#but like also his reaction in Reflections is his hands shake and clench into fists

[satans-codpiece]

Also. I kinda don't like that in Echo's interaction with Ramattra she's uncomfortable calling Ramattra a 'Ravager' (but is okay saying 'R-7000') and then OW lore only refers to him as a Ravager and not an R-7000.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Twisted 17 - Mind Games [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, drinking, smoking, angst.

Word Count: 4700

Summary: Love demands sacrifices.

Not even once in your life had you ever imagined yourself in handcuffs, in an interrogation room on the wrong side of the table.

You weren’t even at the FBI headquarters though. The police had taken you to the station after the hospital, taking a blood sample and your fingerprints, then they had handcuffed you and left you there with a glass of water.

Of course they suspected you. Of course they thought you had murdered him.

Murder was your father’s legacy, after all.

You traced the handcuffs over your wrists, already feeling the bruises forming there. The shock still hadn’t worn off but you were starting to think it was a good thing. It felt as if you were watching all of this from behind some kind of glass window, perfectly aware of every single emotion but unable to actually feel them.

Spencer had said when you felt threatened, your body produced nervous energy, some sort of a fight or flight reaction but for once you weren’t trying to do any of that.

You just sat there, completely frozen.

“You look calm,” the police officer spoke, making you look up, trying to ignore the faint yelling coming from outside, possibly from the end of the hall.  

“I’m sorry?”

“Most people would be traumatized if this happened to them, they’d be crying, shaking…” he motioned at you, “But look at you. Still as a statue. You look pretty calm.”

“Would you rather if I were crying?”

“I’d rather if you were acting like a human being,” he said, “Why are you so calm?”

Why were you so calm?

Because your mother had taught you this much. Showing emotion when you were afraid meant weakness.

“My father was a serial killer,” you stated, looking him dead in the eye, “I’ve had a complicated childhood.”

“Yeah, I’d say…” he leaned in slightly, “You know, I’ve watched that documentary about your father. His interviews too.”

You raised your brows as he sniffled, trying to look like he was nonchalant about this whole situation.

“And I’ve spent sixteen years on this job,” he said, “After a while, you don’t even need anyone to speak for you to know what they’ve done. It’s all in their eyes and little girl,” he clicked his tongue, “There’s nothing behind your eyes but ice and death.”

You couldn’t cry. You wouldn’t cry. Not in front of people, not even if they tried to kill you. No matter how much they tried to hurt you-

No emotions.

“Impressive,” you managed to say, “Very poetic. Have you ever considered changing your career?”

“You know what I think?”

“I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me.”

“I think you wanted to follow your father’s footsteps,” he said, “I think you killed Anthony, and all those other people. It’s not even your fault, is it? Some people are just born broken.”

That was more than enough to make your eyes snap up to his and you could feel the lump in your throat but you bit your tongue so hard that you swallowed blood, making sure to keep your expression still.

“Nothing to say?”

“You’ve already decided what to think of me,” you said, “And I already told you what happened. What more do you want to hear?”

“Right,” he scoffed, taking a look at the file in front of him, “You went to bed around 12, didn’t wake up whole night, when you woke up you found him like that. Lying in a pool of his own blood, in your kitchen.”

“You don’t look like a whiskey girl.” an unfamiliar voice made you turn your head and you lowered your glass, tilting your head. The guy smiled at you, and stole a look at the whiskey glass you had put on the bar.

“Yeah?” you asked, “What girl am I then? If you’re such an expert?”

He thought for a moment, “Hmm, wine?”

“Depends on the occasion.”

“What kind of an occasion does whiskey call for?”

“Apparently an occasion for meeting guys with bad pick-up lines.”

He let out a chuckle, “Yeah, I swear I’m normally smoother than this.”

“I would hope so,” you grinned, and offered your hand, “Y/N.”

“Anthony.”

“But you failed to mention the part you texted him to come to your apartment.”

“I didn’t text anyone.”

“We have your phone Y/N.”

“I didn’t text anyone,” you repeated, “Someone must’ve drugged me and taken my phone, the same person who killed him, the same person who obviously broke into my apartment.”

“How convenient.”

You clenched your jaw.

“I always wake up during night,” you said, your voice completely calm and controlled. “Always. I never woke up last night, there has to be a reason for that.”

“If you’ve been drugged, it will come up on the blood tests.”

“Good.”

“While we wait for that,” he said, “Why don’t we go over what you did last night?”

You took a deep breath, “I woke up,” you said “Went to work. I left work at 7 to go to my sister’s place. I left there around eleven, came home and went to bed.”

“Nothing else happened.”

“Nothing else happened,” you repeated and he sat up straighter.

“Okay. Well just so you know, Dr. Spencer Reid—” he started and your head shot up, your heart slamming against your chest, “He is giving us his professional opinion at the moment, about this case and what might have really happened this morning. Do you have anything you want to change in your story before he’s finished?”

You gawked at him, blinking a couple of times before you turned your head to look at the one-way mirror on the wall.

The BAU was there, behind the mirror.

“….They came back?”

“We’ve sent them the report, yes. They landed an hour ago.”

It was as if somebody was trying to claw your stomach out of your body as you stared at your reflection in the mirror, trying to ignore the burning behind your eyes before you turned to the officer.

“I don’t have anything to change,” you managed to keep your voice stable, “It was a terrible thing, it definitely was but I didn’t do it.”

Someone knocked on the mirror, making you and the officer look that way before he pushed his chair back and left the interrogation room. You closed your eyes for a moment, focusing on your breathing through the blinding headache but opened your eyes when the door opened again.

Luke.

He offered you a small smile and pulled himself a chair.

“Hi.”

“Hello,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, sitting up with your back straight, your hands clasped.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you stole a look at the one-way mirror, “Is he there?”

“Reid?” Luke asked and shook his head, “I had to basically wrestle him out of the hall, he’s…he’s not allowed here. Conflict of interest. He’s giving his statement at the end of the hall as we speak.”

You nodded, digging your fingernails into your palms. “Okay.”

“He also called your sister on our way here. Couldn’t reach her, but left a message. Listen, he can’t request it on your behalf, but you need to ask for a lawyer.”

“I didn’t kill Anthony.”

“I didn’t ask if you killed him, I’m saying you need to ask for a lawyer.”

“Does he think I did it?” you asked and Luke shook his head again.

“No,” he said, “But it doesn’t matter what anyone else believes at this point, Y/N. Ask for a lawyer.”

You kept your back straight, rolling your shoulders. “If Spencer left a message to Mina, she’s coming.”

“Is she a defense lawyer?”

“No but she knows a lot of them.”

He took a deep breath and put the bottle of your pills on the desk, “The officers also found this.”

You tried your hardest to focus, moving your wrists to help with the soreness of the handcuffs. “They’re prescribed.”

“I can see that. The side effects say confusion?”

You arched a brow, “I’m sorry, do I sound confused to you right now?”

“No, you sound way too controlled right now, I may as well have been talking to a robot.”

You gritted your teeth, trying to control the panic bubbling at the pit of your stomach, sending anger through your veins.

“I’m not confused,” you stated, “Besides, I haven’t been taking them lately.”

He threw his head back, pressing his lips together, “God, Y/N, you can’t say that. A psychiatrist prescribed you something and you—“

“They’re just for nightmares, they don’t make you…” you took a deep breath, commanding yourself to stay calm, “I didn’t kill him. I found him like that. It was terrible, but I didn’t do it.”

Someone opened the door again and Emily Prentiss cleared her throat.

“Luke,” she murmured, “Spencer.”

You could feel your heart skip a beat upon hearing his name but kept completely still as Luke left the room and Emily and JJ walked into the room.

“You’re taking turns now?” you asked and Emily cleared her throat,

“Me and JJ are the only people in our team who haven’t spent as much time with you, so we figured it would be better if we interrogated you.”

“I didn’t do it.”

Emily pulled herself a chair as JJ crossed her arms, standing by the wall.

“Can you walk me through what happened this morning?”

You took a deep breath, “I woke up,” you said, “With a headache. I knew something was wrong, I felt it. My window was open, the front door was half open and my phone wasn’t where I left it. I stepped outside my room, saw the blood, went to the kitchen and saw—“ you gritted your teeth and clenched your fists, “Saw my ex-boyfriend there. Dead. Lying in a pool of his blood.”

“But you heard nothing.”

“I never sleep for the whole night,” you said slowly, “Check my blood test. Something happened last night.”

“We don’t have your blood test results yet, but there was no sign of any sexual—“

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” You cut her off, a shiver running down your spine, “That’s not it. Whoever it was, they didn’t touch me, they wanted…”

“What did they want?”

You shrugged slightly, “I don’t know. They wanted me to see it I think. My…my father’s crime scenes.”

JJ took a deep breath and pushed herself off the wall.

“And you don’t think it’s a little too convenient?”

You pulled your brows together, looking at her and she stepped closer to the table, her eyes fixed on you.

“Two victims so far,” she said, “The ones that we knew that were in the same place as you, they had some connection to you. That woman who was killed at the charity ball, you didn’t get along when you were kids, you turned her down as a client before she was killed, and now your ex-boyfriend ends up dead, in your apartment because you sent him a—“ she scoffed, “I’m sorry, someone sent him a late night text, inviting him to your apartment.”

“JJ,” Emily started but JJ held up a hand while you tried to wrap your head around it.

She had a point. Two victims so far had some connection to you and that was not a coincidence, it couldn’t have been.

“You think I did it,” you rasped out and she scoffed.

“I think you had something to do with all of this,” she said, “I think you’ve been trying to manipulate Spencer for something. The best case scenario, you were cheating, that’s why Anthony was there and something went bad, the worst case….” She shook her head, “You’re behind every single murder we’ve been looking into, and Spencer was just a tool for you. He’s my best friend, and if I find one single proof that you put him in harm’s way, I swear to God I will destroy you.”

Two people had ended up dead, and that was your fault. The copycat was going after people who had some kind of connection to you, and apparently no one except you and your family was safe.

The idea was way too painful to even exist inside your head, but it was clear as day. JJ was right, you were putting Spencer in harm’s way just by being with him, and if it were him, if you had seen him lying in a pool of his blood, his eyes wide open—

You dug your fingernails into your palms until it hurt before you managed to lift your head, that invisible wall which kept you safe from anyone and everyone who could possibly see anything you felt going up again.

“You…” you trailed off, your throat burning, “You don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

“What does that mean?” Emily asked but before you could say anything, someone slammed the door open, making you and the agents turn.

Mina.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” she asked no one in particular and stepped aside so that 4 lawyers could walk inside before the police officer rushed to you to remove the handcuffs off your wrists.

“You’re not saying another word,” she snapped her fingers, “Come on, we’re leaving.”

“We’re going to need her to sign some papers,” the officer said as Mina grabbed your wrist to pull you out of the room, making you hiss in a breath and she froze, lowering her glances to check your sore wrists for any bruises.

“What did they do to you?”

You shook your head silently, and something in Mina’s gaze shifted. You had seen it only a couple of times, including that time you were getting stitches after some girls in your classroom had ambushed you in the bathroom, and more importantly, you had seen that look on her face when Lily had fever that one time and you all had to rush to the hospital and the doctors said she couldn’t see her.

It was fire, similar to yours, ready to burn everything in its path.

“Don’t say anything to anyone. You two,” she motioned at the two lawyers, “Read whatever she’s supposed to sign.”

The lawyers approached the desk by the door as Mina put her coat over your shoulders, rubbing at your arms as you swayed slightly on your feet, trying to focus.

“We’re leaving, okay sweetheart?”

“Miss—“

“No,” When Mina turned to the police officers and the BAU team, any trace of softness in her voice disappeared, “You don’t talk. If you don’t want to get into even more trouble, you’re going to listen to me right now.”

The officer that had been with you at the interrogation room just blinked a couple of times, obviously taken aback.

“Do you have any idea what you just did to yourself?” she asked, “What you did to this whole precinct? Because allow me to explain, my sister was a victim in this scenario, and you tried to pin this shit on her to make her a scapegoat,” she shook her head, “We will be suing you for defamation of character—“

“Mina, your sister—” JJ started but she snapped her fingers at her.

“I haven’t even started with you yet, wait for your turn.”

“Mina…” you murmured but she didn’t even look like she could hear you,

“Where was I? Defamation of character because press will be all over this, intentional infliction of emotional stress and wrongful arrest and hey, to make things fun we will also be requesting the security footage in the interrogation room and if I see one very small slip of anything that wasn’t supposed to be said and done in that room…” Mina tilted her head, “Well, let’s just say that by the time I’m done with you guys and this whole precinct, the only thing you will be able to afford is going to be a typewriter and a desk.”

One of the lawyers came to tell you the document was alright to sign and as soon as you approached the desk, a door by the hall opened and Spencer stepped out.

It was almost excruciating not to be able to run to him. He looked as shocked as he was and he took a step towards you but JJ stepped in front of him as you grabbed the pen, ignoring the way your name spilled from his lips in a whisper.

“Oh, hi genius.” Mina called out, “Were you getting a glass of water while your team was hounding my sister or something?”

Spencer looked almost confused only for a moment before he turned to look at JJ who deliberately averted her glances from him.

“Mina, this is not necessary,” you croaked out as you signed the papers and she shook her head.

“No, this is very necessary, trust me. You need to show these people what you’re capable of or they will try to fuck you up, case and point.” She turned to Emily, “You’re the one in charge, I suppose?”

“I am.”

“Good. Consider this your warning, because the next time anyone in your team, including the puppy dog eyes over there gets any closer to my sister, we will be getting a restraining order for each and every one of you.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, still swaying on your feet and you hugged the coat around you tighter.

Not that you could do anything other than watching this.

“Your sister is an active part of this investigation, your father specifically asked for—“

“My sister is a civilian,” Mina growled, “She has no responsibility for this case, you do. How about you surprise me and do your fucking jobs?”

You took a breath to say it wasn’t fair, that it wasn’t their fault but Mina turned to look at you.

“Get in the elevator, we’re leaving.”

You were way too tired to fight her, way too tired to even stand there so you followed the army of lawyers to the elevator, while Mina shot the officers and the BAU members a fake smile.

“Pleasure, let’s never do this again,” she said, and got in the elevator with you, and you tried to keep your expression still, Spencer staring at you until the doors slid close.

“4 lawyers?” you managed to say, “I don’t think even Bundy had four lawyers.”

“Tell that to mom,” she said, “She was on the phone with a congressman the last I checked.”

You couldn’t even smile at that, but Mina let out a breath before pulling you into a bone crushing hug, making the tears rush to your eyes as you wrapped your arms around her.

“Never do that to me again, you hear me?” her voice cracked for the first time and you nodded slowly.

“I won’t,” you said, “I promise.”

                                                   ***

It was as if someone had pulled all your energy out of your body. You were exhausted, you could barely understand what anyone was saying but you knew there was no way you could sleep anytime soon.

The blood test, as the lawyers had informed you, finally came back and just like you suspected, they had found traces of chloroform in your system. That and your team of lawyers combined were more than enough to get rid of any kind of accusations against you, so at least you had that.

On the other hand, the fear, the guilt, the sadness were still there inside of you, even if you felt way too numb to reach it.

You wondered if Spencer would have a scientific explanation for that.

Your mother had insisted you would never step a foot into your apartment again, she was already looking for a new apartment for you, one with multiple security systems and until that happened she had told you you would be staying at her house.

The damn thing was way too big anyway and you and Mina had grown up there so you figured it would serve as some sort of shelter.

If it even existed for you.

“Here you go sweetheart,” your mother pushed the tea cup towards you, “Drink it, it’ll make you feel better.”

“I’m fine.”

Kenzie heaved a sigh, “It’s okay if you’re not,” she said, “No one expects you to, anyone would be traumatized.”

“The real estate agent already sent me three apartments,” your mother said, “Huge windows, you love a bright apartment.”

“Mom,” Mina said silently and she heaved a sigh.

“It could help her distract herself,” her head shot up, “Y/N, you should go on a vacation! Somewhere far away from here.”

“Somewhere peaceful could be nice?” Kenzie added, “I think that’s a good idea.”

You and Mina exchanged glances.

“I heard Fiji is lovely this time of the year,” your mother said and you let out a breath.

“Mom, two people died because of me,” you croaked out, “I’m not going to Fiji for vacation.”

“Honey, you could use some peace,” she held your chin carefully and lifted it so that she could look at you better, “You look so…”

“I look like how I feel,” you said and turned your head when the doorbell rang, making Mina sit up straighter.

“Who’s that?” she asked when the maid walked in.

“Spencer Reid?”

“What?” you and Kenzie asked at the same time, your heartbeat getting faster and Mina jumped on her feet but you stopped her, shaking your head.

“It’s okay,” you sniffled, nodding to yourself, “It’s….it’s fine. There’s no point in dragging it out.”

“Dragging what out?” Mina asked you but you walked out of the living room and reached the front door, trying to ignore the warmth filling your system as soon as your eyes caught the sight of him. You stepped out of the house and he pulled you into a tight hug, burying his nose into your hair and inhaling deeply as if it helped him calm down while you just stood there, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay.

You had to do it. No matter how much it hurt you, no matter how much you didn’t want to.

No matter how badly it would rip your heart out.

“You okay?” he asked you, his fingers pushing your hair behind your ear, “I tried your apartment but I figured…”

“Yeah, I’m not going back there,” you shrugged your shoulders, “I’ll move out, it’s fine.”

“Do you want to stay at my place?” he asked quickly and you closed your eyes for a moment, every cell in your body begging you to change your mind.

You couldn’t though. You’d rather die than see him lying in a pool of his blood, all because of you.

“Don’t say that,” you whispered and opened your eyes again, “Please don’t say that.”

He looked almost confused, tilting his head to the side like a puppy before it dawned on him.

“Is this about the file on me?”

You shook your head and he took a deep breath.

“About today?”

“I didn’t send that message,” you said, “To Anthony, I mean. I wouldn’t…. I wouldn’t cheat on you.”

“I know that.”

“And I didn’t kill him. I don’t know if you heard, but the blood tests came back positive for—”

“I never doubted that, not even for one second,” he insisted, “With or without blood test.”

“You might be the only one,” you murmured and he paused for a moment.

“What did JJ say to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Because we had an argument on the jet on our way back here and whatever she said…”

You shook your head again, trying to smile.

“I get it,” you murmured, “She’s your best friend, she’s protective of you. That’s normal.”

“Yeah but if she thinks that you’re capable of—”

“I want to break up.”

You could swear the words burned your mouth, some invisible hand clutching your heart tighter and tighter as you willed yourself to keep your eyes on the street, because you were sure that every wall you built to keep your emotions under control would crash down the moment you looked at him. Out of the corner of your eye you could see that he froze and he blinked a couple of times, as if he was lost.

“What?” he asked silently and you tried to swallow the lump growing bigger and bigger in your throat.

“Y/N, wait—no,” he said quickly, breathing hard, “Listen, whatever they said to you today during the interrogation, if that’s what this is about—”

“It has nothing to do with that,” you forced yourself to say, crossing your arms and he took a step closer to you.

“Whatever the problem is,” he rasped out, “We can solve it, okay? Don’t do this.”

That was when it dawned on you.

It wasn’t enough to push him away. You had to make sure to burn that bridge so that neither of you could ever find your way back to each other.

“It’s not one of your cases Spencer, you can’t solve this one,” you muttered and finally turned your head to look up at him, your stomach churning at the sight of betrayal on his face.

“I don’t understand.”

“You—it’s—“ you stammered, trying to find the words, “It’s going way too fast, alright? It’s going way too fast and it’s going to fucking crash, and I can’t—“ you cleared your throat when your voice cracked, “I’m not going to crash with this, I can’t.”

Your father had taught you this way too long ago, when you were too young to even question it.

Stab the prey, twist the knife, pull it back and watch them bleed.

Stab the prey.

“I mean come on Spencer, we’re not in love or anything,” you shrugged your shoulders, “Should be easy enough.”

He stared at you for a couple of seconds, his mouth slightly agape and his brows furrowed, shock written all over his face.

“We’re not in love?” he repeated, “You…you don’t love me?”

Twist the knife.

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

His eyes searched your face, as if looking for any kind of clue that could tell him you were lying, or that it was a trick but for once, it was in vain.

You’d had spent years learning how to control your emotions and your expression when it came to heartbreak.

Pull it back.

“It’s not my fault if you’re in love,” you said, each word making you hate yourself more and more, “I can’t be held responsible for that.”

Stabbing yourself would’ve been less painful, you were sure of that but you knew you had to keep going. One last step, one last sentence and you would be done.

Watch them bleed.

“I never told you to love me.”

Then, silence.

You had to give it to him though, it took him faster than it would’ve taken you to pull yourself together if you were the one on the receiving end of this. He blinked back the tears, clenched his jaw and in a second, his gaze turned cold, exactly like yours.

“Yeah,” he said slowly, nodding, “You didn’t.”

But you had forgotten one small detail. 

Spencer knew how to withdraw that knife and stab back.

You cleared your throat and turned around to get inside the house but before you could step in, you heard his voice.

“I was wrong.”

You looked over your shoulder, clutching at the straws to keep it together, “I’m sorry?”

“I was wrong,” he stated, his voice was distant and held no trace of its usual warmth, “Before, I mean. In terms of behavior and psychology, you’re exactly your father’s daughter.”

With that, he walked away from the house, and you just stood there for a moment before stepping into the house and closing the door behind you, that comfortable haze of shock slowly withdrawing from your mind like mist. That hand squeezing your heart twisted it in your chest and you tried to breathe, pressing a hand on your chest.

“Sweetheart?” your mother called out as she stepped into the hallway, then slowly approached you, “You okay?”

It was impossible to stop the tears rushing to your eyes now and a gasp escaped from your lips as you shook your head.

“Mom,” you whimpered, “Please, my—my heart hurts...”

She rushed to you and shushed you gently, pulling you into a tight hug and caressing your hair as you slipped to the ground and you buried your face to her shoulder.

Then the sobs came.

Chapter 18

[todorokiwhore]

Impatient

Pairing: female!reader x Todoroki Shouto

Contents: Aged up, alcohol, semi-public sex, safe sex, orgasm denial (just a little), mirror sex

Word count: 1,935

Impatient Collab Masterlist hosted by @ultimate-astridwriting

A/N: I like to think Shouto gains some confidence and teases in relationships when he gets older. Also this is the first fic I’ve written in a long while but i hope y’all like it~

'I'm surprised there's so many people here,' you muse to yourself. When Mina invited you to a party at Katsuki's house, you had half expected it to just be your old classmates from UA. There were enough people here that you two opted to stand near one of the open windows, the breeze nice and cool.

Mina pushes another drink into your hand, yelling to be heard over the music, "Y/N, where's Ochako? I haven't seen her all night!" You're about to answer when you feel someone lean in close behind you. You turn to see Shouto, his hair tickling your cheek as he says back, "With Midoriya, obviously," and points by the door to the kitchen.

Seeing Izuku and Ochako practically down each other's throats, leaning against the doorframe without a care of where they were, made you suddenly aware of Shouto's body close behind you. As he rests his chin on your shoulder, out of the corner of your eye, you can see his one grey eye looking at you, his arms circling your waist. “What’s wrong, babe?” he says right in your ear, his cool breath tickling your neck. 

"Shou! When did you get here?" You turn in his hold to meet his mismatched eyes, giving him a kiss in greeting.

"Just got here with Iida," he murmurs against your lips. He leans back a bit to look you up and down, then smiles, "You look beautiful." You feel your cheeks heat up as you smooth your hands down your favorite skirt, "T-Thank you." You take a second to look him over and you have to swallow thickly. 'Holy shit.'

He's wearing the dark blue button up shirt you adore, the first few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Paired with his white dress pants and his messy red and white hair, he looks breathtaking. Shouto smirks at your reaction as he excuses himself to go get a drink.

Mina nudges your shoulder gently, "Go with him, Y/N. A man that good looking, you probably shouldn't leave him by himself." You shook your head at your friend with a smile, downed the rest of your drink, and went after him anyway.

You caught up to him at the stairs, took his hand and pouted, "Hey, you didn't give me a chance to compliment you back."  He smiles back at you and cocks his head, "But I already know what you'd say." He turns and pulls you against him, lips a breath away from touching your ear.

Shouto brushes his lips against the hollow beneath your ear, making you shiver, "I know you love this shirt on me, especially when you're completely naked while i have all my clothes on, fucking you silly until all you can think about is me."

You press your lips to his for the first time tonight, the warmth in your body making you seek him out desperately. Your hands clutch the front of his shirt as you moan into his mouth, holding him to you as close as you can. One hand drops to tug his shirt free from his pants, and you run your fingers over the revealed skin above his pantline. You whine needily into his mouth, "Shou...please fuck me..."

Shouto leans back slightly, eyes widened in surprise, "Really? You wanna have sex... here? Now??" You nod and press yourself to his front, "Yes. Now." He stays quiet for a few seconds, you feel his head move from one side to the other, then he takes hold of your hand and you both move through the party to the other side of the staircase where the downstairs bathroom is.

As soon as he closes the door and locks it, you turn him around to press his back against the door and latch onto his collarbone peeking out from behind his shirt. Shouto closes his eyes and leans his head back to the door as you move to his neck, pressing kisses into his skin. "Y/N, wait," he groans and gently pushes you back a step. He continues walking you back until he suddenly lifts you onto the counter, bringing his hand up to brush your cheek gently.

"I want to eat you out first, but you have to be quiet. Can you be a good girl for me?" You bite your lip and nod, leaning back onto your hands. You watch Shouto sink to the floor in front of you, his hands tracing the skin of your thighs. His hands part your thighs a little more and he lightly runs his fingertip over the damp spot on your panties teasingly. Shouto smirks as you whine and squirm, pressing a little harder where he knows your clit is. His eyes flick up to your face, his smile going soft, "Beautiful..."

He takes pity on you and finally slips his fingers under the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down off your legs and stuffing them in his pocket. Then he leans in, licking a fat stripe up your pussy that makes you moan and clench your fists. He tuts lowly, shaking his head, "You have to be quiet, my love. There are people on the other side of the door. You don't want them to hear the pretty noises you make for me, do you?" You pant and swallow, relaxing your hands, "No, I don't....keep going please."

Shouto smiles and murmurs, "Good girl," before he focuses on your clit, rubbing wide circles around it with his tongue. He feels your thighs tense on either side of his head when he sucks the sensitive nub, your lower lip caught in between your teeth to stop yourself from crying out. As he alternates rubbing circles around and on your clit, you feel the heat in your belly building, rapidly approaching the edge of your orgasm. You clench your fists and let out a high-pitched, "Fuck..."

Just as you think you're about to fall, Shouto leans back away from you, making you whine in protest. You open your eyes to see him stand up, wipe his mouth with the back of his hand before he reaches out to kiss you hard, the taste of your wetness in his mouth. He groans and rests his hands on your hips as you reach up to thread your fingers into his dual colored hair. You break the kiss to breathe, resting your forehead against his for a few moments.

"Y/N, bend over for me," he says against your lips, giving you one more kiss before he steps back, hands undoing the buttons on his shirt. As the shirt comes open, you see fading hickeys that you've left other times across his torso. Your mouth waters and you lean forward to kiss just under his collarbone, running your hands up his chest. You feel Shouto's chest rumble as he chuckles, gently turning you in his arms.

