#i never had any issue with those beat em up spin offs

[ganondoodle]

not to dive back into my apparently controversial video game opinions but the "they probably left out nigh all references to botw to not confuse new players" argument for totk really confuses me in turn bc …

if an overgrown non functioning botw shrine confuses you so much you cant keep playing how are you ever getting through any video game?? if you are not familiar with botw its just part of the environment for you, a fallen apart titan or a half collapsed shrine of life with a cave now leading somewhere else shouldnt completely confuse you-

but mainly ... this is (supposedly................) a direct sequel to botw, a literal second part, if you dont play the first one and just get into the second one you cant blame it on anyone but yourself for not understanding some things? like if totk actually built on what botw set up and you get into totk without having played the first one you really have no right to be angry about being confused by some things its like if you start watching a series with the second season instead of the first one, your own darn fault if you dont get it (also theres plenty of people who summarize video games for you so you could also jsut watch one of those if you really really dont want to play the first one)

if this is really the reason nintendy forcibly bent everything in totk to not dare have a proper connection to botw then ... im sorry but why the heck did you call it a sequel then, if you want to have a standalone game then make a standalone game, and if you want to reuse the map and models so badly then just say its some paralel universe or something, you have literally done that before!!

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 7,362 Pairing: Teenage!Daryl Dixon x Teenage!Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: mainly pre-outbreak Warnings: Language, mentions of abuse, violence A/N: Angsty and fluffy and angsty and fluffy! AGH! Summary: Daryl and Y/N are close growing up. Y/N knows about his bad home life and worries when Daryl doesn't show up at school one day.

Your name: submit What is this?

You were kicking a rock down the road, humming some stupid song you’d heard on the radio, when there was a familiar voice from behind you.

“Hey.”

You turned and grinned, knowing immediately who it was before you even saw him. “Daryl,” you said warmly. “Hey.”

He had his hands shrugged into the pockets of his secondhand black jeans. “What’re ya doin’?”

You laughed and shrugged. “I dunno. Wasting time. Kicking rocks.” You tucked your hair behind your ear and took him in. You could tell immediately that something was bothering him. “You okay?”

How did you always know? Even when he was trying his hardest to hide it, you always knew. “Yeah, just—” he chewed his bottom lip in that anxious habit he had. “Water got shut off again. My old man didn’t pay the bill.”

Your expression turned a bit sad and you nodded. It was mid-summer and the Georgia heat and humidity was suffocating. They never had air conditioning at the Dixon house, but no A/C and no water was a big problem. “Come on,” you said, tilting your head in the direction of your house down the street. “You want to come hang at my house for a while?”

Daryl considered your bright and open expression and then nodded. “Thanks.”

You nodded. “Of course. C’mon. My momma is workin’ the night shift so she won’t be home until God-only-knows-when. Ya can stay as long as ya like,” you said. Daryl fell into stride beside you.

“Thanks,” he said again.

“Sure.” You nudged him with your shoulder playfully. “Ya want me to help you with the Algebra homework?”

He rolled his eyes at you. “No.”

“Oh, come on, Daryl. You’re way smarter than you think. If you’d just try—”

“Why? Ain’t like I’m gonna go off to some big fancy college like you,” he said, kicking a rock along. It skipped on the gravel and stopped in front of you.

“Ya could. If ya wanted to,” you said, hitting the rock again with the toe of your boot. It went skipping along the road in front of you again.

“How the hell would I pay for that?”

You gave him a sympathetic look. “There’s financial aid. Scholarships.”

He scoffed. “Ain’t no college givin’ me a scholarship the way my grades are.”

“That’s why I said try,” you replied gently.

“Nah. Ain’t happenin’.”

You always felt so sad when Daryl talked about his future as an inevitable dead end. You knew he wanted to get away from his drunk asshole of a father and you also knew that he had plenty of reasons why he couldn’t focus on his schoolwork. Hard to focus on class when you’re wondering when your next meal or beating is coming… But you saw so much brilliance in him that he refused to see in himself. You decided to drop the subject for now and simply glanced over at him. His blue eyes met yours and you gave him a small smile. “Ya hungry?” you asked, kicking the rock down the road again.

He avoided your eyes again but nodded. “Always. That even a question?” he drawled.

You turned onto the driveway of your house and soon climbed the steps, pulling open the front door and nudging your head toward the cool interior. “We’ve got chicken pot-pie in the fridge,” you said. “Ya can have the rest of it. I swear, it’s the only thing my mom has been buyin’ lately.”

A short time later, you were flopped down watching TV while Daryl sat on the floor, his back leaned up against the front of the couch. His empty dish was sitting on the coffee table and you jumped up and grabbed it as a commercial came on. “Ya want some more?”

He looked up at you and one corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “Nah. I think three helpings was enough,” he said, pushing his dirty hair out of his face. “Thanks…” he said, a little more bashfully.

You nodded. “Sure.” Daryl climbed to his feet and followed you into the kitchen. He watched you set his dishes in the sink and then fill up two glasses with ice water, putting one down in front of him. He felt your eyes on his face and glanced up to meet them. “You wanna clean up while you’re here?” you asked.

He shook his head and glanced back down at the glass in his hands. “Nah. S’alright.”

You prodded him gently. “Ya sure? It’s not a big deal. I can wash your clothes and you can shower. I was gonna do some laundry anyway. Probably have somethin’ you can wear til they’re dry. Promise it ain’t a sundress,” you joked. You glanced at the clock. “We’ve got some time to kill before tonight’s terrible monster movie comes on anyway,” you said brightly. That was your thing; watching old monster movies from the ‘50s and ‘60s. You weren’t even sure how it had started, but it was just what you did together.

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. He hazarded a glance back up at you. He was always so grateful for how you saw him, looked at him. Your expression never suggested anything other than open acceptance and genuine care. Finally, he nudged his nose up at you. “Alright. You win,” he said, downing the rest of his ice water quickly. “Let’s go pick out my sundress,” he said, eliciting a laugh from you.

Daryl followed you upstairs and you grabbed a clean towel for him out of the linen closet. “Hang on a sec. I’m sure there’s something in Brody’s room you can wear.” Your older brother was away at college. You returned a moment later with some clean clothes and thrust them at him. “You know where the bathroom is. Since I will puke if I eat any more pot-pie again this week, I’m gonna make popcorn. Just put your dirty clothes outside the bathroom door and I’ll throw ‘em in the wash.” You turned to head back downstairs and Daryl found himself watching you go until you disappeared.

“Hey, don’t watch the movie without me!” he called after you.

“Well then hurry up!” you called back up. Daryl smiled.

_ _ _ _ _ _

A short while later, you and Daryl were side by side on the couch. His clothes were tumbling in the dryer and now that he was clean, he realized just how dirty he had felt before. You were both munching on some popcorn from a huge bowl sitting between the two of you on the couch. Daryl always teased you about how much you made at once.

“Christ, are ya eatin’ this for your next four meals?”

You would pull a face at him. “No. Just for dinner. And knock it off or you don’t get any.”

Your eyes were glued to the screen as you watched the damsel in distress on screen run from some deep woods swamp creature, your knees pulled onto the couch and bent underneath you to the side. “I don’t understand this—if somethin’ is chasin’ you why would you run in a straight line, completely visible!? At least take a turn every now and again! I mean, look at all that thick brush she could disappear into!”

Daryl let out a small laugh. “That’s what your problem is? There’s a 9 foot tall, muck-man chasin’ her and that’s what ya take issue with?” he drawled.

You turned and gave him a manufactured look of annoyance and chucked a handful of popcorn at him, eliciting a gruff laugh. “You know what I mean!” you said. You heard the washer stop spinning and went to change the laundry over into the dryer, chucking one more handful of popcorn at Daryl as you got up.

“Hey!” He brushed the popped kernels off his shirt. “Ya know I’m gonna retaliate eventually and it’s gonna be much worse!” he yelled after you.

You laughed as you started the dryer. “Oh, I’m real scared! What’re you gonna do, Dixon?” You appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with your arms crossed over your chest and not looking the least bit intimidated.

“I’ll think of somethin’,” he said. “C’mon. Movie’s back on.”

You rushed back to the couch and moved the popcorn bowl onto the coffee table, sinking down in the empty space now beside Daryl.

He couldn’t stop glancing over at you and he felt suddenly fidgety, chewing on his bottom lip and practically having to sit on his hands to keep them still. Luckily, you didn’t seem to noticed, and it wasn’t too much longer before you laid down on the throw pillow at the other end of the couch, curled up with your eyes still on the screen. And not much longer after that before Daryl noticed you were asleep. The first movie was over, and some old rerun of The Blob was no playing.

Daryl noticed goosebumps on your arms and wondered if you were cold from the A/C vent blowing overhead, just in your t-shirt and shorts. He grabbed a quilt from the chair nearby and tried to cover you up without waking you.

But you stirred as soon as you felt the fabric on your arm and sat partially up, blinking awake and meeting his blue eyes, which seemed care-free for once and brighter than expected in the dim light from the television screen. “Sorry,” he said softly. “Was tryin’ not to wake ya up.”

You sat up all the way, clutching the quilt over your lap and looked up at him. “Thanks. What time is it?” Daryl glanced over at the time on the VCR.

“S’late. I should go… Let ya get some sleep,” he said.

“Oh, your clothes,” you said, climbing to your feet. You went to the laundry room and grabbed his freshly cleaned clothes from the dryer. “Go ahead and get changed and just leave those in the bathroom.”

While Daryl was changing, you went to the kitchen and filled up a water bottle with ice and cold water from the tap. He came out, looking much more like himself now that he was out of your brother’s old shorts and t-shirt. “Here,” you said, pushing the water bottle toward him. “In case you get thirsty on the walk home,” you said giving him a small smile.

He gave you a long look and seemed like he was on the edge of saying something, but he couldn’t get the words out and simply nudged his nose up in a nod at you. You always thought of the littlest things to make his life less shitty and did them for him without hesitation. “Thanks,” he said, grabbing the bottle. “I’ll give it back to ya tomorrow.”

He started toward the front door and you followed to walk him out.

He turned on the entryway rug, his hand on the handle. “Hey, tell your mom ‘thanks for the food’ when you see her in the mornin’, okay?”

You nodded. “Sure thing. You walkin’ tomorrow?” You already knew the answer. He always made the half hour walk to school, and you did it together most days.

“Duh,” he said, one corner of his mouth flicking up. “Ya comin’?”

“Duh,” you returned with a wide smile. Daryl felt his heart jump.

“Alright. See ya then. Thanks. Night.” He pushed out onto the porch and you caught the screen door as he ran down the steps.

“G’night,” you called after him. He turned and waved one last time over his shoulder and then he was gone into the still darkness outside. The cicadas seemed to grow louder as you stood there, and it was a fitting soundtrack to the immediate rise in your anxiety after Daryl disappeared. They seemed to grow so loud they were almost defeaning. You always worried about him when he went home. There was no way to know whether his dad would be passed out drunk or waiting up angry. You knew sometimes Daryl would just wait outside in the dark until he could either sneak in through a window or until he was sure his father was asleep or too drunk to move. Your heart ached. You wished more than anything that you could just fix it. He deserved so much better… You were always amazed that his heart still was so good considering all the bullshit he had been through, losing his mother and their home, his brother running off, and all the shit he was still going through. Sure, he could be angry and moody at times, but who wasn’t at your age?

Finally you sighed and closed up the house, heading upstairs to try and catch some sleep before school the next day.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were finishing packing lunch when your mom came down, still in her scrubs from the hospital. “Morning, mom,” you said. She came over and gave you a hug and left a kiss in your hair. “How was the shift?” you asked, grabbing a banana off the counter.

“Oh, just the usual. Nothing exciting. Lots of old people.” She was a nurse and always worked the night shift. She yawned and grabbed a mug and put on the tea kettle. “I’m exhausted. Mr. Jones came in again needing to be back on oxygen. Pneumonia again.”

“Oh, no…” you said, glancing at her. “Did he throw things again this time?”

She let out a wry laugh. “Of course he did! Nearly took my head off with a damn bed pan.”

“Seriously?! I hope it was empty!” you exclaimed, and you both dissolved into laughter.

“Luckily, it was. Or I would not be in such a good mood this morning… What’d you get up to yesterday? How was school?”

“School was fine. Daryl came over for a while. We watched some terrible Swamp Thing movie of course,” you said.

Your mom laughed and opened the box of tea and grabbed a tea bag. “You two. I do not understand your obsession with those monster movies from my generation,” she said.

“I dunno. They’re funny. Anyway… I gotta go. Gonna meet Daryl to walk to school.” You kissed her cheek and grabbed your things. “Love you! Get some sleep!”

You rushed to the spot where you and Daryl usually met up to walk to school, but were surprised to see that he wasn’t there. He was always there waiting before you. You dropped your bookbag, checking inside to make sure you had grabbed your lunch and the second one you always packed for him… And then you waited. And you waited. And waited… But there was no sign of him. And now you were worried. Maybe he’d gone ahead for some reason? He had never done that before. But soon you knew that if you didn’t leave, you’d be late for class, so you hastily scribbled a quick note on a sheet of notebook paper and left it under a rock at your meeting spot before heading to school.

You looked for him as you made your way through the halls to your locker, but you didn’t see his familiar silhouette anywhere. And he wasn’t in any of the classes you usually had together. At lunch you couldn’t focus on any of your friends’ conversations because you were so busy worrying about where the hell he was…

Over the course of the day, you felt sicker and sicker. You made sure to grab materials for him in all the classes you had together so he could get caught up on what he missed, and by the time the final bell rang you were determined to see him and make sure he was okay. You hastily waved goodbye to your friends and started the walk home, but instead of going straight there, you paused at the meeting spot where you usually met Daryl and saw that the note you had left that morning was still sitting underneath the rock. You collected it and shoved it hastily into your pocket. You stared up the dirt road that led into the woods and to the Dixon house. You took a deep breath in and tried to hold onto your courage as you turned up the path.

It was strange how the trees seemed to insulate from sounds of the outside, but amplify everything taking place inside the woods. You startled when a crow let out a raspy caw and took off nearby, the beating of its wings so loud in your ears that you could hear the hurried rush of the air through its feathers. Your heart was hammering in your chest as you came at last to the muddy driveway that led up to the dilapidated little trailer house. The ‘No Trespassing’ sign burned red in your peripheral vision as you carefully picked your way between the puddles and deep mud, trying not to sink your shoes into it up to your ankles.

You gulped and hesitated at the front step, but you forced in a breath and knocked.

Your heart was racing and you could feel your pulse in your fingers and toes as heavy bootsteps and cursing sounded from inside the house. The inside door was yanked open and an imposing man stood there, separated from you only by the thin screen door.

He glared at you, his lips almost curling into a sneer immediately. “Didn’t you see the goddamn sign?! Get the hell outta here! I don’t want whatever the fuck you’re selling!” he growled. He was tall and lean, but looked powerful and you gulped, suddenly thinking that maybe this wasn’t a great plan…

“I’m—” you had to clear your throat. Your voice came out quiet and somewhat strangled the first time. “I’m not selling anything, sir. I’m—I’m a friend of your son. Is he here?”

Mr. Dixon let out a scoff and never quit staring at you like he could snap at any second and come rushing through that screen door. “My boy ain’t got no friends. He’s too damn worthless. You got the wrong house,” he said, turning to slam the door already.

You weren’t sure where you got the courage from but you quickly shouted to stop him. “I don’t have the wrong house, Mr. Dixon! I’m—I’m a friend of Daryl’s. Please. Is he here? I just have some, um, school work for him…”

He stared at you again for a long moment, his eyes narrowing. They were sharp. “He ain’t here.” You were sweating with nerves under his gaze. “You goddamn women are only good for one thing, and I know he ain’t man enough to be getting any tail, so I don’t care why you say you’re here, but it ain’t no good reason. Now get the fuck off my property!”

You felt your face burn, some combination of anger, humiliation, and shock at being talked to that way by a grown man. You decided to try one last time. “Are you sure he’s not—”

Daryl’s father kicked the screen door hard and it flew open violently. You jumped back and let out a small scream of surprise and fear. He stepped out onto the stairs, his hands clenched into fists, and you could see that he was wavering a little on his feet, drunk, but also shaking with rage. “I got a goddamn shotgun sitting right inside here and I won’t be waitin’ much longer to use it unless you get the hell outta here right now!”

You quickly turned tail and ran, not caring at all that you were sloshing through muddy puddles up to your shins on your way back onto the dirt road and away from the house. You ran all the way back to the spot where you and Daryl usually met up before collapsing onto the grass. You shut your eyes and pressed your hands over your face for a moment. “Shit… shit.” It suddenly occurred to you that maybe going there had been entirely the wrong move. What if going to his house and asking about him got him in trouble? What if you had just endangered him more than he already had been? You felt tears burning in your eyes and blinked them away, popping back up onto your feet, which were squishing in your mud-soaked socks and shoes, and you trudged the rest of the way home.

It had felt like the longest evening of your life. You’d drifted around your house, hoping Daryl would come bounding up the porch steps at any moment, ready with some sarcastic comment or that quick twitch of a smile. But he didn’t. You knew your mom usually took a break around 8 pm, and you called the hospital, needing to hear her voice.

“Hi, honey. Is everything okay?”

You anxiously bounced your knee, feeling like you were about to cry again.

“…honey? Are you okay?” Now there was worry in your mom’s voice too.

“I’m—I’m okay. It’s just—Daryl wasn’t at school today… We had planned to walk together and he never showed up, and then—he wasn’t in any of our classes…” you trailed off. Your mom knew Daryl’s home life was bad, but you’d never told her how bad. Daryl had made it clear plenty of times that he didn’t want you telling anyone—not your mom, not the school counselors, not his teachers, not the cops, no one.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. You twirled the phone cord anxiously around your finger, winding and unwinding. “Well, maybe he was just sick today,” your mom offered.

“Mom, Daryl doesn’t get sick.” You chewed your bottom lip. “When Daryl gets ‘sick’ it’s because—because stuff at home has gone really wrong.”

Her silence on the other end of the line was heavy until she finally sighed. “I wondered. I mean, I’m a nurse for Pete’s sake. It’s not like I didn’t see the signs. Oh, honey… and how could anyone ever lay a hand on that boy? He’s got a heart of gold.” Her voice was low and sad.

“I know… What—what do we do?”

“I suppose, unfortunately, we just have to wait and see if he’s back tomorrow. It’s only one day… If he’s not at school tomorrow, you tell me and I will deal with it,” she said. “Try not to worry yourself too much, hun. I’m sure he’s fine.” But her tone was half-hearted and you were unconvinced. Your stomach twisted as you thought about more endless hours of waiting ahead. “I gotta get back to work, sugar. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Mom. I’m fine. I’ll see you in the morning. Have a good night at work.”

