has,’ France pauses, mulling that over, ‘Imagine that again, being small but without fear of being so. No politics, no money driven economy, no push for growth. We have spent so much of our lives racing to get somewhere, striving to be more that I can hardly remember what it was like to be nothing more than an idea, existing just to speak for the lives that called themselves mine.’

France turns and catches England watching him, eyes searching and heavy, ‘Does that make sense?’ he asks him.

‘No,’ England’s answer is immediate, ‘no, and yes. The desire to be I understand, but I detested that age.’

France smiles at him, understanding masked by the dark. England does not, and never did, like being anything other than in perfect control of himself. Relinquishing that to someone else, even for his own benefit, has never been anything more than a horror.

‘Well,’ France says, ‘that is my choice. I liked being looked after and I have so much to do nowadays that it would be nice to have nothing to do once again. Nothing more than wander about my fields and see my people, or visit a northern barbarian across the sea.’

‘Don’t talk about Scotland that way, you’ll hurt his feelings.’

France laughs and reaches down to find England’s hand, open palmed and curled fingers by his side. He intertwines his own with it and brings them upwards, watching as together they cut across to block the light from his house and silhouette into a tangle of them both.

‘So,’ he says, running a thumb across the skin of England’s knuckle, ‘what era would you choose?’

England sighs, a light thing but France can hear a yearning there, ‘Any of the years I was at sea. The 1500’s when I was first starting out and even up to the 1700’s when things became more regimented- any of them. To be able to just get in a boat and go, no one knowing when I would come back or even where I was going.’

France shudders, the idea of being out in ocean that deep and so alone chilling him. For creatures that revive after death, who can wake again and again and again as long as there is a body to return to, the ocean is a lonely, painful place to die. To sink lifeless into murky depths, only to reawaken there in the dark press of salty sea; most nations avoided it as much as they could, wishing to avoid the long, drawn out death choked by waves and forgotten on the seafloor.

England never had such a healthy fear of the oceans. He went out into thunderous storms and monstrous waves as if enchanted, unable to resist the pull of something untamed. England sailed off as soon as he was able, going out for further and longer than anyone else dared and losing himself in the harsh life of the brine. He was a different creature far out at sea, something so strangely alive and perfectly at home for a man made from the soul of the mountains and land.

‘You always were a strange one for the macabre,’ France drops their hands back down and finds England once more looking at the sky, the reflection of stars glinting in his eyes.

‘The seas never change,’ his voice is quiet and distant, ‘some things do change, of course- the boats we sail on, how we do so. Things shift on the sea, the lands we travel to and from are washed away and changed with time but the sea itself is always the same. I appreciate it for that, it is predictably unpredictable. Constantly refusing the press of mankind by being the one thing we can never truly understand, for all of mankind’s new fancy gadgets.’

England gives a sudden, dry laugh, ‘I used to navigate the world by constellations, now I have to travel just to find some stars. To the highest peaks I have, or deep in my countryside to avoid as much light pollution as I can. But out at sea they are as they have always been, the same things I have watched and tracked for thousands of years. That is when I can just be as I have always been.’

The sky hangs overhead, speckled and bright and now, France notices, startlingly empty, ‘I often forget that they’re there,’ France speaks to the sky, ‘Funny, isn’t it? How something so fundamental can disappear and mankind not even notice. How odd to forget that stars are there, then to not notice they’re gone.’

‘We are cursed or blessed to remember what’s past,’ England offers, ‘which one depends on who we remember for.’

They lay in silence for a moment. France feels the collected years sit with him openly, laying on his chest and heart like tiny weights. The ground pushes against his back, firm and unmoving, and he breathes in deeply, smelling the heat of the summer in the air. He is here. He is now. He is. Still, after all this time. He watches.

To exist is to change, to live is to evolve and move with the flow of time, but France understands the want for something constant in the flood, something that stays recognisable and the same throughout the years. The older he gets, the more he yearns for it keenly.

‘You’ve gone and made things serious,’ he lifts himself back up on an elbow, England looking at him without moving his head, ‘just like you to take a light conversation and ruin it.’

England raises an eyebrow, “Oh the lies you tell yourself; they do amuse me.”

His French is accented with a Norman dialect, a gentle dig and refusal to fully let France have what he wants and France laughs at it, at this one unchanging constant he is stuck with. He leans down to kiss him, hair curling into England’s face and hiding what remains of the night sky.

----

AN: Every time I try writing one of these small drabbles, I start out with a particular idea and tone in mind but gosh darn it they never go where I intend for them to.

Today we have ended up with this, two old men talking themselves in circles in the summer grass.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 22 | S.R.)

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Finale |

Summary: Things are changing for the better. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Content Warning: Adults w/ Age Difference, Sub Drop, vague mentions of trauma/dissociation, PTSD (mostly comfort) Word Count: 7.25k

MASTERLIST

—————————————————

The dulcet, bustling sounds of the Dulles International Airport were more soothing than I expected. Normally, the massive crowds and constant barrage of information would make my brain go into overdrive, but there was something about Spencer being there that made it all turn to white noise. If I had to guess, I would say it was the feeling of trusting someone to take care of you.

I still hadn’t gotten used to it.

“Hey, I got you something.”

Even then, when he’d approached me from behind and gingerly placed the bag on my lap, I barely even flinched. I smelled the contents of the bag before I noticed the logo or managed to open it, but once I confirmed it was what I thought it was, my eyes immediately teared up.

“Oh my god,” I keened, pulling out the familiar blue cup holding a much too sweet, much too large cinnamon bun. Although my mind was running with a million things to say to express just how appreciative I was, I took a bite out of it before I said anything else.

“I love you so much,” I mumbled around a mouth full of pastry.

Spencer tried to respond, but after one glance at me, fingers and face already covered in frosting after only a few seconds, he burst out laughing. 

“You’re a complete mess,” he chastised, trying to cluck his tongue but failing in his laughter.

I just smiled back, not even bothering with the plastic utensils and enjoying the indulgence with absolutely childlike joy. It wasn’t even just the sugar or my fingers pressing into the warm, sticky dough that made the morning seem so much better; it was the way Spencer watched me.

With one arm leaned against the chair, his whole body was turned towards me. It was clear from the slightly glassy look in his exhausted eyes that he was also stuck trying to find the right words to say to express just how grateful he was that we could still have moments like that.

Those same eyes roamed over my figure with such an overtly intimate gleam that it almost made me blush. If he’d touched me, I definitely would have. But he kept his hands to himself, and eventually, buried them into his carry-on bag. I didn’t even look at what he was doing, too lost in the sweetness of being cared for.

That foolhardy trust was a mistake. Because, it turned out, Spencer Reid was a monster.

Without any warning at all, a cold wet wipe was dragged over my cheeks. I flinched back, only to find Spencer’s hand holding onto my head and stopping me from turning away. The madman even had the audacity to smile as he gingerly wiped the frosting from my cheeks and chin. Of course, considering the fact I was thrashing wildly away from him, it ended up mostly on my lips.

“Pfftbtb! Spencer!” I spit and whined, earning confused looks from basically everyone in the vicinity. What they would find when they looked over was him in a fit of laughter, continuing to try and clean my face, which was still covered in sugary frosting despite his best efforts to remove it.

“I thought you enjoyed the taste of alcohol,” he teased.

“First of all, no one does, and second—” I started, only to be cut off with a kiss over my much too clean mouth. I smiled, but only because it used to be my move. I wondered when exactly the tables had turned, and it became his job to shut me up with a kiss.

“I know,” he whispered, licking his lips just to cringe at the taste he’d forced on me, “I’m just joking.”

I decided then that the sight and shared disgust for ethyl alcohol were enough for me to forgive him for the time being. I let him clean the rest of the evidence of my greed from my face but decided to clean my fingers myself. I popped each one into my mouth in what I’d imagined was a very non-sexual manner, but Spencer still seemed to enjoy watching me as each digit was cleaned. Granted, he handed me another wipe seconds later. Damn germaphobe. Like he didn’t shove his tongue in my mouth on a daily basis.

The rest of the treat was shared between us, with utensils this time, in a relative quiet. Brief giggles or sighs were all there was to be said. Once there was nothing left to fixate on, I was left only with my thoughts and Spencer’s eyes that still watched me like a horribly affectionate hawk.

“I’m really sorry,” I mumbled without realizing. I’d almost hoped he wouldn’t even hear it, or let it go without a conversation, but of course, he couldn’t do that.

“For what?”

“For making you do all of this,” I explained with a heavy sigh, “I feel like a big baby.”

Spencer’s hands came to brush away the stray strands of hairs from my face. They weren’t actually in the way of anything; I think he just wanted to make a better view. That alone was enough to make me smile, but that only seemed to make him feel guilty.

“Don’t apologize for this. This is my fault,” he said just as quietly. I mirrored his motion, running my fingers through his hair and watching as his mouth dropped open in a pleased smile.

“No, it’s not. You’re wonderful,” I said through my own. It was only a little bit sadder than his, but wasn’t that usually the case? I could only imagine what would happen the day we were both overflowing with nothing but joy. Before, that thought might lead me back to the bank, the place that ended our last purely happy encounter, but…

I looked at Spencer, with his mouth still slightly open and his head lolling back and forth with the little weight of my hand, and I couldn’t bring myself to think of anything bad. So I just thought of the picnic, instead. I thought of him licking my hand as we rolled in grass, and of his own hands working through my hair to make it into something besides a mess on my head.

I looked at Spencer, and I saw beautiful things. And the longer I played with his hair, the more relaxed and content he became. Of course, I would never be satisfied. His smile was the most beautiful thing to see, and I needed it to deal with the guilt still sitting like rocks in my stomach.

“Besides, it’ll be so much easier putting down my work and actually getting sleep when you’re waiting for me,” Spencer slurred, his neck relaxing to drop the weight of his head against my palm.

“I hope not too easy. The world needs you, Dr. Reid,” I kindly reminded.

His eyes fluttered open, trapping me in dark honey irises filled with pure adoration. “You need me, too,” he whispered.

“Arrogant bastard.”

Naturally, he took it as a compliment, his smile growing into a smirk as he answered, “A little bit.”

He should have known better than to give me that look, though, because within seconds my hands fell from his hair. A small whimper came from the pitiful man at the loss. It was quickly followed by a sharp inhale when my hand grabbed his thigh.

“You think I’ll actually let you sleep?” I whispered.

Aside from the obviously tense quadriceps beneath my palms, Spencer showed very little response to my suggestion. Well, rather, he showed little arousal to it. There was a reaction— just not the one I expected.

He looked... nervous.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that...”

“What?” I shot back immediately, my hands withdrawing and tugging on my shirt while I instinctively tried to hide from him. I was trying to look less guilty, but I was acutely aware that my actions screamed the opposite. So, I tried to combat my obvious anxiety with a voice that was far louder than it needed to be. “I swear I’m on all my medications. I haven’t missed a single therapy appointment, either!”

Spencer’s hands were gentle and cautious when they came to my wrists, gently pulling them away from my chest. “I know. I trust you,” he said with a sad but still genuine smile, “I just wanted to ask you how you wanted to handle this.”

“What do you mean? I’m fine.” The words tumbled out of me in the least convincing manner. Spencer was too smart to fall for them, although I could see a playfulness bloom through his features.

“No offense, but you just cried over a cinnamon bun,” he said, unable to stop a few chuckles from mixing with the words.

“It was just really good, okay?” I scoffed, tearing my hands away from him and feigning offense despite his little disclaimer. From there, I sank down in the shitty airport chair and refused to look up at him. I could still feel his cheeky, arrogant little grin watching me.

Eventually, after I thought we’d suffered enough and I could already feel my legs going numb, I weakly conceded, “Fine. What are my options?”

“Well, basically anything. But the main thing to consider is...”

He paused. It was one of the sure signs that he was taking the situation very seriously. Usually, he would just spout out whatever came to mind and sort out the details later. But this time, he spoke slowly and purposefully. “Majority of our relationship has been based on physicality. Whether it was sex or healing or hurting and I... I want to give you the option to not do that. At least, not for a little while.”

A feeling of dread filled my blood that I could suddenly hear rushing through my ears. I didn’t tell my heart to beat faster, but it did. My hands that had once again crossed over my chest suddenly itched to hold him.

“Why would I not want to?” I asked, fiddling with the buttons on my shirt and occasionally glancing up at him only to realize that he wasn’t looking at me, either. I tried not to read into it. After all, he was the profiler— not me.

“It’s not a matter of avoiding it. I just need you to know it’s not expected of you.”

Without shifting my body at all, my eyes were glued to him. The strain of the angle and the sound of those words caused them to burn, but I refused to let tears fall again. He wasn’t rejecting me, right? He was telling me that he loved me. There was no reason to be scared.

I wasn’t used to that yet, either. But I wanted to be. And judging by the way his hand cupped my face and guided it back to his, I think Spencer felt those anxieties. He tried to will them away by pressing his forehead against mine and letting his thumb ghost over flushed cheeks.

“Don’t be scared. I just need you to know that we don’t have to have sex for you to be worth my time and attention.”

The tears grew bigger under his scrutiny, but they didn’t fall until he closed his eyes. I think that was why he did.

“I love you,” he assured me with a whisper, “I’m not going to deny you affection or intimacy if that’s what you want. I just need you to know that it is always an option.”

Normally when Spencer pulled away, the air felt cold in his absence. For so long, my body had felt lonelier and less than without him. But in that busy, bustling airport, I felt just as loved even when his hands fell away and he sat back up in his chair.

For those who might’ve been watching, they would just see two lovesick idiots whispering sweet nothings in a flagrantly public display of affection. They wouldn’t have heard the weight of the words or felt the way my perception of the whole world shifted from them.

Spencer smiled again, still nervous, but also clear and authentic.

“I’m sorry,” he told me with his eyes fixated on my hands in my lap. He made no move to hold it, although I could tell he wanted to. I suspect he wanted me to focus on the words, so I tried my hardest. I almost asked him what he was sorry for, but he answered first, “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that before.”

A lump quickly formed in my throat that I tried to swallow. When that failed, and I felt the telltale signs of tears filling the sides of my eyes, I did the only thing I could think of to hide. I threw my arms around the only thing that never failed to make them better. I buried my face in Spencer’s neck and laughed along with him as my eyelashes and breath tickled the soft skin.

After a brief second of listening to our hearts settle into a matching rhythm and letting our body heat sink into the clothes between us, Spencer groaned, “How are you still sticky?”

—————————————————

A couple weeks prior, the thought of being alone in a hotel room waiting on Spencer to finish work for the day would have instilled the fear of God in me. I would have done just about anything to avoid the exact situation I found myself in now.

But honestly? It wasn’t all that bad. It was the perfect opportunity for me to force myself to slow down. Granted, that mostly just meant that I would watch bad TV in a bathrobe with overpriced food, but... like they say, change is as good as a rest.

The hardest part about it was actually just convincing myself that I deserved the rest. While I was taking naps and trying to do anything to unwind, I knew what Spencer was doing.

Well, I had some idea of what he was doing. Reality was probably worse than my imagination— it usually was with his job. At first, I had let that guilt get in the way, but at some point over the nine hours, I realized that I would have to find a way to cheer myself up. Because as soon as I heard that small beep of the keycard, I would have to find a way to remind him of all the beautiful things in the world.

No pressure, right?

The sun had already started to set, and I hadn’t heard from him in hours. We’d started the day out with a constant line of contact, but over time he became too busy. Which, again, just meant that I would have to work even harder when he finally arrived.

Luckily for me, by the time Spencer had arrived, there was no need for a pep talk or acting of any kind. My heart immediately started to race the second I heard his voice down the hall. I had already bolted from the bed and positioned myself just far enough from the door that I could jump forward the second it opened far enough to fit me.

And when it did, I pounced.  

“Spencer!” I cheered, throwing myself into his arms that had fully been expecting me. Still, the two of us crashed back against the frame and I heard the breath be knocked out of him from the impact.

“Hey, little girl,” he managed to laugh with empty lungs that made it impossible to forget how tired he was. His arm eventually settled at my lower back, lifting me slightly so he could move us from the door’s path. But when we were out of harm’s way and the latch clicked softly in place, Spencer didn’t let me go. In fact, he tossed his bag into the chair at the desk and wrapped his other arm around me, too.

“How was work?” I asked, afraid I already knew the answer.

“You know...” he muttered with a crackling voice, “awful.”

If that hadn’t given it away, the way he buried his face in my neck certainly did. His hands were even more insistent, pressing into my back as he led us both to the bed.

I had to laugh, though, as the realization dawned on him that he’d have to let go of me if he didn’t want to track filthy shoes in our bed. A heavy sigh fell from his lips when he finally released me, practically throwing me onto the terrible mattress before taking his seat next to me.

“I missed you,” I announced in the ambient noise of the cheapest hotel that the government could justify using.  

Spencer looked up at me, but the words took a little longer to register. I could only imagine how busy his mind must’ve been, and the guilt quickly came creeping back.

“I missed you, too,” he returned, albeit with a tint of sadness in his tone. But the longer we stayed there, the calmer he seemed. It was such a powerful effect of our proximity that by the time he did lay down next to me, he seemed like the man that had wiped frosting from my face in the middle of a busy airport.

Spencer must have noticed the shift, too, because no sooner had his head hit the pillow than he had flipped over, throwing his leg over me to pin me down against the bed.

My initial reaction was to keep laughing, but the noises were muffled by the persistent kisses he gave. They started at my cheeks and over the bridge of my nose but landed on my lips. I felt the tension leave his shoulders as he lowered more of his body weight against me, and I reveled in the feeling of his presence.

“God, I needed this,” he growled just before his tongue slipped into my mouth.

Everything we’d talked about at the airport felt a lifetime away, and as soon as I felt his erection pressing hard against my thigh, I only had one goal in mind. I forced my hands between us, trying to remove his tie with the hope that it would shed some of the thoughts he’d brought back from work.

But then it all stopped. Spencer had pulled away, grabbing onto my wrist and pinning it to the bed beside me once more.

“No, we don’t need to do that. I just wanted to kiss you,” he panted through heavy breath and swollen lips. I couldn’t stop staring at them long enough to answer, but it was clear from the look on his face that any plea I gave would be for naught, anyway. “I’m honestly way too exhausted to give you the attention you deserve.”

I believed him. Even when he hadn’t slept for nearly two days, he still looked livelier then. I had a sneaking suspicion that it had less to do with sleep and more to do with emotions. I wanted to help him with that, too, like he did for me, but I didn’t know how. So, I did the only thing I did know how to do well, which was to place a soft peck against his lips until they turned up into another smile.

“Get some rest, old man,” I murmured, “I’ll be here to kiss again when you wake up.”

“Let me hold you,” he answered immediately, nuzzling his face against my neck like a puppy seeking any shred of attention. I couldn’t tell if I was laughing because of the way his hair tickled or because it was so strange to see him so vulnerable while still in dominant, albeit disheveled, work clothes.

“Fine. Only because you asked nicely.”

Continuing the trend of being remarkably adorable, Spencer giggled as he rolled onto his side. I was almost tempted to turn towards him, but he had already wrapped his arms around me before I could decide. He pulled me as close as he could before his lips once again settled against the column of my throat.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he stated absently. It was so quiet that I’m not sure he’d actually planned on me hearing it. But when I reached a hand up to run through his hair, he spoke with a shaky, relieved whine, “I can’t believe you’re here.”

A gentle, warm exhale breezed over my skin as he continued, “I love you so much.”

From that point, any words he might’ve whispered were muffled through sloppy, sleepy kisses over my neck and shoulder. His hands, though slow, were still rough and purposeful as they pawed at me in a way that was only vaguely sexual. It was more like he was trying to prove to himself that he was actually here with me, and my breasts just happened to be the first thing he could grab.

That still didn’t stop my mind from running wild. The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention as I focused on the way his breath felt against areas still wet from his kisses. And when I arched my back, I felt his hips press harder.

Eventually, when I could trust myself to speak without whimpering, I asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to...”

I peeked back at him before continuing, having noticed a lull in his kisses. Sure enough, Spencer was fast asleep, his lips still attached to my shoulder. I had to chuckle at the sight, but my heart did hurt for him. I couldn’t imagine how tired he must have been to fall asleep then, and still in his clothes, much less.

The guilt over being the main cause of his tiredness was enough to keep me still for at least two hours. I spent that time slowly inching to a more comfortable position, only to be squished seconds later by Spencer. Even in his sleep, it seemed he was terrified of the prospect of me slipping from his arms. He was just being dramatic, though. It’s not like I had anywhere to go.

Wait, that sounded wrong. Truthfully, there were many places I could go, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay with Spencer, tangled in his long limbs and tickled by his hair that had grown long enough to gracelessly flop onto my face regardless of position.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to leave at all.

But I did. Inch by inch, I carefully slipped from Spencer’s arms. Against all odds, I managed to maneuver through the death grip he had on me and plop down on the ground beside the bed. My mind found that to be the perfect time to recall the lecture he’d given me about how suitcases, and more specifically, their wheels, were the most dangerous bacteria-laden aspects of traveling, but I dismissed the thought shortly after I stood again.

I didn’t want to leave Spencer’s embrace. I’m not really sure why I did. There wasn’t even really a particularly angsty reasoning for it. I just had this feeling, this tingling on my skin and a weight in my stomach that told me I was meant to be doing something different.

The only problem was that I had literally no idea what the fuck that something different was.

So, naturally, I did what every young child does when their parents had grown tired of their restless children jumping on the hotel bed. I grabbed the keycard and the ice bucket and set out on a very thrilling journey to find the vending room. The first part was the hardest. It was shutting the door to return the room to darkness, knowing that Spencer was alone in bed.

It was hard, but it wasn’t impossible. I slipped from the room into the horrible yellow lighting of the halls with the dizzying wallpaper and patterned carpet without another thought. I’d hoped that the walk might bring me answers to the mood I was currently wrestling with, but I was wrong. Because it basically only took me three doors to find the room that I was looking for.

Great.

I threw the door open haphazardly, actually contemplating grabbing the ice and returning to bed no wiser than I had left it. But when the door swung shut behind me, the humming from the machines bled into my brain and started to cover all the other thoughts. It was warmer than my room, as well as smaller and quieter. Of course, it was also remarkably less private, but it was also like 2am. If someone came in to find a strange girl sitting on the floor next to the ice machine, that was their own fault.

In a strange way, it was the most peaceful I’d been in a long time. As much as I loved being with Spencer, these circumstances made it hard for me to not feel like I didn’t belong. Probably because I didn’t. He was here on work, a life that he’d tried very hard to keep away from me. I didn’t blame him for that, either. I was sure he’d gotten a number of questions from Morgan and Garcia about my presence, but he hadn’t shared them with me. I’d even asked him, just so I could concoct my own retaliatory questions for the nosiest of them, but he just laughed the question away.

Maybe that was it. Maybe it was just the realization that Spencer had a life of his own and I was just starting to see it for the first time. I was learning so much about him and honestly… None of it was bad. Most of it was just downright silly. Things like prank wars and physics magic and careful, chemistry-based improvements to shitty coffee. I was just too busy realizing that I was falling even more in love with Spencer to notice anything else.

Including, apparently, the sound of the door to the room opening. Trust me when I say that was saying a lot; the presence of Aaron Hotchner was not easy to miss.

“Can I join you?” His voice filled the room despite its low volume, and I followed the sound with a small smile that grew at the sight of him in casual clothing. It wasn’t something that happened often, but it sure did make him less intimidating than our previous encounters.

“Sure,” I said as I pulled the still-empty ice bucket into my lap. Once he took his seat beside me, I rolled my head toward him to try and figure out what exactly he had planned. But after another few seconds of silence, I realized that he was doing the same thing I was.

Improvising.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” I asked, insistent that it wasn’t my job in this scenario to come up with the advice.