You lean forward, resting your hands on the counter and you hear Shouto fumbling with his belt buckle. You lift the end of your skirt up higher and you see Shouto in the mirror behind you, his eyes staring at your ass intensely. You shift a little, uncomfortable, "What?" He gently caresses your ass, then leans forward to press kisses to your neck. He nuzzles the nape of your hair, inhaling the smell of you, "Nothing, you're just…. beautiful."

Your cheeks heat up and you feel the blunt head of Shouto's cock rub up and down your slit. You close your eyes to revel in the feeling, but when the head slips in just a bit, your hand flies to his chest to keep him from going further.

"Wait! Shou, do you…"

"Yes, right here," he interrupts, answering your unfinished question by waving a foil packet at you in the mirror. He takes a second to put the condom on, then he takes one of your legs and puts your knee on the counter, pushing slightly on your lower back. You feel his cockhead at your entrance again, but this time he pushes into you slowly, letting you enjoy the feeling of your pussy stretching around him. You let out the breathiest of moans and watch his face in the mirror, the fucked out expression on his face making you clench around him.

He groans, pulls back a little and thrusts in more, bottoming out against your ass. "Fuck, you always take me so well baby," he says with clenched teeth, holding himself still. A couple of moments go by before you press yourself backward with a whine, urging him to fuck you. He complies and sets a steady rhythm, the drag of his cock inside you makes your eyes roll back into your head. Shouto moves your hair to the side and presses kisses on your neck and shoulder, the sensation making you mewl. He shifts his hips and the change in angle forces you to bite your lip or you'll let out a loud moan. 

He takes hold of your shoulders and holds your body upright against his, the new position making him brush that spot inside that makes you see stars. You gasp and he covers your mouth with his hand, the other one snaking under your top and bra to tweak a nipple. He thrusts into you harder and you watch your body in the mirror move along with him, completely at his mercy. He lets out a deep, low moan right in your ear as his thrusts get faster, desperately chasing his orgasm.

The simmering in your belly built up fast again from being denied already, you were almost there. His hand came out from under your shirt to tug the neckline to one side, leaving room for his teeth to sink into your skin painfully. This made the fragile coil in your stomach snap, sending you tumbling into the high of your orgasm. Shouto fought to keep thrusting into your spasming heat two, three times before he ground his hips into you, emptying himself into the condom.

You leaned your head back onto his shoulder, trying to catch your breath. You could feel him trembling, or was it you (?), so you rubbed small circles with your thumb on his forearm that was still holding you to him.

"You okay, baby?" you ask as you kiss the edge of his jaw. Shouto lets out an airy laugh and kisses you back lazily, "Yeah, yeah, I'm good." He finally peels himself off you, helps to steady you and throws away the condom as you fix your clothes. As you're smoothing down your hair, you see him looking at you fondly by his reflection. You turn and help him button up his shirt, "Y'know, you probably shouldn't wear this shirt to parties with me. I already associate it with sex, it'd just distract me and make me want to do this in maybe less ideal places."

"Less ideal than Bakugo and Midoriya's house?" Shouto asks with a quirk of his eyebrow. "Besides, I kind of like riling you up, maybe next time…" he pauses and claims your lips in an intense kiss that makes your head spin. He pulls back to let you meet his heterochromatic eyes, a thumb grazing over your cheek, "...I'll just let you pine for me. Leave you wanting. How does that sound?"

Your face flushes and you try to formulate a response, but nothing comes out. He chuckles at you and takes you by the hand, heading back out into the party.

[ms-emily119]

Angry Sex

Warnings: 18+, Smut

So, we made this deal. If one of us were pissed off for some reason, like beyond reasoning and just wanted to get out our frustrations before we snap, we were allowed to let the other person know and you’d get a free sex pass. At first, we were both immature and thought about how much fun it’d be. He was certainly intrigued, but mostly because it was MY idea, and not his. Of course, he agreed because sex freely given? And angry sex, at that? “Hell, yes,” he yelled, before I could even finish my thoughts. It was an easy yes, on both sides. However, at the time I didn’t realize what I’d be getting myself into. We hadn’t acted on this proposal yet, as it would seem that things were going really well. Of course, we knew the day would come when one of us would get rubbed the wrong way, or just have a bad day above all days, but we’d been having really great days. Or, that is, until today. I’m sitting on the couch, the tv on in the background as I scroll through my phone. He has spent most of today in the studio, which I didn’t mind since I spent the day painting. It’s been a really great day on my end, but in the one message he’d sent me today, it seemed like he wasn’t having the same luck as me. He said he’d explain when he got home, telling me he was leaving right then and there because of how irritated he was, but that message was sent thirty minutes ago. Of course, I sit here in worry for his mental state, and what might be happening as he’s on his way home. When I look outside through the glass doors toward the backyard, I realize it’s raining. I can only imagine this isn’t helping the grumpy man that’s soon to be arriving home.  That’s when I hear a car door slam shut, as well as the back gate a few minutes later. Then, he’s coming through the back door, dripping wet with rain water and bringing in the storm with him. I stand to face him better, and take in the state of him. He’s pissed. Beyond pissed, that much I can tell.  He kicks off his sneakers, walking moodily to the dining table to throw down his keys and take the things in his pockets out. He huffs hot air through his nose, moving stiffly with ire. Then, when he’s done, he looks up and sees me. Now I can see his face, and there’s the storm. His eyes don’t hold the usual spark, a dark gray about them. They also lack the adoration for me that is always there, replaced by something colder and darker. His cheeks and ears are red from the blood rushed there in anger. His lips are in a thin pout, jaw clenching every so often. Maybe he’s afraid of what’s gonna fly out if he’s not too careful. Maybe he’s afraid he’ll say something he doesn’t mean with all the fury he’s trying to hold back. “Hey, baby,” I softly call, slowly putting my phone on the couch, not daring to break eye contact with him. He slowly blinks, letting out another deep exhale of air. He clenches his jaw again. He shifts on his feet slightly, his eyebrows coming together and his hands forming fists at his sides. He swallows and licks his lips once. He stares me down all the while, and now that I’m really looking, he’s shaking. I know for a fact that he’s not cold, so it can only be the bubbling anger. “Get upstairs to the bedroom,” he mumbles quietly, and I can just barely hear him, making the mistake of asking, “huh?” “I said get upstairs to the bedroom, right now, or so help me, I’ll take ya up there meself,” he finally breaks out into a loud voice, causing me to certainly not hesitate, running for the bedroom. I know now what’s going on. He’s pissed off enough, that’s for sure. He needs to release his rage, and he’s gonna take it out on me. I’m nervous and excited, my heart pounding in my chest as I hear him slowly make his way upstairs. I don’t know what to do, frantically looking around the room, and I must have not been where I was supposed to be because when he makes it to the door frame, he seems irritated. “Fuckin’ gone stupid, have ya? Clothes off and get on the bed. Now, I won’t repeat meself this time.” I quickly do as he asks, watching as he gets

closer and takes off his shirt. I lay down on the bed and he takes his place between my legs, stopping and looking down at me. His expression hasn’t changed, remaining uncharacteristically stoic. “Tell me right now if you don’t want this, because I’m not gonna be nice t’ ya. At least not tonight.” As I look at him, I can tell he really means every word. I can’t say no, not now. I know this will pass, but it won’t if he doesn’t get my permission to fuck my brains out and release the stress. I nod my head, causing him to raise an eyebrow. I know he means he wants to hear me say it, he prefers I use my words. “Yes, I want this. I want all of it. I can take it,” I say in a mock innocent voice. At this he huffs a chuckle, shaking his head. “Oh, darling. Ya can’t play innocent wit’ me. Ya know I know it’s all for show,” he gets closer, hovering over me now with his hands placed by my head, his chest and nose just barely touching mine. His breath cascades around my face. My legs instinctively go around his torso as his crotch meets mine. I whine at the fact his is still clothed, receiving a darker chuckle from him. He moves his lips to my ear, biting my earlobe a bit before speaking. “Don’t worry, pet. I’ll give ya want ya want,” he whispers, sending shivers down my spine. “But first, I’m gonna take care of her like always.” Normally, he’d kiss his way down my body, but this is different. He licks and sucks on my neck, getting me to arch my back off the bed. Then, his bites on my left breast, really sinking his teeth in and making me yelp. He only laughs, moving further down, and leaving bite marks on my hips and thighs. When he gets to where he wants, he doesn’t hesitate. He goes in, licking and sucking, hungrier than he ever has before, which says a lot for him because he loves going down on me. This time, he wants to get my every wanton reaction, not caring about how loud I am, or how rough he’s being with me.  He holds me down, keeping my legs apart while keeping my hips in place to have his way me. He’s being sloppy and filthy about it, too. I’m coating his lips and cheeks at this point, and I’m holding onto the sheets for dear life, unable to breathe properly. Before I know it, I hit my peak with a whiney moan. This doesn’t stop him, only encourages him to go further. He adds his fingers in now, reaching where I never could and playing all my strings like only he does. He brings me to the edge sooner than before, cleaning up the mess he made fervently. My legs shake around his head, but I can tell he isn’t satisfied.  He stands at the edge of the bed, looking down at me. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, coming back to hover over me again. His lips just barely touch mine, as if he wants to taunt me, which he probably does. He starts to grind over my sensitive pussy, not caring about my whines and pleas. He finally kisses me, spreading all of me over my lips and tongue. He’s kissing like he needs to, as if I’m the oxygen on earth, and he can’t breathe. I surely can’t as he grabs ahold of my hands to place them by head, still grinding on me and kissing me ardently. I bite at his lower lip to get his attention and look at him to let him know that I need him. But, as I mentioned before, he wants to hear me say it. “Ni, I need you. Please, need you.” This snaps something within him. He abruptly pulls away from me, much to my dismay, and strips out of the rest of his clothes. He huffs out heavy breaths once again, quickly moving to get back to me. Once he’s finished, he grabs ahold of me, moving me to face the bed. He raises my hips, getting me on my knees, and shoving my face into the bed. He comes to hover over me and whisper in my ear, holding the back of my neck with one hand and my hands behind me with the other. “Need me, huh? My fuckin’ slut needs me, eh? Alright, I’ll give ya what what ya lookin’ f’r.” At this, he pulls away, taking away his left hand from my neck and going to slap my ass. It stings, causing me to yell out. This only riles him up more and he smacks it

again. “Yeah? Ya like that? I fuckin’ knew ya would, ya fucking whore.” I whine, shaking my ass in hopes he’ll get the message. He apparently does because his hand comes down on my ass again, this time harder than before. “You’ll fuckin’ get me when I feel like it. You can knock that right off.” I whine again, causing him to hit my ass again. He places himself behind me, though. I know what’s coming, and I’m eager for it. He’s mumbling under his breath, I know it has something to do with me being a brat and greedy whore from what I can make out. He places his head at my pussy, but doesn’t go in. He toys with me, rubbing it slowly, up and down my lips. I gasp, rolling my hips back in response. He groans, finally going in, both of us moaning at the feeling. But, of course, I don’t realize what’s about to take place for me.  He starts pounding into me, not letting me adjust like he normally would. Of course, this isn’t like it always is, even when we’re fucking. He doesn’t care at the moment. All he wants is to have me ruined on this bed, that much I can tell. He slams into me, soft grunts leaving his lips, and loud moans and whines from me. That’s when he pulls me to sit up on his thighs, still thrusting up into me. He lets go of my hands, but pulls my head back by my hair so he can suck and bite on my neck. I grab onto the hair at the back of his head, the other hand going to rub on my breast. This catches his attention, causing him to groan. His left hand travels down to my clit, rubbing on it in rough circles. My mouth goes slack, short breaths leaving past my lips. I genuinely can’t breathe, being overworked and overwhelmed by him. “Look at yourself in the mirror,” he whispers in my ear, I snap my eyes over to the mirror above the dresser that I’d normally use to make sure my attire looks alright. Now, it holds the reflection of him thrusting his hips up into me while he plays with my clit and I play with my breasts, thoroughly fucked out. “Look at ya, petal. Look at you gettin’ fucked out by me,” he says just before I clench around him in pleasure, making him whimper in my ear. “Fuck. Do that again, and you’re gettin’ even more ruined.” Of course, I have to challenge him. I do it again, only to have him abruptly push me forward, his hands slamming down onto the bed frame by my head. He has a different angle now, using it to his advantage. “Okay, brat. You wanna challenge me then, yeah?” He removes his right hand from the bed frame, going to my right leg that he raises and begins to snap his hips in to me like that. I hold onto the bed frame as well, needing something to ground myself to as my peak starts to creep up faster. I can just barely tell him. “Ni, I…,” I try to start to say. “Ni, I can’t hold on. Please, let me cum. Please, Ni. Fuck.” “Fuckin’ ya stupid, am I? Yeah, cum for me, ya fuckin’ slut. Go on then.” I nearly black out when I finally cum, yelling swears and his name. They become the only things on my mind. He’s truly fucked me stupid, and he knows it. As I go over the edge, I pull him with with me. He shouts out a curse, repeating my name over and over. When he finishes, he pulls out quickly to sit back on his heels and catch his breath, while I lose my grip on the bed and fall over on my side. He says something to me, but I can’t hear him over the ringing in my ears and the breaths I pant through my mouth. “Petal,” he questions louder, causing me to open my eyes, which I didn’t realize were closed. I look up at him, concern filling his eyes that are now bright and beautiful blue, the spark restored as well. “Are ya okay? I’m sorry if I as too rough wit’ ya. I didn’t mean t’ be, I was just so fuckin’ mad.” I start to breathlessly laugh, which surprises him into a nervous smile. “Do you feel like talking about it now,” I ask, causing him to laugh, too.

[fanmoose12]

catch me if you can

Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Erwin Smith, Kenny Ackerman

Genres: Mystery / Romance

Summary: The Ackerman duo. Just the mention of this name filled Hange with so many feelings. Mostly, when she reread the files of their cases over and over, until her eyes watered, she felt pricking annoyance. Sometimes, when she stared at the dead bodies of those scarce unfortunates who stumbled upon their crimes, she was filled with hatred and a pushing need for revenge. Hange couldn’t deny, however, there were times when she marveled at the impudence of their crimes. And, when she was investigating the Ackerman’s cases and saw just how meticulously planned they all were, she couldn’t help but feel something close to fascination.No one knew who they were. No one had seen their faces, no one knew their true names. Almost everyone knew of their crimes.Hange was determined to unravel every last one of their secrets. She will put an end to their crimes and then she will get the elusive Ackermans behind bars.

Chapter 12/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Сhapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

“Oi, lady, have you gone mute? Or did you call just to give me a silent treatment?”

Kenny, that voice belonged to Kenny. Kenny was just on the other line, Levi had finally found him, in the most unexpected way, in the most unexpected place.

Levi wanted to say so much, wanted to yell and scream, wanted to curse at his uncle before his throat was dry. But his tongue felt heavy, stuck to the roof of his mouth, and in that moment, the only thing he could manage was a breathy whisper,

“Kenny?”

The only reply he got was silence, which grew in intensity with every passing second. Levi could sense Hange’s bewilder and shock, her hard gaze was burning the back of his head. But Levi ignored her for the time being. He’d deal with her later, after he’d get out of Kenny just where the fuck he was hiding.

However… Kenny still didn’t give an answer. The bastard was going to end the call and throw away that phone, he was going to slip away and disappear again. Levi couldn’t let him. He was sick of chasing Kenny, of being three steps behind him.

It was time they talk, whether Kenny wanted to or not. Levi tightened his hold on the phone, lamenting that he couldn’t fist his hands in the lapels of Kenny’s stupid long coat to give him a firm, rough shake. Then, perhaps, Kenny would finally get his head out of his ass.

“I know you’re still here,” Levi gritted, his exasperation slipping through, “So stop fucking around, and start talking.”

Finally, that earned Levi a reaction. Kenny sighed, the sound alarmingly weary. “I told you to quit, didn’t I?”

“I couldn’t, and you know that.”

Kenny let out another sigh, this time accompanying it by a colorful curse. “Are you still running around city with that detective in tow?”

Levi chanced a glance of Hange. She was staring back at him, impatience written all over her face.

“Yes. What of it?”

“Can you shake her off?”

Could Levi do that? Possibly. But did he want to do it? Not particularly. He and Hange had an agreement, after all – Levi gets his uncle, Hange gets her missing girl. Fair and square. He wasn’t going to lie to her again, even for his uncle’s sake.

“I can’t. And cut the bullshit, Kenny. Tell me where the fuck are you.”

There was another beat of silence, this one was aggravating Levi a lot more. He meant to snap at Kenny again, but just as he was opening his mouth, a vile curse on the tip of his tongue, Kenny said,

“Remember the house we used to live in? When you mother was still alive? You will find me there.”

Levi took a deep breath, a million of questions ready to spill out. The call was disconnected before he could utter a single word.

Of course, what else he was expecting from his uncle? Cooperation? Clear communication? That was never their way.

What he found surprising, however, was that Kenny was hiding in their old house. Levi would have never suspected it as his hiding place. He didn’t know that house still existed at all, he thought Kenny had gotten rid of it a long time ago – sold it away or destroyed.

But he hadn’t. And now Levi didn’t know what to think of it. He also wasn’t sure how he felt about going back to his childhood home, a house he shared with his mother, a place where he had spent the happiest of his years, before the biggest tragedy of his life struck.

Would be overwhelmed with sweet nostalgia? Or be struck by immerse grief?

Or, maybe, he would be too occupied with yelling at his uncle to notice any kind of different, more solemn feeling. The third option was certainly the most preferred one.

Turning to face Hange, Levi was meaning to explain everything to her. But as their eyes met, the quiet of the night city was interrupted by a shrill sound of her ringtone.

Hange winced, silently apologizing, and took out her phone, putting it to her ear. Levi frowned, wondering who could call her this late in the evening. He had his suspicion, of course…

It was confirmed when Hange answered the call with ‘Erwin! Is everything alright?’.

Puffing an annoyed breath, Levi paced a few steps away, giving Hange at least the illusion of privacy. But as his legs carried him away from her, his ears strained, catching every bit of conversation that he could.

However, understanding what Hange and her boss were talking about proved to be quite a task, when her replies consisted mostly of ‘Yes’, ‘No’, ‘Huh? What do you mean’ and ‘It can’t be!’. Hange ended the call in less than a minute, finishing it with a decisive ‘I’ll be there as soon as possible’.

She approached Levi immediately after.

“We need to go to the precinct.”

What? Like hell they did, they finally found Kenny, what could be more important than this?

“Reiss showed up there.” Hange explained, answering his unasked question and furious expression. “He wants to give a statement about Historia’s disappearance.”

Well… that changed the outset a bit, Reiss’ statement was if not useful, then certainly intriguing, but they found Kenny. In Levi’s eyes, that was still the more important clue. Not to mention… that was his initial and only goal.

“I know where Kenny is,” he told Hange, expecting it to change her plans completely.

He should have known that steering Hange away from something she had already set her mind on wouldn’t be so easy.

“We’ll go there right after I take that statement from Reiss.”

She looked so calm and rational, a stark contrast to the storm inside of Levi. Did she really not understand how significant their finding was? Levi was ready to growl from frustration.

He took a step forward, his eyes narrowed. “Hange—”

“Levi.” she moved closer as well, almost invading his personal space. “We will do this my way, or you will do nothing at all.”

Oh, so she was threatening him now? As if that would ever work on him.

“Alright,” he conceded, crossing hands on his chest. “Let’s split up then. You go to Reiss and your darling boss, I go to Kenny.”

Levi thought he’d struck gold with his suggestion. Both of them would get what they wanted without sacrificing precious time. It was perfect, wasn’t it?

Hange evidently didn’t think so. She laughed in his face, stating, “Don’t take me for a fool. Do you really think I’d let you go to see your uncle all by yourself?”

So that was it. The good old argument making a return.

“Really, Hange? After everything we’ve been through, you still don’t trust me?”

Perhaps, some of his hurt had reflected on his face, because Hange suddenly deflated, something close to shame flashing in her eyes. “It’s not about you,” she mumbled, looking to the side.

“Not about me?” this spurred his anger even more. “Then, who is it about?”

Hange clenched her jaw. “It’s about your uncle, Levi. I trust you, but I cannot and will not trust him. Would you have felt differently, if you were in my place?”

Hange’s concern and doubts were certainly… reasonable. He knew Kenny would never hurt him, not intentionally, but would he feel the same if he didn’t know him his whole life? If they weren’t family?

Of course, he wouldn’t. And Hange had even more reasons to distrust him, fighting her on that was futile. He could try some more to convince her, could try and make a run for it, but he’ll just end up wasting even more time that was now so precious.

“Alright,” his shoulders slumped, as he surrendered. Arguing with Hange had a way of making him extremely exhausted. “Let’s go to your shitty precinct.”

“Really?” Hange raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You agreed that easily? I thought I would need to handcuff you…”

Well, wouldn’t that be an interesting twist of events. Maybe, he would have enjoyed it. Once the embarrassment wore off, of course.

“Thanks for sparing me then.”

“Mm,” Hange patted his shoulder with a smile. “Don’t do anything stupid, and you’re totally safe.”

Ah, what a relief.

“Shall we go, then?” she started walking, her arm already lifted to hail a taxi. She didn’t even wait to hear his answer.

Levi cursed and hurried to catch up with her.

___

The whole time they spent in the car that was headed to the fucking police precinct, Levi felt like he was sitting on needles. There was another reason why he wasn’t crazy about going to that place, and, although, it was nearly not as important as his primary one, now it was making his anxiety rise to drastic heights.

Here he was, semi-willingly heading to the police precinct again. To the place that swarmed with cops, where some of Hange’s colleagues were probably aware that he was a criminal, where he would once again meet with Erwin fucking Smith.

Their last interaction ended somewhat amicably, but what could guarantee this one would be just as successful? With man as cunning as he was, who could be sure what was going inside that big brain of his?

Besides… there was another problem, hanging heavily on his mind. And in the silence of the taxi car, Levi decided to try and deal with it.

“Hey,” he started cautiously, attracting Hange’s attention. She shifted in her seat to look more comfortably at him. Despite that, Levi kept his gaze trained forward. “We’re going to meet Kenny soon, and, hopefully, untangle all this mess, so… have you decided what will happen with him afterwards?”

What will happen with me afterwards, was the question Levi wisely chose not to voice out.

“What will happen to your uncle?” Hange pursed her lips, a point finger tapping at her chin. “I don’t know yet. I guess it depends on the solution to this riddle.”

“And his…” theirs, “previous crimes? Are you going to just forget about them?”

“I can’t really do anything else about it. Technically, we have no suspects or any kind of damning evidence. Technically, that case has been closed almost two months ago.”

“So…” he put his hands into fists, keeping them from picking at the fabric of his pants. He still didn’t lift his face, reluctant to look into her eyes. He still didn’t ask the question that tormented him the most, afraid to hear the answer.

“After all of this is over… you’re free to go,” apparently, Hange knew what he was thinking about, even without him asking the question out loud. “Like I said, there is nothing I can do to pin those thefts on you or your uncle, and since, unlike your uncle, you haven’t kidnapped a young girl…”

“Oh. So you won’t try to put me behind bars anymore?”

He was almost disappointed to hear about it.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Hange protested. “I would love to do that, but I have no means to do it.”

“The horrible bureaucracy saved me?”

That earned him a delighted chuckle. Levi’s chest swelled with pride because of this little achievement. “Unfortunately, you’re not the only criminal that got away because of it.”

“All the more reasons to thank it then.”

“Or curse it vilely.”

Levi shrugged, his lips curling in a smirk. “Depends on the point of view, I guess.”

There was a pause in the conversation, and when Levi chanced a glance at Hange, he found that she wasn’t looking at him anymore. Her face was turned to the window, her fingers drumming on the seat between them in a slow, irregular manner. She seemed pensive. Levi wondered about the reason for it.

“Hey, since we started talking about it…” the rhythm created by her fingers grew stronger, more erratic. “Have you decided what are you going to do after we finish the case?”

Had he thought about? He hadn’t had the time. But even if he had, what was there to think about? He didn’t have a lot of options.

“I remember you mentioning some kids from Singapore,” Hange continued. “Are you going to go back to them?”

Going back to the brats? That didn’t sound all that bad. Just this morning they’ve sent him a photo of the three of them, telling that they’ve settled comfortably in Jean’s summer house. They said that they’ve missed him. Levi was feeling the same. But was that enough to build a life there, so far away from his home?

He could stay with Kenny, but what if Kenny went to prison? Would there be a reason for Levi to stay then?

“You know… I think we made a pretty good team. So if you ever tire of being a vile criminal…” Hange trailed off, letting Levi fill the blanks himself.

If he understood what Hange was offering correctly, then… Oh. Levi felt his chest warm up, moving downwards, spreading that pleasant fluttering to his stomach.

Hange still was staring at the window, refusing to meet his eyes. Her reflection, however, was perfectly visible to Levi, and the slight rosy color on her cheeks made his own heat up.

“What, are you proposing I become your crime solving buddy?”

Hange shrugged, feigning disinterest. “I could use some of your skills.”

“I’ll think about it then,” he said, mirroring her detached voice.

Hange faced to him with a beam shining on her lips. It was enough to make Levi smile back.

___

Despite the late hour, the precinct was bustling with activity. Remembering his last visit and the half-dead building he found that time, Levi wondered if he just caught the police station on a particularly slow night, or if that was how it always operated, and the amount of officers running around that they saw now was unusual.

"So Reiss is actually here," Hange muttered. "Or something really bad has happened. Can't imagine what else could cause this commotion."

Oh, his assertion was correct then. The precinct was so active just because of Reiss’ arrival.

Hange walked through the precinct with confidence in her stride. She greeted every officer they passed with a quick nod, they answered her in kind, and, thankfully, most of them were too busy to pay attention to Levi. He would love if it stayed that way for the rest of their visit.

They took the stairs, crossed a couple of hallways, turned a few corners, and there they were - walking up to Hange's office. There were a lot more familiar faces there - Levi could see Nana— something, talking with two officers, and Mike, leaning against the coffee machine at the other side of the room.

Hange immediately changed their trajectory, heading to him.

"Mike!" she shouted, causing him to turn in their direction.

As they approached, Levi raised his hand in greeting. When they were close enough, Mike raised his hand too, but instead of a friendly salute, Levi received a dizzying, lip shuttering punch.

Woah, apparently he was not only a towering height, but a mountain of muscles as well, the force of that punch reverberated through his skin and almost sent Levi flying through the air to land right on his ass. Mike certainly wasn't going easy on him.

Comprehending what was going on around him became a vexing task after that hell of a punch, but Hange's loud, laced with anger voice still cut through the fog.

"Mike! What the fuck? Have you gone mad?"

Mike's answer was much quieter, Levi only barely managing to catch 'You're the one to talk..."

Whether Hange heard her tall friend or not, she gave no reaction to that line. Instead, her strong arms wrapped themselves around Levi's shoulders, making the ache in his jaw turn into a barely noticeable dull. She made him face her, her fingers gripping his chin. Despite the outrage swirling in her gaze, her touch was gentle, more like a caress.

"God, Han, he's alright, it was just a punch, I'm sure he had worse. And, he more than deserved it."

Hange looked up at Mike, long enough to give him a death glare and hiss, "Shut the fuck up now."