“Love you,” she cooed.

“Love you too,” you said. You hung up and your house had never felt emptier.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were lying in bed staring up at the ceiling, knowing sleep wasn’t going to come, when you thought you heard something on your window. Your first thought was that a cicada or other insect had flown into the window. It was a small plink sound against the glass. But when it happened again, you shot upright in bed. And then it came again. You rushed over to the light switch and flipped it on and then went to the window and pulled back the curtains.

You could barely see a familiar silhouette by the dim glow of the porch light. You hastily pushed the window open. “Daryl?”

“Hey.”

“Just—just hang on! I’ll come let you in!” You raced downstairs and clicked on the hall light, unlocking and throwing the front door wide open. He was standing on the steps and you could see that one of his eyes was almost swollen shut and was surrounded by angry bruising. “Oh my God.” You felt all the air leave your lungs in a rush. “Daryl…” you stepped back to let him in.

He strode in past you, ducking his head a bit. “Yeah. He’s usually pretty careful about hiding ‘em. Guess his hand slipped on that one…”

You closed the front door and locked it again, turning to take him in. Daryl watched your eyebrows knit together and form a deep worry line in your forehead. The next second you had thrown your arms around him in a hug, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. “I was so worried about you!”

You heard him let out a strained exhale, a wince really, even as his hands landed on your back and he hugged you back. You pulled back suddenly and Daryl’s hands slipped onto the bare skin of your upper arms. “You’re hurt worse?” you asked him, looking up into his bruised face.

His hands dropped from you and you both lamented the break in contact. Daryl ducked his head again. “M’fine. What the hell were you thinkin’ comin’ to my damn house? Are ya crazy?” But you could see that he was almost smiling as he said it.

“I was thinking that I needed to know you were okay,” you said, turning and leading the way into the kitchen, flicking the light on as you went. “You heard that?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, nodding. “I was—I couldn’t get to ya.”

You nodded, your expression sad and overwhelmed with worry. “Your dad is…”

“A bastard,” he said, sinking down onto one of the chairs at the table. “Ya. I know. M’sorry ya had to go through that.”

You looked at him with consternation. “Are you kidding? You’re apologizing to me? Daryl…” You went to the freezer and grabbed out a bag of frozen vegetables and wrapped it in a clean dish towel. “Here. Put this on your face,” you said.

Daryl mumbled a thank you and pressed the makeshift cold pack over his eye. He was wearing a black t-shirt and as you stood beside him you noticed some dark spots on the material. You gulped. “Daryl…”

“Hmm?” he glanced over at you and saw that your eyes were fixed on his back. His stomach twisted. “S’nothin’,” he said.

You gave him a skeptical and deeply concerned glance. “Let me see,” you said gently.

He dropped the ice pack from his eye again and hesitated for a moment, nervously licking his lips and bouncing his knee. He trusted you, more than anyone, but this was still hard… Finally, he set down the ice pack and grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it off over his head, wincing as he moved.

When the light cotton was pulled clear, you saw that his entire torso, his ribs, his sides, his back, all a cruel dark purple with shades of black and blue. Across his back were raised lashes, some open and bleeding, the reason for the dark spots you had seen on his t-shirt. He sat there with his eyes turned down and his shoulders slumped forward.

You couldn’t help it. The tears just started streaming out as you looked at what had been done to him.

“Hey,” he said, turning toward you a little, hearing your hitched breathing. His blue eyes landed on your face, took in your desperate expression. “S’alright,” he drawled softly.

Those words only made the tears pour out faster. “I should be saying that to you—” you managed. “But I don’t even know if that’s true. Daryl, you can’t keep livin’ there with him. He could kill you one of these times.”

He gulped. He knew you were right. Of course he did… “Where the hell am I supposed to go? Run off and find Merle? Go into the system? Because you and I both know neither of those are gonna work.”

You hastily wiped the tears from your cheeks. “Here. You can come here. I can talk to my mom—”

“Nah. Nah, ya’ve already done enough for me. Ya do enough. Christ, Y/N, ya pack me a damn lunch every day. I eat dinner here more nights than not.”

“It’d be fine! My mom loves you! And—and so do I,” you said quietly. You felt nervous flutters in your stomach. You’d never told him that before, but it was true.

Daryl’s eyes snapped up to your face again and he gulped.

“You’d be safe here. And taken care of the way ya deserve to be,” you said.

Part of him wanted that more than anything. He wanted to agree and escape from the shit life he was living in that shit house with his shit father. But the idea of being a burden, and he truly believed that’s all he would be, the sense that he wasn’t worth it was so engrained in him that he rebelled against that other part of him that wanted to reach out for help, for escape. He avoided your glassy eyes again and shook his head. “I can’t,” he said, with no small amount of effort.

You felt like your heart was breaking. “Why not?”

He wouldn’t look at you. You just wanted him to look up at you. You wanted to see his blue eyes and convince him. But he wouldn’t. “I just can’t…”

“Daryl—”

“No! It—it ain’t your job to save me, alright? And I ain’t—I ain’t your burden! Just leave it alone.”

“You’re not a burden.” You tried to swallow the tightness in your throat but it didn’t work. You sniffled and wiped the tears from your cheeks again. You’d pushed him enough. You let it drop. “Is he gonna know you’re gone?”

Daryl replaced the ice pack on his swollen and bruised eye. “Nah. He’s on his next bender now. He’ll be so drunk he can’t see straight for at least the next few days.”

You nodded. “Okay. Let’s get you patched up and somethin’ to eat,” you said quietly. You filled a glass with ice water and grabbed the lunch you had packed for him that day from the fridge, setting them down in front of him at the table. You grabbed his bloodstained t-shirt and murmured a soft “I’ll be right back.”

After throwing in some more laundry, his shirt with it, you climbed the stairs and retrieved the First Aid kit from under the sink in your bathroom. You paused for a moment, leaning heavily on your hands, gripping the edge of the basin so hard your knuckles were white. You glanced up at your pale and somewhat wide-eyed expression and wiped a few more stray tears away, steeling yourself. You needed to just be strong for him. You knew he was trying his hardest to hold himself together and you going to pieces wouldn’t help anything. You’d spoken your piece and there was nothing else to do at that moment besides care for him.

You came down with a pile of supplies and dumped them on the kitchen table next to him.

Daryl seemed frozen, still as stone, holding the ice pack to his eye and occasionally drinking for the glass of water you’d given him. You grabbed a washcloth and wet it with some alcohol. Daryl twitched a little as your fingers landed lightly on his bare shoulder.

You withdrew for a moment after he startled. “Sorry,” you said, replacing your hand gently. “This is gonna sting,” you said.

“Can’t be worse than it is now,” he said quietly.

You could tell his wounds hadn’t been tended to at all and it took you some time to carefully clean the dried blood from them, dabbing gently at the raw skin and cuts. You worked in silence and Daryl nervously bounced his leg and spun the water glass on the ring of condensation it had shed onto the table.

After you were satisfied that they were clean, you grabbed some ointment and spread it over the entire length of each as gently as you could. Your stomach twisted as you stepped back and took in the whole view of his wounds and bruises. “Alright. Done.”

“Thanks,” he murmured.

“Here. Take some of these,” you said, putting a bottle of Advil in front of him. “I’m sure you’re in a lot of pain.”

You moved around in front of him and sank down on a chair, sighing. Your brow was still knit and Daryl read the worry still on your face. “M’alright,” he said.

You shook your head. “No. You’re not.” You paused and grabbed the makeshift ice pack, replacing it in the freezer before nudging your head toward the staircase in the hall. “C’mon. You’re stayin’ here with me tonight.”

Daryl’s brow quirked down and he briefly chewed his bottom lip. “…Why?”

“Because it’s safe. And I just can’t let you go back there. And you need real sleep and we both know that you won’t get that if you’re under the same roof as him.”

Daryl considered your determined expression and finally nodded. “Alright.” He stood up, wrapping an arm around his ribs as they ached when he moved, and followed you up the stairs. You flicked the lights off as you went.

The door to your bedroom was standing open and Daryl hesitated at the threshold as you pulled the blankets back on your bed. You tossed an extra pillow down next the one already at the head of the bed.

Daryl gulped, nerves at the thought of staying with you so close all night suddenly overwhelming the aches and pains running through him. “I’ll take the floor,” he drawled.

You shot him a quizzical look. “You’re not taking the floor,” you said. “You’re covered in bruises. Come on. You take the other side. Just shut the door behind you.”

After shifting his weight a bit nervously for a moment, he finally crossed the threshold and shut the door softly behind him. You settled down in bed, heaving a sigh as your head hit the pillow. Daryl gingerly laid down on the other side, facing in toward you. His eyes met yours as he settled in, wincing a little as he moved his arm up under the pillow. You were close together, your faces merely six inches apart and Daryl could see your eyes flitting over his face.

“Ya sure this is alright?” he drawled quietly. “Yer mom…”

You shrugged. “She won’t even know. It’s okay.”

Daryl licked his lips absently and nodded.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Daryl looked puzzled.

“It’s not fair,” you went on. “That someone as good as you has this happening to them.”

Daryl gulped nervously again, your words kindling a rush of heat in his chest which seemed to spill into his face. “Ain’t yer fault.”

You nodded, looking a bit sad, but beautiful in the warm glow of the single lamp on your nightstand. You turned and clicked it off, and maybe it was the darkness that gave you the courage to, but you reached over and found Daryl’s hand with yours in the dark and slipped yours beneath it, pressing your palm to his.

Daryl felt his stomach flip with surprise but he thrilled at the grounding touch from you. For once stopping himself from overthinking it, he laced his fingers with yours, and soon both of you were asleep.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Some years later

“Don’t fucking move.”

Daryl froze, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his teeth.

“Put your hands up where I can see them. Away from the bow.” The voice belonged to a woman and despite the tense and potentially dangerous situation he now found himself in, Daryl felt his stomach flip, seemingly responding to the voice peculiarly.

“Stand up.” Daryl obeyed and stood up slowly, in disbelief that he hadn’t heard whoever the hell this was approaching in the almost silent woods. That left him feeling particularly curious and a little uneasy. He didn’t like that anyone was able to sneak up on him… “Now turn around. Slowly.”

Again, Daryl complied, his hands still up, turning slowly to face toward the woman holding him at gunpoint.

But neither him nor you expected the person in front of you and you felt a tug somewhere behind your navel and the muzzle of your gun dropped involuntarily just as your mouth fell partially open. You felt like the air was ripped out of your lungs as you took in the familiar face in front of you. “What the hell?” The words fell from your lips without you even knowing it. But you would recognize those blue eyes anywhere. You lowered your gun the rest of the way. “D—Daryl?”

He finally dropped his hands his eyes narrowed and intense. “Are ya gonna shoot me?” he drawled. His voice was deep and gruff and you felt goosebumps rising on your skin. One corner of his mouth flicked up in the same way it always had back when you were kids.

You gulped, your hands still on your pistol. “Do I need to?”

He let out a gruff laugh. “Nah. I dun think so.”

You holstered your gun, still paralyzed, your boots seemingly rooted into the soil.

Daryl was the first one to move. He rushed over to you and hugged you almost desperately, but you were still in such a state of shock that by the time you moved to return it he was already breaking away. Your eyes were searching as you looked at him and he just peered back at you with that classic Daryl Dixon stare.

“S’real fuckin’ good to see you, Y/N,” he said. He bent and picked up his crossbow, swinging it over himself and onto his back in a fluid and well-practiced movement. He tilted his head at you. “Why the hell did ya stick me up, hmm?” he asked.

You snapped yourself out of your reverie, actually shaking your head slightly. “Uhh—My camp is near here. I don’t like strangers,” you said absently, still unable to trust your eyes that this man standing in front of you was the boy from your past. “Daryl—” You weren’t even sure where to start but you suddenly felt a swell of anger. “Daryl, what the fuck?” you demanded.

He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably.

“I—I thought—you just—you left! You were just gone!” Before you knew it there were tears spilling out onto your cheeks and your anger was rising. “What the fuck!?” you yelled at him. You rushed toward him and pushed him hard in the chest. He simply took it and staggered backwards. “Why did you do that?! You didn’t even say goodbye to me! You didn’t tell me you were leaving, you didn’t tell me anything! You just—you were just gone! Do you know what I thought? Do you have any idea?!” You shoved him again and still he just took it and stepped back to regain his balance. “I thought maybe you were dead!” The tears were pouring out more quickly onto your cheeks and you reached out to shove him back again, but this time he gently caught your arm and held it. His eyes were soft and you crumbled underneath them. “I thought maybe you were dead. I thought your dad—” you gasped in a heaving breath.

“M’sorry,” he said. You stared at him, fighting emotion. “M’sorry,” he said again. He gently tugged you closer to him and you allowed it. “M’so sorry.”

You fell into him and felt his arms wrap around you as you squeezed your eyes shut. “M’sorry, Y/N,” he whispered to you. His hands flattened out on your back and smoothed over it and he held you until were able to stop yourself from crying. You straightened up, hastily wiping the tear streaks off your cheeks.

You laughed a little wryly at yourself. “This is so stupid. I’m—I’m crying over something that happened over a decade ago,” you murmured.

“S’cuz it still feels like it just happened yesterday. Ain’t stupid,” he said.

You took him in for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah. It does.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

You brought Daryl back to your camp and you both did you best to catch the other up one what life had been like since those hazy summer high school days. Most of it didn’t seem to matter anymore now that the world was what it was—all nightmarish and broken. But there was one question you had to ask him as you sat by the campfire that night.

“If you could do it over,” you hesitated, “would you do the same thing?”

“Hmm?” he hummed, a questioning noise.

“Would you just leave, like you did? Or would you do it differently?”

Daryl considered you quietly for a long moment. He had always thought you were beautiful and that hadn’t changed. He had always known you were kind and smart and caring and funny… and that hadn’t changed either, despite the hell around you now. And he still felt like there was a string, a golden thread that led from his heart to yours, tying the two of you together, and that still felt connected. It had never been cut. Not after all the time and all the distance. “I ask myself that just about every day. Think about ya every day,” he said, feeling a bit bashful under the gaze of your brilliant eyes. He turned back to stare at the crackling fire in front of you both. “I dunno if it woulda turned out any better or worse, or even any different but—I do regret not havin’ ya around all this time. Maybe my biggest regret in life.” He glanced up at you again and marveled at your thoughtful, open, and slightly sad expression.

You nodded subtly. “Mine too.”

“The reason I didn’t come tell ya I was leavin’—” he hesitated, biting his bottom lip anxiously. “Is because I knew ya’d try to stop me. I knew ya’d ask me to stay… and if—if ya asked me that, there would be no way I could go.”

You gave him a sad smile and had to blink away the glistening moisture in your eyes again. You cleared your throat and nodded. “I’m still mad at you,” you joked softly.

He let out a small laugh. “Thas fair…” Daryl rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “So, yer really alone out here?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Well, I’ve got a group. Good people. Family. If ya wanted to, ya can come back with me. Yer—yer family too. I promise they’re all good people,” he drawled. He watched you carefully, anxiously trying to read your reaction.

You nodded slowly. “I trust you,” you said.

He cleared his throat, feeling a swell of happiness at your response. “I won’t leave ya again,” he said.

You quirked an eyebrow up at him. “Ya better not.”

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts:

Part 9:

As it turns out, being told there’s an imminent threat on your life, does not lend itself to a relaxing day at work. No, what it lends itself to, is a day of looking over your shoulder, of flipping the lights on in every room- of creeping quietly around furniture, trying to get the jump on whoever is hiding behind it. 

Except, there’s never anyone behind it. There’s never anyone behind anything, and all you have to show for it is a heart beating far too fast. All you have is a ribcage, strung together with dental floss, little bits of string pulled much too far and much too tight. What’s left is a person one surprise from a panic attack, and one loud noise away from a mental breakdown.

It’s the weirdest anxiety you’ve ever felt; a dripping, acrid, paranoia lining your bones with electricity and your muscles with shock. The strangest part of all though? The way you’re counting the minutes. Watching the seconds pass by with each moment, trying to be patient until you could see Bakugou of all people. 

You’re not sure when you started to associate him with safety, but it’s almost a lost cause at this point. His attitude was pretty much irrelevant to the issue, and even if he wasn’t very soft or reassuring, you know he’d rather die than let you get taken. His ego just wouldn’t allow it, and for some odd reason, you think that’s the most comforting part of all.

You walk out the backdoor, dragging your feet and hardly even jumping in surprise when you see him. Bakugou is leaning against the back wall of the alley, disinterest coloring his face. He’s in his hero gear, but thankfully he’s got his mask in his hands- being unable to fully see his eyes made him much harder to read.

“No bruises, scrapes? Blood?” You ask, looking him up and down twice over. You can’t help yourself as you near, eyes squinting as you study him closely. “No injuries, right?”

“No- ‘m fuckin’ fine. Stop fussing, woman.”

You see the red on his cheeks, just barely for a second, before he’s quickly sliding the mask onto his face. So much for seeing his eyes, then- apparently he wanted to keep you guessing all night. Not that you wouldn’t have been anyway. 

"I'm not- actually, yeah, sorry. Maybe I was fussing a little bit." You laugh under you breath, taking a step back. "It's not my fault though, alright? Usually I only see you when you’re exhausted or bleeding out."

"Yeah, because bein' around ya is fuckin' torture, leech. Why the hell would I see you if I didn't have to?"

You turn, balking at him. Under the glow of the streetlamp, something sly and mischievous lines his smile. You watch him glow for a moment, yellow streetlamp luminescence casting his pale skin in shades of glimmering gold. He’s almost unrecognizable like that, unable to help himself when he shakes his head. 

“I told you, leech.” He laughs. “You’re too easy.”

“No- you’re an asshole. You know that? You have to know that, don’t you?”

“I know.”

“And, what, you’re proud of that?”

He just shrugs, kicking off the wall and brushing past you. His shoulder knocks into yours, and you feel a little unsteady at the impact. Bakugou laughs. Then he picks up speed, walking briskly towards the end of the alley, looking behind him to make sure that you’re following. 

“That’s not an answer, you know.” You say, rolling your eyes. “Not even a little bit of an answer.” 

“Who the fuck said I gotta answer all your questions, hah?” He replies, petulance coloring his words. He turns back to look at you, snapping his fingers to urge you on. “Now c’mon. Faster. Pick up the goddamn pace.”

“Jeez, you’re pushy tonight.”

Bakugou doesn’t answer you, just leading you out of the alley, and into the street. He slows suddenly, falling behind you with watchful eyes scanning every shadow. There’s no one out that night, there almost never is at that time, but Bakugou still seems keen on keeping up his vigilance. Turning back to look at him, you’re almost shocked by the concentration on his face.