Hotch seemed equally lost, and with a slight shake of his head, he explained, “I only heard the door open once. Figured it was worth a trip to get some ice to check.”

He held up his matching ice bucket, to which I lifted mine to knock together like the worst kind of toast. It at least succeeded in making him laugh, although the sound was short-lived. We both recognized the shoddy attempt at humor was just masking the things I didn’t want to talk about.

“Why can’t you sleep?”

He had never really been a beat-around-the-bush sort of guy.

“Freakin’ profilers,” I affectionately muttered back, which only earned me a playful warning glance that I, for once, didn’t choose to ignore. “I don’t know. I’m guessing it’s probably the 3-hour nap I took when we got here.”

Then, deciding that still didn’t describe the situation well enough, I tagged on, “You know, while you all were working and saving the world and what not.”

Unfortunately, I’d forgotten the cardinal rule of the BAU: Do not ever speak poorly about yourself. Not even an implication.

“Rest is important. No reason for you to suffer for us,” he returned without pause.

“You sound like Spencer,” I said through a half-hearted laugh.  

Hotch shared my laughter, causing them both to grow in volume as he snarkily replied, “And who do you think taught him?”

“Right. Sorry.” I held my hands up in surrender, but we both knew it would be harder than that.

But that was okay. He came prepared.

“So, what else is wrong?”

“So persistent, you lot,” I chuckled. I half expected him to let it go, but he just turned to stare at me with that usually stoic face contorted with an obvious reprimand. I swear, I didn’t even realize his eyebrows could move that far. But there were, raised up his forehead as his cheeks dimpled from his little, knowing smirk.

“I don’t know,” I sighed, “Just thinking about things and I was scared I would wake up Spencer. Like he would feel my anxiety in his sleep.”

“What’s making you anxious?”

I paused. For a moment, I thought about lying. Not the kind of transparent lie that you do when you say that everything is fine. The kind of lie that also contained the truth. There were many things that had happened lately that would explain my anxiety, and they would be believable enough because I did still feel them.

“Everything. You know. The usual,” I said softly, attempting to stall.

Because that wasn’t what the problem was that day. The problems that day were… complicated in a different way than the usual angst. So, I let the thoughts marinate for a moment, considering the different outcomes and deciding which I really wanted.

I hadn’t let myself want things in a while. Maybe that realization was why I decided to just tell him the truth, despite how embarrassing it felt.

“It’s not bad anxiety, necessarily. It’s just this realization that… I don’t know.”

“Take a guess,” he pressed, feeling the hesitance as I stood at the brink of what I really wanted to say. The real answer to why I was sitting on the floor of an ice machine vending room with my boyfriend’s boss, who also happened to be our shared adoptive father figure.

I took a deep breath, clutching onto the ice bucket so tightly that my knuckles blanched and the edges imprinted on my hand until I blurted out, “That I think I’m ready for something else. Something more.”

We both stopped then, enjoying the noises of machinery and the barely-there echo of my words.

“Something more, huh?” he repeated more clearly.

I didn’t appreciate the way the words were practically sung through a clever grin, and before he could take that train of thought any further, I stopped him with an answer too loud to not be deemed defensive.

“Not like that! Not like, let’s run off and elope and have lots of babies tomorrow!“ He didn’t look convinced, so I continued with a much more believable promise. “Don’t worry, I’m not sniping your genius.”

“Thank goodness,” he replied sarcastically. I appreciated his ability to keep things lighthearted, and for a second I did have to laugh at the fact he was such a different person when he wasn’t at work. He must’ve taught Spencer more than I realized. And, in turn, Spencer was teaching me. I just wasn’t sure when the lesson would be over, or if it had already ended.

“I’ve just held onto my independence and this… heavy bullshit for so long, and I’m a little worried about what that means,” I thought aloud.

Again, Hotch had read my mind, or at least, my body language, and demanded the answer he saw written across my features. “What do you think it means?”

“Do you always give fatherly advice like this to whiny girls in ice machine rooms?” I shot back with my first attempt at a glare. It only lasted until he flashed me a toothy smile and his own clever retort.

“No. Now answer the question.”

“I had to try,” I grumbled, only to be shut down again in an instant.

“I’ll forgive you when you answer.”

With a begrudging sigh, I tried to do what he asked. But I only barely got through one word before they turned to a lump in my throat. I choked on the words strongly enough that tears I hadn’t anticipated began pooling on my eyelashes. The power of a profiler, I guess, to know I was on the verge of an emotional catharsis before I did.

“I know we all change. I know that no one stays the same. We all go through things and they change who we are. And that can be good, right? But…”

Once the words started, they wouldn’t stop, turning and tumbling from clumsy lips still chapped from incessant biting. But teeth and willpower couldn’t stop the feelings that caused them, and if Spencer had taught me anything, he’d taught me that speaking a feeling into existence was half of the battle to let it go.

“But sometimes it’s gotta just be bad, right? Like, we’ve got to acknowledge that sometimes we change in an irreparable way that’s just bad for no reason.”

“Right,” he very eloquently returned. Normally, I would have bullied him for giving such a simple response to such a complex question, but at that moment I was just grateful that I could continue. Heaven knows Spencer wouldn’t have let me.

“So, what if that happened to me? What if one day I wake up and finally find out the answer to the question I’ve been asking myself?”

When I turned to the man then, I saw a genuine confusion for the first time that night. I couldn’t tell you where I’d lost him, but it was clear that he heard something in me that alerted him that some deeper rooted issues were just now finding the light of day.

Of course, in this situation, it was really just a flickering fluorescent bulb.

“What question is that?” he whispered, like his voice would intrude in the thoughts.

But the truth was they didn’t feel like they belonged to me, either. That was the problem. I’d spent so long with memories that felt like a dream. I saw them playback when I closed my eyes, just to open them and find the same images reflecting in Spencer’s. I knew they were real because they were written into my skin, yet my mind rioted against them so hard that instead, I just started to think that this body wasn’t mine, either.

“How much of me died that day?”

The question sat with us, taking form in the reflection on the metallic surface that hummed a somehow somber tune. And even though I knew I was looking at myself, it didn’t feel that way. When I saw Hotch move in the background, I turned to him just in time to feel his hand resting over mine on the metal pail in my hands.

“Can I tell you what I think?” he offered.

“I’d like that.”

I felt the warmth flow through him, bringing life back into a hand that suddenly started to feel like me again. His voice shared the same rejuvenating quality as he quietly but confidently answered, “I think… it’s much less than you think.”

As tears slid down my face, they felt less like the beginning of a downpour and more like the drizzle that follows the storm. I let them fall without wiping them away, hoping that as they fell away, they would take the fear with them.

After they did drip from my jaw, I laughed. I couldn’t hold it in because it seemed so silly how much lighter I felt after losing just a few droplets of saline. But, realistically, I knew it had more to do with his hand still holding mine.

I dropped my head to his shoulder, selfishly stealing his body warmth as I croaked, “Thanks for talking to me. I know I must sound like a stupid kid to you sometimes.”

“Not at all,” he said with that tone that was difficult to discount, “You sound just like you should.”

“Can I tell you something now?” I asked between sniffles.

“I’d like that,” he mirrored.

“You’re like… a really good dad.”

It was his turn to shed tears, then, which he did. They were much manlier and less silly than mine, but they were there. I almost accused him of creating them just to make me feel less embarrassed, but before I could, he’d enveloped me in a hug that was way too genuine to question it.

As I hugged him back, I realized just how badly I’d missed moments like this. I’d fooled myself into really believing that loneliness and independence were the same things for so long that when I was granted the support all human beings need, I didn’t know how to respond.

But that was the beauty of family, right? You don’t have to try to earn their love. They already thought you were worthy.

So I hugged him harder, ignoring the clanking of the machines and the sounds of crowds of people stumbling back from bars in the hall that could walk in any moment. I wasn’t embarrassed to be sad anymore. I was just a person. It happens sometimes.

“Speaking of, it’s well past your bedtime,” Hotch said finally, gracelessly shattering the moment in a very dad-like fashion.

“I walked into that one.”

Following that trend, he continued with a gentle bump of his shoulder against me, “If you don’t want to go yet, you can talk to me about that something more.”

I practically shoved him off me, huffing between chuckles and shaking my head in the hope that he wouldn’t notice how it flushed.

“Please. Spencer talks about that stuff, but he’s all talk.”

At first, Hotch just nodded. But after a few wayward glances, he confessed, “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

That time the warmth I felt came from within, carried by butterflies that had burst in my stomach at the thought. I almost asked him what he meant, but then felt the familiar, creeping embarrassment that came along with loving someone a little too much.

“Yeah, right,” I scoffed.

I knew he was reading my expressions, but I couldn’t hide the smile, no matter how hard I tried. He still had the decency to ignore my blatant displays of excitement, instead asking the question we both knew the answer to already.

“Is that something you’d want?”

“I…” Such a simple syllable still seemed like too much, and I stuttered it a few more times before I landed on an answer that wasn’t too humiliating. “I guess he’ll have to ask and find out.”

“I hope it turns out well when he does,” he said, pausing to correct with a sarcastic, “Sorry. If he does.”

“Yeah, me too,” I sighed heavily. It was a last ditch effort to hide the way my cheeks were still stuck in a full-faced smile. I turned to see him with a very similar expression.

I knew just how to change that. When he stood up and offered me a hand, I took it and let him do half the work for me. But once we were on equal footing, I placed my hand on his shoulder with a complacent pat.

“You know, if it doesn’t turn out well, you’ll have to figure out how to comfort the both of us.”

“The horror,” he jokingly cringed with a shake of his head.

I almost left then, but thankfully he’d remembered the actual purpose for the room we’d had our impromptu surrogate-father-daughter moment in. He grabbed my ice pail from my hand and dropped it under the dispenser without saying anything else, letting the chaotic crunching signal the real end of the moment.

Once it was over, I looked down at the now freezing bucket in my hands that suddenly felt warm. Then I looked back up at him and saw a pride that I wasn’t expecting.

“Goodnight, Aaron,” I said as the last remaining bit of tension fell from my shoulders.

“Goodnight,” he answered, opening the door and watching as I padded down the hall. He waited until I slipped back into my room before his door clicked shut, and mine quickly followed.

That tiny sound was just enough to wake the man in the bed, and when I turned to him, the sight took my breath away. Because there was Spencer, the man I loved, reaching his arms out into the darkness and grabbing the empty air as he whined, begging me to come to him faster.

And I did. Tossing the bucket onto the table, I rushed over to him and threw myself into the bed beside him without any grace. With a similar restlessness, Spencer wound his arms around me as soon as I was within his reach, pulling me as close as he could without sacrificing all the air in my lungs.

“I missed you,” he mumbled against my hair.

“Don’t worry. I’m back,” I whispered back. The words were lost in his shirt, but he somehow heard them well enough to ask, “Where did you go?”

I didn’t know how exactly to describe what had happened, so I told one of those lies I’d contemplated earlier. “To get ice,” I said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. It was just a very inefficient summary.

Spencer didn’t care, either. In fact, he giggled at the thought, nuzzling his face down into my neck and tickling me with his lips as he mumbled, “Let me warm you up.”

It did succeed in warming me up, but only because it turned into a fit of giggles and more intense tickling. His fingers danced along my sides and his whispers turned back to the same kisses that we’d started the night with.

But it couldn’t last forever. The poor guy still had only had a couple hours of sleep, and I felt the excitement wear off all at once, leaving him only half-awake on the pillow beside me. He still found the energy to look at me like there were stars in my eyes.

“Where did you really go?” he asked again, dragging his hand over my cheek like he could see the tears I’d shed just a few moments before.

“Just ice. I promise,” I answered, ending the thought with a quick kiss on his palm. When I could tell that he didn’t believe that, I brought my hands up to his face as I snickered, “See? Cold hands.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t flinch. Instead, he just leaned forward, letting our noses touch and pulling me in to him again. His eyes fluttered shut, and I could almost see the way his body started to return to sleep as he barely muttered, “No cold feet, though?”

It took me a moment to register the words, and once I did, I still couldn’t believe them.

“Cold feet for what?” I whispered back.

Spencer’s answer only came in the form of a dreamy laugh. He didn’t open his eyes again, instead choosing to drop his face back into my shoulder just like he had before. This time there were even fewer kisses against my neck before he went still again.

Once again, I was left with my thoughts. Only this time they weren’t scary. Because marrying Spencer Reid was not the worst thing to imagine by far. In fact, there were very few things I’d ever wanted more.

—————————————————

| Part 23 |

[jamie-leah]

MYC Part 1

Bucky x Reader

Mini-Series

Summary: Life gets complicated when your ex comes back from the dead. How the story goes is up to you...

Word Count: 2115

Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of alcohol

A/N: I lied in the promo, this is going to be a mini-series but released in 2 day intervals so you won't have long to wait. This is something new I'm trying. This used to be a one-shot that you can find in my masterlist that I had so many requests to carry on and also lots of angry people wanting to make different choices. While I always try to write for myself, this one is for you. Enjoy Lovelies <3

Special Mention: My best friend, Jay, has drawn all the pictures you will see in this series. He is amazing and incredibly talented in lots of styles. He is super friendly so please check him out here! And show some love <3 He is also taking requests!!!

MYC Masterlist

“You know I could kick your ass any day of the week, Buck", you say with a smirk and a sideways glance in the elevator down.

Bucky chuckles and turns to you, “only because you cheat".

You look at him, jaw slack in mock offense, “I do not cheat!”.

“Oh please! Last week you started crying and you know I hate seeing you cry! You knew I had you and you took advantage of the fact I’m your boyfriend”, Bucky says, the smirk never leaving his face.

You toss him one of your own and say, “that’s just good tactics, baby. Use your opponent’s weakness against them".

Bucky tips his head back to laugh and it has you grinning when the doors slide open into the lobby of the avengers building. People are milling about like ants but it’s the commotion at the front desk that has you pausing.

A guy with sandy hair that brushes the tops of his shoulders is shouting at the receptionist, “you need to let me see her!”.

Adrenaline starts to flood your veins and you find yourself approaching without thought as you notice his ripped clothes. His voice scratching familiarly at a door you thought you closed years ago.

He shouts again, “you need to get Y/N down here now, you don’t understand”.

The way your name falls off his tongue is like a sucker punch and it takes everything not to double over from shock. You’re vaguely aware of Bucky murmuring, “is he asking for you?”.

But it’s only you and the guy in the whole of the room right now as you say, “Charlie?”.

Charlie, your ex of 4 years, whips around at the sound of your voice. You take each other in for a full minute before he makes his way towards you.

Instinctively, you take a step back. Your ex was dead. You were there when he died. You went to his funeral. This man in front of you is a ghost.

Charlie doesn’t flinch at your reaction, instead taking another step and talking to you like you’re a frightened animal, “Y/N, it’s okay, it’s me, Charlie. Please baby, you’ve got to believe me. I’ve been trying to get back to you all this time and I’ve finally found you".

You shake your head but don’t move away from him, “h-how?”.

Charlie stretches his arms out towards you, “does it matter?”.

The room rushes back as you see Bucky’s metal arm come between you and Charlie, his voice comes out hard and guarded, “actually, yes it does matter. You’re supposed to be dead".

Your head was spinning far too fast to register the switch in Charlie as he replies with equal wariness and steel, “yes, I realise that. Can I have a moment with my girlfriend”. It was a statement, not a request despite the wording.

Bucky doesn’t budge, “I’m not sure, you’ll have to ask her". Neither of them takes their eyes off each other and you can feel the air get so thick with tension you wonder when the lightning is going to strike.

You shake your head like you can clear away the cobweb of memories. You lay a hand on Bucky’s arm but look to Charlie, “I guess you should come upstairs then”.

It doesn’t take long before you’re standing in the kitchen, a fresh pot of coffee made and silence to settle. You stand leaning against the counter, Charlie sits at the island nursing a mug, and Bucky leans against the entryway watching Charlie’s every move.

After Charlie takes a sip of his coffee, he looks to you with an annoyed but desperate look, “why does he have to be here? This isn’t how I imagined our reunion”.

You look from Bucky to Charlie before saying, “he’s staying, Charlie. Bucky is, well, he’s my boyfriend”.

You realise you’re holding your breath, but you can’t help it as you watch for Charlie’s reaction. You think you see shock, but it’s quickly masked by a guarded face that could only mean he was hurt, “oh, I see”.

Your heart squeezes a little and you find yourself speaking before you think, “it’s not like that, Charlie”.

You see Bucky give you a sharp look and your head starts to spin again. How the hell did you end up in this position? There was a time you couldn’t even get a guy to call you back and now you have 2 boyfriends? Well, kind of.

You scrub your hands down your face and let out a sigh before looking to Charlie, “what happened? I saw you die. Where have you been all this time?”.

Charlie nods like he was expecting these questions, “I don’t have all the answers. One second, I have a gun to my head and I’m watching you knowing my number is up and the next I wake up in a dark cell and get tortured for the next 3 years”.

Before you can say anything, Bucky cuts in with only two words, “prove it”.

Charlie stares daggers into Bucky and it leaves a prickly heat spread across your skin, “what the fuck man?”.

Bucky shrugs, unfazed by the aggressive tone, “I know the story. I was the one that found Y/N at a Hydra base. If you were really kept and tortured by Hydra for the last 3 years, there’d be proof”, Bucky pauses to wiggle his metal fingers, “trust me. I know”.

Charlie scraps the chair against the floor, the sound echoing around the room as he lifts up his shirt. Scars of all shapes and sizes criss cross his chest and stomach. It’s a sight that has you step towards him before you finally catch yourself. Your feelings are all over the place. You don’t even know what’s an appropriate reaction anymore.

Bucky is the one to speak again, “how did you escape?”.

Charlie looks to you, anger clearly blazing in his dark brown eyes, “what the fuck is with this guy?”.

They both look to you and it makes you feel like a mother being asked to pick between her children. You want to scream, you want to run, you want to hide, but you know this situation won’t sort itself out. It’ll still be a mess for when you come back.

You look at Bucky and your trust in him is unwavering, woven into the fabric of why you love him, that unbreakable trust.

You look to Charlie and you know you still love him, the man that grew up with you, the man that was taken from you.

You turn your back on them and place your hands on the kitchen counter. You needed a moment to think, to sort through the jumble in your head, without the feel of them watching everything you do. Without the expectations.

You let your shoulders slump and say without even turning around, “how did you escape Charlie?”.

The room goes quiet for a few moments before Charlie replies emotionless, “they let me go”.

Bucky barks out a dark laugh as you slowly turn to face him again. For the first time since you saw him suspicion starts to bloom, “you expect me to believe they just…let you go?”.

Charlie walks around the island towards you and you can practically feel Bucky like a livewire in the room. Charlie grips your upper arms and looks into your eyes with a sincerity that would be hard to fake, but maybe it was the close proximity that had you all out of whack.

Charlie murmurs, “would I lie to you babe? Give me the hard truth or pass me the hard liquor, remember?”.

You smile briefly at the old saying you used to share as you say, “you don’t know where the hard liquor is”.

Charlie grins, “I wouldn’t need to. It was always the hard truth. And telling you that they let me go is the hard truth exactly because of your reaction. If I wanted you to trust what I said straight off the bat I would have made something more convincing up”.

He had a point and it was hard to argue when he was there, standing in front of you. When he was solid flesh and breathing the same air as you. You feel your resolve crumble a bit as you whisper, “you’re really alive”.

Charlie pulls you into a hug as he nods against you, “yeah babe, I’m really alive and there wasn’t a day I didn’t think about you”.

After a few moments Bucky’s voice fills the silence, “you want to hear another hard truth? It doesn’t make sense for Hydra to just let you go. It would be easier for them to kill you than to let you go unless you were still useful to them”.

You step away from Charlie at the sound of Bucky’s voice and turn to Bucky, “you’re probably right, but we have time to figure that out”.

Bucky shakes his head, looking down at the floor before finding your eyes again, “F.R.I.D.A.Y. can you watch our new guest while I talk to Y/N in private”.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. replies immediately, “of course, Barnes”.

You glance back at Charlie before following Bucky out of the room and all the way down the hall, out of earshot of the kitchen even for a super soldier.

Bucky shakes his head again, “I have a bad feeling about this, Doll”.

You roll your eyes, “I wonder why my current boyfriend has a bad feeling about my ex-boyfriend that was supposed to be dead but has come back?”.

Anger flares in his eyes, “it’s more than that, Y/N. There’s something that isn’t adding up, something we’re missing. You can’t tell me you don’t feel it to”.

You cross your arms, “I don’t actually”.

“Oh come on!-“.

“No, Buck. You come on. Someone I cared about…care about has come back from the grave and yes there are questions that need answers but…I saw him die Bucky, can’t I just have a few moments?”, you start the sentence angry but it ends in a whisper.

Bucky’s face softens at your tone. He wraps his arms around your waist to pull you into him, placing a hard kiss to the crown of your head. You breathe him in and take a moment to thank the stars for someone as understanding as Bucky.

Bucky murmurs into your hair, “I’m sorry, I get it, I just want to keep you safe. Besides, we can talk about it more at dinner tonight”.

You pull back slightly to look up at him, “I mean, we’re not going to dinner now”.

Bucky frowns, “what? Why?”.

You pull away from him to see if he was being serious, “did you not just listen to a word I said?”.

Bucky nods, “yeah, of course I did. But we’ve had this dinner planned for ages, Doll, we can’t cancel it now”.

You shake your head at him in disbelief, “it’s not every day that someone’s ex comes back from the dead, so I think that’s a good enough reason to skip the dinner just this once, Buck”.

You start to walk back to the kitchen when “no!”, bursts from Bucky.

You turn to look at him, anger heating up your skin, “what the hell is the matter with you, Barnes?!”

Bucky exhales heavily, head hung low. When he finally looks up at you, he’s wearing his boyish half grin like he’s just accepted the way life has dealt his hand, “this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, and I can’t believe my own goddamn luck”.

“What’s going on, Bucky?”, you ask, confusion tainting your words.

Bucky takes a deep breath before he pulls out a box. Your heart stops at the sight but it takes a few moments for your muddled brain to register what it is until he opens it. A perfect silver ring sits innocently inside.

Words abandon you as you stare at the man in front of you. Bucky says softly, “I was only pushy about dinner because I was going to propose tonight. I had the whole evening planned and everything. Everyone was involved…but the how and what and when doesn’t really matter. It’s the why. I love you, Y/N. More than I ever thought I could. I honestly don’t deserve you, but you make me a better man and my world is brighter with you in it. So, I want you to stay in it, forever”.

He closes the distance between you, but it gives you little comfort and you will him not to say the words, but he does, and it breaks your heart, “will you marry me?”.

[Are you going to marry Bucky Barnes? Make your choice...]

1st Choice 1 - Yes

1st Choice 2 - No

Taglist: @harrystylesisgolden @stucky-my-ship @savvywords @buckysbaby-doll

[purrincess-chat]

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH22

And we’re back! Chapters will resume posting on Fridays both here on tumblr and on AO3 (linked below). I hope you’re ready for the second half of this story. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve that are different from last time, so I hope you all enjoy it!

Previous     First     Next      AO3

Chapter 22: Mean

Marinette chewed her lip, picking at the hem of her shirt. She’d been too nervous to sleep, and the coffee she drank on the way to the hotel made her jittery. Clara and her manager flipped through her designs, the silence eating away at Marinette’s composure. Did Clara like them? Hate them? Had Marinette let her down? Why wasn’t she saying anything?

Clara glanced up at Marinette, a smile curling on her lips. She stood up with an amused giggle and took Marinette’s hands. “Oh, Marinette, you can chill. These designs really fit the bill. Choosing you was in good taste. Eloise, send these to my tailor, posthaste.” Clara winked, and Marinette breathed a sigh of relief. “Truly, great work, Marinette. I love them.”

