#easier to brush the hair without the mask covering the top. using it to hide the face while he tends to the hair... he still doesn't know

[hollowsart]

HAIR ANON HERE TO SAVE THE DAY FROM TUMBLR AND ITS GARBO SITE

Acedia and Mysterio fighting but Mysterio notices Acedia’a hair looks kinda tangly, so he asks if she wants him to help brush it out. She sits and he brushes her hair and then they resume the fight like nothing happened but they’re both thinking about it

I have very unconventional relationships with my rogues gallery.

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - We’re Coming Back Home

A Drifting Stars AU one-shot, the last one I plan to do, in collaboration with @clownwry.

1st, 2nd, 3rd.

~~~~~~~~~~

Somehow, miraculously, through all of Ford’s traveling, through countless dimensions, his Quantum Destabilizer remained on his back and fully intact.

Okay, well, mostly intact. Partially intact. 

When he was finally ready to attack Bill and put an end to his reign of terror, his plans had been put on hold when a crack in space-time opened. He didn’t dare hope that it was a way home, but maybe if he aimed correctly, the shot would not only kill Bill, but fly him home. But no, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a young girl fly out of the hole, and with reflexes he developed over thirty years of staying alive in the worst circumstances, he hooked his Quantum Destabilizer onto his back, caught the girl, and swam through the gravity-less air for safety, hiding behind an asteroid, putting a hand over the girl’s mouth and hissing for her silence, swearing she would be okay, and they barely made it out as Bill’s words echoed through the Nightmare Realm.

“Sixer’s caught a Shooting Star, boys!”

Ford had no idea what that was supposed to mean at the time, but now a month later, he thinks he finally understood. His niece, Shermie’s granddaughter, Mabel, loved stars, and was very much like one herself. Always shining. Always so bright and full of hope. Many times in history, and even today in other dimensions, runaway slaves used the stars as maps to guide them to a better place. Ford often wondered if Mabel was his star, maybe not guiding him physically to a safe haven, but guiding him to a happier mindset. Guiding him to a life that isn’t completely isolated. Guiding him to a life that included love.

The last few weeks have been challenging, sure, but not that much more challenging than traveling alone; Mabel was a fast learner, and while she refused to use a knife or gun (“Cuz those hurt, Grunkle Ford!”), she was perfectly comfortable with pop-rocks and making foes lose their footing and fall down so they couldn’t attack. And she was very good at hunting for food and water and other reliable resources. 

In fact, Ford would easily say the last few weeks have been the happiest of his life. Maybe only tying with when Fiddleford joined him in Gravity Falls, before work on the portal became dangerous, but after he realized that maybe the woods had been too quiet the last six years.

After just a day and a half, Ford was fully-aware of his attachment to his niece and how much it would ruin him if he lost her. Mabel was everything a good person strives to be: kind, sweet, a pleasure to be around, but not a pushover, either; Mabel Pines knew how to stand her ground.

And so the last month was littered with so many happy memories. Ford was a little hurt when she “borrowed” two broken fishing poles and fixed them up so they could fish, but he very quickly enjoyed sitting on a log by a river and fishing with Mabel. Ford found it brought her much comfort to brush her hair, and he also discovered he enjoyed a calm brush himself. Ford found he didn’t mind the extra weight of his niece on his shoulders; quite the contrary, he found it comforting, and he was always swallowed with peace when she was so relaxed with him that she fell asleep, using his fluffy gray hair as a pillow.

No longer was Ford met with suspicious looks when he walked down the street of a market alone, face hidden. Quite the opposite. He was always met with smiles and warm greetings, and sometimes a little extra food was thrown into a purchase for free. Be it because people saw him as a parent with an adorable child, or because of Mabel’s charm. Or both.

The dimensions they came across were random and different, just like it was when Ford traveled alone. Some dimensions were like an alien sci-fi movie, completely different with no humans. Some dimensions were scaringly like home, with a small difference here and there. Ironically, the alien-like dimensions were typically safer, because they were used to travelers and weird-looking creatures. 

But Ford guessed it would be okay if he and Mabel stepped into a normal grocery store to buy some food.

They had come across a “normal” dimension, and while Ford’s first thought was to retreat for the woods, he heard Mabel’s stomach growl, and he decided her health was more important. So they stepped in and kept to themselves.

Ford and Mabel were picking up crackers when the little girl grinned at rows of cereals behind them. “Grunkle Ford, can I please pick a cereal?” She asked politely.

The old scientist thought about it for a moment. Cereal would definitely cover a few meals and be light and easy to carry, and it wouldn’t get hold too quickly, and he had wanted to get her at least one nice thing while in the store, so he nodded and said, “Yes, dear, you may pick one box. Any flavor you want.”

“Thank you!” And Mabel took the time to hug him before skipping over to the cereals to look.

Ford chuckled and picked some crackers, then decided to browse the fruit snacks, debating if it would be wise. Probably not, because if they get stuck in another desert climate the gummies could melt and make a mess, but they could make a good snack for Mabel. He held his chin, debating the idea, while a couple was also looking over the cereals.

“Which do you think Dad would want?” The yellow-haired woman asked.

“Honey, who cares what Rick wants? Just get a cereal you’ll like.” The husband said with an eye roll.

Ford froze at that name. No no, that was most definitely a different Rick. It was a common enough name, and there were billions of dimensions. There was no way Ford and Mabel somehow managed to stumble into C-137. He ultimately decided against gummies and he then looked at the trail mixes and granola bars. Both were always a good option.

“I know, but I want him to feel welcome, you know?” The wife said as she picked a box. “He’s been travelling in space alone for years…”

Oh no. No, no, no. Ford quickly chose some packets of trail mix and several granola bars and hurried back to his niece. He was not going to do this today. Nope.

Mabel grinned at him, a box of cereal in hand, and she held it out to him. “Look, Grunkle Ford, do you like this flavor? I can pick a different one if you want.”

“Oh, thank you, my dear, but I like the one you picked.” Ford did a decent job masking his uneasiness and he took her hand and smiled. “Why don’t we pick up some fruit for today, and then we’ll go fishing for dinner?”

“Yay! Sounds great!”

Ford didn’t miss the yellow-haired woman smiling at them as they left the aisle. If that was who he thought it was… She really didn’t look anything like him. She might have just favored her mother. Who else would have spent years traveling space? Bastard.

Ford may have hated him for many reasons, but choosing to abandon his girls was at the top of the list.

At the checkout line, Ford nervously watched the total of their purchase go up with each beep. He recounted their cash and made a small list of items in his mind for them to go down if they couldn’t afford everything. A few granola bars can go. And, maybe they could find band-aids elsewhere and “borrow” them.

The worker rang up the last item and Ford smiled when he saw the total was 29.89. He had thirty. But then the worker pressed the total button and taxes were added. Shit, right. That made their total 35.45. Ford winced. Mabel looked up at him worriedly, but she smiled and stood on her tippy-toes to see the worker better.

“Hi, I’m Mabel! Can you please put the cereal back? We don’t really need it.”

Ford looked down at her, surprised and also a little disheartened. He had really wanted to get her at least one nice thing, but truth be told the cereal was the most expensive item, so it made sense to get rid of it first. Still, it sucked.

“Total’s now 32.14.”

Ford bit his lip. “Very well, may we please put the band-aids back, too?”

The worker nodded, seeming tired and annoyed, but they didn’t say a word. Blissfully, the total went down to 29.99.

With hands full of bags, Mabel and Ford paused at the beginning of the parking lot to move their groceries into their backpacks. While they worked, the old scientist said, “I’m sorry I could afford your cereal, Mabel.”

“Oh, it’s okay!” The girl said instantly. “I’ve got something even sweeter.” And she grinned at her grunkle and gave him a warm smile.

Ford smiled back at her tiredly. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes you do.” Mabel insisted and hugged him around the neck, nuzzling her face into his shoulder and determined to sink as much comfort as she could into his skin. “I love you Grunkle Ford. Please don’t beat yourself up, m’k?”

Ford hugged her back and petted her short brown hair. It was certainly easier to feel better with a ball of sunshine in his arms.

They both heard rustling behind them as a buggy rolled from the door to the parking lot. They both looked behind Mabel and saw a bag with the cereal and the band-aids in it. They looked around and saw no one, except for the yellow-haired woman and her husband going to their car.

Mabel grinned and hollered to them, “Thank you!”

They didn’t respond, but the woman did smile and wave before putting groceries into her car. As appreciated as Ford was for her kindness, he wanted to get as far away from her as possible. No offense to her. She seemed like a very lovely lady.

But then it hit Ford like a pile of rocks. What was it he had said before he had pulled out his gun and left Ford to travel alone? “And hey, if you ever wanna travel without customs or waiting for wormholes to open, don’t come looking for me.” And then he winked and fell backwards into a pool of green, leaving Ford to curse his name.

If this was like before, when Ford was alone, he wouldn’t dare. But if he could help get Mabel home…

Ford took Mabel’s hand and muttered, “Come with me.” And she followed without question.

Beth felt good helping the old man and the little girl, and she didn’t expect anything more. Really, it was only five dollars worth of stuff. But she was happy when they started to walk towards her, so she trusted Jerry to finish loading up the car and she smiled at them.

“Excuse me, miss, I just want to thank you for what you did.” The old man said.

“Oh, you’re welcome, it was no trouble at all.”

“I… I hope I’m not being too invasive, but… but I believe you know someone I know.”

Beth smiled. Small world! “Really? That’s great! Oh, are you a relative of Dave’s? Or, you know, I do know a lot of people indirectly from the horse-track.”

“Er, no.” The old man gave her a more serious look, and then asked quietly, “Do you know Rick Sanchez?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Beth was so excited to give Stanford Pines and his niece, Mabel, a ride, and to invite them to dinner, not only because she thought seeing an old friend might make her dad smile, but maybe she’ll learn more about what he’s been up to all these years. The man was very polite and the girl was as sweet as can be, both of whom looked rough and in need of a cozy bed and maybe a soothing bath. Jerry was a little unsure, not wanting “more Ricks” into his house, but after a huf from the girl and a cheerful greeting, Jerry couldn’t help but tell the girl she was more than welcome, so now he was roped in.

Mabel noticed that her uncle looked distracted. He was looking out his window, but his eyes were elsewhere. He was thinking. So she decided to try to help him with his thoughts. “Grunkle Ford, who’s Rick Sanchez?” She asked quietly.

Ford looked at her, sighed quietly, and muttered, “He’s an intergalactic scientist. He’s ridiculously intelligent and clever, and… a bit…” Ford pursed his lips. All the words that came to mind he didn’t want Mabel hearing, so he settled on. “... mad.”

“Oh. Is he like a real mad-scientist?” Mabel asked, eyes sparkling with interest.

“Yes, but with less laughter, more slurs and sluggish demeanor, and even less consideration of other living things.”

Mabel noticed his cold tone and grew concerned. “You don’t like him, do you?”

Ford bit his lip. No, he didn’t. But there was a more important reason why he didn’t want to see Rick today. 

Mabel leaned in closer and whispered, “Is he mean?”

Trust Mabel to sum it up perfectly for her uncle. “Yes.” Ford said just as quietly. “And I don’t want him meeting you.”

“Why?”

Ford hesitated. But being blunt and honest seemed to be working, and it was best for Mabel to prepare herself for the lion’s den they were walking into. “I don’t want him to hurt your feelings.” a bit elementary, but it was the best way to explain it to a child without scaring her too much.

Mabel, however, grinned. “Grunkle Ford, no one can resist the Power of Mabel.”

Ford smiled and ruffled her hair softly. “We’ll see…”

“So, if you don’t like Mr. Sanchez, then why are we going to go see him?”

“He’s an expert on interdimensional-travel.” Ford informed her. “He might know how to get us home.”

Mabel’s eyes widened and she “oh”ed as she realized what was going on. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The garage door was open to let in good lighting and fresh air. But that wasn’t an invitation to come in whenever people feel like it; Rick will have to work on a security system to keep nosy neighbors away. He was opening a box and getting organized when he heard his daughter’s car roll into the driveway. He didn’t bother to look up, instead waited for the sounds of car doors opening to say something.

“Hey sweetie, welcome back.”

“Dad,” Beth said, sounding giddy. Rick hated giddy. But he had only been here for a week and he didn’t feel like making his daughter hate him just yet, so he settled for rolling his eyes and continuing what he was doing. “I have a surprise for you!”

“Wow! You have a nice house! Cool garage, too!” A young voice said.

Rick was halted. He turned in his chair and raised an eyebrow to find a young girl with short brown hair and braces holding hands with an old nerd with fluffy charcoal hair, glasses, and six fingers.

“Oh my God!” Rick laughed. “Holy-...” A dark look from the old traveler made Rick stop; he can piss him off later. First he needs to figure out why the hell he is here and what the hell he wants. “Jeez, you look terrible, Fordsie.” The mad scientist snorted as he leaned against his desk with his hands in his pockets.

Ford rolled his eyes and said, “And you still look like a soft breeze will blow you away, Sanchez.”

Mabel bit her lip and quietly, “Oooooh”ed, like she was listening to a rap battle.

“So,” Beth stretched, clearly hoping for more information or a more satisfying reunion, but she wasn’t getting it naturally, so she decided to push a little. “How do you two know each other?”

“The Multiverse is a pretty big place, sweetie.” Rick answered. “Don’t worry, I’ll have this nerd gone before you finish unloading the car. Don’t want to risk another mass genocide.” He sneered.

Ford’s face turned red and he yelled, “I didn’t know it was a planet! It looked too similar to a sandwich for it to be a planet!”

Rick laughed and looked at the little girl. She looked maybe a little younger than Morty. “Who’s that you got with you?”

Ford closed his eyes, debating if he should tell Rick it wasn’t any of his business, or get the introduction over with. But before he could make a decision, Mabel beat him to the punch.

She let go of Rick’s hand, hopped to him, and looked up at his bean-pole stature and smiled and waved. “Hi! I’m Mabel! You’re a scientist, too? Cool! I like your hair! How old are you? Have you ever met a dinosaur? What’s your favorite food?” 

Rick blinked like a startled lizard at the girl, glanced up at Ford, and then looked back down at Mabel. Rick smiled and sat in his chair to be closer to her level, and held out a hand to shake, which she happily accepted and shook a little rough. “Hey there, I’m Rick. Yes, I’m a scientist. Thank you, I like your hair, too. Yes, I’ve met a dinosaur, several in different dimensions. And, pancakes.”

Mabel’s eyes sparkled. “I love pancakes, too! Maybe we can make some together!”

“Maybe, but I’ve got the feeling that’s not why you’re here.” Rick suggested kindly. And no, Ford wasn’t at all suspicious that he was being kind to Mabel.

“Oh! Yeah! Grunkle Ford thinks you can help us get home.”

“Huh. You’re great-uncle, huh? Sure, okay, let’s get started.” Rick rolled over to a cabinet and took out an odd machine. It came with a tiny needle and was attached to the machine by a small black wire, and the boxed machine had a screen of some sort on the side. “Mind if I prick your finger?”

“Sure!” Mabel held out her finger to him and Rick carefully held her wrist and pricked her finger, so small she hardly noticed it. “What for?”

“I need a blood sample to find your home dimension. Gotta send you to the right dimension.” Rick explained. “Fordsie, lemme get yours, too. How’d you two find each other, anyways?”

“I was in the Nightmare Realm when some idiot opened a portal and this little starshine fell into my arms.” Ford explained, stepping forward and giving Rick his finger.

“Okay, got it.” Rick said. “Well, there’s a possibility that you two come from different dimensions. Nothing too different about your homes, but there’s millions of dimensions. The probability that you two came from the same timeline and reality… there we go. It’s a match. That makes things easier.”

The small heart attack Ford was having went away. The idea of his starshine not being his was a nightmare. His life was complicated enough; he didn’t need his girl to not actually be his.

“Dimension 41’\. Huh, okay, gimme two seconds…” Rick pulled out his trusty portal gun and plugged it into the machine. A long list of dimensions popped up, and Ford prayed 41’\ would be on the list. “You two are lucky. I can go as far as 42’\, but the other 40s are out of range. Huh, i’ll have to work on that.”

“So,” Mabel grinned. “You can get us home?”

Rick smiled smugly and shrugged as he stood. “Yeah, sure.”

“Grunkle Ford!” Mabel cheered and hurled herself into his arms. “I can’t believe it! I’m gonna see Dipper again! I can’t wait for you to meet him!”

Ford smiled softly. He couldn’t believe it. It was all happening so fast and effortlessly. He was going to get Mabel home. They were both going home. Suddenly the idea of seeing Stanley again, meeting his grandnephew and all of Mabel’s friends and her pet pig sounded… a lot. He didn’t realize it, but he was becoming anxious and spacing out. But Mabel noticed, and she kissed his stubbly cheek and brought him back to reality.

Rick shot at the wall with his gun and an oozing green portal appeared. “There we go, 41’\. Wait, sh-oot, gimme a location.”

“618 Gopher Road.” Ford stated as he let go of Mabel. “Gravity Falls, Oregon. USA.”

“Got it.” Rick made the last portal disappear and shot a new one. “There. Now get-... Go on home.”

Mabel stepped up to Rick and said sincerely, “Mr. Sanchez, thank you for helping us.” And she hugged him around his tall skinny legs.

Rick pursed his lips awkwardly, unsure of how to respond to such positive energy and kindness. The old scientists looked at each other, Ford giving Rick a warning look, but something hidden in his face or eyes told the drunk that the nomad was actually grateful for his illegal device.

“Uh…” Rick settled on patting Mabel’s head and said, “Y-Y-You’re welcome.”

Mabel let go of Rick and held out a hand to Ford. “Ready?”

“Nope.” Ford took her hand and squeezed it. “Let’s do this.”

And without another word, the Pines walked through the green portal.

[ahatintimepieces]

In Want of Stitching

I am delighted to present another little fic for the build-a-bear au by @smieska-draws​‘ and me! Smieska generously offered to let me post her incredible art above^ with this fic where Hattie is reunited with her favorite doll from her childhood! The doll is worse for wear, but Hattie knows just how to help! Be sure to give Smieska your love, and if you missed it, the previous fic is here. Without further ado, enjoy!

Words: 4,180

Hattie kicked her legs as she perched on the table in the breakroom. One hand was propped back, nestled between Dimitri’s bag and her backpack, and the other held her dwindling milkshake left over from dinner. While she waited for her dad to finish up with the last customer before closing, she watched Dimitri fuss with the supplies on the shelves.

He struggled to pull out one of the drawers and the sharp jostle of the handle caused the whole structure to shift. He froze and Hattie’s eyes widened as they waited to see if the cleaning items up top would tumble. While the bottles wobbled like a spinning toy wavering to a stop, they stilled without any avalanche and Dimitri and Hattie relaxed.

“I’m just going to deal with that in the morning,” Dimitri huffed, turning around. “Don’t tell your dad.”

Hattie gave him a thumbs up as she reached the dredges of her milkshake and the straw gurgled as it sucked air between the last of the frosty cream. While he crossed over to the rack of aprons, her gaze drifted down to the floor. The off-kilter shelf had shifted away from the wall, revealing a large dust bunny.

Narrowing her eyes, she tried to get a better look at the mound of grey that seemed to cover something else.

“See ya tomorrow, kid?” Dimitri prompted, snapping his name tag against the magnet on the wall.

“Probably!” She lifted her chin.

“Boss says a daycare center has scheduled a trip to the mall, so we might be busy,” he sighed, reaching for his bag. She scooted out of his way and nodded.

“That could be fun. But also noisy,” she offered, glancing up as she mentally noted to warn Belle, Mu, and Timmy that they needed to avoid the food court for lunch. Maybe hide in the café connected to the bookstore.

“Noisy is right.” Dimitri swung his bag over his shoulder.

“Will Dad have to work on the floor?” She lowered her empty milkshake.

“I imagine so,” he paused on his way to the door. When she placed the cup down and blew a raspberry as she slouched, he prompted, “why?”

“It just means I have to keep Mu and Timmy away. They’re trying to prove he’s magic and can blow things up with his mind.” Scowling, she swung her legs a little too hard and the table creaked underneath her.

“Is that why they asked him to heat up their—”

“Lunch?” She crinkled her nose. “Yeah.”

Dimitri sucked in air before bursting into laughter.

“They looked so mad when he used the microwave!” he wheezed, gesturing to the other table with the offending appliance. “Mu’s stink eye nearly killed me!”

“It’s dumb,” Hattie grumbled.

Catching her frustration, Dimitri reeled in his laughter and cleared his throat.

“There’s no harm in it,” he tried. “The boss can be a bit eccentric, and it can be fun to pretend, but I’m sure even Mu and Timmy know he’s not actually able to light things on fire or…” he paused, giving her a curious look, “steal souls.”

“They sure act like he does.” She turned away, cupping her chin in her hands.

“Have you told them it bothers you when they fixate on it?” Dimitri asked sympathetically.

“Yeah, and they ignore it because they think he actually does all of those things.” Her glare hardened.

“You could talk to the boss?”

“I don’t want him to know about the rumors.” After a beat, she looked up to meet Dimitri’s blank expression. “What?”

“He knows,” he said dryly. Her jaw dropped and he softened. “Listen, you might want to just talk with him about the whole Snatcher myth if it’s getting under your skin, but it’s not harming anyone. I think it also gets the store more foot traffic from teens, which isn’t usually our intended demographic. So, in a way, it even helps!”

Hattie groaned, flopping onto her backpack and staring at the ceiling.

“Hang in there, kid.” His shoes tapped against the tile as he walked towards the door. “But just talk to him. See you!”

“Night, Dimitri.” She gave a halfhearted wave as he left. Once the door shut, she fixated on the faint buzz of the lights in the breakroom.

Seconds ticked by.

She heaved herself up, bored with staring blankly and too tired to stew in her frustration any longer. After scooting to the edge of the table, she dropped down with her flipflops slapping against the ground. She intended to toss the milkshake cup and pester her dad while he closed the workshop, but her gaze shifted back towards the shelves. The oddly large dust bunny piqued her curiosity once more and she crossed over.

Crouching down, she prodded the clump of hairs and silver dust. A dead fly was caught in the webbing and bits of dirt or crumbs were suspended on the hairs. But when she pressed down, a firm something lay between her and the tile.

Shifting, she pressed her cheek against the wall and peered into the crack between it and the shelf. Behind the dust bunny lay a small doll, crushed and crumpled.

After a precursory check for spiders, she reached back and pinched one of the doll’s puffy sleeves. The dust bunny tickled her finger, and she crinkled her nose in disgust. As soon as the doll was pulled out into the open, she batted the wad of grey from its mitten hand, and the cloud of minuscule debris floated harmlessly to the ground. She gasped when she held the doll out in the light.

Beneath the grey streaks of grime, a missing button eye, the torn right arm, and a left hand hanging by a single thread, was the prince doll that she had loved so dearly when she was younger. Her heart soared, but the doll’s state soon had guilt souring her joy.

It had been ages. The last time she saw the doll, he had been a bit worn, but still intact. She had been near inconsolable when she lost him. Her dad promised to get her a new, better doll, but she loved the prince doll because of all the memories they shared. Despite all her searching and tears back then, her dad urged her to move on as the doll had continued to elude her. And no wonder! All this time, the doll had been in the breakroom rather than home. He must have somehow fallen behind the shelf at the workshop when she had been playing, only to be shoved deeper and deeper into the dark over the years.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, frowning at the frayed threads where a button used to be. When she poked the remaining button, it wobbled, threatening to soon snap away as well. She brushed back the yarn hair, covered in dust that caused the chestnut hue to appear murky. The felt crown looked more brown than yellow, and ashen stuffing dripped from the doll’s arm and broken wrist.

But… it was still her favorite doll. Though it had been years, relief surged through her chest.

“I’ll clean you up!” she promised to herself, gently giving the dusty, dilapidated doll a soft hug.

She knew how to sew, at least! And she had the materials at home. She could even surprise her dad! He always reacted positively when she showed him the hats or masks she made.

Scrambling to her feet, she carried the doll over to the table. She grabbed a couple of tissues to wrap him up, both hoping to keep him protected and intact and to prevent the dust from spreading in her backpack. She was just tucking him safely into her bag, nestled between new fabric she got from her millinery lessons earlier and a graphic novel that Timmy recommended, when the door thrust open.