It’s a look you’re not especially used to seeing on him. You’d never realized how much time he spent just messing with you, but the foreignness of his expression made that apparent. In that moment, all you can wonder is why villians even bothered in the first place- it was obvious they weren’t going to get away with anything under his watch. Not at least if Bakugou’s fists had something to say about it. 

“You look pretty guard-dog-like back there.” You comment with a coy smile. “Super scary.”

“Shut up.”

 “Mhm, that’s what you always say isn’t it.”

 “Fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing.” You say lightly, spinning to look at him for a moment. He’s confused, head tilted slightly to the side. He looks like a dog all over again and you have to hold back a giggle. “Just means you’re short with me all the time. Well- when you’re not being mean that is.” 

“You pickin’ a fight?”

“No. No. I’m not.” You laugh. “I almost never am, or at least not intentionally. You always think so though.” 

Bakugou speeds up then, his strides matching yours. He’s close then, way closer to you than he’d usually walk. You’re not particularly curious about it, but you’re sure that if you reached out, just barely extended your fingers, you’d brush right up against those giant gauntlets of his. And probably get those same fingers blasted right off- but that’s neither here nor there. 

“You look tired.” He gruffs, changing the subject suddenly. He’s looking away, eyes trained down every dark alley you pass. “You somehow sleep worse than me or somethin’?” 

“No. Just lots of people coming in and out today. Lots of patients to see.” 

“Mhm.” He nods. “Any weird injuries?”

“No? Why?”

He just looks at you then, eyes squinting slightly.

“Oh. Those villians you can’t tell me about. I get it.” You say, and Bakugou nods. “But no. Not that I saw- sorry. Strange influx of elderly people, though. But that’s probably just a coincidence. Probably unrelated.”

“It is.”

“Huh? How would you know?”

“Just do.”

You roll your eyes, huffing. “You suck at explaining things, you know- just like, the worst conversationalist.”

He shrugs again, and at the movement you feel the edge of his gauntlets against your arm. The metal is cold, even through the thin material of your jacket, and you shiver.

“Damn, you really that fuckin’ scared of ‘em?” He scoffs, looking at you a little weirdly. “Chill the hell out, leech. ‘m not after you.” 

“No- it’s not- I’m not scared of them. Well, I am, but not of you. Or them.” You rub at your arms, trying to avoid accidentally elbowing him as he walks next to you. “The metal was just cold. Didn’t expect it, is all.” 

He nods, grunting something under his breath. Then he’s side-eyeing you. For way too long to be normal, even for ordinary person standards. Hardly another breath passes before he smirks, jostling his shoulders and pressing the gauntlet directly into your arm. It hits against your jacket, flooding ice through the material and into your skin.

“It’s cold!” You squeal in surprise, almost stumbling as you pull away. You take another step to the side, just to increase the distance between you and him- just to be safe. “I literally just said that! You’re a dick.” 

Bakugou just smothers his laugh in his shoulder. 

“No! Don’t laugh- what you think this is funny? Huh?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles, trying to get you with the gauntlets once more. You flinch away, which just makes him laugh more. “I do actually.”

“It’s not! It’s cold out, you asshole! Don’t make it any worse!”

He just laughs at you, eyes crinkling around the edges. Bakugou doesn’t laugh much, not around you at least, but now you’re sort of wishing he did. His eyes look a lot brighter when he laughs. Happier.

“Okay, okay, chill out already.” He smirks, shushing you like a child. “Won’t happen again.”

“You sound like you’re lying.”

“Nah. ‘m not.”

“I don’t trust you.” You counter, eyeing him with suspicion. “Not at all.”

He just shrugs, like your answer doesn’t surprise him, nor does it make any sort of difference. You suppose that’s about right. Bakugou pretty much only cared about pushing your buttons- making you feel comfortable wasn’t even a thought in his mind.

“You’re such a baby.” He comments, eyes scanning down another dark alley. “Seriously. ‘s not even that fuckin’ cold outside.”

“Says you.”

“I’m right.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“You’re absolutely not.” Drawing your jacket tighter, you fight the shiver that threatens to crawl up your spine. “You know, for a guy who gets so mad about me “picking fights” all the time, you sure do like to argue a lot. You sure you’re not actually the one picking fights?”

“I don’t gotta pick ‘em, I just finish them.”

There’s no way- there’s no way in hell a fully grown hero, a pro hero just opened his mouth and said that to you. It’s inconcievable, or, it should be, but then you look at Bakugou and the absolute sincerity of his expression.

“You’re a barbarian.” You can’t help but laugh, pinching the bridge of your nose with faux annoyance. “Seriously. I just gagged on all the testosterone in that sentence.” 

“So? ‘s not my fuckin’ problem.” 

“It is. It definitely is.” You tell him, hardly restraining your urge to knock him right off the curb. 

From where he is, walking on the outside of the sidewalk and closest to the road, all it would take is a little nudge- he’s walking so very close to the edge.  But knowing him, Bakugou would probably take you with him. So you refrain, changing the subject instead.

 “So, you see any bad guys yet?”

“Bad guys?” He snorts, eyeing you like you’re stupid. “No. I haven’t seen any villains, yet.” 

“Good, just checking. I don’t actually know what I’d do if you did.”

“You don’t do shit. You stay the hell out of it.”

“Okay, but what if you-”

“No. You run the other direction and go fuckin’ hide. That’s what you do.” He orders, seriousness lining his features. “Don’t go tryin’ anything. You’ll only get in the way, leech.”

A part of you bristles all over at that- at his insistence that you’d be nothing but useless weight in a fight. It makes you uncomfortable because as it stands, he’s right. You’d never be able to hold your own, much less defeat anyone.

You felt weak. Vulnerable.

“Don’t be a goddamn baby. I can see you panicking.” He says, kicking at a rock on the sidewalk. “I told you- ‘m not plannin’ to let any of those fuckers get you. ‘s a hypothetical, so don’t go cryin’ over shit that hasn’t even happened yet.”

“It’s not that.”

“Fuck is it then?”

“It’s just- I was thinking, you know, about what I’d do in a fight.” You start, rubbing at your elbow mindlessly. “And you’re right. I’d be entirely useless. I can’t hurt anybody. I don’t think I ever would, even if I had the skills to.”

You hardly see it from the corner of your vision, but Bakugou scrunches his nose. Your words must’ve upset him because then he’s huffing like a bull, curling his fingers closed into a fist.

“Don’t say it like it’s a fuckin’ bad thing. Don’t be an idiot.” He mutters lowly, voice pinched and tight. There’s a flush on his cheeks, just barely visible in the dark. “People getting fuckin’ hurt is never a good thing.”

“No, it’s not. I guess you’re right. But, still, I guess what I’m saying is I wish I was a little less soft, you know? Stronger.”

He cuts his eyes toward you, something guarded lining them. You can hardly tell, and you wish he’d take his mask off, but Bakugou almost looks..... offended?

“Bein’ soft doesn’t mean you’re fuckin’ weak.”

“You’ve literally called me weak before!” 

“Yeah- when you were playin’ all fuckin’ nice when you didn’t mean it.” He flares his nostrils. “That’s weak.” 

“Oh, so you’re saying- actually, no, I have no idea what point you’re trying to get at right now.”

“Jesus, you’re stupid.” He mutters on his breath. “I’m saying, don’t do shit just because you think you have to. That’s stupid. That’s weak.”

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t fight anybody?”

“Do you want to fight anybody?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Then why the hell are we even fuckin’ talking about this?” He asks, simple and plain like it never even mattered to him in the first place. “If you don’t want to fight then don’t fight. It’s that fuckin’ easy.”

“Yeah, but-”

“No buts.” He says, finality lacing his tone. “Besides, it’s not gonna fuckin’ matter anyway. I’ll skin ‘em before they even get anywhere near you.”

Bakugou seems to realize his words- and the weight behind them at the same time you do. Where you’re blushing and looking away, he’s straightening in place next to you. His spine goes ramrod, feet stuttering like the pavement is shooting electric shocks through his heels. 

“That’s- I think that’s the only sort of nice thing you’ve ever said to me.” You utter out, entirely shocked. Then you’re slapping a hand against your mouth, breathing a gasp out between the gaps in your fingers. “That’s- that’s the only nice thing I get? A threat against somebody else? That’s ridiculous!”  

You can’t help the giggle that tumbles out of your mouth then, something small and tiny quickly growing louder. It makes you feel light- weightless on the street, like the pavement below you is bolstering you higher with each step. When you look over, Bakugou’s not laughing, but he’s smiling, something pinched and shy as he looks back at you. A he stares at you, blinking slowly, tipping his head to the side like he doesn’t understand.

“It’s- I’m sorry.” You laugh, biting down on your lip. “It’s just so funny! You being nice isn’t even you being nice- it’s just you being mean to somebody else for once!” 

“If this is what you’re like when I’m fuckin’ nice, then I’ll never be nice to you again.” 

“Don’t grumble.” You smile, trying to cover your smile with an errant palm. “Even if I’m laughing, I’m not necassarily laughing at you, you know? I guess what I”m saying is that it helps with the panic- to know that somebody capable is looking out for me, you know?”

“Yeah, I bet.”

His tone leaves something sour, sarcasm and cynicism left behind on his breath. You look over at him, but his eyes are trained forward, shooting between every dark crevice and shadow. He’s relentless, shoulders constantly drawn forward, stalking and prowling like he’s just waiting for somebody to challenge him.

It makes you wonder who’s looking out for him. If anybody even is- or, more specifically, if he is letting anyone.

“Hey, Bakugou?” You ask suddenly. 

“What?”

“I appreciate it, you know. This. You walking me home.” You find yourself unable to hold his intense gaze any longer. Eyes trained at the ground, you continue. “I know you didn’t have to, and even if it’s not for me, it still makes me feel a lot better. Less scared. So thank you.” 

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t really even react other than straightening a little beside you. It makes you want to take the words back, to fluster, make excuses maybe- but you don’t. You steel yourself and you don’t apologize because you meant it. Meant every word.

“Jesus, you really are soft, huh.” He mutters quietly, voice hardly carrying through the cold air. “Really fuckin’ soft.”

“Yeah. I am.”

He doesn’t say anything else, but he does walk a little closer. From where he is, right up next to you, Bakugou looks a lot different. It might just be the low light, but you could’ve sworn he was all soft angles then; all smooth skin covering a gently sloping nose, delicate lips curled up into the smallest of smiles. You think he’s beautiful then- like somehow, all of his blistering strength had gone molten instead of igniting. 

There’s not much left to say, and you’re out of jokes, so the rest of your walk is spent in silence. It’s a weird kind of quiet, something that sits heavy in your chest, warm and fluid- almost like it’s lulling you to sleep. There’s still a little anxiety rolling in your stomach, but that’s softened now too. You’re sure Bakugou would laugh at you if you told him, but he really did make you feel safe. If only in an belligerent and begrudging sort of way on his end. 

Another few minutes pass and you’re at the entrance to your apartment building. He hovers close behind you as you swipe your keycard, eyes watching the same way they’d done all night. He really is diligent when he wants to be apparently.

“Are you coming in?” You ask, lingering in the door way.

“Nah. I’m on patrol for a few more hours.”  

“Oh- yeah, okay, that makes sense.”

“You scared or somethin’?” He asks, squinting at you. “Go inside already.” 

You curl your fingers a little tighter around the handle, shifting your weight onto your other foot. It frustrates you a little- how he seems to see right through you when you can hardly ever tell what he’s thinking. 

“No- well, yes, but I get it, you’ve got other priorities.” You say, gently. “Go, I’ll be fine. Don’t let my weird paranoia hold you up or anything.” 

He just nods, adjusting the mask on his face as he turns away. Bakugou only makes it a few steps, just barely secluded into the shadows beyond the complex lights, before he’s turning around. Hand itching at the back of his neck, he plants his feet, regarding you with familiar red eyes.

“It’s not weird.” He says. “I’ll be back later. Don’t do anything fuckin’ stupid while I’m gone.” 

Then he’s turning around before you can say anything, his dark costume melting into the shadows. The air somehow feels colder when he leaves, empty almost, and you rush into your apartment complex as a result.

When you’re finally unlocking your door, and quickly relocking it behind you, the exhaustion nearly bulldozes you. You’d been so careful that day, not using your quirk just like Bakugou had advised, but in the end you figured it didn’t really matter- you were scared, absolutely terrified about some villian it didn’t seem like you could even prepare for. That would make anyone tired, weird quirk or not.

Collapsing on your couch with a sigh, you can’t help yourself as sleep quickly takes over.

--/--

You’re jolted awake by the sound of knocking, and, even in your sleep-drunk haze, you know who it is. You’d never known anyone else in your entire life who knocked as loudly as he did. It was like miniature bombs were going off against the glass. 

Bakugou is standing outside in normal clothes, thankfully shucked of both his hero costume and mask. He’s clad in sweatpants and a t-shirt, tapping his foot impatiently as you approach the door. You wonder how he’s not cold, how in the world he’s not freezing his ass off out there. You’d ask, but the exhaustion is still creeping in, piloting your body with hardly a quarter of as much energy as you would normally have.

“You look tired.” He says, taking in your appearance when you slide open the door. He lets himself in, brushing past you when you apparently take too long. “You fall asleep or somethin’?”

“Yeah- yeah, I did, sorry.” You yawn, rubbing away the sleep in your eyes. “Couldn’t help it. Was tired.”

“Oh.”

Bakugou seems a little stilted, hardly even looking at you, and when he does, it’s with a flush on his face. You just shrug his weird behavior off, not having the energy to ask nor the care to even remotely get to the bottom of it. As it was- you were dead tired. His weird mood wasn’t going to trump that apparently.

“You all good?” You yawn again into your hand, then stretch your arms high above your head. “No injuries or anything?”

“Nope.”

“Oh. Okay. That’s good. That’s good.” You trail off, turning away from him to gather your purse and coat off of the couch. “How was it?”

“I didn’t find them yet. If that’s what you’re asking.”

“No- well, that’s sorta- but not really.” You’re fluffing the pillows for him before you realize, gathering a blanket from where it was tucked away too. “I meant- like, everything go alright? Just general checking up stuff.”

“Why- you decide to care now or somethin’?”

“Don’t be difficult. I care. Wouldn’t- wouldn’t ask if I didn’t care to know the answer.”

“Fine.” He grumbles, cheeks going pink once more. “It was boring. Nobody was out tryin’ to pull anything.” 

“Well, that’s nice to hear, actually.”

You continue making up his pseduo bed, spreading the blanket over your cushions and folding it back neatly. It’s almost subconscious, the way your hands move even through your sleep-fog. Bakugou just watches, looking at you a little strangely. His red eyes flicker from you, to the pseduo-bed you’d made up for him, and then back again several times over. 

On the couch, there’s the normal blanket, but this time you’d also sacrificed one of your real pillows too. You figured that if he was going to go through the hassle of making sure you were safe, then the least you could do was spare him a good pillow. Still, the gesture seemed to stump him, and Bakugou just stared blankly at it. Then his eyes flicker back to you, something unsure in them.

You’re not used to seeing him like that. Apprehensive. Almost timid.

“Hope it’s alright.” You tell him, passing him to flick off the bright overhead light. “Thought it was about time for an upgrade. Take it as a show of my appreciation.” 

“Whatever.” He flusters a bit, but shakes it off quickly. “Glad you finally realized how shitty your throw pillows are.”

“Mhm. Sure.”

“You really that tired?”

“Yeah. Sorry. ‘s pretty hard for me to function after I’ve just woken up. ‘s really embarrassing.” 

“No, it’s-”

Bakugou seems to suddenly seize in place half way through his words, spinning the other direction like someone was puppetting his strings. You really start to wonder what had gotten into him in the few hours since you’d seen him last.

“Well, if that’s all,” You say, hiding another large yawn behind your gloves. Then you’re pulling at the material, freeing one of your hands. “Then I’d really like to go back to sleep. So, c’mon, hand out already, yeah?” 

He nods tightly, his whole face red. He won’t look at you, eyes hardly flickering up to yours for a second before he forces them back down. Another loud yawn escapes you, and that only seems to worsen whatever problem he’s having, because then Bakugou is dragging a hand down his face- stretching and pulling and tugging at heated skin like he’s in physical pain. Still, he holds his hand out anyways, refusing to meet your eyes.

That same subtle warmth floods you again, solid and sure where his hand meets yours. It’s muted now, a little softer, but still there. You’re half asleep, barely functioning, and you absentmindedly rub the back of his hand with you thumb, once, twice, and then pat when you let go.

He just looks at you, absolutely bewildered, and honestly- you’re not sure you have an explanation. There is no explanation. All there is, is your bone-deep exhaustion and the apparently uncharacteristic things it makes you do. Like shushing him when he starts to speak, which only seems to stun him more. Then you’re waving him off,  beginning to walk towards your bedroom without hardly letting him get a reaction in edgewise. You’d apologize, but honestly, you’re sure you’d fall asleep half-way through the words. 

“Goodnight.” You say absentmindedly, head lolling over your shoulder to look back at him. “Have a good sleep or whatever. See you tomorrow.”

Then you’re stumbling down the hall, just barely remembering to flick off the overhead lights. You hit the bed, flopping down boneless and sated. 

You’re sure it must take all over 10 seconds until you’re out again. Maybe even less than that.

--

hope u enjoy lovelies :)))

taglist:  @fluffyviciousbunny @definitelynottrin @imsuperawkward @i-need-air @ahbeautifulexistence @brennabooz @jazzylove @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @katsuki-bakubabe @sorrythatspussynal @bakugouswh0r3 @cloudsgathering @un-limit-edd @thekatsukisimp @pollayra21 @the2ndl @officialtrashbusiness @waffleareniceandfluffy @monempathieetmoi @koiwoshinai @christianagrace9  @the2ndl @the-shota-king-masayuki @shy-panda02 @devastyle @shoto-supremacy00 @shotoful 

[missjanjie]

I Just Need a Lover (So Gimme What I Want) | Rosnali

Title: I Just Need a Lover (So Gimme What I Want) Summary: Rosé is in Chicago to do a long-awaited show with Denali, but their reunion stretches far beyond doing a few numbers in a club. Word Count: 1608 Relationship(s): Rosnali (Rosé/Denali Foxx) Rating: E

read on ao3 | ko-fi

Doing a show together felt inevitable for Rosé and Denali. As soon as they were able to, they jumped on the opportunity. And Rosé was just excited to be in Chicago too – he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been.

Rosé hadn’t even opened his suitcase when he heard a knock on the door, but he dropped it instantly to rush to open it. “That was quick. You miss me that bad?” he smirked.