When her eyes were back on Levi, her voice softened considerably. "Hey, Levi, are you alright?"

He gave her a nod, tenderly clenching and unclenching his jaw. Seemed like... Mike was right. He did have it worse.

Besides... having Hange so close, seeing that worried look in her beautiful brown eyes was... extremely pleasant. Enough to make him want to remain in this position for a while longer, just to enjoy that blessed feeling for another moment.

"I told you everything was fine with him," Mike grumbled suddenly, startling Levi. With Hange in front of him, the rest of the world was left in blurs, even the man who assaulted him had faded to the background. "Now, leave the thief alone and hurry to Erwin. The big man is already in his office."

That got Hange's attention. "By the big man you mean..."

"Yep, it's Reiss. I’m sure I don't have to tell why making him wait is extremely unwise."

"Got it, got it," Hange pushed the hair back from her face, taking a step back, much to Levi's disappointment.

"Don't you worry, I'll take care of your buddy," Mike reached out to Levi, and the arms that Hange still had around him tightened. Levi felt an illogically massive amount of pleasure.

"Mike, don't you even think—"

"I won't hit him anymore. I swear," he added, when Hange just kept giving him a look full of skepticism. She left it on for another second, and then nodded, letting Levi go.

She marched off to the office without another word or even glance. Without her, Levi was suddenly too cold. And the jaw ache returned with vigor.

"Here," Mike thrusted a handkerchief in Levi's hands, pointing to his still bloodied chin. Levi accepted it with a grateful nod, wiping the blood with a disgruntled grimace.

"Now let's go, I won’t waste my smoke break babysitting you." Mike pushed him forward, back to where Levi and Hange had come from.

As he finally got a good look around the room, Levi noticed that they had an audience, quite big and intrigued one. They kept staring at him as Mike led him to the elevator. Thankfully, no one uttered a single word, or, god forbid, a question.

Levi would have breathed out in relief once the elevator doors closed, if his companion wasn't so... unnerving. Mike didn't say a word, didn't as much as glance in his direction while they rode the elevator. He was silent when they left the elevator. He was silent as they moved towards the exit. He was silent as they walked outside. He was silent when he lit up his cigarette, was silent when he offered another one to Levi. Mike was silent before he took his first drag and after he let the smoke out. He inhaled deeply through his nose, and only then he fixed his eyes on Levi.

Levi held his breath, the tips of fingers trembling in anticipation for what was to come. Hopefully, not another punch.

"I was with Han, you know? When she found that note of yours. When she realized who you actually were."

Oh... Then Mike's ire was more than justifiable. And Levi digressed – a punch would be probably a less painful option than having this conversation.

"Did she..."

"No. I've never seen Hange cry, but—" Mike put cigarette back to his lips, inhaling it slowly, as though calming himself down. Levi waited for his answer with a bated breath. "I've also never seen her look so lost. At first, she wasn't even angry or hurt, just confused. I couldn't bear to see that look on her face. So when today I saw you waltz in our precinct like that, with Hange by your side..." he trailed, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry." Levi said.

He really was. He didn't mean to, didn't wish to hurt Hange. That was never his intention. And yet, he still did hurt her. That mistake would weigh on his soul forever.

"I know you are," Mike replied, surprisingly easy. "I used to think you're a scumbag and that my nose has failed me…"

Shit, he was really serious about this whole nose thing?

"But it turns out you're not that bad. You did lie and broke Hange's heart," and for that, Levi already received a punch in the face. "However, Erwin told me what happened yesterday. You really called him and asked to take Hange home?" Mike chuckled. "Man, that took some balls."

...To put it lightly. The memories of his last clash with Erwin still elicited a shiver from him.

"I was actually worried he'd throw me in jail," Levi confessed. "I'm surprised he didn't."

"Oh, believe me, he was very tempted to." Mike revealed.

"Then why didn't he?"

Mike shrugged, shaking off the ash from his cigarette. "Because it wasn't his call, it was Hange's. Whatever that she sees in you, it is enough for our Han to trust you. And Erwin respects her enough to not get involved in that."

Oh. That was actually reassuring. Perhaps, now Levi could stop feeling like a naughty schoolboy in Erwin's presence.

"But if you make the mistake of hurting Hange again," and just like that, the reassurance was gone. "We will make sure that you regret it. Next time, I won't be pulling back my punches."

So that hit was Mike going easy on him? Fucking hell. Levi hoped he wouldn't anger that man again. His skull may not survive it.

As Mike grew silent once again, Levi finally remembered the cigarette he was still holding in between his fingers. It almost burned out, he hurried to take a drag before it went out completely.

He regretted his decision almost immediately. Mike had a fucking terrible taste in tobacco.

Discreetly, he put the cigarette out and threw it into a trashcan.

"What do you think they're even doing there?" Levi raised a finger in the general direction of where Hange, Erwin and Reiss were. "Reiss showing up, it's a big thing, isn't it?"

"The biggest one we had in a while. Have you seen that shit inside? The precinct isn't that lively even during daytime. The bigger commotion would have happened only if we got you Ackermans in handcuffs."

Luckily, that would never happen.

"And? Do you think something... useful might come out of his visit?"

"Don't know," Mike stared down at his cigarette, rolling it between his fingers. "To be honest, I thought that Hange's new case was just another dead end. But now guy as big as Reiss gets involved? I guess it's more complicated than I expected it to be."

Complicated? That was one way to put it. Levi was still baffled by the notion that Kenny was working with Frieda Reiss. Clearly, this case was much, much more complicated than they've anticipated. Clearly, he needed to get to the bottom of it as soon as possible.

As though hearing his thoughts, Mike put his cigarette out. "C'mon, let's get you back before Hange bites my head off."

"Doubt that four-eyes will care so much about me."

Mike raised an eyebrow, his face screaming bullshit. But he said nothing, only smiled enigmatically and patted his shoulder.

"Whatever makes it easier to sleep at night, man."

___

Inside of Erwin's office was brighter than Hange had ever remembered seeing. Usually he used only two sources of light - his battered desk lamp and computer screen. But today, the ceiling lights were on. Hange didn't know that he even had them.

What's more, for the first time in a while, the leather couch standing beside his desk was occupied - by Reiss and a woman Hange had never seen before. Although, Hange had never seen her, that didn't mean she didn't know her. The hair color, the face structure - it was almost identical. Eyes, however, were different. Historia had definitely inherited them from her father.

Compared to Reiss’ bright ones, Alma’s eyes seemed practically lifeless. Her expression was completely neutral, like she wasn’t entirely there, her thoughts a long distance away from Erwin’s office.

So that woman was the mysterious mother? Hange longed to hear what she had to say.

"Sorry for the wait," she flashed everyone in the room a smile and swiftly strolled inside, taking a seat across from Erwin.

"You're dressed very smartly this night, detective Zoe. I do hope I didn't interrupt your date."

The smile didn't slip of her lips, as Hange shifted, facing Reiss. "I appreciate the concern, but it is uncalled for. Nothing more important than my job."

"Your date must be very understanding. Is that the same fella I saw you with last time? I thought you'd broken it off."

Ah, so Reiss was keeping tabs on her? Lovely.

Luckily, Hange was keeping tabs on him as well. She shifted her gaze to Reiss’ companion.

"And can I ask you who is that, Mr Reiss? Is this your—"

"That's my secretary," Reiss' smile became just a fraction more strained. Hange internally cheered. "Alma."

The same name that was listed in Historia's birth certificate. That bit of doubt Hange still had, now vanished without a trace.

"She's got valuable information regarding your recent case. And since you and I are already acquitted, I decided to accompany her."

"How nice and generous of you," Hange told Reiss, before returning to his secretary. "It's nice to meet you, Alma," she put her hand out for a handshake. Alma accepted it, albeit weakly. And only after receiving a nod from Reiss. Interesting. And creepy. "Why have you come to see me?"

The question was directed on Alma. But Reiss was the one who answered it.

"Alma has something to share regarding the disappearance of her daughter."

"Oh?" Hange shared a look with Erwin. His bush eyebrows were up to his hairline. So he had no idea about it, huh? Well, wasn't it good to finally be one step ahead of him?

But for the moment, Hange had to feign shock as well.

She cast her eyes down, hands dropping to her lap. "I was under the impression that Krista was an orphan." Then, with a slight frown, she added, "Why didn't you report her missing then? We caught news of her disappearance almost a week later."

"I..."

Alma paled, her hands began to tremble. Hange's grin began to spread, she almost got them—

But then Reiss— damn him— interfered. He covered Alma's hands with his, holding them gently, like a caring father.

"Alma and Krista had just recently reconnected," he explained in a quiet, saddened voice.

"Yes," Alma confirmed. Seemed like Reiss' support has given her the needed strength - she sounded surer now. But her gaze kept its strange detachment. "Krista and I rarely talk. I had abandoned her at the orphanage when she was just a newborn, so there are obviously... some tensions between us."

Despite the emotional flavor of her story, Alma was anything but. She was talking about her missing daughter and the rocking relationship that bounded them, yet nothing of it was mirrored in her. Her voice didn't waver, no muscle twitched on her face. Alma looked bored, like she was talking about something more trivial than even weather. Damn it, even Ackerman would have done a better job at pretending.

Although, perhaps, Hange was judging his acting skills a little too harshly. Earlier that evening, his kiss was more than just convincing. Hange felt tingle in her lips at the mere thought.

The sound of Erwin clearing his throat brought her back to present, rather abruptly.

"That is a very tragic story, Miss... Alma, but what is the reason for your visit?"

"Oh right," she freed her hands from underneath Reiss' and grasped her purse, opening it. "I found this on my lawn."

After a moment of rummaging through the purse, Alma laid before Hange a phone that was wrapped in a cellophane bag. Huh, for a simple secretary she knew more than enough about preserving evidence. Not to mention that if Hange found the phone of her missing daughter lying on the lawn, preserving evidence would be the last thing on her mind. But, oh well, what wasn't suspicious about that woman?

Reaching out to Erwin, Hange silently asked him to pass the sterile gloves. Any other day she wouldn’t think twice about simply grabbing the piece of evidence, but if that's how they wanted to play, she would have to indulge them.

Once the latex was pulled onto her long fingers, Hange took the phone - eagerly, impatiently. It all might be just a ruse, and she'd be damned, but she was intrigued by it.

The phone wasn't in the best shape - a large crack ran through the screen, the sides of it were covered in bumps, and at the bottom of it— oh, just a speck, but it was undeniably blood.

Hange shivered at the thought about its origin.

Once unlocked, the phone destroyed the little doubts she had. It really belonged to Historia, the picture on the lock screen confirmed it. The photo showed Historia, who was smiling at the camera with all of her loveliness, and Ymir, who was facing away, her lips at Historia's cheek. Ah, so that's why she was so dead set on saving her? Interesting. And so romantic. Hange didn't expect such a thing from Ymir.

"You found it on your lawn, right?" Erwin asked, signaling Hange to pass him the phone. Once she did, he looked at it, with both skepticism and curiosity.

"Yes," Alma said. "I called Mr. Reiss as soon as I did."

"Alma hopes that the phone would shed some light on where Krista disappeared."

"Hm." Hange couldn't shake off the feeling that she was walking straight into a trap. Why did Reiss decided to finally act, and why today of all days? Was he aware that they got to one of his daughters, and now were close to finding another one? Did he even care? And what was the importance of the phone? It was some sort of distraction or diversion, Hange was sure of it. But for now, it would have to remain a mystery. As suspicious as Reiss' actions were, there was a more pressing matter now. They had to get to Kenny Ackerman, and get out of him everything he was willing to share. Hopefully, with Levi by her side, he'd be much more amenable.

"Thank you for your cooperation," getting out of off her stupor, Hange smiled and shook first Reiss', then Alma's hand. "If we find anything regarding Historia's whereabouts, we'll alert you immediately."

"Krista." Reiss spoke in a voice so low that Hange had to take a double take to confirm that yes, that scary tone was coming from the honest, kindhearted, absolutely innocent politician.

"What?"

"Krista, Alma's daughter is named Krista. And you were just talking about some Historia."

Some Historia, huh?

"My mistake," Hange chuckled, rubbing her neck. "It was a long day, sorry."

"Forgive that slight mishap. Detective Zoe works day and night to find your daughter." Erwin chimed in, calming everyone down with his soft, unassuming smile. Hange could barely keep her delightful giggle.

Your daughter, Erwin said, while looking Reiss in the eyes. So he already caught on? Hange wasn't surprised.

"Thank you for the visit and have a good night, Mr. Reiss, Miss Alma. My assistant will walk you to the door."

Reiss nodded, his eyes still darker than a night's sky. He helped Alma get to her feet and led her to the door, where Nifa, Erwin's assistant, was already waiting with a tired gaze and polite smile.

They left, without looking back even once. Alma didn't say goodbye to Hange, didn't grab her arm and beg to bring her daughter back home. God, that woman could have at least tried to do a more believable act.

Once the door was closed, and they were left alone, the amicable expression was gone from Erwin's face. His jaw was set, his lips pressed in a line, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I hope I don't have to tell you that you're walking on a thin ice, Hange. And that this endeavor of your—"

"I know."

"And working with that Ackerman—"

"I know." Hange repeated, firmer this time. She knew the dangers, knew about possible consequences. Last night, Erwin made sure to explain it to her in vivid details. "But this girl is in trouble, Erwin. I can't let it go before she's safe."

"Your heart was always your biggest weakness," the stoic mask on his face hardened, and then cracked, revealing a fond smile. "But it's also your biggest strength. Don't lose it."

Standing up, Hange hid Historia’s phone inside the pocket of her jacket, then flashed Erwin a cheeky grin. "Is that an order, Captain?"

"It absolutely is, detective. You may go now. Someone is very impatient."

Hange followed Erwin's gaze, turning to the door. Even through the closed door, Levi's silhouette was transparent. He was pacing back and forth, and Hange could bet that he was scowling. She confirmed that guess as soon as she left Erwin's office.

"What the fuck had taken you so long? C'mon, four-eyes, we have to hurry."

Right, Kenny Ackerman was waiting for them. Kenny Ackerman who most definitely had the answers, who probably knew where Historia was. Hange couldn't allow another second go to waste.

She quickly skipped to where Levi was standing, prompting him to start moving.

"Let's go then! The solution awaits!"

___

"Wait!" Hange stopped them as soon as they were out of the precinct. "We need to call Ymir."

Levi groaned. Why, oh why, would she want to call that impossible brat?

"We wouldn't have found your uncle if it wasn't for her help. The only thing she asked in return is to find Historia. We owe her that much."

Perhaps, that was true, but Hange hadn't considered one very important factor - Levi really, really didn't want to face Ymir again. The last embarrassment was still too fresh in his mind.

"We haven't found Historia yet," he tried to argue.

"But we're as close as ever," Hange chirpily replied, overthrowing his whole reasoning with just one hopeful sentence.

Well, his battle was doomed before it had even begun. Levi lamented this loss with a sigh. "You're too kind, four-eyes."

"And you're too cranky," she retaliated, following that devastating blow with a mighty clasp to his back. "Call taxi for us while I talk with Ymir, okay? You know where to go, right?"

"Yeah," he nodded, sobering a little. Amidst his banter with Hange, he had completely forgotten that right, he was going to visit his childhood home, the same house where he had found the breathless body of his mother at the ripe age of nine. The feelings this trip was awakening in him were still unclear.

"And where exactly are we going?" whether his face, voice or general stiffness betrayed him or Hange was just that attuned to his emotions, but worry took residence in her gaze. She froze with phone raised to her ear, waiting for his answer.

"It's at the edge of the city."

"Near the docks? Some kind of abandoned warehouse?"

"Um." Something pointy stuck in his throat, making it hard to speak. However, Hange's gaze didn't waver, as she continued to expect a continuation from him. Swallowing his discomfort, Levi muttered, "We're going to my childhood home."

"Oh." The hand holding the phone lowered. Hange took a step in his direction. For one terrifying second Levi thought she was going to hug him. But, apparently, she decided to spare him from further embarrassment and concluded that gripping his shoulders tightly was enough. She stared straight at him, and in the darkness her eyes shone with sincerity. "If you want - or need - to talk about this, I'm ready to listen. If you—"

Fucking hell, compared to Hange, every other human seemed like an utter piece of shit.

"It's fine, four-eyes. It's just the house where I found my dead mom."

Saying that was obviously a mistake. Hange gasped, her eyes widening. Her hands on his shoulders tightening. "Levi, that's—"

"Yeah, one hell of a traumatic experience, especially for a brat who barely turned nine."

Another wrong line. Now Hange looked close to tears. Levi didn't know what urge was stronger - to wrap himself around Hange and ask her to never let go, or tear his hair out.

"Listen, I've dealt with it a long time ago," he didn't, hadn't even tried, but today and right now was very obviously the wrong time to go soul-searching and uncover what consequences his mother's death had on his psyche. "Don't worry about it."

"I can't help it, but if you insist..."

With that lost expression on her face, Hange looked so damn adorable, Levi was pissed off at himself for being so unwilling to look away. Thankfully, she saved him from this heavy duty by being the first one to turn around, the phone back to her ear. Levi turned away as well, escaping temptation. His finger was just hovering over the order button, when it dawned at him.

"Wait!" he pulled Hange back to him. "Did you just call me Levi?"

It wasn't the first time this evening as well, but all the previous occasions had him too occupied with something else to notice that slight change.

"Where did the damned Ackerman go?"

"Um." If he hadn't spent the previous two days learning just how bold and forward Hange was, he'd say that right now, she looked ashamed. The red in her cheeks certainly spoke in favor of that theory. "I'll be dealing with two Ackermans from now on, right? So to avoid any confusion..."

That was a very logical, reasonable explanation. So why Levi wanted it to be something more— personal?

"The taxi will be here in five," he said, distancing himself from these pointless, foolish thoughts.

"Ymir said she'll be waiting there for us," Hange nodded readily. "Shall we go?"

And so they went.

___

By the time Levi and Hange walked out of the taxi, Ymir was already waiting for them. She was standing near the sidewalk, leaning against a shiny black motorcycle.

Levi rolled his eyes at the sight of it. Of course, Ymir rode a motorcycle. As though she wasn't already a personification of every possible lesbian cliché.

"Oh what a baby!" squealing, Hange ran up to the motorcycle, looking it over with eyes burning from excitement. "I'm sure Historia would love to take a ride on this beast!"

"What can I say?" Ymir huffed, puffing her chest. The smirk on her face was absolutely horrendous. Even Kenny couldn't quite recreate a look of that much self-confidence. "Chicks dig bikes."

"That they certainly do."

Aha, so Hange liked motorcycles. Levi made a mental note about that.

He then left behind Hange's shrilling coos and Ymir's bratty replies, taking a step closer to the house he had grown up in.

It was dark now and seemingly empty, but years ago it was always filled with light. It was filled with life - his mom's cheerful laughter, his uncle's merry jokes, Levi's own insistent, curious questions about everything he encountered. It was filled with love— but now, it was just a house - old and cold.

Although, other than that, it looked exactly like Levi had remembered. A light green house in the suburbs, with a garden, little white fence and even playground, all of it was a gift from Uri Reiss, the only real friend his uncle had.

Oh, how his mother loved that house. How she enjoyed tending to the garden, how she laughed when she watched Levi play on a swing. They were happy in this house, the happiest Levi had ever been.

Standing before it now, after so many years, felt strange. Noticing all the little signs that someone had been looking after the house ­- the lawn was moved, the trash sorted and neatly packed, even the lane was swept - was even stranger. And he used to think that Kenny had sold the house long time ago. Evidently, the old bastard was more sentimental that he let on.

"Hey," a gentle voice was in his ear, strong hands on his shoulders. "Do you need a moment or—"

He was grateful for Hange's concern. But that concern - as sweet as it was - was misplaced. They didn't have time for it.

"I'm fine," he assured, lamenting that he was too prideful to take Hange by the hand. Not that he needed it, but— it certainly would make him feel better. "Let's get moving."

They did, all three of them in perfect unison, and be it her detective's sense or simple intuition, or, perhaps, Hange really could read him as easily as a book, but she took her hand in his, squeezing his palm reassuringly. It certainly worked, her touch was like a magic that chased away the tense feeling in his muscles. Now, Levi could almost breathe freely.

When they reached the door, Hange lifted her free hand, probably with intent to knock. What a dork, Levi thought fondly. Pushing her aside, he kicked the door open with one mighty hit of his leg.

"Levi!" Hange yelled in shock. "You can't just—"

"My house, remember?"

Without another word, Levi passed the threshold, Hange and Ymir trailing after him.

Even engulfed in darkness, the inside of the house looked just like he remembered - soft, crème carpet under their feet, fern that had grown so much bigger standing near the door, a photo of—

Oh. Levi averted his eyes with lightning speed. The last thing he wanted to do was to start crying. Especially with Ymir present.

The house seemed emptier with each step they took. Doubt started to arise within Levi, and along with it - his anger. If that son of a bitch lied to him—

But then he heard it. Just at the edge of his hearing, but that sound was as familiar as it was unmistakable. The sound of Kenny playing with his lighter.

He hurried in the direction of that sound, it led him to the living room. The room was dark, the only source of light was the old TV-screen that did a very poor job of illuminating the rest of the room. Levi could barely see the outlines of the couch, but the figure lying on it— oh, Levi knew it so well.

The sight of Kenny with a bottle of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other was all too familiar. And just as infuriating. Still holding onto Hange, Levi marched to his uncle with the full intent of kicking his insolent ass.

Kenny shot to his feet moments before they reached him.

"Levi!" he spread his arms in a greeting gesture. Levi's scowl darkened. "You brought friends!"

"Kenny—"

"And before you or your detective—" Kenny swept his eyes all over Hange, his grin growing, "friend punch me, let me show you something."

"Something?" it came from Hange, who sounded simultaneously intrigued, cautious and fucking furious.

"Someone," Kenny corrected with an enigmatic wink. Before Levi or Hange could force him to explain, he shouted, his voice carrying over the entire house, "Girl! Come here, you have guests!"

There was a beat of silence, then, they heard a sound of hurried footsteps that came from the upper floor. Levi held his breath. Hange did too, and, holding her hand, he could feel her pulse beating strongly.

At last, the door to the living room opened.

"What the hell do you want from me again?"

Levi's jaw dropped. Dressed in lilac top and shorts, with her hair up in a messy ponytail she looked a bit different from the perfect girl from the photos, but truth was impossible to deny.

Before them— in the flesh, stood Historia Reiss.

[sh1tbird-shantytown]

Just had an idea, what if s2 was Billy figuring out about the three teens that no one will talk about. And why the prettiest boy he's ever met has gigantic claw marks on his shoulders.

Tommy noticed them, Billy saw him side glance the marks a few times but never bring it up. It was concern and confusion that made Billy’s gut churn, unprecedented emotions based on how roughly they’d been treating Harrington for the last four days, but worry nonetheless.

Billy wanted to reach out and touch them. The almost jagged lines. Like a large cat had jumped him from behind and tore up his shoulders by trying to bring him down. Scars that were mostly healed, leading all the way down just past his shoulder blades.

Tommy set his soap back and didn’t meet Billy’s eyes, “Thought you ditched boy scouts, Harrington?” Billy clenched his fists and tried not to reach over and sucker punch the idiot in the gut.

Steve was all dewy eyed to the point that Billy felt the need to…touch. He lifted a finger. Steve refocused on the two around him and chuckled humorlessly. But gave no other response. Billy made sure to narrow his eyes enough that when Tommy reopened his mouth, it immediately shut again.

-

Steve wasn’t at school the next day. In english, Billy couldn’t help but blame Tommy’s thoughtlessness. Nancy sat next to him with a   medical gauze around her forearm and bags under her eyes. Billy didn’t waver when she caught him staring.

“What do you want, Hargrove?” her voice didn’t steel as much as it usually did.

“Where’s Harrington?” he demanded, almost asked to leave the room after hearing how obvious he sounded.

Nancy raised one of her brows and set her book down, “He’s—” she looked down at her papers. “Just keep to yourself, Hargrove.” He checked the teacher talking to a girl in the front of the room and leaned toward Nancy more so he could speak lower.

“Either you tell me now or I find out sooner or later.” Nancy didn’t lift her chin. “Was it a fight? Did Harrington try to get friendly with the wrong sort again?” He didn’t miss the way Nancy’s fists clenched. “I heard you messed him up a bit last year. Your new boyfriend get too rough or somethin’ again?”

She hunched her shoulders and Billy tilted his ear towards her, “Don’t you dare bring Jonathan into this.”

Billy smirked, “Touchy subject. So,” he looked between her scowl and her brimming tears, “Who was it then? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure Steve has perfect attendance. He wouldn’t just skip unless something was wrong, his language grade is bad enough.”

“Don’t talk about him like that.”

“I’m just stating a fact.”

Nancy pointed her thin finger at him, “And stop talking like you know him. You don’t know shit. You don’t know what he’s been through or about the monsters that hurt—” She abruptly cut herself off and looked down. Like her mess up was nothing.

But Billy got the gist.

-

Neil went to bed at exactly 10:30 PM every night. That gave Billy approximately nine hours to leave and return.

He left and prayed in curses as he rolled down the street in the dark. Drove all the way to the Harrington house and tried to ignore the shadows as he ran to the front door.

“Open up, Steve!” The door opened less than a minute later. “Why don’t you tell me about anything? Nancy is really bad at giving information and she’s also really bad at keeping her mouth shut, so we’re never telling her about whatever this is for sure.”

“What are you saying, Billy?”

Billy didn’t have an exact answer to Steve’s question. All he knew was that Steve had a nasty cut along his jaw and he limped as he walked through the foyer.

“Was it the shadow things that did this to you?” Steve was brighter than he was perceived, he knew people. And he knew Billy just as much as Billy knew him, maybe even better. He didn’t have to explain things to Harrington.

“When did you see?”

Billy hesitated and then leaned down to pull up his pant leg, revealing the fresh scar by his ankle, “Something grabbed me the other night. Figured the police wouldn’t know what the fuck to do. So…” he shrugged and quieted as he saw Steve nodding.

Harrington started pulling up the hem of his shirt, “We’ve somehow managed to keep this crap under the wraps, it’d be a shit show if we lost it now. Hopper would have our heads.”

Billy followed the shirt as it was strewn over an accent table. He closed his eyes and looked away. Steve’s shoulders were dark, raw pink. Reflections of the old lines were re-etched, something out of a horror movie. He caught more in the mirror above the table by accident and pressed his lips together. The pretty, pale expansion of Steve’s mole spotted back was ruined by even longer rips. Some were badly covered in band-aids while others looked haphazardly stitched together.

“Nancy’s hands shake a lot when she’s under pressure.”

Billy sucked in a breath and straightened up, Steve looked unsurprised at his reaction. He could see him trying to offer a consoling smile, but it landed flat as he shivered in the cold draft of the house.

Billy panicked a little and stepped forward to finally touch, “Common, I’m gonna take care of you, Princess.”