She turned, noting her dad’s slouched posture as he removed his apron, which was common on days he had to both open and close the workshop. Holding his hand over his mouth, he tried to cover a wide yawn, but his sharp fangs still glinted in the light.

“Time to go?” Hattie prompted while zipping up her backpack.

“Finally, yes.” He paused, glancing towards the shelves. “Did Dimitri refill the sewing kits?”

She shrugged in Dimitri-solidarity when her dad turned back around. He accepted it without further prodding and tossed his apron onto a hook.

Hattie slipped on her backpack gently to keep from jostling the doll as her dad pulled out his hair tie and scratched at his scalp. He grabbed his keys and waited for Hattie to shuffle over.

Once he finished locking up and took her hand to lead her through the dark parking lot, she mentally went through the list of supplies she needed to fix up the prince doll. Neither she nor her dad said a word as their footsteps tapped against the still warm gravel. But that was normal for them. Her dad didn’t usually have much to say unless otherwise prompted by people or work, especially when he was tired. So, she continued her quiet pondering all the way home, staring blankly at the streetlights as the radio played family-friendly tunes at a hushed volume.

As soon as they got home, Hattie dashed into her room. She swept her arm across her workbench to clear away the new beret she was making and placed her top hat on the hat display stand her teacher had given her. Since she only had one, it was her favorite top hat that got the place of honor. Then, she dropped her backpack onto the ground and retrieved the prince doll.

He lay on the tissues that were now smeared with grey. Even just folding back the material caused Hattie to swiftly turn away and sneeze, jostling him as he perched on her palm. She’d need to clean the doll, but the open cuts in his arms worried her. After prodding around, she decided it might be better to pluck out the dusty stuffing, since his arms were closed off from his main body anyway. The loose button, too, she thought to remove to ensure easier cleaning.

She got to work, walking back and forth between her room and the bathroom as she ferried supplies. If her dad wondered what she was up to, he didn’t comment as he settled down in the living room to quietly read.

Setting up a doll bath in the sink by lowering the plug, she submerged the doll into the water with iridescent bubbles lining the porcelain. His one arm threatened to come off and his other hand floated at an odd angle. Undaunted, Hattie stuck out her tongue as she scrubbed the dust and cobwebs from his hair. The felt crown popped off at one point, and while she rescued it, the original gilded color seemed beyond saving so she decided to replace it. But she kept the crown nearby so that she could copy the size and shape.

Once the years of neglect were scrubbed away, Hattie drained the sink and rinsed the soap suds from the doll. The chest felt heavy with the water, even more than the lolling head. But hopefully the doll would dry just fine.

While wringing out the water, she tried to squeeze the doll gently, intent on preserving the fragile threads. Finally, she laid him out on a towel and used another to dab up as much water as she could. Wondering if she could borrow her dad’s hairdryer to speed up the process, she hurried into the living room.

“Da-ad,” she called as she padded onto the carpet. “Where’s your hairdryer?”

“Under the sink in my bathroom. Why?” He turned the page of his novel without looking up.

“It’s a surprise.” Arcing around the table, she peeked at the title. She recognized it as Ember’s latest recommendation from her book club. Curious, she slipped over to the armrest where he reclined. She leaned over his shoulder and identified Ember’s annotations that lined the margins in pencil, confirming that she had loved it enough to lend him the book.

“Should I be worried about this surprise?” he asked, unbothered by her hovering.

“Nope!” she chirped cheerfully as she jumped back to face him.

“Carry on, then,” he muttered, his golden eyes flittering back and forth as he read.

The amber light from the lamp behind him skipped across the strands of his hair, painting the coal-colored locks with flickers of iridescent violets. With his cheek pressed into his palm and his elbow on the armrest, his gaze momentarily flickered away from the book as he used his pinky finger to turn to the next page.

“Need something else, kiddo?”

Instead of answering right away, she hopped onto the couch and crawled onto his chest. He held still as she flopped onto her back, staring up at the book.

“Is the story good?” she prompted.

“It’s crafted well.”

“But are you enjoying it?” She tilted her head back into his shoulder. He kept his eyes ahead.

“Not really.” He sounded calm as he said it.

“But you don’t hate it?” she clarified.

“No.” He turned the page.

She sighed, not expecting anything different.

Usually, it didn’t matter. But she didn’t want the same reaction if she asked how he felt about the rumors of the Snatcher. She knew Dimitri thought she needed to talk to him about it but…

“What would you do if you had magic powers?” she asked instead.

“What?” That got him to look down. He quirked a brow and she shrugged.

“If I had magic powers, I would make my top hat like a bag of holding. I could carry all my stuff everywhere and be prepared for anything.”

“Oh.” He relaxed and lifted his gaze back to his novel.

“So, what would you do?” she repeated.

“Hm?”

“What would you do with magic?”

He hummed, lifting his head and reaching over to help steady the book as he turned the page. Once he settled back, he shrugged.

“I’d use it to heat up my coffee.”

For a split second, she wondered if he was also privy to Timmy’s and Mu’s speculations.

“That’s boring.” She narrowed her eyes.

“I’m a boring person,” he provided.

She grumbled and he continued to read. Scooting closer to his arm holding the book, she wedged herself into the crook formed by him and the back of the couch. He shifted slightly, but otherwise let her get comfortable. She curled up so that the side of her head pressed against his chest.

There was a muffled crackling sound, like crinkled paper.

“Hey Dad, do you know about the Snatcher?” She tensed.

“You mean what everyone calls me at work?” He managed a snort. “Or do you mean all that talk of soul-stealing?”

She snapped her head up, baffled.

“Y-you’re okay with it?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He met her gaze, though from the way his palm squished his cheek and he leaned back, he seemed far from interested.

“Because it’s not true!” She gestured wildly. “Isn’t that something your dumb books talk about? Unfair deformation of character.”

“I think you mean defamation,” he corrected with a sly grin.

“That too!” she insisted.

“It gets us more customers and makes my job more interesting. So, no. It doesn’t bother me.” He started to tear his gaze away, “But speaking of my dumb books—”

“But you don’t snatch souls or eat them!” She sat up, knocking his book back. He huffed as he lowered his arm. She perched on his stomach. “People are scared of you!”

“There are worst things,” he said in a lackadaisical tone. Since he couldn’t read, he swiveled his head in his chin to look out at the living room. He tapped his sharp nails against his cheek pensively.

“But Dad—”

“Hattie, it doesn’t bother me,” he interrupted, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “Didn’t you have something you were in the middle of? The whole Snatcher thing doesn’t matter. It’s not worth getting worked up over.”

She pressed her lips into a tight line to keep from pouting.

“But why doesn’t it bother you?” she tried once more after a moment.

“Kid, that’s enough.” He wiggled his arm trapped behind her back to coax her off. “Go run along.” He suddenly sucked in a breath and covered a noisy yawn. The creases under his eyes deepened as the shadows stretched away from the light.

Hattie deflated.

“Fine,” she grumbled, scooting forward.

He grunted when she leapt off his stomach, but his focus returned to reading without another comment.

Hattie retrieved his hairdryer and returned to her bathroom, where the prince doll remained drenched. She turned the setting to no heat and plugged it in. While the drone of the hairdryer filled the bathroom, she zoned out.

All this time, she had been trying to shelter her dad from the rumors but apparently, she was the only one who cared that people thought he could suck souls out with his fangs like some sort of vampire who loved to sunbathe and didn’t mind garlic.

“It’s not fair,” she muttered under the whirling hairdryer. She glared down at the faceless prince doll. His mitten hand fluttered precariously while the gash in his bicep caught air and caused his arm to fluff up like it had stuffing again.

Her features softened as she carefully tilted the dryer back and forth.

She would rather her dad wasn’t upset by the rumors, which is why she waited so long to say anything, but somehow it felt lonelier than ever when she was the only one who cared.

With a slight slouch, she turned the dryer away and then carefully rolled the doll onto his stomach. She finished drying him out and placed him on a fresh towel while she cleaned up. And though she passed her dad as he returned from the kitchen with a steaming mug while she was on her way to the laundry room, he didn’t question her bundle of towels under his hairdryer.

Her step gained an enthusiastic bounce when she was finally ready to fix the doll. She carried him back to her workbench and gingerly set him down. For reference, she carefully pried the old storybook from her shelf and opened to the most crinkled set of pages, worn from love and constant rereads under her covers at night.

“Here it is, Prince!” She presented the first illustration of the kindly character with puffy sleeves greeting bluebirds, bunnies, and deer. She winced at the doll’s blank face. “Whoops. You can’t see. But don’t worry! I’ll fix that!”

She propped the book back against the worktable and used the beret and open sewing kit to pin it open. After she grabbed a handful of stuffing from her reserves in one of the drawers, found a button to match his eye, and sorted through the spools she’d need, she finally sat down.

Now that the doll was clean, his vibrant crimson coat and purple boots looked just like the illustration. But the blush on his cheeks had faded and one of the stitches meant to look like laces on his boots had frayed. With steady hands familiar with detail work from all her hat making, she looped thread through a sharp needle and got to work.

Fixing the boot and resewing the buttons was a bit tricky, but once the prince had his eyes again, his blank features regained the warmth she remembered. She stuck her tongue out as she restuffed his arms. At first, she wondered if she could add a little muscle definition but no matter how she finagled the lumps, she couldn’t get them to look right.

“Sorry, you’re stuck with noodles for arms,” she lamented dramatically, tugging out the extra fluff.

His large button eyes stared at the ceiling.

The final challenge was stitching his hand back on, and only because the mitten hand was so tiny. She struggled to keep it in place as she threaded the needle through his wrist. After having to backtrack and redo the area a couple times, she eventually got the hand snuggly back into place. The stitches lined his wrist, mostly concealed by the edges of his sleeve.

Then, she only needed to close the tear in his bicep and was able to hide the work under the gold band of his puffy shoulder. Once she placed the scissors down after snipping the final thread, she leaned back with an exhale. As she stretched out her back, she appraised her work.

“How do you feel?” she asked, cupping the prince doll and giving his arm and wrist a few squeezes. When she tapped his button eyes to ensure they remained firmly in place, she glanced up at the illustration to compare. She jolted.

“Your crown!” She whirled around, looking for the dull accessory that had popped off during the cleaning. Her head snapped down and she heaved a sigh of relief when she noticed it had fallen onto her carpet.

She grabbed the felt crown and procured a piece of scrap cloth leftover from the bright yellow beret she intended to give to her dad when it was finished. Snipping the dull crown to flatten it out, she traced its pattern on the scrap fabric. After she cut it out, she glued the edges together, careful to keep it seamless as she held the ends with tweezers.

“Perfect!” She held the new crown next to the prince’s head. She found a lump near the base of the yarn hair where the other crown had been glued previously and glued on the new crown its place. Once the glue had dried and the crown remained fastened to his head, Hattie beamed at her work.

“You look perfect!” She leapt to her feet, hugging the doll to her chest. “Let’s show you to Dad!” She darted over to the living room, shouts of excitement welling from her pride, but she skidded to a stop when she found him fast asleep on the couch.

She heaved out a sigh that dissolved into a blown raspberry.

Oh well.

Since even the book flopped open on his chest visibly quivered from his shivering, she crossed over to the wicker basket filled with throws and blankets and grabbed his favorite from the top. She dragged it over him with one hand, but when she reached the book with pages folding at odd angles, she looked from the blanket pinched in one hand and the prince doll cradled in the other.

“Watch him for me for a second,” she whispered to the prince, dropping the blanket and trading him for the book.

Her dad flinched in his sleep at the sudden shift, but she was too busy locating his bookmark on the coffee table to notice. After guessing where he left off, she placed the closed book next to his mug, which still had a puddle of coffee. She turned back around to find her dad twitching.

“Dad?” She reached out but recoiled at how much heat he radiated.

While his eyes remained squeezed shut, his chest jerked under the limp doll. Panicked panting gripped his restless slumber but before Hattie could try to wake him, he turned to his side, flinging the doll away as he twisted. Hattie bent to catch the prince as her dad’s breathing slowly returned to a calmer pace.

She placed the doll back on the table, fretting as she watched her dad’s tight brows relax. His long, spiky black hair tumbled over his sweaty features, but once his exhales fluttered out like a flickering ember, he began shivering again. Hattie crinkled her nose, holding the back of her hand to his forehead covered by hair and then to his clawed fingers.

Almost like ice.

Unsure whether she wanted to wake him after that, she tugged the blanket the rest of the way and watched him for a few seconds longer. He usually felt colder at night, often kindling the image of a campfire dwindling as those around it slept, but his sudden spike in temperature concerned her.

Was he getting sick?

A few more moments passed, and he remained steady. Hattie gnawed on her lip but decided not to worry. If she woke him up when nothing was wrong, he’d just get grumpy. She’d make sure to check on him later, though.

When grabbing the prince doll, she found it trembled in her palm. She tried to meter her own breathing to soothe herself, thinking her dad’s temperature spike had left her more shaken than she realized. She calmed enough to stop shivering after nestling the doll into the plush pile next to her pillow. But as she walked away to get ready for bed, she did not realize that the prince doll continued to tremble on his own.

Slowly, and like a heartbeat that just remembered its pulse.

[pucksnsticksnhockeyboys]

never isn’t an option - pt. 1

summary: you’re tired of hiding how you feel from Matthew, so you risk everything for a chance at happiness

word count: 5.2k

warnings: a couple of swears, allusions to sex, angst 

note from the writer: I'd like to thank @hockeymenorattractiveboys​ and @spookymakar​ for listening to me ramble about how to format this. I’d also like you all to let me know what you think :) please don’t hate me :)

read part two here

If there was a time that you ever turned down the chance to spend time with Matthew Tkachuk, something was wrong. He was your person, the one you texted when you had good news and a bad day. The one that could cheer you up with a grin and a terrible joke. He kissed your cheeks to dry your tears and held you close and told you how much he loved you every day.

He was the closest thing to a relationship you had. 

But Matthew Tkachuk didn’t do relationships. 

See, he did all of those things from the comfort of a best friend position. He’d make you wear his jersey to games and facetime you late at night while he’s on roadies but he still went home with other girls while you smiled and laughed with his teammates as if your heart didn’t walk out of the bar with him, chasing after whoever was lucky enough to get him for the night.

And the next day, like nothing ever happened, he’d show up at your door with breakfast in hand and bruises on his neck that you so desperately wanted to be the cause of.

It was a brutal cycle, and you were nearing the end of your rope, if you were being honest with yourself.

Still, when you got the text saying that since the boys only had a late practice the next day, everyone was going out, you knew you’d let Matt convince you to go. And he didn’t really have to do much convincing, he just flashed you a smile and you were getting ready to head out.

Pregame was at your apartment, for whatever reason, and you were putting on the finishing touches as you listened to the rambunctious hockey players that took over your kitchen. You opted to ignore the sound of glass breaking, followed by several of the boys yelling at Sam. Instead, you sighed and started fixing your hair in the mirror.

“Damn, maybe I might have to just take you home tonight.” A voice called, and you would have jumped at the sudden sound but you had seen Matt slip into your room in the mirror’s reflection. Stomach twisting with nerves and the desire to tell him ‘please’, you rolled your eyes. It was the same comment each night, he’d compliment you and shower you with attention until it was time for him to find the night’s hookup.

“What’d Sam break?” You opted to ask, ignoring both his comment and the way his arms wrapped around your middle from behind you. Matt chuckled, resting his chin on your shoulder while swaying slightly. He was studying you in the mirror, you could feel his gaze raking up and down your reflection and to try and ground yourself, you rested your hands atop his forearms.

“Just a glass.” He hummed after a moment and you had nearly forgotten the question entirely. You sighed in response, knowing you had to go out and clean up before someone hurt themselves. As if anticipating that you were about to leave, Matt’s grip tightened around you, your heart skipping a beat in sync with the action. “Johnny’s got it. He knows where the broom is.”

“Well, we can’t just stay in my bedroom all night.” You chuckled, and though you had been the one to make the first move to leave you found yourself relaxing into his hold. You caught a glimpse of Matt’s face in the mirror, a wicked grin on his face and it was then you realized what you had said. “Not like that, Matthew.”

“You said it, not me.” He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the junction of where your neck met your shoulder before standing to his full height. You pushed away the feeling of butterflies in your stomach at the contact, and instead focused on not tripping over your own feet as Matt spun you around to face him, his hands settling on your hips to steady you. “You look good tonight, like really good.”

“Thanks, Matt.” You smiled so wide your cheeks ached, hands busying themselves by needlessly brushing across the shirt covering the broad expanse of his chest. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Is that why you’re feeling me up?” He questioned, a lightness to his voice that let you know he was just teasing. You rolled your eyes, hoping you didn’t look as affected as you were by his hands sliding from where they previously were on your waist to their new spot a little too low on your back for being just friends.

“You started it, Tkachuk.” You retorted. This is how it always was with Matt. He’d tease and flirt and have you nearly falling at his feet and just when you thought that maybe your feelings were reciprocated he’d turn around go home with someone that was decidedly not you.

“And I can finish it, too.” He hummed, leaning down to speak directly in your ear as your eyes fluttered shut.

Cocky, you thought. Still, a chill ran down your spine and you felt yourself keening into his touch. You weren’t sure whether or not to scream or be thankful for the door opening just then.

“Come on, lovebirds. We’d like to get to the bars at some point.” Rasmus jeered playfully, his grin wide and showing that he knew exactly what he was saying. Matt groaned, and without turning to look at his teammate he flipped him off. Taking the chance while Matt was distracted and only had one hand on you, you slipped out of his grip.

“Not a word.” You mumbled to Rasmus as you slipped past the defenseman. He chuckled, raising his hands in innocence as if he hadn’t just made a comment about your feelings for his teammate. Besides Matthew, Rasmus was the one you were closest to on the team. One night, after a few too many drinks and having to watch Matt leave the bar with someone that wasn’t you, you confessed that you had feelings for him. You had sworn Rasmus to secrecy, and each day since then you had to put up with him urging you to confess to Matt himself.

Matt had been right, Johnny handled the mess and Sam apologized for breaking a glass. You waved him off, opting to take the shot that was being offered to you. It wasn’t healthy to mask your feelings for the curly haired menace that was finally retreating from your bedroom alongside Rasmus with alcohol—but it definitely made it easier to be in the same room as him.

You ended up being squished between Sam and Matt in one of the two Ubers ordered to get everyone from your apartment to the bar, and Matt’s arm wound around your waist to pull you closer to his side. As soon as you arrived at the bar, Matt slipped his hand in yours and used the connection to make sure you never strayed far from his side.

He was being more handsy than usual, tugging you into his chest at any given chance and setting his hand on your leg when sitting in the booth, and you weren’t the only one that noticed. Not only did you receive looks from his teammates, but their significant others who weren’t all accustomed to your odd relationship with Matt.

But then it happened. Like every time before, you could feel Matt’s attention slip from you. It was like clockwork, you knew you had at the very most three minutes after Matt first spotted his target for the night until he left you. And this time it was no different.

Of course, you thought, watching Matt cross the bar to greet the pretty blonde with a smile and one of his lines. Distantly, you heard your name being called, but it was only when you felt someone jab your side did you tear your gaze from Matt. It was Dillon, and he was giving you a sympathetic smile you really wished he wasn’t.

“What’s up?” You asked nonchalantly, as if you hadn’t just been caught staring at the man who unknowingly held your heart flirt with someone else.

“He really does like you, you know.” Dillon told you, sounding a little too insightful for someone you had seen get checked into the boards only the night prior. You forced a laugh, the same one you always did whenever someone made a comment, whenever Matt told you about his sexcapades.

“He’s right, Matt’s just too dumb to know.” Sam butted in from across the table, taking a swig of his drink and succeeding in gaining the attention of the rest of the guys at the table. Your smile was too tight and too tiny and even the guys you weren’t as close with were able to see right through you. The last thing you needed was any of them trying to take a peek at the feelings you buried deep and kept hidden.

“I think I’m going to call it a night, early day tomorrow and all.” You lied. You had no plans until three in the afternoon, when you had promised your friend that you’d go shopping with her so she could find something to wear to her cousin’s wedding. You waved goodbye to the table and stopped at the bar to tell Rasmus you were heading out, and it was then that you were met with your next obstacle.

“There you are! This is Brooke.” Matt called cheerfully, waving you down as you tried to pass him and introduced you to the girl that had captured his attention. Your stomach twisted and tied itself up in knots, but no matter how sick you felt not a single part of you blamed her. After all, you desperately wanted to be in her place; she held Matt’s attention in a way that you could only hope for.

“It’s nice to meet you, but I was actually heading out.” You smiled sweetly, turning your gaze to Matt during the second half of your sentence. He pouted, and not in his over-the-top dramatic way you were used to seeing when you’d leave parties early, but a genuine frown.

“It’s too late for you to be going home alone, though.” He tried to reason, and though his attention was on you and that was truly all you ever wanted he still had a hand resting on Brooke’s leg as she sat at the bar. You opened your mouth to argue that you went home by yourself every time and that he never was around by the end of the night to watch, but a heavy body slid in beside you and clapped a hand on Matt’s shoulder.

“I’ll make sure she gets home safe, man.” Rasmus promises, and you force a smile on your face. You feel nauseous, because it’s then that you realize you want nothing more than for Matthew to be the one to make sure you get home safe and it’s then that Matt takes a step closer to Brooke, hand rising just a few inches higher up her leg.

“Alright, talk to you guys later.” Matt says after a moment and he pulls Rasmus in for an abridged version of a bro hug, and you fully expected to just send him a wave and be on your way. Instead, he wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you in close, sealing your fate with a kiss to your hairline.

You smile politely at Brooke as a form of goodbye, but she was wearing an unimpressed expression while looking at Matt look at you. You weren’t sure why he so blatantly displayed affection towards you while trying to hookup with someone else, but you pushed that though deep, deep down and followed Rasmus out of the bar as he announced the car he ordered at some point arrived. The air was cold against your flushed skin and it was only after the bar was out of sight and you were secured in the backseat of the Uber did Rasmus speak.

“You’re going to have to stop doing this to yourself someday, you know.” His voice was quiet and kind, the opposite of what it was like on the ice, but you still felt like you were being scolded. When your only response was to nod and continue picking at your nails, he sighed. “You both are too stupid for your own good.”

“Well, that’s helpful.” You tried joking, but your voice was tight and you hated how pathetic you sounded. Rasmus let out a breathy chuckle, and you saw the Uber turn onto your street.

“It’s the truth.” He teased, and you rolled your eyes. The car was slowing to a stop in front of your building, and as much as you loved Rasmus, you were thankful for the chance to escape the conversation. “You’ve both been in love with each other since forever and neither of you are willing to admit it. So you pine after him and hurt your own feelings and he tries to find replacements for you, but they never last, because as you might know—they aren’t you.”

Your eyes widened at his words. It certainly wasn’t the first time he had made jokes about you and Matt, but that’s all they had been before. They were jokes. Now, though, he sounded so serious and as you searched his gaze you found not a single ounce of humor. Never had he been so direct and you felt as if his analysis had been broadcasted to the entire neighborhood instead of just you and the poor Uber driver who was waiting for you to get out.

“Goodnight, Rasmus.” You spoke quickly, gathering your things and climbing out of the car. He didn’t say anything else, just shot you a knowing look to tell you to get your shit together. He might’ve been right, but you were too caught off-guard to tell him that. So instead, you told him to text you when he got home safe and shut the door behind you.

Five days later, and you were still thinking about Rasmus’ comments.

You were thinking about it so much that at one in the morning, you found yourself anxiously pacing your kitchen. Your friend had fallen asleep on you, leaving you with the advice that you should just tell Matt how you feel. She reasoned that if his teammate told you he loved you, then chances are that he felt the same way. You argued that maybe he only said that to try and cheer you up.

You hated that she had reason on her side.

It was reason that had you, after your twentieth lap around your kitchen, pulling up Matt’s contact and dialling his number. You thought about texting him about your feelings, but that was way too impersonal. Throwing caution to the wind, you listened to the ringing of the phone, deciding that if he didn’t answer or you chickened out after hearing his voice, you’d simply tell him you meant to call your friend Mark but accidentally clicked on the contact for Matt.

“Hello?”