“I’m glad. Thank you so much for this opportunity.” Marinette bowed.

“Although your formality is rather cutesy, there’s no need since you and I are friends, you see.” She spun Marinette around and pulled her in for a hug. “I felt a connection with you right away. If you ever need anything, you just have to say.”

Marinette’s chest swelled as Clara pulled away and brushed her nose with a finger.

“Eloise, write a check for her beautiful mind.” Clara ordered, pacing over to the piano. “I’ve got an idea for a new song that will be simply divine!”

Clara’s manager tore a check from her book and handed it to Marinette as Clara began to pluck at the piano. Marinette did a double-take to make sure the decimal was in the right place, but before she could protest, Clara’s security guard ushered her out.

“Goodbye, my dearest friend. I’ll miss you until we meet again!” Clara blew a kiss.

As the door closed behind her, Marinette glanced down at the check, heart pounding. Clara liked her designs! She considered Marinette a friend! Oh, she’d love to see the look on Lila’s face the day Clara walked the red carpet in Marinette’s dress.

“I’m so proud of you, Marinette!” Tikki said as Marinette tapped the button for the elevator. “You worked really hard, and it paid off.”

“I’m just happy that Clara liked my designs. It’s not about the money for me. I want to design clothes that make people feel good,” she said, stepping onto the elevator. “I can’t wait to tell everyone over tea this afternoon!”

“Will there be cookies at the tea party?” Tikki asked.

Marinette shot her a knowing smile and brushed her kwami’s nose with one finger. “Control that sweet tooth of yours.”

“I want to celebrate your accomplishments!” Tikki shot back indignantly. “If there happens to be cookies there, then so be it.”

“Tell you what,” Marinette said as the elevator dinged on the first floor. “I told everyone to come over at 2. Why don’t you and I celebrate now? Let’s go get some ice cream.”

Tikki perked up, ducking down into her purse. Marinette shut the clasp as she paced out the front doors of the hotel. Pulling out her phone to see where Andre was stationed today, she failed to look up as she rounded the corner and collided with another person.

“Sorry!” she gasped as they both stumbled backward, but upon seeing the face of her victim, her face hardened.

“Finally apologizing for trying to upstage me? It’s about time,” Lila said.

“I’m sorry for bumping into you. Nothing else.” Marinette rolled her eyes and stepped around her.

“So, you’re not sorry for abandoning all of your friends then? For turning your back on Alya?” Lila asked.

Marinette’s hands balled into fists, but she didn’t stop. “Alya made her choice.”

“And she chose me over you.” Lila smirked. “She even got us matching bff necklaces. She’s so sweet.”

“Congratulations. I’m sure your genuine friendship built on honesty and trust will last a lifetime.” Marinette retorted.

“I’m just glad she finally deleted her blog dedicated to that insect. She has so much more time on her hands to do all of my work,” Lila said. “You know, I’m class representative now since you deserted your post.”

Marinette bit her lip hard. Lila was taunting her, and she knew it. How could anyone be this vindictive? Marinette had always known Lila was evil, but she really had a way of one-upping herself. Marinette made a promise with Adrien to stay out of it, but no matter how far she ran, Lila was always right behind her.

Marinette spun around with a sharp retort on her tongue, but a silver limo pulling up to the curb cut her off. She half expected blond hair to pop out, but to her surprise, it was Martin who appeared.

“Hey, Marinette. I saw you walking, so I had my driver pull over.” He flicked his gaze between them. “Do you and your friend need a ride?”

“Ha! She and I will never be friends. I have much better taste,” Lila said.

Martin eyed Marinette, eyebrows knitting together when she shifted her weight.

“Then if you don’t mind, please leave her alone. She’s my friend,” he requested.

“You don’t want to be friends with a loser like her. I’m the great-granddaughter of world-famous piano player, Victor Laurent,” she said, fluffing her hair. Her sinister smile said that she’d taken all of Marinette’s friends once, and she’d do it again.

“Victor Laurent didn’t have any children. He died alone at the age of 72 from pneumonia…” Martin tilted his head to one side. “And anyway, Marinette’s great-uncle is a world-famous chef with his own brand of cookware—my mom loves his knives. Not to mention she knows Jagged Stone and is good friends with Adrien Agreste. She has a lot of connections.”

Marinette stifled a laugh as Lila gasped in offense. Martin blinked in confusion as Lila stalked off with a huff, glaring over her shoulder at them.

“Who was that girl?” he asked.

“One of the worst human beings you’ll ever meet,” Marinette replied. When Martin seemed confused, she added, “It’s a long story. I was actually on my way to get some ice cream. Wanna come?”

“Sure.”

Andre was in Marinette’s favorite spot in the Trocadero—a fitting compensation for the unpleasant encounter they’d just had. They found a bench, ice cream cones in hand, and Marinette flopped onto it with a sigh. Lila was insufferable, but Marinette wasn’t going to let it spoil her day. Clara liked her designs. Nothing else mattered.

“So, that’s the girl who turned all of your friends against you?” Martin asked, and Marinette nodded. “Wow. No wonder you changed schools. I would have changed cities.”

“I thought about it.” Marinette took a spoonful of ice cream. “She’s super manipulative, and if you side against her, she does everything in her power to ruin your life.”

“She sounds like Gabrielle just without the muscle, but at least we don’t have to put up with her now that her family’s bankrupt,” Martin said.

“Yeah…” Marinette lowered her gaze. “I bet you were really happy when you found out about Gabrielle.”

Martin shrugged. “I’m glad she doesn’t pick on everyone anymore, but I can’t imagine losing everything. I feel kinda bad for her… Is that weird?”

“I don’t think so,” Marinette said. “Actually, I feel the same way. No one deserves to go through that.” She pursed her lips, jabbing her ice cream with the spoon. “I’m surprised you of all people don’t hate her. She was the worst to you.”

“I try not to hate anyone,” Martin said around a bite. “I think everyone has good inside them deep down, and with the right influence, anyone can change if they want to.”

“So, you think Gabrielle could be a good person?” she asked.

“Well, sure. Why not?” Martin quirked a brow.

Marinette eyed him, a small smile curling on her lips. She sat up and turned to face him.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Uh, sure. What’s up?” he asked.

“It’s a long story, but Gabrielle and I are kind of friends now. I think…” Marinette admitted. “I haven’t told anyone because of everything, but I think you’re right. Anyone can be nice if they want to be, even Gabrielle.” When Martin seemed stunned, she curled her shoulders and added, “Do you hate me?”

Martin’s face softened, and he shook his head. “Of course not! I could never hate you.” He assured her. “I think it’s good. If anyone can help Gabrielle find the light inside of her, it’s you, Marinette.”

She leaned back on the bench with a smile, the spring sun warming her cheeks. Winter was over, leaving the cold and dreary behind. Nature was turning over new leaves. A fresh start, just like Marinette wanted. She took a deep breath, picturing all of the good things in her life. Adrien, Macy, Eliott, Martin, Gabrielle. Chloe, weirdly. Her parents, Tikki, Master Fu, Chat Noir, Clara. New opportunities. New beginnings.

She exhaled, letting all of the negative flow out with her breath. Lila had no power over her anymore, and after two months of running, Marinette was finally free.

♪♫♪ Cruel Summer ♪♫♪

Marinette hummed jovially, the heat from the tea kettle on the stove warming her arms. Her friends would be over soon to celebrate her presentation. After her run-in with Lila earlier, Martin dropped her off at home, where her dad made special macarons for their celebration. Talking to Martin eased her nerves, and Lila’s empty threats were far from her mind. Today she was celebrating.

It was the first time her new friends were coming to hang out at her house. After seeing all of their extravagant homes, Marinette might have felt self-conscious about her family’s tiny apartment, but her friends never gave her reason to worry. If only Adrien were joining them, but he was busy with a photoshoot. He promised to make it up to her, which had her head swimming with possibilities. Oh, she hoped whatever he had in mind involved kissing. Three almosts was driving her wild. Would she ever get to kiss those perfect lips?

And what were they now? Were they dating? Marinette didn’t know for sure, but they had to be pretty close, right? Adrien was so bold with her lately, complimenting her, touching her face, her hair, her hands… One of these days she’d snatch those lips down to hers if he didn’t kiss her soon. Kissing Adrien—the thought alone made her melt.

She wanted to hear his voice, but did she dare call him? He probably wouldn’t answer since he never brought his phone to photoshoots—always so professional. Then again, she could listen to his really cute voicemail… And she still hadn’t told him how her presentation went. Maybe she’d leave him a message. Girlfriends were allowed to do that, right? Oh god, Adrien’s girlfriend! She’d have to get used to calling herself that. Okay, no more stalling. New beginnings. Marinette wasn’t going to second-guess herself anymore. She was going to charge forward with confidence!

Pressing the call button, she chewed her lip with a giggle. This was really happening! One cute voicemail, then the next time they saw each other, she was going to kiss Adrien on the lips. Then they’d become boyfriend and girlfriend, date throughout the rest of collége and lycée, go off to university and get married, have 3 kids, and a hamster named-

Wait!

What was she going to say in the voicemail? She didn’t know how to be cute and flirty! Every time she tried, she ended up rambling about her toothbrush or falling down stairs. She needed to write a script. Abort! Abort!

“Missing me already?”

Marinette’s heart skipped at Adrien’s flirtatious lilt.

“Adrien! You answered,” she gasped.

“You called me, and you’re surprised I picked up?” he chuckled.

“Well, I thought you had a photoshoot, I was just going to leave a message,” Marinette said.

“I just got done with makeup, so I have a few minutes. I was actually thinking of calling you,” he said. “I’m sorry I can’t be there.”

“No worries. I understand.” She assured him.

“I take it your presentation went well?”

“Yeah! That’s what I was calling to tell you. Clara loved my designs! I’ve never been so happy.” Marinette paced the length of her living room, biting back a smile. “I ran into Lila as I was leaving, but not even she could ruin my mood.”

“Whoa, wait! You ran into Lila?” Adrien asked.

“Ugh, yeah, but it was fine. Martin swooped in before she got me too riled up. She even tried to lie him out of backing me up, but he totally called her out. I’ve never seen her pout so hard.” When Adrien remained quiet on the other end, she added, “I’m fine, really. I’m not going to let her bother me anymore. This thing with Clara could open up a lot of opportunities for me.”

“I guess you’re right. Lila only wishes she were half as talented as you. You’re amazing, Marinette,” Adrien said, bringing a familiar warmth to her cheeks. “They’re ready for me on set, so I have to go.”

Marinette tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, sorry for interrupting. I just wanted to tell you the good news, and…talk for a minute.”

“You can interrupt me anytime. I’m always happy to hear your voice,” he said. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay.” Marinette bit back a smile.

“Oh, and congratulations! You deserve it, Marinette.”

Marinette hung up with a dreamy sigh, hugging her phone to her chest. She was going to replay that conversation in her head for the rest of the evening. Before she could get lost in her lovestruck daydreams, the doorbell rang.

“Congratulations!” Macy hugged Marinette’s neck the moment she opened the door. “Oh, I knew she was going to love them!”

“Uh, I think you’re choking her.” Martin pointed out, and Macy let go.

“Sorry! But you did it! A major celebrity is going to wear your designs to an official awards show. That’s huge!” Macy squealed. “Oh! Is this your living room? It’s so cozy!”

As Macy pushed past Marinette into the apartment, Martin presented her with a bouquet of flowers.

“We picked these up for you on the way.”

“Thanks! That’s so sweet.” Marinette gestured him in, moving to find a vase in the kitchen. “Where’s Eliott?”

“He’ll be here soon. He was auditioning for another play today, so he’s running late,” Macy explained. “Your house is so cute! Did you make these pillows?”

“Uh, yeah. They were one of the first things I learned how to sew,” Marinette said, filling a vase in the sink. “My dad made macarons, and I’m making tea if you want any.”

Martin helped himself, taking a seat at the table, but Macy moved over to the bookcase to look at their family photos. Marinette set the vase in the middle of the table and grabbed the cups from the cupboard.

“Are you feeling better now?” Martin asked while she set the table. “I mean, after running into that girl earlier?”

“Yeah,” Marinette said, surprised by how much she meant it. “I’m not worried about her anymore. I’m fine.”

Martin relaxed. “Good. You seem happier now than when you first came to school,” he said. “I could tell how sad you were, even when you were smiling.”

Marinette grabbed the kettle from the stove and pursed her lips.

“I guess I’m not as good at hiding as I thought.” She laughed bitterly. “It’s been hard, but I’m really lucky to have people that support me. I have you all to thank for that.”

“That’s what friends are for, right?” Martin smiled, an expression Marinette returned.

“Right.”

“Marinette? Is this you?” Macy held up a baby picture. “You were so cute!”

Marinette’s cheeks burned, but before she could snatch the photo away from her, the front door flew open. Eliott burst in, hair disheveled and eyes wide with panic.

“Eliott? What’s-” Macy started.

“I need help!”

[honey-makki]

grandma’s blessing

best friend!hanamaki takahiro x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of death (family member), oral (fem receiving), fire, probably unsanitary cooking conditions if i’m being honest (it’s soft i swear)

summary: the holidays are your favorite time of year. your best friend hanamaki tries to keep holiday cheer alive despite the loss of a family member.

word count 2.4k

masterlist

Holiday’s are tricky. Decisions on whether the trauma of going home will be a heavier burden to bear than the guilt and loneliness of your city apartment. GOing home was never a pleasant experience. Trips filled with parents nitpicking your seemingly successful life and emotionally battering you about anything and everything they could. The only reprieve would be hugging your grandmother and being able to see her face-to-face during dinner. She understood why you didn’t come home every opportunity and didn’t blame you a bit.

On years when it would be too much to travel, you knew that she would still give you a call. Spending all day on the phone with you while you bounced around the kitchen making much smaller portions of what they would be eating at home. Even the small amounts of silence on the call were comfortable. You could feel her next to you kneading the dough for a pie while you mixed together the fruit base. It felt like home.

The silence that has been living in your apartment the past few months after her passing was suffocating. Weekends spent with friends at their apartment just to get out of somewhere that just seems to reek of death and despair.

You had spent more nights at Makki’s place in the past month than at your own. He was your closest friend, a true confidant, someone skilled at lifting your mood, and the person you’ve been undeniably in love with for years. You accepted the fate of growing old with a horde of cats as long as you can have his silly pink hair shining in the sun when you hung out with friends. It’s ok that you are going to be alone forever as long as you still had a standing laser tag date once a month. The only thing stronger than your feelings of love towards the strawberry blond was fear of losing him.

He has been a pillar of strength during the past few months. Holding your crying body until you fall asleep on his tear-stained and snot covered chest. Setting alarms in your phone to make sure you are eating or going to work instead of sitting in a dissociative state. Ever since you shared a bed with him, he’s been a little more comfortable with physical contact. Walking closer together arms touching when going out or throwing an arm over your shoulder when lounging around the house. You can’t count the number of times you’ve both woken up in various stages of cuddling.

He was the one to bring up spending the holidays together. He had just gone home for a wedding and couldn’t afford another ticket and he knew that you were in a weird spot. “We can stay here and make dinner and bake cookies and watch shitty r-romcoms? Someone has to appreciate Hallmark movies, why not us?” You can hear his voice crack and start to speed up as a blush rises across his face. You see it but don’t really process it, more relieved that for the first time in months, the thought of holidays didn’t make you run to the bathroom and throw up. You smiled and nodded, setting plans for him to come over later in the week.

Makki always liked when you cooked, throwing a western spin on dishes he considered normal. But today, he was flabbergasted, you didn’t let him just sit on the barstool curating music while you did all the work, no, there was too much food to be made for him to laze around. You laid out the recipe for your grandmothers’ mac n’ cheese, explaining what everything meant while you got started on an asian fusion stuffing you figured out a few years back.

You stole glances at him in the middle of stirring, combining and folding everything together. His tongue sticks out between his lips while he deliberately measures out the exact amount of cheese required. In all the time you’ve seen him, you’ve never seen him totally lose his laid back air until now, and you can’t control your laugh. Is he really more serious about measuring out sharp cheddar cheese than a game that would take them to nationals? Or that physics final he actually studied for? Your heart skips a beat when you see his soft, satisfied smile to the dish he just created. All you can picture when he looks over to you is how cute of a child he must have been. Cheeks round encasing his bright smile as his head tilts ever so slightly to the left.

After he slides the last dish into the oven, you both opt for taking the time to clean the kitchen, knowing that you won’t want to do it after dinner. The dishes are washed and dried and while Makki puts away the ones that go on a higher shelf, you return flour and other ingredients to the pantry but before you put them down you call out to him, voice lighter than normal, the one you use when asking a favor.

“Taka, how upset would you be if I said I wanted to cook a little bit more?”

“You get dishes this time around then, but what are we makin’?”

You turn out of the pantry with a bounce in your step before slapping down the flour and newly acquired, chocolate chips and sprinkles. “Cookies! We always made cookies with my grandma and it wouldn’t be the same without them.” Your eyes sparkle at the thought of the sweet treats and equally sweet memories of your childhood. Makki thinks you are breathtaking.

“Let me get the bowls back down and we can probably make mediocre cookies if you have anything you do with it.” He smiles at just how cute the squawk you made from his teasing is, just happy that he gets to be here with you. He doesn’t really hear how you defend your baking skills and complain that just because you forgot flour one time doesn’t mean you are inept at baking.

He never thought he would be the type to settle down and be domestic, it just didn’t seem like something he cared a lot about, but now he he can’t rid his mind of the thought of waking up ten minutes before your alarm just to make you a cup of coffee or throwing your favorite blanket in the drier on days it’s raining so when you get home, you can melt into the soft plush and warm up instantly.The clattering of spices brings him back to the moment, turning to see you picking up the cinnamon and vanilla extract.

“You good, love?” There’s something about how you look when you flustered because of him, that scratches an itch he didn’t know was there. The first time a pet name like this had slipped through his lips he was certain that whatever line the two of you were toeing had been crossed, demolished. Instead you just tucked your hair away and averted your gaze back to whatever shitty movie the two of you were “watching” that night. Now it’s normal, well its not normal, its very much not normal for him to refer to you as love or babe and it's not normal for you to exclusivley call him by his first name. It's decidedly abnormal considering your relationship or lack thereof. But if you aren’t going to question it neither is he.

He helps you up and gather the remaining ingredients for the “famous snickerdoodle cookies” that you swear had won awards. The mixing of the dough is interrupted when he has to grab your wrist to stop you from adding salt instead of sugar. You refuse to look at him because you know he is sporting a huge smirk and raised eyebrows, knowing that he’s right about you not being the best baker. You are reprieved by the oven going off, signaling to remove the earlier and change the temperature.

“Damn, babe, these cookies look so good, especially this one.” You return to Makki who already started to lay out the dough on the baking tray. You see perfectly round blobs squished slightly by a fork for a pattern and then right in front of him you see the cookie he was talking about. You didn't expect to see your 27 year old boyfriend-who-isn’t-your-boyfriend to be holding a cockshaoped cookie. But really, you should have seen it coming from the guy who laughs when either of you fart.

He can hear the clock ticking as you just stare, annoyed. He was concerned for a second, that maybe he shouldn’t have made a lewd joke when making cookies. This is something he used to do with her grandmother, you stupid idiot.. But when he can see the apple of your cheek peeking out from behind your hand, he recognizes that face. The one that positively exudes warmth and happiness with her laughter. The butterflies always buzzing in his stomach go wild when this face comes out. He would do anything to see it for the rest of time.

You don’t know where the courage comes from but you cup his cheek for a kiss, he mirrors your action. It just felt normal, and you honestly didn’t realize that it wasn’t normal until you both pulled back. Your eyes are locked on his, both of you sporting a soft smile until his keeps growing, evolving into a laugh that is borderline offensive in how loud it is.

You don’t know why and you get a little nervous that maybe he doesn’t feel the same way, when you go to hide your face, you feel the heat rising but also a soft powdery coating? And that’s when you realize his hands are still coated in flour from shaping the cookies. Your eyes are rolling while you chuckle but Makki on the other hand is losing his mind, almost in tears from laughing while putting the cookies in the oven. “It’s not that funny, Takahiro! Get me a napkin please.”

“Nah, you look really sweet. Good enough to eat.” You weren’t surprised when he returned to kissing you, nor when he lifted you up by your thighs and plopped you on the counter. The kisses are sweet, lazy and perfect for a second kiss, and a third and a fourth. This is normal. His lips belong on yours. Your hands should be tangled up in his hair while his run over your waist and legs. This is right. There's no rush to deepen the kiss, both of you happy to just indulge in the warmth of the other, but it is inevitable. A soft nip at your bottom lip or an accidental tug of his hair, neither of you know what happened first but you both are staring at each other, panting lightly with a much darker gaze than the original flour induced makeout session.

“You are just as sweet as I thought. Gotta have a taste.” His voice is raspier than you’ve ever heard and you just let him move your body as he pleases. Pull your hips to the edge of the counter. Spread your legs as far apart as they’ll go. Lift your hips when he pulls your shorts and underwear down. Gotta act as sweet as he says I am. He has barely touched you but when he falls to his knees and just stares at your dripping slit that he's imagined for years, your eyes, you are already imagining how good he's going to feel.

You shouldn’t even try to think, his tongue exceeded any expectation or desire you had. Expertly flicking against your throbbing clit as he works two fingers in you. You feel the groan he lets out when he dips his tongue into your hole before you hear it. The vibrations reverberate up your spine and through your body, an all-consuming heat starting in your stomach, threatening to let loose, to run rampant on your body. His fingers, joined by another, return to your clenching hole and search for the spongy spot hidden deep inside. All you can hear is the blood rushing through your head, drowning out every other noise.

“C’mon love, cum on my fingers, on my tongue, I’ve wanted, dreamed about this for years, give it to me.” His slow words juxtaposed the fervent pace of his fingers and it was enough to send you over the edge.

You feel so hot you fear you might pass out, the groan Makki lets out beneath you is the only thing keeping you grounded. You were first concerned that you had hurt him in someway, but when you see his eyes roll back into his head and his tongue trying to lap up every single bit of cum you squirted on his face and thighs, you know it wasn’t due to excruciating pain, rather it's just an obscene reaction to you.

When you push him back, squirming with overstimulation, you hear him scramble and “Shit! Fuck! Fire extinguisher?? WHERE IS YOUR FIRE EXTINGUISHER???” You are still out of it until he starts actually screaming, words still evade you but he follows your line of sight to the red tube hiding in the corner next to the fridge. The smell of smoke is overwhelming all of a sudden. You were in a dreamlike post orgasmic state and suddenly your coughing, eyes hazy.

the cookies, SHIT THE COOKIES!! Smoke is billowing out of the oven and your fire alarm is blaring, but soon the room is filled with a white foam originating from Makki. You never realized that the foam would continue to expand until half of your kitchen was covered in it and you saw a sheepish looking Makki on the other side.

“Fires out”. Again, he starts to laugh at you, and this time you join him. Today has turned out entirely different than you expected. It wasn’t a sad day, it was filled with laughter, romance, an ill timed fire and Makki. All in all, a successful holiday, despite the fact everything you cooked was coated in foam. He’d seen you staring at the food and already took his phone out to order food, “Indian or ramen?”

Yeah, you think you’re grandma would be happy seeing you like this. Happy Holidays.

a/n: i don’t really know what this is but the image of makki being a disaster in the kitchen came to me one day and here we are. make sure you read the other fics in the collab

matsukawa’s funeral home winter collab

a/n 2.0: also a/o to @iwaasfairy for making that makki image that i used in my header. i love her more than i love him which say a lot

[delu-jean]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩��𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧: 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

(Jean x fem!/reader) -> Angst -> 4.7k 

Notes: Sorry for updating a lot later than expected! Here’s chapter eleven, and twelve will be out as soon as I write it. Hope you enjoy! 