Denali scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Of course I missed you, Rosie,” and despite the faux-annoyed expression, he threw his arms around him and hugged him tightly.

“I missed you too,” he assured, inhaling deeply as he rubbed Denali’s back, the scent of his cologne reigniting the memory of every other time they’d gotten the chance to be close, those times too few and far between for their liking. Just because they had gotten used to the eight hundred mile distance doesn’t mean it ever became any more bearable.

And it wasn’t as though they had been completely alone, their respective open relationships had never changed. But the connection they had formed without so much as a proper kiss left the two of them yearning for each other. Playing it up for laughs in front of the fans, to their surprise, only exacerbated it.

“Everyone’s excited for the show tonight,” Denali said as they settled onto the hotel room bed. “I really hyped you up, so you better not disappoint,” he jokingly warned.

“I only ever disappoint my extended family, don’t you worry,” he chuckled.

------

The energy of the crows was electric, it was addictive. Denali, Rosé, and everyone else in the show fed off of it and it kept them going. It gave them the engagement they had been missing when they were confined to their bedrooms and online communication. It carried on after their set as well, fans buying them drink after drink, allowing them to let loose and have fun.

That was how they ended up on the dance floor as soon as they were out of drag, pressed together with their bodies moving to the thumping beat of the music. It started innocently enough – flirtatious bumping and grinding with anything they might’ve said drowned out by a techno remix of ‘Rain On Me’. But as the night went on and their inhibitions lowered.

“You keep moving your ass like that and I’m gonna end up taking you back to my hotel,” Rosé warned into Denali’s ear, his hands on his waist, holding onto him even though he’d never made the slightest attempt at moving away.

Denali responded by pointedly pressing his ass against Rosé’s crotch, his back flushed against his chest. “Rosie, if you haven’t figured out that’s what I’ve been aiming for, I think we’ve got a bigger issue here,” he giggled.

“Then let’s get the fuck out of here.”

In the Uber ride back to the hotel, Rosé felt something he didn’t expect in his tipsy, horny haze – relief. Of course he wanted Denali, people had been calling him out on that for months. But he didn’t want any of the conversations that came with it – how he felt emotionally, what it could mean for their respective relationships and one between them, all of his worries and insecurities. After the shots and the dance-based foreplay, Rosé just wanted Denali in his bed without having to think twice about it.

Denali, on the other hand, had far less on his mind. He’d talked a big game about lusting after his friend plenty of times, the follow-through felt overdue. He didn’t waste any time either – his hand was on Rosé’s thigh in the car, he hung on him in the elevator, there wasn’t a moment between the club and returning to the hotel room that Denali wasn’t making his clingy, needy intentions clear.

Rosé had Denali pinned against the door the second it closed. “How are you so fucking worked up when I’ve barely even touched you?” he smirked.

“I’m worked up because you’ve barely touched me,” Denali replied without missing a beat, then grabbed onto Rosé’s shirt and kissed him fiercely. “I want your fucking Scottish cock already.” He couldn’t resist saying that in an accent, to Rosé’s chagrin.

“Please don’t say that while I’m fucking you,” he gently requested before reconnecting their lips in another heated kiss.

Denali laughed into the kiss as they stumbled back and fell onto the bed. “I just had to get it out of my system,” he assured as he tugged his shirt off and, in a moment of impatience, got Rosé’s off as well.

It wasn’t lost on Rosé, who couldn’t fight off a smirk. “Damn, Dee, if I’d known you wanted me to fuck you that badly, we could’ve worked something out sooner,” he teased as he undid the fly of Denali’s jeans and tugged them down.

“Don’t be smug, I already told you I want you, come on,” he huffed. “Me waiting since we first met is irrelevant.”

But if that was supposed to make Rosé any less smug, it failed miserably. “Since the porkchop lounge? Fuck, I had so many missed opportunities to shoot my shot,” he chuckled as he took his own jeans off. “Guess we have some lost time to make up for, don’t we?”

“You better make it worth my while,” Denali jokingly snapped, then finally got them both fully undressed. “I didn’t spend months talking about your dick for it to disappoint me.”

Rosé snorted. “No pressure, huh?” He looked around and rifled through his bag and grabbed a condom and lube. “Luckily, I’ve never had any complaints.” Before Denali could get another quip in, Rosé kissed him hard, one hand gripping into his hair and the other pushing him onto his back. He picked the bottle of lube up from the bed and slicked up two fingers. “Spread ‘em,” he directed, and when Denali’s legs were propped apart, he gripped his thigh with one hand as the opposite one eased in a finger, then another.

Denali’s eyes fluttered shut and his head pushed into the mound of pillows behind him. He whimpered and whined, hips bucking towards Rosé’s fingers to urge him on.

But Rosé didn’t rush, he wanted to make sure he lived up to however Denali had hyped him up in his mind. So, he was diligent in his prepping, only taking his fingers out when he felt confident that it’d been enough. He picked up the condom and tore the wrapper open with his teeth. After rolling it down his length, he used a bit more lube to slick up his cock, then guided himself into Denali until he bottomed out.

A breathy moan ripped through Denali, his back arched up and his body tensed, only to relax right after. His eyes opened and bore right into Rosé’s. “Don’t you even think about holding back with me.”

“Oh, I know you like it rough,” he winked. Without any further hesitation, he began thrusting, slow for only a moment before he built up to a hard and fast pace.

The sound of skin slapping together was only matched by Denali’s moans. He tried to writhe in tandem with Rosé’s thrusts, but Rosé had a bruisingly firm grip, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his hip. He was pinned to the bed, unable to do anything but take his cock pounding into him. It was rough and intense and got his head spinning – exactly how he liked it. It was addictive, Denali was convinced he could spend the entire night getting railed by Rosé and never tap out.

Rosé gazed down at Denali, moving the hand from his shoulder to wrap around his throat with just the right amount of pressure. “Look at you,” he purred, “taking my cock just as well as I thought you would.” His thrusting became increasingly erratic after a while and he realized he wouldn’t last much longer. So, he moved his hand from Denali’s neck and trailed it down his torso, then wrapped it around his cock, stroking it in time with his movements.

“Fuck!” Denali gasped out in pleasure, thrusting into Rosé’s hand. It didn’t take long until his body began trembling. He could barely croak out a warning before he came, then went limp under him.

“Good boy,” Rosé cooed as he jerked Denali through his orgasm. He picked him back up, his hand splayed in between Denali’s shoulder blades and the other arm wrapped around his waist. He grunted and groaned until his hips sputtered to a halt as he rode out his own orgasm. “Fuck…” he panted softly, gently setting Denali back down before pulling out and throwing out the condom. He grabbed a tissue to clean up the remaining mess, then laid down next to him.

Denali cuddled up to Rosé without hesitation, resting his head on his chest. “Mm, that was perfect, Rosie,” he cooed sweetly.

“Lived up to your expectations?” Rosé chuckled and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“At the risk of inflating your ego, it exceeded them,” he retorted, then let out a content sigh. “How long are you here for?”

Rosé let out a tired laugh. “Jesus, you already planning for round two? But I’m here all weekend, don’t worry.”

Denali looked up at him with a smirk. “I’m not worried, but you should be. ‘Cause I’m gonna wear you out, and that is both a threat and a promise.”

And Rosé just held Denali tighter and leaned down, pressing a gentle, tender kiss to his lips. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Unexpected

Summary: The reader and Jensen discover their odds of having children are low and look into adoption. When they end up fostering a teenager though, they realize what they thought they wanted might be right in front of them...

Square: Jensen Ackles

Pairing: Jensen x reader

Word Count: 11,700ish

Warnings: language, angst, conception problems, family angst

A/N: Written for @spngenrebingo​

_________

“Uh, Jensen?” you asked, turning his attention away from the TV. He’d just gotten home from the airport for the weekend, a quick dinner like he usually had, and now he was curled up on the couch, probably wondering why you hadn’t joined him yet for movie night. “Can you turn off the TV? I need to talk to you about something important.”

“Alright,” he said, hitting the remote, giving you his full attention. You didn’t join him though, simply stood on the edge of the room so you could leave if you wanted to. “What’s going on, honey?”

“I went to the doctor earlier in the week,” you said, Jensen lifting his chin. “I didn’t want to worry you. I’m okay.”

“Too late for that,” he said quietly, his face falling. “What’s wrong?”

“I got some lab results back today. I thought this is something important to tell you because we both talked about wanting kids back when we were dating and…” you trailed off, taking a deep breath. “I can’t…”

“You can’t have kids?” he asked gently, giving you a smile. You nodded, barely looking at him.  “S’okay if you can’t. That’s okay. We could always adopt if you still wanted them.”

“It’s...possible I could but my odds are low...like 1 in a million low,” you said, rubbing your arm. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? For what?” he asked, standing up and wrapping you up in a hug, kissing your forehead. “As long as you are healthy, that’s all that matters. I know with the show ending soon we were thinking of trying more seriously and we still can...but I don’t want you to be disappointed if it doesn’t ever happen, Y/N. You’re my family and we can still have kids if we want, even if we didn’t make ‘em. I didn’t fall in love with you for kids.”

“I know. It’s just...I really wanted them with you. You’d make really cute kids I bet,” you said, closing your eyes. “God, I’m not crying over this anymore. I’m not.”

“We can try and maybe tomorrow we look into adoption and how it all works,” he said.

“Just like that, you’re okay with adoption?” you asked.

“Are you?”

“Yeah I wasn’t...I wasn’t sure if you’d be interested though,” you said.

“Yeah, I am. Tonight let’s fix you up though,” he said, grabbing the blanket off the couch. “Let’s watch your favorite movie in bed and go cuddle, hm?”

“Okay,” you said, taking another deep breath. “Maybe just the cuddle?”

“Yeah,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “Let’s go take care of you.”

Three Months Later

You were three weeks into Jensen being done with work for good, the end of April when you got a phone call that your case worker wanted an in person meeting. Jensen practically sped over there, both of you trying to stay calm. You weren’t expecting anything so fast. He held your hand as you walked inside and were shown to the back where Chad’s office was.

“Mr. and Mrs. Ackles,” he said, holding out a hand to each of you. “Wow, you two might have beat the record for new parents down here.”

“We’re a little excited,” said Jensen, Chad chuckling as he shut the door behind you.

“We like to see that,” he said, taking a seat and sliding over a file but putting a hand on top of it. “So to forewarn you, this isn’t an infant like you were looking for. We’re still looking, we know that’s what you’re looking to adopt. But we’re in a bit of a bind and you are registered fosters, even if you only did that to help facilitate the adoption process when we do find an infant and give you more time with them.”

“So this is not...sorry, what is this?” you asked.

“Sixteen year old girl needs placement today. There was an incident at her foster home last evening. All other children there were relocated but we’re pretty maxed out right now and she needs a place to go. You’re legally qualified to take care of her if you choose. It’ll be a week tops before we can get her in another home. Kid goes to school, comes home, eats, sleeps...she’s a teenager so it’s not as heavily as involved as a small child. We just really need someone to take her for a short while. It looks really good and helps you get priority when infants pop up too which is why I was offering,” he said.

“Sixteen?” asked Jensen, looking at you. “Y/N’s not that all that much older than this girl, no offense sweetie.”

“No, no. He’s right...I’m still in my twenties, Chad. How am I supposed to be a foster mom to this girl? Jensen’s not even that much older. He’s only thirty five,” you said.

“We know. It’s more like babysitting,” he said, looking between the two of you. “You’d really be doing us a favor…”

“Can we have a minute?” asked Jensen.

“Of course,” said Chad, leaving the office. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Do we want to do this?” asked Jensen.

“Well I feel like I’ll feel like a piece of shit if we don’t,” you said. “It’s some kid.”

“You hadn’t even hit puberty when she was born,” he said.

“Yes I did...barely. That’s not the point. So I’m a little young. We got some comments when we first started dating because of our ages,” you said.

“I am not that much older than you. We were both adults when we met. You were 22, I was 29 and it was all perfectly normal,” he said, closing his eyes. “It’s not...I just don’t know how she’ll listen to us if we’re not that old is what I’m getting at.”

“Listen to what? He said she goes to school, we feed her, have her stay in the guest room and she’s gone in a week,” you said.

“Alright. I guess it’s stupid to worry about that when she’s not there long. I guess we do this then? First test run?” he said.

“Yeah, I think it might even be fun.”

You felt like you’d been hit by a train when you and Jensen left Chad’s office. He told you they’d be dropping Ellie off at 4 that afternoon after she got out of school. Except Ellie had been in the system since she was six, had lived in more houses than you and Jensen combined, and apparently had big issues with strangers.

“This is going to go well,” you mumbled when you got in the car.

“Why don’t we go to the store, make up one of those surprise baskets you would make up for me to come home to sometimes? I’m sure she’s never gotten that before,” he said. “What do teenage girls like?”

“I don’t know. One Direction?” you asked.

“Does her file strike you as a One Direction fan?” Jensen deadpanned. “Is that even a thing anymore?”

“We got a few hours. Let’s just try to make everything as nice as we can for her, alright?”

“Okay,” said Jensen when you both heard the sound of car doors out front a few hours later. “Here goes nothing, right?”

“We got this. Just ease into it,” you said, the doorbell ringing a minute later. You both hopped up from the couch and ran over to the front door, taking a deep breath when you answered. “Hi! I’m Y/N and this is Jensen.”

“Hi,” said Ellie quietly, glancing at Chad quickly before looking away. She had a backpack and suitcase but that seemed like that’s all there was, Chad forcing a smile as they stepped inside. She looked around, raising her eyebrows. You weren’t sure what kinds of homes she’d lived in before but you imagined this was probably going to be one of the nicer ones.

“So Ellie, like I said in the car, Jensen and Y/N are new to fostering so if you have questions or they have questions, feel free to give me a call, anytime,” he said.

“We thought we’d show you around and then have some dinner?” asked Jensen.

“That sounds like a plan. I got to run, another kid in the car, but I’ll call and check in, see how things went,” said Chad, ducking out of there and out of the house.

“Okay…” you said, staring at the door, shutting it and spinning around with a smile. “So you want to see your room?”

“Whatever you want,” she said dryly. You nodded and waved her to follow you, showing her upstairs to one of the guest rooms, not getting any reaction at the basket on the nightstand. “S’nice.”

“Is there anything you want for dinner? Or do you want to go out to eat?” asked Jensen.

“Out to eat?” she asked.

“Yeah. I mean, Friday night’s normally pizza around these parts but first night and all, maybe we step it up. Barbecue, Italian, you name it,” said Jensen. She narrowed her eyes for a moment and looked you both up and down.

“You two really have never done this before,” she said. “This is temporary so don’t go out of your way. Seriously.”

“We’ll get take out,” you said with a smile. “Let you settle in. We’ll be right down in the kitchen if you need us.”

She nodded and you left with Jensen, getting a shrug out of him.

“That went good, right?” he asked.

“I guess. Give her some her space. We’ll get some pizza, wings, fries. We got salad. Maybe tomorrow we take her out?” you said.

“Yeah. She’s probably tired from school all day anyways. We’ll have a quiet night home instead.”

Your quiet night was a little too quiet though. Ellie didn’t seem to say much, just sat at the counter quietly eating her dinner with you and Jensen. You nudged him and he hummed, Ellie glancing over.

“So Ellie, what school do you go to?” he asked.

“One downtown,” she shrugged. “Only been two weeks.”

“Is that where your old home was?” he asked. “Downtown?”

“Yeah…” she said.

“I’m sure one of us can drive you and pick you up,” you said. She nodded and started to pick at her crust, darting her eyes back and forth between you. “So you’re a sophomore?”

She nodded again, Jensen bumping your foot with his own.

“Is there anything you need for your room or want us to pick up for you?” you asked.

“No,” she said. “I know you two want a baby. Can we just not do the awkward conversations for the next week? Give me the wifi-password and I’ll just hang out in my room until I’m gone.”

“Well…” said Jensen, pursing his lips. “I don’t know how you know that but yes we are looking to adopt an infant. But we’re your foster parents until someone tells us otherwise so you aren’t just going to stay hidden away in that bedroom.”

“I’m sorry. Did you not get the memo that my last foster dad made some inappropriate comments towards me, I don’t know, last night? Sorry if I don’t want to hang out with you two,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Yes we were made aware,” you said, Jensen’s face a bit blank. “We want you to know that things like that won’t happen here. If you need something, let us know.”

“May I be excused to my room? Please?” she asked. You nodded, Jensen closing his eyes when she left.

“Ah, so she hates us,” said Jensen.

“How happy do you think you’d be if you were her?” you said.

“Not very,” he said, sliding off his stool and starting to clean up. “I guess we just don’t push her, let her talk at her own pace.”

“I think that’s the best plan for now.”

“What?” you said, Jensen opening his mouth at Chad when he stopped by Monday afternoon. “Permanent? You said-”

“I know. I know. But there’s really nowhere open downtown right now and no one is dying to take the teenager. I mean, you guys know. There’s-”

“She can stay,” said Jensen, your face in a scowl at what Chad had said.

“So we need to get her into a new school, right?” you asked.

“Yeah. Whatever your local one is she’ll end up in for the rest of the school year,” he said.

“Well I mean, we moved here so we could send the kids to the academy right-”

“Whoa,” said Chad, holding up his hands. “You want to send a foster to private school, it’s your choice but I wouldn’t waste the money for like two weeks left of the school year.”

“Just send us what we need to do since Ellie will be staying with us longer,” said Jensen. Chad hummed and popped into the house to talk to Ellie, exiting a minute later and taking off. “I never really liked that guy but he’s a fucking dick.”

“You think? She’s a kid, not a number. We are so sending her. She’s got good grades, she should go to a good school,” you said. “And what was that crack about teenagers?”

“I have no idea,” he said.

“Statistically, the older you are, odds of adoption drop off,” said Ellie. You both spun around, surprised to find her right behind you under the covered front porch. “Yeah, I don’t like Chad either. He’s kind of a dumbass.”

“Well that’s something we can all agree on,” said Jensen. Ellie gave a barely there smile but it was there. “So...I guess you’re going to a new school in the morning.”

“S’okay. I don’t really like my school right now anyways,” she said.

“Want to go shopping?” you asked. “Get some new clothes?”

“She loathes shopping,” said Jensen.

“I do too,” said Ellie.

“Perfect. You two go shopping quick and I will get the school stuff sorted and I’ll meet you guys out for dinner?” he asked.

“Sounds like a plan, babe,” you said. “Come on, Ellie. Let’s go grab some stuff.”

“Uh, Y/N?” asked Ellie as you dropped off the bags at the car and climbed inside, a few minutes drive from the restaurant Jensen said he’d meet you at.

“Yeah, El?” you asked.

“You spent like a lot of money on me,” she said.