He sounded a little groggy, and you wondered if you had woken him up. Guilt shot through you, he had an early flight in the morning to the east coast and he needed his sleep. You were losing your nerve quickly, and if you didn’t say what you needed, then you’d never do it.

“Can I come over?” At least you got to the point.

“Yeah, of course.” He mumbled, sounding a little more awake. You let out a breath you hadn’t known you had been holding, and started to grab your keys. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m—yeah, good.” You couldn’t exactly say you were fine. You were incredibly stressed and more nervous than you had ever been, but you knew saying that without context would worry him. And you couldn’t give him the context over the phone.

“You sure?” He tried, clearly having picked up on the anxious edge to your voice. You nodded despite the fact that he couldn’t see you, and slipped out of your apartment.

“Be there in fifteen, Matt.”

It was the longest fifteen minutes of your life.

By the time you reached his place and got past the doorman, who greeted you with a smile and knew you by name, you were ready to jump out of your skin. But Rasmus’ words were bouncing around your head uncontrollably and you needed closure, even if that meant you didn’t have Matt in your life after your next conversation.

Your knuckles barely connected to his door in a knock before it swung open, and Matt revealed himself in nothing more than grey sweatpants hung low on his hips. You smiled despite your nerves, and he tugged into his apartment and into his arms before mumbling a hello.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” He hummed, keeping you close to him. You wanted to scream and shout and go home, stomach in knots and heart pounding so loudly you might need to consult a doctor.

Now or never, and never wasn’t an option anymore.

“I love you, Matt.” You forced yourself to say, feeling like you were going to be sick the moment the words left you. Matthew didn’t react poorly to your confession, in fact, he didn’t react at all, which was concerning in an all new way that you hadn’t thought about at first.

“I love you, too.” He replied easily, and you found yourself pulling away slightly and shaking your head at him. He wasn’t understanding, and that couldn’t have been a good sign.

“No, Matt, I’m in love with you.” You clarified, watching as his brows shot up and a look of realization crossed his face. You watched as his face fell and watched as his arms moved from around you to hold your arms at the elbows.

“Oh.” Was all he said. It was all he had to say to send your world crashing down around you.

One simple word from him and you knew you had just ruined your friendship.

“I’m sorry, I-I’ll go. You have an early flight, and—”

“Y/N, wait.” He called, holding you tighter so you couldn’t escape his grip. You shook your head, trying to will away tears you knew were coming and desperately hold onto your last shred of dignity.

“No, it’s fine Matt. I shouldn’t have said anything.” You assured him, slipping out of his grip and heading towards the door. He was trailing after you, you could feel his presence, so it was only once the door was open and you were standing in his hallway did you acknowledge that he had been calling your name the entire time. Spinning to face him, you pointlessly wiped away tears that had been falling and would continue to fall for what seemed like the rest of your life. He looked like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing as he tried to put his thoughts into words.

“We can still be friends?” It was a question; not even he was sure. You forced a smile, sniffling pathetically as you shrugged. He reached a hand out as if to caress your cheek, a dejected look in his eyes that only worsened when you took a step back to avoid his touch.

“I’ll need some space, Matty.” The words broke your heart but they needed to be said, and when he offered nothing more than a weak nod you took that as your cue to leave. You let yourself sob in the elevator and you meekly scurried past the doorman, trying to hide your face from him so that he couldn’t see you had been crying. You sat in your car for ten whole minutes before you deemed it safe to drive through your tears, and even then you took the long way home to avoid traffic.

Once back in your apartment, you forced yourself to drink a glass of water and slowly changed into pajamas. There was an ache in your chest that hadn’t been there before and you knew that it was due to Matt’s rejection. There was no fight left in you as you pulled up your texts, tiredly typing out a simple message to Rasmus before plugging in the device and setting it down for the night.

You were wrong.

Matthew felt wrong.

He felt as if his world had been turned upside down, inside out, and then inverted for good measure. He was confused, lost, and moping around his apartment and practice arena so often the boys had started ignoring him all together.

And it had only been a week and a half without you.

Somehow, despite his constant sour mood, he managed to convince Johnny to come over for a drink. Really, it was just a ruse to grill him about you. How you were doing, if you were heartbroken, and if you were talking to any of the other guys—because you hadn’t answered any of his texts in a week and a half.

Johnny had seen right through him, but he refused to acknowledge Matthew’s anxious behavior until the takeout was eaten and they were perched on the couch.

“Well?” Johnny started. Matt nodded for no good reason, bouncing his leg and running a hand through his hair to try and distract himself. He couldn’t collect his thoughts, but he was thankful his friend was there and waiting patiently—well, he was there and waiting with an unimpressed look on his face.

“The other day—”

“Y/N told you she loves you. And you turned her away.” Johnny finished for Matt, his tone bored. Matt nodded, feeling like he was being scolded for something he wasn’t sure of. “Because…?”

“Well, I don’t… I don’t know?” Did he love you? When you had confessed to him, he hadn’t thought he loved you in that way. But now, it had been the longest week and a half of his life without you. He felt like he was heartbroken, but did that mean he was heartbroken?

“Do you really think that you don’t love her?” Johnny asked, snapping Matt out of his thoughts. The curly haired boy looked to his friend with a confused look, not because of the question but because of his own feelings.

“What makes you say that?” Matt asked, genuinely curious. He loved you as his friend, loved you as his confidant, but did he love you as his person?”

“Every time we all go out, you make me text you when she goes home so you know she’s safe. You’re all over her all the time, and you pretend to be her boyfriend so guys don’t hit on her.” Johnny listed, and Matt would have made a comment about how he had those examples ready to go if they hadn’t sent him spiraling.

Matt thought he did all of those things as a friend. He was a good guy and you were his best friend; he was just trying to take care of you. But hearing Johnny list the endless reasons why it was so completely obvious that he loved you, he realized that he did all those things because you were his best friend and yet you were so much more.

“I love her.” Matt stated, sounding a little dumbfounded and a lot happy. It wasn’t a question anymore, he loved you, he knew it from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. He wanted you to be his best friend that he kissed and cared for, and even though he did those things already he wanted the extra addition of a label so that he could proudly show you off. He loved you, and—

And he let you walk out the door.

“Fuck, man.” Matt groaned, leaning back into the couch and running his hands over his face. Johnny was resisting the urge to say ‘I told you so’ and if Matt had a free thought to spare he would have thanked him, but he was too busy worrying about you and what you were doing and how he was going to make this up to you. “Fuck!”

“Yeah, you’ve messed things up.” Johnny offered, unhelpfully, and Matt let him know just that as he shot him a glare. Matt felt ten times worse, now that he had realized what he truly lost. Before, you were his best friend that walked out of his life after he stupidly couldn’t see what he had. Now, he had lost the love of his life, the one person that knew him better than he probably knew himself.

“She’ll never talk to me.” Matt complained, sitting forward with his elbows on his knees and his face in his palms. He hadn’t meant to try and earn sympathy from Johnny, he was just sulking and needed to voice his depreciative thoughts.

“No, never isn’t an option.” Johnny swiftly kicked Matt’s foot to earn his attention. He looked to his friend, who looked more serious than he had ever seen, and knew he needed to listen. “You’re both miserable without each other. Call her, and beg for forgiveness.”

“What if she—”

“She won’t.” Johnny interrupted, not bothering to entertain any negative thought that Matt could’ve come up with. Matt pouted, watching as Johnny stood to his feet and prepared to leave. He had left Matt with all the information and advice he had, and now the ball was in Matt’s court. Both of them knew what he had to do, and for the sake of everyone, he needed to do it soon.

It was only after Johnny was standing at the door with his coat on, did he turn to face Matt and send him the first sympathetic look of the evening. Matt didn’t know if he preferred the annoyed looks or this one, neither sitting right with him. He didn’t have long to ponder, because Johnny patted him on the shoulder and left him with some parting advice.

“She loves you, too, man.”

And then he was gone, and Matt was left with flashbacks to the night you left. He cursed himself, slipping back into his apartment and searching for his phone that he discarded in the kitchen at some point.

He wasn’t sure why it was so hard for him to dial your number, suddenly. He knew you loved him, you had said so himself, but there was something holding him back. He had hurt you once already, the image of you pulling back from his touch that night stinging like a fresh wound. But he had a chance to make things right, to make both you and him incredibly happy.

And he’d be damned if he was going to miss it twice.

He dropped onto the couch as he dialed your number, checking the time to make sure it wasn’t too late. It was before midnight, and you had called him past one in the morning, so he decided he was fine. Despite the early hour, the phone kept ringing and just as Matt’s stomach twisted and he was debating leaving a voicemail—declaring his love over voicemail was not the most romantic thing—you finally picked up.

“Hello?” You asked, and just the sound of your voice made some of the tension Matt had been holding in his shoulders for the past week and a half dissipate. He heard someone else in the background talking, but he ignored it, assuming it was the television.

“Hey.” Matt breathed. Silently, he wondered how stupid he was if he had honestly thought the way he felt about you was anything more than platonic. “What’re you up—”

“Matt, I’m on a date right now, I can’t talk.”

And that felt like a knife to the chest. It wasn’t the television he heard in the back, but in fact it was the voice of your date. His stomach lurched and he sat up straight, mouth pressed in a firm line. As Matt stayed quiet, he heard you mumble to your date that you’d need a moment before a door shut, and he assumed that you had slipped away to finish your conversation.

“Who are you with?” The words felt poisonous in his mouth, and with the way it felt like Matt’s chest was caving in, he worried that you would actually be his cause of death. He heard you sigh, and he could imagine you running a hand down your face in the way you always did when you didn’t want to answer a question.

“A friend of a friend, his name is Nick.” You told him, your voice sounding tight. He wasn’t sure why he asked, he couldn’t care less about the answer. Really, he just didn’t want you to hang up and go back to a guy that wasn’t him.

“It’s eleven at night, how are you still on a date?” He tried to joke, tried to hide his pain, because if you were on a date with someone else he’d let you. He’d already hurt you once, and if you were happy with this Nick guy, then he’d let you be.

“Clearly because it’s going well.” You nearly leveled him completely with your response. And if you had killed him before, that single comment was the final nail in his coffin. He knew what you were alluding to, that the date had gone so well you had gone back to his place. He felt like he was going to be sick, thinking of you in some other guy’s apartment, another guy getting to see you in every way he wanted to.

“Oh.”

“Look, Matt, I’ve got to go.” You didn’t sound happy, that was clear. Was it because of him? He shouldn’t have called you, because now he broke his own heart. His next thought was a heavy weight on his shoulders, and he desperately wished he could go back to being blissfully ignorant to his own feelings.

Did he make you feel as terrible as he did then?

“Yeah, yeah of course.” He pursed his lips, not wanting to hang up first and share you with another guy. It wasn’t sharing, truly, because he didn’t have you at all and whoever this Nick was had you entirely, at least for the night. And because Matt felt like things couldn’t get worse, he added his next comment, “Have fun.”

He absolutely did not want you to have fun.

“Bye, Matty.” He wished you didn’t use the nickname and he wished that you’d call him that for the rest of his life—of your life, together. He chuckled humorlessly, the thought that he could have had you for forever only a week and a half ago was enough to make him want to scream. Mumbling a goodbye, he hung up before he had the chance to break his own heart more.

Johnny was wrong.

Never, apparently, was the only option.

[imomomi]

          “So cute,” whispered Y/N as she stroked Kiyoto’s hair. He had fallen asleep just as the game ended, lulled by the steady buzz of chatter and the sound of cheers. Y/N stayed in her seat, waiting for the stands to clear slightly before heading down to the court where Kiyoomi stood. He met her halfway, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her. His lips pressed to the top of her head, squeezing her waist tightly.

          “Sleeping?” asked Kiyoomi, brushing aside Kiyoto’s hair.

          “He probably thinks volleyball is boring.”

          “Or he’s three years old and tired from pre-school. Did you have fun at least?”

          “I’m sleepy, too.”

          “I saw you cheering for my service ace earlier,” said Kiyoomi.

          “Tou-chan?” mumbled Kiyoto, turning his head in the direction of Kiyoomi’s voice. Y/N leveled a deadly glare at him, mouthing that he needed to be quieter, but the damage had already been done. Kiyoto lifted his head, blinking slowly, before thrusting his arms out towards Kiyoomi.

          “I’m sweaty,” Kiyoomi warned, but he reached out and took Kiyoto from her anyway. “Was Kaa-chan mean to you?”

          “Hmm.…I had school. I didn’t wanna go,” Kiyoto said, pressing his face into the side of Kiyoomi’s neck. His voice was muffled by the face mask he wore and often refused to take off in public. It was a habit that Y/N was glad he’d picked up from Kiyoomi. It made it easier to hide Kiyoto’s face in public and from paparazzi. Though it was well known that Kiyoomi had a child, they’d refrained from showing his face on social media.

          “Did you wash your hands? Little kids have all kinds of germs,” said Kiyoomi. From the way he spoke, he made germs sound as if they were the plague. Kiyoto pushed his hands out and flipped them over, showing Kiyoomi just how clean they were.

          “Kids are so dirty,” agreed Kiyoto, nodding his head solemnly. Y/N rolled her eyes, huffing slightly as she contemplated letting him know that he was a little kid too. Kiyoomi nodded, leaning down to whisper something only Kiyoto could hear. There was a certain anxiety in having a child and Kiyoomi had fumbled through it at first. When Kiyoto had first started walking, she was sure she’d be widowed as Kiyoomi seemed to suffer a heart attack with every tentative step that Kiyoto took. But, Kiyoomi had tackled fatherhood like he did everything else with dedication and care. She remembered how he used to wake up at night and take a few moments to go watch Kiyoto sleep. The sight of him resting peacefully, without a hint of worry or care, eased Kiyoomi’s fears.

          Listening in on their current discussion, Y/N had to laugh. They were having a serious conversation about the puzzles at school with all the gravity scientists held discussing the solution to climate change. As they reached the bottom step, Kiyoto demanded to be put down, throwing his arms out enthusiastically towards Bokuto and Atsumu. It seemed that Hinata had disappeared sometime after the game, no doubt following Kageyama somewhere.

          “You wanna play?” ask Y/N, narrowing her eyes at the two fools. Atsumu had missed a serve during the game and hit the ball right at the back of Bokuto’s head.

           “Down,” commanded Kiyoto.

           “Oi, Yoto-chan, did you see my line-shot? What’d you think?” asked Atsumu holding his hand out for a high-five. Kiyoto shrunk back, hid behind her leg, and shook his head wildly.

           “Don’t touch,” he said. Y/N snorted and turned to Kiyoomi who wore a grin so satisfied, someone would have thought he’d been handed a billion dollars.

           “Play,” said Kiyoto. He walked forward; head held high as he went to meet Bokuto near the net.

           “He’s much more confident than I was as a child,” said Kiyoomi. He rested his head on her shoulder, breathing in the familiar floral scent of her perfume mixed with fabric softener. She thinks that the horror of childbirth had softened him, made him less hesitant to touch her even when there were people watching.

           “Well, half of him is me,” said Y/N, smiling fondly. A look of intense concentration crossed Kiyoto’s face. There was such a solemnity to him as if everything he was doing required all his attention and care. It was something he shared with Kiyoomi. Y/N had not thought it was possible to love someone as much as she loved her son, but every day she would find something new that would cause her heart to grow threefold.

          “Ojisan,” Kiyoto screamed, stomping his feet as Atsumu and Bokuto laughed at him. “Gross, gross, gross.” His hand was covered in a thin layer of Salonpas, the bottle hung in Atsumu’s hand.

          “Did Ojisan make you cry?” Y/N asked Kiyoto. She dug around in her purse, pulling out a packet of wet wipes and set to clearing the snot and drool from his face in seconds. Wiping his hands free of the sticky substance, she entangled her fingers with Kiyoto’s muttering softly to him. In seconds, he had calmed down. His sobs faded into slight hiccups leaving Kiyoomi slightly stunned at the sudden turn of events.

          “Why don’t we go sit and wait for Tou-chan to get ready?” Y/N said. Struggling with her bag for a moment, she looped it over her shoulder, heaving Kiyoto up into her arms. Despite how heavy he seemed, cheeks rounded with youth and one too many yakult, she gave little indication that she couldn’t bare his weight.

          “Kiyoomi, don’t take too long,” she warned.

FUN FACTS:

Kiyoto can be written with several different kanji, but the ones Y/N and Kiyoomi used were for clean/pure and human.

Atsumu actually hates being called Ojisan because it reminds him that he’s getting old. 

Kiyoto likes volleyball, but he doesn’t like when his classmates ask for autographs.

Y/N held up the Itachiyama and Nohebi jerseys in front of Kiyoto to decide what school he went to in the future. Kiyoto fell down between them, so she still doesn’t know which he likes better.

[lu-undy]

(it is me, sad boi)

Prehaps Spy is coming home from work, it was absolutely horrid, people were mean to him, he got yeeted down the stairs. And he really wants to cry.

But good ol snipey steps in and lets him cry, but doesn't let him do anything bad to himself? 🥺

Here it is!

“Frenchie! You dishonored this entire unit!” Soldier exclaimed at his colleague as he entered the resupply room.

“Bloody hell, Spy, why didn’t you sap that sentry?” Demo opened a wide eye.

“Yeah, Spy, you useless, d’you - Argh?!”

A blade had flown to the wall an inch away from Scout’s eye, ending up planted on the wall of the resupply room.

The battles of the day had just ended in a loss and the mercenaries had regrouped in the respawn room. Spy ignored his colleagues and headed straight back to his quarters.

“Yeah, yeah, go back to your room and smoke your cigarettes till tomorrow!”

Sniper went to the blade and retrieved it from next to Scout’s head, taking the opportunity to tower the young man.

“What? What are you lookin’ at?” The Bostonian answered, looking up at his taller colleague.

The Aussie growled and took the blade in his pocket before turning away from Scout.

“Yeah, go back to your useless boyfriend! He didn’t do anythin’ right today and we lost cause of him - ARGH?!”

The kukri landed on the wall, where Spy’s blade was, and the door opened and closed again as the sound of Sniper’s heeled boots faded away.

There was a knock at the door with the knife symbol.

“Go to hell!”

“Spook.”

There was a second of silence.

“Spook, can I?”

Sniper didn’t hear Spy sigh and melt further down on his sofa, in front of the fireplace. He took the doorknob in his hand and slightly twisted it. He gently pushed the door and entered. 

“Spook? You left your door unlocked?” 

It was unusual enough to be mentioned. As Sniper entered, he locked it, for his and Spy’s peace of mind and came next to his lover. He removed his hat and aviators that he put on the coffee table and took a seat next to his lover. 

"Hey…" 

No answer from Spy and Sniper noticed the bottle of wine in his hand, the disheveled looks, the tie, half-undone and the lock of hair sticking out of his mask. 

"Luv'?" 

Spy took a deep breath and sighed. 

"Go away." 

"What? Spook-"

"Go. Away." 

Sniper sighed. 

"I'm not gonna let you get piss drunk on yer own." He took the bottle off of Spy's hand and took a generous gulp of it. "Oh, mate, that's a shite one." 

"It serves its purpose." 

"What?" 

"It makes the pain physical, that way it is much easier to heal." 

Spy was still not looking his lover in the eye and stared angrily at the dancing flames of the fireplace in front of him. He didn't feel their warmth.

"Here." Sniper passed him the bottle and it lasted for half an hour, maybe more. The bottle went from gloved hand to naked one, back and forth, until Sniper put it on the coffee table. There was still some wine left inside. 

"Spook?" 

"What?" 

"Don't listen to them. We lost as a team." 

Spy scoffed. 

"They are right. My inability to sap that sentry cost us the victory today. But what infuriates me is not that I did not succeed."

"What is it?" 

"The humiliation both from the enemy and my own team."

"What d'you mean?" 

"I have received more of the infamous jarate and mad milk today than in the past months combined." 

"Why?" 

"At first I thought it was a coincidence. But non. It turned out that the enemy Scout and Sniper had a bet going on, about who would cover me the most often in their atrocious fluids."

"Twisted bastards." 

"You use your jarate too." Spy said. 

"Yeah, but I don't just use it for humiliation. I get the job done with it, and move on."

"Hm. Oui. Maybe. In any case, I was sent in a spiral of endless respawns. Each time I got within a few metres of the sentry, they would find me out by throwing their glass jars or bottles at me, before their Pyro would burn me to death. I can still smell their filth on me." 

"Then let's go and take a shower." Sniper suggested.

"Non." 

"Right, you know what? Keep bein' grumpy, I'll make you take a shower." 

"What?!"

"C'mere." Sniper pulled his colleague out of the sofa and dragged him to his private bathroom. He turned the shower on and closed the door. 

"Sniper, this is ridiculous."

"You're bein' ridiculous too. Now, shush and let me do the right thing for you." Sniper undressed his lover and pulled the shower curtain open. "Come on, chop, chop." 

"Non."

"Spy, you're standin' here, naked and you'll catch a cold. Get in there, oh?" 

Spy bent forward until his head bumped Sniper's chest. He raised his hands and clung on to him. 

"I have been such a failure today." 

"No, what're you talkin' about? You weren't alone eh? Demo or Soldier could have taken the sentry out if Medic had popped on them. God knows what the nurse was up to. I was bullied relentless by the bastard in a suit."

"Am I… a bastard in a suit?"

"No. Not you. You're… You're everythin'." He laced his arms around the slim frame of the naked, sad Frenchie. 

"Mundy?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Don't let go of me." He asked, clinging to his work shirt, and the Aussie smiled, albeit sadly. 

"It's alright… I've got you…" 

"M-Mundy… I am tired… I am so, so tired…" He pushed his head deeper in his lover's chest. 

"I know, love, I know. But I'm here, eh? It's just one of those days."

"Stay with me, please, don't leave me." 

"I won't, I won't." Mundy slipped his hand in his lover's greasy hair and brushed the salt and pepper locks back. He bent his head down to drop his lips on his lover's forehead and Spy closed his eyes, arching his eyebrows up, pleadingly. "Look at you, you fragile thing… Get in the shower and wash yerself, you'll see, you'll feel better afterwards." 

"Non…" 

"C'mon, listen to me, now."

Spy opened his eyes and looked up at Sniper. 

"Come with me." 

"In the shower?" 

Spy nodded.

"I don't want to let go of you. Everything feels so… empty, without you." 

Mundy smiled. 

"Right, let me get out of my clothes."

"May I help?" 

"O'course." 

With four hands on his clothes, Mundy got out of his clothes very fast. As soon as he finished, Spy, or Lucien in the intimacy, latched onto him. 

"Hey, now… Are you alright?" 

The Frenchman nodded, his head still against his chest. Mundy pulled him under the shower head and closed the shower curtain. 

"Here we go. Now, which one's your fancy shampoo again…?" He asked, looking at the bottles. 

Lucien just enjoyed the hot water trickling down his head and his lover's body. He felt Mundy's fingers work in his hair and soon, the foam came to his ears, deafening him. He closed his eyes and waited for a while. Mundy was washing his own hair and then, he pulled his lover under the water again and rinsed it all away from him. Next came the shower gel. 

"Love, I gotta unstick you, hold on."

"Non…!" Lucien held his lover harder, digging his fingers behind his back. Mundy chuckled. He loved Lucien as much as he did Spy. The only difference was that Spy would hide Lucien's sensitivity and softness under a thick mask of arrogance and cold-bloodedness. But Mundy knew it, the Frenchman would show his vulnerable side only to him, and he loved that.

"Please, sweet thing, I promise I won't be long."

"Make it quick." 

Mundy spread the shower gel on his lover and Lucien mirrored him on his tall lover. In the end, Mundy took a bit of foam on the tip of his index finger and tapped the tip of Lucien's nose with it. The Frenchman pulled his nose back and his eyes crossed on the foam hanging there, making Mundy laugh. 

"You look like a clueless kitten." 

Lucien grimaced and Mundy pulled his chin with one hand before kissing his lips. When he withdrew, Lucien pushed himself to the tip of his toes for more. 

The shower and the entire bathroom were in a thick fog of steam. 

"Right, let's get out now, yeah?" 

"Non." 

Mundy stopped the water running. 

"You gonna say 'non' to everythin' I say?" 

"Oui."

"At least, that one is a 'oui'." 