Ⅹ > Ⅻ

During the night, you had no dreams or nightmares. It was simply peaceful, calming, and warm. Having him beside you (though he was on the floor) gave you the utmost comfort. He was really here with you, resting to the side, while you did the same. Such a feeling that was yearned for, had finally found its way back to you. The first night in what seemed like forever where you actually slept through calmly. 

You woke up the next day to see the sun peer in. Through the crack of your blinds, highlighting the walls of your cozy room. The birds, though silent, remained present as the wind rustled quietly. Jean lay on the floor. His hand still clung onto yours from the night before. His grip felt secure and gentle when holding yours. His hair laced over the pillows, as his body was barely covered by the sheets. Only now did you realize how much of a mover he was. Though that was the case, he still miraculously held you through the night. Without causing any discomfort whatsoever. 

You wanted to sit in this moment for a tad longer, but knew you would have to ready you both for the day ahead. You tried to slip out of his hand, but to your failed attempt, he gripped even tighter. He really wasn’t going to make this easy. You tried yet again, using your other hand to assist. Regardless, his one hand and few fingers kept you grounded. You thought that was the end of things, but he then pulled you in. Locking you in a tight embrace. You shook your head, both flustered and disappointed. You needed to get away from him, yet here he was, keeping you captive. 

“Jean...Jean I need to get up-” 

“Not again...no...never,” he mumbled. 

It seemed as if he was sleep talking. If he was conscious, he probably would’ve laughed at you by now. You were sad to hear such words. He had gone through so much trauma to the point he couldn’t let go of you. 

“I’m not leaving...not yet at least...so Jean, don’t worry and please let me go,” you cupped his cheek as it sank into your touch. His head now leaning towards you, and his face at a closer range. Smiling at the reaction, you then heard a knock coming from outside. 

“Hm...I have to go now,” he seemed less tense than earlier. It must’ve been because of your words since he actually let you go. You got up, put yourself in a cardigan, and quickly tied your hair. Maybe this time it was actually Reiner, for goodness sake you would now need to leave a candle there. Just in case next time, it’s a crazy psycho and not Jean. 

You opened the door, ready to attack if it was anyone threatening. Though hesitant, you let your guard down, opening the door even wider. 

“Ah Y/n! Long time no see,” you stared at the woman, flowers in one hand, while treats in the other. 

“Alexandra, what are you doing here?” you smiled shocked. 

Alexandra was also a person from the military. An Eldian soldier who commanded her own squad. Though your rank was a tad higher than her’s, she was never too far from you. You both conversed here and there. Though you weren’t as close to her as you were with the warrior unit, you were both mutually acquainted. Enjoying each other’s company from time to time. 

“I just came to drop by. If you’re busy, I can come sometime later today,” you didn’t want to be rude and reject her. Even though Jean was over, you assumed that if he had heard someone else (other than you) in the house, that he would keep quiet. 

“No no no, I insist. Come in, I’m free,” you led her inside for her to then place the gifts on the table. Now that you thought about it, this was the second time she had been to your house. That being said, you were surprised she still had this place memorized. Not only that, but you were surprised she had come out of the blue. Did she have something important to share, what drove her to come? 

“Curious are we?” she laughed as your eyes widened, embarrassed. 

“Of course not-” 

“Haha, you’re not a very good liar Y/n~” 

“I guess you’re right about that,” you grinned as you started to prepare tea. She was just such a lady, and plus, tea complimented any situation. So why not make some now? 

“Hm lovely. Earl Grey if I’m correct?” 

“Haha, yes you are,” you then placed a cup down. Pouring the tea as she patiently waited. Crossing her legs and setting the treats she brought across the table. 

“I’m sorry I’ve come so early in the morning, it’s just that my squad is going to be shipped out sometime tomorrow...so I wanted to say my goodbyes before then.” 

“What do you mean? I know you’ll come back,” you smiled as she followed hesitantly.  

“Yeah...of course I will,” you then set the teapot down, as she took a sip.  

“Hey so...I heard that someone might be getting married,” you start to drink your tea, eyeing her suspiciously. 

“Who?” 

“Who else but you,” you choked on the beverage, wondering as to how she would know such a thing. You then tried to play things cool, hoping the subject would slowly avert. 

“I’m still not understanding?-”

“You and Reiner silly. It’s been going around everywhere...didn’t you know?” 

“No...I...I didn’t know that others knew?...” 

“Ahh I see. Well, from what I know, the town seems content with such a proposal. The ladies have been talking about what kind of future you both might have, even with the limited time. Not only that, but Reiner’s mother seems ecstatic with both the arrangements, and attention being given,” you then bite down on your tongue. Never would you have thought things would escalate so quickly. Rumors that weren’t even confirmed, yet spread like wildfire. She then placed her cup down, grabbing one of the deserts to munch, and then covered her mouth. She spoke, trying to keep her manners while also enjoying the treat. 

“So, have you prepared a wedding dress, did he give you a ring yet, or are you both going to wait for the day of?” 

“No...I haven’t been given a ring, nor have I gotten anything.” 

“Wait, really?” 

“Yeah…” 

“Hm...well okay. Let me ask you a different question.” 

“Of course, whenever you’re ready,” she then finished, and took a sip. Eyeing you as you sat uncomfortable, not sure what her next approach would be. 

“You do like him, don’t you?” 

“Um...well...I...I would say-” 

“You know, I’ve always thought the both of you were...how do I say it, cute. Very cute actually.” 

“I’m sorry, what?” you laughed a little, thinking she was being sarcastic. Whereas she was being quite serious. 

“You two have always seemed so close. You both respect each other, take the time to have one on ones, you also put in the effort to see each other’s families, and just...so much more. You’ve always seemed like a couple, or, couple goals to say the least. Not only that, but you seem to genuinely care for each other. You give words of affirmation, and he gives you acts of genuine affection.” 

“How would you know such a thing?” your brow cocked as she sighed. 

“My dear, it’s called observation. Speaking of observing, you can’t deny that Reiner is very attractive.” 

“I-” 

“I mean, he’s a total catch. He’s a very good looking gentleman. One that actually takes care of his hygiene. He’s presentable most of the time, and treats you like the lady you are. Giving you the respect which you deserve. Very attractive in my opinion. Chivalrous, yet understanding of a lady’s worth.” 

“I agree with that,” though your feelings for Reiner were platonic, what she stated was...somewhat true. Just disclude the whole “wanting to kill you,” along with the “using you as a way to cope,” and vice versa. 

“So you do like him?” she asked as you sat there, not sure about what your response would be. 

“Well…” a question then sprung in your head. You put your cup down, to then eye her yourself as she locked her gaze. Awaiting for whatever your answer would be. 

“Alexandra what if...what if there was someone else?” 

“Someone better looking than Reiner?” 

“I...I guess so,” you chuckled as she stared at you in shock. 

“No way...did you get with Porco? Wow...you surprise me the more I get to know you-” 

“Wait a minute, you think Porco is more charming than Reiner?” You cut her midway through, baffled to say the least. Now you were the person in shock as she smiled cockishly. Proud of such a statement. 

“Well...yes...yes I do,” she said shamelessly as you now laughed. 

“Wait, but why? I’m genuinely curious,” you said, obviously having a different opinion. 

“First of all, his undercut is both sharp and clean. Not only that, but the dirty blonde really suits him. His build is nice, along with the fashion he portrays. Though not too out of the ordinary, you can tell he puts in the effort to look his best.  

The energy he gives off is adventurous, dark, and mysterious, you know? But at the same time, he also seems like a gentleman. One who’s misunderstood, yet has a soft interior. His eyes seem to hide an excruciating pain, yet his smile is one full of brightness, and laughter,” you were surprised about how philosophical, and passionate she was when describing Porco...Porco of all people. No offense to him, but you would never see him in such light. 

Regardless, she seemed proud to say such a statement, as she then asked you: 

“And you? Just what about Reiner intrigues you? I understand for some reasons, but more than Porco?” you nodded to then state: 

“I can’t guarantee my description will be a full fledged english essay. But oh well, here it goes,” she listened intrigued, ready to hear your rebuttal. 

“Well, he does have a beard. Though Zeke’s is fuller, Reiner’s compliments his face structure. He has a very um...broad build, the blonde suits him well, and over all, is a very sweet person. Compared to Porco, I would say he has a much more timid nature. Don’t get me wrong, he can speak his mind, but is a little more sensitive when doing so. That being the case, I feel as if he’s more relatable. Though, I may be saying this because I’ve known him for longer, outside of Marely of course, I just think he’s the better option-” 

  “The better option, so he is an option. Meaning that you feel attracted to him. Leading to the conclusion that you like him,” she grinned maliciously as you panicked. 

“Um well...I wouldn’t say that…” 

“Interesting...but my point still stands haha. If you ever need someone to help you prepare for the occasion...if I come back...I’ll be sure to aid you.” 

“Of course,” she then stood up, placing the flowers in a vase. Grabbing her bag, her coat, her hat, standing before you. 

“But before I go, just who is this other person?...Are you really seeing someone?” 

“I…” you weren’t sure what to say to her, as the hesitation rang in your voice.

“No...I just wanted to know what your thoughts would be,”  You know you should have told her yes, but you just couldn’t. You didn’t want to add any more fuel to the fire, and if you couldn’t even tell the warriors, telling someone else shouldn’t have been an option. 

“I see, well...farewell Y/n. Let us meet again, and if not here...somewhere else…” 

“Yes, of course,” you smiled happily as the door then shut. 

You were glad that one, she came to visit you, and two, that things were now over. You sat in your seat, stretching out your arms to hear another knock. Except this time, it was coming from behind you. Your head then flung backwards, your smile growing even wider as your chair tilted. 

“Good morning handsome~” 

“Good morning beautiful, how are you?” 

“Greater than ever, how about you? Did you sleep well?” 

“Magnificent. Also yeah, I did sleep well...surprisingly,” you both laughed a little, as you then got up, placing breakfast for the both of you. Though a little full from the meeting before, you still wanted to enjoy a meal with Jean. After all, it had been so long since the last time you did. And plus, that was during your time as a cadet. You weren’t able to enjoy such a feast in the morning. 

You both ate in silence. Both of you trying to enjoy the food, and each other’s company. Letting the peace around settle in. Once you had finished both eating, and cleaning up after yourselves, you then decided to speak, asking: 

“Did you hear the conversation I had earlier? I’m assuming you probably woke up because of it,” you didn’t ask how much he heard. You instead wanted to see how much he did hear from the man himself. He put the cloth he was holding down. Similar to you, he wanted to see if you’d tell him anything from the conversation. So he asked: 

“Was there anything important I should be informed about regarding it?” 

“No…” you lied guiltily, but you didn’t know how to handle it otherwise. He then decided to hint you with what he knew, by saying: 

“Hm...Is Reiner really your type? Do I have to buff it up, go blonde, and grow a stache?” he then touched his face as you laughed. Both out of silliness, and nervousness. You felt worried knowing he heard that much of your conversation. Meaning, he knew you hadn’t denied Alexandra even once. 

“Haha no! I love you just the way you areeee!” 

He then looked at the ground, leading him to stand up. 

“If that’s the case,” he leaned against the wall, staring at you intensely. 

“No? Y/n, why did you say no?” you sighed in defeat, seeing that he most definitely was on your tail. 

“I can’t tell her I’m dating a ‘devil’ from Paradis,” you said, trying to make an excuse. 

“You wouldn’t have needed to tell her that...just saying yes should’ve been a good enough answer. You didn’t have to say no.”

“I know…”

“Then why did you?..” 

“I just...I’m not even sure myself-” 

“About this...us?...” he stopped himself while clenching his fist. Though he was annoyed, he didn’t want to push that onto you. He knew you cared about your relationship, and plus, it sounded petty for him to say.  

“Never mind...it’s not a big deal.” 

“I see…” you agreed, still feeling guilty as he then asked: 

“You’re not planning on marrying him...right?” 

“Hm,” you think to yourself. Though your mind had run blank, he certainly did not as it ran with rage. Seeing you hesitate when the answer should have been obvious. He just couldn’t handle it, along with his sense of inferiority. Though he had matured, there were still times where acted otherwise. This being one of them. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t say no, almost immediately-” 

“You know I won’t Jean…” 

“Then why didn’t you tell off your friend? You didn’t deny the proposal, or  your affection for him.”

Jean wasn’t jealous, rather, frustrated. Frustrated that you weren’t using your words (yet again), nor telling him any of your thoughts. It's like watching a movie with no audio, he wasn’t able to understand your actions even when seeing them. Without any coordination, communication would never reach his side of the spectrum. 

He scrunched his eyebrows, and pinched the bridge between them. Though that was the case, he was trying to be patient with you. After all, this was something new and he didn’t want you to feel pressured. Nor did he want you to feel like it was completely your fault. Even if it was, he wouldn’t have known unless you told him so. 

“Look Y/n...I really don’t want to fight, especially over something like this. But in order for me to understand things, even if it does hurt my feelings, I need to understand your thought process. That way, I’m able to clear up any misunderstandings. You tend to keep your mouth shut, and that’s not something that we need as of right now. You know how I feel, now it’s your turn,” you were still hesitant, feeling pressured as he approached you. He looked into your eyes. His stare was desperate, yet understanding. Patting your head as you gazed upwards. 

“I’m sorry for acting like that...but you know...your actions do hurt me, especially when I don’t know where you’re coming from. So can you please...try to explain?” he pouted as you sighed, ready to convey how you felt. He seemed excited seeing that you were somewhat ready, feeling like a proud father...which was something he didn’t feel often (having both Connie and Sasha). It was a weird metaphor, but the only one which could describe the moment. 

“I wasn’t sure if I should tell her. Although I do trust her, it could get out. You never know. Plus, I didn’t want to deny the proposal yet. I still need to talk things out with Reiner, and his mother” he seemed a bit disappointed, leading you to then hug him.  

“But I can promise you, it’s something that won’t happen. I love you, and you alone,” he then wrapped his arms around, returning the favour. Him hovering over your top half, as you hugged his torso, still in your seat. 

“I see...thanks for that but...I think I’ll still go blonde-”

“NO! I like your brown hair, it’s cute!” 

“Cute eh? I guess I’ll keep it then,” Him then smirking at the ego boost, as you sat flushed. 

“I love your hair as well.” 

---

After breakfast, you both decided to make plans. Heading out for a walk in the park, wanting to spend more time together. If anything, you could conclude it as being a date. You went out for lunch, and strolled together while conversing. Though walking was a great thing, so was sitting. That being the case, you both sat on a bench. Hands intertwined, feet swinging, and him calmly humming. Moments had passed in such comfort for him to ask: 

“What’s happened in your life? Well, other than becoming part of the military, and all of the boring stuff.” 

“Nothing much, how about you? What’s been happening in yours?”

“Ah...I can’t say too much about that,” he nervously said, as you backed off, understanding it wasn’t something to be said aloud. You both then sat awkwardly, only for you to ask something that you had been curious about. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened? After I left...the truth if possible,” you knew Jean was a truthful person, you trusted him, but you also knew he would sugar coat things to make you feel better. That being the case, you wanted honesty. No matter what. Afterall, you deserved to hear such criticism if needed. It was the least you could do to attone. 

“I guess I’ll start off lightly. Um...we did find the cellar, the one which Eren’s father resided in. We also took back Shiganshina, though now mainly used for military purposes...I think. Not only that, but your horse has been doing fine.” 

“Violet? How about Buchwald?” 

“Yeah, him too. They’re pretty good friends in my opinion,” he looked at you to see that you weren’t content. It seemed as if you wanted to know more, rather than being shielded by the lightness in his words. Since you could make your own decisions, so could he. Deciding that he would tell you instead of keeping you from things. Things that you honestly...deserved to know. 

“After you died...I barely slept. I couldn’t eat, train, or even walk for that matter. I was pretty malnourished during that time, refusing to have a meal. I did that feeling guilty that you couldn’t have it with me. You passed and yet I still lived?...it didn’t seem fair no matter what was said. I was pretty grumpy as well. Angry, sad, and confused. Not knowing what to do. 

When Marco died, instead of mourning, I instead used it as a way to motivate me. To push myself even further for humanity, so that his death wouldn’t go in vain. But with your death...I couldn’t even. It was too painful to even bring up. Thinking of it as my motivation, seemed both coward like, and sickening. 

Everyone else was pretty moody as well. Not sure how to approach such rogue behaviour from me, nor how to accept your death. Even though I made the biggest ordeal, they still mourned. However, even though that was the case, what matters is that you’re alive now. We’ve also talked things through, and now I’m here...with you,” he grasped your hand, smiling softly. The guilt that now built in your stomach, remind you of the pain you put him through. Not only that, but the anguish which held him captive for so many years. Though you put him in such a position...he was still willing to forgive you? 

You stared at him. His eyes broken, yet also...in the process of healing. Although you couldn’t change the past, maybe you could alter the present, concluding in a better future for you both. You smiled as his thumb caressed your knuckles, loving the warmth. You sat there for a second, to then ask: 

“Tell me...is Berthold alive?...in Paradis?” he then stopped, as he looked at the ground. You understood the answer, based on the actions given. 

“How did he die?” 

“Armin...ate him-”

“What? That’s only possible if-”

“We had spinal fluid? I know,” you sat there spooked. Just now finding out Paradis had such information, climbing up the latter as you spoke. They’d probably catch up to your wits eventually. Though that was the case, and you could have worried even more, you decided against it. Knowing this wasn’t the time to. 

Instead, you decided to focus on Bertholdt. He was really gone...though you assumed it would have been better than being held captive, it still hurt. He must have felt so much pain going through that. Not only did he get eaten, but he was alone. None of you were there to help, nor witness such a sight. It saddened you as your eyes teared. The sweetest person, the only person who didn’t want to fight, was finally taken out of it in such a brutal way. 

Jean saw the distress that struck across you, as he then wiped your tears. Trying to console you the best way he could. He knew what it felt like to lose a friend, heck he even thought he lost you. It was a process that hurt a lot...but one that would come to pass.

“What about everyone else?...”

“Hm...everyone is fine...especially Sasha and Connie. Those two are still as lively as ever,” he smiled as you followed suit. 

“I’m glad they’re still the hooligans they were.” 

“Yeah…me too.” 

“How did you get here?...and why are you here?” you asked, genuinely wanting to know. 

“Shh...it’s a secret,” he joked, obviously trying to avoid the question. After he answered, you could feel the tension in the air. One not wanting to tell the other everything just yet. You both trusted each other...yet felt as if your intentions...were something to keep behind closed doors…. For now at least. 

Jean then sighed, gripping onto your hand even tighter. He, along with you, tried breaking the ice. Him with his actions, and you with your words. Though it felt a little awkward, you still wanted to carry out your conversation. 

“You know, even though I tried pushing things aside...after leaving...I could never get over the departure. Separating from you, our comrades, and the place that made me feel...happy...normal...and well...loved,” grinning he then draped his arm over you. Your hand then grabbed his which lay on your chest, both intertwining whilst you both were even closer. 

“Also...I’m surprised you didn’t move on. Especially after all of that time,” his expression then changed into a curious one. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well...you thought I died. Not only that, but you're quite the ladies man. So I wouldn’t see you having much to...any difficulty actually.” 

“I could never Y/n...though it sounds childish, you were my first love. I couldn’t imagine leaving you for someone else, even if you had passed. I would’ve died an old stallion,” he dramatically said as you burst out laughing. He loved seeing the face you’d make when you were happy.  How lovely the corner of your lips would lift, the way your eyes crinkled, as your brows lifted the slightest bit. He was glad he could see such a sight, and that he was the cause behind it. 

“Who said you won't, ya horse!” 

“HEY! I’M NOT ONE!” laughter continued to fill the atmosphere. Both you and him adding your humor to the mood. Laying your head on his chest, and moving in closer. 

“You know, if we ever do part ways...don’t feel bad, okay?” you stated. 

“What do you mean?” 

“It can apply to anything but...I mean death to be more specific. You never know what will happen in the midst of battle.” 

“Hm...I guess so” 

“But, the guilt will live with me forever. No matter what because...I just love you that much,” you smile to yourself and nod.  

“I too, love you just as much...Jean. And I always will.” 

--- 

While you two were enjoying your moment, being yourselves, cherishing each other’s presence, Zeke was not having any of it. He didn’t hate the sight of you being with someone else, it was just that...he thought your priorities lay elsewhere. Both in loyalty, and worth ethically. That being the case, he decided to do the only logical thing. Crash. The. Party. 

So, he crept behind the both of you, clawed his hands, and placed them on your shoulders screaming: 

“BOO!” 

“WHAT THE HECK!” you then smacked his arm, quickly squirming away from Jean. 

“Heh, good morning to you as well, Y/n. Now, who’s this we have here?” Before you could respond, Jean sighed, extending his hand. He knew that if he let you talk, you would be put in another awkward position. 

“My name is...John. A friend of Y/n,” you wheezed internally. He just had to pick the most generic name, one which sounded like his own. Zeke grabbed his hand, and shook it. 

“Ah...nice to meet you John. Anyways, Y/n...Reiner has been looking for you all morning. His face seemed urgent, so I think you should go see him,” though Jean wasn’t pleased, with both Zeke, and the fact you had to leave (him for Reiner), he approved of the notion with a small nod. 

“I’ll see you later, Je-John.” 

“Yeah...same here,” he then walked the other direction, leaving both you and Zeke to walk towards HQ. 

“Were you lying, about Reiner?” hand in his pocket, as the other smoked up a storm. 

---

“No, I wasn’t. He actually was looking for you.” 

“I see.” 

“Also Y/n, just for the record, know that I’m not dumb, nor oblivious. I know what stunt you two were pulling off, trying to lie to me, tch,” he said, clearly annoyed. You inhaled the smoke of cigarettes. Not sure what to tell him. But you were also...laughing a bit. Actually enjoying his reaction since you’ve never seen Zeke so frustrated out of work. 

“I see I’ve upset you?” 

“Whatever you rascal. How long have you been with him?” he smiled as your hands clasped. 

“We really are just friends. I met him at a pub, nothing much has happened between us, nor will anything in general,” he sighed as his tone became a lot firmer. Though he didn’t believe you, he still had something to say.

“You need to be more careful. If it were someone else who had seen, even more rumors would've been speculated, you know that? Plus, friendship or not, know where your priorities stand,” you choked on your saliva, trying to cough as his words caught you by surprise. 

Before he could say anything more, the gates to HQ then opened for the both of you to see...Reiner...running as fast as he could. 

“Reiner?...” 

“Y/n! You’re here!” 

“Yeah...I am….” 

“I need you, let’s go,” he then dragged you elsewhere as Zeke stomped on his cigarette. 

“You may need her...but does she actually need you...Reiner?” 

Ⅹ > Ⅻ

[jazzythursday]

My Take on The Loki Series, And All The Things I Would Change About/Add To It If I Could (in vaguely chronological order)

Small disclaimer: This is just a compilation of all the ideas I had for ways the Loki Series could have gone, expanding on the main premise. It doesn’t cover everything, simply the aspects of the plot that I felt compelled to diverge from specifically. It’s not meant as an overly harsh critique of the show, just alternate possibilities. A… variant of the show if you will (It’s also egregiously long and yet I had to stop myself from saying more).

The series opens in the TVA with a display of the branching timeline that Loki created. We don’t meet any characters yet or see anyone’s faces, only hearing readings of codes and tracking of the Loki ‘variant’ before switching to Loki.

After traveling with the Tesseract, he takes in his surroundings (it can be the Gobi Desert but the thing with the Mongolians does not happen) but before he can get too far the TVA shows up.