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

adams

request: Hi! I have a request, could you do one where the reader is a part of the BAU team, and she’s dating Spence, and she’s watching him interrogate Cat Adams, and she has to hear her say that she’s pregnant with Spence’s baby? Thanks!

for: @mggbler​

word count: 2,965                                                                                                reading time aprox: 11 mins 

a/n: so i’m back? also another thing, if you are requesting an imagine, id really appreciate it if you had your username listed as it will be much easier to tag you, but it is whatever you’re comfortable with <3

masterlist

My fingertips drummed against the cool concrete frame that lined the two-way window. My feet were firmly planted on the hard floors of the prison as I gazed intensely at the scene before me. An ember lit aflame inside of me as Cat Adams tantalizingly edged closer towards Spencer, diminishing the proximity between their faces. Every tedious inch she took, I dissociated farther and farther away into my headspace; although I could still hear her pretentious tone through my earpiece as she brushed her fingers against Spencer’s eyelids. 

“Close your eyes”  

This is bullshit. 

“Good, now keep them shut. Sit back and relax” 

I turned my head aside to look away, pinching the inner crevice of my elbow to regain my sense of reality. My composure was noticeably calm on the exterior, something I’ve picked up in the years of working at the BAU, but the expanding coil of indignation continued to wind as time passed. 

My patience had always been one of my greatest virtues, yet Cat Adams was able to deteriorate that virtue with her nonchalant fingers softly grazing the skin of Spencer’s hands, the licking of her lips as she whispered suggestive words on his neck, and that flame in her eyes that convinced her she was all-powerful. 

“Now when you open your eyes...I want you to look at me like I’m the first woman you’ve seen after being in prison for three months” 

I breathed through my lips, reassuring myself of Spencer’s affections. Yet an insurmountable amount of insecurity peaked into the bottom of my stomach, clawing its way up to my throat. I felt restrained within my own skin, combating the urge to pick and pry at the flesh. 

“If she touches…” I muttered to myself, biting the inside of my cheek as my words trailed off into uncomfortable anticipation. 

“You’re here! You’re really here” Cat celebrated, welcoming Spencer in her chaotic delusion. A mischievous grin appeared on her lips, Spencer fabricating a benevolent facade as he let himself grow comfortable in her scheme. 

 “There is nowhere else I would rather be” Spencer replied with many endeavors, sending a chilling shot through my chest. 

 It’s fake...it’s all fake 

“You’re good at this...you’re so good at this” Cat shook her head, gazing at Spencer with much admiration and recognition. “I almost believe you don’t want to kill me” She teased. 

 “I don’t want to kill you” Spencer hastily admitted, replicating Cat’s gaze of fervor. As ironic as it seemed, it became a game of cat and mouse. Who would concede first? 

 “What if I let your mother die?” Cat blurted out, gauging at Spencer’s reaction to her explicit words. But to no avail, Spencer expressed no tells or twitches that would give away his robust collectedness. “Then would you kill me?” She continued. 

 Spencer stared at her with an unimpressed look, unfazed by the mention of his mother. A small smirk resided on the corners of his supple lips, raising his eyebrows in a lack of interest as if the lifeless walls of the room seemed blasé. 

 “Oh...my mistake” She paused, chuckling to herself as a devious Cheshire grin appeared on her lips. “What about Y/N?” She spat. 

 How did she…

 The once present smirk on Spencer’s face faltered, yet he remained his fortitude. He closed in on her, peering at her in suspicion. “What about Y/N?” Spencer reiterated, using reverse psychology to throw her off. 

 Cat pushed herself off the edge of the table, leaning back into her chair with an impervious attitude. “Cut the crap Spencie, I know about your little romance” She taunted humorously, rolling her eyes as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I know about the little pet you keep around” She badgered, causing a chink off of Spencer’s armor to be revealed. 

 My fists clenched beside me, absorbing the evident frustration coursing through my veins. I cringed as I bit down on the muscle of my cheeks, the taste of metal coating my tongue momentarily. I kept myself grounded for the sake of the interrogation, but if the life of Diana and Spencer wasn’t on the line, I would be the one interviewing the psychotic bitch myself. 

 “I thought we were supposed to be talking about my mother” Spencer breathed out, leaning back in his chair to cover up for his slip in character. 

 “You know what’s the best part, Spencie?” Cat leaned over the table, ignoring the words Spencer had previously spoken and hovered a few inches away from his ear. For a moment she deviated her focus from Spencer and directed it towards the two-way glass. Even in the split second, she broke away from her main target, you could see the mischief and ego festering in the pit of her eyes. “I know she’s watching us...I know how much it’s killing her just watching us” Cat seduced, trailing her fingertips suggestively up Spencer’s arm. 

Spencer tore his shoulder away from her roughly, pulling up the cuffs of his sleeves in a sensible manner. “You said you wanted to play a game earlier,” Spencer reminded her, battling the urge to prove Cat wrong and reassure the woman on the other side of the glass. “Is it the same as last time?” 

 “Oh Spencie…” Cat sighed, retracting herself back to her seat. Suddenly her stare drifted back to the two-way glass, and with as much authority she can harbor, she peered through the mirror with much affliction. “I can’t wait till she finds out about Mexico” She blurted out in faux innocence. 

 This pricked at Spencer’s ears, leading him to profile the words that spilled out her mouth. “What happened in Mexico?” He inquired, pressing her on the missing fragments of his whereabouts that lead to his arrest. She simply tiptoed around his request, taunting him as she refused to take her blazing eyes off the glass. 

A loud bang reverberated off the walls. This caused Cat’s attention to halt as it shifted towards the source of the ringing sound, only to find out that it was Spencer’s hand harshly slamming against the table. “What happened in Mexico?” Spencer reiterated once again, but this time his tone barely held back the chagrin clouding his rationality. The booming volume of his usually gentle voice complimented the aftershock of the wood beneath his palm as it still rattled underneath his force. 

“Are you getting a little aggressive Spencie? I didn’t even know you were capable of that” She mocked, tucking her arms to her side while her hands roamed the circumference of her stomach. Spencer glared at her incredulously, deciding that he had enough of her drudging ploys. He pushed his chair back, making the motion to get up and leave the room, but before he had the opportunity to stand up, two words were revealed into the already perturbed air.  

“I’m pregnant,” 

Spencer froze in his spot, taking a moment to breathe before shaking his head and proceeding towards the door. I scoffed in disgust, waiting for Spencer on the other side of the door. Even for Cat this was low. 

 I can’t imagine anyone using pregnancy for their own gai-

 “...actually we’re pregnant, Spencie” 

Everything stilled. Oxygen refused to fill my lungs and my blood ran cold. The same seemed to occur with Spencer as his feet were motionless like he was stuck in a fragment of time. The words kept passing through me like waves echoing from a cymbal, only this time it was endless. No matter what I did, the words never resonated in my head. I became deaf, some may say that I was in denial. But I heard it. I heard it slip past as a whisper on her lips. 

 I felt numb for what seemed like an eternity. But it was that same numbness that I wished never went away, so I wouldn’t have felt the overwhelming sickness that came after. My stomach boiled with an uncomfortable sensation. The ringing descended into the quiet of my mind as clarity began to flood my consciousness. 

That’s not...that’s not possible

Cat did it. She found a way--a loophole. 

Can it be possible?

I suppressed the paralyzing thoughts into a small compartment of my mind, letting a small murmur of reason dictate my actions. With naive hope, I rushed to a guard to request a Cat’s health records with much haste. After the small interaction, all I could do was wait.  

Wait for answers. Wait for the truth. 

Yet again my virtues were being tested. I thought the first time I would harbor an immense uneasiness over pregnancy, it would be my own. I was imprisoned in my own doubts and speculation, but I can’t even begin to comprehend the thoughts that are permeating the dark place of Spencer’s mind. 

What does this mean for me and...

No, I can’t think like that. She’s probably lying. 

But what if…

I shook the thoughts out of my head, focusing on the grey-tinted walls that surrounded me. I forced myself to fixate on how the overhead light reflected on the shiny tiles beneath my feet, while I let the background noises of an operating prison engulf my sense of hearing. 

But nothing could ever prevent my buried thoughts from climbing out from the back of my subconscious. Nothing could stop the anticipation that coursed through my veins, threatening to stop my heart altogether.  

Nothing could’ve stopped me from knowing. 

-

The cold zing of the walls was the only thing that tethered me to reality. I felt the way my hip bones would shift under my weight as I sat motionless in the hallway. I felt the pressure and ache that began to build under my knees as they were pressed against my chest. A heavy film cast over my eyelids, making it exhausting for me to keep them open. There was an agonizing shackle tugging at my chest, restraining me from taking a fresh breath. I was battered and beaten, not physically, but mentally. 

With two words, Cat Adams had managed to send me spiraling down a sinkhole that I didn’t know how to get out of. I was stuck, encased in my own headspace. I didn't know what was worse: being in prison or being imprisoned by the person you detested the most. 

I thought the worst was over when she confessed to her pregnancy. I thought the anguish that I experienced hit its climax. But little did I know that the growing hole in my chest only consumed me further when I found out she was telling the truth. 

In bold letters, ‘pregnant’ was displayed on the front of her health records. Now they were measly tossed to the floor in a flurry of confusion and anger. 

A choked breath emerged from my esophagus, finally feeling the full impact of the circumstances that I was in the middle of. I was furious, dazed, and somber simultaneously, and I didn’t know if it was for me or Spencer. 

Spencer…

Does he know it's true? Would he know?

He wouldn’t have chea…? No, he wouldn’t 

As if it was the answer to my inquiries, the clatter of footsteps resounded from the head of the hallway, the clacks against the floor growing in volume as they approached me. Stunned by my own senses, I didn’t even notice the sight of grey fabric coming in from my peripheral view. 

It was only until I heard the rhythmic beat of the footsteps faltering in a slower pace till they stopped completely. Suddenly, a tender hand apprehensively reached out from beside me. Warmth instantly radiated off its palm as it battled with the chilled temperature of my skin. Then, a voice, belonging to Spencer, followed the small gesture in a quaint and reserved tone. 

“I…” He paused, intertwining his fingers with mine. “I know I haven’t talked about Mexico--or prison for the matter. I know that sometimes I close myself up in a box and hideaway, and you tell me it's okay if I’m not comfortable,” He swallowed his words for a moment, staring at his sprawled-out legs in front of him as he struggled to find the right words. “But I also know how much it hurts you when I do…” He uttered out. “I know that it hurts you when JJ’s the only person I can talk to about what happened” He turned his head to gauge my reception, but all I could bring my attention to was the soreness in my chest at his mentions. 

“Did you know?” I meekly whispered. 

“I don’t...I don’t know” Spencer answered unsurely. His voice seemed depleted of any assurance he carried with him when it came to his knowledge. I guess that was a common denominator between us in the present circumstance. “I don’t...I don’t know what she did” He sucked in a sharp breath, careful to let his words teeter around the break in his voice. 

“She’s really pregnant Spence…” I muttered, squeezing the clutch he had on my hand. “It’s gonna be okay Spence. I know you would never…” My voice trailed off into the uncertainty of my words, yet the hope that was latched onto me prevailed. “There’s more to this, I know it” I stated with much determination. 

“What if it’s...it’s mine?” He gasped, a melancholy air following his statement. 

“Well, you didn’t, you know-” 

“No, I--I would never” He finished the sentence, racking his head for clues. 

“Then there has to be someone el-”  

“She did something,” Spencer cut me off. “When I was in there, she told me that Lindsey--she got me to…”. By the wavering of his voice, I knew where this was headed. “A-and she told Lindsey to pretend that she was you…” He scoffed, shaking his head in self-reproach.  

“Spence…” I tried to stop him from his own demise, but I knew the second he started sputtering words, there would be no mercy to it. 

“She started mocking you and my mom, and that’s when...I don’t--I” He paused, licking his lips. “I felt so angry--more than I’ve ever had in my life--and I just,” He retracted his hand from mine in an instant, brushing the stray hairs away from his face. “I pushed her Y/N. I pushed her against the wall and I started--gosh--I started choking her Y/N”. The structure of his tone fizzled out into a meek mumble, an indication that he was battling his internal demons. 

The guilt and agony on his face were enough to devastate an entire colony. So much weight and history hung on the surface of his shoulders that it was starting to deteriorate. “I’m...I’m scared that this is who I am now” He lamented, picking at the small pebbles that littered the floor. 

“No, don’t say that” I protested. 

“Y/-Y/N, you don’t know…” He sighed. 

“I do know” I affirmed, reaching out to clasp his hand in mine once again. “I know you had to do things in prison, things you aren’t proud of, but anyone in your position would have done the same-”  

“You wouldn’t have”  

“Yes. Yes, I would have Spence” I remarked. “If someone threatened my life, if...if someone threatened my chance of seeing you again...”. I placed a gentle hand under his chin, making our eyes meet. “You bet your ass I would. It doesn’t make you a bad person” I finished my spiel, looking into his dull eyes in the hopes he would recognize that I meant every word.

“Then why do I feel like this? I’ve let down the team, my mom, and you…” 

I cupped his face in my hands, although he refused to look at me in the eyes. “Spence,” I breathed. “You have not done a single thing to disappoint anybody” I shook my head as my voice trembled under the weight of the conversation. “If you disappointed anyone, then why is the entire team working to get this psychotic bitch on death row? Why are they trying to save your mom? Why do I love you?” I professed, every endearing word flowing out of my lips with ease.  

Silence encompassed both of us, but the dense atmosphere still created an evident divide. Suddenly, he met my eyes with his solemn ones, but something was different. A minuscule glint of prospect flashed in the pool of his irises. The color and life began to emerge from the dreariness of his countenance and the warmth of his skin began to crimson his cheeks. A relieved gasp escaped my lips as he peered at me with much endearment. 

“Do you really think that?” He whispered. I nodded in response, taking my bottom lip into my teeth as I took in the beauty of his rejuvenating presence. From there I knew Spencer would slowly fill up again. I knew it was going to be hard, but I also knew that I wouldn’t hesitate to take every step with him. 

 “I know that everything isn’t clear right now Spence. But I think--I know--that you’re the only person here that can solve this” 

 “You’re wrong” He breathed. 

 I stared at him with a baffled expression, encouraging him to continue his position. 

“I can’t...I wouldn’t be able to do all of this,” He rested his hand on the apple of my cheek, caressing the supple skin with his thumb. “...not without you” 

-

taglist: @rexorangecouny​ @howdycharlie​ @linthebinbag​ @honeymilk-4​ @andreasworlsboring101​

[therealjammy]

The Lady of Half-Death

Hi, hello, posting this here for the Tumblr crowd, in case you don’t feel like venturing to Ao3. 

This work’s alternate title: “Lucky One” 

Content Warnings: Very NSFW, a brief but graphic depiction of violence. (This work is meant for 18+ only!) 

It’s also told in first person POV, the Forbidden Perspective, so sorry if that’s not your jam.... Thank you for reading xx

--

I.

November, 1937

On a bitter November day, early in the morning, I was roused by the tinkling of the bell hanging beside my bed. Being Mother Miranda’s most competent servant, I was long used to a summons during the small hours of the dark. She was night’s creature, bent over her studies and her subjects until a bitter sun lit the sky, almost unaware of time’s passage, while her servants kept in perfect time with every striking hour. I splashed sleep from my features with bitterly cold water from the basin on my dresser and wrapped myself in my warmest robe. I lit a candelabra, savoring its small warmth as I donned my silver mask. It had frightened me at first, how the servants wore these metal things elongated into an elegantly startling bird’s beak, but when serving the Lady of Ravens, one had to know to whom they pledged their loyalty, both inside and outside the house’s grounds. Though the metal was light, it still made one’s head ache after only a few minutes of wear, and was a constant irritation after many hours. But like a pain that was more a nuisance than anything, it was easily set aside.

           I walked quickly through dark hallways and creaking staircases, passing through rooms whose furniture was covered in sheets and rooms whose contents were not. Each was quiet as the long-dead.

           The doors to the laboratory opened on soundless hinges. Inside, there was only a spotlight on the latest occupied table and the stoic figure of Mother Miranda leaning over it, her hands coated in deep crimson, her subject unmoving. Her face was drawn into a deep, displeasured frown.

           “What may I bring you, ma’am?” I asked carefully.

           “Tea, Trudy,” replied Mother Miranda. By the ancient tiredness in her voice, I knew the kind I ought to fetch.

           Staying true to her grief, Mother Miranda had a fondness for black tea, steeped for five minutes to be strong, made stronger with a dollop of Sanguis Virginis, a sweet but robust red wine made by Lady Dimitrescu. She kept the largest bottle for herself, but sent a smaller one to Mother Miranda every winter. The bottle was red and adorned with golden flowers crawling up its sides.

           By the time I brought the fresh tea to her, Mother Miranda’s hands were washed of blood, and the subject on the table was covered with a white sheet, slowly turning scarlet. I set the teacup and candelabra beside her and gave a professional distance.

           “The nature of science,” Mother Miranda said, picking up the teacup, “is to fail again and again.” She held it delicately. There was rage underneath that delicacy. “Every vessel thus far has been unfit, even if it’s accepted the Cadou, and with each unfit one I feel as if I am losing her more.”

           “You might feel like Tantalus, ma’am,” I said after a pause, “with your goals evading your grasp, but I rather think you must be like Orpheus.”

           “Attempt until death,” she murmured. “Yes, child, I believe you’re right.” A long sip of tea. Underneath her golden mask, her pink lips turned a deep red. She set the cup gently in its saucer and rose from her chair, black robes shuffling quietly. “Come. Let us begin anew.”

           I lifted the mutilated subject from the table, wrapping the sheet about her carefully, and carried her fresh limpness to the courtyard with the others. Her cooling blood seeped from the sheet and onto my robes, and it dripped onto the bricks and my feet, leaving a sticky trail. It was cloying, but it was a sweet perfume compared to the rich decay that wafted from the courtyard’s cold soil. In the dark, I saw there was already a space made for her. I lay her carefully in it. A good sacrifice deserved gentleness once the deed was done, after all. In that sense, I was more merciful than Mother Miranda. Once a body was no longer of use, she would carry it out herself and toss them hastily aside, for only one body mattered above the rest.

           “In life and in death,” I said over the grave, “we give glory to Mother Miranda.”

           I sprinkled a handful of dirt over the covered girl and left her to the bitter, near-winter air.

           Inside again, I scrubbed the table twice with soapy water and dried it thoroughly. I lit more candles, placing them around the table’s edges, away from the notes that Mother Miranda spread across the surface. While she organized them, I brewed another pot of tea, bringing it and the gifted bottle of Sanguis Virginis with me. When I had poured my own cup, Mother Miranda gestured to the wine. Pour that in, too. I obeyed without question. Grey eyes watched me drink, unchanging even when I made no face at the taste of wine and blood mixing with strong black tea. I’d learned long ago that reactions caused reactions. I remained impassive, though my stomach still curdled and rebelled at the taste of the sinful wine. To the others—Mother Miranda and Lady Dimitrescu— the wine was a sweet and prized possession. If ever it was sold, it would be incredibly expensive.

           I brought a chair and perched myself next to Mother Miranda. It was always a thrill to be at her side, to study her volumes of notes and drawings and glimpse the way her mind worked. But more than that, I cherished the nights like this, when it was only the two of us. I enjoyed her company. I desired more of it, because I desired her. At times I believed she knew this, but then she would dismiss me so easily, brush by without a care, and I’d question if she knew at all.

           Attraction, I reminded myself, was a science, too, and like an experiment gone horribly wrong, it was best if one didn’t share the results.

           I cleared my throat and straightened in my chair. “We should begin where this one failed,” I said. “Pinpoint a reason, compare it to the rest.”

           We pored over notes for hours, comparing observations, Mother Miranda writing furiously in her looping scrawl underneath a page titled Quinn. The candles burned low, and the sky lightened outside the laboratory’s several windows, revealing a cold, white-filled dawn.

           “The conclusion is painfully obvious,” Mother Miranda sighed at last, pushing her nearly empty teacup aside. It’d turned cold hours ago. “I must find a truly unique vessel. The village is rotting with diluted blood and therefore cannot be used again. Three of the Lords—those children!—were ones I found outside. Diluted in other ways, perhaps, but strong enough.”

           “Yet you declared them all unfit,” I remarked.

           “Because they were too much,” Mother Miranda said stiffly, “and the rest have been too little. They served their miserable purpose and now I must find yet another clean slate! And to think I’d chosen so carefully…” A hand curled into a fist, clenched improperly due to taloned fingertips.

           “Send me to the field, Mother Miranda,” I said. “I will search for you.” But it was the wrong thing to say, for her other hand darted quickly out and knocked her teacup and saucer from the table. They shattered on the floor, black-red tea pooling around their remains.

           “Do not be dim, child; it cannot be done by you. It must be me.” She paused for a long moment, coming back to herself with a single, sharp shake of her head. “Please,” Mother Miranda said around a breath, “forgive my outburst.” She moved smoothly to the shattered teacup just as I did. We knelt out of time but reached for the same piece, her gold-plated fingers brushing my bare ones, sending a brief, hot shock through my being that ended in my chest.

           “You need never ask my forgiveness, Mother Miranda,” I said, slowly withdrawing my hand and reaching for a different piece. “A woman in grief doesn’t know her own actions.” And it was her grief, I thought then, that made my heart ache for her. That made everyone’s hearts ache for her. Mother lost a child, they’d say. No greater tragedy exists. We must be kind.

           “Grief is some people’s undoing,” Mother Miranda said. She had stopped picking up shards of teacup, a few pieces cradled in a hand. Her gaze was on the puddle of bloody, wine-soaked tea. “It festers like a splinter left in too long, or a piece of metal unable to be dislodged, and it consumes, until its host perishes with it. I’ve known it for many stretches, but rather than give myself to despair, I have chosen determination; for the parasite cannot fully live while its host fights it. So fight I must.”

           Her face was a pale reflection on the tea’s surface.

 II.

The next morning, a snowy one, Mother Miranda went for a walk. In her absence, her rule passed to me, and then to the Head Housemaid Vera, a stout older woman who kept the other servants in strict line. I was, however, only consulted for advice or for orders. Other than that, I was blessedly alone, a spectre haunting the laboratory while I organized Mother Miranda’s notes and gave into my own musings, letting my mind take up the cluttered space. Many things ran through it: thoughts of my former life, of the people I’d once seen and never would again, and if I followed that line, I knew exactly how I’d come to be here. Sitting alone in a tepid laboratory, surrounded by paper, rotting with attraction.

           It’d been there from the beginning, for there was always attraction to a leader, and many reasons behind it. People were attracted to safety and to comfort, to promises and protection, but highest of all, a deity that preached all the above. People backed off their words more often than they gave in to them, but a deity never would; their word was given and kept. It was learned, it was ingrained, and so like everyone else, I held that same attraction. I gazed upon the same likenesses of Mother Miranda and prayed for protection, for strength. I prayed to one day work for her—the highest blessing of all!—and that prayer was answered. She came to my door in all her godly glory and the paintings held no candle to her real beauty.

           The attraction molted once I’d begun to work for her properly. She was aloof and cruel and methodical, but there was talent and beauty, too, and soon enough I began to realize there was a person underneath the deity. And it was the person whom I thought of, now, wondering where her walk was taking her, who she was talking to, what she was thinking. I imagined her underneath a cold white sky, ashy flakes of snow sticking to her black robes and veil, the harsh, mountainous landscape reflecting her own desolation back at her.

           I thought, as I filed the last of the notes away, that I would make her return easier. Oftentimes her walks changed her mood; one never knew the sort she’d bear when she walked through the doors. It could be the silent sort of rage, during which she’d seal the doors of her laboratory shut and refuse to emerge for days, or the one where she’d return with a deadly ice in her eyes and drag the nearest servant by the wrist to her chambers. Sometimes they’d be alive and shuffle from the room with their clothes barely on; other times there was an unfortunate mess to clear away.

           During my luncheon, I called Vera to me and ordered the most frequented rooms be given a thorough cleaning, excluding the laboratory and Mother Miranda’s bathroom.

           “And her dinner?” asked Vera, once she’d given the orders to four maids. “Something comforting, I assume, as the latest loss is still ripe in the courtyard.”

           “Yes,” I agreed. “A shepherd’s pie with marmite in the gravy, and the bottle of Sanguis Virginis.”  

           “Very good, Miss Bevan.” Vera bowed her head and left.

           I went over the bathroom myself, being careful to put every object in its proper place. I drew a bath, the water unbearably hot, but by the time Mother Miranda returned, it would be perfect.

           I loitered for a long while in the bathroom’s silence, sat on the chessboard floor, gazing out the window to the snow-covered hills, the occasional drip, drip of the tub’s taps serenading me into a trance, filled with visions of blonde hair and grey-blue eyes and impeccable hands.

           I wasn’t the first to think of her in this light. Far from it. Worship came in many forms, after all, and many people fell to this one. Except mine was to the woman I knew, not to the idol emblazoned on a shrine dangling from a peeling wall.

           Unable to think of nothing but the bathroom’s suddenly stifling heat and the absent Mother Miranda, I left, unaware of where I was going until I collapsed on the chair I’d occupied earlier, everything about me aching for someone who saw me only as a servant in high regard—but a servant nonetheless. The fact, I thought, unbuttoning my uniform enough to feel cool air caress my chest, made me desire her all the more.

           I propped a shoed foot on the seat’s corner to give myself better access and began my pleasure gently, my head falling against the back of the chair once the rhythm was established, my free hand indecisive on where it wanted to stay—a breast, the chair’s edge, the table; at least until my mind offered me a vision of Mother Miranda ordering me, from between my thighs, to keep it planted firmly on the chair’s edge. There it stayed while my other moved, and behind my closed eyes I saw a skilled tongue working me up, teasing, licking slowly as if to claim ownership to even that part of me; I saw intense eyes meeting my own, telling me to give myself over; in my mind I whispered my glory to her. I twitched erratically, my movements almost clumsy; a few moments more and I’d be tumbling into the blissful void—or would have, had I not heard the door open and the familiar, near-silent movement of the woman living in my head.

           The silence that beat between us lasted only a moment and yet it felt like centuries. Mother Miranda’s eyes narrowed to deadly slits, and before I could manage to stumble out an explanation, she strode to me in five heavy steps.

           “You dare defile this space with your musings?” Mother Miranda hissed, her grip on my wrist vicelike. “Do you not know how ill I find this gesture? How ill it makes me to think you care naught for the meaning of this room?” Claws slashed at my cheek, the first sting of it only surprise at first; it burned when I realized she’d cut flesh. I felt blood welling, but I could not bring a hand up to staunch its flow. Nor could I staunch the fresh wave of heat that pooled in my core at Mother Miranda’s fury. Cold eyes darted from my still-wet hand to my face. Mother Miranda scoffed, roughly releasing my wrist. “Attraction is a damned wicked creature,” she said. “It morphs perspective and thought. It makes one act rashly, makes one believe they’re subtle. You think I’ve not seen your lingering gazes, child? How you bask in my company the way you would underneath the sun? How you are afraid of my rage but it arouses you all the same?” She chuckled lightly, dragging gold-tipped fingers over my cheek, the metal blessedly cool against my heated skin. Having spent so much time in close quarters with this woman, I was no longer terrified by the talons. Their scraping made the coil in my belly curl tighter, and if she were to slip bare fingers against me, she would find me all too ready for her. I met her eyes with a steely look of my own, hoping she wouldn’t see shame, but Mother Miranda was wise in ways I couldn’t fathom. She saw through people as if they were cheesecloth.