They stepped out of the shower and dried themselves off before heading to Spy's bedroom. 

"Here, that's your fancy pyjamas…" Mundy threw a shirt and a pair of trousers to his lover. "And that's my boxer shorts." He slipped them on.

Lucien joined him in bed and curled in his arms. The Aussie wrapped his arms around him and let his fingers lazily brush the Frenchman's silky, wet hair. 

"You feel better?" 

"Oui. Merci." 

"There we go, then. Forget about everythin', I'm here with you." Mundy adjusted the blanket around them both. 

"I… I felt terrible about myself."

"I know." 

"But somehow you manage to pull me out of these fits of… of powerful distress." 

"You're bein' dramatic."

"I am being in love." Lucien shut his eyes.

"Pfff, c'mere…" Mundy chuckled and left a kiss on his lover's brow before rolling to his back, Lucien lying on top of him. 

"Mundy?" 

"Yes, Lu'?" 

Lucien raised his head and looked down at his lover with a smile. 

"Thank you." 

"No worries."

"Non, really, I am in your debt." 

"You're bein' dramatic again, luv'." Mundy tapped the tip of his lover's nose with a grin. 

"I cannot help it."

"I know, I love you for that, and the rest." 

Lucien bent to push his lips on Mundy's and they melted in a nap, the Aussie's arms around his lover, while Lucien nuzzled in the hollow of his neck.

[440mxs-wife]

Christmas Wishes

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Dean poked his head into your room to check on you. "Hey, sweetheart, you about ready to go? Baby's leaving in 20 minutes," he remarked.

"Yeah, just about ready," you replied. You went to your bathroom to grab your toiletries, such as shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste and your hairbrush. You made sure you had enough warm clothes for the trip. You stuffed your comfiest sweaters, hoodies, jeans and fuzzy socks into your bag, then grabbed your warmest pair of boots.

You, Sam and Dean were each packing a bag to spend the Christmas holiday with your friends from the hunting world. Donna and Jody had rented a barn that had been converted into a lodge for everyone to stay in and celebrate. It was located a mile or two outside of town, north of Hibbing, Minnesota.

When Donna emailed pictures of the lodge to you and the boys, you thought it was the perfect place to spend the holiday. Sam and Eileen were on board right away, but Dean took a little more convincing. However, once he saw the fireplace and the kitchen, he folded like a house of cards and couldn't wait to get there. He kept jabbering on about all the baking that could be done in a kitchen like that, especially pie.

In the week or so before the trip, you could swear you heard him humming Christmas carols under his breath. You never said anything, though, just smiled to yourself. You were happy to see that he appeared to be letting go of some of the stress he so often found himself under. There was a spring to his step, a twinkle in his eye and he seemed to be smiling a little easier. You hoped that meant a new beginning for celebrating the holiday.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You've been hunting with the Winchesters for the past ten years, living in the bunker for the past eight of those ten years. You moved in after helping Sam and Dean take out a troublesome vampire nest. You found that you and Sam work seamlessly when researching cases, while you and Dean work best in the kitchen. It was nice to have Eileen living in the bunker as well, another woman to hang out with and talk to.

In the last couple of years, though, you discovered that your feelings towards the eldest Winchester brother had shifted. You started to notice the little things, like the dash of freckles across his nose. Or, how his eyes sometimes glittered like emeralds when he was excited about something. You knew when he was upset by the way he carried himself, because his shoulders slumped like he had the weight of the world on them. You wanted nothing more than to take that away.

However, the more your feelings for Dean grew, the more you convinced yourself that nothing would ever come of them. So, you pushed them down and tried to forget about them and focus on whatever problem was at hand. It didn't help when he called you "sweetheart" in that deep, rumbling voice of his that shook you to your soul. Or how a brush of his hand on yours caused such a rush of warmth to your cheeks that you had no idea how your hair didn't start on fire. If Dean ever found out about your feelings for him, well....you didn't even want to think about it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

With the last of your stuff packed, you zipped up your bag. Dean poked his head through your doorway again. "Got everything?" he asked.

"Yup, I think so. Oh, wait," you said as you looked around the room for your book. It was on your nightstand, along with your phone charger, which you stuffed into a side pocket. As you reached for your bag, your hand brushed with Dean's, which had already wrapped around the handle. "Dean, I-I can carry my bag, you don't have to," you protested.

"It's all right, sweetheart, I've got it," he said as he gave you a wink. Damn him. Damn that sexy wink, damn him calling me 'sweetheart' and damn me for blushing over it, you thought. You walked out of your room to see Sam and Eileen headed for the stairs, her bag in Sam's hand. You looped an arm around her shoulders and you both grinned at each other as you went up to the garage.

Sam and Dean stowed the bags in the Impala's trunk, while Eileen got in the back behind the driver's seat. You and Sam reached for the rear passenger door handle at the same time. "What are you doing, Sam? You usually sit up front," you pointed out.

Eileen signed to you that she wanted Sam to sit in back with her. You winked and signed that you understood. With a hammering heart, you climbed into the front passenger seat, with Dean in the driver's seat. Twelve hours in the front seat with Dean? Welp, that's it. I'm toast, you thought as you mentally smacked your forehead.

Halfway into the trip, the sun had gone down and it had started to snow. You turned to look in the back seat, and the sight made you smile. Sam was asleep and leaning against the passenger door, with Eileen curled up on his chest, also sleeping. "They're so cute," you whispered.

"Hmm?" Dean inquired. You pointed to the couple in the back seat to explain your remark. As he glanced in the rearview mirror, a smile graced his lips. He leaned over to turn on the radio, but kept the volume low so as not to disturb Sam and Eileen.

The current station was playing Christmas music, but surprisingly, Dean didn't change the station. As the miles ticked by, you started softly humming to the songs. One of your favorites, The Little Drummer Boy came on, and before you knew it, you were singing the words.

What you didn't notice was that your singing had caught Dean's attention, because he looked over at you. "You have a lovely singing voice," he told you when the song was over.

Fortunately, the car was dark, so he couldn't see how flaming hot your cheeks were. "Dean, it's Christmas music, everyone sounds good singing it," you replied.

"Nah, not everyone, sweetheart. Really, you sing like an angel," he insisted, then reached over and covered your hand with his. When he did that, it took everything you had not to jump out of your skin at his unexpected but welcome touch.

"Th-thank you, Dean. That's very nice of you to say," you stammered. You continued singing for your audience of one, who smiled to himself as he drove.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Hey! You guys made it!" Donna shouted as she threw open the door to see the four of you on the doorstep. "Come in, come in!" she directed as she stepped aside. Once you were all in the door, she gave everyone a hug.

"Did you tell him yet?" she whispered in your ear. She knew about your feelings for Dean, from last month's "Girls Night" get-together at Charlie's place. One look at your face told her that you hadn't confessed anything yet. "Don't worry, chickie, we're on the case," she winked at you conspiratorially.

"Donna, no," you groaned. "I love you. Please don't interfere, though. You can't force something that isn't there," you muttered. "And what do you mean 'we're on the case'? Who else knows?" you asked.

"Um....Jody, Charlie, I think Claire," she replied.

Eileen signed that she knew also. You dropped your head to your chest, knowing that if Eileen knew, then Sam knew. Then it's just a matter of time before Dean found out. Then would come the "I love you as a friend" speech, which you didn't think you could bear to hear. Eileen touched your arm and signed that she didn't tell Sam, but that he figured it out. You sadly nodded your head, then decided to find your room.

You looked around for your bag, but it was nowhere in sight. You asked Sam where it was, and he explained that Dean had taken it upstairs with him. You trudged up the stairs and found Dean in one of the rooms as he was unpacking his bag. He turned to see you in the doorway and his face broke out into a heart-stopping smile. "Hey there," he said. "Hope this is okay, all the other rooms are taken. I brought your bag up here with me," he gestured towards where he'd left it on the bed.

"I could've brought my bag up, but thank you, Dean," you replied, returning his smile.

"It's all right, I didn't mind," he said with a grin.

The room itself was decent-sized, with a 6-drawer dresser and a flat screen TV on top of it. There was a small closet for hanging things. All in all, it was a lovely room, except for one glaring detail. One bed. Queen-sized, with nightstands and lamps on either side, but only one bed. Relax, you told yourself. This is just like when we used to share a motel bed. Nothing happened then, right? Ugh, you inwardly groaned.

"I saved the left-hand drawers on the dresser for you, so you can put your clothes away if you want. Since I'm finished, I'll leave you to sort through your stuff and arrange it how you like it. See you downstairs, sweetheart," Dean kissed your temple as he left the room.

When you finished unpacking and made your way down the stairs, you were stunned to see a slim, blonde woman fiercely hugging Dean. As you continued your descent, you saw her look up and point out to Dean that there was mistletoe hanging in the doorway. She reached up on tiptoes and locked her lips with Dean, who seemed to return her kiss. Your heart dropped down to your stomach, as you made a beeline for the kitchen.

Mask in place, you retrieved a beer from the fridge and stood next to Sam. He must have seen through your attempt at hiding your feelings, because he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "That's Jo Harvelle, Ellen's daughter. We used to hunt with Jo and her mom awhile back, but it's been a long time," he remarked. "Jo has always had this massive crush on Dean, but he's never expressed any interest," he quickly explained.

You shrugged. "Sam, I already know that you know. Besides, Dean and I are friends. Whoever he chooses to be in a relationship with is his business, not mine. No matter what, all I've ever wanted for him is to be happy. Excuse me," you remarked.

Sam watched as you brushed past Dean and Jo without looking at either one of them. Then you took a seat on the couch next to Charlie and folded your arms across your chest.

What you didn't notice was how Dean's eyes followed you as you walked around the room. He frowned a bit when he saw you try to discreetly wipe the tears before they could leak from your eyes. He wondered what had recently happened to cause you to be so upset and made a note to himself to ask you about it later.

"So, which room is mine?" Jo chirped.

"All of the rooms are taken, but there's an extra bunk in Claire's room," Donna interjected. Jo's face fell a bit as Claire rolled her eyes. Claire could see what was going on between you and Dean, and hoped this was your chance at happiness. She was less than thrilled about sharing a room with Jo and didn't want to see her come between you and Dean.

"Okay! Who's up for some pizza for dinner?" Jody called.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After dinner, some in the group decided to play some games. Jo, of course, made sure that she ended up on Dean's team. She maneuvered herself to sit extra close to Dean, grab his hand, ask if she could share his drink, anything to get his attention.

You declined to participate, settling in to watch a movie with Charlie instead. Every once in a while, Dean's eyes flitted over to you as you tried to concentrate on the movie. He still had not yet had a chance to talk to you about what may be bothering you.

"What is that girl's problem, anyway?" Charlie hissed.

"I don't know, Charlie, but I'm not going to stress out about it," you hissed back.

"She's practically in Dean's lap! She's stealing your man and you're not going to do anything about it??" she whispered.

"Okay, number one, he's not my man. And 'B', if Dean's happy, you know that's all that matters to me," you finished in a small voice. Charlie rolled her eyes, clearly not liking the situation with Dean and Jo.

Another hour passed, and the game players decided to call it quits. Charlie had long given up on the movie, since you had fallen asleep to it. Jo asked Dean if he was going to bed yet, but he said he was going to watch the end of the movie with you. Jo rolled her eyes and made a noise of disgust, then tromped up the stairs to her room with Claire.

Dean carefully moved your legs so he could sit down on the middle cushion of the couch. While the movie played, he studied your sleeping form. He brushed a lock of hair from your forehead with his index finger, then traced a line down your cheek. Your pink lips were slightly parted as you slept.

For a fleeting moment, he wondered what it would be like to kiss you. Dean knew that if he did, he would find out for sure if your lips were as soft as they appeared to be. He trailed his hands up and down your legs in his lap as he watched the rest of the movie.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When you woke up the next morning, you weren't on the couch anymore, you were in your room. You looked down and saw Dean's arm draped around your midsection, holding your back close to his chest. The more you tried to extract yourself, the closer he held you against his firm and muscular body. "G'morning, sweetheart," he murmured as he kissed the back of your neck.

His kiss caused a hitch in your breathing and zinged straight to your core. "Good morning, Dean," you managed to get out. You turned over to face him. "Um, Dean? How did I get back up here? Last I remember I was watching a movie with Charlie on the couch," you mentioned.

"Mmm, I brought you back upstairs and put you in bed," Dean mumbled. "You smelled so good, I just had to snuggle up right next to you," he explained. Sitting up on his elbow, he tried to give you a serious look. "Don't tell anybody, though. I have a reputation to uphold," he winked, which caused you to giggle.

"Your secret is safe with me. I certainly don't mind," you replied. Dean's arm tightened around you a bit more in response. Eventually, though, he relaxed enough that you could extract yourself so you could shower and get dressed.

A little later, Dean met you in the kitchen, where he assisted you in making French Toast with sausage links. You worked easily with Dean, occasionally bumping hips with each other and laughing. While waiting for the food to get done, Dean hooked his arm around your neck from behind, a contented smile on his lips.

When you sat next to Dean at the breakfast table, your knees accidentally touched. This caused a furious blush to color your cheeks and a jolt of electricity to shoot through you. You cast a sidelong glance at Dean, who had a sly smile on his face. You had no idea what changed for Dean to pay more attention to you. For now, you were just going with the flow to see where it would lead.

After breakfast, everyone took separate cars to town for some Christmas decorations. You rode in the Impala with Dean, but were relegated to the back seat as Jo claimed shotgun. She seemed to be extremely unhappy about all the attention that Dean was paying to you.

In the shop, she stuck like glue to Dean's side the entire time, overly excited at the smallest things. Dean seemed to take it in stride, oblivious to her flirting and fawning all over him. You didn't want any part of that, so you wandered around on your own. You picked up some small gifts here and there, along with some candy to fill everyone's stocking.

You were perusing the individual ornaments when you smelled a woodsy cologne behind you that could only be Dean. You smiled as he placed his hands on your shoulders, then he dropped them to your hips. "Hey, sweetheart, whatcha looking at?" he asked.

You leaned back against his chest. "Pick one," you said simply, gesturing with your hand at the display.

"What?" he asked.

"Pick one, pick an ornament to hang on the tree," you explained.

He reviewed the selection and chose a snowman with an electric guitar in its twig hands. "This one," he replied with a grin.

"Perfect," you said, returning his grin. "This will be your ornament, now and forever. When we get back to the lodge, I'll--" you were cut off.

"Dean!" Jo interrupted. "There you are! I'm bored, can you bring the car around to take me back to the lodge?" she whined.

"Yeah, sure. See you outside," he mumbled. He gave you an apologetic smile and squeezed your hand before leaving the store to get the Impala.

As soon as Dean left the store, Jo turned on you. "Listen. I don't know what you think you're doing, but you'd better stay away from Dean. He's MINE. He's not interested in you, so if you know what's good for you, you'll back off," she hissed. Then she turned on her heel and walked towards the front of the store.

You paid for your purchases, but were dismayed to find that you had been left behind. You felt in your pockets and realized with a groan that your phone was sitting on the dresser at the lodge. Good thing you wore your winter coat and good boots, because it was a long walk back.

By the time you returned to the lodge, you were shivering from the cold. It had started to snow on your way back, so your hair and coat were wet from the melting snow. You were taking your boots off when Jody noticed your condition. "Where have you been?? We've been looking all over for you! Oh my god, what happened?" she asked.

Through your chattering teeth, you told her how Jo had asked Dean to bring the car around to take her back. You left out the part where Jo told you to stay away from Dean. You explained that after you were done shopping, you went outside but didn't see anyone else's car. You had forgotten your phone, so you had to walk back. Jody brought you into the living room and sat you directly in front of the fire.

Dean was walking back from the kitchen when he saw you sitting near the fire but shivering from the cold. "Sweetheart, what happened?" he asked as he rushed over to your side.

"She walked back from town, and it started snowing on the way. Damn lucky she didn't get frostbite or something," Jody muttered.

"You walked?? Honey, why didn't you call? I would've picked you up," he remarked, taking you into his arms.

"L-l-left my ph-phone up-up-upstairs. W-won't d-d-do th-that a-again," you chattered.

Dean turned around and glared at Jo. "You told me she came back early with someone else and was upstairs taking a nap!" he snapped.

"I did think she came back with somebody else, Dean, I swear!" Jo replied, an innocent look on her face.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Come on, let's get you out of these wet clothes and into some dry ones," he soothed as he led you upstairs to your shared room.

Sam waited until you and Dean were all the way up the stairs before addressing Jo. "She could've been seriously hurt, you know. That was a lame stunt you pulled. You need to let go of the past, Jo. Dean doesn't have the same feelings for you that you have for him. Besides, I'm pretty sure he's interested in someone else," Sam smirked.

Jo crossed her arms in response, glaring back at Sam. "We'll see about that," she muttered under her breath.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Upstairs, Dean got out some dry clothes for you to change into. From your side of the dresser, he pulled a hoodie with AC/DC on it, recognizing it as his own. "Hey! So that's where this went," he chuckled. "You stole my hoodie!" he joked.

"I'm sorry, you can have it back if you want," you said quickly.

"No, no, it's okay sweetheart. I've just been wondering where it was. I'm glad it's been in such good hands, 'cause it's one of my favorites," he responded.

You took a pair of sweatpants out of the drawer and went into the bathroom to change, leaving the door open a crack. "I know, that's why I borrowed it," you replied, then pulled the hoodie over your head. "I like that it smells like you." You immediately clapped a hand over your mouth and squeezed your eyes shut, knowing you'd said too much.

Dean looked up in surprise, arching one eyebrow. He recovered his composure and walked over to you slowly, almost like a jungle cat stalking its prey. "Really? Is that the only reason, baby?" he asked softly, tracing down your arm with the back of his hand. All you could do is shake your head in response, the power of speech thrown completely out the window.

He took a step closer to you, hooked an arm around you to pull you back into the bedroom. Then he buried his nose in your hair and inhaled deeply. "Mmm. And you smell like strawberries. My favorite," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. You weren't sure how much more you could take before your knees completely gave out from under you.

"I have to tell you something, sweetheart. For a while now, I've been having these....thoughts and feelings about you," he said. "If I'm not mistaken, I think you've been having some about me too, hmm?" he asked as he nuzzled your neck.

"Yes," you whispered. Somehow your brain re-engaged, and you brought your hands up to cradle his face. You looked straight into those emerald orbs of his to see love staring back at you. You gently guided him towards you until your lips met in a sweet, tender kiss. His arms wrapped around you and pulled you close to his chest, then he dove back in for another taste.

"So beautiful," he murmured.

"Dean," you whispered, as each kiss became more intense, more passionate than the one before.

He pulled back so you both could catch your breath. "My love, if we don't stop now, I won't be able to. I want this with you, but I also want to take our time. And definitely not here, where everyone's watching every move we make," he remarked, causing you both to chuckle.

"Okay, let me finish changing, and we'll go back downstairs," you agreed. Dean hung your wet clothes over the bathtub while you put on dry ones. When you finished, he held out his hand, which you gladly took in yours, intertwining your fingers. "Shall we?" he asked, kissing the back of your hand. You nodded and you went back to rejoin the group.

When you got back downstairs, you noticed that Castiel and Jack had arrived. You exchanged hugs with them, then Eileen tugged on your sweatshirt sleeve. She looked at you expectantly and you signed that your secret about Dean was out, and that the two of you had kissed. A huge grin broke out over her face as she pulled you into a hug.

You stood with her while Sam and Dean were talking among themselves. During their conversation, you saw Sam clap his brother's shoulder in congratulations. "Finally! It's about time," you heard him say. Dean caught your eye, smiled then winked. You and Eileen looked at each other, then sauntered over to the brothers, each of you claiming the one you loved.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Decorating the tree took the better part of the next two hours. You and Dean were in charge of the popcorn and cranberry garland. You were certain that more popcorn ended up in your stomachs or thrown at each other than on the string. Sam, Jack and Cas untangled the lights, while Jody and Donna talked about where to put what ornament. Jo, on the other hand, sat sulking in the corner, glaring daggers at you and Dean the entire time.

You remembered the ornament you bought for Dean in town. You wanted to show him one of your family traditions concerning tree decorations.

"Now, what you do with your ornament, is you write your name and the year on it. That way, you'll know when you got it and that it's yours," you explained.

"But you didn't get one for yourself," Dean remarked.

"I should've brought it, but I have a box back at the bunker with all of my childhood ornaments in it," you replied. By now, everyone was listening to your story. "My grandmother would give me a new ornament every year, with my name and the year written on it.

"By the time I left home, I had so many ornaments, it was hard to find a place for them all on my first tree. I've picked up some new ones over the years, making sure to label them all the same way she did. Helps me not to miss her so much," you said.

You looked around, and there wasn't a dry eye in the house. "Hey, this is a happy occasion! Let's crank up the music and get the eggnog flowing!" you exclaimed. Your friends returned to their decorating duties, like stringing up the lights and hanging ornaments.

Dean pulled you into his arms and delivered a slow, luxurious kiss. "Mmm, looking forward to more of that, Mr. Winchester," you hummed.

"There's certainly more where that came from, Baby," he replied as he closed his eyes and swayed you in his embrace. As daytime gave way to evening, you and Dean were cuddled together by the fireside, drinking mulled wine. That night, you slept peacefully, locked in the arms of the man you loved.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You and Dean woke early, and took over the kitchen to make breakfast for everyone. The two of you made three different kinds of muffins to go with the multiple pots of coffee. Everyone raved about the banana chocolate chip and blueberry muffins. Dean especially loved the apple cinnamon muffins, saying they tasted exactly like homemade pie.

Later in the day, you noticed that the wood supply near the fireplace was getting low. You put on your coat to trudge out to the woodpile and bring in some more logs. No one noticed as Jo followed you out the back door.

You saw Jo as you were filling up the wheelbarrow to transport the logs from the woodpile to the back door. "You should wear your coat if you're going to help, it's cold out here," you remarked warily.

"And you should stay away from Dean like I told you to. He's not in love with you like you think he is. Soon he'll get bored of you and come running back to me. Dean and I have a history, you know," she smirked.

"Yeah, and from what I understand it's ancient history. He's with me now, Jo. Maybe it's time you moved on," you said as you bent down to pick up another piece of wood.

Before you knew it, you were flat on your back in the snow with a sharp pain in your head. You reached up to the side of your head and your fingers came back with blood on them. Jo had a tree branch in her hand, which you had no doubt was responsible for your head wound.

"I think it's time for YOU to move on!!" Jo thundered as she stood over you. Black spots began to appear at the edges of your vision as you started to lose consciousness. Before you blacked out completely, you saw Jo walking back to the house, leaving you out in the cold.

Dean came down the stairs, freshly showered and asked if anyone had seen you. Everyone said they thought you were upstairs with him, but he said you weren't. Sam noticed that the wood supply had dwindled, so he put on his coat to get more wood. When he saw the scattered logs, he ran over to the woodpile. That's when Sam saw you laying in the snow, with blood trickling down your face.

Sam scooped you up in his arms and ran back to the house, calling out for his brother. Dean met him at the back door to open it, and was shocked to see you'd been hurt. "Let's take her upstairs and lay her on the bed. We need to get her warmed up, I have no idea how long she was out there laying in the snow," Dean instructed.

Once they had your coat off and tucked in under the blankets, Dean started to clean and examine your head wound. "Sweetheart, open your eyes for me. Open those beautiful hazel eyes for me, Baby. I need you to wake up and tell me what happened," he coaxed. "Please, I can't lose you, not right after we just found each other. I love you," he whispered. Dean pressed the back of your hand to his forehead as a few tears slipped free.

Dean sat next to you on the bed for the next couple of hours, holding your hand and waiting for you to wake up. Donna, Jody and everyone else at some point tried to get Dean to come down for something to eat. He refused to leave your side because he wanted to be there when you woke up. Around hour #3, your eyelids began to flutter and you awoke to see Dean's tear-stained face looking down at you. "Hey," you croaked.

"Hey, sweetheart, how are you?" Dean wondered as relief crossed his face. "For a minute there, I thought I'd almost lost you," he said hoarsely as he caressed your cheek.

"I'm okay, just a little sore," you answered.

"What happened?" Dean asked. You explained how you'd gone out for more wood and that someone had followed you out the back door. You mentioned the argument you had with Jo, that she had knocked you in the head with a tree branch. Dean bolted from his position on the bed next to you and strode purposefully to the door.