I think it would be interesting to have a sequence of Loki evading them in different environments. Teleporting to different areas/planets and using different forms/disguises (maybe we see a Lady Loki in a restaurant, our Loki, and a few other outfits), however the TVA finds him every time no matter where or what form.

Eventually he gets fed up of running and confronts them directly. This should be an actual fight, i.e. magic and a Loki who is committed to not being taken down again. Ultimately through use of magic dampening technology or other means (but for the love of god not whatever that punch was), he is apprehended and taken into the TVA.

I think the TVA should have been a lot more crowded. They control/ monitor all of time, so we should have seen tons of variants of all shapes/colors/styles/species, maybe even a few characters we recognize (like in the concept art for the show). Show us that Loki is not special here, he is just another variant to be processed and done with, like all the others.

Loki will have already noticed and felt a lack of magic at the TVA, maybe he tried to use it already so by the time we get to the judge his main concern is talking his way out—Putting his ‘silver tongue’ to use. (Lack of magic in the TVA would be referenced later as well when Loki goes to summon a knife or use magic, only to remember that he can’t there).

This is a very small point but if the TVA knows him as Laufeyson, he absolutely would take offense to that. It’s been one year since he found out about and killed his birth father, I’d assume wants nothing to do with the title. Of course the TVA wouldn’t care, and we’d probably get something like:

“I am Loki, of Asgard, and you will address me as such.”

“I think you’ll find out things work a little differently here at the TVA, Mr. Laufeyson.”

Before he’s able to be pruned we have Mobius step in and plead his case.

If the show wants to portray Mobius as a friend we’ll see him have sympathy and conflicts about the TVA from the beginning. He doesn’t quite fit in, he’s bored of the monotony of the place and he has remorse for what they’re doing, but knows it’s not his place to question it. I like the idea of him being somewhat of a fan of Loki (they did mention this in the show but then proceeded to have him belittle Loki every time he opened his mouth which is uh… a choice). Mobius needs Loki’s help but he also has the desire to help Loki. He’s seen how his life plays out and understands that there’s more in him than his worst decisions. I think that Mobius secretly/ subconscious wants a bit of chaos, that he’s intrigued by Loki and as an analyst has an interest in understanding him.

Loki vs B15 would ideally happen before Loki returns to the time theater with the Tesseract instead of after. It would not be so easy for her to physically overpower him as even without magic he still has enhanced strength. (The minutemen show no signs of being genetically much stronger than humans, so arguably without use of their technology it’s obvious he could take one in a fight.

Back in the time theater after Loki’s watched the reel of his life, much of the conversation happens the same albeit with a greater emphasis on Loki’s true motivations and his feelings of powerlessness in his role. A bit about Thanos too (realistically vague). Perhaps he thought at the time he was doing what he wanted, but is starting to realize he doesn’t know anymore. Then we see a version of:

“I can’t promise you salvation, but maybe I can offer you something better.”

“A proposition, I see you have done your research. So tell me, agent, what would you have me do?”

Mobius explains why they need him to track down a variant of himself, and they shake on it. It’s clear that neither of them trust each other yet, but there is a mutual understanding that they will work together anyway.

Their friendship should grow naturally, slowly gaining each other’s trust until they see each other as true allies. In this there are more episodes than in the actual show (I’ll say 8 instead of 6). Give them a few more adventures and a bit more time for splitting up to hurt.

In Roxxcart, we see more use of magic. He dries himself off, maybe shape shifts into/imitates B15 or a minuteman. Loki uses illusions in the fight against the variant. He tries to reason with and understand what they are doing and why. The fight is somewhat matched although Loki is still holding back, fighting with misdirection as the variant fights using possession. Neither of them are showing themselves, and in an attempt to make the variant stop hiding, Loki disperses all the doubles and asks them to do the same. He takes a chance and this is how the variant gets the upper hand, setting off the branches and then revealing herself as Sylvie.

(Side note: In the concept art for the show, Loki changes into his Asgardian outfit by the time he and Sylvie are on Lementis. I definitely could see that working either when the fight begins/during it, or when he goes through the time door. In either case I think it would be somewhat of a gesture to Sylvie that he is not truly aligned with the TVA, thus setting them both apart/ in opposition to it.)

Instead of romance, Sylvie and Loki forge a bond through seeing themselves in each other throughout the series. They talk about the differences in their past and how they got there. They bicker and make each other laugh and rather than Sylvie just insulting Loki, it’s a mutual rapport. Loki gives just as good as he gets and they find they can work better together than apart.

On Lementis, Loki easily gets them into the train by impersonating a guard (or by conjuring tickets).

They talk about magic. How Sylvie is untrained but self taught and doesn’t understand hers very well. Loki can talk about how he views magic/his magic (we can maybe pull a few things from Norse beliefs about seiðr here). Does he view it as a part of himself? Something honed and precise? I want magic to be portrayed as an artful practice, and I want him to help Sylvie understand hers.

Loki gets drunk and they’re kicked out of the train. This reads as funny because Loki will have been sharp and competent throughout the show so far, so him losing his cool and failing the plan is unexpected.

Instead of the Tempad breaking for absolutely no reason, they argue over where to go/ how to use it. This leads to them both having a hand at accidentally destroying it because of self interest and refusing to work together. It illustrates again that they are stronger together but in conflict they are their own worst enemy (much like Loki in general which ties into a bigger metaphor for all his shortcomings).

Expanding on the magic thing, Sylvie and Loki through the series learn from each other. Loki can teach her some of his magic, and Slyvie can teach him enchantment (which he’s read about but never really mastered, although he approaches learning it like any other spell).

Loki could show her an illusion of Asgard as he remembers it. And in doing so we see that both of them long for it. Because for all Loki has claimed to renounce it, he misses home, and he and the audience see the same thing in Sylvie.

I think it would be interesting for Sylvie to let him enchant her, and we can see one of her memories. Maybe it’s when she was taken, maybe it’s on the run, maybe it’s a happy place, but it gives us insight into her character and past. I’m on the fence if Slyvie should enchant Loki, but if she did I’d pick them accidentally going back to the day Odin took him (which is how we deal with the icy blue elephant in the room that the writers refuse to tackle). Let Loki be conflicted and angry and unsure how he feels about it. This could once again be a moment where Loki and Sylvie connect because it’s (I’m assuming) where both their stories began. It’s a mirror of both of their origins, and she helps him see some good in that.

In the void (which is renamed something else so as to not get confused with the void™ that Loki fell into in Thor 2011) Loki learns from and connects with his other variants. They all have a point to being there, and he starts to reflect on what makes him him and what role he wants to play now.

When Sylvie and Mobius show up they agree on the plan to kill Aliyoth, either because it will stop anyone else from being killed by the TVA, or because they think he is guarding the entrance to whoever is behind everything.

Loki later asks Sylvie if she had a Thor. She did but probably doesn’t remember him much. What she does remember, she tells him. Through talking to both Classic Loki and Sylvie it’s recognized that he does miss his brother, that all Loki’s do, and that they are constants meant to aid each other and fight and suffer but always be brothers in any universe.

When they finally fight Aliyoth Loki summons new armor/his helm. Along with Kid Loki giving him Laevateinn, each Loki also gives him something to remember them or aid in their quest (yay Loki solidarity!). When I say this I mean daggers! Daggers dear gods have one of them give him daggers, boy needs some knives.

When they realize they can’t kill him, Sylvie has the idea to use enchantment. Like in the show, Sylvie can’t do it on her own and so they join hands and combine their powers together, revealing the Citadel beyond. They look at each other and agree that they have to move forward.

“Do we trust each other?”

“We do.”

Inside the Citadel we have Kang himself make the offer to give them what they wish. Sylvie can get the life that was stolen from her. Loki could be offered a Throne, he could be offered to be the first born, or to be a true Æsir, or kill Thanos, but ultimately he denies. He’s realized throughout the show that he’d rather be different, he’d rather be him, and he won’t settle for a fantasy world that isn’t real.

The message is about choice, about free will, chaos. Every choice you make directly results in who you become, every action changes how your story goes, and Loki understands that no one has the right to limit that.

In this it is Sylvie though, who is tempted. She has been on a quest for revenge her whole life, she never had a home, doesn’t remember feeling loved, and in the end it is a fight against temptation, and Loki knows all about that.

They fight each other, and break their vow of trust because ultimately they are each other but they are also different. They clash until Loki is able to talk her down, to relate to her, to show that he “just wants her to be okay” and reaffirms her goal. Kang of course continues to be self assured in his predictions. I’d imagine here is where we could get a declarative sort of speech like “I am Loki, God of Mischief,” They join hands “and no one tells our story” or… something to that affect.

Loki and Sylvie fight to destroy Kang together, and here we discover that if he is killed the multiverse opens, and the war of his variants will begin anew. We see flashbacks of Kang’s past and variants played out, and how he came to be at the citadel. Sylvie can talk about why it’s better to have chaos than to sanitize history and kill in the name of the greater good.

The show ends with the death of Kang and the splintering of the timelines. With Sylvie and Loki looking out the window into the fracturing strands of time.

Other changes and thoughts

Tone: the tone I’d imagine this would take on is possibly a bit more serious than the canon show. While it’s still comedy, it would be much less cartoonish, and generally fit in with the rest of the MCU a little easier.

In relation to Mobius:

Mobius’s crisis of faith would be a long time coming. Throughout the show we see him hesitate more and more to do as the TVA asks, and have an increasingly harder time justifying their actions. Learning that the whole thing is a lie is simply the tipping point that drives him to act.

In his confrontation with Renslayer he’d be a lot more driven/succinct. If he wants the TVA to burn then he wants the TVA to burn. He sees the wrongness in it’s entirety and attempts to convince Renslayer the same thing. When it’s clear that she is unreachable/ still sure of her mission, they come to an impasse. They each threaten to prune the other, parallel and matched on opposite sides of their belief. Ultimately though, neither can go through with it, and (if we’re sticking mostly with the canon ending) she leaves through a time door to who knows when to search for who knows what and Mobius and B15 regroup.

In relation to the other Loki’s:

I’m still on the fence how many Loki’s would be played by Tom, but I think the answer is, if not almost all, then at least more than we got.

Each Loki should read as distinctly Loki in essence. Less comic easter eggs and more focus on understanding the established canon character. Even greater in this scene though is the focus on the theme of choice. If there’s time we could learn what choices led up to each variant being apprehended, and see just a bit of how they feel about it. It’s about how our choices dictate who we become, rather than pre-set paths of completely separate realities and lives to our Loki’s.

I love Classic Loki’s speech about how it’s their destiny to play a certain part and if they try and change it the TVA stops them. I’d like our Loki, while conflicted about if he can truly change, to be motivated to try and finally brake the chains that have always restricted him (first his father, then Thanos, now the TVA). I also think here is where we could talk about how abrupt their end is ‘meant’ to be. That he was working on being better, that he had apparently helped his people and reconciled with his brother. That not only was his life cut short, but that the finality of that conclusion wasn’t truly the only way, but simply decided for him.

In relation to themes:

“What makes a Loki a Loki?” Is a question that should loom in the background of the whole series. Starting with Mobius’s interrogation when he’ll begin questioning his place in the universe and his understanding of himself, and ending with the finale confrontation with Kang where he’ll answer it.

“No one bad is ever truly bad, and no one good is ever truly good.” Is similarly something I think should have been a continued focus. Loki is considered a morally grey character and a chaos god, and thus none of his actions are black and white. Others may try and decide who he is at his core, but fundamentally the conclusion is not about deciding to be a hero, but deciding to be true to yourself and doing better.

“The banality of evil” in relation to the TVA. It’s clear from the first ten minutes of the actual show that the TVA is corrupt, unjust, and unnatural in their cleansing of the multiverse… so lean into it! I’m not necessary talking about changing much here, just that the narrative framing displays their actions as deplorable as they are.

“Glorious Purpose” is um… not something I think needed to be the main focus here. I might be biased because I buy into the theory that “you were made to be ruled” “freedom is life’s greatest lie” and “I am burdened with glorious purpose” are messages that have been somewhat impressed upon him rather than beliefs he came to realize on his own, but I do think it was somewhat oversimplified and overused in the series.

You are the writer of your own story. This is the message I expected the show to end with, and it’s what I’m personally trying to convey through these musings. This story ends with Loki taking back his destiny, forging a new one, connecting with himself and others and helping to free the timelines. He’s not the worst things he’s ever done, he’s not a villain, he’s not a benevolent hero. Loki is just Loki, Sylvie is just Sylvie, and you are just you, whoever we decide to be (that was cheesy I’m sorry).

[beyscape]

The Intern - 1

Andy Barber x Reader

Summary: Being Andy’s intern meant you got to spend more time by his side more than anyone. This was fine, however, until feelings got in the way and made things complicated

Warnings: Age gap, technically cheating, swearing and stuff

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N Spoilers as it progresses! I’ve not read the book and only saw the first two episodes so if you haven’t seen episodes 1 and 2, what are you waiting for go watch them! I’m putting the reader around 26 and Andy around 40.

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   Chapter 5

 02:37 am

You sighed at the clock, slightly feeling cheated that only 9 minutes had passed since you last checked it, when it felt like it should have been hours. Sipping at the now cold coffee you bought from the vending machine down the hall, you leaned back in your chair. You had been staring at the mountain of paper scattered around your desk for hours now, yet it didn’t seem like you were able to make a dent into it. It sat there, almost mocking you; you scowled at it.

The office was dark and empty, it had been for some time now as the last person had left sometime after the clock stroke 10 pm. Without the occasional whistling of the night guard patrolling the building, you seemed totally alone. Not just physically too, you felt like you had no one with you, supporting you. Your gaze drifted to the big desk left unoccupied behind the glass wall. Andy Barber, the plaque on the desk read, right next to the messy pen holder and another mountain of paperwork, almost identical to the one you had on your desk. Great, you thought, they could mock you both. Even the pile of paper had someone. You rubbed your eyes as even your thoughts stopped making much sense.

You were tired.

It had been two weeks now that Andy was forced to take a paid leave, following the arrest warrant for his son. Fourteen days. Then why the hell did it feel like fourteen months?

Being Andy’s intern was something you simply loved. You were excited and eager to do your job, straight out of a prestigious law school you had gotten such a good job, so of course you were fresh and happy to please your bosses and wanting to make a great career for yourself by learning from some of the very best. At least, that’s how it started almost a year ago. You had heard of Andy’s name, followed some of his cases as he was one of the best district attorney’s of the whole East Coast. The job wasn’t easy by any means, even though he was a kind man he would never go easy on you about your job. You liked that air of professionalism he carried around him though, it seemed as if he was good at everything he did.

He was incredibly smart, funny, kind, not to mention downright gorgeous, and he would always look at you with such emotion in his eyes that you couldn’t help but feel your heart jump a little every time he gave you one of his deep looks. So, it was an understatement to say you had a crush on him. It was impossible not to! That’s how you tried to comfort yourself in those late-night hours when you were up from tossing and turning and all you could think of was how his lips would taste on yours. It was just a simple, tiny crush that you couldn’t do anything about. Aside from obstacles such as the age gap between you and him technically being your boss there was also the matter of him being married. You had met his family on a couple of occasions, they had seemed like the perfect little American family. No matter how deep your feelings ran, you knew you couldn’t possibly be the reason for breaking apart a family.

It was just a tiny crush anyways.

Your mind drifted to Andy, how his once bright and sharp eyes now seemed tired and the bags forming under his eyes made him look older than he was. It was funny how two weeks can change a man’s life so drastically.

Defending Jacob wasn’t an easy job, what with so many in the office believing that he was responsible with the murder of Ben. You thought of Jacob, images of him visiting Andy in the office sometimes after school flashed in your mind, and how he would shyly smile at you when you offered him some candy or asked about his classes. You just didn’t think that a boy like him could be the murderer. You wanted to catch the actual murderer and put an end to this whole ordeal so that maybe, hopefully things would go back to normal. You had forgotten what normal even was in those two frantic weeks.

You didn’t need to pull such long hours at the office, in fact if Neil found out he would probably make a sly remark about it, but you wanted to. You wanted to catch a murderer and make sure a teenage boy didn’t go to prison over a crime he didn’t commit, but more than those you wanted to help Andy.

You thought of the times he would smile at you, thanking you for your hard work. “I have no idea what I would do without you, Y/N,” he had once said, the words still burning bright in your memory, “I can’t even remember how things were before you came in and started your internship.” His gaze was so intense at that point, his blue eyes so deep you thought you would drown in them if you stared for too long, his smile so relaxed and curved to the one side, his hands playing with the end of his tie he had loosened moments ago, he was everything you had ever wanted and some more. You had lowered your gaze back then, a bashful smile appearing on your heated face. Oh, how you wished you were back at that diner he had taken you out to celebrate after a long and tiresome case.

A sad smile played on your face as you reflected on the many memories you had made in the passing year, all of them equally leaving you flustered. You were so wrapped up in your thoughts however, you didn’t hear the footsteps approaching your part of the floor. Your head snapped as movement entered your peripheral vision, sending a dull ache down your neck sore from slumping over your desk for hours. It was too dark for you to see the face of the person approaching, but you knew him well enough to recognize him just from his silhouette.

Your mouth fell open ever so slightly, your heart picking up its speed as he made his way towards you. What was he doing here at three in the morning on a Tuesday night? He wasn’t even supposed to be allowed in the building! Despite these thoughts and many more swirling through your head, there was one main thought blaring in your mind: you missed him very much. You had seen him around town of course, but it was only here and there and in the passing. Neil had made it very clear that you weren’t to see Andy as “it would create a conflict of interest” he had claimed. You knew though deep down it was because Neil hated Andy’s guts and was probably happy to have him out of the office.

He finally walked close enough that the light of your desk lamp washed over his tired features, you noted the way his hair was a mess spiking up in different directions as if he had been tossing and turning restlessly in bed. He wasn’t wearing his usual work attire, those suits you loved seeing him in, and instead was in a pair of grey sweatpants and a simple hoodie on top. Your gaze shifted back to his face where surprise now gleamed in his eyes along with something else you couldn’t quite place.

“Y/N?” He said and momentarily all you could think of was how much you loved the way your name rolled off of his tongue.

“What are you doing here so late?” He asked as he stopped right in front of your desk, hands casually in his pockets. He didn’t need an answer however as his laid on the paperwork you had sitting in front of you, going page after page about him and more specifically his son’s involvement with the murder case.

“I see. That asshole Neal keeping you here all night? You look like you need some rest.” He remarked with a darkened, displeased look in his eyes. You shook your head, wanting to explain, to say so much, yet never finding the right words.

“I’m here because I want to, Neal has nothing to do with it. I wanna figure out a way to prove Jake’s innocence, to see if we maybe missed something. I don’t believe he did it.” You replied with a fierce passion, your words breaking the silence engulfing the whole building.

“That makes the two of us.” He smiled at that for a briefly, then seemed to catch himself. He frowned, almost feeling guilty for smiling. Your heart panged.

“How about you Mr. Barber? You really are not supposed to be here.”

“How many times have I told you to call me Andy? Kingston was at night shift, told him I forgot to grab some of my personal stuff I needed. And he let me in.” He scratched the back of his neck, slightly swaying on his heels.

“No offense but if Kingston’s just letting people in maybe he needs a little talk.” You teased him, wishing to see him smile once again. He didn’t, but you could easily read the amusement in his eyes. You had spent too long by his side, watching him, to miss those little things.

“You wanna take a walk? Clear your head a little. I know I need that.” He asked in response, surprising both you and himself.

“What about those personal stuff you needed to grab?” You shuffled on your feet to pull on your coat, hoping it would be enough to brace you against the chill of the night.

“Nah, I honestly didn’t know what to do or where to go, one thing I knew was I needed to get out of that house. Next thing I know, I’m in front of the building. Figured I’d try my chance at getting inside. But now that I’ve ran into you, my night’s a bit better.” He motioned towards the door with his head, his hair swaying slightly in the same direction, “Let’s go.”

The elevator ride and the couple of minutes it took to walk through the building was spent in silence aside from Kingston wishing you both a good night at the front security desk, as if you both didn’t know what to say or how to start a conversation. In that same silence you walked towards the park close to the tall grey building you had left moments ago, shivering against the cold of three a.m.

“So,” you started after minutes of silence, not being able to take it any longer, “do you wanna talk about it?” You hugged your arms around your body, tucking your already cold hands.

“It’s just,” he sighed and rolled his shoulders, almost as if trying to drop some of the weight he was carrying, “it’s crazy how fast everything went to shit. He didn’t do it, Y/N, I know my son. And they are ruining his life just like that. I can’t believe all of this and there is nothing I can do as I watch them ruin my son’s future so easily, just like that.” He rubbed his forehead, wishing for things to go back to normal, just as you. You both knew that normal was a long memory now, things could never go back to the way they were. Not entirely.

“I’m so sorry you are going through all this, Mr. Barber. Neither you nor Jake deserve this.” You let out a sigh matching his, desperately wanting to comfort the man who haunted every waking thought you had, yet finding yourself unable to as you glanced at the ring shining on his finger under the orange-ish street lights.

“How many times have I told you to call me Andy?” He turned his gaze to you now, you swallowed.

“More than I can remember the number of, Mr. Barber.” You gave him a cautious smile, unable to hold it in. Your heart swell with happiness as he snorted at your last remark, a soft look on his face as he took you in. You bit your lip before speaking again.

“How is Laurie?” You had to know. Damn your hands which ached to hold him, damn whatever may stand between you, you wanted to take action and do something as the urge, the need to close the distance between you got stronger and stronger. To do that, however, you had to know.

Andy flinched slightly at the mention of his wife, as if he didn’t expect for you to bring her up. Or like he even forgot that he had a wife. A bitter, short laugh escaped his lips as he ruefully examined the sliver band on his finger.

“Laurie is… Laurie. We are fighting again.” He raised his gaze to meet your eyes. You were caught off guard, you raised an eyebrow at the word ‘again’. He continued when you said nothing.

“We have been having some problems, we even had counselling a while ago. Laurie was always so keen about wanting to keep it quiet and locked away, and we tried it for Jake’s sake. Coming from a broken home type of situation, I wanted to try for Jake. These two weeks however, things have been really bad, on top of everything. This whole thing brought back a ton of unresolved bitterness from years ago. I never told anyone that.” He looked at you as if he was seeing you under a new light, his shoulders stood higher and more relaxed. A warm feeling spread in you as he confided in you things he never muttered to another soul, you smiled at him softly, his eyes drawing you in and spinning your head.

“I’m so sorry, Andy.” Was all you needed to say as you lay a delicate hand on his arm, the gentleness in your eyes surprising him and make him feel things he got the taste of so long ago.

One look at the hand you lay on his arm and another at your face, and Andy found himself to be in trouble. He already was, don’t get him wrong, his life seemed to be a magnet for all things bad and problematic at the moment. This, however, was a new kind of trouble as he looked at his intern, this young girl who had diligently followed him for a whole year and always seemed to know exactly what he needed. Before he knew what he was doing, he closed the distance between you with two small steps, and now was so close that you were too afraid to breathe, scared that even the smallest of moves would fully erase the very little gap left between your lips.

Despite your whole body feeling as if you were thrown into a scorching flame and every inch of your skin itching to get even closer, you waited, staring into his eyes with slightly raised eyebrows and hooded eyes. Your mouth was barely open and so was his, you were so close that every time he ruggedly breathed you felt his hot breath caress your lips.

“Fuck,” he whispered before giving in and closing the distance after a painful minute, placing those soft lips you had spent hours fantasizing about on yours. There was nothing gentle with his kiss, getting more and more heated and frantic as if he was a man needing cold water after spending his whole life walking around the desert.