“Well the jeans weren’t on sale but they last for years so it’s always okay to pay a bit more for those. I think the most expensive thing were your boots and we got those for sixty bucks. Trust me, I’m not one to buy stuff. We made out good,” you said.

“It’s cause I’m going to private school isn’t it,” she said. “You want me to look good.”

“Ellie,” you said, looking over at her in the passenger seat. “You’re going to be with us long term. We were told a few days and that’s not the case anymore so now that we got a better idea of the plan, we got a little bit better of an idea how to take care of you.”

“You guys really don’t get how the foster parents thing works yet, do you,” she said, laughing as she leaned against the window.

“I think taking care of the kid is pretty self explanatory,” you said. She hummed and closed her eyes, opening them when you got to the restaurant. “Order whatever you want. Appetizer, dessert. Brownie ice cream pie here is awesome. You won't regret it.”

“I haven’t been out to eat in a restaurant since I was a kid, like six I mean,” she said.

“You never go out with friends?” you asked.

“I don’t have friends,” she said quietly.

“Well maybe you can make some at your new school,” you said softly. “If you want, I can order for you if you’re nervous.”

“I can do it. I’ve seen movies,” she said.

“Ellie, this may sound like a strange question but...how much of life have you learned from TV shows and things like that?” you asked.

“A lot,” she said, swallowing as she looked at you. “I...I know who Jensen is. I mean...I used to watch Supernatural. Sorry. I was...I thought it’d be weird if I said something.”

“No. Not at all,” you said with a smile, Ellie shaking her head.

“I just like Dean, you know? Bad stuff happens and he’s...it’s just a TV show. Please don’t tell Jensen I told you that,” she said.

“Okay. But Ellie? Yeah, it’s just a TV show but you know, I found out I basically got no chance in hell in having kids and I watched the heck out of Supernatural that week. So what if it’s a show? It helps me sometimes. That’s one of the reasons I love it,” you said.

“Don’t tell him,” she said.

“Alright,” you said. “Let’s get some food.”

“Wanna try some?” asked Jensen, tilting up his plate towards Ellie. She shook her head, poking at her ziti. “S’really good…”

“No thank you,” she said quietly.

“Ellie. Can I ask you a question and you can feel free to tell me to shove it if you it bothers you but...why don’t you like me?” he asked softly. “It’s okay if you don’t. I noticed you don’t look at me though and if I’m doing something that bothers you, I want to try and fix that for you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking at you.

“No, Ellie. You’re not in trouble,” you said.

“I want you to be comfortable, Ellie and feel okay. That’s my job,” said Jensen, giving her a smile. “I think I need a little help with it is all.”

“Can we go home?” she asked you. You glanced at Jensen and he gave a small nod, Ellie missing how far his face had fallen before she had a chance to turn back.

“Yeah. I’ll uh, order some dessert to go and meet you girls home, okay?” he said. You hummed, Ellie sliding out of her seat and already heading for the the door.

“She watches the show. Maybe she just feels a little shy or nervous around you,” you said. He blinked slowly at you and shook his head, playing with the leftover food on his plate. “Jens.”

“She’s afraid of me. She’s a little afraid of you too but…” he sighed. “Just take her home. School’s all settled. We’ll talk after she goes to bed, alright?”

“Okay,” you said, standing up and giving him a quick kiss. “It’ll get better.”

“I hope so.”

“Goodnight, Ellie,” you said, dropping off her freshly washed clothes in her room later on, Ellie sitting up in bed and writing in a notebook.

“Goodnight,” she said, giving you a half smile. “I’m sorry I ruined dinner.”

“No, you didn’t,” you said.

“Jensen won’t look at me anymore. I upset him,” she said. “And you.”

“Jensen...is confused. To be honest, we both are. We’ve never been parents before. We don’t know what we’re doing. He’s afraid of scaring you. We aren’t mad, sweetie,” you said. She pouted but nodded, opening her mouth to speak before sealing her lips together. “You can tell me anything, Jens too.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you both. I’ll be better about it, I promise,” she said. You closed your eyes, the right words to reassure her not coming to your mouth. You leaned over and gave her a hug instead, Ellie tensing up but eventually relaxing into it.

“You don’t scare us, Ellie. We want you to feel at home,” you said, leaning back. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Can I be alone now?”

“Sure,” you said, giving her a smile. “Come get us if you need anything.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Goodnight, Ellie,” you said as you moved away. She returned a half smile and you left the room, hanging your head when you pulled her door shut. You trudged downstairs and spotted the porch light on but no Jensen. You stepped out onto it, the lights across the edge of the yard lit up, a dark shadow sitting over on the small deck by the pool. You hummed and jogged down the steps, walking over to him and sitting up on the railing beside him. “S’been awhile since you’ve been all the way out here at night.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

“Wanna talk about it?” you asked.

“I’m normally pretty good with kids. Ellie, I can’t...I don’t know how to help her,” he said.

“Me either,” you said.

“I think there’s a very obvious solution, at least for us,” he said. “Maybe we stop trying to help her and start...we start treating her like she’s our kid. That’s the whole freaking point of this, isn’t it?”

“I’m not even old enough to be her mother,” you said. “Okay, I am barely old enough and it’s still too young.”

“I know. I know,” he said.

“We were already funny though. What’s wrong with adding a little more,” you said with a shrug.

“Apparently the world had never heard of two people that are different ages loving each other before us,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Shit, your sister is ten years younger than her husband. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“We got so much shit when we went public with it,” you said.

“It ain’t nobody’s business but ours,” he said. “I mean, I couldn’t blame you when you succumbed to my charms.”

“You were more nervous asking me out than a seventh grader during his first slow dance,” you laughed.

“Shut up,” he said, pulling his lips into a smile. “I tried so hard not to like you too.”

“I tried so hard not to like you. Poor Jared was stuck in the middle,” you said.

“To this day I am shocked he didn’t once slip up and say something to one of us that we were both asking for advice about how to deal with the other one,” he said.

“I think he knew how important it was to us both,” you said. Jensen took one of your hands in his own, giving it a squeeze. “Jensen.”

“Yeah?”

“You remember how we talked about kids when we were dating?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I said one, you said three. We settled at two.”

“I would understand if…” you trailed off.

“That is the stupidest thing you’ve ever said to me and you didn’t even finish saying it,” he said.

“Jens. I’m serious.”

“So am I. If we get lucky, then awesome. If we don’t, we’ll still have kids. I don’t want you to worry about me leaving. Ever,” he said.

You nodded and he ran his thumb over the back of your hand. You were quiet, Jensen still beside you.

“I love you,” he said. “You’re already a really great mom.”

“Am not,” you said.

“At least she talks to you,” he said.

“Her last foster dad got pretty inappropriate with her. I think once she gets to know you, she’ll love you,” you said.

“I hope so,” he said.

“Come on. We should head on up. We got a big day tomorrow.”

“Good morning,” said Jensen when Ellie came downstairs. She had her backpack on and had her hair pulled back in a ponytail, giving him a quick nod. “Breakfast?”

“No thank you,” she said.

“Well take a granola bar for your backpack at least,” he said. She stared at him a moment before going to the pantry and taking one from the box. “Excited for your first day?”

“I’m not really a morning person,” she said, glancing at you. “Can we go now?”

“In a minute. Let me finish my coffee,” you said, yawning and rubbing your eyes. “I will be so excited when you’re on summer vacation and we can all sleep in.”

“Hey,” said Jensen with a big smile, leaning over the counter. “I just had a great idea. How about we all take a few days and then this weekend, we can plan out where we want to go on vacation this summer. I don’t have anything that starts filming until the fall. Maybe we go away for a week or two.”

“Jensen’s doing a comedy in September,” you said, chugging down your drink. “But you’ll be back in school by then.”

She blinked slowly, glancing down and petting the dog. Jensen shrugged before she turned back, the both of you chugging down your coffee’s.

“So. Ellie. You do any sort of-”

“I don’t do sports. I don’t do clubs,” she said.

“Okay,” he said, turning away. “Y/N, I’m heading to the brewery for a few.”

“Alright. Drive safe,” you said. He hummed and grabbed his keys and a baseball cap from the counter, quickly heading out to the garage. “El. I’m not a morning person either. But-”

“Can we go to school now?” she asked.

“I know you have better manners than that,” you said.

“Can we go?”

“Alright,” you said, Ellie sighing and hopping off the stool and out the front door without a second glance. “Okay. This is going great so far.”

“Hi guys,” you said when Jensen got home with Ellie. “How was…”

She took off right through the kitchen and up to her room, a door closing behind her.

“Do you remember being like that when we were her age?” you asked.

“16? I suppose so. Not to the same degree though,” he said, taking a seat at the kitchen counter. “She didn’t say a word the whole way home.”

“I have no idea how to get her to talk to us,” you said.

“Same,” he said, shutting his eyes and resting his head on the counter. “What are we gonna do once she’s done with school in two weeks?”

“I don’t know,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. “We can just try our best, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, sitting up and letting you give him a hug. “That’s all we can do.”

Saturday

“Hey, Ellie,” you said, poking your head in her room, Ellie with her nose in a book. “Jens and I were going to go swimming if you wanted to join us. I got plenty of swimsuits in my closet you can borrow.”

“No thanks,” she said, flipping a page. You tilted your head back, crossing your arms.

“Well...maybe you can read your book outside, enjoy the fresh air,” you said.

“It’s like ninety degrees out,” she said.

“Well the backyard has a nice hammock in the shade you could read on. Or you can hang out on the back porch or deck. We get a nice breeze sometimes,” you said.

“If I go outside will you leave me alone?” she asked.

“Ellie. We know that this is hard but you don’t have to stay in your room all the time,” you said. She glanced over at you, rolling her eyes before she took her book with her and walked past you. You rolled your own as you followed her outside. She went over to the hammock, plopping down and opening her book again.

“At least you got her outside,” said Jensen when you walked over, standing in the shallow end of the pool.

“Barely,” you said, slipping into the water and dunking your head under. You kept your eyes closed as you popped back up, Jensen pecking a kiss to your lips. “Thanks.”

“Want to have a race?” he asked.

“You’re on.”

“Never have I ever…” said Jensen an hour later, floating around in the deep end on his back, glancing over to where you were resting your arms and chin on a pool mat. “Never have I ever...had sex outside.”

“First off, that’s a lie. Second, seriously? Ellie’s right over there,” you said with a laugh.

“She went inside like five minutes ago,” he teased. You lifted your head up and sure enough the swing was empty. “And since when have I done it outside?”

“The dinner. I mean, it was the night of the infamous condom story,” you teased.

“Oh,” he said, biting his bottom lip. “But does that count? I mean, that was a car.”

“For you, it counts,” you said, floating over and kissing his cheek. “Never have I ever made out with you in the pool.”

“Oh, you must not remember the con and the incident with the hotel pool,” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around you, quickly moving away. “Hey Ellie.”

You spun around in the water, Ellie standing there by the edge of the pool in your bright blue bikini.

“Hey. You want to swim with us?” you asked.

“I don’t know how, to swim,” she said, biting her bottom lip as she looked away.

“Well it’s really easy,” said Jensen, swimming over towards the shallow end. “Take the steps in. The shallow part is plenty short enough for you to stand in.”

She slowly made her way over and stepped down into the water, Jensen giving her a smile.

“It’s alright,” he said with a smile as he walked over next to her. “Y/N and I are both really good swimmers. So when you’re in the water, you want to move your arms like this. You don’t have to do it fast, just even. Same thing with your legs and if you get tired, swim over to the edge or the shallow end or grab a float.”

She nodded and got down in the water, practicing moving her arms like he was showing her.

“Yeah, that’s perfect,” he said. “When you’re comfortable, we can walk out a little deeper.”

She nodded again and took a step towards the other end, pausing once she got to only her head and shoulders above the water.

“We’re both right here,” he said softly. “Nothing’s gonna happen.”

“Why don’t you try right there and Jensen can grab you if you don’t get it,” you said, swimming right in front of her. She took a moment but pulled up her legs, wide eyed for a second as she started to sink down, flailing her arms and forgetting everything she’d just been shown.

“Alright,” said Jensen, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her back up, Ellie taking a deep breath when she popped back up. “You’re okay.”

“Don’t touch me,” she growled, shoving away from him, forgetting to put her feet back down and slipping under again. You both pulled her up quickly, Ellie splashing all over the place as you moved her back to the shallow end and Jensen moved away.

“Put your feet down, El,” you said. She relaxed the second she felt the ground, closing her eyes. “You’re alright.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, glancing at Jensen.

“It’s okay. Learning to be comfortable in the water isn’t something that happens overnight,” he said.

“Can we try again?” she asked quietly.

“Sure. Just remember to kick and move your arms,” he said. She stopped at the slope again, Jensen carefully wrapping an arm around her waist again. She picked her feet up and with him holding her, she didn’t go anywhere and had enough time to get her bearings and start moving her limbs.

She glanced down at herself after a moment, Jensen letting go briefly.

“I’m swimming!” she said with a smile, Jensen breaking out into the biggest one you’d seen on his face in weeks.

“Yeah you are, El,” he said, grabbing her waist again when she started to tuck her arms in. “Spread your arms out. It makes it a lot easier.”

“Like this?” she asked, Jensen nodding and letting go again.

“Just like that. You’re getting the hang of it,” he said. “Want to try moving?”

She nodded and he swam out a bit, Ellie mimicking the move, following him all the way to the end of the pool and back.

“That’s so much easier than I thought,” she said when she was back in the shallow end, kicking back out to the deep end, Jensen quickly following after.

“Hold up there Michael Phelps,” he teased as she started to swim around. “Come on. Let’s teach you how to tread water a bit better first.”

You smiled as you climbed out of the pool, drying off for a minute and grabbing your phone, snapping a few pictures of them in the water. You hopped into the house for a minute and grabbed some lunch to bring outside, Jensen showing her how to hold her breath properly from the looks of it when you returned.

“You guys want some lunch?” you asked, heading over to the deck with the food and drinks. Jensen made sure Ellie got out first and she grabbed your towel, wrapping it around herself as she walked over to the table. “So I take it you like swimming.”

“Yeah,” she said, taking a sandwich from the plate, Jensen smiling as he grabbed one himself and took a seat up on the deck railing.

“So,” he said, taking a bite. “We were gonna figure out where we wanted to go on our vacation this summer, weren’t we?”

“Anywhere you’ve ever wanted to go, Ellie?” you asked. She shook her head and took a bite, Jensen cocking his head at her.

“Seriously? Come on. I bet there’s somewhere you’ve always wanted to go,” he said.

“Not really,” she said quietly.

“Have you ever been on vacation?” you asked. She shrugged, taking another bite.

“I don’t think so. I don’t really remember,” she said.

“Well we are going on a kickass family vacation,” said Jensen with a big smile. “How’s that sound?”

“Okay,” she said, looking at you. “Wherever you guys want to go is fine with me.”

“Alright. Y/N and I will come up with something special then,” said Jensen. “So you make any friends at school this week?”

“No,” she said, stealing a chip from the bag. “I’m used to it. There’s only like a week left this year anyways.”

“Well I’m sure it’ll be a lot easier once you’ve been around a little. There’s actually a boy that lives just down the street that goes to your school,” you said.

“I’m 16. I don’t need a playdate,” she said.

“That kid is kind of a dumbass, Y/N,” said Jensen, Ellie giggling to herself. “It’s true.”

“Is he the one that was going around with the garbage cans…” you said, Jensen humming. “Oh. Forget that kid. He’s got the maturity of a four year old.”

“I’ll be sure to stay away then,” she said.

“Well you can hang out with us,” said Jensen, turning his head as a dark cloud blocked out the sun. “Alright ladies. I say we head inside before we get poured on, hm?”

“That went well,” you said in your bathroom an hour later, drying off your hair as Jensen got dressed, rain hitting the windows outside. “You were really good with her.”

“She didn’t like me touching her,” he said, tugging his henley down. “Her last foster dad said some pretty bad stuff.”

“She hasn’t had a real family since she was six, Jens. She knows you’re a good guy. I mean, she let you teach her to swim. She’s learning it’s okay to trust you. That’s way more than we could ask for,” you said.

“I know,” he said, walking behind you, taking your dryer out of your hands, moving it over your head. “It’s gonna storm the rest of the weekend from the looks of it.”

“Want to have a movie day?” you asked, Jensen untangling a few of the strands in the back.

“I was thinking maybe we could bake some cookies,” he said, drying your hair off for you. “With El.”

“Jensen,” you said, looking at him in the mirror. “You’re totally nailing this dad thing.”

“Thank you for getting her to come outside today,” he said, kissing the top of your head and turning off the dryer. He grabbed one of your hair ties from the counter and scooped up your hair, throwing it up in a messy bun. “You are so attractive.”

“You know I was totally going to wear that henley myself,” you said, tilting your head back at him with a smile.

“I know that, woman. You’ve been stealing my clothes for years,” he laughed, walking out of the bathroom and across the short hall to the closet, one of his shirts and a pair of your sweatpants being tossed into the bathroom.

“Thank you, cutie!” you called back. He hummed and you caught a glimpse of him in a pair of his own sweats as he left the room. You got dressed and padded out to the kitchen, Jensen working on pulling out some ingredients for the brownie mix you had, the radio going in the background.

You were over at the fridge when you both saw Ellie come downstairs, a quick smile on her face.

“You like brownies?” you asked.

“Duh,” she said.

“Good. Mix that up for me,” said Jensen as he preheat the oven. You smiled and pulled out some wraps and cheese, Jensen peering over your shoulder. “Oh, Y/N’s making her quesadillas. This is the best day ever.”

“You like spicy stuff?” you asked Ellie. She shrugged while she mixed up the brownie batter. “Well I’ll make some not too spicy too.”

“I love lazy days,” said Jensen, taking the bowl from Ellie when she finished and pouring it in a pan.

“Isn’t your show all done?” she asked. “Like, can’t you be lazy all the time?”

“Yeah, been done about two months now,” he said. “I’m learning to slow down a bit still. We were always go go go around here which is kind of funny cause we really like days where we can just hang out and relax. I’m still going to act of course but I’m not staying away that many months a year from now on. I was never super comfortable leaving Y/N alone like that and now with you home, I’m definitely not leaving my girls home alone that much.”

“He’s a sap,” you said, bumping his hip. “Jensen is like the world’s biggest strongest fluffiest cuddly teddy bear who is a massively talented dork.”

“But I learned it from watching you,” he teased, bumping you back.

“Like I said. Dork,” you said. “No idea why the internet fawns over you.”

“No idea?” he asked with a smile, putting his hands on his hips.

“A little idea,” you teased. “Shoo. I need space to make my snacks. Why don’t you pick out something for us to watch?”

“Yes mam,” he said, whistling as he headed off and up to the TV room.