           She hummed, fingers roving lower, tracing my pulse hammering in my throat. “Is there any shame about you, Trudy? I should think so, as you are not my equal.” Moving lower still, to the buttons I hadn’t undone, hovering like she wished to tear them—and perhaps she did, for her hand gave a small twitch. “I am higher than you will ever be, yet you stand here, gazing at me so defiantly, trembling with your want of me… Do you think it will make you rise to my level?”

           Her words were fog clouding the forests of my brain. I could think of nothing but how I wanted to serve her, to fall to my knees and pledge fealty, even if it was sworn with her hand guiding my mouth between her thighs. I said, “No, Mother Miranda.”

           “No, indeed. But,” a taloned thumb slid over my lower lip, “it’ll bring me pleasure to see you try.”

           When she kissed me, it was with a slowness that one could believe was care, but I sensed the possession. I opened my mouth to it, leaned into it, every nerve alight at the thrill of kissing someone I had once dreamed of serving under. Her hands drew me close to her, splaying across my back, bunching up my uniform, and her kisses became rougher, filled with need. I met every one with a need of my own, my shaking fingers undoing the rest of the buttons down my front. The movement caught Mother Miranda’s eye; she pulled back, her gaze intense, the color high in her cheeks, watching intently as the top half of my uniform parted and revealed bare skin. She reached out, two fingers gliding smoothly over my collarbones, my sternum, tracing the swell of a breast; gooseflesh rose in the touches’ wake, and my breathing trembled.

           “You are practically untouched,” Mother Miranda said quietly. There was, to her, no greater sin than a specimen that remained unstudied and uncatalogued.

           “Only practically, Mother Miranda,” I returned.

           She leaned down, burying her face against my bloodied neck. Lips pressed softly, tongue lapping slowly— tasting me. “Have you not known love?” she said. “Or devotion?”

           “Fleetingly.” There was the blacksmith, Cristian, in whose strong arms I felt safe. There was Tatiana, who made me feel at peace even after our desperate acts. But with this life, they were fleeting. To serve one of the Lords or Mother Miranda herself, it was until death. “The only devotion I know,” I continued, my voice growing thinner the lower her mouth travelled, “is to you.”

           Mother Miranda hummed against my chest. “You worshipped well, then, Trudy,” she said, rising, taking my chin between two fingers and tilting my face up to hers, “but what of now? How shall you prove your worth to me?”

           I grasped her unoccupied hand and pressed it against my breast, holding it there. I wanted her to feel it, to feel my heart underneath it, to know she could reach in and take it because I offered it to her. “Take what you will,” I said.

           What was left of her resolve crumbled. Mother Miranda swept me into her arms with a low growl, lifting me as easily as she would a child and setting me hastily onto the table we’d cleaned the night before. Impatient fingers worked the rest of my clothes away. She tossed them aside and pressed me into the cold wood, impossibly dark eyes drinking me in, lingering on my neck, my breasts, my thighs. Places I hoped she would kiss. Places she did, in that order, her mouth untamed, leaving harsh love-marks behind. Throughout that act, she didn’t once touch me; I was strung so tightly that even one finger tracing me would’ve been my undoing. It was a sort of torturous study, I realized, clamping my tongue between my teeth when it nearly made me beg for release; she was seeing me as a case, testing my own resolve. How long could she make me wait before I begged forgiveness? Time ceased to exist. I could not tell how long she made me hang.

           When she finally did touch me, I was relieved. Instead of a sigh, a long whimper escaped my mouth. Mother Miranda groaned in response, her fingers twitching and pausing against me, surprised at the slick want they found. Her second touch was heavier, more confident. My hands couldn’t help but cling to the back of her neck, which was covered by a thick cotton veil. I realized I’d touched her without her consent, but when I made to pull away, her free hand came to rest over both of mine, and together we slid the veil from her head.

           Blonde hair, a darker gold in the dim light of the laboratory, fanned around her face, gracing my bare forearms, soft as silk. Without the veil, it was tantamount to seeing her naked.

           “Cling to me,” Mother Miranda breathed.

           It was as much permission as I was going to receive.

           I buried my hands in her hair and leaned up to kiss her. I accepted her tongue when it slipped between my teeth. I opened for her when, at last, she slid fingers inside me.

           And when she truly took me, she devoured me, sprinkling evidence of her use across any expanse of skin she could reach, uncaring if teeth dug in too much, if my back was rubbed raw from the wooden table, if her golden talons left angry scratches. I clung harshly to her during my crisis, my cries only winding her further, for when I was barely limp, she withdrew entirely and carried me to her own chamber. Deposited on her bed, I watched through bliss-filled eyes as she undressed.

           Black robes pooled at her feet. In the blue-white moonlight, she was harshly ethereal. Everything about her seemed to glow, including her eyes. And sprouting from her back were five pairs of midnight wings. I wanted to catalogue it as a dream, a delusion caused by a mind still recovering from an intense crisis, but the wings, like Mother Miranda’s arms and legs, were very much a part of her.

           “Look while you can,” she said. “Commit it to memory, for true revelations are rarely given so freely.”

           She stood for study, allowing me to take in every inch. My eyes lingered where hers had lingered on me.

           “Do you reject me, Trudy?” she questioned softly.

           “No, Mother Miranda,” I replied. I offered her my hand. “I’d fall to my knees in prayer if I were not otherwise occupied.”

           She accepted my hand and leaned over me on her bed, naked and otherworldly, and in my long, exquisite worship of her, I met death eye to eye and thought there would never be another equal.

[kumqu4t]

In (Gold) Sickness and In Health

Pairing: Human Female!Reader/Thorin

Request: @anjhope1 requested a human reader with Thorin for the prompt: “I’m done. We’re done.”

Brief Summary: After the Battle of the Five Armies and Thorin’s actions under the Gold Sickness, you wonder if things between you and Thorin will ever be repaired.

Warnings: Violence and injuries

A/N: Gold sick Thorin is a gold mine (pun intended) for angst. Thanks to @anjhope1 for being so so patient and kind!!! I’ve never really written anything other than headcannons and I really enjoyed this!! I have a long list of fic ideas that I hope to write after school ends and this really got the ball rolling! :D

 @fromthedeskoftheraven (who inspired me to actually start writing <333)

 —————————————

 “Thorin?” You called into the seemingly empty castle. Your voice echoed hauntingly. No response. You turned the corner and ventured into the treasury, though a part of you hoped you would not find him there. It was the only place he ever seemed to be, and not for good reason. You followed the sound of digging and hushed whispers. There you found Thorin talking to himself in furious murmurs, his voice tinged with hysteria. He seemed to be digging through the millions of glimmering treasures, bringing each item close to his face for a thorough inspection, and then scoffing angrily and throwing it over his shoulder at the discovery that it was not, in fact, the Arkenstone. You approached him quietly, gnawing on your bottom lip worriedly. You were soon only a few steps behind him, his back to you, yet he made no notice of you.

“Thorin?” He didn’t even flinch. You, about fed up with all of this, put your hand on one of his shoulders and lightly shook it. He whirled around instantly, a mad expression on his face that only eased slightly when he saw you.

 “Ah, (Y/n). How have you been?” He asked absentmindedly, his gaze still stuck on the gem in his hand. 

“Well, I’ve been better I suppose. Things are not looking good out there Thorin. I worry.” You made sure to keep your voice as non-confrontational as possible, because if you were being honest, you were a bit afraid of Thorin at the moment. You weren’t sure if you even recognized the dwarf in front of you. He finally raised his eyes to look at you. His lips curved into a slightly mad smile, one that showed altogether too many teeth. “You have nothing to worry about, my love. Once I have the Arkenstone, everything will be taken care of. The world will finally put itself to rights.” His eyes seemed to reflect the very gold covering the floor. You frowned at this response. 

“Thorin, I know finding the Arkenstone is important to you, but I don’t know if it is the… greatest concern at the moment. The people of Laketown need our assistance, and there is talk of an orcish army heading our way.” Thorin’s head snapped up, and he took an intimidating step forward. You were almost nose to nose.

“Finding the Arkenstone is my one and only concern, as it should be yours,” he snarled. “Are you not on my side? Do you not want to see me as King?” You took a tentative step back. 

“Of course I’m on your side, Thorin. I only want what is best for you.” Your voice turned stern. “But a King should be generous and fair, should know when to help others. 

“A King,” he growled, “is measured only by the amount of wealth he has. If I don’t have the Arkenstone, I have nothing but these pathetic jewels.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Your stomach churned at hearing the words he spoke. This was not Thorin. The man you knew and loved, who once spoke so passionately of honor and loyalty. Your sadness and grief were soon overpowered by anger. Not only does he speak such horrid, greedy words, but he would dare be so dismissive and uncaring towards his own beloved? 

“You have nothing?” You asked in disbelief, your voice hard. “What about me? Your wife, remember? What do I mean to you? We have spent almost no time with each other since Laketown, I am surprised you even remember my name,” you said bitterly. Thorin’s eyes seemed to lighten a few shades. But it was still not your Thorin. And his next words only proved that. 

“I have not forgotten about you amralime. I will have you. Seated on a throne next to mine. Adorned in precious jewels and fine cloths. My most prized possession.” 

You suddenly lost all of your fear. Fists clenched tight at your sides, you spat out, “I am not a thing to be had! I am my own person.” 

“You are my wife!” He roared back, “You will do as I say, and you will like it!” Your lip curled in disgust and dismay at this.

“Is that really what you think marriage means?!” Your tone, while still angry, held a hint of desperation, as if you were hoping Thorin would apologize for whatever sick joke this seemed to be. But alas, that did not happen. He only stayed silent, his eyes unfocused. Whatever clarity they had gained earlier had once again vanished. 

The harsh silence created a lump in your throat. You swallowed once, and in a shaky voice said, “Well, then. I am afraid I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know who I am looking at. Who even are you? This is not the Thorin I know and love, not the Thorin I married!” 

His mouth opened in outrage, prepared to no doubt yell back, but you continued before he could get a word in. “You know what? I can’t do this anymore,” you started. You grabbed your marriage bead- elegantly and thoughtfully crafted by Thorin, and once so tenderly braided into your hair- and harshly ripped it out. You definitely pulled out quite a few hairs along with it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care at the moment. 

You curled your shaking hand around the small bead, and spoke. “I’m done. We’re done.” In a fit of intense anger and disappointment, you chucked your bead straight at Thorin’s head. You instantly ran as fast as you could in the opposite direction, fearing his reaction. You figured he did not see that coming, and was frozen in shock and confusion for a moment.

As you sprinted down the vast empty hallways, you heard Thorin’s enraged roar in the distance. You ran and ran and ran. You quickly gathered your belongings when you passed the room you had been staying in, and made your way out of the mountain. You said goodbye to none of the company. You ran and you didn’t look back. You squinted your eyes, trying to find your way in what was left of the daylight. 

Tears ran in rivers down your face, and they didn’t stop. Not when you found Bard in Laketown. Not when you reunited with Bilbo and approved his plan. Not when you came across a small room to spend the night in. 

You slid down the wall of the room, sobs tearing at your throat, as you looked at the split pieces of hair that once secured your marriage bead. How could everything have gone so wrong so fast? Smaug was dead. The mountain was reclaimed. Everything was supposed to be back to normal. You were supposed to be living happily in Erebor with Thorin. 

But you weren’t.

You screamed into the night, “Why? Why?” Why did things have to happen like this? Why did Thorin have to be struck with the Gold Sickness after everything he had been through? Why did you two not gain happiness and peace? Did you not deserve that? 

There was no answer. The universe was silent. 

You were not only angry with Thorin. You were angry at yourself. Were you a coward for reacting the way you did? Did you give up too easily, running right when things got hard? Maybe you were a coward, but you simply couldn’t stand to see Thorin like that any longer. It made you sick to your stomach and tore at your heart. 

With a wet laugh, you thought back to your wedding, which took place only about a month earlier. It is odd how things can change so much in so little time. That day had been the happiest of your life. Now here you were, at your lowest, with not even your husband to comfort you. 

The company had been staying in Laketown for the time being. After a much needed relaxing night (free of the stress of orc attacks), you awoke blearily to Thorin’s smiling face. His rough hands tenderly cradled your face.

“Will you marry me?” He asked it in such a soft tone, and you were still so tired, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was just a strange, albeit wonderful, dream. After clarification that it was not, in fact, a dream, and a discussion with Thorin, you two decided to get married that very night. After all, you two were each other’s Ones. Why should you not? You were crazy in love, and you two hadn’t known contentment like you did during this resting period of the quest. There was also the lingering fear that one, or both of you wouldn’t survive for much longer. 

After your affirmative response to Thorin’s question, tears of joy were shed by both of you. That day was full of warm, fuzzy feelings (and frantic planning by Dori and Balin, who despite being quite pleased with the decision, were extremely frazzled with the short amount of time left to prepare). You didn’t have an expensive, ornate dress (you borrowed one of Sigrid’s). There wasn’t a huge crowd. Just the company (plus Sigrid, Tilda, and Bain- Sigrid and Tilda because they wanted to experience the romantic declaration of love and commitment, and Bain because, in his words, his sisters “forced him to come”). 

But it was perfect. It was all you could have wanted. Kíli, ever the jokester, insisted on being the “flower girl.” Fíli was the bead bearer (like a ring bearer, but with beads, because you and Thorin wanted to do it the dwarrow way). Balin was the justice of the peace. Bombur made a wonderful cake, especially considering the lack of resources.

It was a magical day. Your wildest dream had finally become a reality.

You remembered the vows from your wedding. You remembered the promise you made on that day. ‘For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.’ You couldn’t help but snort at the unfortunate irony of that. 

You wondered what Thorin was thinking right now. Was the gold sickness still plaguing his mind? Or was he too thinking back to your wedding day, to the broken promises left between you two? 

You crawled into bed and tried to calm your thoughts, to no avail. You laid your head on the flat pillow, feeling oddly numb. You let your eyes flutter shut, a lone tear escaping to trail down your now puffy face. 

No sleep was had that night. 

 ———————————————

 Around you, the battlefield raged. You had arisen early in the morning, for the orcish army was no longer just a rumor, but a promise. A promise of war. The knowledge of the bloodshed the future held electrified you, helping you to use your fear and anger to aid your fight. You wielded your sword with ferocity and confidence, a scowl on your face as you quickly swiped at the blood that dribbled down the side of your face. Your head swiveled at every sound as you frantically looked to see if you recognized any faces around you. 

You plunged your sword into an approaching orc, making a face at the horrid squelch it produced as you pulled out your blade. You ran across the battlefield, swiftly killing any orcs that dared get in your way.

What you saw in the far distance, through squinted eyes, made your heart drop into your stomach. 

You saw Thorin, fighting Azog on the ice. 

You watched as the pale orc fell off of the chunk of ice he stood on, and into the murky abyss. You prayed to all of the Valar that he was dead. But fate was not on your side. You watched in horror as a knife plunged upwards from below the ice and impaled Thorin’s right foot. 

You heard his guttural roar of pain, and your body moved into action. You ran as fast as you could, your chest and legs burning. But you were still too far away. Everything now seemed to be happening in slow motion. You could still hear the echo of Thorin’s cry in your head. 

Suddenly, Azog jumped out of the water and landed on his feet. Thorin was on his back blocking each strike from Azog to the best of his ability. All that you heard was the sharp clang of metal against metal and your own blood roaring in your ears. 

You felt something harden within you. You were no longer afraid. You had only one job, and that was to save Thorin. Azog’s blade was now only inches away from Thorin’s chest. Thorin grit his teeth and gasped deeply, using every bit of his strength in an effort to block the attack. 

You were sprinting straight towards Azog’s back. You had absolutely no plan. Common sense and battle strategy had officially left the building. Yet your rage towards Azog, who had already taken so much from Thorin, fueled your fight. 

You propelled yourself up, in a strange burst of strength, and clawed your way up Azog’s back, clinging to him. He grunted and twisted his head around. But before he could do anything more, you drove your sword into his back with all of your might. 

Azog’s roar seemed to shake the very ground he stood on. Your hands, slick with sweat, burned as they tightly grasped the hilt of your sword. Your heart sped up as you tried to pull your weapon out to strike once again, but it was stuck. Azog turned, his face now pulled into a sickly sneer, and he slashed at your shoulder with his sword. You hissed in pain, and jerked yourself away. You saw Thorin breathing deeply and attempting to get up out of the corner of your eye. 

Go, you screamed at him in your head. Go, my love. Leave and get to safety. 

Seeing Thorin in pain, thanks to Azog, filled you with a boiling rage. It filled you up from the bottom of your feet to the top of your head- a fiery, molten lava swirling inside of you. 

Your lips twisted into a ferocious snarl as your hands tightened on the hilt of your sword. You twisted the sword further into Azog’s wound, plunging it deeper into his mangled flesh. As you twisted one last time, you pulled it out with a hard gasp. Azog’s stinking, black blood splattered your neck and arms.

You still clung to the pale orc’s back and shoulders, your nails digging into his scarred skin. He thrashed and blindly slashed at you, but you held tight still. You kept your mind sharp, blocking and ducking to avoid his stabs. Reaching your hand into your bloodstained tunic, you hurriedly patted yourself down, frantically searching, until your hand was greeted by your hidden blade. 

You grabbed the hilt of the sharp knife and whipped it out. You positioned yourself so that your feet were pressing into Azog’s back. You drew your arm back and threw the blade, with masterful precision, into the back of Azog’s neck. He roared once again, his head spasming, and made to grab you. 

Unfortunately, this time, you were unable to avoid his grasp. His sharp nails dug into your neck as he grabbed you and pulled your body off of his back. He held you in front of him with only his right hand, the blade at the end of his metal arm pointed at your throat. You felt the pressure building on your throat, and a low buzzing noise started to take over. The blade dug painfully into your flesh, and you felt it begin to break the skin. All of your previous confidence had vanished. You were now at the mercy of the pale orc. 

Azog gave a sickening smile, his pointed teeth glistening with blood. He issued a raspy chuckle that chilled you to your core. Time seemed to slow down once again as he drove the blade of his arm into your side. You gave a sharp intake of breath, as if you could not fathom what was happening, before you let loose an ear-splitting yell of pain. Your voice crumbled and cracked as you screamed until your vocal cords were weak. In the back of your subconscious, you registered a voice, desperately screaming your name. You struggled uselessly, trying to escape the pain. The blade felt hot, as if your insides were being lit on fire and seared open. You wondered for a moment why he did not completely skewer you, and quickly rid himself of your bothersome presence, until it hit you. He wanted your death to be agonizing. Slow and painful. You felt the blade being slowly pushed deeper in, creating a sickening puncturing sensation, and you could do nothing. It must have been almost halfway through you at this point. He tightened his other hand around your throat, and you saw spots floating at the edges of your line of vision. 

You were dancing at the edge of oblivion, barely holding onto consciousness, when you felt your hand which dangled at your side, still clutching your sword. A glimmer of hope sparked inside you. With a guttural cry of pain, you used your last bit of strength. Your arm elongated at your side and rose before you swiftly cleaved Azog’s head from his shoulders. Your face was promptly sprayed with his blood and innards, before his hold on your neck loosened, his grasp slack. His severed head hit the ground with a satisfying klunk, his eyes glazed over. His body collapsed to the ground with a loud thud, bringing you down with him. 

You gave a low groan of pain at the impact. Azog’s arm, still impaled in the side of your torso, left the two of you attached. You slowly took your sword, whimpering softly at the painful stretching the motion caused, and sawed off the small bit of flesh that attatched the metalwork to his body. You were left sitting on the ice, a blade sticking out of you, as a ringing filled your ears. You heard your name being called, and a blurry figure made its way into your field of vision. You squinted your eyes, trying to see who it was. Once your vision cleared, you breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

Thorin was here. 

He hobbled over to you, his wounded foot dragging behind him. He lowered himself to the ice slowly. He looked at you with such sorrow as he scooted closer and cupped your face. His warm hands grounded you to reality. You felt every callous on them as he softly ran his fingers along the sides of your face, his touch only a whisper. 

“Ghivashel,” he started, his voice cracking. “I-

“No,” you interrupted, your voice hoarse from the abuse it had endured. You gave a pathetic cough and said once more in a slightly stronger voice, “No. Not right now.”

Tears ran down his face, their clean tracks a stark contrast to the dirtied skin it ran down. “I am so sorry. So very sorry. I cannot even begin to apologize for all I have-“

You reached forward and put your finger against Thorin’s lips. You gave a soft smile. “I know,” you replied. You brushed his hair out of his face gently. “We have much to discuss. Many things have been left unsaid.” You gazed into his warm blue eyes, “But right now, just be here. Be here with me, my love.”

Thorin’s lips quivered slightly as he gave a sad smile of agreement. He gently positioned you so that your head was resting in his lap. You gazed up into his face. The soft cloth of his tunic tickled the back of your neck. The warmth of his body was much more comforting compared to the harsh cold of the ice you both lie on. The pain would have been almost unbearable, but Thorin’s presence was like a balm to both your soul and body. He took on a tinge of panic as his eyes locked onto the blade sticking out of your side. Knowing he should not simply pull the weapon out, he quickly tore fabric from his body and wrapped your side with it, securing the sword into place, so it wouldn’t move and cause more damage. You reached out and grasped his hand, your fingers shaking slightly as they ran over his bloodied knuckles. 

“Thorin,” you rasped. “You are here.”

“Aye,” he replied softly, his eyes glistening in the light. 

“My bead,” you begged. Thorin looked confused for a moment, before understanding lit up his eyes. He pulled out your marriage bead, that you had thrown at him not long ago, from inside his tunic. He had evidently kept it on himself. He took your hair into his hands, and quickly wove a small braid into your hair, placing the bead at the end of it. He moved aside his own hair, showing you his marriage bead that still lie in his own braid. You gave a watery smile as you clutched at his hand.

After a pause, you spoke. “You are mine, and I am yours.”

“Always,” he replied, his voice strong. “My wife,” he added after a moment, the word an unspoken promise. My husband, you thought warmly. He ducked his head down to meet your own, and placed a soft, lingering kiss on your lips, his hand cradling the back of your neck. You responded in kind, deepening the kiss. You felt as if the part of yourself that had broken earlier had been sewn back together. You were whole again. You let out a soft sigh of contentment as Thorin pressed his forehead gently to rest on your own, his eyelids fluttering shut in the moment.

The King slid himself down, so that he too was laying down. Your head rested on his chest. His large hand rubbed soothing circles gently on your back as you breathed shakily in and out. You gazed out over the ice and saw eagles flying in the distance. You gave a grin of relief and squeezed Thorin’s hand. Healers were rapidly bustling about, gathering the wounded and tending to them. You had no doubt that you and Thorin would receive the help you required soon. 

But for now, you were here. And he was here. You were together at last, once again. Your hands intertwined in each other’s, your head tucked under his chin as he planted soft kisses on your head and murmured soothing words into your hair.

“My King,” you said softly, petting the soft hair of his beard as your hand ran over his jaw.

“My Queen,” he responded, his voice full of emotion, as he pulled you into one more kiss, your bodies melding closer together.

The eagles were coming. And all was well.

 ——————————————

  A/N 2: I hope you guys liked that! I am very new to writing, so I know I have lots of room for improvement, but I really enjoyed writing this. By the way, I do not picture Thorin and the reader dying at the end, but it is kind of a vague ending, so if you want to imagine that happening, no problem! (It would be quite tragically romantic, them dying in each other’s arms). Though personally, I like to imagine that they both eventually recover from their injuries and everyone lives happily ever after in Erebor with their beloved King and Queen under the mountain! :)

[nsfsprince]

Hold Me Close (And Watch Me Coast)

As a Dragon Hybrid, Roman’s body is easily twice as big as the average human’s, let alone Logan’s. So, it’s really no surprise that sex between the two with their vast size difference is.. incredibly intense.

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Wordcount: 1.5k

A/N: Sooo.. This fic is like, incredibly self-indulgent? There’s unfortunately little to no plot, just steamy activities and a an expansion on this au’s take on Roman, Remus, and Patton’s Human/Dragon hybrid anatomy.(and a guilty acknowledgement that this au is, at its baseline, all about the size difference kink by default akdladklj) This is technically their first time together, not counting the numerus times they ended up grinding against each other till they came. (also i’m like extremely nervous/embarrassed posting this aight)

MINORS DNI

Warnings: Size Kink/Size Difference Kink, no like this is Very Intense Take on Size Kink(you’ve been warned), edging, vague descriptions of distinctly Not Human Genitalia(that may get drawn later but shh), gentle but intense penetrative sex, heavy descriptions reflective of deep penetration kink(?), Roman doesn’t directly check in like he should but he’s watching over Logan’s reactions like a hawk, plus Logan is completely on board the entire time, Overstimulation, lots of dirty talk and praise. A slight deviation on how human anatomy works to avoid actual realistic bodily repercussions and maintain a willing suspension of disbelief. If I missed anything please let me know!

Additionally, thank you all for your encouragement to post this(or anything to this blog for that matter), it’s genuinely  appreciated and has helped so much!!

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Logan couldn’t help but squirm, his bound hands fisting the soft sheets of Roman’s nest as said Dragon oh so slowly fingered him open. Filthy praise had been dripping from Roman’s lips with every maddingly slow press into his entrance, the pads of his large fingers just barely toying with Logan’s prostate to keep him squirming and gasping.

They’d been at this for what felt like hours, though truly Logan really couldn’t be sure how long they had been at this. Every time Logan would near a peak, Roman would withdraw his fingers and press infuriatingly slow and soothing kisses to his shoulders until the peak had drifted far enough to begin again. It was pleasurable torture and Logan was losing his goddamn mind.

“When you promised you’d prep me, I didn't think it would mean ‘edge me to tears,’” Logan had groaned during one of those long pauses, having nearly come from the fourth thick finger prodding into his hole before Roman had pulled away.

“Oh love, you've never taken a cock as big as mine before, and trust me when I say I’m adamant to have you orgasm the moment you’re seated completely on my cock. Then, once you’re finally fully lax and loose from that first mind-melting orgasm, I’ll get to give you a real Dragon Railing. I'll pull out every single orgasm left inside of you and then another,

“I'll come inside again and again and fill you up so full. I’ll pleasure you till your orgasms dry and even then still pull just a few more 'til I know you'll still be feeling my Claim in you for weeks after.” The Dragon purred.

Logan visibly shuttered at the statement, his cock twitching in interest at the promise.

"Of course, there's also the added benefit of my Magic. It'll keep your body healthy and stable as I practically rearrange your guts over, and over, and over," Roman continued, a large hand cupping over Logan's weeping cock and giving it a tight teasing squeeze.

Logan's thighs trembled as Roman's re-slicked fingers pressed back inside, scissoring him open just that extra bit more as he laved a sharp kiss just behind his whining sub's ear.

Logan could scarcely understand it, just how much he wanted what Roman was promising, his half-hard cock eagerly dripping precum onto the soft sheets below. 

He knows that Roman is big, he's seen it at rest through Roman's likely purposefully tight trousers time and time again. He knows that even when soft, he could still easily choke on just the head alone. 

 It wasn't exactly surprising though, considering Roman was himself a Dragon/Human Hybrid, and thus his entire body was at least twice as large as Logan, if not more. At a staggering 6'10", Roman's broad and muscular stature easily dwarfed Logan's stout 5'4" body, right down to the size of their cocks.