You whimpered against his kiss as Andy’s one hand wrapped around your waist and the other finding your neck, pulling you towards him with no more distance to cover. You were so entangled with each other in the dark, it was hard to tell where one body ended and the other started. Placing one last, this time gentler kiss on your lips, he rested his head against your forehead, his eyes for closed as he breathed a deep breath.

“Oh Y/N,” he said, his voice strained and barely above a whisper, “what are we going to do, baby girl?”

You had no answer for him, a mess of emotions after the kiss that you felt your knees wouldn’t be able to hold you for much longer. So, you clung on Andy, his tense and broad shoulders feeling like they could carry you for as long as you needed, just as Andy’s hands clung on your waist, holding you close to his chest, his forehead still laying against yours.

In the park next to the towering building you both belonged to, you stood together some time after three. The chilly wind making its way into your lungs did nothing against the heat you felt all over your body, not cooling down one bit. In that park, in the safety of the shadows and the quiet of the town, you were safe. Not a defense attorney and his intern, just two people desperately needing to hold each other, too frightened to let go and face the world.

As the clock showed a little past 3 in the morning, you and Andy were safe in the dimly lit park, unaware how much that would change so very soon.

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

There you have it folks! I’m so so whipped for this man. Make sure to follow me so you don’t miss the other chapters! My inbox is open for requests, feedback or just to scream about Chris Evans! :P 

[internalsealpanic]

Of Midnight Smoothies and Murder Mysteries

Summary:  Sneaking out for a movie turns out to be a bad idea. 

A/n: So... this was supposed to com out on Halloween then I confessed about thirst then my priorities shifted. Well, since I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving this is just extended Halloween. It would be funny to do a Thanksgiving thing with the Batfam.  Thanks to @littleredwing89 and @lucy-roo for proof reading this crack. Thanks for @ereawrites for the encouragement. And thanks to @littleredwing89​ for the mood board. (I love you my dear enabler.) Also “[ ]” will indicate characters speaking in a different language. I sadly could not find grammar stuff for the language so you will have to bear with me.  This is still part of the Merc! Reader series. 

Warnings: Gore, a lot of blood, dumb bickering, Dick being a cute dork, and snake bleps.

Main Masterlist 

Series Masterlist

"Aliens don't exist," You huff around your thoroughly chewed straw, swirling the radioactive green smoothie Dick insisted that you try. You debate on whether to take out the bag of confectioners sugar you bought and pour it in. Dick makes a noise, indiscernible with his own straw in his mouth. You cast a glance at him only to see his neon blue smoothie spurting out of his nose. Your snort quietly, the noise hidden by the rustling of grocery bags against your bouncing leg but based on the way he’s pouting at you, Dick clearly sees your lack of sympathy and takes offense. You shrug at him. 

 Brushing the liquid away with the sleeve of his denim jacket, Dick levels you his best batglare. You give him an impassive half-asleep response of ‘hnnn’ which just gave him flashbacks about talking to Bruce. You’re entirely too focused on the fact that the blue of the smoothie is still alarmingly stark even against the blue of the denim.  “You’ve met Superman, right?”

 You roll your eyes at his piss poor attempt at intimidating you and pinch your straw between your thumb and index finger, trying to break apart the clumps of ice preventing you from getting more smoothie. “-Met is a strong word-” You drawled causing him to sneer.  “Just say he kicked your ass six ways to Sunday like a normal person.”

 “I fought him.”

 “You got your ass beat-” You glare at him sticking your green tongue out at him and in return he sticks his blue tongue out at you. It was true but he didn’t have to say it. This is always how your long-held arguments start. 

 “Besides, aren’t you and Slade metas?” He breaks in after a long moment, instantly cutting off the possibility of weeks of not talking to each other. You smile balefully at him. “Precisely.”

 “What? How does you being a weirdo disprove aliens?” 

 You make an affronted sound through your nose but launch into your explanation in your professorial voice. “The guy’s gotta be some kind of meta and he probably just came up with the Krypton thing afterwards. It sounds cooler, yanno?” 

 Dick looks up to the smog covered Gotham sky, leaning back against the solid brick pillar behind him. “Well, why can’t he be an alien?” He says dreamily tracing unseen constellations with his right hand. You briefly remember him mentioning stargazing with his parents when he was younger. There is something warm in the memory even if it wasn’t yours.  You look down at him, eyebrow ticking. “Ok genius, tell me why there would be aliens that look exactly like us?”

 “Why not?” He says grinning at you. The sterile lighting of the grocery store light filtering through smudgy windows highlighting his features. The shadows highlighting the shape of his cheekbones and the dimples forming at the edges of his cheeks.  When had Dick gone from cute to handsome? You shake your head, avoiding his smiling corscian blue eyes. 

 “Becaaauuuuuse, dipshit, that’s not how evolution works” You bite out. 

 “What about convergent evolution?” He offers casually and your tongue freezes. A light flickers in his eyes and his pretty mouth twitch up into a laugh when you fail to respond. “You forgot about that, didn’t you? HA”

 “I regret this conversation.”

 “HA”

 “Superman fanboy” you accuse, jabbing a finger into his chest. Dick giggles either from your weak deflection or the fact he’s ticklish, either way, your stomach does somersaults.  

 “Just say you’re wrong.” He says grinning, the divots formed by his dimples becoming more apparent.  You feel Yasiri’s tail flick across your collarbone, her body coiling up in response to your irritation. Your mouth curls too but the irritation doesn’t quite boil over as you expected it to, not when  Dick smiles at you like that. There’s a strange twisting in your stomach. You aren’t sure what it is but you’re pretty sure that you don’t like it. You blow out a breath, sound caught between a tired laugh and a long-suffering sigh, and pick your grocery bags before getting up. 

 Not even 5 seconds after you resolve to abandon him, Dick’s already by your side, falling into step with you bumping his shoulder against yours in a placating gesture. Yasiri slithers from the skin on the base of your neck to hiss at him. Dick smiles at her unfazed despite the clear and present danger. He pets her without much fuss from your usually ferocious snake. You make an amused noise at her compliance. 

 The walk is spent in easy companionable silence. The kind you two settle into when Dick knows you need to settle down. You were a sore loser when it comes to arguments but so was he, so you tend to let the other work through it. You grimace at your lightly scuffed shoes. They weren’t expensive or flashy or even one of a kind but they were comfortable, reliable, and most importantly they were from Mr. Wintergreen- Uncle Wintergreen, he insisted. The fact that he’d taken the time at all made your stomach flip-

 Your stomach dropped. Your throat and mouth felt dry. The scent of copper permeating the air as you stared at the red puddle beneath your white shoes, a severed finger poking at you. 

 "Y/n?" 

 You must have stopped abruptly. You turn to Dick mechanically and see his face crumple into worry. Before you can rush out words of dismissal, your ears tune in to the sounds of a haunting melody. Yasiri rattles around your neck once again leaving the safety of your collar bone. Your head swivels mechanically towards the old theatre. Dick looks at you curiously, concern flashing in his eyes when another scream erupts from the theater. You both stiffen, spines straightening. Eyes blown wide, your feet take you toward the theater. 

Dick falls into step with you.”You’re not seriously going, are you? You’ve- Didn’t we just watch a horror movie?”

 “You seem to be going the same way.” You point out, side-eyeing him sharply, the sour look on your face not betraying the anxiety cloying at your spine. In the corner of your eye, you can see Dick huffing and crossing his arms over his chest. 

 “I’m Robin.” 

 “And I kicked your ass just 2 days ago and served it on a silver platter while quoting the one and only Arnold Schwarzenegger,” You grin absolutely, unequivocally unapologetic. 

 “I was protecting civilians!” He protests, throwing up his hands theatrically. 

 “Iieerrelevant~”

 Dick opens his mouth to contest your point but there really was convincing you on that. His face screws up and being the gracious loser that he is, he sticks his still neon blue tongue out at you. You, being the graceful winner that you were, stick your radioactively neon green tongue at him in answer. 

 You continue to bicker about the merits of his heroism on the battlefield 'til you reach the front of the theater. You tuck your grocery bags behind debris by the entrance making sure to keep them well hidden. Dick wants to point out that they’ll probably be gone by the time you two are done but Yasiri was staring at him like she was about to strike at him for real this time. 

  It- It wasn’t hard to get into the building. Dick held out his hand to you as you climbed over another set of debris. You take it. You thank him clumsily. He bows to you a gremlin smile spreading across his face. You sneer but give him a sharp smile in return. 

 It’s dark. The absence of light is thick. It makes the sounds of your heartbeats uncomfortably loud. You swallow. You trace your finger along your skin, the hilt of your knife falls easily into your hand. You trace your finger on your other arm and hand the knife to Dick who shakes his head.  You shrug and let it melt back into your skin. 

 “You have a tracker on you, right?”

 “No-” You eye him, cutting him a look of disbelief. “I-”

 “Relax, I have one too.” You deadpan. 

 Dick sighs. “You’re dad’s paranoid too?”

 “So is yours” You snip, hackles drawn. 

“Bruce isn’t my dad.”

 “Slade isn’t mine either.”

 “Mentors?” Dick offers placatingly.

 “Polite way of saying bossy prick, I guess.” You roll your eyes but concede. 

 “I mean I don’t know about Wintergreen but Alfred taught me some manners.” Dick shrugs, folding his arms behind his head somehow relaxed despite the thick scent of blood in the air or maybe this was how Dick was when he was nervous. 

 The truth was Wintergreen had attempted to teach you manners but he’d run into quite a few problems. The first being that you were a terrible student. Sure, you caught on quickly when you could but anything you didn’t gravitate towards didn’t hold your limited attention long enough to make an actual impact on you. Now that in of itself was fixable with the right kind of bribery. The other problem was less so. Your mentor, if you could really call him that, was a rude bastard. Long story short, you’ve never seen the point, much to Wintergreen’s chagrin and Slade’s amusement. You were, however, a master of mouthing off. 

 “Shouldn’t we call back up?”

 You flick your eyes to him, uselessly, but based on the shifting of the body beside you he somehow got the message. “Go ahead, if you wanna explain to big daddy bats why you’re hanging out with me, sure.”

 Yeah. That wasn’t an option. There was, of course, a silent understanding that bats probably knew about your little hangouts but still. 

You pad the walls with your left hand while your right was gripping Dick’s sleeve, white-knuckled. You cringe every now and again feeling the walls slick with what you weren’t eager to investigate. You strain your ear to listen for odd sounds but mostly to see if Dick, as you suspect, is echolocating. 

 “How are you doing that?”

 “Doing what?”

 “Silently echolocating?”

 Dick snickers. “I am not. You do know B isn’t an actual bat, right?”

 “Oh yeah, I forgot he was just a furry.” You sneer. Dick snorts a sound caught between amusement and offense. He clearly respected Bruce. Not the same way you respected Slade, maybe, but you understood how larger than life the Batman was even if he was the biggest pain in your ass by far. 

 “Do you really have any room to make fun of my mentor when yours has ‘Stroke’ in his name?”

 “I have plenty of room, probably. Why not  echolocate to check just how much room I have?”

 “Listen here-”

 The opera music floods the silent hall, sharp and clear. You feel the air around you catch fire and your fraying nerves. You turn your head to Dick. Despite not being able to see him, you know his mouth flattens and his brow wrinkles the way they do when you two agree to do something incomprehensibly stupid. This time you do not argue or question or even complain. You simply go forward.

A scream, messy and jagged, tangles with the smooth crispness of the opera music. It makes your stomach turn almost as much as the idea of who or, more appropriately, whatever was behind it. You were familiar with the cruelties Gotham’s monsters were capable of. You have, after all, worked for quite a few. 

 But this? 

 This pure, uncut agony in that scream? That was just something you could not stomach. You feel Dick flinch at the sound, almost jumping out of his skin. You squeeze his arm once, then twice, then twice once more. You feel his hand on your wrist, reciprocating the gesture. You smile at him reassuringly not knowing whether it would make things better or whether he can actually see it. 

 Neither of you is particularly good at dealing with people’s pain. That might not be the right word for it. Neither of you coped well. You absorbed too much of it. You were, however, much better at hiding it. Not that you could fault Dick on that. You didn’t even attempt. For Dick, humanity was a part of the job. Compassion? Kindness? That was to be expected of a hero not derided. To uphold that in the face of Gotham’s worst, that took strength. 

 Strength, in your case, was directed elsewhere. Something bone-breaking, more visceral. You suppose that was the problem with keeping company with survivors. Perpetually dancing on the brink of death robbed you of something but you haven’t exactly known any other life besides this. 

 The end of the hall is light by bright lights, sterile white, the kind you only saw in clinics. Your head runs through the catalog of Gotham’s rogues, possibilities of which utter psychopath could possibly be doing this. 

 “We should call the cops.”

 Not really really paying attention, you nod. You should probably. You grip the handle of your knife, flexing your fingers nervously, as another scream cuts through the air. Dick’s body curls, recoiling at the sound. The sound, this close, was enough to make you twitch. 

 “Can’t we just text them?”

 “What do you think this is? Canada?”

 “Ok, fair but make sure to tell them you’re Dickle Grayson.” You tease, smiling way too easily considering the creepy atmosphere. 

 Dick crosses his arms over his chest.“And summon a media storm?”

 “It would get the police here faster.”  

 “I hate it when you’re right,” Dick wishes he could wipe the absolutely smug grin off your face. “We need to back up. You know, in case, he can hear us.”

 “I mean you are the one unarmed here.” You say, waving your arms at him. 

 “No, I’m not. I have my bird-a-rangs.” Dick preens, taking them out from some pocket hidden in his jacket. 

 “Bird-a-rangs.” You echo, raising a brow. 

 “Yup. Bird-a-rangs.”

 “You are officially- no, you are legally not allowed to name things.”

 Dick makes an offended squawking noise.“Oh, come on! Still not as bad as Sharknado.”

 “Take. That. Back. Heathen.”

 “Make me.”

 Both of you still. Yasiri unfurls from your collarbone, her tail rattling. You spin on your heel. Your knife swings out in a wide crescent of light.  Thick crimson splashes across your face. At the end of your knife was a person- no, it was a person in the past tense. It makes a small cry when you wiggle the blade planted in its throat a fraction. Otherwise, it ignores the fact that it is, in fact, bleeding out from its jugular. It’s thick, clumsy limbs reach for you. Your stomach rolls. The thing in front of you, the mangled approximation of what was once a person, is lurching towards you. You think you sneer in disgust but your face is far too numb to tell. 

 “Dick! Just call the cops!” You snarl, panic rising audibly as more bodies emerge from God knows where. You kick the one to your front off to the side, shredding its neck. It takes everything in you not to vomit. In the corner of your eye, you see Dick type as he kicks another one away.   You two back into each other as the bodies close around you, cutting off all the exits. You roll up your sleeve tracing a blood-soaked finger over the lines of your tattoo and producing another knife. Dick pulls out his bird-a-rangs. 

 Dick landed blows but they weren’t hard enough to maim or be fatal. Even if he was to hit them with the sharp bird-a-rangs, he would still aim non fatally. Slade would kill you if you fought so inefficiently or maybe he would just taunt you. Either way, you didn’t care much for Dick’s squeamishness right now as the bodies kept getting back up. As far as you can tell, you’re doing them a favor. 

 The first wave of bodies rushes towards you. Their limbs jutting towards you clumsily. You swing your blade, vicious and precise. You feel metal clash against flesh, against bone. Blood coats every available surface on you.  You hear Dick squawk and you don’t really need to turn around to check that he’s also covered in it too. The spray of blood makes the air thick with the scent of copper. The blood on your skin burns. 

 “Duck!”

 “Goose!” You shout, ducking and slashing down at a row of bodies and legs. You hear his bird-a-rangs slice through the air cleanly and land on one of the creature's shoulders. You let out a huff of air thinking of all the more permanent places it could have landed. He throws a few more hitting them in the face. 

 Dick launches over you, using you as a springboard. You grunt and he winks at you like a showman. His foot predictably lands an impressive blow on one of the creature's faces. You two regroup back to back immediately after he lands. 

 Your eyes widen a fraction when a hand from out of nowhere grabs at your face catching you off guard. Your breath catches when you feel a hand at your shoulder pushing you down. A fist makes contact with the creature’s swollen face and it takes a moment for your mind to realize that it’s Dick’s hand on your shoulder and Dick’s fist making contact with the creature. 

 “Thanks,” You mumble, straightening yourself out. “I had it.”

 “You’re welcome, Pookie.” You flush as Dick winks at you. “You know I literally have your back.” He teases. You groan bending back into a fighting stance.

 “When we get out of here alive, we are working on your sense of humor.” Dick chuckles at that, making your muscles ease. “Says the person who shouted ‘Goose!’.” 

 You land every blow with every intent to make it fatal. Dick is still sticking to his nonfatal method. Normally, it was pure joy to watch Dick as he fights. The sheer control he commands over his muscles was awe-inspiring. Despite his size, he’s able to land blows just as powerful as yours. He would truly be terrifying if he were to be anything but himself. 

 These bodies. They’re too alive, too much. The next wave comes at you more fervently with more bodies. Another wave of nausea hits you when hands grasp at your arms. Your stomach tries to twist out of your abdomen. You try to wrench yourself free. You pull and twist and thrash, only succeeding in getting yourself pulled in deeper. 

 “Dick!” You cry reflexively. The coarseness in your voice lets the fear spill all over your vowels. 

 Dick’s corscian eyes widen with a flash of panic. To Dick, you and death were two separate lines running on parallel tracks next to each other, never quite crossing and never belonging to the same headspace. Completely mutually exclusive as far as he knew.  But right at this moment, right as you’re about to be swallowed whole by the crowd of misshapen bodies, he watches those lines slowly intersect. Dick doesn’t know where his heart has leaped to. 

 “Y/n!”

The world resurfaces in a surge of bright white light. Some small part of you is really hoping that Dick is, for once, right about the alien thing. Quietly you draw in a calming breath. It’s shallow not wanting your chest to rise too much to give away your consciousness. 

 The opera music is blaring in your still ringing head which isn’t helped by the wannabe opera singer belting his lungs out. Thankfully, that means he’s distracted. You move your limbs checking. Everything seems to be intact AND you seem to be tied up to someone instead of something which was either good or bad depending on who it is. 

 “Mornin’ sleepy head” Dick mumbles quietly, sounding relieved. You click your teeth in irritation. 

 “Morning, Disco Stick. Any chance you magically woke up with a plan or were you just taking a beauty nap?”

 “I don’t need one and sort of.”

 “Well shit, we’re screwed then.” 

 “You’re being dramatic.”

 “I’m sorry which of us is running around doing somersaults when they’re assaulting criminals?”

 “In my defense, flipping makes my kicks land harder.” Which was true but you were feeling snippy. “It also gives them much more time to dodge or counter.”

 “Killjoy.” You roll your eyes, smiling. You know he’s being cute and pouting. Given this is really not the time considering there is a man butchering another man a few feet away from you while singing bad opera. You really did stumble into a horror movie. “Please tell me you called Batman or the police.”

 “Both.”

 “How?”

 “Some of us are good at multitasking.” Dick chirps proudly leaning against you. You scoff judging just how tightly the ropes are bound around you. 

 “Well, you are good at being insufferable while still breathing.”

 “Isn’t that part of my charm?”

 You snicker accidentally tugging at the binds around you. You hear Dick wince likely from what is a bruised rib or, heaven help you, a broken one. “Sorry.” You whisper low and small.

  Shit. What if he had a broken rib. Shit. Shit. 

 “I’m ok, Hon.” Dick laughs making sure to lay the Delaware accent thick. It makes your chest feel warm even though everything else in you was freezing from dread. You snort. “Fine, bleed out for all I care.”

 “Awwww don’t be like that.” You sigh. You hate how weak you are to his puppy dog eyes. You can’t even see it. You decide to change the subject instead. “So what are the odds that we’re escaping if we break out of their bonds now?”

 “Not high.”

 “Even if I get Yasiri to gently inject him with poison?”

 “Please tell me you didn’t bring poison to our hangout.”

 “I mean. Do twinkies count?”

 “No.”

 “Ok, fine. So we’re stalling then.”

 “Pretty much.”

 “I hate this.”

 “You were the one who started heading in.”

 “Why didn’t you stop me then?”

 The man at the surgical table turns to you with a whimsical flourish as the body on the table goes limp. No, not limp. Docile. You have just witnessed a person become a body, you think numbly. The way the fight so easily left its limbs made you shudder, feeling the fight in your own limbs fleeting out. This isn’t how you want to die, not by the hand of a madman. At least, not until you’ve put your own demons to rest. 

 “Look who’s awake,” He drawls, his voice slimy and all the vowels coming out at the wrong pitches. Dick shifts the two of you so that he’s angled slightly in front of you. He squares his shoulder trying to make his lean form look far bigger than it actually is. You smile at his attempt to be protective because deep down you both know you’re the more intimidating one and you’re the one who can take more punishment. Your power and training have those pleasant side effects. 

 You see him draw closer making you snarl. “Come any closer and I swear I will rip your throat out.” You are surprised at how even the threat came out but the distilled ferocity you had put into it didn’t quite show, likely blunted by the fear pooling in your stomach.  

 “Don’t worry I’ll make you perfect too. I promise.” He reaches past Dick, grabbing you by the back of your neck. The grip on you is bruising and callous. He forces you to bow your head and look down at the bloodstains on your clothes. The browning blots of red stain your white Wonder Woman shirt. You swallow.  You felt like a lamb being dragged to slaughter. Dick, likely without thinking, bites down on the man’s wrist.

 The man pulls away with a cry, cradling his bleeding wrist. “Are you ok?” Dick asks, spitting blood out, eyes shiny with concern. You gulp down air before nodding. Dick presses closer to you reassuring you. Shaken, you press back, careful not to press hard enough to hurt him. 

 Your floundering mind comes to one conclusion. You can’t let him touch Dick. You use your strength to shift your positions so that Dick is completely behind you.  Dick tries to move you back but you plant your heels preventing him from even inching. 

 The man grabs you by the collar of your shirt, pulling you off the ground. You hear Dick’s breath hitch. His heart rate kicks up and so does yours. Fury burning in the man’s eyes. “WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?” He screams, shaking you. “NO. NO. NO. MY- I’M- NO! PERFECT. I NEED- I NEED TO BE PERFECT.” Somehow the spit flying in your face grosses you out more than the blood probably drying on your face. It’s only winning by a small margin though. 

 Bile is rising in your throat. Still, you grin, sneering and taunting. “Trust me you didn’t need help in the department,” You jeer. Dick squirms behind you. Urging you to stop. You don’t. “You think those pisspoor excuses for creatures you sicced on us were perfect. HA!” You can feel Dick shaking his head behind you.  You nudge him assuring him you’ve got a plan. You did. Sort of. It’s more of a goal really. Take his attention off of Dick. 

 “[Y/n, please no. Don’t do this. I know what you’re doing. But I can take it. Moon, please.]” Dick pleads, voice hoarse and desperate. ‘Shion’. Moon. The endearment glances of your ribs like a well placed kick to the chest. You don’t let your eyes flick to him. “[Which us is meta here?]” You whisper back in broken Romani. You cringe a little knowing just how badly you butchered the sentence.  Dick makes an affronted noise.  “Cham.” You whisper quietly, trying to shape your vowels and consonants correctly. Dick’s breath catches. Sun. Sure, the endearment seemed inadequate, too succinct, when compared to how much you care for him but as of right now it will have to do. 

 The man shakes you again dragging your attention away from Dick. Your smarmy grin cuts across your face as if you’re not pissing yourself from fear. A large hand grabs your face. Your entire body braces itself for your neck to be twisted but it does not come. He tilts your head back side to side. “You’re going to need a lot of work.”