“He is something else,” you said with a laugh, the buzzer beeping off for the oven. “Can you stick the brownies in, Ellie?”

She nodded and grabbed the pan, your body immediately spinning around when she headed for the oven.

“Woah, oven mitts,” you said.

“Oven mitts?” she asked.

“You don’t know how to use an oven, do you,” you said. She blushed and you smiled, grabbing two from the counter. “Always wear a pair of these when you’re dealing with the oven. We don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Oh, I mean...I know that. You just have to be quick,” she said.

“No...you use oven mitts,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Where did you learn to be quick?”

“One of my...homes,” she said. You took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Is that bad?”

“Which home, El?” you asked.

“They aren’t fosters anymore,” she said. “They failed too many check ins.”

“I can see why,” you said. “Ellie...anything that ever seems questionable like that, tell me or Jensen. We want you to be safe, whether it’s the pool or the kitchen or anything at all, understand?”

“Yeah, sorry,” she said.

“Honey, you don’t have to be sorry,” you said. “Want me to put the brownies in or do you want to try?”

“I can do it,” she said. You smiled and watched her use the mitts this time. You set the timer and went back to make up the quesadillas, sticking them in the other oven before you grabbed her arm and tugged her with you up to the TV room.

“Find anything good for us?” you asked, Ellie taking a seat on the end of the couch a little away from Jensen. You curled up in his side, already tugging your blanket around yourself.

“I couldn’t find anything,” he said, tossing the remote to Ellie. “You pick something, kiddo.”

“I’m not a big TV watcher,” she said.

“Well you like Supernatural right?” he asked. “We can watch that if you want.”

“Isn’t that weird?” she asked.

“It was weird the first time I watched the show with Jensen but it’s pretty easy to be this is Jensen and that’s Dean. They got some in common but you know, Jensen doesn’t come with the tragic backstory,” you said.

“I do,” she mumbled. You winced and Jensen threw an around her.

“Hey. Eleanor,” he said.

“I hate that name,” she said.

“Alright, Ellie. Let me ask you this question. Sam and Dean. Would you want them to have happy lives?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “Who wouldn’t?”

“Well we want you to have one too, no matter what’s happened to you,” he said.

“You’re just being nice because you’re stuck with me. You guys wanted a baby. I’m not an idiot. I’m the last thing you wanted,” she said as she stood up.

“Ellie,” you said, quickly getting to your feet as she headed for the stairs.

“Hey,” said Jensen, loud enough to get her to freeze in place. “I know we’re young. I know we aren’t what you want. But we are your foster parents and-”

“You’re not my mom and you’re not my dad,” she said, turning back with a glare. “I don’t want you.”

“Ellie. Life is not fair. It’s not. We can’t have a baby,” he said, lifting his chin. “Odds are we never have a child. That’s not what we wanted but we have to live with it. You’re scared, of us, and I get that. But don’t you think you’re the last thing we wanted. Right now, you are our child and we’re going to treat you and love you like you’re ours, got that?”

“You don’t want me,” she breathed out. “Do you know the odds of staying in this shitty system this long without being picked? It’s so, so low. No one wants me. There’s something wrong with me. No one wants me and I don’t want anyone else. I just want to be left alone.”

“That’s not true,” you said, carefully taking a step over towards her. “There is nothing wrong with you and we want you, El. We do.”

“No, you don’t. You want a baby,” she said, closing her eyes.

“We wanted a child,” said Jensen giving you a smile. “And we have one and that’s you. We got everything we wanted and more.”

“You’re lying,” she said.

“No, Ellie,” you said, returning his smile. “He’s right. We wanted a family and it’s not what we expected, but we have one with you.”

She stared at you, her eyes starting to well up. You walked over and pulled her into a hug, Ellie hanging on tightly as she started to cry quietly.

“You’re okay,” you said, Jensen walking over and giving her a hug too, kissing the top of her head.

“You’re exactly what we want Ellie,” he said. “I promise.”

The three of you stood there a moment until you heard the oven buzz off, Jensen peeling away to take care of it. You walked with Ellie down to the bathroom, helping her clean off her face, Ellie, glancing away.

“My mom taught me when I was a teenager that if you’ve been crying,” you said, holding a cold wash cloth under her eyes, “That putting a wash cloth helps the puffiness go down quicker.”

“Why would she tell you that?” she asked.

“My dad died when I was fifteen,” you said, Ellie lifting her head up. “I kind of, blocked all of it out. My mom was a mess, my brothers and sister were...I was the one that reminded my brother he had a baseball game or I took my sister to the park to play or I reminded mom to clean the house. I shoved it all down and then two weeks later when I was back in school, I just popped. I started crying in the girls bathroom every day during second period because no one ever went in there. They called my mom, said it was obvious I was crying and they wanted a meeting and everything. She basically told them to fuck off.”

“Y/N’s mom is awesome by the way,” said Jensen, walking past with a plate full of brownies and snacks.

“Anyways, she took me home and she kind of showed me that trick and said it was okay for me grieve the way I needed to grieve. It was okay that I wasn’t reacting the same way as my siblings. That meant a lot to me. It hurt a lot but I just don’t...react the way I thought I was supposed to. It took until Jensen and I were engaged before I really felt comfortable crying in front of him. It’s how I am. But eventually my mom found someone new, a really great guy. He’s my step-dad but he’s also like, just my second dad. He walked me down the aisle at my wedding. And I was crying afterwards because I’d really wanted my dad to be there too. But my step-dad, he just pulled out a washcloth from his tux pocket and he had a tube of mascara and said let’s go take care of this.”

“He sounds nice,” she said.

“He is. I’m looking forward to when you get to meet them,” you said, peeling away the wash cloth. “That feel a little better? Helps with the sinuses too.”

“Yeah. I don’t even know how to do makeup really,” she said.

“I hardly wear it. Jensen wears more makeup than I ever have,” you teased.

“I heard that!” he called from the couch.

“I can show you the basics sometime,” you said, wiping off the rest of her face. “You have such a pretty face though. You don’t need it.”

“I’m not pretty,” she said.

“Yeah you are,” you said. “I’m not the most confident person, El. I mean, Jensen, he’s attractive. Like he’s major leagues and I should be in tee ball. But that’s how I see me. It’s not how he sees me or even people in general. It’s very easy to get a warped sense of your self,” you said. “Telling it to go screw itself is a bit harder.”

“Did you meet Jensen on the show?” she asked, blowing her nose. “You were on it for little while, right?”

“Yeah. I was only on one season but we very quickly became friends. It’s a bit funny how people assume we started out dating. He’s a little older than me and...we got a lot of crap when we got together. A lot. But Jensen is very good at making you feel wanted and loved when you think the rest of the world and maybe even yourself, is telling you something different.”

“You’re like super pretty though,” she said with a smile.

“See what I mean?” you said, Ellie nodding. “We better get out there before he devours everything on us.”

“I can still hear you!” said Jensen. You both giggled as you brought her back out to the couch, Ellie plopping down in the middle next to Jensen this time, taking a quesadilla off the plate.

“Jensen. I made like twenty pieces. There’s ten left,” you said.

“...Well that’s what you get for taking so long,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, sharing your blanket with Ellie and grabbing a brownie. “How about some Parks and Rec?”

“Sounds good,” he said, flipping on the first episode, Ellie smiling as she ate her quesadilla. She was quiet as she snacked and watched the show, laughing a few times as she tucked herself against Jensen, falling asleep against his leg eventually. “Kiddo out?”

“Yeah. I think the swimming and that whole episode took a lot out of her,” you said, spreading the blanket out over her. He smiled and flipped on a cooking show, Ellie still fast asleep. “Jensen.”

“Y/N,” he said, turning to you with a smile on his face, glancing down at her for a moment. “She’s not a baby.”

“She could be our baby,” you said, his smile growing bigger. “You want to do this?”

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “Yeah, I want to do this. Maybe someday we adopt some more too.”

“I’ll call Chad then,” you said, sitting up and giving him a kiss. “Dad.”

“Mom,” he teased. “I want to surprise her though.”

“Of course you do,” you said. “You got any ideas of where you want to take her on vacation?”

“I was thinking something not too overwhelming. Maybe rent a house down on the gulf, take her to the beach?” he asked. “Or you know, Florida Keys?”

“Now you’re talking.”

Three Weeks Later

“Ellie up yet?” yawned Jensen, rubbing his eyes.

“I haven’t heard her,” you said, checking the bags by the door again. “I’ll get her, try to get some food in her before we head to the airport.”

You headed upstairs slowly, the sky still dark outside that early in the morning. You stopped outside her bedroom door, pushing it open and seeing her bed empty.

“El? You almost ready to go?” you called, poking your head in her bathroom. “Oh, honey.”

She was shivering on the floor next to the toilet, trying to force herself to stand up.

“I’m okay,” she said, getting to her feet, her face turning green before she was down again.

“It’s alright,” you said, grabbing a hair tie and pulling her hair back for her, rubbing a hand up and down her back. “Just breathe. You’re okay.”

She sucked in a lungful of air when she finished and she wiped off her face, chucking the tissue in the bowl.

“What’s…” said Jensen, trailing off when he stopped at the entrance. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” said Ellie, wiping off her sweaty face, clutching her stomach.

“Mhm,” he said, stepping inside and putting a hand on her forehead. “You got a fever.”

“No I don’t,” she said. Jensen hummed and left, returning after a minute with a thermometer, sticking it in her ear.

“Oh. 102. Yes. Clearly no fever,” he said. “Alright. I’m gonna go call the doctor and see if we should bring you in.”

“No, no. I’m fine. We have to get on the plane soon,” she said, wrapping an arm around her stomach. “Ah. It hurts.”

“We’re not going anywhere today, okay Ellie?” you said. She closed her eyes and sighed. “Jens.”

“I’m on it,” he said, already pulling out his phone.

“She’s gonna be okay though, right?” asked Jensen at the hospital, tapping his foot like a madman in the waiting room.

“Perfectly fine. Appendectomy is a very routine procedure. She’ll be up and running around in three days,” said the doctor.

“Okay. Thank you,” he said.

“You guys want to go see her?” asked the doctor. You both hopped up out of your seats, Ellie eating a bowl of ice cream when you walked in her room.

“Hey, El,” you said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, Jensen moving to the other side. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” she said, the doctor excusing himself.

“Honey, why didn’t you tell us you were hurting?” asked Jensen, fixing her hair behind her ear.

“We were supposed to go on vacation,” she said quietly. “I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“We can go anytime,” he said with a smile. “You’re more important than a trip, always.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I still...I don’t know.”

“It’s alright,” you said. “Next time you tell us though.”

“I promise,” she said.

“Good,” said Jensen. “Now let’s see if we can find some more that ice cream.”

“Hey guys,” said Chad the next night, stopping by pretty late.

“Hi,” you said, letting him inside, Jensen giving him a wave from the couch. “Ellie’s sleeping upstairs. Still recovering.”

“Yeah, I more came by to talk to you guys,” he said. Jensen flipped off the TV as Chad took a seat, pulling out his file. “So I got your message that you two are interested in adopting Ellie.”

“We are,” said Jensen, giving your hand a squeeze when you sat next to him. “We know it’ll take awhile so we figured we’d start now.”

“Well...you guys don’t know Ellie’s full history,” he said, sliding over a large file.

“Well nothing in this file is going to make us change our minds,” you said, narrowing your eyes at Chad.

“Ellie...you probably assume her parents are dead,” said Chad. You glanced at Jensen, getting the same confused look from him you were sure was on his face. “They aren’t. They are simply unfit to serve as parents. In situations like that, we really try to keep the kid with the birth parents. They’ve never been willing to sign over full custody so-”

“Are you saying we can’t adopt her?” you asked.

“I’m saying we need permission from the birth parents. The dad’s a deadbeat so he’ll be easier than the mother who is again, a deadbeat, but she’s more...nuts,” he said. “There’s been a few who tried in the past but didn’t succeed.”

“Does Ellie know that people have tried to adopt her before?” you asked.

“No,” he said. Jensen scowled, Chad holding up a hand. “This is complicated and I’d prefer if you two don’t say anything to her. We can set up a meeting with the birth parents and see if they’d be willing to relinquish their rights but honestly, I don’t see it happening.”

“Why does someone unfit to be a parent get to do that?” asked Jensen.

“Because that’s the way it works right now. I don’t agree with it but it’s the way things are. You two have taken the most interest in Ellie I’ve ever seen and I’m rooting for you guys, I am. But I need to be realistic about what’ll happen,” he said.

“So if they say no, then what,” you said.

“Then you’ll remain as fosters to her until such time she either ages out or you decline to be fosters and she’d be moved again,” he said.

“What about when she ages out,” said Jensen, resting his elbows on his knees. “When she’s a legal adult, couldn’t she choose to be adopted by someone else?”

“Yes...that doesn’t happen often though. You’re talking about something, two, three years down the line. She may not want to be at that point. She may wonder why you waited, why now. The legal technicalities don’t cut it sometimes. She may, she may not. We just don’t know,” he said.

“So because some deadbeats that obviously couldn’t give a rats ass about her say no, we can’t give her a family?” scoffed Jensen.

“Welcome to the reason I sometimes really hate my job,” he said. “She is happier lately and Ellie is normally not a happy kid. I know she likes being here and feels safe here. If it were up to me, we’d sign all the papers tonight. But it’s not. If you want her, you have to fight for her and odds are, you will lose.”

“Bad odds are kind of our speciality,” said Jensen, turning to you. “You want to give up?”

“Nope,” you said, a smile spreading across his face.

“Set up a meeting,” said Jensen. “I’d like to give these people a piece of my mind.”

Three Days Later

“Some fancy rich people ain’t taking my girl,” said Heather, crossing her arms as she leaned back in her seat, looking at you. “Has this one even hit puberty?”

“Ms. Ursa,” said Jensen, forcing a smile on his face. “We very much would like to adopt Ellie.”

“I very much don’t give a shit,” she said, looking to the seat next to her where a man looked half awake. “Well, Tony?”

“Fuck you,” he said. “I don’t give a shit either way. I never did. Let the rich people have the kid.”

“Tony, would you be willing to sign-” said Chad, cutting himself off when Heather slammed her hand down.

“She ain’t going off to be some charity case for these two,” she said.

“Who gives a shit?” said Tony, grabbing the paper from Tony and singing it. “Nobody’s ever gonna bother me about this kid again, right?”

“Well you just relinquished all rights so you’re correct, no one will question you about Eleanor again,” he said.

“Good,” he said, standing up and looking back at Heather. “You stay the hell away from me too, bitch.”

“Asshole!” she called after him as he left the room. You looked at Jensen quickly, both your heads going to Chad.

“Okay. Heather, perhaps-”

“I said no,” she said.

“Why do you even care?” you asked, her gaze going to you. “You’ve had a decade to try and get your life together for her and you picked yourself every time over her. Why do you care if she’s your daughter on paper? You’ve never been a mother to her. Your parents were the ones that raised her until they turned her over to foster care. Why do you even want her?”

“She’s my daughter,” she said.

“You might be her mother, that doesn’t make you her mom,” you said.

“Yes it does, dipshit,” she said, looking between the two of you. “You know what? You two fork over some money and I may be inclined to sign that thing.”

“Ms. Ursa,” said Chad. “That is highly inappropriate and will be reported.”

“So? She’s still my kid,” she said.

“When’s Ellie’s birthday?” asked Jensen.

“I don’t know. March,” she said.

“February 12th. Do you even know how old she is?” he asked.

“Who cares?” she said. “She’s mine.”

“She’s 16,” he said. “If you don’t even care enough to know basic facts about Ellie, why do you care so much about keeping her?”

“Fuck you,” she said as she stood up. “That’s a no by the way.”

She stormed out and slammed the door behind her, Jensen blinking his eyes a few times.

“How is it possible that she gets any rights, at all?” said Jensen.

“She certainly just hurt them by trying to get you to pay her off,” said Chad. “Just let me work this. I have a feeling we’re going to need to escalate and Ellie’s going to get involved.”

“We wanted to surprise her with the adoption,” said Jensen.

“I know. This isn’t about adoption right now though. It’s about the mother giving over her rights so Ellie can be free to be adopted,” he said. “For now, that’s all we’re going to treat this as.”

“Do I have to go in?” asked Ellie a few weeks later, frowning in the hallway in her dress and flats.

“Just tell the lawyers and the judge the truth, honey,” said Jensen with a smile.

“Did my mom really stop it so other people who wanted to adopt me years ago couldn’t?” she asked.

“She had a right to stop it,” you said, Jensen rolling his eyes behind Ellie. “But some people don’t think she should have it anymore. You’re 16 which gives you a little bit of a say in this.”

“But no one will want…” she trailed off.

“Just tell the truth, El,” said Jensen. She nodded and went in when they called her, Jensen leaning back against the wall with a sigh. “What do you think will happen?”

“I don’t know,” you said, grabbing his hand and standing besides him. “Either way, we don’t treat her any different.”

“I love you,” he said, throwing an over your shoulders and kissing your temple. “Let’s just hope for the best thing for her right now.”

“Hey, El,” you said, knocking on the door to her room that night. She was laying on the bed staring at the ceiling. “You okay?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I know logically that what happened today is the best thing for me but part of me thinks there’s something wrong with me too.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” you said, sitting down on the bed.

“My parents never cared about me,” she said, turning her head towards you. “Never. There’s something-”

“No, there’s not,” you said. “Now you can be with people that do care. Those people made you but that doesn’t mean they were your parents, honey.”

“I know,” she said, turning on her side and reaching her arms out, wrapping them around your waist as she curled up. “Still sucks.”

“Would you want to stay here with us as long as you’re in foster care?” you asked. She nodded, a tiny smile on her face. “Okay. We’d really like that too.”

“Can we get pizza for dinner?” she asked.

“Sure,” you said, bending down and giving her a hug. “We can get whatever you want.”

Two Months Later

“Eleanor,” said Jensen as dinner, Ellie freezing with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Did you go swimming by yourself today?”

“Yes?” she winced. “I’m really good now, Jensen. I can go by myself.”

“She is a very good swimmer,” you said. “Ellie was saying maybe she even wanted to try out for the swim team at school. I think the tryouts are towards the end of September.”

“You’re gonna have to make sure I get a copy of your swim meets so I can run out of work when I need to,” said Jensen with a smile.

“So I can go in the pool by myself?” she said.

“Yes but be careful,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, slurping down her pasta. The rest of dinner was quiet, Ellie helping cleaning up as part of her chores. She practically dragged Jensen outside to make some smores like he’d promised earlier, Jensen chuckling as he whipped some up for dessert.

“Hey, Ellie,” you said, leaning back in your deck chair with a smile. “Jensen and I have something we want to tell you.”