He also knows full well that it is going to ruin him mentally, knowing he'll never be satisfied with anything other than Roman. Maybe Logan just has a bit of a thing for his lover's size at this point, or maybe he doesn't. Maybe he just loves anything and everything that's Roman. He doesn't mind that fact either, seeing as Roman is the only one he's ever loved like this, and is the only one he plans to spend the rest of his life with anyway.

 And he was more sure than ever, laying there pinned and having been edged to hell and back for who knew how long, that he desperately wanted Roman to utterly ruin him with his monstrous cock.

For a moment his entire worldview narrowed down to those four large fingers thrusting back and forth into his hole, now unhesitatingly stimulating his prostate. He keened and cried out, unable to buck into it with Roman's free hand keeping his hips in an iron grasp.

Right as he felt the now familiar feeling of his peak readying to crash down around him once more, Roman pulled out and away all together.

He let out a confused whine at the complete loss of his lover's weight over him, unable to look or move to find him with his arms still bound under him.

"Shh, shh, I'm right here my little mouse. I haven't left you," the Dragon soothed softly, briefly resting a grounding hand on the dip between Logan’s shoulders as the sound of shuffling clothing and slick movements filled the air.

All at once, Roman's weight returned, and Logan found his knees pushed apart by Roman's own coming to press in between them. Roman's scaled bare chest pressed searingly hot against Logan's own similarly unclothed torso, his large muscled arms bracketing in Logan's chest and shoulders on either side. His head dropped, pressing a gentle soothing kiss to his favorite spot near the crook of Logan's neck.

Any words Logan had been planning to say were flushed out with the shuttering gasp that escaped him. His thoughts scrambling as the thick unusually tapered head of Roman's slick cock rubbed teasingly against his hole for a moment or two, before finally, finally starting to sink inside.

Logan could not be faulted for the absolutely embarrassing keen that escaped him when Roman's hips gradually bore down with all his weight to sink his cock inside. He could feel through where their back and chest met how Roman’s chest was rumbling with a deeply pleased, nearly subsonic growl.

"Relax, little mouse, you're still so tight inside love. How am I going to bounce you on my cock soon if you don't relax?" Roman purred, one arm curling around and pulling up Logan's hips to ease the other's strain, "Think about how good it'll feel once I'm fully inside. Good little mouse, that's it, relax."

The prince found himself whimpering helplessly, his trembling back arching and shaking knees trying to spread wider to accommodate for the Dragon's unyielding massive cock. Roman's four thick fingers had just barely opened him up enough to actually keep it from being truly painful, barely keeping it to just a deep pleasurable ache. 

It was all he could do to keep his trembling body lax, barely restraining himself from clenching down when inch after ribbed inch proved thicker than the last. Even wilder, he could still feel where the large tapered head was inside, spearing deeper than Logan had ever thought he was capable of experiencing- And the length still just kept coming.

 It felt like ages before Roman finally buried his cock as far as it would go without continuing any painful forcing. Logan's hard little cock was weeping precum steadily, the other's monster of a cock pressing relentlessly into every sweet spot he didn't even know existed.

Roman finally stills, lightly worrying a few hickies into the skin of Logan's shoulders and throat with his teeth, waiting for Logan to adjust.

The prince could barely tell how he felt. it was undeniably heady, at least, to feel his lover so deep that his stomach ached in protest. His upper torso alongside his jaw had gone lax in pure awe, eyes screwed shut as his trembling legs were now completely useless at keeping him up. If it weren't for Roman's strong arm holding his hips up, Logan probably would have collapsed completely to the floor by now. That is, unless the other's massive cock could have ended up also keeping his poor hips in place, if given the chance that it remained stuck inside. An experiment for another day, surely.

"How are you feeling, love?" Roman purred, his voice cautious and calculating.

"Hnng" Logan keened artfully in response, clenching around the others cock in retaliation. He wouldn't see Roman's pleased grin in response, too deep in subspace and blissed out to suspect his lover's next act of mischief.

"Good boy, being so good for me. Alright then, going up!" Roman purred deviously.

Suddenly Logan found his entire body shifting as Roman pinned him to his chest and pulled him upright onto his lap. The Dragon settled down to the floor just enough to still maintain their balance as he let gravity pull Logan back down onto his cock.

The momentum that carried him pulled him perfectly back down the inch and a half he'd lost on the way up, before pressing him even further down as his weight additionally settled into position over the others cock.

That deep protesting ache in his stomach returned twice as loud from the sharp prodding the head of Roman's cock gave. It made Logan want to squirm away for the sharp few overwhelming seconds that he was stuck feeling it before suddenly feeling Roman’s hands press down on his hips. His head jerked back with a strangled moan as the tip of Roman's cock testingly pressed even deeper at the action.

And then Logan finds his hips suddenly flush with Roman's and the last inch and a half of Roman's cock plunging completely inside him. The deep ache that had sharpened with the final push was suddenly overwhelming his senses, and was inexplicably starting to feel really fucking good now as the head of the others cock seemed to finally manage and get.. even deeper, somehow. 

Logan's hips instinctually jerk after a moment, purely overwhelmed with the cacophony of signals being sent to his brain, finally spiking that deep ache into a kaleidoscope of pure oversensitive pleasure. Before he can even really process the feeling it has him practically shouting Roman's name as he peaks harshly and comes all over his heaving chest and twitching hips.

Roman's hands pin their hips together, rutting slowly to continue carefully stimulating Logan's trembling body through his first orgasm. Eventually he paused to let Logan collapse against his chest, the prince obviously lost to his fucked-out bliss.

"We've only just gotten started, are you spent so soon, little Mouse?" Roman purred delightedly.

Logan just whimpered, dazedly shaking his head and spreading his legs once more even as it created a feedback loop with that terrible, wonderful, blissful ache.

"Good Boy."

[eleanore-delphinium]

Reciprocate I (2021 Version)

DISCLAIMER: Repost with additional details and edits from same title piece found in DAMIRAE ENTRIES (A03).

Part 2: Reciprocate I

Finale: Reciprocate III: The After

~.~.~.~.~.

Reciprocate I: Raven

'There she was again at the foot of her bed, in her room in the Titans Tower—weeping. It was like she was grieving. But knowing her—she probably was.' Damian couldn't help but think as he stood unmoving by her bedroom door.

Raven's head was buried into her hands as she cried.

This again. How many times has Damian seen Raven like this? How many times had he come and comforted her?

Raven noticed someone's presence inside her bedroom. And she knew that there was only one person who would come into her room in the state that she was in.

Damian Wayne.

Damian Wayne who is the leader of the Teen Titans at the age of nineteen, which Raven had been a member for seven years and at twenty-one she has been one of the longest active team members, alongside Garfield or also known as, Beast Boy.

'Garfield. It has to be him again.' Damian thought bitterly as he gazed down on the floor with a darkened gazed. And how many times had he comforted her over him? Of all people, how many times had he comforted her over Garfield?

"Damian?" Raven called out in a broken sob as she wiped her tears and glanced to her left side to find, and to no surprise, that it really was Damian who was inside her bedroom. Garfield would never come to comfort her after their arguments, she came to realize at some point, the one that did that was Damian. When she met his blank gaze after he looked up from the floor, she couldn't help but give a faint smile and cried again.

"We broke up again." She cried into her hands and in response to her words, Damian just clenched and unclenched his right fist. Of course, Raven would not feel the turmoil he was feeling and had not seen his reaction. She always failed to notice him.

He wandered very frequently, like right now, if his existence held any weight to her at all. If he was someone that would make her react the way she was, about a man who didn't see her value the way he did.

"And what? This is for the nth time. Am I supposed to be surprised?" Damian said in a rather cold voice laced with something else he couldn't identify at that moment. But his breathing was uneven and yet Raven still didn't notice as she stopped crying and stared at him- and he regretted his tone. He regretted making her look so broken and hurt and he simply just wanted to undo how he had said his words. But the thing was—he meant it, with every beating of his aching heart.

"You don't understand." Her voice comes out so weak that his heart sunk for her or maybe for him. "This time—" Raven's eyes widened a bit. "This time—it's for real. No more do-overs. No more makeup. This time—" Raven started to hyperventilate. "This time we're really done."

And saying the words aloud—despite it not actually being loud enough perhaps because of how broken and in pain she was, made Raven realize how true the situation really is. Only a tear slipped down her left eye as she sat there frozen and very unmoving. The situation sinking deeper into her soul.

This time it's for real. The words echoed in both their heads, and yet their emotions towards those words were quite different, almost opposite.

How many times had he heard that-was he supposed to believe it? But seeing her empty gaze and unmoving body—he knew—that this really was for real. And in Damian's mind he had already reached out to caress her face to comfort her.

There was a small amount of happiness in the back of Damian's mind as opposed to Raven's sheer grieve over those words: This time it's for real.

'Until that 'for real' becomes another lie.' Damian's mind couldn't help but whisper to his heart, the small glimmer of happiness damped just as quickly as it came. He shouldn't even find happiness in her sorrows.

"He says he's leaving the team— he's going to join Young Justice." Damian was surprised to hear this as the information had not gotten to him yet. "He told me not to follow him—because this really is the end of the line for him and I." She pressed her lips together.

He didn't know what to say, how to comfort her at this moment. He stared intently at her but with as much a gentle gaze he could offer. If what she said was true, perhaps this was his chance. He shook his head, to shake the thought out as it should not be the priority now but he couldn't help it. His heart has become so weary.

"Raven." He called out to her as he approached her slowly. Her eyes flickered to meet his gaze and as she did so, silent tears fell from her eyes again. "Maybe that is a good thing."

And Raven did not take it well. What did Damian mean? Her tears fell faster as she broke into a sob, she covered her mouth with her right hand, unaccepting of what he had just uttered to her.

"Raven." He called her again, as he sat beside her and touched her left hand with his right hand. "This could be a good thing. You can finally let someone take care of you the way you deserve."

This wasn't what she wanted to hear and it wasn't what she expected to hear from him.

Of all the times Damian had comforted her over her numerous break-ups with Garfield he had never—ever—said such a thing to her. And she felt as though he had punched her yet all she could do was wept loudly in response.

Damian sighed and hesitated to hug her, but eventually was able to wrap his arms around her shaking form. It was not the tightest hug he could give, but it was all that he could muster to give to her. And this time he couldn't help but wonder if she could hear his aching heart from such a close distance.

"I love him, Damian." She wept as she gave him a tighter hug and Damian flinched at the words she spoke. But of course, Raven failed to feel it, just like the pain that he was clearly resonating from deep within his bones and soul.

Love? Damian wanted to snicker at her and yet it was also something that would be directed at him.

"Have I not tried everything to please him? Where have I failed?" She pulled away from his embrace, the distance between their faces only a mere two feet away. Her hands were on Damian's chest as she looked up at him. "Am I not enough?" She sobbed as he furrowed his brows at the words he knew to be so ridiculous to hear.

Not enough? He felt the anger that he had buried a long time ago shimmer from very deep within him.

"Is my love not enough? Is this why he never chooses me? Didn't I try everything to please him? Do I not deserve love? Is this why I'm always—just—I'm never chosen?" She ranted as her left hand wrapped around Damian and her forehead rested on the back of her right hand that was on Damian's chest over his heart. And Raven continued to cry. Her words reflected the way he had been living for how many years now.

He silently bit his lip. Even though her hand was already resting so firmly over his heart, she still couldn't feel or hear his heart breaking at that very moment. How many times had he let her break his heart over and over again?

"You call this love?" He whispered unexpectedly. And when Raven pulled away to look at him with confusion on her face—Damian understood that he had spoken his thoughts aloud. He can't take it back now. He looked down at her, mirroring her confusion but water was pooling on his lower eyelids.

"How can you call this love?" He said in such a low voice with plain disbelief and confusion. "How many times have you cried over Garfield? How many times have you said you two will never get back together—and yet somehow you get back together—despite how many times he has hurt you. But you hurt him too—but still—the pain you two inflict on each other—when will it be enough?"

Raven felt like he had dumped cold water on her and as Damian looked at her expression- even, he had felt that he had dumped cold water on her.

His mouth quivered as he contemplated whether he should take it back-of how he should take it back. But he had meant every single word and Raven's face was ashen from his words. She took in three long breaths controlling the ache in her chest. She found that at this moment, she was more hurt over what Damian said than over her breakup with Garfield. Damian wondered when his cycle would come to an end.

"How could you say that?" It came out barely as a whisper and her grief over her break up had become forgotten. She wiped the tears off of her face, as she completely pulled away from Damian by standing up from her bed.

"How could I?" He asked with a broken laugh as he stood up to face the door, Raven behind him as he secretly wiped the tear that slipped out of his eye. "How could you not? How many times have you two broken up in the span that I have been a part of the team? Let's not count when I wasn't part of the team! How can you—" A pause as he controlled his temper and the tears that wanted to fall. Damian closed his eyes as he deeply inhaled. When his green eyes opened there was a coldness befitting a son of an assassin and he turned to look at her.

"You two—not respect one another enough to just call it quits the first time—or maybe by the third time of your break ups. Why would you—you two—drag out this pain for all these years?" Damian's voice had a hint of suppressed tension in it. And Raven laughed at his rant, but the laughter sounded so resigned that Damian's heart couldn't help but flinch. She had looked away from him as she continued to laugh.

"Of course, you wouldn't understand how I feel!" Raven paused from laughing to stare at his green eyes coldly trying to compete with the indifference he was showing her. "I can't believe that I had thought you understood me—I can't believe I expected you to understand!" Another fit of broken laugher. Damian clenched his fist at her words. The disdain she had for Damian—he felt. And yet she still did not see his feelings- she still did not feel his feelings. How his heart at this moment was aching because of the love he had for her that he could never say out loud.

"I knew him for seven years Damian! Seven bloody years! And I love him. I love him so, so much." And Raven could not help but start to cry again. "I love him- for seven years."

It was a fact, it was undeniable. It simply is. He smiled brokenly at her, the indifference gone.

"Time does not guarantee that you are meant to be with someone." Damian said it so simply and when the words fell on Raven's ears—she froze.

"Why are you doing this?" She whispered not expecting an answer, as she simply had just spoken what was in her mind. She really did not expect this from Damian.

"Just because you know someone for a long time and love them just as long—it doesn't mean you could not love someone with the same intensity even when you just met." He continued on his voice soft and in a very resigned manner, and yet Raven wanted to scream at him and ask why he was continuing on.

Why was he doing this?

Her heart was aching enough already. Why were you adding to that? She wanted to say but found her lips could not form those words.

"Get. Out." Raven heard herself say after a minute had passed, it came out softly and with no weight to it. Damian looked at her with evasive eyes. "Get Out." She said a bit more firmly to which Damian stood unmoving with furrowed brows in front of her.

He seemed like he wanted to tell her more, but Raven did not allow him to. She wouldn't let him break her heart again. Why did this feel even worse than her breakup?

"Get Out! I said get out!" She yelled. Damian glared at her with his jaw clenched and hands in a fist. She tried to match his anger as she glared back. But Damian knew he was at a loss, he would give anything to make her happy. And so he concedes and leaves quietly out of her bedroom. Before the door was fully closed, he heard Raven fall on her knees and wept again, muttering something he couldn't quite catch.

"I love him- for seven years…" She whispered and repeated. She wondered for a split second if she was trying to convince herself of this fact. And she continued to grieve alone in her bedroom.

~.~.~.~.~

Damian was in the gym room of the Titan Tower. He was punching a sandbag with wrapped hands. He had been at the gym for a few days straight to vent out —in fact since his first failure at comforting Raven over her break up. He had tried to be unbiased, but everyone had a tipping point and Damian Wayne simply hit his tipping point on the matter.

Even so, he tried to act accordingly as the leader of the Titans. He had started comforting Raven in the pretense of his obligation as the team leader. But maybe it wasn't a pretense—and if so—when had it started becoming a pretense? When did he start convincing himself that it was part of the duty as the leader? When it was clear-looking back- that he had a weak spot for Raven and that he gave her special treatment.

Raven and Garfield appeared to be as civil as they could around each other after their recent breakup. And finally, Garfield had talked to Damian about leaving the team. Something about moving up the ladder. And God hearing that made Damian want to punch the man.

What did that entail 'moving up the ladder'? Did Raven not fit Garfield's desire—is that why they broke up this time around? She wasn't too high up that ladder? But Damian never voiced out the thoughts that invaded him as he heard Garfield say what he did.

In fact, Damian tried not to comment about Raven and Garfield's relationship, or lack thereof, just as he always had but the same could be said with anyone else. He tried to be as much of a team leader as needed be—and he did not—absolutely did not mention their personal romantic relationships with one another unless it was to remind them that he does not wish for it to affect the group dynamic. And maybe that was what led him to comfort Raven the first time around.

Damian valued the team dynamic too much just for a couple to ruin it. But when it was Raven who was so upset over her relationship, he would find himself in front of her door and then in her room, comforting her the best he could and with more effort than he would if it was someone else.

After Raven kicked Damian out over what hopefully was the last break-up of Garfield and Raven, Damian went out of his way to avoid Raven in the most casual and indifferent way possible. It almost bordered normalcy and yet it was clear that something had changed.

"Damian." A familiar voice called out to him, but he did not hear it as he was focused on his punches.

"Damian." He paused and Damian steadied his sandbag and turned to look behind him with furrowed brows.

"Raven." He greeted simply and was about to continue punching the sandbag again. But she called out to him again and he sighed.

"What is it?" He asked indifferently and with a sharp edge, his hands on the sandbag, keeping up the appearance of steading it.

"I'd like to apologize." He raised an eyebrow, shook his head and mock punched the sandbag and it swung a bit.

"You don't have to—" He steadied the sandbag. "I should be the one apologizing." His eyes do not look at her though.

"I suppose." She said quietly after what felt like a minute had passed in silence with no apology from Damian. "But you made a good point." He stiffly nodded, the apology he has been meaning to say was at the tip of his tongue. Another minute passed in silence.

"I know you're looking out for the team. Thank You." She said quietly, waiting for Damian to respond but he just nodded again and another minute of silence.

"I—I think I will take your advice—" Advice. She had called it advice; Damian's eyes looked up at her. He was surprised to see her violet eyes look at him intently with patience. "I—I should move on—close that part of my life. Start a new book." Damian's right eye twitched in surprise. The apology he had been meaning to say still stuck in his mouth.

She smiled at him and she nodded and then did a 180 turn on her heel.

"I'm sorry." He finally said but it was only a whisper. His disappointment and anger in his own inability to apologize properly made him clench his right knuckles against the sandbag, as his eyes followed her back. For a moment he thought she froze on the spot, but she continued to walk away.

'No. She had heard. But she did not give me a hard time over it.' Damian thought as a faint rueful smile found itself on his lips.

She deserved so much better. He sighed aloud as he looked up at the cieling.

~.~.~.~.~

'Why was I back in this situation again? Had she not said that it was over for real then? I guess today is the day it finally became a lie.' Damian stood inside of Raven's bedroom as if he had seen a ghost.

Last time he was here—she was twenty-one. Now he is the twenty-one-year-old and she is twenty-three. Two years had passed since the last time he was in this situation—in her room—watching her cry herself raw on her bed.

And yet Damian knew—it has to be about him again.

Garfield.

His right eye twitched at the thought. An empty smile on his lips as he looked at Raven sob.

'Didn't you say it was over—so what is this.' The words never came out of Damian's lips, but it almost had but she felt his intentions. And if Damian had known that his thought had been conveyed to her through his emotions—then maybe he'd think: for the first time she finally noticed my feelings.

Raven noticed that Damian had entered her room—how could she not with what he was emitting. It has been so long since the two were in this situation. It had been two years to be exact. And she felt guilty—because the last time he had comforted her in here—she said her and Garfield were really done.

And here she is—the proof of a lie.

"I—" Raven tried to muffle her cries but failed. "Him and I—we hooked up." And to Damian those words were crushing but not as crushing as what the word 'hooked up' entailed. Was she—she couldn't be— "And so we secretly dated after that." Damian couldn't help but sigh when he heard her say that.

It wasn't as bad as the thought of Raven being pregnant. He thought that he must be an awful person for thinking such a thing.

"But then… does that mean—" Damian looked at Raven in confusion, piecing something together in his head. How long has she been lying?

"For almost a year." She softly sobbed as she wiped a tear away. Damian felt like he had been punched. A year. He had been trying to make her happy for two—but that one year—that half time he placed in effort, even when it was masked mostly as group activities—was happiness that Damian was not able to give her—but Garfield had.

And Damian simply saw the truth of the matter, the recent year when Raven seemed even more happier than the last—it was not because of him. He should have known. No—he must have noticed—Ah. That is right. He had seen the signs but chose to ignore it.

"Isn't he with that girl named Terra?" Damian asked softly, quite blindsided by the truth. Raven nodded in response and he felt that same old anger he had not felt since that time two years ago—in this room, seeing her nod to his question- return to the surface. A symbol of agreement resulted in an anger that had been buried which was now reignited.

"But they had taken a break when Garfield and I got back together." She quickly added before he could say something and oddly enough that subsided a bit of Damian's anger. "It was just a hookup, no attachment. He was upset and hurt and I was lonely—and we knew each other well." Raven had stopped crying at this point and was picking on her fingertips looking for hangnails with furrowed brows.

She sighed as she looked up at her ceiling as she let her silent tears fall, "It wasn't supposed to mean anything—"

"But the love you had for him was reignited, right?" Damian couldn't help but cut her off with a bite in his tone. And he chuckled—it was empty and shallow. "So, what is it this time? Am I supposed to be surprised you broke up again? Well this isn't the first break up you two had—and last time surely wasn't the last!" A hollow laugh came from Damian as he ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

"God, how stupid!" Damian suddenly yelled and Raven stood up to glare at him.

"How can you call me stupid! I loved him whole-heartedly for seven years and I continued to love him for two more—you don't forget that. Even when it's muddled—it's a fact that I have loved him for so long and invested so much into him—into me—for him and me- us. And even when we broke up—I will always love him. He will always have a special place in my heart." Raven paused to calm herself, the words she was spilling felt as thought she was stabbing herself too. "Even when he broke up with me now—because he realized he loves Terra." She bit her lip and Damian looked at her like she was the stupidest person on earth.

Damian suddenly laughed, it was a rather wholehearted laughter and yet it held such muted grief.

"You think I called you stupid?" He looked at her in the eyes, and something about his stare hinted to a degree of insanity. "You actually think I called you stupid?" He shook his head with a faint smile on his lips as he glanced at the space beside her. "I'm the one who's stupid!" Raven took a step back in confusion as she studied Damian with a knot in her chest—she thought that Damian looked a little mad.

"I like you! For the longest time, I have liked you!" Raven looked at him as if he had grown an extra head. "I might even actually love you—but what do I know—after all—you said it yourself: I don't know what that is like!" Raven looked at him thinking when had she said that, and she realized it must have been the last time they were in this room together when he was comforting her. She had opened her lips to tell her that: that was not what she had meant, but Damian continued on.

"But you never noticed my feelings for you! I was just a fly in comparison to Garfield. Maybe if I wasn't three years younger than you—then maybe you might take me seriously! Or maybe if I had known you first than Garfield—then maybe you would actually look my way!" Damian's stare had started to become a hateful glare. "You know when you two broke up for reals-" He said mockingly. "I thought that maybe—maybe—this was it. This was my chance to get you to notice that I have liked you for the longest time. Maybe this was the moment you would let Garfield go and let someone else show you—just how much you deserved to be treated. How special you are to that one person—how important you are to at least one person." Damian's angry glare softens into resignation.

"It didn't have to be me. It could be anyone." He paused as he pressed his lips and squeezed his eyes shut for a second and he looked at her again. "That is fine. I don't think I deserve that kind of special someone to dote on—and love me." He paused again, but Raven didn't know what to say as he looked down on the floor. "But I wanted you—" He looked back at her again with mournful eyes. "I wanted at least for you, to be happy. I wanted to know that all the years you spent crying over some stupid guy over a stupid little thing because of a stupid relationship—is happy. I wanted that for you." He pressed his lips together as he shook his head and evaded her shock eyes.

And then the silence allowed the two to think of what had just happened. It gave Damian the time to really process what was happening—what he had said and he was shocked at what he had done.

No.

He had just confessed to her.

No.

He looked up at her with a shocked expression, his eyes so wide in realization. He had said aloud the thoughts that have been plaguing him for years, the glimpse of how his thought process has changed as Raven's relationship with Garfield became a bane of his existence—of what he thought was also her's and Garfield's.

Damian's face paled, wishing he could take back what he had just said and done. The secrets and frustration he had held in was finally said. And it sat between them rather heavily.

"I—" They had both spoken at the same time and a pause followed. Damian stared at Raven, unsure who had spoken—was it her or him. Before anything else could be said and done, Damian stormed off with his fist clenched and with long strides close to a dash.

Damian had been punching the sandbag aggressively for almost two hours now following his confession. He was embarrassed and frustrated. And thinking of so many ways to take back what he had said and done. Prior to those thoughts, he had evaluated how he could have handled the situation better.

Damian gave the sandbag a very powerful right punch that the poor weakened sandbag gave in to the hit. His fist was inside the sandbag and as he was about to pull his fist out, the sand spilling out from the hole, he heard Raven calling his name. He turned to his left to look at her with furrowed brows, and her eyes shifted from him and the sand pouring out from the sandbag, her expression worried.

Raven had been calling out to Damian a few times already before he had noticed her. If Damian knew he would be greatly disappointed with himself.

"Damian…" She started at Damian's fist that was still half inside the sandbag.

"Look—forget what I had said. I said it to distract you. I did it as my obligation as the team leader." He said coldly as he fully retracted his fist from the sandbag, more sand poured out from his action. He looked away from her as he checked his fists for damage. He was surprised to see that he had bruised and had cuts on his hands. His right hand had the most damage.

"No." Raven said as she took a step forward, he turned his head at her with a glare. Raven does not back down. "We need to talk about this."

Damian was contemplating how to bolt from this situation and Raven could tell his intentions. So, before Damian could act about his thoughts, she grabbed his fists and he flinched.

"Seriously, we can't have our leader's fists injured." She said as she checked his injuries up close, turning his fists in her hands, taking her time. He was quiet but his jaw was locked and his brows so closely knit to each other.

"I—" Raven looked up at him, straight into his eyes and Damian was startled as his eyes met hers. "I had noticed your feelings before." She softly confessed and Damian's fists clenched, before he could yank his hands away from hers- Raven firmly held his hands in hers. "I had noticed." Her expression seemed to have glazed over and she sighed aloud and dispelled her thoughts.

"I had noticed. But it became overlooked as I was more focused on—other things—" And for a moment her eyes glazed over again. "On Gar." A sad smile on her lips.

"His love overshadowed your little crush on me. I—focused on him and me so much that anything else was just white noise. I forgot that you had a crush—it was just an afterthought that was forgotten." To Raven, Damian looked as though he wanted to yank his hands off of hers and storm off, but with clenched jaws he fought not to. "And I am truly sorry." She said as she healed his hands.

Raven licked her lips and pressed it together but her eyes looking at the ground, "And—yes—our age had been a factor – why I didn't take you seriously. There was one time that I considered the possibility of dating you. And our age gap-" Raven made a displeased face. "bothered me. And three years, I know it isn't much," She glanced at Damian. "But it's undeniable that at some point I was of legal age and you weren't. And that—that unsettled me. But mostly—it's because of my love for Garfield- that made me always overlook your crush. And—I really am sorry."