 Your heart stops. Dick thrashes behind you. You want to elbow him. You want to scream at him to stop fucking moving but you’re entire body is numb. Your eyes flick to the man, no, the body on the table. It is breathing and writhing in agony. Your breaths pick up. You- you don’t- you can’t-

 You hear a crash and the fall of debris on a dozen bodies. 

 “B!” Dick shouts distantly. The grip on your collar disappears. A black clad fist hangs in front of you. Your eyes trace up the arm in front of you only to be met with the scowling face of the Batman. You swallow nervously while Dick lets out another enthusiastic ‘B’. Batman makes quick work of your ropes, all the while glaring at you for what you don’t know. Maybe somehow he knows this whole situation was your fault. 

 Once released, the first order of business, at least for Dick, is to throw his arms around Batman’s shoulders. Awkwardly, he reciprocates your friend’s affection. The hold he has on Dick cannot be mistaken as anything but protective. You find humor in the fact at how obvious their familial connection is yet they deny it. A teasing remark rises up your throat but is abruptly shoved back down by Batman’s unrelenting glare. Was he born glaring? 

 “What are you doing here?” Less of a question and more of a growled accusation. 

 “Careful, his rib might be broken.” You stumble out dumbly.  Dick glares at you but compared to Batman’s it looks more like a pout which is, again, hilarious. Batman loosens his grip on Dick and apparently, this is now the time Dick chooses to realize that his mentor (read: dad) is trying to turn you into ash with a scowl.     

 Dick peels away from him stepping in front of you. He widens his stance to shield you from the larger man. Dick feels an odd surge of protectiveness and he’s not about to let B attack you, especially not after what just happened. 

 They stare each other down. They seem to be having a silent argument. You want to cut in but you’re afraid you might actually turn into ash with the intensity of Batman’s gaze. 

 The loud blaring of sirens mingle with the still playing opera music in the background as a tidal wave of police officers and paramedics rush in.  

  -----

You pestered the medic to let you stay with Dick. 

 “So, what do you plan on doing?” Dick asks, leaning against you pointedly ignoring the paramedic's instruction to be careful. You let him lean into you. You know he needs all the comfort he can get.  You rest your head against his hair, placing a kiss on his scalp. Dick doesn’t comment afraid that you might withdraw if he teases you too much. 

 “Maybe grow out my hair,” You joke, pinching a lock of hair between your fingers. “Might as well considering how grounded I’ll be. Well, if uncle Wintergreen has anything to say about it.”

 Dick extricates himself from your shoulder and turns to you with a pensive look. Tilting his head, he looks at you appraisingly, wrinkling his brow. You can’t blame him. He’s never seen you with long hair mainly because you’ve never let it get too long. Too much of a hassle, too much of a health hazard. 

 Dick places his jacket over your head, draping it over you like a wedding veil. You chuckle at him, barely able to keep the smile off of your face. 

 “How do I look?” You joke twining your fingers around the cloth. You think you see Dick blush but it was probably just the cold. Dick coughs poorly disguising his laughter. He covers his mouth, depriving you of his dimples. “ Like you’re going to get married in a jean pants suit. I have dibs on walking you down the aisle.” 

 You tilt your head. Your smile tilts along with it.  “Nah uncle Wintergreen has dibs on that.”

 Dick huffs, his shoulders sag in disappointment. It’s the closest he was gonna get to being your groom, he thinks. 

 I want you waiting for me at the end of the aisle. The thought makes your heart twist. You swallow it along with the huge lump in your throat.  “You can be my last dance though.”

 You concede. Dick brightens a little at this but not by much. 

 “You sure Deathstroke wouldn’t mind?” 

 “This implies he’ll show up. He’s a busy man.” Dick laughs at that. Genuine and very Dick. This time you don’t fight the smile off of your face.  

 You smile at each other and laugh. A million unspoken sentences hang between the two of you. 

 This love of yours is reckless.

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a/n: Thanks for reading. Also yes I did have to include good dad Bruce and bastard mentor Slade. I only have one braincell and it is dumber than shit. 

tag list:  @batarella , @anothertimdrakestan , @lucy-roo , @multifandomgirl-us , @idkmanicantenglish ,@birdy-bat-writes ,  @boosyboo9206 , @americasmarauders , @l-inkage @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay , @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical, @ereawrites​

[kinder-writes-surprises]

To Your Throat

hey y’all with knife kinks and shit, come get y’all juice. Reader’s a gal in this ‘cause uh... girls are hot idk. 

-Mod Pasta 🍜 🍝

Word Count: 2675

Warnings: Knife play, blood play, blood, dominance, rough sex

Loving someone with so much pent up pain, hatred, and regret was difficult: You weren’t going to act like it was an easy task. It was admittedly probably your most toxic, abusive, and satisfying relationship. For every harsh word was covered with a kiss, the heat of his flames could never match his passion, and his lust was beyond even that.

For one of the most wanted murderers, he was quite the lovebug. He actually enjoyed being around you, evidenced by your relationship that has lasted many years. Now that he joined the Villains on the Run club, however, alone time has come sparingly; Therefor, whenever he visited, sex came first. His pent up frustrations were gladly (on both ends) taken out fucking you senseless. However, sometimes you felt like you wanted more. Doggy style could only get so rough, you wanted something dangerous...

And after a bit of research, you knew what you wanted: However, convincing Touya to get a knife anywhere near you would be a tight bargain. He once filleted a man who grabbed your arm at a rave, and he made a point to keep you as far from danger as possible. That being said, he’s a walking danger, so your lips curled into a smile. Tomorrow might just be more fun than usual.

Upon the knock at your door, you felt butterflies in your stomach that you thought had been squashed a while ago. You rushed to it, a flushed smile upon your face as streetlamp light flooded in around a hooded figure. You grabbed his wrist, pulling the white haired man inside: How courteous, he showered before coming to see you.

“Someone’s happy to see - Woah-” His eyes widened as you pulled him in, closing the door behind him. He smiled with a short chuckle as you bolted past him to your kitchen. He followed, interested in your shenanigan's, “(F/N), what’re you up t - Oh shit-!”

You had grabbed a fairly dull kitchen knife and placed it on your counter in preparation of his arrival. You put it into your hands, carefully holding it out and walking back to him. Upon seeing you holding it out like a gift, he stood with wide, confused eyes, “I had an idea-”

“I see that,” He whistled lowly, grabbing the hilt and taking the knife from you with raised eyebrows. As if you didn’t already know he was an expert, he twirled it once in his hands before shoving it into his pocket, “Did you need me to cut some vegetables?”

“I-Uh-” It was now that you stuttered, turning a bit red and grinning, abashed. You put your hands down, awkwardly drawing your words out, “Well, you see, I kinda like... I had this idea-”

“I heard the first time,” You huffed at his interruption, and he just grinned like a bitch and crossed his arms, pushing past you to find what he could scarf down in the kitchen.

“Well, we’re always so uh... rough, in bed, right?” He nodding with a hum, grabbing an apple and opening your fridge while taking a bite from it, “Knives are rough, right?”

The apple hit the floor, and the blue eyes of a slightly flustered, slightly worried, and now fairly horny man met your own slowly. He held a block of cheese in one hand, and upon making eye contact, he quickly grabbed the apple, rubbing it off on his shirt and taking another very large bite from it, “Yeah, they are, but I’m not stabbing you (F/N).”

“No no no! Like, just hold it to my neck or something!” You exclaimed with a small laugh, and he bared his teeth in the most confused, awkward smile you’ve seen on him in a long time.

“I didn’t take you for the knife-play type,” He clicked his tongue, placing the cheese on your counter and cutting a couple slices off, popping them into his mouth for an apple-cheese combo.

“Well, uh, I just want um, more roughness, and you’re already great at that, so-” Your cheeks continued to darken, and you knew he was playing some game by not taking you right then and there. This walking sack of horny shit would be on you in a second usually, but now? He was up to something.

“Thanks,” He nodded, giving you a cheeky eyebrow raise.

“Does this mean you’ve done this before?” You became more intrigued: he was never that open about his past, never told you his last name, and it took you two years to learn that Dabi wasn’t even his first name.

“Of course I have, I’ve done a lot worse,” He then grabbed the blade of the knife aiming the hilt at you, “To understand what you’re getting into, try and hold it onto me. Go on,” He shoved it toward you, and you scrambled forward, grabbing the knife and looking down at it.

“Right, uh,” You swallowed hard as he casually ate apples and cheese. You looked up at him, and he didn’t even give you the pleasure of his mental presence. You scoffed, stomping around the island and holding the knife to his throat, “Hey, at least p-”

“Too slow,” He immediately knocked the knife out of your hand, grabbed it, and switched positions. He shoved you forward into the fridge, knocking the wind out of you. The knife was pressed firmly against your upper throat, and you shouted, hands flying to his chest.

“T-Touya!” You exclaimed, subconsciously pressing your legs tightly together. Yes, this is what you wanted. As if a light switch went off in his head, he pulled away from you, turning the blade of the knife away and pressing his lips together with a sigh.

“I won’t hurt you,” His mouth twitched, “I’m sorry for scaring-” Upon seeing your wide pupils and obviously flushed, aroused body, he paused, and his own cheeks darkened.

“No, that’s what I want, but only uh... if you want it,” Your arms dropped next to your sides, and you rubbed your neck where the knife had been, feeling the indentation and looking at the cheese behind him, “If you want dinner, let me-”

“Dinner after sex,” He stated, grabbing the cheese and nodding as you got out of his way. He put it away, then grabbed your wrist not unlike you had done to him, “Now.”

“Now? Oh, now, yeah!” You nodded, happily letting him guide you to the bedroom. Upon entering, he turned the light on, unlike his usual affinity for the darkness that hid his scars. You imagined he needed to see what he was doing with the knife, of course.

He placed the knife on the night stand, then paused, a smile growing on his lips. You recognized that look as the one he gave right before roasting a man alive, or when he was about to turn and throw you onto the bed. You received the latter, your back against the sheets in less than a second. He was on top of you, his usual cape that covered you both like a tent was replaced by a hoodie that he was removing now. You quickly did the same with your shirt, and he began undoing his belt. You felt a rush of excitement, pulling your pyjama pants down. Before you could get any undergarments off, however, he grabbed them and seared them off.

“Touya!” You gasped in offense, grabbing his arm. He slapped your hand away, grabbing your jaw with little care and pulling you up into a heated kiss.

“I’ll buy you new ones, shut up,” He growled, and you felt the cold metal of his stitches contrast with the heat of his body. His hands went to your hips, and he lowered himself down to your heat, “Fuck, now you got me riled up.”

“As if you weren’t already,” You teased with a laugh, then a small whimper when his long tongue dragged up your vagina.

“I was before you wanted the knife,” He brought your clit between his teeth, his hot, long fingers finding their way inside of you. His usually disgusted other people, but the joints in his fingers always pressed against the right places to drive you mad. He sucked, pulling a shout from you, “Now you’ve really got me high on you.”

“Oh shut up Shakespeare,” You couldn’t bring yourself to laugh, however: his poetic way with words always made your heart flutter.

He did shut up, however, diving into you and bringing more screams of pleasure that you had to muffle with your hand, gripping the bedsheets under you as he pulled sweet moans from you. Soon enough you were falling around his tongue and fingers, the man knowing all the stops to pull you apart like taffy. You whimpered, panting and huffing. He wasn’t satisfied enough, however, and you started to get up as he pulled his boxers off.

“L-Let me make that up t-t-oh-!” You exclaimed when you suddenly felt sharp, cold metal against your sternum. You looked down to see the tip of your kitchen knife pressed in between your breasts, and you looked back up to Touya with wide eyes, “Oh-”

“Down, now,” He snapped, and you fell back, eyes wider than the full moon. He fell back with you, climbing back on top as you parted your legs for him. He slowly lowered his face to you, bringing the knife up to your chin, “Get a condom.”

“Yes,” You couldn’t nod, so you reached without looking to your bedside dresser and opened it, pulling the box out and then one packet out, throwing the box on the ground.

“Take it out,” He continued, a spark in his eyes that you could tell was turning into a raging fire. You did as you were told, that same fire catching within you, “Put it on.”

“Yes,” You whispered, reaching down to his erection. He was hard as stone at this point, turned on by the situation at hand.

“Yes what?” He growled, his smile turning into a devious, evil grin that sent pleasant shivers down your back.

“Yes sir,” You took a sharp breath, and with his free hand, he aligned at your entrance, pushing in. You breathed out in relief, closing your eyes.

“Don’t relax,” The knife was suddenly at your throat, pressing in as he pressed deeper, “This might be dull, but I don’t need a knife to end your life,” He started a rhythm that quickly picked up speed. You gasped, your whines growing louder into moans.

“Please,” You begged, “Touya,” He grit his teeth, and you were confused for a second before you felt his hand on your throat. You yelped in surprise, but having handed your safety to this man many times, you trusted him. He pressed against your jugular vein, cutting blood off to your head. You could feel the hilt of the knife in his hand, and your whimpering gasps could barley express how much pleasure surged through you.

He was fucking you at a rough pace, and once you started to see black spots, you grabbed his arm. He loosened his grip, and you gasped for breath, endorphins surging through you, “Fuck, Touya,” You moaned his name at a pitch you hadn’t expected, and he grunted, lowered himself down as his nails dug into your hips so he could get deeper.

“Say my name again,” He groaned, breathing heavily. You did as you were told, and you felt his teeth in your skin, biting deep, deeper than usual. He was finally starting to catch on that you enjoyed the thrill, the danger, and possibly even a bit of pain. You gasped, grabbing his shoulders and sinking your own nails in.

“Please,” Slipped out again, and he pulled back, licking his lips. His eyes, burning the same colour as his flames, bore into your own in a silent question. What do you want me to do to you?

Your eyes went to the knife in his hand, and he cocked an eyebrow, then swallowed hard. His pace slowed down, and you start to think you might have crossed a line. Before you could ask, however, a focused look dawned his face, and you felt his thrusts become methodical and deep as he brought the tip of the knife to your chest. When it first grazed your skin, you were surprised by how much a little cut could hurt.

However, with every thrust came a rush of pleasure that lapped the pain away, leaving it seared with pleasure instead. You felt overwhelmed and overstimulated, barely having the energy to twitch and grip the pillow under your head. He bit his lower lip, obviously paying attention to his work on your chest and breasts, but also fucking you in almost a primal, needy way. He wanted to work, but he needed you.

Eventually you came, warning him with a short shout, then long moan as your legs tightened around him. He paused his work of light scratches and nicks, then once you quieted down, continued as if it was a mere distraction. As his thrusts started to get sloppier and he was grunting with even the minimal effort he was exerting, you knew he was close to done: Your own body was fried, and the only reminder of the real world was the barely bleeding marks upon your chest. You doubted they would even permanently scar: that’s how delicate he was.

Finally, once he finished however, he tossed the knife onto your other pillow, grabbing your hips with both hands and suddenly increasing the pace, thrusting into you. You yelped, gasping and grabbing onto the sheets once again as reality flushed back in. You felt a single trickle of blood fall off your side, but the pain from the marks he made merely stung a little: Too much pleasure was coursing through you to care. He finished quickly, and you felt sufficiently used as he flopped next to you, grabbing the knife before and tossing it off the bed, “Fuck.”

“Fuck ind-wait, did you write something?” You looked down at your chest to see what he had been doing. The man snickered, then began to laugh, pulling the condom off.

“I’ll be right back,” He got up, and you heard the bathroom door open once he left the room. You waited patiently, and when he came back with gauze, medical tape, and isopropyl alcohol, you whined with less of a sexy undertone, “Ah ah ah, it’s gotta be cleaned or it’ll get infected.”

“What if I wanna be infected,” You mumbled, and he raised a single eyebrow, pulling his boxers on before sitting next to you and going to work cleaning the marks. It stung so much worse than when he made them, and you hissed in pain.

“Fuck, did I cut too deep? I’m sorry, I-”

“No, no, I liked it, really. I liked all of it,” You nodded quickly, waving your hands around. He pressed his lips together with a small sigh, and you assumed it was more self-disappointment.

“I might have gone a little sadistic, I’m sorry you had to see that side of me,” He muttered, and you felt his personal shame creeping into him, evident in the tone of his voice. You gently put a hand on his own, pausing him for a second to look into his eyes.

“I love all parts of you, Touya,” You smiled, bringing a hesitant one from the usually snarky boy. He could let his guard down with you, he could be himself with you, “Even the ones you might not like.”

“Even my uneven balls?” The laugh that erupted from the both of you was loud enough to rival a train, and the rest of the evening consisted of similar laughter, and banter to follow.

The next couple weeks, however, you had to spend knowing someone’s name was engraved upon your chest. You were marked, owned, and carved in by the symbols for Touya,  燈 矢.

[cutegirlmayra]

Hello Mayra! Hope you're doing well, perhaps a prompt to make you feel better? This is canon adjacent but also kind of AUish. Weresonamy but it takes place in the Storybook world (you knows those games). Sonic is now the big bad wolf and Amy is little red riding hood. At first she's afraid of him which hurts Sonic but there's a bigger threat and he jumps into action protecting little red. So the werehog saves the day and earns little reds trust and he realizes how much important Amy's support is

<3 I could always feel better lol But I’m doing great, thanks for asking! :Db

Also, still not sure if Canon Adjacent means Semi-Canon..? Eh? -help please I’m old and I don’t read fanfiction anymore lolol-

PROMPTS ARE ON SHUTDOWN. You know the drill, don’t send any more prompts until they’re announced to be reopen again! :Db

My response and first impression of this prompt: Pajama Blogs - Prompt Requests Ep. 1 (x - 41:05)

Prompt:

I was told to immediately head to Miss Vanilla’s house with Cream and I’s cookies. I was holding her hand as the path grew dark and strange noises kept crushing the leaves that blew in the full moon night.

I heard grunting at different intervals, and as Cream clung close to me, I stroked her head but couldn’t find the strength inside myself to open my mouth and give her encouragement. Comfort... I greatly needed that too.

“M-Miss Riding Amy?”

She was a kind girl, Cream. A small rabbit, that any predator would make a gruesome snack out of. I was a traveling adventurer who just happened to be fortune telling when she asked me for this favor.

Her mother lived so far out into the enchanted woods... doesn’t she know the stories and rumors? Even in all my travels... I’ve never heard of a forest this dense with evil magic!

“What is it, Little Cream?” I asked, moving the basket from her arm and switching it to my other side, cradling her once burdened arm now tightly within my own.

Escorting was the easy part, but monsters were at the forefront of my worries.

“D-do you think mother is safe living so far from town?” She asked me.

‘How the heck would I know, kid?’ I made a sour face, but kept my slurring suspicions to myself. “She’s your mother, Cream.” I finished my thought out loud, even with the tone of my voice being rather foul. “Which means she’s got to be twice as strong and brave as you! Right?” I bounced her arm in mine, smiling down to her from my red hood with a white rim that coupled nicely with my dress. It was tied tightly around my neck and even looked good with my corset, something I had picked up along my travels. “Now then, stay close, and everything will be alright, okay?” I manipulated my voice to sound assured, the only comfort I had waited for my lips to speak seemed more for myself than anything else.

Still,... I wasn’t going to leave a helpless little bunny to the hands of these deadly forest.

I glared at them, as though warning them that at any wrong move, I’d hammer them!

We continued down the dark path before I couldn’t tell dirt from moss anymore, and the colors dulled into deep blues and blacks, the moonlight no longer helping from the shadow of the trees above...

“Hmm...” I frowned, trying to gauge by the wind if a storm was coming... I squinted my eyes through the cold and thought I saw a shadow turn and inch closer to a tree.

I took Cream’s hand tighter, “Let’s keep moving...” and continued my brisk steps towards where the compass pointed us too.

I didn’t see it till later... but scratch marks revealed the sign had been tampered with, and with the compass pointing north, but the sign saying that her Mother’s cabin was another way... I took the other path.

I shook the compass when it was clear we were walking on grass, with no more trodden down carriage routes, and then...

We heard the howl.

“Miss Riding Amy!” Cream jumped into an embrace at my waist, as I put an arm protectively to her back and looked around. I could hear soft, misty voices as creatures that looked like chameleons began to materialize as though invisible this whole time! Tracking us?! They crawled down the trees with hooks for feet, sharp bluish and purple bodies with horns, and their tongues flung out and wiggled themselves in front of us before they jumped to attack.

I summoned my hammer and threw Cream back behind me, and as my first powerful swing locked onto one of the nightly creatures, my hoodie flung off.

I also didn’t know... that a beast within the forest’s eyes dilated at seeing my face, who had secretly followed us in the hopes of guiding us back on the correct path... hidden this whole time as well, when he saw my face, he immediately disregarded his own reservations at staying out of sight, and used the cover of darkness to swing his massive fists, stretching far and wide, to make it look like my hammer throws were hitting them all.

I didn’t see through his illusion, instead, I thought I was whipping my hammer around so fast that the monsters couldn’t keep up, till one ducked and dodged both our tactics and walloped me right in the chin. I was flung back, with poor Cream’s basket getting thrown in the impact and landed with her cookies that we had spent so long making.

This quest was harder than I thought.

I scooted back on the ground as Cream cried out to me, but the monster tried to ready his tongue to lasso Cream, when an even larger beast finally sprung out into our sights, and began to throw a gorilla-like tantrum with his arms, banging the ground and causing it to shake.

He roared fiercely and grabbed the chameleon by it’s ankles, swinging him wildly as it looked like an unwanted carnival ride, round and round.

His fur shuffled in the wind as he finally released the foul terror and it slammed against a tree, twitching... before it’s misty hide disintegrated back into the forest’s magic power...

I quickly pulled myself up and gripped Cream in fright, but held my hammer out with harsh pants, still not fully quitting without a good struggle first.

The beast relaxed it’s shoulders... then slightly turned its head to us.

I continued to hold my hammer out, before shifting it behind my shoulder, ready to swing at any given notice.

He slowly reached his hand out, letting its true length be known and lifted it above my hammer as I swung to defend ourselves, but we were both surprised when he picked up the basket.

He then swiftly gathered up the cookies with precision in his claws and lengthy fingers, before withdrawing his arm back to it’s normal, monstrous-still size and presented it at our feet.

We were still both laying upon the ground, except my torso raised slightly, before he nodded and was about to walk away when we heard a woman’s voice shriek out in fright.

“Mother!” Cream called, looking behind me and taking off.

“Cream! Wait!” I didn’t even think about the basket, and took off after her. Dust in our wake, I suddenly looked back to see the blue, hairy monster carrying the basket in his mouth, and lowering his head, scooped me up and onto his back. “W-wo-AHH!!” I gripped his back like a baby monkey, just trying to not get jostled off as he raced on all fours with such velocity.

‘He doesn’t look to be hunting Cream.’ I surmised, and then for a moment, actually thought riding this beast was my calling... it was fun, it felt like I was meant to trust him... I only had this feeling when drawing tarot cards, and seeing the fortune of ‘Destined Love’ written upon it...

“I don’t know who you are-!” I immediately shouted out, positioning myself more comfortably upon his back as he dipped his head and was about to scoop up Cream to his back as well, “But let’s save this family!” before another even more frightening beast that looked like a phoenix swooped down and clamped its claws to her. “Ah!” I cried out in shock, it happening so fast.

“Oh no!” The burly voice of the monster had thrown the basket back up to me and I caught it instinctively, before seeing him reach out his hand to extend it again beyond normal means, and grab a branch.

Like a springboard, we were slingshotted to that branch as I let out another yelp of shock.

This... was surprisingly fun! If it didn’t mean my little friend and her mother were in danger.

“Can you go faster!?” I encouraged, and suddenly, the beast seemed to take offense to that.

“Hold on!” he called out, a harsh grumble in his voice he may have not meant to make, and immediately we began swinging and launching ourselves closer and closer to the flying bird creature, when I noticed another--adult--rabbit in it’s other talon.