"Wait, Dean. Listen, I'm not saying I condone her actions, but I do understand. She's loved you for a long time, and it's hard for her to give up on that," you started.

"Yeah, well, she's going to have to, because I'm a one-woman kind of guy. Always have been, always will be," he said as he walked back to your side.

"As long as that one woman is me, I'm all for it," you smiled as he bent down and kissed you.

"Only you, sweetheart, only you. Be right back, I've got something to take care of," he replied with a wink.

Dean descended the stairs and walked up to Jo as she stood near the fireplace. "Pack your bags, you're leaving. If you do so quickly and quietly, I won't tell your mother what you've done. I know what happened out there at the woodpile," he started.

Jo stared at Dean in defiance. "I don't know what it is you think you know," she retorted.

By this time, everyone had moved in the living room to find out what was going on. "You attacked the woman I love, and left her laying in the snow with a bleeding head wound. All because you were jealous that I am in love with her and certainly not with you. As of right now, there's nothing between you and me. I don't even know if you'd call us friends anymore. Now. GO," Dean stated in a low voice.

Jo recognized the quiet fury in Dean's voice and decided not to push things any further than she already had. She gathered her things, got in her car and left the lodge. Dean explained to everyone what had happened. He mentioned that you had regained consciousness and would be okay. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief at Dean's announcement.

A little while later, you were feeling well enough to join everyone for dinner. Jody and Donna were making a huge pot of chili, but still needed to make the cornbread to go with it. You went into the kitchen to help, but they told you to go rest and shooed you out of the kitchen. You pouted for a few minutes then convinced Eileen to help you make the cornbread. You did the actual preparing, but she fetched the ingredients.

Sam and Dean watched as the loves of their lives worked side-by-side in the kitchen. Dean couldn't believe how lucky he was to be with you. He watched as you threw your head back in laughter at something that was said. It had been a long time since he'd seen you so relaxed, so comfortable. He was determined to give you more times like that, because he loved seeing you so happy.

After everyone else had gone to bed, you and Dean sat on the couch, your back leaning against his chest. One of his arms was around you, tucked under your chin, while the other was curled around your midsection. Holding hands, fingers intertwined, you let out a sigh of contentment.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Dean.

"Careful, that can be a loaded question," you replied, both of you chuckling. You turned to face Dean. "I'm thinking of how happy I am right this second. We're in this beautiful lodge, gorgeous Christmas tree, sitting beside a warm fireplace with the man I love. All my Christmas wishes granted, wrapped up in one package. I love you, Dean," you finished.

"I'm extremely fortunate to have you in my life," Dean murmured in your ear. "You are 'smart'-(kiss)-'beautiful'-(kiss)-'funny'-(kiss)-'and'-(kiss)-'MINE,' he remarked. He leaned down and gently nibbled at your earlobe with a soft growl, causing shivers to run through you. "I love you so much, sweetheart," Dean added. "Merry Christmas, Baby."

[watchtower-feed]

Criminal Lies

Anon: Could you write an angsty Dick Grayson one, where he finds out the group of villains he's been fighting is his s/o and her friends and he doesn't know what to do? Words: 1,800+

          "You know," Nightwing drawls out in the darkness, "we've got nothing but time. So how about you tell me exactly why your own crew would lock you up in here."

          You bite your bottom lip underneath your mask while your eyes widen and gaze down through the cutout holes. You're both sitting at the opposite ends of the small cell with half a foot between you. You try to make yourself smaller by clutching your knees close to your chest, trying to avoid any kind of physical contact with Bludhaven's hero, your enemy, your lover.

          Dick narrows his eyes at your every movement. He doesn't miss the way your fingers grasp harshly at your legs. "I can tell you're scared," he says softly and his eyes drop down, making you feel less invaded. "I don't know if that means you're afraid of me or if you're afraid of your friends. But I can't know for sure," he tries to get closer by slowly lifting open palm toward you, "if you don't talk to me."

          You're biting a little harder and you can feel your eyes watering. You bring your forehead down to rest on your knees, hiding yourself away from his gaze, his sympathy. "What good will that do?" you whisper and you hear your shaky voice echo in the small chamber. "Everything is ruined," you choke out. A sob lodging itself along your throat, making it so much harder to breathe.

          "Hey..." you can hear him scoot closer to you, dragging himself until the gap is gone and his feet are at the sides your hips. There's a pause as Dick tries to mull over what to say, "I'm not sure how to comfort a criminal, especially since I’m probably the reason why you're upset in the first place," he lets out a soft chuckle, trying to lighten the mood, because of course, what else could he have picked up from years of crime-fighting but the fact that criminals also have a morbid sense of humor.

          And honestly, that makes you more frustrated, the way he's still trying to make things better. You suddenly lift your head and confront him, "You didn't ruin it, Dick. I did."

          You watch as Dick's eyes widen under his domino mask. His mouth remains open as an inaudible gasp escapes him. Before he could deny his identity, you bite harder on your lips and then lift off your mask.

          "I lied to you," you whisper.

          You watch the recognition dawn on his face and notice how every facial muscle suddenly goes taut and how the muscles on his chest tense, making his clavicles pop out from underneath his suit. You shake your head as the tears escape you.

          "Y/N," he says with a voice constrained.

          It's suddenly harder to see him in the darkness and through the tears but it makes it easier for you to say your next words, "I'm so sorry, Dick. I'm so sorry. I wish I could say I had no choice but this has always been my choice." You harshly wipe away the tears and you can see him glaring now, eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed together into a fine line. It makes you choke.

          "You're a criminal," he states in the darkness but it hits you like a punch in the gut.

          You're sobbing now, "Yes, I'm a criminal." You turn away again, "I've been with them since I was just a kid, Dick. They're my family."

          He flinches at that. He tries to wrap his head around how you can call them your family, how you can associate yourself with their crimes, how his sweet and caring Y/N can possibly be apart of a group that has caused so much devastation in the city in the last few months.

          "If they're your family," he grits out through his teeth, "then why did they lock you up with me?" You keep away from him, afraid of seeing the hate you can already feel from the voice thundering from his chest. "Is this still part of your plan? Emotionally manipulate me into helping you get away with this--" he catches his breath and his next words come out in a lower tone, "Has these past few months been a part of some elaborate scheme?"

          You quickly raise your head and stare into his eyes because if there's one thing you'd want him to understand despite all of this is that your feelings are your own. "No." Even in the soft darkness, you can see the glossy water pooling around his eyes. "No, Dick. You were never part of the job. You're a happy accident." You take a breath because he has to know why you're in here, why all of this happened. "I didn't know who you really were. I really thought you were just some college graduate taking a gap year doing stupid part-time jobs," you try to laugh but it hurts, "so you won't have to rely on your trust fund. I didn't know you're Nightwing until..." you bite your lip and almost plead to never have to relive what happened.

          His eyes are still narrowed and his arms tense even when they're resting on his bent knees. "Until what?"

          His harsh tone makes you flinch and you take in a sharp breath, "Until they tried to kill you."

          You can still vividly see it. The way you and your crew towered over the unconscious Nightwing, a cut on the back of his head spilling blood on the warehouse floor. It was an opportunity too good to pass up. Derek, your captain and best friend, takes off his domino mask and you immediately catch your breath at the sight of Richard Grayson, your lover and one of Bruce Wayne's sons.

          You remember Stacy taking out her phone and tapping through to open her camera before you threw it across the room. Everyone's eyes turned to you and you can feel the heat around your cheeks.

          "What is it?" asks Derek and you can't face him. You can't face any of them because you're struggling with the next decision you need to make. Nightwing or your crew?

          Stacy glares at you and she's the first to put two and two together. She knows you're trying to choose but for her, there was never a choice to begin with. She unsheathes her knife and quickly bends down to Nightwing's head, but you're quicker and you thank any God listening that you reach her hand in time. You press your thumb under her pinky while the rest of your hand twists her palm until the knife falls to the floor. You pull her hand down and kick her in the face before you grab the knife.

          Through sheer instinct, you quickly turn around to face your next assailant. With the knife directed at his throat, Derek stares down at you without flinching as if he knows you won't do it, you can't do it. But you don't take the knife away.

          You narrow your eyes at him, "Nobody kills him."

          And so, despite, the harsh shouts from Stacy as she nurses a bloody nose, the rest of the crew decides to lock you both up in the small cell underneath the warehouse.

            You lay his head on your lap and use the medicine kit Derek left you to tend to his wound. You’re finishing the wrap around his head. There’s a pile of bloody gauzes by your side. You were brushing his hair back and talking to him in soothing voices, begging that everything will be okay.

             You put his mask back on when you were done. Then you laid him on the other side of the cell and waited until he woke up.

          It's quiet in the cell now. You've finally stopped sobbing and Dick has been pressing his lips together to keep himself from saying anything because at this point what's there to say? Thank you for saving my life even though it was in danger because of you and your messed up makeshift family anyway?

             But who was he to judge? His family was no better.

          Just to break the irritable silence, Dick opened his mouth to say something but suddenly, light flooded the room and you were too busy covering your eyes from getting hurt. A small figure towers over you from the top of the cell. He clicks his tongue at the sight of the two of you and calls down, "Were you even planning on letting yourself out or not?"

          After climbing out of the cell, you notice that the warehouse is stripped clean of your loot and any trace of your family is gone. You watch Nightwing reunite with the Batman, Red Hood, and Red Robin. You hear a sound behind you and notice you're hands are cuffed together behind your back. Robin clicks his tongue and you can see his eyes narrow behind his domino mask.

          "Robin, leave her," Batman orders. His voice and demeanor are more intimidating in person. "The police are on their way. If she runs, she won't make it very far."

          Red Hood has been narrowing his eyes at you and suddenly widens his gaze, "Isn't that--"

          "Let's go," Batman turns around to face him and it's enough to stop him and snarl at the Bat.

          Robin leaves you to head towards them and you sink to the floor as the tears come back. You shake your head, willing yourself to not think about the last 24 hours and how such a near-perfect life could've turned so dark with a single moment, a single revelation--

          Your thoughts are broken by the familiar arm that wraps around your waist and lifts you off the floor. "She can help us," he says to Batman whose jaw is completely lax. "We can track down the Shadow Thieves a lot faster with her help."

          "What makes you think she'll help us," it was Robin that answers him, asking the very same question on everyone's minds, including yours.

        �� "Dick," you whisper, pleading "Don’t put me in that position. I don't know if I--"

          "Y/N," he cuts you off, "it's the least you could, don't you think?" It comes out harsh and it makes you cast your eyes down. Dick instantly regrets it but doesn't take it back. Instead, he sighs and softens his voice, "They're in danger. Your crew doesn't exactly know who they stole from and if we don't get to them first, they're going to be slaughtered."

          You flinch. You lean into Dick as you find your knees suddenly shaking at the idea of your family tortured and butchered. "Wh-who?"

          "The Joker."

          "Fuck," and that's all you can say because big-time criminals in Gotham was always supposed to be off your radar. Especially someone as unstable and unpredictable as the Joker.

          They were supposed to be careful and made sure they didn't cross boundaries because when it comes to the big villains in Gotham, there are no second chances and prison would be salvation. "I'll help," you say loudly, turning everyone's attention to you. "Whatever it takes, I'll help you find my crew."

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

[shedreamsofstars]

the secrets that make and break us - chapter one

“I can’t do it anymore Ladybug,” he said bluntly, running a finger absentmindedly over his ring. “Do what?” “Keep the truth from you. I won’t stand back and let the secret of our identities ruin us.”

With his already strenuous relationship with his father in ruins, Adrien has had enough of secrets tearing people away from him. Fearing the same will happen with Ladybug, he resolves to reveal himself to keep them from meeting the same fate.

...xxx...

Secrets tore people apart.

Adrien Agreste knew that better than most.

They dug under your skin and festered beneath the surface, rearing their ugly heads at the worst possible moments. Like the one when he'd discovered that his father had been more than just the antagonist in his personal life.

It had been stroke of luck that Hawk Moth had not noticed Chat Noir's advance. He was distracted by Ladybug purifying an Akuma and this alone had allowed him to execute a close-range attack. The hand of fate had guided his staff right towards the man's chest, knocking him off his feet and the Miraculous right off his coat.

It clattered to the rooftop beside him, leaving behind a scrambling man Chat knew all too well. Or hardly at all, as the situation would have it.

It should have been the ground-breaking moment that finally gave Paris' heroes the upper hand – knowing Hawk Moth's identity meant they were closer one step closer to retrieving the Butterfly Miraculous and saving Nooroo.

But all Adrien felt was the ground shifting violently beneath his feet as his world rearranged into something unfamiliar before his very eyes. His ears filled with white noise, drowning him in a deafening reprise as he tried to make some sense of why his father was snatching up the Miraculous and disappearing in a cloud of white Akuma's.

He knew Ladybug was talking at him, but even her voice couldn't break through to him as he stared blankly at her lips, trying to figure out the words they were forming. He was losing his balance, the world teetering from side to side until Ladybug's hand rested firmly on his shoulder.

Her touch steadied him – it was likely the only thing that kept him from slipping and plummeting from the rooftop down into the traffic below.

Adrien didn't return home that night.

Nino had been confused by the last-minute request, but he had been more than happy to let him stay the night. He'd have to deal with Gabriel and Nathalie's wrath in the morning but getting some time away from his father was worth it.

Besides, what could his father do that was worse than him terrorising Paris?

As Chat perched on the top of a brick chimney scanning the city skyline, he wondered what Ladybug had made of the whole situation. It had been a week since they'd discovered that Gabriel Agreste was Hawk Moth, and he hadn't seen the girl since.

Looking out over the familiar city, it seemed that everything was the same on the outside. People still traversed the Champs Elysée with joy and the Eiffel Tower still glittered on the hour.

It was the same on the outside, but his world on the inside couldn't have looked more different as he traversed the Parisian rooftops nightly, flitting from one place to the next with an ease that bordered on deliberate carelessness.

Adrien had never gotten along well with his father, that was a well-established fact in the Agreste household. But that didn't mean that he didn't want to. In fact, it had been one of the only things he had wanted for years. To have his father understand him, to have him see him more than just a tool to exploit and further his business reach.

But there was no hope of that now.

Not when Adrien had spent the better past of the week avoiding the man at every opportunity he could. Whenever he was forced into his company, Adrien had done nothing but seethe with quiet anger and loathing at the man that sat before him, so calm and carefree.

How could his father live knowing that he was the cause of so much hurt? How could he be so unaffected by everything around him. He didn't even seem worried that Paris' two superheroes now knew his identity and could reveal his darkest secret at any moment.

What kind of man-

"Chat Noir!"

The boy spun at the sound of Ladybug's voice, his anger cooling a little at her very presence. His heart slammed wildly in his chest as he caught sight of a flash of red to his side, turning just in time to see the girl land gracefully on the rooftop below him.

"Milady," he responded with a light air he didn't quite feel as he hopped down to join her. Instinctively, he reached for her hand and bowed low, letting his lips brush against her knuckles. He held onto her fingers a beat longer than was proper, but if she noticed at all, Ladybug didn't comment on it.

"I got your message Chat. Is everything okay?" she asked, her dark hair glistening in the setting sun.

"No, actually …"

"Hawk Moth?" she interrupted, glancing around as if there was some imminent danger present. She swung her yo-yo defensively, the sound of it cutting through the air sharp and dangerous as she spun to face him again.

"No," he responded. "It's not him, but it's about him."

"Oh," Ladybug said quietly, letting her yo-yo fall slack in her fingers. She was silent a moment, tilting her head as if to try and figure out what he wanted to say. Even as conflicted as he was on the inside, he couldn't help but notice how adorable she looked right then.

"You … you saw who he was," Chat said simply, dropping down to the ground and leaning against the brick wall behind him.

Ladybug nodded. "Yes," she replied softly. "We both did."

"But you haven't told anyone."

Adrien had expected his public life to implode just as much as his internal one at the revelation that his father was a criminal mastermind, but the news channels had been nothing but crickets. Ladybug had remained silent, and he didn't know whether to be grateful or not.

"No. I don't know what to do with that information yet." she said, taking a seat beside him.

"Why not? What's stopping you from going straight to Nadia or literally any other reporter?"

She sighed, fiddling with her fingers in that nervous way of hers. It always reminded him of something, but he could never place what. "It's difficult to explain but, exposing him could hurt someone I care about."

"… Adrien?" he asked cautiously.

Ladybug looked surprised but nodded. "Among others, yes."

A thick silence settled around them just as Chat realised he was out of time. The small talk was done. He had called Ladybug here for a reason, one he had refused to tell even Plagg, and now it was time to follow through

He took a deep breath and turned to the girl beside him. "I can't do it anymore Ladybug," he said bluntly, running a finger absentmindedly over his ring.

"Do what?"

"Keep the truth from you. I won't stand back and let the secret of our identities ruin us," he said, repeating the words he'd been practicing inside his head all week.

"Chat, what do you mean? We can't reveal ourselves - you know that. It's dangerous, and we could-"

"I don't care anymore. I thought that I'd be able to know him someday, you know?" Chat said, his green eyes glassy as all the pain and hurt at his father's betrayal caught up to him.

Talking to Plagg had been one thing, but to actually voice the words he'd been feeling inside was harder than he had ever expected. Even still, he pushed on, knowing that there was no going back now.

"I wanted us to understand each other and have something real between us. But his lies were always more important. They kept us apart and now he's so far gone I can never reach or forgive him."

Ladybug reached for his hands, and a part of him wondered if she was doing it to keep him from slipping his ring off. Not that it mattered anyway. They both knew that he didn't have tor remove his Miraculous - there were other ways for him to achieve his goal.

"Chat," she said, her voice full of concern. "Who are you talking about?"

"My dad," he choked out. "We've been fighting Hawk Moth, but it's been him this whole time and I never knew. The secrets kept us apart and I can't do it anymore."

Ladybug's eyes went wide as the pieces began to fall into place. "Chat, stop talking-"

"No Ladybug! I don't want us to end up like him – so deluded by ourselves that we can't even tell the difference between right and wrong. That we can't even trust one another."

"We won't Chat. I'll always trust you; you never need to worry about that," she said, but there was a flicker of doubt in her blue eyes and he caught onto it instantly.

"You don't believe that. Our secrets will come back to haunt us one day," he said, voice defeated. "Forgive me Ladybug, but I can't let that happen."

Chat knew the exact moment Ladybug figured out what he was about to do. She lifted her fingers to cover his lips, as if she could somehow stop his words escaping if she could just reach him in time, but she was too slow.

"Plagg, claws in!"

She sat transfixed in horror, hand still outstretched as Chat's mask and suit began to disintegrate in front of her. She screwed her eyes shut tight, but by then the damage had already been done. She'd seen who he was underneath, who he always had been.

She knew that Chat Noir and Adrien Agreste were one and the same.

It was a relief to have another person know the truth if he was honest. A cold and welcoming relief. Like he had spent the longest time tied with invisible bonds, and now that they were gone he could move easily again, without restraint.

It felt like he had finally set himself free.

Adrien risked a glance towards Ladybug, but she had turned away from him. "Ladybug," he whispered, placing a gentle hand against her shoulder and urging her to face him. Now that he no longer had to hide himself from her, everything would be easier. If he could just explain to himself to her, she'd see that too.

"Ladybug, please look at me," he said again. She resisted at first, but she could only hold out for so long. As she turned back to him, all the elation he had felt at revealing himself vanished the moment he caught sight of her tear stained cheeks.

"Ladybug, you're crying," he said, tone filled with alarm. He leaned in towards her to wipe at the tears, but she swatted his hands away angrily. She jumped away from his touch and pushed herself to her feet, sniffling softly.

"Chat … what have you done?"

...xxx...

full disclosure, i have no idea where this is going, i'm just along for the ride lol. this started off as a fluff piece believe it or not, but it accidentally turned into this angsty mess. 

i've never written for these two before, so i don't feel like i have their voices down just yet, but hopefully i'll get better at that. thanks so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed. feel free to let me know your thoughts if you have the time

[alkhale]

Lost and Found (Jason Todd x Reader) Ko-fi Request

JASON TODD x new fledging superhero female OC plssssss

I wanted to try to make this one as open as possible because I wanted to give more free reign over the imagination of the hero’s occupation as a hero, but hopefully these work for you! Always love writing for this beautiful, beautiful boy :’)

THE BACKGROUND:

- You have a very interesting choice for occupation as a so-called “hero”

- Within the scope of that title, many brave men and women under that profession might not exactly consider you to be on their… level, per say. Several very, very big names have become only a bit or vaguely aware of your new, bustling presence in Bludhaven, apparently making quick time and moving all the way to Star City or popping up in Metropolis in a single night.

- Villains don’t really know what to do with you. They most leave you alone, to be honest, because they have a feeling dealing with you is just a headache. The only villains that really have any beef with you are big time thieves, and Cat Woman is not happy about your new rising popularity but she’s still staying off your radars for now. (You’re working on her)

- Most heroes advise you to stay home, they’re the ones giving you the most trouble. Small run-ins have them instructing you to go ahead and give up this line of work and perhaps join a local law enforcement or help-group, they think it’s much better for you.

- You, however, are determined, and you’re rather set on doing what you feel is truly your happiest calling.

Jason Todd, currently donning the sleek, reinforced metal of Red Hood’s mask, gave the drug dealer one last good kick to the ribs, listening for the satisfying crack of a few that promised he wasn’t getting up or going anywhere anytime soon.

Goons littered the hallways, their blood spilling over across the walls. The acrid smell of cigars snubbed out by their own fluids flooded the deserted motel hallways. Car lights were punched out in the front of the parking lot of the cheap, off-the-highway motel they’d been hiding out at like a pack of rats. It hadn’t been hard for him to find them, to be honest, a much easier job tonight more than anything. Jason was just a bit pissed off so he let off more steam than usual.

Jason tapped one gun against the side of his mask, a light little thump thump as he set his hand on his hip, surveying his work. He’d dump the cash in a fucking river. It was blood money and he had better things to do then get his hands on it. He’d rather just break another ATM. Fuck, I’m still pissed off. I should get Thai tonight.

Normally, Jason had a very nice, selective choice of arsenal on his person. Guns he’d tuned up and had tricked out. Nice, pretty things that never failed him. Classic knives, the works, he liked having options. 

Jason let out an aggravated sigh, muffled through his mask. He scowled, kicking another limp body for emphasis and turning, wiping some blood off the corner of his jacket. 

His fucking problem was that one of his pretty, nice little guns was missing. Gone. Lost. He was one hundred-fucking-percent sure it was his last job in Bludhaven after tangling up with Dickie Bird and having to scram before he received any kind of dark tongue lashing from Bats or the Demon Spawn pulled some sick shit like pulling Alfred up on speaker again to discuss his misdemeanors. Like the little shit can talk. Jason had come scrounging back, searching through the dockyard left and right for his gun and found nothing. Nada. 

He really liked that gun too.

Have to put in an order for a new one. Jason rubbed the top of his mask, hooking his fingers to prepare taking it off. What a pain. Thai it is. I’m starving—

“Hi! Excuse me, but is this your gun?”

Jason stopped.

It took him a second to process what he was seeing. Only a second, because he sensed no blood thirst or killing intent—he still cocked his gun and pointed it at the newcomer without a single hesitation though because what the hell, right?—and he needed that good second because even quick footed, always adaptable, always moving Jason needed that fat second to understand what the fuck was in front of him.

Halfway through what appeared to be some kind of… portal? It was the weirdest fucking portal he’d ever seen and he’d seen some weird fucking portals. A bright yellow, piss yellow, stretching in a warped, warbling kind of flame in the middle of the air, as though cutting straight through dimensions. Jason could get a peek of something behind. A city? He sniffed the air. A dock?

In the middle of the portal, with one, combat booted foot out, was a slender leg covered in black tights. Black tights led to a black fitted top that was clad by a… a construction vest? A neon green construction vest. Over her face—he assumed her because of the body and hair, but who the hell was he to know, right?—was a weird mask of a man, like some kind of religious figure, covering her entire face. Her hair was pulled back into two buns on either side of her head.

In one bare hand, held out to him by this new person in the middle of a piss yellow portal, was his gun.

Jason stared.