Raven was looking at Damian with wavering eyes, she felt guilty, but she was also very sincere on her apology.

'This,' She thought. 'is the final push I needed to really move on from Gar.' As she lets go of Damian's hands.

"I hope, everything said and done today—doesn't affect our relationship—in fact I hope it clarified the things between us." Raven said dispelling the guilt she had. "You are a great leader Damian, you always think of everyone, and I guess that is why you never said or did anything that could be permanently damaging to the team."

With that Damian buried the thoughts that he was having, like did he have a chance to be with her now? No—Raven is right—he couldn't risk the team dynamic. But he also came to love her a little bit more. She seemed to always see something more in him, things he could never see in himself.

'It's probably why you never attempted to confess to me—to not add to the mess that was Garfield and me.' Raven had mulled over in silence with a smile that was neither sad nor happy. Which made Damian curious if it was a smile out of happiness or sadness because then he would know the meaning behind her smile.

~.~.~.~.~

Three months after Damian's sudden confession, Raven took the initiative to go to Damian who was in his bedroom.

It was rather late at night but she had made a decision already and wanted to tell Damian at that very moment. The room was rather dark but they were both used to it, their eyes adjusted well or maybe even better at the dark.

After Damian's confession, their relationship was rather strained- how could it not be with such a revelation? But the two worked hard to flatten out the strain and finally they were in a position that was back to normal but never quite the same. But it was perfect—in the oddest way—it was perfect and they were content.

"Damian, I know it's late…" Raven rubbed her left elbow with her right hand. "But with everything that has happened these past few months—I know I have to tell you this now."

Hearing this Damian was worried. "Please Raven, continue." He said as he pats the space beside him, on his bed. But she shook her head in rejection and she avoided his gaze. He understood that the words she was going to say were difficult on her part, and he waited patiently. He quietly observed her as she chewed on her lips and finally sighed.

"I'm planning to leave." The oxygen in Damian's room felt like it wasn't enough for him to breath. And Raven instantly became worried seeing him in a mix of shock and fear. She approached him cautiously, her hand extended towards him. Raven was two steps away from Damian when he suddenly shot up to his feet and she froze as she studied him.

Damian was ashen, his jaw clenched and his fists flexing, but his eyes that were on her—seemed to go through her and in his green eyes she saw him shredding his initial reaction into oblivion. He closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath and when he exhaled, that was when Raven found herself unfrozen and had touched Damian's arm. She looked up at him, a fear in the base of her throat that felt like it was going to burst, but he only glanced at her in silent confusion.

"I don't plan to leave now—I was just making you aware that I will—maybe in a few months." She blurted out, in order to speak before Damian could. "I think it's for the best—it's still kind of hard to see Garfield. Especially now—no maybe particularly now—because I really want to move on from him."

"He will always affect you." Damian whispered with the smallest hint of resignation. And before Raven could acknowledge it, he added, "It can't be helped, our team and Young Justice cross paths now and then—and recently it seems to be more frequent." His tone was that of a firm leader that Raven completely forgot his previous remark.

"Yes, that is exactly it." She softly agreed. In the silence that followed she realized that she was still resting her palm on Damian's arm, she pulled away quickly and looked away from his general direction.

"I'm not planning to leave anytime soon—so you really don't have to worry about my replacement yet." She said jokingly but he only quietly nodded as he observed her.

Not even a week after Raven's revelation of leaving due to the difficulty of seeing Garfield, the three found themselves in a room in the Titan Tower. Damian was standing in front of Garfield while Raven stood by Damian's left side with her arms crossed over her chest. A rather strained triangle was formed between the three.

"We need your help on this Damian, I'm here to try and convince you." Garfield said as Damian took notes on Raven from the corner of his eyes. She looked as neutral as she could, but he knew that she must be having difficulties seeing him so soon— with Garfield acting as though him and her were not a thing a few months ago.

"I don't think I need convincing, Garfield. If it's an order from the league I cannot say no to it." Damian simply responded.

"Well, that is true, but I guess I am here for formality's sake." He replied but his eyes glanced at Raven, who had caught his eyes and so did Damian.

"Raven is my right hand, and she has been in the team the longest. We will discuss how we can best assist and inform our team." Damian firmly decided, Raven nodded her head, arms still crossed.

"Oh—well—" Garfield glanced at Raven then Damian, "I thought maybe I could—"

"We need to discuss how best to help as soon and as quickly as possible." Damian cuts in, and Raven nodded again silently. Garfield at this point is blatantly looking at Raven. He had intended to try and talk to her, but it seemed that she did not want to.

"I—" Garfield had begun to say.

"We will contact you Gar." Raven quietly said before Garfield could say anything else.

Maybe she did want to talk to him, it's just that they were more focused on the mission and intel he had just provided. Garfield thought as he nodded absent-mindedly.

Damian turned to leave and Raven followed before the conversation between the three could be dragged out by Garfield.

Damian walked quickly to his room and Raven followed absent-mindedly. When they arrived in Damian's room, Raven just stood in the center blankly. Damian cleared his throat.

"I know this isn't the best place to bring you in—" She heard him say and she glanced at her surroundings, realizing where she was. Damian had led her to his bedroom. "But you don't have to participate if you don't want to." Raven simply shook her head.

"No. I am a part of this team; I am just as responsible as you are Damian." And he knew her well enough to know that Raven had made up her mind, and that she will not change her mind. If only he had known then, what would happen in the mission- because he had allowed her to go, then maybe things would be different for him and her.

"I know you wanted to leave because of Garfield—and this happens—if you ever want to leave this mission half-way, I totally understand." Raven looked at him with a gentle gaze, glad for Damian's thoughtfulness. But this was work, she should be able to do this mission. And maybe—this should be the last. And she nodded as she responded to his offer, little did Damian know that Raven was thinking of having this as her last and final mission as a Titan.

A good way to end a bad relationship she supposed—working one last time with an ex she was trying to avoid.

"I need to call in for a team meeting." Damian sighed while shaking his head and putting a hand on his forehead. And she smiled faintly at him, but her mind steered back to a green skinned boy, she still knew she loved.

~.~.~.~.~

Damian did not expect things to turn out like this. They were pushed in a corner, the creature facing his direction trying to spot anyone on his side. Tim was somewhere behind the creature tending to a team member who had fallen. Damian was unsure if Tim was tending a Titan or a member of the Young Justice team from his hiding place behind a car.

Terra attacked the albino twenty-foot creature. And Raven who was on the far side of Damian's general left area, heard Terra's battle cry. The next thing Raven knew was a knot in her heart as she heard Garfield who was in vulture form, screaming Terra's name.

Raven instantly stood up from her hiding place and ran to the center still very far from Damian. Raven saw Terra's body flung towards her general direction and Raven catched her by putting a shield around Terra which slowed and protected her from a dangerous fall. But the act left Raven extremely vulnerable.

Garfield had landed near Damian and shifted back into human form. Raven's eye caught the black eyes of the creature—if you can call them eyes. And she realized what it was about to do, she placed a force field around herself quickly as she reprimanded herself for her stupid move of going out of her hiding place to help Terra out. She knew completely that her decision was impaired due to Garfield screaming Terra's name with such fear. She hated herself for being affected by it.

She hated that she still places him in high regard.

Suddenly—it was quiet. Raven's face twisted into confusion. The shield around her was up, so why did she feel the blood drain from her? She felt rather weak. She heard Garfield screaming her name—she couldn't help but smile. Thinking that Garfield could still scream her name the way he did when he screamed Terra's—was oddly comforting. She turned to look at her left where Damian and Garfield were, confused as she could hear another male call her name.

Raven's eyes landed on Damian's face, a contortion of shock and fear and maybe five other more emotions that she could not quite place. He was screaming her name, looking as though at any moment now, he would run to her. And she was even more confused. She turned back to look at the creature, but with her gaze that was casted down, she noticed what had happened.

Yes, her shield was up. But there was a black spike that passed through her shield. No—it wasn't that it passed through, it seemed that her shield allowed it to—or to be exact her shield couldn't close onto the black spike. She followed where the spike continued on after passing her shield, and she was in a state of serenity to see that it hit her- just below her sternum.

The mix of screams from Damian and Garfield was something she tried to focus her mind on.

Her shield dissipated as she found herself coughing blood, and the black single spike on her chest retracted. She stared at the creature blankly as the spike entered its palm. Raven slowly dropped to her knees; her brows furrowed. She could not think straight.

They were still screaming her name. She turned her head, initially planning to look at Garfield, finding it so very odd to hear him call out her name the way he was. She never knew that he would be worried about him like that after everything they had been through. But when she turned her head to the left, as her body tilted back—it was Damian who her eyes laid on.

And her eyes widened as she realized the truth. She could only hear Damian's screaming now—but she was aware that Garfield was screaming her name too because he was in clear view from where she now laid. But her eyes focused on Damian.

For the first time she had seen and felt Damian's fear, something she was certain he couldn't express prior to this moment in time. She could just feel him telling her not to give in, but her eyes were droopy. She felt tired.

And for the first time she truly felt his feelings for her. The rawness—the intensity. How could she have missed it?

Raven tried to extend her hand to Damian, feeling rather guilty—and hoping she was at least able to convey her apology though the act. But it was so very difficult to keep her eyes open.

'I should have known.' Raven thought as she tried to keep herself conscious. 'I shouldn't have taken you for granted. I should have given you the chance—I should have taken the chance sooner to move on from a relationship that did me no good.' Raven thought she saw Damian running towards her—but maybe it was just an illusion.

'If there is some other life—I wish to give you a chance. I wish to be happy with you.' She swore to herself.

And her eyes fluttered shut. Raven was unsure if she indeed felt her body being lifted up from the ground. Damian held her gently in his arms as he glared at the creature's back who was currently distracted by Tim on the other side.

'I should have seen and felt you. I am a pathetic empath for missing such an important thing. It was clearly so obvious—and clearly in front of me. You do love me Damian, I wish I could tell you that. You had loved me for the longest time—and I did not notice.

It's pure and true—it is still love; The love I have been wanting—I'm glad I got it from you.' Raven silently confessed to herself, the words she wished he could hear, she wished that she could have confessed it to him.

~.~.~.~.~.

This is a 3-part one shot.

Finale: Reciprocate III: The After

Tumblr: Eleanore_Delphinium

A03: Eleanore_Delphinium

FF: karencow

[birdiefw]

JJ MAYBANK | ALWAYS HERE

Requested by: @lil-italian-disappointment

Prompt #76: “You’re not alone, I’m right here.”

Summary: After you get in a fight with a Kook that resulted in your parents grounding you and you’re unable to see your friends, JJ decides to come and sneak in to check on you.

Warnings: Mentions of violence, swearing, & fluff

A/N: Hi! So, I wasn’t sure who you had in mind for this, but I just decided to go with JJ since I thought it was fitting for him! I don’t know if it’s what you had in mind, but I hope you like it! I’m sorry that it took so long!

[NOT MY GIF!!!]

Bruises littered your knuckles, dark blues and purples decorating your battered skin. Your jaw ached from receiving a nasty punch, but thankfully that was one of the only places on your face you’d been hit. Your right cheek was bright red, the skin going to darken over the next few days as an even worse bruise would form on the skin. You still couldn’t believe what happened, but once the girls fist collided with yours, it was like something took over you and you let her have it, not stopping until Deputy Shoupe and Plumb were intervening and pulling you and the Kook away from each other.

You instantly calmed down when you saw who they were as you didn’t want things to become worse, but your eyes remained dark and narrowed, your heart racing rapidly.

You hadn’t intended on getting a fight when you decided to roller blade through the park, but as soon as the Kook girl brought JJ into her snide jabs at you, you couldn’t take it anymore. You tore into her, and with no clever comebacks left, the girl had decided to make it physical in hopes of showing you up. But instead, you won—or technically lost considering you were the one who ended up at the police station to wait for your parents to come and pick you up while the other girl was taken to the hospital for a broken nose.

While waiting at the station, it allowed you to reflect on what you’d actually done, and as good as it felt to give a Kook a taste of their own medicine for once, you were ashamed of yourself.

You couldn’t believe you’d let your emotions get the best of you. You were a good kid, but now you would have the fight on your permanent record which would undoubtedly impact your future no matter what you decided to do. For the Kook, she would be viewed as the victim and not face any punishment whatsoever—but she would certainly have a bruised ego which was still good. You were grateful the girl wasn’t pushing any charges as her injuries were a lot worse than yours, but that didn’t make it any better. You shouldn’t have done that, and by your own injuries that would no doubt hurt even worse tomorrow, you didn’t even want to face any of your friends. If it was a choice, you wouldn’t even face your parents, but you were still in high school and they were in charge of you. They had to be informed of what you’d done and come pick you up.

When they did come to get you after finding out what happened, to say they were livid was a complete and total understatement. You were most definitely grounded—without an exact date for when it would end because they were too angered to even think of that just yet. You weren’t allowed to leave the house to go anywhere except for school and work, and if you hadn’t paid for your own phone and paid the bills, they would’ve taken it away. Though, considering they reluctantly agreed to let you keep your other electronics, you didn’t think they really would have as you wouldn’t have been able to do anything at home, and they didn’t want you to act out again. It had crossed their minds, but they had a feeling that wouldn’t do any good for them or you.

Thankfully it was Friday night, and hopefully your injuries would heal by the time Monday came back around. You were meant to go to Kie’s that night and hangout with the Pogues, but that wasn’t happening anymore. Besides, you didn’t want to face them and have to see their reactions to what you’d done. You didn’t think they’d react badly, but you were so ashamed you didn’t want to have to explain that to them.

A small part of you was surprised they hadn’t found out already and tried contacting you, but you had no doubt it would reach them before too long—most likely before the night was even over.

You carefully examined your face in the mirror as you sat on the floor of your room, wincing as you just barely touched your jaw. You quickly retracted your hand and shook your head, puffing out your cheeks. You lowered your head into your hands, sniffling as tears began to form in your clenched eyes. You stood up and sat on the edge of your bed, pushing your head into your hands and resting your elbows on your knees. Before you knew it, your hot tears were falling down your face and your shoulders were shaking.

You did your best to keep your mouth closed, not wanting your parents to hear your sobs. Your mind was frantically racing, the fight playing on repeat in your head and unable to stop no matter how much you didn’t want to think about it. You failed to hear your bedroom door open, the person quickly rushing to kneel in front of you to see what was going on.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” JJ’s familiar voice asked, his usually cocky tone now replaced with fear and concern. You cried even harder, pulling your arms from his rugged hands that tried to get you to remove your hands from your face so he could see you better. “Y/N, come on, talk to me.”

“No,” you murmured meekly, shaking your head. You turned away from him, laying down on your side and curling up into your bed with your back to him. JJ didn’t hesitate to climb in beside you, his blue eyes catching your tear filled ones, also taking note of the marks on your face. Your bottom lip wobbled and his frown deepened, his hand reaching out to touch your tear stained cheek, his concern increasing.

You’d been closest with Pope as he’d been your friend before the others, but each Pogue had a special place in your heart. To be honest, you flirted with all of them, but your flirts with JJ were more frequent and held a lot of sexual tension, but rather than a cocky smirk on his lips, they were pulled down into a frown and his brows were furrowed together. You appreciated him being there for you, and feeling his touch on your skin lit a fire throughout your entire body.

“You’re not alone, I’m right here.”

You timidly smiled at his sincere words, momentarily closing your eyes. You lifted one of your hands and placed it over his. You felt him scoot closer and you slowly opened your eyes. “Thank you, JJ,” you whispered.

He returned your smile, his thumb gently and carefully caressing your cheek, taking note of your knuckles. He didn’t make a comment, but you knew he would sooner or later. “I’m always here for you, Y/N.”

Instead of responding to him, you just moved closer. He got the hint and happily opened his arms for you, allowing you to curl up into his warm chest. He pulled you close, turning slightly so that he was laid on his back and you were firmly pressed against his side.

Your tears and sniffles began to subside after a few minutes, his other arm under your neck and making patterns on your upper back to comfort you while he waited for you to talk when you were ready. Your other hand was on top of his on his chest, his fingers delicately touching your knuckles.

“So,” JJ slowly began, noticing how you had calmed and was twisting your lips like you wanted to say something but wasn’t quite sure how to begin, “you gonna tell me what happened or—”

“I got in a fight with a Kook,” you answered with a pout.

JJ was confused by your tone. Why were you upset? “I’m sure they deserved it,” he said.

You breathed out a laugh, shrugging. “She did, but. . .I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Why‘d you do it then?” He wondered, glancing down to you.

You lifted your head, cheeks turning pink. “I can’t say.”

He raised his brows. “What? Why not? You can tell me anything.”

You sighed, twisting your lips. Your eyes shifted, looking anywhere but at JJ. “She was being a bitch, and we were going back and forth. . .until she said something about someone that I didn’t like.”

“Who?”

“You.”

“Me?” He gaped in utter surprise. “You got in a fight for me?”

“Of course,” you replied with a faint smile. JJ’s lips curled up into a bright grin, a little laugh escaping his lips. He wrapped his arms around you and tugged you even closer, making you giggle. “I’m not gonna let anyone get away with bashing one of us—especially you.”

“That’s my girl,” JJ whispered proudly. He didn’t think he was worth it, but it warmed his heart that you’d done that just for him.

He would’ve done the same for you, too.

You bit your lip, resting your head on his chest and contently closed your eyes, listening to his calming heartbeat.

Perhaps it was worth it after all.

———

[captain-emmajones]

love languages

Here is my contribution for CSJJ. Big thanks to @csjanuaryjoy​ for organizing this, to the CSJJ discourse server and its wonderful ladies, to @carpedzem​ for cheering me on always and to @profdanglaisstuff​ for beta'ing this <3

Post 4x11. During the six weeks of peace. It all starts with Mary Margaret reading a stupid article about love languages at breakfast, and before she knows it, Emma finds herself asking Hook his as they are stargazing by the docks.

Canon Compliant -- Fluff -- Banter -- Missing Scene -- Ao3 -- 1,5k words.

A veil of mist hangs low in this January night sky; it dances around a crescent moon wreathed in a halo of silver light. The moon is peering at the scene, down below, by Storybrooke’s harbour.

And what a scene, my dear...

Two figures dressed in warm clothes are sitting on a bench, wrapped up in one of those large checkered blankets that they share; the taller one seems resolute on examining the stars in the night sky, brows furrowed in a focused expression and fingers clenched around a spyglass.

That is quite unfortunate, thinks the moon, for the clouds are impish that night and stubbornly hide their secrets. His companion sits cross-legged at his side, one hand cupping her chin, eyes set on the man’s silhouette and the moon wonders what could possibly be so interesting on this man’s face for the woman not to look up at her.

There is a shift then, in the woman’s composure, and the moon sees one gentle hand grab the man’s arm as a cloud of white smoke escapes her lips.

The moon winces; she knows the silence is about to be shattered.

“Hey, what’s your love language?”

This stupid question has been on the tip of Emma’s tongue all day, tingling and burning, and Mary Margaret and the article she read aloud at breakfast are entirely to blame for it.

Emma is lucky that the rum they drank at dinner with her parents is still coloring their cheeks red, and that a flame seems to be licking up her throat, because it is a delicious burn and saves her the embarrassment.

“Sorry. Say that again, Swan?”

He does not turn around. As something mischievous stands up in Emma’s chest and pouts, Emma wants to groan that there will be no stars to be seen tonight. How dare he not pay attention to her when she let herself be lured by his talks of “star-gazing”?

Instead, she admires the hint of red coloring the apple of his cheeks and the wisps of breath he exhales calmly through his nose.

“I mean, what makes you feel loved?” she asks again, and she tries to sound more annoyed than she actually is.

Which is, actually, not at all, but he most absolutely does not need to know that.  

The expected result occurs as he swiftly shifts to gaze at her, his blue eyes flashing in the dimness, and that sinful tongue licks a pattern across his lips.

“Swan, are you drunk?” he teases, smirking a bit, but with a lot of tenderness.

She chuckles as he clicks his telescope shut without breaking their gaze.

Her legs do feel heavy as lead, and her head deceptively light as a cloud, but that she won’t tell him, not on any account.

“Am not.” And if Emma’s head lolls to his side, terribly tempted by his welcoming shoulders, it must be because of gravity or something.

But she does not cave in, and she raises her eyes to see his entire face crinkling up in a delightful, devilish way and Emma wishes she could kiss each little spot of skin the moon dabbles light on.

“Yes, you are. Should have watched you and Mary Margaret’s cocktails.”

While Emma does think there is something to be said about her mother’s cocktails, she still rolls her eyes and frowns, even as stubborn laughter keeps bubbling up inside her throat and is making it difficult to keep a straight face. “Just answer the question!” And her fist gently bumps against his shoulder for good measure.

He dramatically sighs next to her, one eyebrow quirking up in that peculiar way that makes her toes curl, and she hates him for it but she also wishes that he may never stop.

“...What was the question again?”

She exhales a groan of discontent. “Killian!”

“Emma?”

Another groan. He will be the death of hers. “Your love language! What is it?”

“My love language, you ask? Well, mmmh, let me think.” And as he pretends to ponder, tapping his fingers against his red, red lips, tap, tap, tap, Emma finds herself leaning towards him, against her will, magnetized.

But she catches herself and proceeds to frown harder, hand closing around the cold wooden bench instead of the lapel of his coat. They are trying to have a conversation, for fuck’s sake.

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and Emma blinks because she cannot stop looking at his mouth.

“Ah. But Swan, we have a problem.”

“Do we?”

His lips, over hers, now. Forever, preferably. The delicate shadow dropped by his eyelashes onto his cheekbones is infuriating.

“Yes. As a matter of fact, although I am familiar with many languages, I’ve never heard of that love language theory of yours.”

It’s a miracle she hears anything he’s saying.

“It’s not my theory,” she mumbles right back, and she can tell by the lovely, lovely sparkles in his blue eyes that it is exactly the reaction he wanted out of her.

“Care to explain it either way?”

She thinks she shakes her head then. He is annoying. This is far more than she ever signed up for. She just wanted to tease him, and now she is the one being teased. Truly a terrible turn of events. That doesn’t mean she can control the smile that tickles her lips.

“Well,” she clears her throat, straightens her back, tries to appear very serious, “there are five traditional love languages.”

“Yes,” he encourages her, smiling widely, “I’m all ears, Swan.”

Her cheeks hurt from all of the smiling. It’s okay. He and his stupid big blue eyes are worth it.

“Well, first, there are words of affirmation, like a loved one telling you they are proud of you or that they lo--...you know what I’m saying.”

I’m a fan of every part of you, Swan.

And the thing is, she hears herself utter the words, and she does think that she does not sound like herself at all -- talking about love languages with Captain Hook -- but also Killian and she have been dating for the last couple of months now and this isn’t like anything she’s ever done before and maybe it isn’t so bad.

“Interesting. Do go on.”

In fact, it cannot even be remotely bad when he keeps staring at her like this, as if she is really precious and important and he cares or something.

“Then there’s quality time, like feeling loved when you’ve spent a precious and unique moment with a loved one.”

Right now, we have a quiet moment.

“Mmm, I see.”

“And then there are acts of service, and that goes without explanation.”

I knew Bae as a boy. Perhaps I could talk to the boy. It would help him come to terms with his father’s passing. And me.

“Fair enough.”

“Then there are gifts, of course --”

“Like the rose I offered you on our first date?”

“-- like the rose you offered me on our first date --,” she repeats. Before a bucket of cold water is spilled on top of her head as she realizes what he’s just said and what she’s just agreed with.

It’s a good thing the street light above their head is doing a poor flickering job because by the time Emma has pondered her own words and has reflected on how naturally Killian said that last line, well, she’s flushed a bright red.

He doesn’t mean that he, that they, that she...does he?

An alarm rings inside Emma’s head. Beware! Slippery slope of feelings ahead!

And instead of thinking one second more about this, Emma heaves a quiet breath, blinks, and exhales sharply: “-- yeah and the like.” As she looks up, she notices Killian’s smug grin.  

And something very soft, in his eyes, something very soft and terrifying.

“What’s the last one?” he asks in a husky whisper as swirls of white vapor escape his mouth to kiss Emma’s lips.

She gulps. Exhales. “Physical touch.”

By the time she says the words, he is hovering dangerously close to her, and his hand is slipping into her hair, curling around the base of her neck, and the tingles it diffuses all over her skin are simply illegal.

“Like that?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

She nods, lips tight, unable to breathe. What is he doing to her?

“Like that, yeah.” And if her voice is hoarse, the ocean breeze isn’t the only one to blame.

His fingers slowly abandon her hair to find her lips, and he presses them, gently, above her open mouth and Emma’s hands have found his arms without her consent.

And just as he dives towards her, heart pounding, courage roars inside of her and she dares ask once again: “So?”

It makes him stop, gaze seriously at her, eyes open wide. She swallows again.

“So, what?” he answers, and he almost sounds angry.

The lust she sees dancing in his eyes tightens each of her muscles.

“What’s your love language?” she repeats, bites her lower lip.

She isn’t flinching. She started this. She wants to win.

He smiles, fingers caressing down her neck to find her collarbone, and although she shudders she feels victory stretch her lips.

“I’m a pirate, love. I don’t choose between treasures. I take them all.”

As if to seal his words, his mouth hungrily finds hers, and he drinks her breath, and Emma lets herself be defeated in her heart only, but surely not aloud.

[viastro]

made their way home | kim mingyu

ミ★ synopsis: in which you haven’t seen each other in three years and reunite at jeonghan’s birthday party.

ミ★ genre: post breakup!au, angst, fluff, humor

ミ★ warnings: none!

ミ★ word count: 1,794

ミ★ pairings: mingyu x female reader

ミ★ notes: hi guys! i wrote this while listening to kidult so i’m in absolute tears !! i also can’t stop screaming at this gif !!! i’m going crAZY 

“Nope. I’m not going.” 

“Yn, please! It’s my 26th birthday and you’re not going to come?” 

“Yes. That’s exactly what I was planning to do.” You chuckle at the sound of Jeonghan slamming his head on the table on the other end of the phone. Sitting up on your couch, you glance out the window, the skyline of the city shining brightly back at you. “You know exactly why I won’t be going Hannie.” 

“I’ll keep you guys separated the whole time.”

“You’re going to be too drunk to do that.” Jeonghan scoffs, causing you to giggle and mumble out that you’re kidding. “Please? The group hasn’t been together in years and this is the first time all of our schedules line up.”

You stay silent, watching a person in the building across from you start dancing as they cook pasta. Looking down, you pout when you think of the fact that Jeonghan’s right. You haven’t been with the whole group in a long time, about three years now.

“Hannie…”

“Please? For me?” You let out a sigh, throwing your head back onto the couch and staring at your white ceiling. 

“Fine. I’ll go, only because I wanna see booseoksoon get drunk and start doing girl group covers again.” Jeonghan lets out a laugh on the other end at the memory. Once his laughter dies down, he lets out a soft smile, “Thank you yn.”

You feel yourself get choked up, coughing into your elbow and saying, “Yeah, of course Hannie. I’ll see you on Saturday.”