“It’s got her mother!” I cried out, and his eyes seemed to bleed with the necessity to save them as well. 

“Do you trust a monster?” He asked, dropping to the ground after each failed jumped couldn’t get us close enough to reach them.

I held my hammer at the ready, looking to the strange beasts as though the term ‘monster’ didn’t suit how heroic he was being in trying to help us.

“N-no.” I stated, and he looked down a moment, as though disappointed. “I trust you.” I stated, boldly and point-blankly. “You’re willing to risk life and limb just for a couple of girls... I wouldn’t know a monster that noble, but I do know heroes that stalwart and true.”

His head rose and for the first time, I could see his full face. He looked touched by my words... before nodding with a narrowing of his eyes. “Alright then, Miss Rose Rider. Prepare to ride to wind!”

“W-what?”

He shot his arms out and pulled himself back, just like a slingshot position!

“Ho, boy!” I bit on my hammer and kept it between my teeth, realizing I needed to hold onto this ride with both hands....

He strained, before finally whiplashing us both into the air.

“Now, go!” He reached back to grip me, as best he could without injuring me with his brute strength, and threw me like an arrow across the night sky to the belly of the beast.

“HHHAAAAA!!!!” I slammed my hammer into it’s gut and had it coughing up a storm, dropping it’s prey as the woman and her child screamed upon their descent.

“Hero!” I called out, deciding never to use the term ‘beast’ or ‘monster’ again for such a kind soul.

The Hero seemed to understand I was addressing him, and threw out his arms to grab the girls and tucked them into his chest... falling down... Oh no...

“NOO!!” He was taking the plunge for them!

I wasn’t able to think about it long though, as the dark phoenix cried out and came for me, but I whammed it’s beak away from devouring me and grabbed a talon, using its body to take the hit for me on the ground while I remained safe at the underbelly of it’s feathers.

Spitting out said feathers, I then frantically backed tracked further into the forest, before seeing Vanilla and her daughter crouched over the Hero, tears of regret in their eyes.

“He... He took the fall for us. All of it.” Vanilla admitted, seeing that I was the one with Cream.

“Oh, Miss Riding Amy...” Cream wiped her tears, holding her mother’s hand and pulling themselves away from him. “He was the bravest, nicest wolf I’ve ever known!” She then pulled me into that said hug, but my eyes never left the body of the Hero.

His fur swiveled in the breeze... and the forest moaned as if losing something precious.

“N-...No...” My cards never predicted this... I moved the grieving girl and mother apart from me,... crawling to the Hero’s fallen form. “Please... I still want to... I still want to know you... I want to thank you...” My voice began to break, gripping his fur in my white gloves. “I didn’t even know your name...” I sobbed more than I ever thought I could have...

“I... I love you... Mr. Wolf, sir.” Cream began, “Thank you... for saving both me, my mother... and my friend.”

I shook my head, “You and I... we fought like a supersonic comet... that bird didn’t know what hit’em.”

Then...

While the sun began to rise... his form twitched and rumbled as though something was happening.

I pulled away only when a bright light flashed and yellow streams of golden ribbons flew around him.

He was lifted into the air and the golden streams wrapped around him before revealing a handsome--more beautiful hedgehog man than I’ve ever seen in all my life--slowly floating down to the ground before blinking his eyes open.

“Who...” he began, rubbing his head and shaking it as he got upright, spooking us all as we were jaw struck. “Who said my name..? And that they... could love a beast?”

We had a big party that night at Vanilla and Cream’s home. Cream explained her mother didn’t like her walking the path at night, due to the trickery of the forest dwelling monsters, but that she always knew a kind, mysterious figure protected her and her daughter every time they crossed.

On this particular day, Cream was attending the Chao Kindergarten in the village and had played so long with the Chao, had forgotten the time. Vanilla was so worried she went in search of Cream, finding the wolf and asking if he was the one that kept them safe all those many years they lived there.

He agreed to go on ahead before finding Riding Amy with Cream, and stalked them to make sure they got to safety, but was too afraid to reveal his cursed form.

The curse could only be broken by someone speaking his name after a declaration of admiration and love. 

“That’s... amazing.” I was still in awe at how handsome the young hedgehog man looked. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him, but when he looked at me, my heart raced and I had to look away, pulling up my hood so he couldn’t see my blushing cheeks. “You should-! Ehem.” I was getting too excited... “You should come with me on my travels. I’m sure you could do a lot of good now that you’re not so afraid of what others may think of you.” I explained.

Though, in my heart, no matter what box this beautiful man came in... he was still a hero... just... more dashing in this form!

He smiled to me, and I felt my soul withdraw into his arms at such a sunny-disposition.

“I’ve always wanted to see the world, so that sounds great! But...” He looked to Vanilla.

“We’ll be fine.” She patted his arm. “You’ve been watching over us all in the village for far too long, time we took precautions for ourselves!”

We both didn’t realize that the Chao were formidable fighters... and ended up joining with each villager to protect them come night time, where their little forms could judo slam any monster that tried to trick in the night!

Sonic and I... We... hehe!

Well... The cards are never wrong.

I was destined to ride alongside the spirit of the wind!

[camelliacats]

written in your blood (part 3/6)

One last visit to Rowle's—and Flora's—saga with the Carrow siblings, written as my entry for the Death Eater 2022 Fest. Set primarily after this oneshot and this story.

Ch3: "Now: Flora, ally" [FFN] [AO3] | ←   → | start from the beginning

Pairings/Characters: Thorfinn Rowle & Flora Carrow (mentions of Thorfinn/Alecto & Flora/Amycus)

Rating: T

Words: ~3,490

Additional info: gen fic, angst, hurt/comfort, violence (minor), Dark magic, Harry's era, 3rd person POV

Summary: Thorfinn's made the same promise twice over already…and he'll make it again, if it means new ally Flora will be instrumental in getting his love and his best mate back. Ch3: Thorfinn swears his third oath to Flora, because the second war has ended and not in their favor, but she's his best hope if he wants to see the Carrow siblings again.

      …more than fifteen years later, so close to twenty, Thorfinn Rowle awakes with memories of his younger self, of starting out as a Death Eater, of past promises in blood, and he wonders where he went wrong.

      Actually, that's his second thought. His first thought is one of awe as he marvels how in the hell he's still alive after the battle.

      Thorfinn wakes to dull noise from under the rubble of some part of Hogwarts Castle. He struggles to move and shimmies cautiously out from under a blanket of debris. He daren't hustle—who knows what characters lie in wait for him on the other side of his stone prison.

      Five minutes pass, and he gets his left foot free. Another two minutes, and his whole leg emerges, followed by his hip. There's enough space by his torso and head to allow air to flow, so no wonder he's kept breathing this entire time, but still…! So much rubble. And he hadn't been crushed?

      Thorfinn gets two–thirds of the way free before he senses someone approaching. He stills for a heartbeat and then grapples for his wand in a panic, finding the bit of wood wedged uncomfortably under his right armpit. He doesn't want to imagine the war is over, that they've lost, that something terrible has happened to the Carrows, but he knows he's not going out without one more fight—

      A dim light blinds him since he's not expecting it in the late dusk. "Sweet Salazar. You're alive."

      Thorfinn swallows the offensive spell on his tongue and waits for the wand in his eyes to be lowered.

      It isn't, but at least the person—witch, he presumes by the lilt in her voice—Levitates the rest of the debris off him.

      He hesitates to get to his feet, first sitting up and catching the witch's eye. "Do you have any idea who you've just helped?" It's not exactly an empty threat. Thorfinn's glad to be free, but he'll gladly turn on her just the same.

      The witch holds her wand higher so he can see her better. She's a pale, slip of a thing, maybe half a head or so taller than Alecto, with straight, brown locks that stop above her shoulders and sharp eyebrows above eyes darker than the Carrows'. Her tailored robes are dirty and lightly torn from the battle, but they don't speak of time spent with the Death Eaters…or, rather, within their ranks, Thorfinn thinks as a more recent memory of her with one Death Eater in particular floats to the surface.

      "Hold on. I've seen you around the castle." He grunts as he stands. Thorfinn snickers when he eyes her up and down. "Never got to speak with you, although I bet Amycus preferred it that way. But Alecto mentioned you, as did others. You're Amycus'…what were they calling you? Ah. His 'dark flower.'"

      The moniker must come as news to her, for the young thing's face flushes with healthy color, making Thorfinn snicker again. "My name," she insists, her words clipped, "is Flora Carrow."

      His amusement dies down to confusion. "…Amycus would've told Alecto if he married, that I'd stake my life on."

      She turns away and begins to pick her way through the rubble, leaving Thorfinn to clamber behind her. "We're not married," she grumbles.

      Thorfinn cringes. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Alecto and Amycus have had a couple decades dealing with stupid incestuous jokes, but just what is Amycus thinking…? Of course, that's if this Flora wench is telling the truth, but Thorfinn sets those thoughts aside for another day. "Well, Flora Carrow, you never did answer me. Do you know who you've helped?"

      "Judging by your size and the thinning blond hair, you're Thorfinn Rowle," she says nonchalantly.

      His hand flies up to his scalp and he growls. "It's not thinning!"

      She shrugs. "Amycus' words, not mine."

      He pouts at her back. Unfortunately, he really can imagine Amycus rattling off such a description of him to another person… But Thorfinn doesn't want to dwell on that, so he focuses on the path she cuts for them. "Where are we, anyway? Still Hogwarts, I see." At least a few parapets stand in slightly discernable silhouette against the darkening sky.

      "The steps down to the boatshed. I thought I'd escape this way, but…" She pauses, and Thorfinn can all but hear her frown. Flora shakes her head. "Watch your step, Rowle. It's mostly stone, but there's so much busted armor mixed in. I nearly impaled myself, looking for exits."

      "Then why retrace your steps?"

      "Because the boats weren't my means to escape, and the boatshed ended up decimated by flying debris, more so than I thought, so it's no place to hide." Flora points her dimly lit wand up and behind the entrance courtyard. "We might be able to sneak away through the main entrance shortly."

      Thorfinn squints at the back of her head and snags Flora's upper arm. "Come again?"

      She struggles, but her arm is like a twig in his unyielding grasp. She scowls at him. "The teachers are still exhausted from the battle. It's been barely half a day since it concluded, Rowle. Not all the enchantments are back up."

      Oh. That…actually is not bad. He releases her, and they carry on.

      Part of the short wall leading to the stone steps for the boatshed is intact, so they spy from there whether there's much of a detail around the castle entrance. Turns out there's not. Either Flora's summation about Potter's side being exhausted is dead-on, or the other side is so full of themselves that they don't feel the need to hurry with protective spells just yet. Either way, things are in Thorfinn and Flora's favor.

      Thorfinn eyes Flora again. She's not too short, around average height, but he likely could hide her in his shadow if need be. He moves her behind him before he attempts to lead the way—but pain shoots down his right side, now that they're on even ground and moving faster. He bites down a gasp. "Fu—!"

      "Just get behind me and we'll get out of here in no time," Flora insists.

      "Don't order me around, you damn witch…!" Still, Thorfinn grits his teeth. Why now?! Even doing it slowly, climbing over all that rock should've hurt more than moving along packed earth…! He slides his bleary blue eyes Flora's way. Unless…

      But Flora's wand is still alight, and he has no idea whether she knows the Unforgivables. For what it's worth, though, she gives him a sympathetic frown. "Look—any pain, I can help. I know some Healing. When we're safely away, I can Heal you."

      Thorfinn purses his lips, but he nods. In for a Knut, in for a Galleon.

      She might not be the Carrow he wants, but she's Carrow-adjacent, and he's short on allies, so Flora will have to do for now.

      "That was too close a call," he mutters when they settle into the shack Flora chooses after Apparating.

      "You're a chickenshit," Flora retorts, conjuring candles and setting them around the empty hovel. She lights them with Bluebell flames and turns back to Rowle, who stretches out on the filthy floor with his back against a wall. "No one was going to catch us."

      "That Weasley nearly did…!" Thorfinn huffs, already tired of this argument. He can't even remember all their names, but this one was Potter's best mate, he's certain. He did a double-take as Thorfinn and Flora rounded the main gates and vanished around the remains of one of the hog statues.

      "Trust me, Ron Weasley is not the fastest broom on the field—he won't know what he saw," Flora insists. She kneels by his right side and pokes and prods him, gathering information about his injuries.

      Thorfinn takes the chance to evaluate her. "You talk as though you know him and Potter's crew personally."

      Flora exhales. "Not quite. I know of them."

      "Same year?"

      "Merlin, no. Slug Club."

      Thorfinn blinks. He honestly thought that was a myth. Not to mention Horace Slughorn is still around, without Flamel's alchemy… "Slug Club," he echoes.

      Flora spares him the briefest glance. "I'm nineteen, since you're so clearly curious. I was in the year above them. Slughorn only brought my sister and me in because of my father's business." But, just as suddenly as she's coughed up personal details, her hands stop, and Flora rolls back on her haunches, putting space between them, realizing what she's spilled.

      Oh, for crying out… If he had a Sickle for every time he recognized someone with the surname Carrow who was afraid of opening up, he'd have the largest vault at Gringotts. "I'm curious," Thorfinn admits, "but I'm not judging you on Slughorn's interest or your parents' history, if that matters. I don't even know your parents." The last part he adds on, partly in the hope she might sate that bit of curiosity.

      Alas, Flora doesn't…that night. Flora seals her mouth shut about herself tighter than a Sealed doorway, and she focuses the next few days on Healing the broken bones and bruises and cuts Thorfinn sustained in battle. She also ventures out for food, procuring some meager items for them to eat but always plenty of water to drink, so Thorfinn can't complain. Much.

      What he can do is bellyache about the fuzzy details that start to come into focus from the start of the month. "This war shouldn't've ended the way it did," he bemoans for the umpteenth time as he peers between broken shades on a window in the main room. He grimaces at the thought and as a lance of pain reminds him that Flora's got one more rib to Heal, tomorrow, once she's gathered her strength. She's not shabby with this Healing thing, but she's obviously not used to the work.

      "The war's not really over," Flora says as per usual.

      He rolls his eyes. "You wouldn't know. Last time, we scattered like dust, thinking the Dark Lord was gone. This time he is—you said you eavesdropped. You overheard Potter's side discussing—" Thorfinn stops there. He doesn't want to say or even think the words "the Dark Lord's death," because it'll make it too real this time. Thorfinn redirects his attention outside through the shades. "…this time feels different," he finally settles on.

      Flora doesn't get up from the spot she cleared on the floor for herself. She's been taking inventory of the things in her cloak's Expanded pockets, as she does each day; it's something akin to meditation for her, Thorfinn surmises. "The war's only over when every follower is dead or gives up the cause," she insists.

      Her words pierce him and cause him the tiniest bit of shame, which makes him scowl. He hasn't declared he's giving up…yet. So he returns to reminiscing about the start of May, though he releases the shades and leans against the sill. He sighs, softly. "Things might've been different, you know. If Alecto and Amycus had gotten to fight."

      The morsel snatches Flora's attention. "What do you mean, if they'd gotten to fight?"

      "You weren't at the castle when things started?"

      Flora rolls her jaw while she debates what to cough up. Her stiff shoulders drop while she worries the strap of her purse in her hands. "…no. I'd been living in Hogsmeade, so I came when the Caterwauling Charm went off." Her volume drops. "I searched for Amycus as the battle started."

      Thorfinn frowns. "It was too late by then, Flora. The other side caught him and Alecto first thing. I got word they were tied up in Ravenclaw Tower, but fighting my way to them was easier said than done."

      "Oh."

      They've had bouts of silence between them the last few days, but this one hangs heavy. Thorfinn's mind keeps straying to Azkaban, wondering if Alecto and Amycus can handle it.

      Judging by the shadows beneath Flora's eyes, no doubt her thoughts stray there, too.

      Still, nearly a full week passes since the end of the second war. Thorfinn stretches his limbs and tests Flora's handiwork, but everything seems to be in working order. So, with her Healing done, he questions why the hell they linger in this shack. He questions a lot, actually. "You claim to be a Carrow, and you've aided me, yes, but I know next to nothing about you. And yet you're keeping me around—why?" Thorfinn prods on a warm, rainy Saturday afternoon.

      Perhaps Flora has tired of this abandoned shack in the middle of nowhere, too. She prowls the perimeter of the main room, a slow pace back and forth, never nearing him too much. And the hardened, determined glint in her dark, gray eyes puts him in mind of the Death Eaters with whom he used to murder and maim. "You're an ally," she states.

      Thorfinn dwells on it and shakes his head. "Try again."

      "Fine. You're a tool."

      He snarls at her. He's no Greyback, but Thorfinn's pleased to see that hard part of Flora flinch in response, in the slightest. Thorfinn's been called worse, but still. "I'm a means to an end," he corrects.

      Flora nods.

      He crosses his arms in front of his chest. It doesn't hurt anymore, now that he's recuperated. And drawing to his full height, filling the space with as much of his boxy build as possible, has its uses. "You're only creating more questions, witch."

      She frowns, and she falters in the motion. "I want to free Amycus."

      Thorfinn loves the idea—but it's a pipe dream. "The breakout from Azkaban two years ago was one thing, orchestrated by many of the Dark Lord's followers in tandem. The same goes for last summer. You've a silly wish. I've begun to wonder if I mistook you for someone else, because surely even Amycus has his fans."

      The comment hits where it hurts most. Flora's eyes flash like steel.

      He should've been more prepared, just as he always wishes to have the final word when someone (usually Dolohov) gets their digs in on him. But then Thorfinn crumples on the floor in the next instant, convulsing, his muscles spasming as invisible stings and shocks cascade over him, wave after wave. He gasps, barely. He can't speak and hardly thinks.

      "I am no fan," Flora corrects, her heels thudding on the wooden floor as she looms over Thorfinn's puddled mass. "But I've had one of the best teachers for proficiency in the Cruciatus Curse."

      He doesn't doubt that. What those who've never had the curse performed on them don't know is that the spell carries with it a little flavor of each spellcaster and their source material. So the shocks are new to Thorfinn, but the stings are a familiar echo of the time spent practicing the spell with Amycus during their late boyhood. (Amycus once remarked that Thorfinn's version of the spell was laden with bone-crushing gravity.)

      Flora holds the curse for another minute and backs off just as Thorfinn's eyes begin to roll back into his head. She dares tuck her wand up her right sleeve; she's not frightened in the least of retribution. "I want to free Amycus," she repeats, as if what transpired was but a brief interruption.

      Thorfinn comes to his senses and regains control of his tongue. "I want both Alecto and Amycus free and safe and sound," he declares.

      Flora nods. "Then our wishes align. And they are not silly."

      This time, Thorfinn keeps his mouth shut.

      Thorfinn and Flora leave the abandoned shack late at night, and he doesn't protest as she Disapparates with him to another unfamiliar place. He dislikes that it's closer to a Muggle village this time, with nothing ramshackle or abandoned in sight, but at least they're just passing by it (nevertheless, he conjures a façade for himself, just in case there are Wanted posters of any sort down here in this southern part of Scotland).

      Flora is quiet as she leads the way. She reminds him of Alecto in this manner, but he doesn't persist in looking for comparisons. Flora has mentioned Amycus and Amycus only. Alecto has rarely parted with Amycus; if there's a solid chance to save them both, Alecto will take it, Thorfinn's sure.

      The longer he lingers on these ideas, though, the more he realizes Flora's gotten a bargain, having Thorfinn helping her, and he potentially stands to gain nothing.

      How the hell is he supposed to turn the tables to his own advantage?

      The duo leaves the village behind them and continues on foot for a bit longer. Thorfinn's mind strays to the time when he, Alecto, and Amycus kept hidden after the first war before Thorfinn himself got captured, sometimes skirting hamlets like this, and briefly wheedling a favor from the siblings' father, Akillios, in one of his drunken stupors, so they had a small off-the-beaten-path property to use for a while. Ah, Alecto, Amycus…

      …ah, of course.

      It comes to Thorfinn in the wee hours, when they travel by starlight and are accompanied by the sounds of small creatures and insects still awake. He clears his throat. "Flora."

      "Hmm?" She doesn't glance back at him.

      Thorfinn walks beside her, then, and stares down at her. "I can help you rescue him."

      Flora peeks up at him, but that sparkle in her eye isn't the reflection of a star. "So you've come around to my insane idea?"

      He can hear the excitement in her tone, no matter how well she attempts to quash it. "Enough so that I'm willing to make you a blood oath," Thorfinn says.

      Her eyes are round, but her brow pinches. Aha! She isn't familiar with the magic. "A…blood oath."

      "I imagine you've debated trusting me much as I've debated trusting you these last several days."

      She frowns.

      "But a blood oath is as good as a promise. Better, really."

      Flora drops her gaze to the sparse grass of the well-trod local path they walk. "Like—an Unbreakable Vow?"

      He shakes his head. "No. Nothing quite so grim. No death involved."

      Flora comes to a halt. "Tell me what I have to do."

      Thorfinn smothers his smirk. Finally, something breaks his way. "Well, I know the spell, and we'll need a stone taken from flowing water. But you speak my given name, outline the oath's conditions, and ask if I swear the oath. Then I accept."

      Her rigid posture relaxes. "That doesn't sound so bad. I'm a little surprised I never heard of it in school, although the term certainly it off-putting."

      Thorfinn shrugs. "Anything with 'blood' or 'dark' typically is in that blasted place." He sets the pace now, pricking up his ears for animal noises. They grow larger off to the pair's right, so there must be water not far from here.

      Flora's silence is easier to handle this time, possibly because Thorfinn is busy planning his duplicity, and she assists him in searching for a worthy, flat stone. Thorfinn finds one in the end, but Flora curiously watches while he preps their ceremonial tool. At the same time, he informs her of the literal blood exchange coming next. Flora doesn't even bat an eyelash.

      "You are quite the unexpected one, Flora Carrow," he remarks when everything is set.

      Flora actually preens, taking it as a compliment. Then she holds out her left hand.

      Thorfinn considers his left palm. He prefers it this way, too; he carries Alecto and Amycus in his right, so this new oath with Flora ought to be made with his left. The incisions are short and sharp, just below their thumbs. With their hands clasped, Thorfinn points his wand at their unity and mumbles, "Veritate Sanguinem."

      The familiar crimson light burns bright in the dead of night and becomes almost too hard to behold as it pulses and brightens. Flora's panic flashes across her features.

      But Thorfinn nods her on.

      She visibly swallows. "Thorfinn, with this oath, you promise to risk your neck and to do everything possible to get Amycus—"

      "—and Alecto," he interjects. He doesn't know if the magic will accept his interruption or if Flora will add it, but he has to try. He has to make this old magic work for him.

      Her grip on his hand tightens. Oh, she's mad…! "—out of Azkaban. Do you swear this oath?"

      "I swear our oath, Flora." One final change, just in case the magic doubts the inclusion of his clause as well as hers.

      The magic burns bright and hot, sealing over the fresh wounds. Flora releases his hand, and she scowls at him.

      But Thorfinn doesn't think twice about it, really, because he knows you can't have one without the other—the Carrow siblings come as a set, and Alecto and Amycus truly wouldn't have it any other way.

And now we see the blood oath in its entirety, incantation included! The spell, Veritate Sanguinem, is just the Latin literally for "truth blood" (using online dictionaries, *lol*); you'll see why soon enough… And some hcs I developed for the Cruciatus Curse—that was an unexpected nod to at last, with you, truth be told. But if you want the full backstory for Floramycus, then I encourage you to read "bad blood," btw.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this! (You know you're curious to see how the oath will behave~)

~mew

And if you want to support written in your blood, please swing by its FFN and AO3 versions to review/comment/fav/leave kudos and like and reblog these posts on my HariPo fic tumblr!