“Sorry, I know, this must look strange, right?” you quickly apologized, stepping fully out of the portal. It disappeared and you now stood before him, mask and stupid construction vest and his gun. “Here! This should be yours unless…”

You trailed off, mask looking pointedly at the bodies scattered around them. “Oh, unless it’s one of these guys’s. Sorry about that.”

“What the fuck?” Jason said, rough through his mask. He still had the gun pointed at you.

You beamed behind your own. “I come in peace! Just trying to return this. Found it in the dock by… Fifth? It was glowing, so that meant someone was looking for it—”

“Hold on,” Jason waved his gun at you for emphasis. You nodded at it, waving his gun back. Jason almost laughed. Who the fuck is this clown? “I’ll ask you two questions. Just two. Depending how you answer, I’m going to shoot you, got it?”

“Oh,” you said, sounding a bit sullen. You glanced at your watch. “Will this take long? I have two more deliveries.”

“No,” Jason said. “Depending on how you answer.”

“...okay, shoot,” you said. You paused, quickly holding a hand when Jason raised his gun. “Sorry, I meant figuratively, please. Ask the questions.”

Jason cocked his masked head to the side. “Who the fuck are you. Why the fuck do you have my gun.”

“I feel like those weren’t phrased as questions—”

Jason shot at your feet. You yelped, jumping up. “Jeez! Is this what I get for doing a good deed? Saint Anthony! I’m Saint Anthony!”

“Yeah,” Jason said. “And I’m Jesus fucking Christ.”

Jason prepared to shoot your kneecap out and you squawked, tossing the gun his way. Jason quickly caught it, inspecting it for any damage before narrowing his eyes at you behind his mask. You wiped your hands off your pants like brushing off germs. 

“That’s my alias,” you said, tapping your mask, a pious man’s face printed over it. “Saint Anthony! You know, the patron saint of lost things? The guy you pray to when you lose shit?”

“Do I look like I pray?” Jason said, pointing his gun to the drug dealer whose brains he’d blasted out. You made a small noise, as though just noticing.

“Well, you never know. Met some strange folks who pray and still do some very questionable things—let’s not get hasty!” Jason put his gun down. “That’s my codename! Have to be careful with this hero business, you know. I felt like it fits because of my power.”

You pointed to his gun and it began to glow a soft piss yellow. Jason dropped it in disgust, pulling his other gun back up and getting ready to shoot you. “I can see what items are lost! If an item belongs to someone and they’re looking for it, it’ll glow and I can see it like that. Then I pick it up and it teleports me to whoever it belongs to.”

“What the fuck are you saying?” Jason said. “You’re a human lost and found?”

“Yes! But much more effective,” you reached into a sack you had strapped to your back, opening it up for him to see where several more objects were glowing a piss yellow. “I decided I should put my talents to use, so I go around returning lost objects. Everybody loses something once in a while, you know? The other day I found this strange looking little USB and it turned out it belonged to Lex Luthor’s secretary and oh, boy, that was a sticky situation when Mr. Superman came and—”

Jason shot at your feet again. You jumped, clutching the sack protectively to your chest. “What the hell was that for?”

“I just felt like it,” Jason said. He tucked his gun back into his strap and picked up his now found weapon, inspecting it curiously. “Weird fucking power, sweetheart.”

You shrugged in a what-can-you-do manner.

“You said you were a hero?”

“Oh, more of a good samaritan,” you said, waving a hand. “I’ve just been working with the police lately on stolen goods. Sometimes burglars are real clumsy and drop items, you know? Apparently night vision goggles are very expensive so they’re always looking for those.”

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. Jason watched you in idle interest, having a bit of fun with this interaction. Been a while since he met anyone so fucking weird. He kind of liked it.

“Anthony, huh?”

“Yes!” you slung your sack back over your shoulder, sticking out a hand to him. “It’s very nice to meet you…?”

Jason tapped his gun against your palm in greeting. He tucked it back into its holster, giving you a long look behind his mask. You stopped, cocking your head at him. “What?”

“No, it’s just…” you rubbed the back of your neck. “Ah, nothing really. If we’re all squared away here, you mind if I take off? I’ve still got this pair of chain cutters and this funny looking stone to deliver.”

“You ever worry you’re delivering it to some weird place?” Jason said. “Or to someone who, I dunno, might kill you?”

“Oh, all the time,” you said cheerfully. “But usually I can take care of myself.” Jason quirked a brow behind his mask. “But thank you for your concern! I’ll be off then, Mr. Red. Thanks for your cooperation!”

You grabbed the funny shaped rock from the bag, a piss yellow portal appearing in front of you. Jason watched wordlessly as you stepped halfway through before turning back to him, raising a small hand in a little wave.

“Live a good life, Mr. Red!” you waved harder. “If you ever lose anything again, I’ll be sure to look out for it!”

Jason offered a lazy wave back, kicking a goon in the head who’d started to rouse.

You curled your fingers into your palm. The portal began to swallow you whole and you watched behind your mask as Jason turned, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

You figured for this particular customer, perhaps it was better not to say he was glowing a very beautiful, very somber shade of yellow.

Looks like whoever lost you is looking very hard for you, Mr. Red.

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

In the Middle of a Gun Fight - Kobra Kid x Reader

Request: Hi!! I really like your writing and wanna make a request, Danger Days AU where the reader is a killjoy and reader and mikey are always arguing and don't get along and in the midst of battle confess they like each other ( gerard nd the others being super annoying and teasing lol sorry I'm bored) Warnings: blood, guns, violence, death, the whole Danger Days load as usual. Word count: 2 435 A/N: First story in the decade of the killjoys…

You did not know what annoyed you more, Kobra himself, or the fact that he seemed to enjoy annoying you. He was a damn good shot, always insisting on training you to get better, when he knew you would never get better than decent. He was a fucking genius when it came to self-defence, knowing his karate moves, or whatever it was he was kicking bad guys to the ground with. He was clever, really clever, knew all the technology stuff, knew how to fix broken electronics, and how to build new weapons from scratch. And the worst was that he was not even arrogant about any of these things.

Most of the time, Kobra sat in a corner of the diner, screwing around on a new weapon, kept to himself, and was quiet. Only when his brother or Fun Ghoul were around would he start talking and warming up. He was adorable when he started telling off his memories, when he recalled stories from before BLI had destroyed your lives. The excitement glistened in his eyes, big and full of life, and occasionally even a smile would pull on his dry and chapped lips.

You loved these moments. Not that you would ever admit this to anyone, especially not to yourself. And in the end you did not really know what it was that made you so angry about Kobra. Maybe the fact that deep inside you knew you liked him, more than you liked your other friends, in a way that was more than friendship; and you were so annoyed because you thought he could never feel the same. So bickering and fighting with him was easier than laying open your feelings. And it entertained the other three.

Party, Jet and Ghoul always had a good laugh when Kobra and you got into yet another heated argument. Sometimes it was about how he thought you had stolen his screwdriver, sometimes you were shouting at him to give you some space during training with the ray guns, or for kicking you too hard when he showed you some of the close combat moves. He got annoyed with you if you were not quick enough to tune the radio to the right frequency, but couldn’t have done it better himself either, and sometimes you just argued over the most idiotic things; over the weather, the new strategy of the Dracs, or PowerPup.

In fact hardly a day passed by without the rest of the Fabulous Killjoys hearing Kobra and you fighting about something. Over time it had even become one of their favourite parts of the day, being able to forget about their fate in the desert for a few minutes when they listened to the heated and completely illogical and irrational discussions you had.

But now they hardly noticed that Kobra and you were about to get into another fight; they were too busy avoiding the blazing rays from the Dracs’ guns that were directed at them.

“Touch me again, and I’ll-“

“You what?”

Challengingly you started Kobra in the face, who, equally challengingly, stared back.

“I’ll- Oh, shut up,” he hissed, turning around.

“Next time I’ll just let them run you over,” you barked, quickly hiding behind a huge rock, taking cover from two Dracs who were trying to ghost you. Just seconds prior you had pulled Kobra out of the way of a BLI car that had raced at him.

“I said: shut up,” Kobra hissed again.

“You both shut up!” Jet fell in the sand next to you, “safe your breath for the battle.”

And with that the tall Killjoy had already jumped up again, and made a run towards the closest Drac, tackling the enemy, and throwing it to the ground before shooting it.

You took a careful look out from behind your cover. The Trans AM was close by. If you could make it there, and get into the car, you could collect the others one by one, and hopefully outrun these white monsters with their ugly masks on a chase through the desert.

Taking another glance, you decided it was now or never.

Kobra saw you from the corner of his eyes, just in the same moment as he realised that the Drac that had come dangerously close to your hideout, had pulled the pin off a grenade. These creatures had absolutely no care for their own life. They would blow themselves up if it meant to take a Killjoy to death with them. And that was what this Drac was about to do.

Completely forgetting everything else, the sand that made running hard, the blasts of the ray guns around him, the shout of his brother, Kobra leapt forwards, just reaching you in time before the shock wave of the explosion threw him and you several meters through the air.

He was partially aware that he had blocked most of the splinters from the grenade with his body, effectively shielding you, and also that he now landed with almost his complete body weight on you. Kobra’s ears were ringing, and his back hurt badly from where the shockwave had hit him. Doubtlessly there were thousands of small metal pieces boring into his thick leather jacket, and his hands were burning from the way he had tried to lower the impact on you.

You, in contrary to Kobra, were not at all aware of what had happened. One moment you had started making a run for the car, the next you got thrown through the air, Kobra landing on top of you.

“Get off,” you hissed, not yet aware of what had happened.

Angrily you pushed Kobra away, but instead of getting to his feet, like usually, he rolled to the side groaning.

“Next time I’ll just let them blow you up,” he groaned, curling into himself.

All your anger and annoyance evaporated within a beat of your heart. Kobra was injured, badly, if he didn’t even get up anymore. Panic rose in you, and ignoring everything around you, just like Kobra had done seconds ago, you leant over him, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. Blood was running over his temple, and dripped into the sand.

“Kobra!”

Your voice was several octaves higher than usually, and you did not even care that the cry that left your lips was clearly full of worry.

“Great, rip my ear-drums, I’m not injured enough already,” Kobra coughed, and tried to sit up, but his pathetic attempt only resulted in his head forcefully bumping against the ground.

“Get up, come on,” you tried to encourage him, pulling helplessly on his arm, but he was too heavy, and made no attempt in moving, “hey asshole, come on!”

“Nah.”

Blood was rushing in your ears, as you took a closer look at the Killjoy. His face was pale, except for the blood that ran out from under his hairline, dyeing the blond locks red.

The sounds of the battle around you stepped into the background, and you fell to your knees again.

“Shit, come on, Kobra, don’t fucking do this, you coward,” you screamed at him, gently pushing your one hand to the back of his head, and lifting it up, using the other one to pull the sleeve of your shirt over your knuckles to dipping away the blood. “Fuck, come on!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Kobra’s voice was weak, and shaky as he answered, his eyes not quite focusing on your face. By now tears were streaming down your face, and dripped to his cheeks, leaving traces in the dirt and dust on your faces. “Oh no, little one, don’t cry.”

With all the force he could find, he managed to lift his hand up to your face, the backs of his fingers trying to wipe away the tears.

“Then don’t fucking die, you idiot!”

Your screams had decreased into sobs, and desperately you were cradling Kobra’s face in your hands, trying to get him to look at you. But he just coughed, his hand falling back next to him.

“Why not, I’d do you a favour, I suppose,” he mumbled, but he sounded bitter, instead of amused as you wanted him to sound.

“Because I love you, you dumbass, okay? And I can’t do this without you, so stop being so fucking selfish and just-“ you choked on your words, and helplessly you let your head fall to Kobra’s shoulder.

For a few moments he was quiet, but you could feel his heart beat against your chest, and his breath against your ear.

“Oh well,” he finally managed, “that does change a couple of things, actually.”

Before you were able to look up, to ask him what that meant, you got pulled away from him by strong hands. Immediately you reached for your ray gun, which you expected to find at your side, but you had lost it when the blast of the explosion had thrown your through the air. And luckily it was no Drac either who had grabbed you; it was Ghoul.

“Kobra?”

It was clear that Jet tried to keep his voice calm, as he fell to his knees next to Kobra and you, Party following him closely.

“Oh, I’m fine, just being overdramatic,” Kobra joked, and coughed up blood.

“You’re far from fine, get him to the car,” Jet ordered, and together with Party they picked up the injured Killjoy, leaving it to Ghoul to calm you down.

~*~

While you had been busy screaming and crying at and over Kobra, the other three had effectively taken care of the remaining Dracs, as Party explained to you while you were sitting in the diner. Jet had strictly forbidden both Party and you to enter the Kobra’s room, where he patched up the poor guy. Ghoul had been ordered to help Jet, and a couple of minutes ago he had appeared in the door, letting you know that Kobra would make it.

He had suffered a couple of bad wounds, mostly on his back where splinters from the grenade had cut through the jacket, and he had a bad concussion, but other than that he would be fine. Kobra’s inability to communicate properly or to coordinate his motions earlier on the battlefield were a result of the head injury, but Ghoul had said Kobra was already managing again. Still Jet would not allow you to see Kobra for several hours, and even Party was allowed to talk to him only shortly.

It was already in the middle of the night, the air outside had cooled down drastically from the heat of the day, and the sky was clear and filled with stars. You had fallen asleep with your head resting on the table in front of you, when someone tapped on your shoulder.

“He wants to talk to you.”

Slowly you sat up, brushing hair out of your eyes, and took a long look at Jet. He looked tired, worn out, but relieved. Blood was sprinkled over his clothes, and his nails were rimmed dark red, but other than that he looked like always.

“Go on, he’s been asking for you,” he encouraged, and slowly you got up, suddenly feeling sick.

Quietly you made your way through the dark diner, and to Kobra’s room, where you gently knocked on the door before entering.

A small lamp dimly lit up the room, spreading orange light, and painting long shadows over the walls. Kobra was lying in bed, on his side, one arm tucked under his head. Even in the bad light you saw his eyes sparkling.

“How are you?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that,” you asked back, hesitantly stopping by the door.

“You were pretty shaken up, if I remember correctly,” Kobra reminded you.

You just shrugged.

“Come here?”

Invitingly he patted the spot on the bed next to him, and slowly you walked over, not sure what he was up to.

“How are you feeling,” you finally managed to ask, not daring to sit down as you had been invited.

“Sore, mostly,” Kobra answered, “and confused, curious maybe.”

You already felt like turning around and walking out, not ready to be faced with what you had told him while you thought he was dying. But you did not, instead you just held his gaze.

“Did you mean it?”

“Would I lie to a dying man?”

“Well-“

You shook your head.

“I did. Okay? Happy now? Can we end this conversation?”

Much to your confusion Kobra started smiling.

“Oh no, we can’t,” he told you.

Fantastic how just a couple of hours ago he had been close to death, and now he already managed to annoy you beyond belief again. But before you had the chance to disagree, he had suddenly taken hold of your hand. Careful, but firmly, he pulled you closer until you had no other choice but to sit down on his bed next to him.

“Oh, I’m never gonna let this go, you conf-“

“You-“

“For other reasons than you might think!”

Kobra was still smiling mysteriously, obviously enjoy you being annoyed at him again.

“I’m bad with words, and worse with feelings, but…” slowly his smile faded and he looked serious again, “if I’m not gonna let you forget that it’s because it’s the one thing I’ve wanted to hear since I met you, the one thing that has kept me going all this time, the hope, no matter how unlikely, that you would one day feel that way for me, because I’ve loved you from the first-“

Kobra did not get to finish his sentence. Still overly confused and entirely uncertain if you were doing the right thing, you had leant down, and pressed your lips against his, desperate both to finally feel him close as well as to shut him up.

Kobra gasped quietly in surprise, and let go of your hand, placing his in your neck instead to pull you closer and closer, until he had successfully pulled you down into bed next to him, you following his lead hesitantly. But once you had settled next to him, you gave up all self-control, and scooted as closely to him as possible without pressing against his wounds.

In the room next doors, Party, Ghoul and Jet shook their heads, knowing what the sudden stop of your bickering meant. After all Kobra and you had been the only ones who had not known about the feelings the other was harbouring for you.

And while the sun slowly rose over the desert, you fell asleep, safely cuddled against Kobra.

Taglist (if you want to be added or taken off, please let me know):

General: @robinruns @justawriterinprogress @jayloverthe3rd @lookalivefrosty @butterfly-writes @angelevansfalls @rene-royale @500240

MCR: @deadlovers

[fanficimagery]

Imagine being someone who developed powers when you were just a mere child. The government rounded up every child/teenager who showed inhuman abilities under the guise they were going to help them, but the reality was much darker. Director Fury took you in when he realized your capabilities and couldn't let the government put you down. Instead, he hands you over to a group of individuals who can protect you- the Avengers.

Gen Fic X Reader

Sitting in the tallest Tower in New York, you pull your hoodie closed and hug yourself when the stares become too much. Keeping your head down, you let Director Fury talk to the group he claimed would be able to keep you safe- the Avengers.

"So let me get this straight," Tony Stark says, pouring himself a drink. "The government wants her dead. Her. A kid?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Natasha Romanoff asks.

"Lets just say Miss Y/L/N is a valuable asset." You cringe at his words, hugging yourself tighter. "She is of no harm to you so long as you don't touch her. She doesn't like to be touched." Fury pointedly admits. "The program Y/N was in is top secret. So secret that it was above even my clearance level until they wanted my opinion on something."

Clint Barton huffs. "She's just a kid though."

"I don't like this," Steve Rogers admits, expression tight with concealed anger.

"Neither did I," Fury says, "hence the reason for me springing her loose and dropping her off here. They're already searching for her, so I trust I can count on you all to keep her safe until I figure out my next move?"

"Of course," Pepper Potts tells him. "Y/N is more than welcomed here."

"Good." Director Fury nudges your knee with his own, you having become fascinated with your green clinical pants as they talked about you as if you weren't even in the room. "I'll be back for you as soon as I can. You're safe here."

You hesitantly meet his gaze and when you see nothing but complete honestly you nod. The corner of Fury's lips twitch, but he quickly masks it and stands, leaving with a dramatic twirl of his long coat.

Fury's exit prompts a lingering silence and it's only broken once you gather enough courage to look up and meet everyone's gaze. Everyone seems to be watching you with caution, but it's the pretty strawberry blonde, Miss Potts, that approaches you.

"Welcome to the Tower, Y/N. I'm terribly sorry about the ordeal you've been through, but if you follow me I can take you to your new room and get you settled in."

"T-Thank you," you stammer quietly. "All of you," you then say, glancing quickly around at everyone. "This means a lot to me." Your first words since you've set foot in the tower seem to put most of them at ease and it seems like they're all breathing a little easier.

"Hey, kid?" Tony then says. "Do you even know who we are? Did Fury tell you what we do?"

"Yeah. He m-made me read your files." Several people cringe and you immediately feel like you crossed an invisible line you hadn’t realized was there. "Don't worry. I won't say a w-word and I'll try to stay out of your way as much as p-possible."

"Aw, kid, no," Clint Barton frowns. "We didn't mean to make you feel bad. We just needed to know you knew about our abilities. Just in case."

"What he means is just in case the Hulk makes an appearance," Doctor Banner says, sheepishly fiddling with his glasses. "Things tend to get.. smashed when he comes out."

"Oh."

"Well now that that's out of the way," Pepper muses, "we can go now and get you some clothes made for kids your age." You hesitantly smile, but when Pepper reaches for you she immediately stalls and apologizes.

"It's f-fine," you tell her. "As long as it's not skin and skin, you can touch."

"Oh." Pepper cautiously reaches out and places her hand in the middle of your clothed covered back to guide you, and you flash her a small smile. She returns it, sighing in relief. "Well okay then."

A week in and you're completely gobsmacked with your new rooms and clothing Pepper Potts had bestowed upon you. The CEO of Stark Industries had even gone out of the way to purchase you cotton, elbow length gloves to make you feel more comfortable and you adored her for it.

The Avengers and those associated with them took Fury's words to heart and were careful about not touching skin when you wore a short sleeve shirt or a tank top with your gloves, but they never ceased being curious about why the government wanted you dead. Fury had told you to be careful with what you said, so you never said anything other than that you were an asset who didn't want to do their bidding.

Their personal gym proved to be useful and you found yourself visiting there more often than not. Running on the treadmills was one of your favorite things to do when you felt cooped up and taking a swing at the punching bags was a close second.

One day, however, things take a turn.

Punching one of the bags in the gym, you flinch when you feel a twinge in your left wrist. Hissing, you immediately stop and then startle when a voice says, "You need more tape."

A hand touches your bare bicep and you pull away with a gasp. When you turn around you see Bucky Barnes standing there, wide eyed and sheepish with his hands held up. Steve Rogers is at his side, frowning.

"I'm sorry," Bucky says. "I forget people are afraid of the metal."

When his words sink in, your gaze darts to his metal hand and.. and you realize you didn't see anything. Your own eyes subtly widen and you step forward in awe, feeling immensely guilty at his saddened expression. "No. I didn't- I-I'm sorry. I-" You reach out, stopping before you can touch him. "Can I?" You ask, then gesturing to his metal arm. "I didn't flinch because of that."

Bucky frowns and lowers his hands. "You didn't?"

"No." He hesitantly holds his hand out and you cautiously take his metal hand in your own, tears filling your eyes as you trail your fingertips over him. Sniffling, you let him go and wipe at your eyes.

"Y/N?" Steve says. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah.” Then laughing wetly, you say, "I don't mean to freak you guys out. It's just- well I haven't touched anyone since I was ten. It's.. nice." Suddenly feeling overwhelmed and idiotic under their pitying stares, you make an excuse to leave and flee the gym.

Later that night you're invited to movie night and go. And since you were in a tank top and pajama pants when Clint stopped by to drag you upstairs if need be, you merely pull on a pair of gloves before leaving for the communal floor. You take a seat on one of the available love seats and are momentarily shocked when Bucky asks to sit next to you. Usually everyone let you sit by yourself, but not tonight.

Just as snacks are being passed around, you feel Bucky nudge your knee with his own. Glancing at him, he shrugs his metal shoulder and grins, and when you realize what he's doing you smile at him. Taking off your gloves, much to everyone's surprise, you hesitantly scoot as close as you can to Bucky and practically hug his metal arm. You lay your cheek against his shoulder, snuggling in for the movie.

Tony gapes, Natasha grins, and Steve smothers his laughter by shoving popcorn in his mouth. The others stare briefly before just going with it and all seems to be forgotten for the time being.

After it seemed that you were more than comfortable to cuddle Bucky's arm, people made it a point to always seat Bucky to your right so his metal arm was right next to you. Tony was the only one who thought it was weird, but it gave you a sense of relief to be able to touch someone without being thrown into one of their memories.

But of course, secrets never remain a secret for long.

With Steve and Natasha away on a mission, Bucky found his way to your apartment. You had let him in and the two of you were going to start watching movies from a list he'd been compiling. And with how comfortable you and Bucky had become around each other, it's no shock that a mistake was made.

Bucky holds out two glasses of soda for you to take and you immediately reach for them without even realizing you don't have your gloves on. Your finger tips brush Bucky's flesh hand and your thrown into a memory of his. The memory is hazy around the edges and Bucky with shorter, cropped and styled hair can be seen panting heavily against a wall. His blue uniform is one from a different time and you watch as he leaves the safety of his hiding spot to engage in a fight. He uses Captain America's shield to deflect bullets being shot at him and then he's falling out the side of the train car. Steve jumps in to save him, but Bucky can't quite reach and then you watch in horror as he's falling, falling, falling..

You pull back from Bucky with a shout, soda splattering your feet and his. Bucky reaches for you as you bump into the couch, but you pull away, hugging yourself tightly and crying.

"Y/N? Shit. I'm sorry. I forgot-"

"You fell. You fell and Steve had to watch and oh my god. Oh my god, Bucky, you fell."

"What?"

Your babbling immediately ceases and when you glance up at Bucky you see he's gone pale. "I- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to see," you tell him. He still seems tense and you gulp down a sob. "It's why I don't like skin on skin contact. I see things I'm not supposed to."

Bucky takes a moment and then he seems to lose the tension in his frame. "So you see things? That's why the government wants you dead?"