After the two of you say your goodbyes, you end the call, placing your phone beside you. You let out a small sigh, already feeling anxious at the thought of seeing him again after three years. The two of you have successfully avoided each other after the break up, but it slowly broke apart the friend group as well. 

It’s not like we had a bad break up, it was mutual. So why am I so anxious? Why does my heart feel like it’s about to break again?

“It’s the least I could do, the group deserves it.” You mutter, staring at the white ceiling until the sun fully sets and the stars take over the sky. 

“Seungkwan!” You squeal, wrapping your arms around your old friend. He lets out a laugh into your hair, mentioning how it’s been too damn long. He invites you inside, and you feel giddy at the sound of the group laughing loudly. Slipping off your shoes, you and Seungkwan walk into the living room to see the whole gang laughing at Soonyoung’s story. Your eyes scan the room, and you’re surprised to not see him among them.

“Guess who’s here?” The eleven guys turn around at the sound of Seungkwan’s voice, letting out a loud scream once they realize that it’s you. The girl they haven’t seen in so fucking long!

“YN!” Seokmin screams, jumping over the couch and tackling you in a hug. The rest of the guys follow suit, and you laugh at the impact. Your heart is overwhelmed with happiness at being with your best friends after so long, but there’s still a looming anxiousness at the thought that he should be arriving soon. 

“Happy birthday, Hannie.” You greet, giving Jeonghan a big hug and handing him his gift. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, muttering how he didn’t expect you to buy him something. 

“I have to buy you a gift, what kind of friend would I be if I showed up to your own birthday party without a present?” Sitting down on the couch beside Joshua, Jeonghan gives you a smile before walking over to the kitchen counter and placing the gift there. 

“I’m back with soju and meat!” You freeze at the voice, and the guys beside you also seem to tense up slightly. Joshua pats your knee, getting up and walking over to help with the groceries. Minghao steps over and sits down beside you, giving you a smile in hopes to calm you down. 

He chuckles at the quietness in the room, walking over he says, “Why are you guys so quiet? Wait I know. You guys were talking shit right-” The voice pauses when he lays eyes on you, and you slowly look up and lock eyes with him. 

Mingyu stares at you, feeling an overwhelming amount of emotions flow through him. The main one somehow, still being pain. Your eyes shine at him, something that once used to make him smile but now makes his heart pang. He lowers his gaze once something reflects in the light, and he squeezes his hand into a fist once he sees you wearing the necklace with the half heart charm. You seem to notice, and your hand reaches up to cover it. His jaw tightens, and he walks out of the living room and into the kitchen. 

You let out a small breath, listening to your heart hammer in your chest. Jihoon and Seokmin follow after Mingyu, while Minghao gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. Seungkwan stares helplessly as you space out, and Soonyoung decides to take control of the situation.

“Have I told you guys about the time I almost got hit by a firetruck?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What the fuck?”

“The time you almost got hit by what?”

“You WHAT?!”

“Okay great I haven’t. So basically...”

“Can you pass the sauce?” Seungkwan asks, and Jun hands it to him. You giggle at something Seungcheol whispers to you, and Mingyu glances at you when he hears it. He watches as you tuck your stray hair behind your ear, placing another piece of pork belly in your mouth along with some rice. 

Jeonghan stares at his friends from the end of the table, a small smile on his face after having been separated from the group for so long. His eyes catch Mingyu staring at you, and he watches the way he clenches his jaw when you laugh with Chan. Jeonghan stands up from his seat and walks over to Mingyu, placing a hand on his shoulder, effectively startling him. “Hannie, you scared me.” 

“How long are you planning to stare at yn until you go up to talk to her?” Mingyu lets out a sigh, wrapping his pork belly in lettuce and pacing it into his mouth instead of responding. Jeonghan chuckles, patting Mingyu’s head. “I know you miss her, and I know you saw that she still wears the necklace you got her. Try and talk to yn by the end of the night, birthday boy’s orders.” And with that, Jeonghan walks back over to his seat while Mingyu lets out a whine.

“That’s not fair!” 

“It’s absolutely, 100% fair.” Jeonghan responds, turning to talk to Joshua, ending the conversation with Mingyu. You immediately look down once Mingyu turns and glances at you, choosing to look busy with the food. 

i guess i will.

You take in a deep breath of the cold night air, rubbing your arms a bit once the goosebumps appear. You stare at the city, still in awe at the beauty of it during the night. You’ve been outside on Jeonghan’s balcony for a few minutes, needing a break from the loudness of the guys. A blanket gets draped over your shoulders suddenly, and you turn around preparing to thank Jeonghan or Seokmin, only to pause when you lock eyes with Mingyu. 

“T-thank you.” You mutter and he nods. He walks up to the railing and leans against it, staring at the skyline of the city. The two of you stand in silence, taking in the view as you hear the faint laughter from inside. 

“How have you been?” You finally ask, turning to glance at Mingyu. He shrugs, “I’ve been alright. I started culinary school a month ago.” 

Letting out a small smile, you turn to the man you still love once loved. “That’s great Mingyu. I’m really happy for you.” 

“Thank you. How about you? Are you still an intern for dazed magazine?” You shake your head, and he turns to glance at you.

“I actually work there now. Got promoted to be one of the editors.” He lets out a chuckle, shaking his head and you cock your head to the side at his reaction. “What?”

“I always knew you’d get that job ya know? When you’re passionate about something, it really shows. You work hard for what you want, and I’m glad they were able to see that.” Your smile falters slightly, and you turn your head to look back at the city. The two of you fall into silence once again, watching the cars down below. 

“You’re still in love with me, aren’t you?” You ask, not looking at Mingyu’s reaction. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him let out a sigh and nod his head slightly.

“Yeah, I am.” Mingyu turns so that he’s facing you, and he watches you bite your bottom lip harshly. 

“You still love me?” Mingyu asks softly, and you don’t move for a moment. 

You thought you were over him, or at least tried to convince yourself of that. In the three years of the two of you being broken up, you dated. You went to bars, opened up online dating accounts, went on blind dates, but there was always that lingering feeling in the back of your heart that you chose to ignore. However, seeing Mingyu after three years of avoiding him made that lingering feeling unescapable. 

“Yeah, yeah I do.” You finally answer, and he bites the inside of his cheek to stop the small smile from coming onto his face. He turns back so that he’s facing the railing again, and silence falls upon the two of you once again.

Mingyu reaches out and intertwines your fingers with his, and a shaky breath leaves your lips. You glance down at your connected hands, feeling like you’re finally home after so long of just wandering lost. Your eyes drift up to find him wearing the other half of the heart of your necklace, and a tear finally escapes your eye. Turning back towards the view, you rest your head on his arm, and Mingyu bites his lip to stop his own tears from falling.

The two of you stay like that for a while, comforting each other in silence after a long time of being apart. 

Meanwhile, Jeonghan and the eleven other guys smile excitedly at the sight of you and Mingyu staring at the night sky together. Knowing that everything’s going to be okay between the two of you once he intertwines his hand with yours

“Finally, they made their way home.” Jeonghan mutters softly once he sees you rest your head onto Mingyu’s arm. 

they made their way home.

[catzula]

Hello hello! I saw that you're opening requests so here i am! May i have a fic of Katsuki where he found the reader who's usually is a tough nut to crack, is 99% of the time never really cry and acts like a crackhead suddenly starts crying after one of Katsuki's empty insults he usually threw at her? And it turns out that she was very overwhelmed about the amount of work, deadlines, pressure and pretty much problems twirling around her to the point where one insult that she KNOWS he didn't even mean it can throw her over the edge? And Katsuki just went '?!?!?!' and didn't know what to do? Kinda feeling pretty much like this rn lmao, and kinda want comfort especially if it's from the boom boom man.

Anyways- i absolutely adore your work!

•words and promises•

A/N: this request was really cute and so relatable cuz ever since the schools started again, they've been going so hard on us I don't even have the time to sleep sometimes (but I have the time to write- ironic huh) I hope you're feeling better now, tho! Thank you so much for the request, I hope this was comforting rather than triggering cuz bakugou is mean here lmao

bnha taglist!: @astroninaaa

W.C: 3.2k

Warnings: cursing, insecurities (I think?), stress and anxiety

Genre: angst with a good ending, comfort

"And please hand the summary in by Friday. Todoroki-kun, could you make sure to collect them from everyone and hand them to me?" Midnight asked with a bright smile, leaving the room when Todoroki nodded, everyone else groaning in frustration.

"She wants us to read a whole goddamn book and summarize it in a week?" Kaminari cried out, voicing all of your inner thoughts.

"You, know, Kaminari-kun, it's not entirely impossible to do that." Iida interrupted, fixing his glasses. It would've been a bit more convincing if he didn't have purple bags under his eyes and looked like he was about to pass out.

"Maybe It wouldn't have been impossible if we didn't have 20 other summaries and essays to write!" Mina shot back, and Iida had no answers to that.

You stood silent, but that was because you felt like you couldn't breathe. Everything they were saying was true, this was all too much, and you had no idea how to overcome it. Not even aware you zoned out, you were awoken by your state by a hard snap of a finger in front of your eyes.

"Watcha looking at?" The owner of the fingers asked, and despite his hard voice, his ruby red eyes had a playful glint to them.

"I was just worried if you're smart enough to actually finish an assignment." You told mockingly, and he scoffed.

"Look at the one talking, you were the one who came to my door last night, begging me to help you with the science homework."

"I didn't beg!" You protested. "I just asked you if you did it and you offered to help me!"

"I offered to help just because I pitied you." He muttered, his harsh words causing the rest of the class to gasp and look at you, half expecting you to get mad and scream at him, even though this scene was happening more often than they would like to admit.

These little fights you had with Bakugou was now almost a part of their day. It was an odd relationship you had, always attacking each other, sometimes maybe taking it a bit far, but both of you always knew it wasn't coming from the heart.

When you stood silent, sending a mocking laugh his way, and kept scrolling through Instagram, he was a little surprised.

You were never silent, you always, always had something to say back. In fact, that was one of the things he loved- hated about you. Whatever he told you, you had something clever or dumb to say, and you were so brutally blunt when he fought with you, sometimes he found himself laughing at the insults you threw at him.

Still, his pride stopped him from asking if something was wrong, on the contrary, he was happy to finally have some quiet time, he told himself. You could feel his eyes on you as you thoughtlessly scrolled through your Instagram feed, but you didn't have it in you to argue, you were too tired for that.

Bakugou scoffed after looking at you for a while, still expecting you to poke fun at him, but when you sat still, he gritted his teeth and sat back at his place.

■■■

Bakugou never thought he would miss arguing with you.

He noticed you were acting a bit odd, not once trying to get in a fight with him, not even a snarky comment coming from your way. It was weird to see you so quiet, and it was getting on his nerves.

You weren't entirely silent, but whenever he tried to lul you into fighting with him, you just looked at him with a blank smile and went on doing whatever it was you were doing. And Bakugou was not someone you could just ignore.

Your friends had started to catch up with Bakugou's growing frustration, his now harder comments, and how you simply ignored them. They thought you were tired of him (really, who could judge you? Everyone knew how extra Bakugou sometimes could be), and didn't think of it as much, except one particular red-head.

Kirishima noticed how you clenched your teeth, how your hands turned into fists, your knuckles turning white whenever you heard a comment about you. He was probably the only one that actually understood the odd relationship between you and Bakugou, so Kirishima was more than aware that something was troubling you. He also knew better than just simply asking you, well aware you would never accept that there was, in fact, something bothering you.

You had never been the type to talk about your feelings easily, always trying to fix things by yourself, and taking pride by doing things alone. Your stubborn nature sometimes reminded him too much of a certain ashy blonde.

"Hey, Y/N." He approached you at a break, noticing the dark circles under your eyes. "Oh, hey, Kiri-kun, what's up?" You asked with a slightly forced smile when you felt his eyes examining you.

"Nothing much, we're gonna meet up in Mina's dorm tonight, you know, to partly study and talk. You've been kinda distant lately, you wanna come?" You bit your lip thoughtfully. You wanted to go, but there was so much to do and so little time that you felt like you didn't even have time to sleep, let alone spend time with your friends.

"I- I don't know." You muttered with an apologetic smile. "I don't think I can, I really should work on the homework."

"Oh come on," He insisted. "You don't have to stay long, and it's nice to take a break sometime, you know."

Taking a break. Something you've been putting off doing for a long time.

"You've been pushing yourself quite a lot, you know. Don't think we missed how tired and stressed you've been lately."

"I'm not-" You tried to deny, but sighed when he looked like he wouldn't believe whatever you told him. "Okay, I'll be there." You told him, and he sent you a cheeky smile.

"Just make sure we have enough coffee."

"I personally will take care of that." He winked, and you giggled, shaking your head side to side. You didn't even notice the ruby eyes watching you two as you laughed, a dreadful feeling forming in the pit of Bakugou's stomach since it was someone else who made you laugh. Not him. All he could do was to mess with you.

The frustration he felt reflected on his words, too. Sure, Bakugou was never nice, but over the past years you had spent with him, he had learned to be, well, not so aggressive. But as the day went by, he just kept attacking you in a way that made you feel trapped.

And even though you never noticed, the way you seemed to ignore him whenever he tried to get a reaction from you just made everything worse, causing Bakugou to get even braver with his attempts to fight.

And he was aware of it, too. Bakugou could feel his heart beating faster in his chest whenever he told you something, a fear in him that told him he just went too far this time, but nonetheless, he still didn't even get one look his way.

"Miss Y/N? Can you answer this?" You heard Aizawa calling your name, making you jump in your seat. You weren't even aware that you had zoned out. Again. "I- I'm sorry." You muttered after a few seconds, looking down at your hands and hiding your face.

A mocking laugh came from Bakugou's way, and you clenched your teeth, hoping he would just let it go with a scoff, but your hopes died when Aizawa quirked a brow.

"Bakugou? Have something to say?" He asked, and Bakugou scoffed. "How can you be so-" He started to say but stopped mid-sentence when you didn't even turn his way, playing with the pen that was in front of you, instead, as if you were telling him just your pen was more interesting then whatever he had to say.

"Whatever." He muttered, not bothering to finish the remark he was previously saying.

■■■

"I have to pull like a week of full nighters to get half of these done!" Mina groaned eyeing the books and papers that were towering on her desk, denying to fit into her bag.

"And Aizawa-sensei even talked to them to go easy on us." Ochako exclaimed nervously. Even Yaoyorozu, probably the only one that would actually be able to finish all the assignments, had bags under her eyes, either from stress or the lack of sleep.

You entered the room, only to find a bag full of canned coffee and Kirishima's wide smile, greeting you. "I kept my promise, you see." He told you as you settled on the floor across him. "And I kept mine." You answered with a tired smile. It was an unnecessary attempt to hide how tired you were at this point.

"Hey, Y/N, we were wondering if you were okay? You seem to be a little down lately and-" Ochako asked with a nervous smile, which you didn't even let her finish. Maybe it was rude what you did, but you didn't want to hear the end of that sentence.

"Oh I'm perfectly fine." You lied through your teeth. "Maybe just a little stressed, but really nothing important."

"Are you sure?" Mina quirked a brow at you, but before you could answer, everyone looked at the door when they heard a knock, and you took a deep breath of relief. Looking around you, everyone was here, and you weren't sure who it could be at the door-

"Bakugou, you showed up!" Mina cheered when she saw the grumpy blond leaning to the door.

"Tch," he scoffed, his eyes meeting yours for a second, the look in them sending shivers down your spine. "Only because you wouldn't get out of my hair if I didn't."

"It always works, though." She told him with a sly smile, causing his eyes to narrow in a threatening way. His gaze wandered around the room, eyes meeting yours for a second time that night, you noticed his hands turning into tight fists when you looked away.

It wasn't your intention to ignore him the way you did, you just didn't have the strength to fight back. You liked fighting with Bakugou, but lately, you felt like you would break if anyone so much as touched you, and Bakugou's words were -even though it was unintentional- often harder than a slap across your face.

He didn't think of it as something important, no one did, since you were the only one that could handle Bakugou and fight back. You never held your tongue, never quivered before him, never looked sad when he said something that would make anyone else break down crying.

No one ever knew, it did sadden you. Especially lately, with all the stress and pressure on you, it did make you feel like crying, but of course, you weren't going to admit to that.

So, you hid it. From everyone, from your friends, form Aizawa sensei and family. No one needed to know how everything was pressuring you in a way that the only thing you could feel was being trapped until you just... sorted things out.

"Hey, you okay?" Kirishima nudged you with his leg, waking you up from your dark thoughts. Not even aware you zoned out, your breath stuck in your chest, you gaped at him blankly for a second.

"Y-yeah." You answered with a smile, and you heard him sigh.

"Yeah, okay." He finally told you. "Just- just know you can talk to me when you don't feel good, 'kay? You know I'm always here to listen."

You did, you really did, but you just wanted to sort things out yourself, without anyone else, to prove to yourself that you were strong enough.

You nodded and reached for a can of coffee, hiding your watering eyes from him.

"Oh, since you're here!" You heard Mina shuffle some paper on her desk. "Could you help me with this math question? I've been working on it for a while now, but I just couldn't do it." She leaned your way, handing you the paper.

"Oh-" You bit your lip, feeling oddly guilty. "I'm sorry Mina, I couldn't do it either."

"Oh, that's okay, we'll just ask Bakugou, then." She shrugged thoughtlessly and turned to the blond that was watching your every move, looking awfully similar to a wolf watching his prey. His eyes narrowed when you followed your friend and got closer to him, not saying a word. The meek look in your eyes oddly disturbed him, even he wasn't sure why seeing you like this angered him, but it did. He could feel how your nervousness grew as you walked towards him, too.

"What? Too dumb to do it yourself?" He raised one brow, praying to get an annoying answer like you always did, but you just looked away, instead.

"Hey, what the fuck is wrong with you? Are you that dumb that you can't even-"

"Bakugou, that's enough." Kirishima interrupted, noticing your watering eyes, how you nervously chewed on your lip, but Bakugou wasn't listening to him. He was too focused on trying to get a reaction out of you, not even aware of anything else.

"What- did I offend the princess? Is that all you can do? Just stand there all pretty, not able to even defend yourself that people around you has to?" Bakugou blurted out, words coming out of his mouth in an angry fit. The second he said them, his eyes widened, realizing he went too far this time.

Too far.

He saw how you flinched at his words, and that's when you chose to look him in the eyes. Your lashes wet with tears you were desperately trying to hold back, one or two already sliding down your cheek. Only then did he notice how tense you were, and not only then, but almost all the time these last few days.

"I-" You tried to speak, but you choked on your words, your heart beating so loudly in your chest, and in your ears, you knew you had to get away from him.

Not even bothering to excuse yourself, you left the room in a rush, leaving ten gaping people after you.

"Wh-what the fuck?" Bakugou muttered, his eyes still fixed on where you were standing seconds ago.

"Are you fucking dumb?" Kirishima exclaimed suddenly. His eyes wide with disbelief, yeah, Bakugou was mean and he did go overboard sometimes, but this was something else.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" He kept pestering his dumbfounded friend. "What were you thinking as you said all those things to her? Hah?"

"I wasn't-"

"You weren't thinking, that's the problem! What's going on with you lately? How can you lash out at her so?!" Bakugou stood quiet, the rest of the room not even daring to make a sound.

"Shut up, shitty hair." Bakugou muttered as he walked towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Ochako asked meekly, gulping loudly when Bakugou sent a glare her way and exited without even answering her question.

■■■

It wasn't hard to find you.

Maybe it was because he knew you too well, even more than he was even aware, or maybe it was because you weren't as complicated as you thought you were.

The night was chilly, the stars so bright, he was certain you were out in the garden. He spotted you on the bench, feeling his heart clenching with the sight of your face hidden in your hands, shoulders shaking with sobs.

"Y/N." He called out, his voice making you jump in your seat. You sprinted to your legs immediately, wiping the tears with the back of your hand, though, not doing a good job since your face was still damp with tears.

"Bakugou- wh-what are you doing here?" You asked, taking a step back when he got closer to you. He noticed this, a dreadful feeling forming in the pit of his stomach.

"I'm here to..." Why was he here? Certainly not to apologize. No, Bakugou never apologized.

Or so you thought.

"I'm here cause I'm- sorry." He finally managed to say, almost inaudibly. "For the things I said back in there- and other times, too."

He watched as you bit your lip, a confused and hurt look in your eyes, and he wanted to kick himself for causing you to be like this. "Why-" You finally managed to say after a few seconds, "why did you say all that? Why did you-"

"I'm sorry." He repeated, and this time you didn't step back when he walked towards you. So close that you could feel his caramel scent enveloping you. "I'm really sorry."

"I was- I was being dumb, I didn't mean any of that, and I'm really, really sorry." He whispered, and before he even knew what happened, you had your arms wrapped around him. It caught him by surprise, but he instantly closed his arms around you, too, holding you so tightly, his body so warm and so safe, you found yourself crying once again.

"Shh," he whispered to your hair, his hand caressing your hair in a soothing way. "It's okay." He didn't really know what was okay, but he felt like you needed to hear those words.

And you did.

Your sobbed in his arms, your face pressed to that place in between his shoulder and neck as his hand stroking your hair. And you didn't know what it was, but after a while that felt like you were never going to stop crying, you felt your sobs dying slowly, until all that was left was your occasional sighs.

Bakugou had never seen you like this, never so vulnerable, never so open. But the soft smile on his face told you that he didnt hate it. And you didn't exactly hate it either, to finally be able to at least show a fraction of what you were feeling to anyone.

"I'm sorry." You muttered. "I got your shirt wet."

"Dumbass, why are you apologizing-" his eyes widened when he realized he insulted you again. "I didn't mean-"

"No it's okay." You giggled. "I still want to have those- whatever it is we have. Let's not change anything, I don't want you to act as if I'm fragile glass."

"Y-yeah." He answered, his chest finally feeling lighter since he saw you laugh. "Yeah, okay."

His eyes looked at your laughing face one more time. "Promise."

Even though you weren't sure why exactly he promised, you had a feeling it was to never make you cry again.

[espressokiri]

A Take on Bullying

Pro-Hero!Izuku Midoriya 

Two Cups of Tea; Lavender and Black for @princeasimdiya12 : Can you write a one-shot featuring Izuku making a hero appearance at an elementary school to deal with some bullies please? But as he does, he starts to reflect on his past with bullies and how it hurt him. 

Warnings: Flashbacks of bullying with Katsuki

Genre: angst with fluff

a/n: How exciting! My first request! I do hope it was as you expected.

Being asked to visit middle school’s to motivate the student’s into being hero’s was nothing new to Deku, seeing as he had gained a large amount of popularity once he had graduated U.A. and placed himself into the world of heroes. It did bring him joy to see the gleam of newfound hope in the eyes of the youngsters, the same bright look he held when he was younger.

Today on the other hand, a visit to his old middle school had his heart pounding as images of his weak, quirkless self had kept plastering itself in his mind. His stomach churned at the thought of encountering his old teachers, if they were still employed at the school of course. Deku felt like someone had doused him with negativity as he approached the building, shaking his head to rid of the thoughts and clenching his shaking hands into fists as he held his head up high and walked with presence.

That was the old him, he’s achieved his goals and proved everyone wrong now.

“Everyone settle down! We have a pro-hero among us!” The female teacher coaxed everyone to calm down as she waved Deku inside his old classroom, Deku gave his signature smile and greeted the students. The girls were swooning at the charming smile and physique of him while the boys were sizing him up, trying to compare their muscle mass to the man before them, some holding awe in their gazes as the hero before them had studied in this exact school they were in.

“Deku the school has invited you today to tell these children about the negative affects of bullying, it seems that some student’s in this school have yet to grow out of this phase. We’re only worried about their future and the repercussions they may face if it’s not handled properly.”

Deku glanced at the teacher with a smile before scanning the classroom, spotting a girl who reminded him of himself when he was younger. She was hiding in the back row, arms around herself as she stared at him with hope, was she a victim?

“I would start and say that bullying is never okay, but I know you hear that from every grown up, the same typical line over and over. So this time, I’ll talk to you and explain things from my perspective as a victim of bullying.” Deku stood tall as he spoke to the class, keeping and eye on the girl who’s curiosity peaked.

Gasps rang around the room as the kids found it unbelievable that a pro-hero was bullied.

“It was in this very class where I would be teased, physically harmed, and made fun of when I was your age.” A sad smile played on his lips as he recalled the hopelessness, the only feeling of hope being his journal.

“A lot of damage is done mentally when you’re told your ‘worthless’ or in some peoples cases ‘quirkless’. I for one only got through that mental barrier in my second year of high school.”

Deku’s eyes glanced back at where his desk used to be before his eyes darted to the window. Katsuki Bakugo may have redeemed himself in his years in U.A. but the trauma he embedded into Izuku Midoriya will remain as the flashbacks reminded him that he was alone all through middle school. Alone, with just his journal and thoughts. Alone with his spiralling thoughts that caused him headaches as he tried to make a plan to get into a hero school with no support or encouragement.

“I was even told to take a swan dive off of the roof top of the school in hopes to have a better life.” Deku gulped the lump in his throat as he glanced at each students reactions, hoping to get through to them. 

“These people who are bullied, they will live with these thoughts for the rest of their life. They’ll constantly think of ‘what if I’ve done this’ or ‘what if I’ve done that’. They’ll remember the person who has hurt them forever, they may make amends in the future but the thoughts and fear never go away.”

“These people who are bullied may even be led into a life of villainy, and you’ll have yourself to blame for that if you’ve bullied them. I’ve met countless of villains over the course of my years in U.A. and one was a result of being shunned from her own schoolmates.” 

“Middle school is a critical time to decide your fate in the future, bullying just comes in the way of you and the victim. If you’re the bully then that shows a lot about you as a person and I’m sorry to say you’re not cut out to be a hero, because as a hero we live to protect and save. Not only protect them from villains or harm, but also from their own minds.”

Deku thinks of himself as blessed. Blessed to have had the strong will to fight on despite being pushed down constantly by who he called his friend. Blessed that his friend did own up to his own mistakes.

Being blessed did not mean to forget.

“Mister Deku?” A hand raised from the back row, the girl who he was observing was shaking slightly from nerves. He gave her a reassuring smile and beckoned her to go on. 

“Did you ever, um, f-forgive the people who bullied you?” she immediately cast her gaze toward her desk and fiddled with her fingers, some classmates glancing at her guiltily.

“I didn’t.” Deku stated firmly, causing the students who glanced back at her to stiffen as they fell into his gaze.

Softening his tone a bit, he continued “I didn’t forgive, nor did I forget. In fact standing here in the same classroom, I’m having some very horrible flashbacks while I’m talking to you guys, but I did confront them. I confronted the very people and proved them wrong, by doing that it was satisfying to see their ego crumble. I think that made them come back down from high up in the clouds and realize their mistakes. We still talk, we’ve made amends and moved on. but I can never forgive their past self for making me feel so alone.”

The little girl nodded, clenching her fists trying to absorb all the words he was saying.

“Any more questions?” Deku asked, hands clapped together as he glanced at the teacher who was looking at him incredulously and the students who looked shaken.

Heads shook no as they re-evaluated their words and actions.

“Just know that every one of you can put your mind to do anything, as long as you don’t mess with anyone else’s hopes and dreams. You’re all heroes in your own way without the bullying.”