“Oh,” she said, body stiffening up. “I’m being moved again, aren’t I.”

“No, no, sweetie,” said Jensen, grabbing a box from under the table, smiling as he handed it to her. “Y/N hasn’t been feeling all that great lately so we took her to the doctors a few weeks ago.”

“I, don’t ask me how, but somehow, I am pregnant,” you said, Jensen’s face in a big grin.

“You’re gonna have a baby?” she asked. “That’s great.”

You both saw the slight disappointment on her face, Jensen tapping the box.

“Well, big sis, why don’t you open up your present we got you,” he said, holding his hands behind his back.

“You guys got me a world’s best sister shirt or something, didn’t you,” she said with a small smile, tearing open the cardboard box and tilting her head. “A stack of papers. Okay.”

She raised an eyebrow as she picked them up, Jensen and you both staring at her as you watched her read them and proceed to drop them on the ground as her face scrunched up. She didn’t say anything but nodded her head, letting you both pull her into a big hug.

“Okay, it’s really awesome that you’re having a baby actually,” she laughed, still holding on tight.

“Y/N wanted to surprise you,” teased Jensen.

“He is such a liar,” you said, Ellie wiping off her face as she pulled back for a moment. “I’m going to take that as you’re okay with us adopting you?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I’m okay with that.”

“I realize something now,” said Jensen, giving you both a smile. “I totally burned the shit out of those smores over there, didn’t I.”

“Yup,” you said, Ellie laughing as you saw the charred remains of the marshmallows.

“We have cookie cake inside too to celebrate,” said Jensen.

“You are doing very well in the dad department so far,” said Ellie.

“Well thank you,” said Jensen with a big smile. “That means a lot, kiddo.”

One Year Later

“Elliot,” said Ellie, the little boy taking a greater interest in chewing on her hair than playing with her at the moment. “Eli...no.”

“Dude, stop eating her hair,” laughed Jensen as he scooped him up and sat him on his hip. “Your sister has a very important race today.”

“It’s just sectionals,” she said.

“A year ago you couldn’t even swim. Now you’re the best swimmer at school. You’re gonna blow all those other suckers away,” he said.

“And winning is not everything,” you said, rolling your eyes as you exited the laundry room with her favorite swim suit. “Jensen.”

“She knows that. Try your best is all. We’re proud either way,” he said as you shoved her suit in her gym bag. “But you know. Kill ‘em out there.”

“I know. Are you guys sure you want to bring Eli? It’s kind of loud at the pool,” she said. “I don’t want him to get scared.”

“Boom,” said Jensen, pulling out a pair of big earphones from his back pocket, sticking them over Elliot’s head.

“You’re such a dork,” you said.

“You kind of are, dad,” she said as she picked up her bag, slowly righting herself with it. “Uh…”

“Well let’s get going, don’t want to be late,” he said, grabbing the baby bag from the floor.

“Was that okay?” she asked when he walked outside to get Eli packed up in the car.

“Yeah. You call us what you’re comfortable with,” you said. She nodded and slipped into her sneakers, taking her gym bag with her as you locked up the house.

“All set?” asked Jensen as she tossed it in the back and piled in besides Eli.

“Mhm,” she said, Jensen waiting a moment for everyone to buckle up before he backed out. “Hey, mom, dad?”

“Yeah?” you asked, Jensen smiling at you quickly before he was on the street.

“Thanks,” she said, looking out the window when you turned back.

“You’re welcome,” said Jensen. “For what?”

“Just…you know,” she said.

“Hm?” he asked.

“I’ll explain it to you later, Jens,” you said with a smile. “Come on. Let’s go watch our girl race.”

________

[artificialqueens]

I Just Need a Lover (So Gimme What I Want) (Rosnali) - Joley

ao3 link

Doing a show together felt inevitable for Rosé and Denali. As soon as they were able to, they jumped on the opportunity. And Rosé was just excited to be in Chicago too – he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been.

Rosé hadn’t even opened his suitcase when he heard a knock on the door, but he dropped it instantly to rush to open it. “That was quick. You miss me that bad?” he smirked.

Denali scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Of course I missed you, Rosie,” and despite the faux-annoyed expression, he threw his arms around him and hugged him tightly.

“I missed you too,” he assured, inhaling deeply as he rubbed Denali’s back, the scent of his cologne reigniting the memory of every other time they’d gotten the chance to be close, those times too few and far between for their liking. Just because they had gotten used to the eight hundred mile distance doesn’t mean it ever became any more bearable.

And it wasn’t as though they had been completely alone, their respective open relationships had never changed. But the connection they had formed without so much as a proper kiss left the two of them yearning for each other. Playing it up for laughs in front of the fans, to their surprise, only exacerbated it.

“Everyone’s excited for the show tonight,” Denali said as they settled onto the hotel room bed. “I really hyped you up, so you better not disappoint,” he jokingly warned.

“I only ever disappoint my extended family, don’t you worry,” he chuckled.

——

The energy of the crows was electric, it was addictive. Denali, Rosé, and everyone else in the show fed off of it and it kept them going. It gave them the engagement they had been missing when they were confined to their bedrooms and online communication. It carried on after their set as well, fans buying them drink after drink, allowing them to let loose and have fun.

That was how they ended up on the dance floor as soon as they were out of drag, pressed together with their bodies moving to the thumping beat of the music. It started innocently enough – flirtatious bumping and grinding with anything they might’ve said drowned out by a techno remix of ‘Rain On Me’. But as the night went on and their inhibitions lowered.

“You keep moving your ass like that and I’m gonna end up taking you back to my hotel,” Rosé warned into Denali’s ear, his hands on his waist, holding onto him even though he’d never made the slightest attempt at moving away.

Denali responded by pointedly pressing his ass against Rosé’s crotch, his back flushed against his chest. “Rosie, if you haven’t figured out that’s what I’ve been aiming for, I think we’ve got a bigger issue here,” he giggled.

“Then let’s get the fuck out of here.”

In the Uber ride back to the hotel, Rosé felt something he didn’t expect in his tipsy, horny haze – relief. Of course he wanted Denali, people had been calling him out on that for months. But he didn’t want any of the conversations that came with it – how he felt emotionally, what it could mean for their respective relationships and one between them, all of his worries and insecurities. After the shots and the dance-based foreplay, Rosé just wanted Denali in his bed without having to think twice about it.

Denali, on the other hand, had far less on his mind. He’d talked a big game about lusting after his friend plenty of times, the follow-through felt overdue. He didn’t waste any time either – his hand was on Rosé’s thigh in the car, he hung on him in the elevator, there wasn’t a moment between the club and returning to the hotel room that Denali wasn’t making his clingy, needy intentions clear.

Rosé had Denali pinned against the door the second it closed. “How are you so fucking worked up when I’ve barely even touched you?” he smirked.

“I’m worked up because you’ve barely touched me,” Denali replied without missing a beat, then grabbed onto Rosé’s shirt and kissed him fiercely. “I want your fucking Scottish cock already.” He couldn’t resist saying that in an accent, to Rosé’s chagrin.

“Please don’t say that while I’m fucking you,” he gently requested before reconnecting their lips in another heated kiss.

Denali laughed into the kiss as they stumbled back and fell onto the bed. “I just had to get it out of my system,” he assured as he tugged his shirt off and, in a moment of impatience, got Rosé’s off as well.

It wasn’t lost on Rosé, who couldn’t fight off a smirk. “Damn, Dee, if I’d known you wanted me to fuck you that badly, we could’ve worked something out sooner,” he teased as he undid the fly of Denali’s jeans and tugged them down.

“Don’t be smug, I already told you I want you, come on,” he huffed. “Me waiting since we first met is irrelevant.”

But if that was supposed to make Rosé any less smug, it failed miserably. “Since the porkchop lounge? Fuck, I had so many missed opportunities to shoot my shot,” he chuckled as he took his own jeans off. “Guess we have some lost time to make up for, don’t we?”

“You better make it worth my while,” Denali jokingly snapped, then finally got them both fully undressed. “I didn’t spend months talking about your dick for it to disappoint me.”

Rosé snorted. “No pressure, huh?” He looked around and rifled through his bag and grabbed a condom and lube. “Luckily, I’ve never had any complaints.” Before Denali could get another quip in, Rosé kissed him hard, one hand gripping into his hair and the other pushing him onto his back. He picked the bottle of lube up from the bed and slicked up two fingers. “Spread ‘em,” he directed, and when Denali’s legs were propped apart, he gripped his thigh with one hand as the opposite one eased in a finger, then another.

Denali’s eyes fluttered shut and his head pushed into the mound of pillows behind him. He whimpered and whined, hips bucking towards Rosé’s fingers to urge him on.

But Rosé didn’t rush, he wanted to make sure he lived up to however Denali had hyped him up in his mind. So, he was diligent in his prepping, only taking his fingers out when he felt confident that it’d been enough. He picked up the condom and tore the wrapper open with his teeth. After rolling it down his length, he used a bit more lube to slick up his cock, then guided himself into Denali until he bottomed out.

A breathy moan ripped through Denali, his back arched up and his body tensed, only to relax right after. His eyes opened and bore right into Rosé’s. “Don’t you even think about holding back with me.”

“Oh, I know you like it rough,” he winked. Without any further hesitation, he began thrusting, slow for only a moment before he built up to a hard and fast pace.

The sound of skin slapping together was only matched by Denali’s moans. He tried to writhe in tandem with Rosé’s thrusts, but Rosé had a bruisingly firm grip, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his hip. He was pinned to the bed, unable to do anything but take his cock pounding into him. It was rough and intense and got his head spinning – exactly how he liked it. It was addictive, Denali was convinced he could spend the entire night getting railed by Rosé and never tap out.

Rosé gazed down at Denali, moving the hand from his shoulder to wrap around his throat with just the right amount of pressure. “Look at you,” he purred, “taking my cock just as well as I thought you would.” His thrusting became increasingly erratic after a while and he realized he wouldn’t last much longer. So, he moved his hand from Denali’s neck and trailed it down his torso, then wrapped it around his cock, stroking it in time with his movements.

“Fuck!” Denali gasped out in pleasure, thrusting into Rosé’s hand. It didn’t take long until his body began trembling. He could barely croak out a warning before he came, then went limp under him.

“Good boy,” Rosé cooed as he jerked Denali through his orgasm. He picked him back up, his hand splayed in between Denali’s shoulder blades and the other arm wrapped around his waist. He grunted and groaned until his hips sputtered to a halt as he rode out his own orgasm. “Fuck…” he panted softly, gently setting Denali back down before pulling out and throwing out the condom. He grabbed a tissue to clean up the remaining mess, then laid down next to him.

Denali cuddled up to Rosé without hesitation, resting his head on his chest. “Mm, that was perfect, Rosie,” he cooed sweetly.

“Lived up to your expectations?” Rosé chuckled and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“At the risk of inflating your ego, it exceeded them,” he retorted, then let out a content sigh. “How long are you here for?”

Rosé let out a tired laugh. “Jesus, you already planning for round two? But I’m here all weekend, don’t worry.”

Denali looked up at him with a smirk. “I’m not worried, but you should be. ‘Cause I’m gonna wear you out, and that is both a threat and a promise.”

And Rosé just held Denali tighter and leaned down, pressing a gentle, tender kiss to his lips. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[missjosie27]

Merry Christmas, My Love

Hey, everyone! It’s that time of year again and here is my gift that I wish to bestow. Merry Christmas, @lins-hogwarts-mystery I hope I did your MC justice.

A big thank you to @hphmsecretsanta2020 for organizing this again. I will always participate! Without further ado!

Clara Lin loved snow. The white powder of frozen ice crystals always held a special place in her heart since she was little playing in the fields of Oxford. At Hogwarts, Christmas time became that much more special. Even with the underlying horror cursed vaults, there was always time to celebrate the holidays in a merry fashion. This year in particular she and her friends agreed to stay behind and spend time together over the course of winter break.

And what better way to celebrate that than a snowball fight on Christmas Eve?

“I got you! HAHA-” WHAM!

Charlie Weasley’s momentary triumph was silenced by Tulip’s double decker snowball smashing him in the side of the face, causing everyone else to laugh.

Staying behind were also Rowan, Penny, Barnaby, and Tonks who were all participating in the battle of winter circa 1989. Even Merula had skipped out on going home and though she and Clara would never be best friends, the two were amicable enough to have a snowball fight without getting too intense...mostly. They were on different teams after all.

The contest played out within the training grounds, so there wasn’t much cover to be had as far as trees or underbrush but then again magic could make up for lack of natural cover. On one side was something akin to a medieval castle, complete with five foot high walls, a drawbridge, and a flag. The other was a giant circular wall, good for combating attacks from all sides but vulnerable to a possible sir attack. In any case, standing up even for the slightest moment was unwise as Charlie found out first hand.

“She’s got good aim,” he muttered rubbing his cheek while dodging another projectile.

Clara couldn’t help but giggle. Even the person with the best reflexes amongst their Gryffindor brethren could be sniped by the cleverest Ravenclaw.

“Bombs away!” Penny yelled out hucking up a snowball into the cloudy winds of nowhere.

“Best to aim a bit first,” Rowan chided kindly as she adjusted her glasses while gathering more snow in her vicinity for the purpose of more ammunition.

“Merula’s team is eating our lunch,” Charlie lamented. “We need a new strategy.”

“Ooo!! I can help!” squealed out the tiny voice of Clara’s little sister, Emily, otherwise known as ‘Em’. She was five years younger but often associated herself with her big sister’s friends and refused to not be included in the festivities. A first year Hufflepuff, she was eager to help but lacked imagination.

“Keep firing as many snowballs as you can,” Rowan assured her again in an understanding tone that placated the little girl. “I think I have an idea.”

The teams were equally divided- Clara, Charlie, Penny, and Rowan on side while Merula, Tulip, Tonks, and Barnaby were on the other. Em was considered young enough (and insignificant enough to the female Slytherin) that her presence was not decisive enough to affect the outcome. But any competition featuring Merula Snyde guaranteed to be intense. After all a rivalry did not subside just because the two girls had formally agreed to work together in finding the cursed vaults.

“What would that be? Now would actually be a good time,” Clara observed as more snowballs skimmed the top of their fort. Charlie had to chuck a few more of his own to prevent Tonks from getting any closer.

“Simple. We use a freezing charm to turn one of our snowballs into a giant ice ball. I’ll use a propulsion charm to send it forward. With any luck their castle should come crumbling down and victory ours!”

“What the heck? I’m in!” Penny said excitedly over the noise, her rosy cheeks becoming apparent in the winter weather which was fast becoming colder in the later afternoon. Pink contrasted her light blue outfit (she was also the only one still wearing a skirt). Charlie’s Quidditch reflexes served him well but even he couldn’t overcome the odds of beating four other teengers surrounded by a full blown fort.

“I thought we weren’t allowed to use magic. Wouldn’t that be cheating?” Em asked, naive to the fact that no one adhered to that rule during a wizard snowball fight.

“Em, they’re using magic already,” Clara said bluntly, her practical nature coming into play already. She adjusted her glasses (being practically blind without them) and peeked out over the top and sure enough, saw the evidence needed to prove her accusation.

“Merula...I knew it,” she breathed out, frost emanating from her lips. “A banishing charm.”

“So that’s why those snowballs keep coming in so hot,” Rowan said, rubbing a gloved hand underneath her chin.

“And Tonks is using her metamorphagus ability to turn her nose into a trunk!” Charlie added, tossing another snowball back the other way and ducking down. “Bloody, cheater.”

“Then I say we hold nothing back,” Clara suggested.

“Sure that won’t be a problem with Barnaby?” Penny teased.

“He’s six foot three and can eat three turkeys in one setting, he’ll be fine,” the Gryffindor girl responded with a small blush trying to ignore feeling the pang of guilt at the idea of pelting him with snowballs. But there was no time to waste and when it came to December battles amongst the powdery, ice cream hills of Hogwarts all bets were off.

“Let’s do this,” Rowan remarked. Taking out her wand and removing one of her gloves, she summoned one of the snowballs while the rest their magic to summon snow from the ground to steadily grow it to the size of a grapefruit, spinning like the back wheel of a car, glistening in the glowing pink light of the evening sky.

“Now it’s really time for bombs away,” Penny giggled fond of muggle sayings.

“Oh I’d say so,” Rowan grinned mischievously. “Once that thing blows open their fort wall, Clara you and Charlie charge forth and win the battle.”

“What should I do?” little Em asked, still eager to help.

“Just keep throwing snowballs with Penny and Rowan, okay?” Clara ordered. She was quite protective of her sister even in light hearted situations such as these. Besides, despite being the most practical of the group the sixteen year old carried a competitive streak of her own.

“Three...two...one...NOW!”

At Clara’s command, Rowan muttered the necessary incantation and sent the massive ice ball at top speed towards their adversaries. Such was the speed, it had no trouble bursting through their castle with such force that it did exactly as Rowan foretold.

“CHARGE!” Charlie howled above the din as he and Clara rushed forward dodging strikes issued by their opponents, weaving and somersaulting in and out before performing an attack of their own.

“Eat snow! Take this!” Clara laughed as she struck Tulip and then fired another shot at Merula which caught her straight in the face (she never tired of one upping the Slytherin girl). But when wheeling around to do the same to Barnaby she came upon a strange sight. Her boyfriend didn’t seem to have his heart in the friendly competition at all. On the contrary, handsome, chiseled features were flat and carried a degree of melancholy unusual especially on Christmas.

My love, what’s the matter?

But before Clara could drop her snowballs and inquire further, someone beat her to the punch as a powerful burst of white exploded in the face of the burly Slytherin.

“Yes!” Charlie Weasley yelled out triumphantly. But Clara was not out of danger just yet, in her hesitation a projectile just missed the back of her head and only because Barnaby moved her out of the way just in time.

“Merula!” he said crossly. “Come on, don’t cheat.”

“Speak for yourself,” the Slytherin witch said with equal disdain. “We said no magic and yet here we are.”

“You broke the rule first,” Charlie argued.

“Right like you wouldn’t have done the same.”

“Enough,” Clara cut across the cacophony of argument which was reaching a boiling point. “It’s getting dark. Let’s go back inside.”

Her insistence, as well as her leadership qualities over the group won over as the magically flying snowballs ceased and even Merula despite her snarling, gave in to logic though it was apparent from the look on her face she would have continued given the opportunity.

“Fine, Lin,” she said with a shrug that failed to hide its competitiveness.

Whistling over, Clara signaled to Rowan, Penny, and her sister that the fight was over but that was not the end of the drama. Looking back towards Barnaby, the sadness etched on his face had not dissipated in the slightest.

“Are you okay?” she asked kindly, mittened hands interjoing for a brief moment before Barnaby pulled away.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure don’t look fine.”