Tersely nodding, you then gesture to the sofas in the lounge. "Can you stay so I can explain? I'll understand if you want to leave. It's just.. Fury cautioned me about who I tell this to."

"Yeah, kid, I'll stay. Just let me pick this up."

As Bucky cleans up the mess you'd made by dropping the glasses of soda, you take a seat on the sofa. Then picking up your feet, you bend your knees and hug your legs as you wait for Bucky to take a seat of his own. When's he's seated across from you, you finally explain what's going on. "Several years ago, there was this world wide phenomena where kids between the ages of five and seventeen suddenly inherited powers. Some kids died, others survived the event, and some weren't even affected."

"But you were?"

"I was. It happened on the night of my tenth birthday and the next day I was being picked up by the government and bused to a secret camp where they tested each and every one of us before separating us into factions- green, blue, gold, red, and orange. Reds and orange were considered lethal and to be killed on sight."

Bucky frowns. "When you first got here, you were wearing a green uniform."

You nod. "I was, but I wasn't supposed to be a green," you quietly admit. "When I realized what the doctor was going to do after he realized what my color was, there was a brief struggle before I got my hand around his wrist. It was like he froze and then I told him that I was safe. That I was green and he was going to change my status from orange to green. So he did. And I got away with it until Director Fury showed up and we were given new tests, and they figured out I was lying."

"What do the colors even mean?" He then wonders.

"Greens were the safest people, the ones whose ability was super intelligence. Blue had telekinesis and gold had electrokinesis. But reds usually became volatile what with their pyrokinesis. However, oranges such as myself, were considered the most dangerous."

"Why?"

"Because oranges can control the mind." Bucky tenses and you hug your legs tighter. You know his history with HYDRA and you figured he'd be the most uncomfortable with what you could do. "When my powers first manifested, I was laying in bed next to my mother. I told her to not worry about me, that everything would be okay and I touched her the exact moment my powers kicked in. The following morning my mother didn't even know who I was and called the government to pick me up because powered children had been all over the news for a couple months by then and she was scared."

"You told your mother not to worry.. and she woke up with no memory of a child to worry about. You erased yourself from her memory?"

"I did. I don't even know how I did it, but I did. There were rumors that oranges could do so much more with their powers, but the government had all oranges and reds killed so it's not like anyone knows for sure."

"Jesus Christ," Bucky mutters. Smoothing his flesh hand over his face, he then asks, "How did the government get away with rounding all of you up? How do they explain killing children?"

You shrug. "They were a secret organization with the backing of the President. Families were bribed with money to forget their children and if they couldn't be bribed then they were blackmailed. The phenomena never happened again after that one year, but there are still so many kids in captivity. I'm not sure what the purpose of them keeping us was for since all we did was practically work in a sweatshop."

"Kid, you have to tell someone."

"I just did. And Fury knows as well," you say. "And besides, what's anyone doing to do? They're being backed by the President, Bucky. Most of the world already forgot about us."

"Jesus," he swears again.

The two of you lapse into silence and then you tell him, "You can't say anything. I was most scared of you to find out because of your history, but I still don't want the others to know. Not yet."

He doesn't acknowledge anything you've just said, but he does seem to light up with a realization. "Wait.. if you erased yourself from someone's memory, is it possible you can erase words from a person's mind?"

"I- it's possible?" You admit with some confusion. "But like I said, I have no training. There's no one to train me, so I wouldn't know what the hell I'm doing."

"I have words in my mind- triggers," he says. "If someone comes a long and recites them in a specific order, it triggers the Winter Soldier programming," he says. "I need them removed, but so far we've found no one. But you-"

"Bucky," you say, quietly. "I'm not sure it's possible."

"But there is a chance."

He looks so happy that you can't bear to refuse him. "If we were to try, I'd see everything," you say."

His expression falters. "Would it hurt?"

"You wouldn't even feel me."

"Then I want you to try."

He scoots forward in his seat and your eyes widen. "Not now! I need to meditate.. or something. Fury showed me some things, but then I was dropped here."

"Fine. Next week?"

"I- uh, sure."

Bucky seems upbeat for the rest of the night and you know you're going to have a long week of mediating and figuring out your powers so you don't accidentally screw your friend over.

When the day comes, you and Bucky wait until everyone has gone to bed. He makes his way to your apartment in the early hours and puts his complete trust with you.

As you sit on the floor across from one another, you hesitantly reach up to cradle his face in your bare hands. When you stop just shy of actually touching him, he smiles and grabs your hands to place on his face. Your eyes flicker orange and Bucky closes his eyes.

Swimming in the memories of Bucky Barnes, you struggle to find the memories of his captivity. Watching what he went through and all the electroshock therapy to condition his brain to certain words breaks your heart, and you take glee in grasping onto those memories and watching as they fade. You make sure to leave everything else in tact so he knows he was brainwashed to commit the crimes he did, but you completely erase the the words longing, rusted, furnace, daybreak, seventeen, benign, nine, homecoming, one, and freight car every time they were mentioned in Russian along with every memory of the shocks to his mind.

It feels like you've been swimming in Bucky's mind for hours since you had to find every memory of when he woken from his cryo tank or when the words were said to him, like that one time he was held in captivity by the US government as he had warned you about, but you get it done. And when you finally open your eyes and settle your hands in your lap, Bucky's smile is from ear to ear.

That is until your eyes roll into the back of your head and you pass out.

When you eventually woke up from fixing Bucky, it was to find that you were in the medical wing. Apparently Bucky had freaked out and called for help, but he kept your secret and only told them that he had found you unconscious. The medical staff hadn't thought anything of Bucky's explanation, but the Avengers were suspicious. Thankfully, Bucky stuck to his story.

It was Tony who made the insinuation that something romantically was going on between you and your new friend, but when you were visibly upset and crying and defended Bucky as the older brother you never had, apologies were made and Pepper banned Tony from your room.

All you had needed was rest and food to get back on your feet, and when you felt better you got back into the groove of mediation and figuring your powers out.

Bucky seemed much more confident in himself that it started freaking people out, but Steve was just happy to have his friend back. Then when it seemed like things were going great, HYDRA made a surprise visit.

Everyone is congregated on the common floor for a family dinner and you are only waiting on Pepper. When half an hour passes, Tony gets frustrated and calls out for JARVIS to see where Pepper is at. Only.. JARVIS never answers.

Almost immediately everyone is on alert. Natasha and Clint pull out guns and knives from their hiding spots while Tony immediately starts tapping away on a small tablet.

"What's going on?" You ask, stepping around the table and coming next to Bucky and Steve.

"Nothing good," Steve says. "If JARVIS is down, someone is planning an attack."

"Goddammit," Tony grumbles. "Who the hell hacked my AI?!"

The elevator dings and everyone is on their feet and moving towards the center of the room. As they round the corner, there are several men in business suits marching onto the floor and using Pepper as a shield with a blade to her throat.

Tony immediately deploys gauntlets on just his arms, but the douche bag holding Pepper tuts at him, digging the blade harder into her throat. Weapons are raised all around and Bucky takes a protective stance in front of you.

"We're here for our asset," one of them says, his accent obviously Russian. "He comes with us and your CEO remains unharmed."

"Like hell," Steve mumbles, he taking a step in front of Bucky.

One of the Russians grins and starts citing the words all the Avengers feared. "Longing. Rusted."

Steve freezes. "No. Don't!"

Clint and Natasha raise their guns higher, but the enemies merely threaten Pepper's safety even more. Tony starts cursing, trying to be louder than the Russian words being said, but it's no use.

"Homecoming. One. Freight car."

Everyone goes quiet.

"Soldat?"

Natasha and Clint immediately swivel on the heel of their feet, aiming their weapons on Bucky now. But instead of the stoic Winter Soldier everyone was expecting, all they have is a chuckling Bucky Barnes. "That's Sarge to you, pal." The Russians lose their smug, victorious expressions and when you stealthily take Bucky's flesh hand into your own bare hand you mentally ask him, “want me to help?” Bucky glances down at you, ignoring everyone's baffled expressions and nods once. "If you're ready to show 'em what you're made of, have at it, kid."

Eyes blazing orange, you smile up at Bucky before darting your gaze to the Russians. Pepper's eyes widen, but for the time being you ignore it. Instead you concentrate on taking hold of the bad guys’ conscious minds all at once. "Drop your weapons." Weapons immediately drop and Pepper doesn't waste the moment. She drives her elbow into the face of the guy holding her and she lunges for Tony who readily puts himself in front of her. "Get down on your knees and put your hands in the air."

As the Russians all drop to their knees with their hands in the air, the Avengers and Pepper all stare at you in shock.

"What do I do with them?" You ask the room at large, keeping your concentration mostly on the bad guys.

"Y/N?"

"Not now, punk," Bucky says, clapping a hand on his friend's shoulder. "There are more pressing matters at hand. All you need to know is that Y/N is one of the good ones. I'm proof of that."

"What?" Steve stares incredulously at Bucky, then at you. "You’re the reason the words didn’t work? How?"

"Stevie," Bucky chuckles. "Not now. What's the kid supposed to do with the bad guys."

Natasha steps forward, holstering her weapon. "If you can make it so it's easier to tie these guys up, I'd really appreciate it."

Concentrating on the men once more, you say one word. "Sleep." As the men fall unconscious, Clint whistles appreciatively before joining Natasha in tying them all up. "They'll wake up in a couple of hours," you say, eyes flickering back to their normal color.

After everything is said and done, Bucky leads you to the couches and gestures for to sit. You do and he takes a seat on the arm rest next to you, daring anyone to say anything negative.

The others approach cautiously.

"Buck?" Steve wonders. "Care to fill us in on what's going on?"

Under all the stares, you pick up your feet and bend your knees so you could hug your legs and make yourself as small as possible. "Not my story to tell, punk."

Every gaze lands on you and you sigh. "Way to throw me under the bus, loser." Bucky chuckles and ruffles your hair, and you swat at him with your bare hand. Everyone sees how freely you are touching now and once settled down you tell them. Everything.

When you're finished, everyone seems livid but are keeping a lid on their anger.

"But you can control it now. Right?" Clint asks. After Bucky, Clint was the other person you were worried about hating you.

"Mostly." You shrug. "I had to give myself a crash course. What I did earlier with those men? That was new, but the anger at them hurting Pepper made me hone it some. Before I had to touch someone to get them to do what I wanted. It's why I was grateful for all the gloves Pepper got me."

"You touch Bucky now though," Natasha says. "Without the gloves."

"If I concentrate, I can block it out," you say while letting the back of your hand touch the flesh of Bucky's arm. "I only got comfortable without the gloves around Bucky because I saw a lot when I erased the conditioning words. If I slip, Bucky says it's okay." Bucky smiles down at you and when you look back out to everyone else, your own smile falters. "I'll continue to wear the gloves until I completely have a lid on it. I don't want you guys to be nervous around me."

The room falls silent and your heart sinks. You'd spent a couple of months with these people and you were good with them, but now.. now not so much.

Just when the tension really feels suffocating, Steve stands and makes his way towards you. Without hesitation, he holds his hand out as if waiting to shake yours. Bucky nudges you and you reach forward, concentrating on not slipping into Steve's mind when the two of you grasp hands.

"It's okay," he says.

Your bottom lip wobbles and you momentarily lose control, your eyes flickering orange. Steve grins and you wipe at your eyes with your other hand. You're pretty sure your voice will crack if you attempt to talk, so you do the only thing you can think of. You push your thought into Steve's mind. Thank you.

Steve chuckles. "No problem, kid."

As Steve steps aside, Pepper is next. She completely bypasses a handshake and reaches down to hug you, and you cry as you return her embrace, ignoring the flashes of her memories that quickly pop up.

"You're too young to know what's going on up here," Tony says, tapping his temple when Pepper steps away. "I'll keep my distance for now, but welcome to the team. You are going to join the team. Right?"

"A secret organization within the government is trying to kill me, Mr. Stark. I'll be stuck in this tower for quite some time that you might as well start calling me Rapunzel."

Bruce quietly groans. "Please don't encourage his nicknames."

You chuckle wetly, nodding when Bruce smiles at you while keeping his distance. Then glancing at Natasha and Clint, you smile sadly. "I don't expect the two of you to be comfortable with me, so I'll be sure to wear gloves around you." Natasha nods and Clint sheepishly smiles. "It's okay, Barton. I figured you and Bucky were going to be the ones most wary of me. It's no biggie."

"It's just-"

"No explanations. I understand."

He opens his mouth to retort, but Natasha elbows him. "Shut up, Clint. She knows. Walk away on good terms and go call Fury so he can send a team to pick up the HYDRA men."

Everyone is suddenly moving and finding something to do, but Bucky stays by your side. When they're a good distance away, he nudges you again. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you say. "I think I'm going to be just fine."

Inspired by The Darkest Minds. I fell in love with that movie!

[iloveyouthree-thousand]

and we might not be able to save everyone (but I’ll be damned if I can’t save you)

I wrote this a while back, but I never posted it on here, so I cleaned it up a little and decided to put it up because, god help me, I can’t think of anything new to write.

Warning: this fic contains mentions of suicide. Please stay safe.

/ / / 

"Kid, I'm going to need you to listen to me—just this once—and I promise I'll let you go to bed at whatever time you want for the rest of your long, long life," Tony starts, his attempt at being calm becoming less and less convincing with every passing second, "but I need you to step away from that ledge."

"I just wanted to help, Mr. Stark. I just—I didn't want anybody to get hurt," Peter stammers, a dark blue jacket and jeans fluttering in the wind while his face—his horribly pallid face—was left exposed to the night air.

The kid's innocence had worn off steadily throughout the past few years. Oh, he still had a heart of gold and manners fit for the Queen of England herself, and you would be hard-pressed to find someone who still didn't see eighteen-year-old Peter Parker as the living embodiment of an actual fucking ray of sunshine. This kid, despite losing nearly everything he ever loved, never ceased to be the count-your-blessings-glass-half-full kind of person. It was remarkable.

Behind that happy-go-lucky exterior, though, Tony knew he hid a world of hurt.

He knew that several times a month Peter retreated to a soundproof room in the basement of the Compound and buried himself in a pillow, only to return hours later with blood in his ears and looking like he had seen a ghost. He knew that sometimes Peter went home and held his eyes shut until the sounds of Ben's cries were drowned out by sleep. He knew that, tucked into the back of his closet, was the small black suit and the shoes he had worn to his parents' funeral, still caked with the same dirt that he watched the groundskeepers cover his parents' graves with, long after everyone else had left.

Tony also knew a thing or two about emotional baggage—about carrying around the loss of people you love well after everyone else has moved on. He also knew that Peter would grin and bear it for as long as he lived, hiding behind the Spider-Man mask by night and behind his own bubbly façade during the day.

Peter took the worst things that life could throw at him and turned them into strength and resilience and unrestrained compassion, and it was precisely those character traits that had Spider-Man parading around a children's hospital that morning. 

The visit was part of a charity event to raise money for and put smiles on the faces of terminally ill children, and Peter had been looking forward to the visit for weeks with an excitement that was palpable. Tony had gone as himself, leaving the Iron Man suit at home while still giving the kid some much-needed moral support. He stood in the background, not bothering to hide his pride as Peter displayed his webbing abilities for the children, a grin no doubt spread across his face under the mask.

And then everything had gone wrong.

A maniac had heard about the hospital visit. An explosion destroyed an entire wing of a hospital. Sixteen people were dead in a little less than a second, before Peter or Tony could even blink. Eleven of them were children. There was nothing Spider-Man could do but watch in horror.

The Daily Bugle headline for the evening had read 'Spider-Man: Don't our children deserve better?'

Tony would’ve purchased every single copy, would’ve strung the ratty journalist up by his toes if it meant that Peter would never see the stupid headline, but the damage was done. 

And now his kid was standing on a roof, ready to jump into the wind like he’d done so many times before, but there were no webs to catch him this time.

"Peter, it's not your fault. Those people—those kids, there was nothing we could do."

Tony was in his suit, poised to catch the boy if the unthinkable were to happen. They were sixteen stories up, one for each of the victims that Peter hadn't been able to save. Rhodey was also suited up, on call to swoop in just in case. No one was going to be scraping Peter Parker off of the sidewalk tonight.

Peter's hands were trembling at his sides, no, his whole body was trembling. His eyes were wide-open, locked onto the streets below, and he was crying so hard he was hiccuping, snot dripping down his nose and tears pooling in his eyes. He looked like a shadow out there—a broken, fleeting wisp of the boy Tony knew and loved.

Peter lacked the physical energy to fight anymore. At some point, even Atlas buckles under the weight of the world. Everyone has their breaking point. And while Tony was certain Peter's name wouldn't be written in the obituaries tomorrow—he wouldn't let that happen—he was terrified that something inside of Peter had finally given in. It didn't matter if Tony or Rhodes snatched him out of the air or not, if Peter jumped, a part of him had already died.

"Pete, look at me, please." His impossibly wide eyes were still vacant and frozen, but they managed to train on Tony.

"I've been here, at the end of my rope, when it was too much. I know what it feels like, that helplessness, that absence of control. Because you're a superhero, right," he chokes, "a card-carrying member of the 'earth's mightiest heroes' club, but they don't tell you when you sign up how much it absolutely sucks.”

And it does, it sucks and it’s not fair, because for every person you save there are dozen more that you lose, innocent people that die without a hero to fight for them. 

“They don't sit you down and explain that sometimes the bad guys win, and that most of the time, even when they don't, the good guys lose. We lose and we lose and we lose over and over again."

"Death doesn't discriminate, Pete," the tears are streaming down his face now, "it takes and takes and takes and you know what the worst part is? We get knocked on our ass again and again, but we have to keep fighting. We have to keep living and carrying the weight of the ones that aren’t so lucky and it’s hard. I know that sometimes it feels easier to just break the cycle, to just jump and let it all be over with. Trust me, I know. But heroes--they have to get back up, even when it feels like there’s nothing left to fight for, even if it sucks and even if it’s not fair, because that’s what heroes do.” 

Peter's eyes shift nervously to the bustling street hundreds of feet below him.

"Yea, yea," he whispers, "with great power comes great responsibility."

"Yea, kid,” Tony says softly, his words carrying in the wind, “and I wish more than anything that you didn't have to bear that responsibility, that you could just be a normal kid worrying about normal things. But I know that some higher being out there gave you these powers knowing that you could handle them—that you could use them to change the world. And as much as I want to kick that someone's ass for robbing you of your childhood and making this your life," he gestures to the trembling child, "we need you Peter."

"You've never had a selfish bone in that entire body of yours, it's infuriating, really," he chuckles drily, "and I know you didn't suddenly grow one tonight. Peter, think about May. You’re her whole world. And Ned, and MJ; Peter those kids need you. Queens needs its favorite superhero. And I--I have always been selfish, so I’m not afraid to admit that I need you too," his voice is so thin now, but he desperately tries to keep his cool composure as Peter turns back to stare out into the night sky, tears precariously close to falling, his chest heaving in a way that makes Tony's heart skip a beat.

"We can't always save everyone, but I'll be damned if I can’t save you. We can work through this together, in time, but first I need you come here. Please, Pete,” he says, and his voice is breaking, he’s breaking, “please, just come here."

It takes him a minute of staring at Tony and then the ground below, but he takes a step back and then two and three and in less than a moment he's in Tony's arms, tears leaving hot trails down his face. Tony stumbles out of the suit, taking the kid to ground with him, clutching him like he might disappear at any second.

"This world doesn't deserve you kid. I don't deserve you."

"Mr. Stark, I-I'm s-s-sorry," he sobs, gripping the man's shoulders and bleeding tears into the fabric of his expensive suit.

"Nope, no apologies, not tonight kid." 

Tony thinks back to one gruesome night, back when he was still a kid—just around Peter's age. Howard Stark had come in and seen the pills strewn everywhere, his son lying in a daze, eyes glossed over, clinging to life. He remembered the screaming, Tony, Tony! How could you do this—how—how could you do this to us? And then it was a mess of hospital lights and a tube down his throat and he had pulled through, but Howard barely even looked at him for the next couple of weeks, and it just made him curse those damn pills for not taking him soon enough. He knew his father cared, that he was probably more scared that night than he'd ever admit, but that feeling of utter loneliness in the darkest moment of his life is something that Tony never wants Peter to feel.

So he just holds Peter, reaching a hand up to brush his hair back before resting his chin on the top of his head. His fingers toy with the navy material of Peter's sweater, needing to just feel him, as he repeats, whispering into his hair, "not tonight kid."

[rena-rain]

The Shortcut Home ch. 10

Chatper 9

For the first time in four years, Gabriel Agreste picked up the box that contained his miraculous. He didn’t open it, but closed the portrait in his office and journeyed underground. He found his wife looking exactly the same as she had since she’d fallen asleep. It was only dedicated work and a miracle that kept her alive.

Gabriel placed his palm on the glass, sighing deeply with longing. Remembering her voice was hard these days. He missed the way she’d quirk an eyebrow at him and laugh like she knew something he didn’t. He needed her to be his stubborn, stubborn anchor again.

“Our son is getting married, Emilie.” The words were soft. “He’s having a baby. I wish you could see him now.”

The way her face looked smooth as stone disconcerted him.

“I was ready to give you up. Adrien has come too close to the line of fire too many times. But now I have more reason than ever to bring you back. I swear to you, you’ll meet your grandchild.”

Gabriel gave himself another moment with Emilie. Then he straightened, opened the box, and watched Nooroo flash into existence.

“Master?”

Gabriel fastened the brooch to his shirt. “It is time that you serve me again, Nooroo.”

--

Adrien leapt out of bed and threw on a pair of pants.

“What are you doing?” Marinette sat up.

“I’m going downstairs to make sure Nino and Alya are okay.” He hated how easily the lie rolled off his tongue. It steeled his resolve to tell Marinette who he was. Just not now.

“Adrien,” Marinette pleaded, catching his arm and pulling him back towards her. “Stay with me, please. It’s dangerous out there.”

He looked anguished. “Mari…” Gentle fingers brushed her hair behind her ears. “I want to explain, but now’s a very, very bad time and I have to go. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

“Just don’t go.”

“Trust me.” Adrien regretfully let go of her face and turned to leave only to be pulled back again. He thought he’d have to keep making his case – which he did not have enough brain power to do just now – but Marinette sealed their lips together and gripped him tight. He kissed her back, trying to reassure her. They pulled away slowly, and as soon as they parted, Adrien’s eyes fluttered open. Hers were still closed, her face desperate.

“I’ll be back,” he breathed. He kissed her forehead then forced himself out of her hold.

--

The room suddenly felt cold with Adrien gone. Marinette opened her mouth and looked around, only to remember that Tikki wasn’t here. She hadn’t felt so helpless since Stoneheart.

The only thing she could do was stop Adrien from doing something stupid. She scrambled out of bed and yanked open the half-closed bedroom door. A bright green flash nearly blinded her in the dark room.

Marinette stared, dumbfounded, as Chat Noir leapt out an open window, his back to her.

--

Alya startled awake at the explosion outside. She kicked away the covers and rushed to her apartment window, where a giant pink and purple cloud of something was quickly engulfed in flame.

She turned to Tikki. “I don’t suppose that was a freak accident.”

The kwami looked worried. “That’s definitely an akuma. It looks like we made this switch not a moment too soon. We need to go!”

“Tikki, spots on!” Tikki spiraled into her earrings and a pink light flashed down her body. Alya pushed open her window, flung out the yoyo, and shot off into the night.

I hope Chat Noir’s already on the way, she thought. She sprinted across the rooftops and halted behind a chimney that was right above the site of the explosion, trying to figure out what was going on. The street looked like it had been bathed in bright, multicolored paint.

“What are we looking at?”

Alya screamed and swung a punch at the voice behind her. Chat Noir, whom she could only see because of his glowing eyes and shiny bell, flipped out of her way before her fist could make contact. “Well that wasn’t very ladylike.”

“You scared me! Make a noise or something next time, you kinda camouflage in these shadows.”

“Cat snuck up on the fox – put that one in the history books.” He leapt up onto the brick chimney and perched there. “So what’s this one’s deal? I haven’t heard any more explosions.”

“I don’t know yet. We need to take a closer look.” They leapt to the ground. The damage was much more brutal up close. Radiating scorch marks littered the street. A car was upturned, on fire, and its windows were broken. The air smelled burnt and toxic.

Most disturbing was the graffiti. An entire mural of screaming and running people were plastered to the buildings, and while it was obviously spray painted, each face looked lifelike.

“Chat Noir, I think these paintings are actual people. Civilians.”

“Looks like we’re on the same page, Ladybird. And I’m guessing somebody had a lighter or a cigarette and set all the aerosol on fire, causing the car to explode.”

“But where did they go?” Alya – Ladybird yoyoed to the top of a lamppost. Now that she knew what she was looking for, she spotted a trail of particularly garish paintjobs amongst the normal Parisian street art. She called down, “They left a trail! Let’s go!”

Whoever this akumatized sucker was, they’d been busy. Chat Noir and Ladybird passed dozens, possibly hundreds of citizens turned into murals. After several minutes, she looked over to her new partner while they ran. “Why do I feel like we’re being lured into a trap?”

Ladybird flew past him when Chat Noir stopped dead in his tracks. She skidded to a halt and backtracked to him. His eyes narrowed. “Probably because it’s a trap. I don’t know how, but I think you’re right.”

“I know it’s been a few years, but Hawk Moth’s puppet used to demand the miraculous by now.”

“And if he’s suddenly come out of hiding, he must be especially desperate for them now.” He jumped onto his baton and extended it up, up, way farther up than was reasonable for any stick to hold him. He extended his arm. “Come up here.”

Ladybird slung the yoyo around his wrist and joined him at his perch. He pointed out the crazy paint trails all over the city that she couldn’t have made out before. It looked like a maze with no solution. “Maybe not a trap. More like a wild goose chase.”

“All the better to ambush us, I bet. So that must mean they have a very high vantage point, too…” Ladybird looked up. “Oh shit. The Eiffel Tower. Drop!”

They fell back to the street and rushed to an alley as far away from any paint as they could.

“I hate it when the akumas play cat and mouse,” Chat Noir complained.

Ladybird flicked his bell. “Good thing I have the cat, then. Let’s find a way to get the mouse down from its house.”

Chat Noir snorted. “That was terrible.”

“You’re really in no place to judge.”

“We need to get to the Tower without being seen, so we should stay on the ground, and avoid as much paint as we can.” A bright pink blast of orange particles beamed from the top of the Eiffel Tower and coated an entire block. “While there are any normal streets left, that is.”

Ladybird was jealous of Chat’s costume because it let him blend in with the dark streets more easily. She felt like a siren in the bright red suit – at lease her Rena Rouge costume, while orange, was soundless and easier to sneak around in. They wound through alleyways, sprinted across boulevards when they had to, and even made a detour through a sewer. By the time they reached their destination half of Paris had been turned neon colors. God knew how many people were now paint.

They almost made it. But the Eiffel Tower, for better or worse, was a major tourist attraction night and day. As such somebody screamed “Is that Ladybug and Chat Noir?!” just before they got up the damn thing. Immediately the excited couple got smushed to the sidewalk with a fountain of blue spray paint.

Ladybird flicked her yoyo to the top. “So much for the element of surprise.”

“At least we got here, didn’t we?” Chat Noir scampered up the side of the tower on all fours, somehow keeping pace with her as she shot up. They touched down onto the railing at the top.

This victim was a young woman, her hair in a messy bun the color of a blank canvas, paint brushes stuck in it like chopsticks or pencils. Her paint-splattered overalls were glowed and had way, way, way, way too many pockets stuffed full of even more paint brushes. Her skin was covered in rainbow rings. She whirled around when Chat Noir cleared his throat, aiming the spray-paint can in her hand.

“What’s with all the evildoing, Graffiti Girl? Get kicked out of art school?”

Ladybird froze, then groaned from deep within her soul. “That one’s just in bad taste!”

“Yeah, I heard it as soon as I said it.”

The purple Hawk Moth mask glowed around her eyes, and she demanded, “Hand over your miraculous before the rest of Paris spends eternity as a mural!”

“I bet the akuma’s in that spray can,” Ladybird muttered.

“Summon the Lucky Charm,” Chat whispered back. “I’ll distract her.” He leapt at the akumatized woman and attempted to sweep her with his baton. She jumped over the attack, pulled out two paint brushes, and started trying to stab him.

While they fought, Ladybird looked uncertainly at the yoyo for a moment. Ladybug’s plans were always so ridiculous – how was Alya supposed to live up to the same level of mad genius?

Well, here goes nothing. She flung the yoyo over her head. “Lucky Charm!”

A pair of red and black spotted handcuffs fell into her grasp. “What the fuck?” She looked around furiously, trying to think what Ladybug would do. Graffiti Girl and Chat Noir were still engaged in some vicious hand to hand – or brush-knife to baton – combat. Ladybird suddenly realized that she kept making grabs for Chat’s right hand. The ring. Of course.

The idea was stupid, but hopefully it would work. “Chat Noir! Extend your arm!”

“What?”

“Towards me!”

He clearly thought she was crazy, but he grabbed the baton with his left hand and threw out his right. Ladybird sprinted at a central pillar, jumped onto the side, and launched herself at her partner. As expected, Graffiti Girl had snatched Chat Noir’s hand and tried to simultaneously put him in an arm lock and take off his miraculous. Ladybird slapped the woman’s wrist with one cuff, slid to the side so she twisted her body, and forced her other hand into the other cuff.

“I’ll take that.” Ladybird plucked the spray out of her grip and offered it to Chat Noir like a silver platter. “Would you like to do the honors?”

“With pleasure. Cataclysm!” She tossed him the can and he caught it, the black energy crumbling it to dust. A little black and violet butterfly fluttered up from the ashes like the worst phoenix metaphor ever.

Ladybird swiped her yoyo like she’d seen her predecessor do a hundred times and captured the akuma. It came out with its wings bright white. She watched as it disappeared among the stars.

Chat Noir held up his fist with a proud smile. “Pound it?”

Ladybird grinned gratefully back at him. “Pound it!”

--

“Marinette,” Master Fu said. “I wasn’t expecting company this evening.”

“I’m sorry for barging in. I’m not used to just sitting by during akuma attacks, and my apartment is empty and I miss Tikki and I really didn’t want to be alone.”

“I understand. I’m deeply troubled by the appearance of this akuma tonight.”

“So am I, Master. That’s not why I’m here though.” She stood with her arms crossed. “I accidentally saw Chat Noir transform in my living room this evening.”

Fu’s only response was to go back into the kitchen and pick up a teapot. Marinette swore she saw the corners of his lips quirk up.

She threw up her hands. “You must think this is very funny, don’t you?”

“You two have paced circles around each other for thirteen years. Would you not be just as amused in my position?”

“I can’t believe I’m having Chat Noir’s baby! Do you have any idea how many kitten jokes I’ll have to endure?”

Master Fu handed her a cup of steaming tea. “Drink this. It is good for the nerves. On a more somber note, I must ask you to tell Adrien your identity very soon, Marinette. I hate to trouble you with this theory, but it concerns him as well.”

“What’s going on?” They both sat down.

“Hawk Moth released an akuma for the first time in four years. It bothers me that it’s coincided with your maternity leave.”

Marinette sighed. “It doesn’t sound like a coincidence to me either.”

“It may be he thinks his chances are better against a new ladybug. You were wise to choose someone with experience already. Whatever the reason, it’s become more imperative than ever to retrieve the missing miraculous, and now that Hawk Moth is active again, we have our chance to find him. I went back to the old academy for the Order of the Guardians, as you know. While there I recovered a number of old texts and I’ve found a single strange record about the Butterfly, so brief I almost missed it. There was once a holder who was able to detransform then akumatize himself.”

“The butterflies stay active while Hawk Moth is his civilian self?” Marinette yelped.

“Few have attempted such a thing. One succeeded in transferring powers to herself, that I now know of.”

“So Hawk Moth could have akumatized himself at some point.”

“Exactly. I’ve spent years searching for him. Every clue I find on some level implicates the same person. But I’ve never found a smoking gun, and I’ve always dismissed him because he was once akumatized into The Collector.”

“The Collector…” Marinette whispered, sifting through her memories. She remembered each akuma persona, all right, but the whacky names and civilians behind the butterfly often got mixed up in her head. “A previous suspect…oh no.” Her eyes widened. “No, no, no, tell me it can’t be Adrien’s dad.”

Master Fu just looked at her sadly.

--

When Adrien got back, Marinette was asleep. He sighed in relief; he needed sleep before he had this conversation with her, and after the way he jet off tonight, he had to tell her. In the morning.

He changed into a pair of sweats and slid under the covers next to her. He noticed that she’d changed into pajamas in his absence. Adrien wrapped her in his arms, one hand against her growing belly, and closed his eyes.

Chapter 11

Ko-fi

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Custom Funko Pop Tutorial

@xirayn asked for a tutorial, so I made one! 

Tools you’ll need:

Craft paints 

Paint brushes (small)

Primer 

Sealant 

Sandpaper (400 - 800 grit, sold in hardware stores and automotive)

Sculpting tools 

X-Acto blade

Milliput (epoxy clay) 

* Airbrush

* Masking tape/painter’s tape

* Dremel

* Acetone (nail polish remover)

* Optional 

Make sure you buy small detail brushes. The largest I use are about the width of a pencil eraser (though slightly larger ones are good for big fill areas like hair).  For the finest lines and details, look for brushes specifically made for painting tabletop miniatures. 

For paints, any acrylic hobby paint will do, but I am hugely fond of Formula P3 paints (the kind made for tabletop minis). They’re heckin’ expensive, but they come in a million shades so you don’t have to mix colors and then later find a spot you missed but the original color you mixed has all dried and you’ll never be able to get the exact same shade again x_x And I really do think they don’t chip/scratch as easily as other paints. 

...but I started out painting Warmachine minis so I might be a little biased.

Step 1: Choose Base Model

Think about the character you want to make. What is the closest existing Funko Pop model you can find? The closer you can get, the less work you’ll have to do! Sometimes a simple head-swap or re-paint is all that’s needed. 

When you look for base models, look at things like pose, expression, and unique features (like bared teeth). Look past the character a model represents, and think of how you could transform it into the character you want to make. The bubbliest, cutest Pop could be the ideal base model for your horrifying monster custom! 

Kurama will become Yoko Kurama

Ghost will become Wash the cattle dog

Step 2 (Optional): Decapitate

If you’re doing a head-swap, this step is critical. If you’re just sculpting and painting, this is still a good step to make your life easier (just try sculpting in the crevices of a character’s shoulders underneath their hair!)

Put a small pot on the stove, filled with enough water to cover the head and neck when you dunk your pop in upside down. Bring the heat up to not-quite boiling, and drown the *#$%er gently bathe it in hot water. 

The rubber will soften and make it easier to pull off. Use a hand-towel to grab the head (it will be hot), and pull until it comes off. Some are easier than others. Some people skip the heating step altogether and just yank the head right off! 

Step 3: Sculpt

Wash has floppy ears, and there are no Funko Pop models with ears quite like his. So, to get the angle right, I cut the model’s ears off with an exacto knife, then re-attached them at a floppier angle. 

I worked one ear at a time on Wash, letting the first ear harden in place first, because I am extremely clumsy. 

Kurama needed a significant amount of material removed for his straighter hair, bare arms, and short pants. I used an X-Acto blade and Dremel with a sanding bit.

Depending on your project, you may need to use acetone to remove paint (ex. facial hair).

After you’ve carved everything down as much as you need, and finished prepping the basic shape, it’s time for additive sculpting! I use Milliput, but you can also use Apoxie Sculpt, or air-dry clay. I’ve even heard of people using polymer clay and hardening it carefully with low heat, but an epoxy clay will give the most durable and detailed result.

 Wash needed floppy ear-tips to complete the look, and Yoko needs robes. Again, I work a section at a time, letting each section harden before continuing. 

Step 4: Sand

After the sculpting has hardened, sand any imperfections. The Dremel is your friend when taking off lots of material. For less extreme sanding, I use 400-grit and 800-grit sandpaper. You may need to add fresh material to fill and smooth any gaps.   

Step 5: Prime

Once you’re happy with how your model looks, it’s time to paint! I mix Golden Adhesion Medium with black or white paint if I’m hand priming, or use a spray primer, but you can use whatever you prefer. 

For an aerosol primer, choose a ventilated area (I like to work outside in the summer), and place the figure on top of a cardboard box for height, and so you can rotate it easily. If you’re inside, you should also set up a back-splash so you don’t paint the walls.  

Do a few test sprays on the cardboard first to make sure it’s spraying evenly. Then spray in light coats following the instructions on the can, rotating to get all angles, and letting each coat dry before putting on the next coat. 

(Here’s a good tutorial just on priming!)

Step 6: Paint

You’ll never get as smooth a finish as using an airbrush! A decent airbrush kit and mini air compressor aren’t too expensive, and a great investment if you want a professional-looking finish! (I was afraid of the airbrush for a long time and now I hate working without it!). 

Get some painter’s tape or masking tape, cover every part of the model you don’t want to get paint on, then airbrush in your color! 

You can also do cool tricks with the airbrush, like reducing air pressure to create a stippled effect!

When hand-painting, make sure you thin your paints and apply multiple thin coats instead of trying to get full coverage in one thick coat. You’ll reduce visible brush-strokes that way, and the paint will adhere better, too.

Even if you have an airbrush, chances are you’ll be doing some hand-painting anyway. I did Wash’s brown spots, inner ears, and Yoko’s entire body by hand, because masking all those tiny details would be a pain in the booty.

Step 7: Seal

Once you’re done painting, a good sealant will prevent your work from chipping, or from fading in the sun if you use a sealant with UV protection. It can also hide imperfections in the finish (ex. I spot-painted a few areas the airbrush missed, and even though it was the same color, you could see the difference in texture. Matte sealant made it look completely uniform again!) 

Sealant can also be used in between coats of paint when masking if you’re worried about the tape pulling paint off.

I use Golden Archival Varnish - Satin Finish, Testor’s Dullcote, or Mr. Super Clear. They’ve all worked well for me (though Mr. Super Clear is the most expensive and the most aggressively matte). Apply the same way you would a primer. 

A thin layer of Mod-Podge adds shine back to the eyes after applying a matte sealant. 

Finished!

[xxxgrianeatsendermitesxxx]

Painting Iskall red

Iskall had just arrived for an Architech meeting, when he got there he saw Mumbo and Grian standing there. Both of them in suits with their hands behind their back, frowning. He'd never seen them looking so serious and it scared him, how on earth did Grian look so scary? He gulped and landed in front of them, hand on the back of his neck. "H-hey guys..." Mumbo sighed and glanced at Grian who stepped forwards and put a hand on Iskalls back. "Iskall. I want you to take a look around at Sahara, what colours do you see?"

[[More]]

"Uhh..." He looked over at the sea of white, grey and unsaturated teal. He listed these colours to the duo and they nodded grimly, Mumbo gestured to himself and Grian. "And what colours do we wear?" Iskall looked at the two of them, he looked at Grians ruby red suit and Mumbo's little crimson tie. "...mostly red..?" He gulped out of reflex when Grian chuckled darkly, the shadows hiding the blondes eyes from view. "Well done Iskall, now I only have one more itsie-bitise question for you..." He stepped back into the sunlight and cracked a smirk. "...what colours are you wearing?"

Iskall took a step back, he was utterly freaked out at this point. He looked down at this own suit and his heart sank, he looked up at them with his eyes wide. "B-bright...bright green..." He stared at them as Mumbo quietly excused himself to stand behind the lawn centre piece. Grians eyes sparkled and he gave a slightly off pitch laugh, taking another step towards Iskall and grabbing him by the tie. "Well you know what we have to do don't you?" He pulled Iskall closer and whispered in his ear. "We're gonna have to paint you red aren't we~?" Iskall squeaked in pure terror and broke free of the smaller males grasp, backing away and tripping up. He landing on his ass and instinctively went to shield his face, shuddering. "D-Do-!"

Suddenly Grian broke into a fit of laughter as Mumbo came from behind the A, chuckling. "I think you were a bit to hard on him there Grian, look at him, he's terrified." He ravenette helped Iskall back up with a smile, seemingly proud of himself. "Was I scary though Iskall? Grian's been giving me acting lessons." He stated proudly, glancing at Grian with a smile. Iskall glared at them, a little smile riding on his face. "I hate you guys..." He chuckled and grabbed Grian in a headlock, ruffling his hair. "You scared the hell out of me you little bastard! And yeah Mumbo, you were a little scary too." He chuckled at Mumbo's smile at that as Grian tried to escape the headlock. "Iemmie go!" He squeaked and squirmed in an attempt to escape the swedes grasp, Iskall chuckle and dropped him. "Should have though about that before scaring me like that idiot!" He grinned at Grian as the blonde pouted at him.

Mumbo patted Iskall on the back and adjusted his tie for him. "There is a reason we asked you to come though Iskall, not just so Grian can make you wet yourself." The duo chuckled as Grian hopped back over. "Oh yeah! We weren't joking about the colour stuff, you do need a better suit." Iskall looked down at his suit and shrugged, he quite liked his suit but he understood where they were coming from. He sighed and nodded. "Fine, where do we start?"

Grian giggled and grabbed his arm, pulling him inside the Sahara building. "Makeover time!!" Mumbo followed to duo, chuckling at Iskall as he was dragged along. They reached the board room and Grian let go of Iskalls arm, rumaging through a chest looking for something. "Mumbo did you bring the tv?" Mumbo nodded, pulling out an old fashioned tv set and beginning to set it up. "Yep, Stress let us borrow it for the day. I've got to give it back tomorrow though, so what're we watching?" He turned to look at Grian as the blonde pulled out a dvd with a smile. "Mary Poppins! The classic one!" He giggled and handing the disc to Mumbo then going through the chest again, pulling out some cucumber slices and face masks. "Are you ready? Hold still so I can get this on your face."

Iskall just blinked at him, sitting on a chair as Grian began to coat his fave with the green goop. "Is...is this iskallium? Are you covering my face in iskallum?" Grian hissed at him as he kept working. "Keep your face still! Yes it's slime but it's mixed with a regen' potion, I found it does wonders for the skin." Iskall raised an eyebrow and earned a glare and squeak of indignation from Grian as he coated the swedes face in the mixture. Soon enough all three of them had green faces and cucumber on their eyes, Grian had realised that the movie was redundant without the use of their eyes so he put on music instead. They all lay back and relaxed, listening to the calming music until they heard a telltale crunch. "Grian! Don't eat the cucumbers!" Mumbo removed his own cucumbers to look at the blonde as he snacked on the cucumbers that were supposed to be on his eyes. "But they're so crunchyyyyy!" Grian whined back in response, grabbing one of the spare slices. Iskall realised that the masks had dried enough to let them talk and remove his own singular cucumber slice, handing it to Grian.

"So this feels pretty weird on my face, what are we doing next?" He was rather curious as to how this would roll back around to his suit but he didn't get his answer quite yet as Grians eyes lit up excitedly. "Nail painting! Let's paint each others nails!" Mumbo raised an eyebrow, looking at his nail which were dyed red from all the redstone he used. "Ok then...what colours do you have?" Grian opened up his chest again and began digging through it. "I have red and black for you, maybe a fade? Gold for me because I'm just that classy and Iskall can have some green with a red glitter piece!" He got the bottles out as he said this, laying them out in a little line. Mumbo grabbed one and began to paint Iskalls nails for him as Grian worked on the other hand, it took them a little while as Iskall had the shakes and Mumbo kept messing up. Grian was surprisingly just as intricate at painting nails as he was at building, unlike his drawing 'skill'. Soon enough they were all done and Grian was applying pearlx powder to his nails to make them shimmer.

Next Mumbo helped Grian but his hair in rollers while Iskall gelled Mumbo's hair for him, Grian attempted to style Iskalls hair for him and found something. "Oh my lord! You've got a little ringlet Iskall!" Iskall shrugged, not really caring. "Yep, is that a bad thing?" Mumbo chuckled at Grians face and patted him on the back. "Grian, I don't think Iskall wants his hair to be all ringlets." Grian pouted them and crossed his arms. "Fine, how about we just unmatt your hair then? All you do is put gel in it, it looks like it's never seen a brush." "Or a comb." Mumbo added, passing Grian the two utensils he needed. Grian thanked him and got to work, brushing all of the knots from Iskalls hair and cutting out the more impossible matts. Iskall squirmed and squealed at the pain of the hair-pulling, not used to this feeling. "Gahh! Stop iiit! That hurt!" "Oh man up Iskall you big baby, I'm helping you out here." Grian chuckled and began using the comb, wetting it first so it would slide through the knots easier. He curled Iskalls hair down at the bottom and made it softer then it had ever been before then he gelled the top back. Iskall marveled in how much better he looked now, touching it gently. "It's so soft..." He turned to look at the other two with wide eyes and a tiny smile. "It's amazing...So soft and silky...I've never felt it so soft before..." Grian chuckles and slaps him on the back, grinning at him. "That's what happens when you brush your hair buddy." Mumbo nodded in agreement and pulled out a shirt from the chest, it was a beautiful light green, so light it was almost white. He held it out and Iskall slipped it on and let Grian do his buttons for him. The blonde hummed in thought and tilted his head whilst looking at Iskall curiously. "Mumbo..?" "Yep?" "Grab the grey one."

Mumbo pulled out a dark grey jacket and helped Iskall into it with a smile. Iskall adjusted it and looked down at it, trying to decide whether he liked it or not. Grian suddenly grabbed it and fastened it for him with a little hidden zip. "Just in case you struggle with buttons!" He giggled and bopped Iskall on the nose, the swede wrinkled his nose and glares down at the blonde. "I'm no simplton Grian." "Are you ssuuuuurree?" Iskall thumped the shorter on the head, earning a squeak and some pouting. Mumbo checked their snack situation and them left to go and get more tea and biscuits for them. Grian then rumaged through the chest once more, turning to Iskall with a smile. "What's your favorite shade of red? I'm thinking mauld wine but maybe you want something a little more muted?" Iskall blinked at him in confusion, not realising there was more then two shades of red. Grian sighed and pulled out three different bits of fabric and showed Iskall. "Purplish red, activated redstone red or deactivated redstone red?"

Iskall hummed in thought and looked over the fabric colours, he could see that there where other colours still in the box but trusted that Grian knew more about fashion then he did. "Uhmm...deactivated?" Grian nodded approvingly and grabbed the fabric skipping over to tie it around the swede's neck, tying it neatly in a little bow under his collar. He patted the bow and examined his handiwork proudly. "Well you look so much better now but you're missing something...OH! I know!" Grian rushed over to the chest for the last time and pulled out an even smaller box, rumaging through that. "Close your eyes would you Iskall?"

Iskall did as he's told and felt Grian wiping and padding something on his face then adding some other things. He felt something super soft stroke his cheeks gently and a stick scrap along the contours of his eyes and a nothing one around his lips, he squeaked at the feeling of his eyebrows being plucked and tided up. When Grian allowed him he opened his eyes to see his own face in the mirror, he didn't have a single blemish on his face and no bags under his eyes even when they were eventuated like that. His lips actually showed under his beard and he didn't look quite as much of a washed up savage. Grian suddenly began to use a little comb to tidy up Iskalls beards for him too, applying only a little gel to get the disired effect. Iskall had to say that Grian was doing a fantastic job, rather impressive for the little goblin child that couldn't even draw. He marveled at himself in the mirror once again and had to complement Grian on his skills. Iskall felt that he looked so much better and his hair felt so very soft and silky.

When Mumbo returned, Grian showed off his handiwork proudly and Mumbo nodded at Iskall's new look approvingly. "Well he does look much better...but I think he's missing something." Both boys were utterly shocked at this and so confused, they were under the impression that Iskall had been perfected and couldn't fathom what else he needed. "What is he missing then?" Grian asked Mumbo, curiosity to the brink. Mumbo sighed, shaking his head in amusement as he gestured towards Iskall. "His trousers Grian, he's not wearing any trousers." "Ohhhh!" Grian tossed a pair of pants at Iskall as he and Mumbo went to get dressed themselves. After they where done they took a photo, looking at it Iskall could see that he looked so much better standing next to his friends then he did before. He smiled, adjusting his suit and stepping out into the light of dawn. He shielded his eyes from the light and looked out over the sunrise, they'd been up all night it seemed. He chuckled and shrugged his shoulders, it didn't matter to him, today was going to be a good day.