Barnaby was much better at hiding his emotions than a certain other Slytherin and gave a smile that would have seemed natural were it not for the previous circumstances.

“Don’t worry about me, Clara. We have a whole Christmas ahead of us. And pudding!” he added excitedly.

The childlike enthusiasm that normally enraptured her would have normally worked, but being the sensible Gryffindor she was (a rarity in the house of the brave) could tell this was not the entire story. Nevertheless, she did not press further...for now.

“Alright.”

She was given an affectionate kiss before the group trudged back to the castle as the light decreased and the day drew to a close. Even holding hands walking to the entrance felt oddly out of place.

“Good match, Clara Lin,” Tulip said with a wink. “See ya tomorrow for the feast.”

“Bye, Clara!” Penny waved cheerfully as she descended towards the basement and thereby the kitchens.

With the exception of her housemates and sister with whom she shared a common room, everyone waved a hearty goodbye but her boyfriend did not say anything other than giving a quick kiss on the forehead before lumbering off quickly behind Merula. How ironic it should be that the youngest among them should voice aloud her suspicions.

“Barnaby seemed sad,” Em mentioned as they approached the fat lady.

“Hm?” Clara asked, not expecting such a comment from her eleven year old sister.

“He kissed you but not the usual way,” came the innocent response. “Maybe he’s homesick.”

“Barnaby’s fine, I’m sure of it. If he says so, I believe him.”

“Do you believe everything I’ve told you.”

Clara rolled her eyes at her little sister.

“It’s different with siblings, Em. You’re just lucky mum told me to let you tag along.”

“I didn’t need to tag along to know your boyfriend didn’t wanna throw snowballs.”

At this conjecture, Rowan gave the password (Festum Maximus) but not before the remark caused Clara to pause for a brief second before continuing into the common room. She knew Barnaby and would be aware of any personal problem or grief he had within his psyche.

Right?

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

Clara briefly forgot about the snowball fight after sharing some hot cocoa with Charlie and then some brief but good natured gossip with Rowan. The two girls discussed all manner of things as they usually did- presents, family, relationships, and what they would wear to the feast the next day however fancy or casual. But soon the warm and coziness of their dormitory overtook them and without fuss or fanfare fell asleep into the soft snows into the night, falling down silently within the December darkness.

By morning, however, the same excitement came upon them both as light permeated through the stained glass windows. The snow had since ceased, but a fresh layer of powder brought more excitement to an otherwise extremely white Christmas. And presents were waiting.

“Race you down!” Rowan said with a laugh as she bounded out of her bed, blue robe flying behind her.

“No you don’t!” Clara shouted back.

It wasn’t long until they were opening presents of which there were many laying under the tree. Charlie was already one step ahead of them, a blue Weasley sweater with a large ‘W’ inscribed on the front courtesy of the kindly Mrs. Weasley whom Clara had acquainted with by now.

“Happy Christmas, Clara!” the redhead said cheerfully.

“Happy Christmas to you too, Charlie.”

“You two seem to have quite a few gifts. Don’t hold back on my account,” Charlie said with a good natured chuckle and waggle of the eyebrows.

Neither of the girls did. Trying to be sensitive to the fact that her best male friend (aside from her boyfriend) did not come from wealth, Clara and Rowan opened their presents slowly and with a degree of caution. The latter came from a naturally wealthy family due to the success of their tree farm while the former, not rich by any stretch of the imagination, still accrued enough gifts to acquire a sizeable load- treacle fudge from Hagrid, a Gryffindor Quidditch scarf from Charlie, a cookbook from Em (‘haha’ she thought sardonically given her lack of skill in making cuisine of any type), a red dress from Penny hand stitched, a new mug from Rowan, further sweets from Mrs. Weasley, and a book on Chinese Mandarin from her parents, no doubt to further education as a potential ambassador like they wanted. Annoying, but even so Clara knew her parents loved her all the same despite their flaws.

After an hour or so she thought that all of her presents had been opened until Rowan flipped her one last gift, missed originally from the large pile.

“It’s from Barnaby,” she explained.

Of course! How could I have forgotten?

Clara hoped he had enjoyed his gift down in the dungeons (Newt Scamander’s latest book on creatures) but had not yet detected his own token of gratitude. It was actually quite small- a little rectangular box no bigger than ten centimeters wrapped in red and green paper with sparkles topped with a golden bow. All in all the decoration by itself was impressive.

Opening up, her jaw almost dropped.

It was a moving photo of Clara and her family before Jacob disappeared. Everyone appeared radiantly happy but there was reason for it. Right away she discerned that this was the photo she’d given Barnaby three years at the end of their third year before parting ways. A wave of nostalgia hit her as she witnessed her parents smiling and waving, Jacob’s tepid nervousness at what he was about to face, his younger sister giving a gigantic hug, while little Emily sucked on a pacifier, blissfully content in doing so. The meaning was not lost on the sixth year Gryffindor: a time when her family had been happy and unspoiled by the loss of a child. The photo was framed in silver and carried a heartfelt note.

May your family always guide you even in the darkest of times.

-Love, Barnaby

Wiping her eyes, Clara looked up towards Rowan and Charlie who had also noticed the scene.

“This was so beautiful,” she spoke quietly.

“Aw, hun,” Rowan comforted sitting beside her, embracing the fireside. “You know he’d do anything for you.”

“I’m wondering...maybe Em wasn’t so crazy. What if he really was struggling with something and I ignored him?”

“You’ll see him at the feast,” Charlie reasoned, playing with a dragon toy Bill had given him from Gringotts. “And I’m sure he’ll love how much you appreciated the gift.”

Clara supposed that might be true but she couldn’t help but feel something was amiss. Either way, her cursebreaker instincts would be put to the test in finding out the truth. Barnaby never held back from her. He was always jolly and upbeat, why should this holiday season be any different?

I just hope I’m not too late….

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

The Hogwarts feast was as grand as it always was- twelve enormous fir trees decorated with an array of colorful ornaments decked the halls, wreaths, mistletoe, and holly hung from the ceiling in a wide array of patterns. Along the tables belonging to each house lay a smorgasbord of dishes- roast turkey, mashed potatoes, sprouts, chicken, green beans, pudding, treacle tart, and so much more. The kitchen pulled out all the stops and Professor Dumbledore sitting at the head of the staff table gave his stamp approval, his blue eyes twinkling with holiday joy.

“To the many few who opted to stay behind for our voluptuous feast I say- tuck in.”

Charlie roared with approval as he ravenously delved into the goodies with Clara and Rowan not far behind. It didn’t take long for the rest of the group to show up- Penny, Tulip, Tonks, etc. They were the only one among the sixth years that had stayed behind with a mere handful of younger students hanging around awkwardly by themselves. The teenage Gryffindor would have given more thought to them were it not for the fact that she was anticipating a certain someone.

“Have you seen, Barnaby?” she would ask every time a new guest sat down at the Gryffindor table (it didn’t matter who sat where at this point). No one knew. Her sister remained blissfully unaware of course by the time she arrived, bragging about how many presents received that year.

Though trying to enjoy the scrumptious feast at hand, Clara couldn’t but look up every so often or so for her boyfriend...which by Rowan’s calculations was every five minutes.

“You’re not even eating,” came her best friend’s admonishment. “Relax, he’ll be here.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“He can eat more than the rest of us combined. Why would he miss the opportunity?” Charlie reasoned.

“The feast is his favorite part of Christmas,” Penny said, reaching across and squeezing Clara’s hand.

Despite the kindly reassuring of her friends, it wasn’t until Clara caught a flash of green that she truly began to seek out answers. Unfortunately, the green sweater did not belong to a burly man of about 190 centimeters but of a Slytherin girl recognized as her greatest rival (and pest at times). Merula joined their table without fanfare but right away everyone could tell there was something amiss. Far from being a ‘friendly’ person you could always count on a sarcastic or snarky remark from Merula Snyde. Not so this time around.

“Lin. I think you need to go see Barnaby,” she stated bluntly, getting straight to the point.

The table immediately ceased eating at this development, not that Clara had consumed much beforehand.

“What?” she asked, dumbfounded.

“Are you deaf, Lin? The bighead isn’t even interested in eating and that’s saying something…” she huffed in frustration knowing sensitivity wasn’t her strong suit and tried to deliver the news more amicably. “Just see him, okay? He doesn’t want to talk to anyone else.”

Were this their first year, the amount of trust in Merula would have been below that of a snake. But five years later, she would not have informed Clara of something that delicate were it not of serious importance. They were collaborative rivals after all...not bitter enemies. At least not anymore.

“Where is he?” came the simple question.

“In the courtyard freezing his arse off. Just...don’t let him do anything stupid. More than he already does.”

Clara wasted no time in getting up from the table. She didn’t even bother to look back at the reactions her friends may or may not have had. The hunch of the previous day had been right...but she’d fail to recognize it. For Merlin’s sake even little Em could tell. What was so deficient within herself that her own boyfriend stood out on Christmas alone in the cold?”

“Sis?” Em called out but it was no use. She was out of the Great Hall before anyone could say so much as ‘Doris Crockford.’

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

It didn’t take long for Clara to reach the desired destination. So frantic was her pace, there was barely time to button up her jacket, pull on her black knit gloves and hat, while also adjusting her hair into its usual long ponytail. But none of that mattered. Personal comfort could be foregone in the face of a significant other suffering needlessly. Numerous anxious thoughts raced through the brain upon the approach, seeing that he was dressed in a dark brown jacket, jeans, a blue and red hat with a puffball on top complete with calf level brown boots.

Something was wrong...something was wrong and I didn’t bother to ask. I just assumed. What if I made him upset? What if he wants to break up?

“Calm yourself, Clara,” she admonished herself. “Barnaby wouldn’t hold back anything from you.”

Despite that attempt at reassurance, it didn’t do much for her nerves. That being said, a Gryffindor did what was necessary in spite of fear. For better or worse, this Christmas conversation had to occur. For Merlin’s sake, even Merula knew when something was off. But the analytical mind wouldn’t let the issue go until she found out what plagued him so.

“Barnaby!” the cursebreaker said in a tone that fully betrayed her anxiety. “Merula told me you were out here. Is everything okay?”

“Did you like your present?”

The simple reply, a question to a question. In fact she was so taken aback by it, words failed her for a brief moment.

“I-uh….yes. Of course I did, but that’s not the reason I came out here.”

She took both his hands in hers, noting just how much taller he was in situations like these. It took quite the effort to kiss him but the primary concern lay with the heart- underneath the archway of the west aqueduct in the courtyard, twinkling white crystals winking in the late early morning sun. Both of their breaths resonated but only one had trouble looking the other in the eye.

“Was my present not what you wanted? I know you’re interested in being a Magizoolist but if there was something else I could get you instead…”

A finger pressed against her rosy, red lips.

“But did you like mine?”

The question, being repeated twice became a source of puzzlement now.

“Barnaby I already told you I loved it. It’s not often I get to see a picture of my family whole like that…” she paused, narrowing her eyes but not unkindly. “Why?”

“If you’re happy that’s all I care about on this special day.”

“But if you’re not, how can this day be special?” Clara countered. “Please...don’t keep me out. What’s wrong. Merula sees it and so can I.”

There could be so many explanations as to why her boyfriend was upset. But this wasn’t a cursed vault where a keen, undiluted mind could be put to the task in finding it. It didn’t require analytics, but empathy.

Barnaby stuffed mittened hands into the pockets of his jeans, turning his head to the side.

“I...I thought if you could realize how important your family is to you maybe it might help...with mine,” he breathed out.

“What do you-oh…” Clara said, letting out a soft sigh of realization. “Your dad.”

“Yes.”

“He yelled at you again in a letter.”

“No.”

“He disowned you?”

“No.”

“He said something-”

“Clara,” the sixteen year old Slytherin said sharply though the aim of his emotions was not directed towards her. “He didn’t send me anything this year. Nothing.”

It took a second for the Gryffindor to sink that in her brain.

“Nothing?”

“Our relationship has been bad for awhile. But at least he sent me presents. Heck, he liked that I was good at fighting and eating. I love both those things.”

“You’re more than just a fighter and an eater,” she soothed in a soft tone, rubbing his arm. “You know that.”

“I do,” he said, still not looking directly at her. “But with me constantly disobeying his wishes and taking my own path in life...it makes me realize my family has always been rubbish. Those presents were only under the three if I did what he said...and the wrapping paper was always lousy!” he added.

Clara had an inkling of what her boyfriend’s life was like but not much beyond a few short stories and traumatizing incidents he never liked to discuss. But to be cut off completely well that was news to her. And it wasn’t fair.

“Sweetie, listen,” she told him, wrapping her arms around his strong neck. “It’s not your fault.”

“But it is. If I had just…” his voice cut off now unable to say anything more beyond potential crying and Clara could see tears welling up in his eyes. “I-If I can’t have my family, you should at least appreciate how amazing yours is.”

“Shhh,” she said, rocking him in a tone she used whenever he became upset. Being a member of the frog choir and an excellent singer, it helped calm her boyfriend. And now was the perfect time.

Silent night, holy night

All is calm, all is bright

The muggle tune was one she knew growing up and read from one of her mother’s books at university. Given that it was Christmas time, the moment felt quite appropriate. Slowly, she grabbed his left hand and led him around the courtyard as if they were dancing, feet crunching in the snow in a soft ballad until they stopped below a string of mistletoe that hung in one of the archways.

Sleep in heavenly peace

Upon the ending of the song, she wiped the stream of tears from his cheeks.

“You always have a family in me,” Clara said, adjusting his scruffy, brown hair underneath his hat. “And you’re the greatest gift a girl could ask for.”

Slowly and with such tenderness that the loving couple melted into each other like a marshmallow into a cup of hot chocolate, they kissed.

“Merry Christmas, Barnaby Lee.”

The Slytherin grinned back, picking her up by her waist and swinging around and dipping her forward as if she were a princess. All tears were gone and regret washed away by the spirit of the season.

“Merry Christmas, Clara Lin.”

[leverage-ot3]

notable moments from The Ice Man Job

leverage 2.08

Hardison: Jim Kerrity III. He took over Kerrity Diamonds four years ago after his old man retired, and in that small amount of time, he drove the business straight into the ground by living way beyond his means.

(Parker is restless on the couch and Eliot pushes her away from him)

Hardison: I'm talkin' drugs, booze, women.

(Parker continues to moves restlessly)

Hardison: According to his credit card statements... What? Why? What are you doin'?

Parker: What?

Eliot: What?

Parker: What?

Eliot: It's distracting.

Parker: The couch is feeling a little empty.

Nate: Eliot, will you please sit next to Parker.

Eliot: No, I'm sittin' here now.

Nate: Guys, guys. We all miss Sophie. I, we just have to adapt.

Hardison: I got this. Move, go.

(Hardison sits next to Parker on the couch)

Hardison: You happy? (picks up keyboard)

parker can’t get comfortable because she misses sophie. she’s never had friends/close family before (minus archie but that’s irrelevant) and sophie was one of her people and she doesn’t know how to cope properly when she loses them

the ot3 sitting together as they should

- - - - -

Nate: You know what, the thing about this that people don't understand is insurance fraud, it's a lot of red tape, and with a big claim like this, it'll take a year before Kerrity sees any money, and the bill collectors are not gonna wait around. He's gotta fence the diamonds.

Parker: He can't. (grabs the remote and changes the monitors)

Eliot: What do you mean?

Parker: His diamonds are GIA certified, VVS clarity, all about two carats.

Hardison: That's my clicker.

Parker: Who stole the Polar Star? (raises her hand) Who stole the Gem of Gibraltar? Damiani raid? Me. I know diamonds, and our bad guy can't fence those diamonds because stones that size have an ID number laser-inscribed on them.

Eliot: So it’s like a stolen car. Gotta clean the VIN before you can sell 'em.

Nate: How do you get that ID number off?

Parker: With a special laser. But only three guys can do it. Antwerp, Dubai, Tel Aviv

SHE KNOWS HER DIAMONDS

- - - - -

[Flashback]

Parker: Hi.

Man: Hello.

Parker: Buy me a drink?

Man: You got it. (gestures to the bartender and puts his hand on Parker’s knee) So?

(Parker grabs his fingers and breaks them, then picks up a briefcase and hits him in the chest before heading away, almost falling)

we LOVE to see parker not tolerating slimy men and hurting them when they touch her

- - - - -

Parker: Yeah, I'll be fine.

(later Parker is crouched behind the counter talking on the phone)

Parker: I will not be fine. I stabbed that guy with a fork.

[London Bar]

Sophie: Parker, Parker, relax. It's fine. Listen. Go to Nate's cupboard and you're gonna find a sexy little mini-dress and my emergency Jimmy Choos.

[Leverage HQ]

Parker: Jimmy who? You have a body in Nate's closet? (she looks excited)

[London Bar]

Sophie: Shoes, Parker. Didn't I teach you any...? All right, listen. This is the important bit. Do you still have the Rosalind Diamond you stole in Perth?

[Leverage HQ]

Parker: Yes.

[London Bar]

Sophie: Wear it. The diamond will speak for you. You won't have to say a word. This is the key to the grift. You just trust the character. Say nothing, trust the diamond.

[Leverage HQ]

Parker: I can do that. Don't tell Nate I called.

[London Bar]

Sophie: I won't.

- - - - -

bruh parker is SO HOT in that blue dress with her diamond that she stole I’m-

- - - - -

Hardison: All right. Lay the arms down, brother. He's cool.

(Eliot lets Kerrity go)

Hardison: You have to excuse my bodyguard. He's touchy. It's 'cause he's a mute.

eliot looks ready to beat hardison’s ass for a hot second

also I LOVE eliot’s little braids in his hair

- - - - -

Kerrity: What kind of thief calls himself a thief?

Hardison: An uncatchable one with a brilliant reputation. You've seen my work in Perth. The Polar Star? Nicked it. The Gem of Gibraltar? Nicked it. The Damiani raid? Distraction while I nicked everything in the vault next door. Big stones, trust me.

(behind Hardison, Parker is pacing angrily)

eliot gives her a Look™ when she looks like she’s going to interrupt hardison because he KNOWS how pissed she is

- - - - -

(Parker is at the kitchen bar, locks and picks spread out in front of her. She’s focused on picking a lock)

Eliot: Ice Man?

Hardison: Hey, I put a lot of work into that character. No, no. No, I bought new clothes, ugly as hell, too.

Eliot: This always happens when you go on the grift, Hardison.

Hardison (*): I put stories on the website.

Eliot: You go too big.

Parker: Sophie told me to say as little as possible, let the character do the work.

Nate: When did, uh, Sophie say that?

Parker: A long time ago. Maybe last Christmas. I don't even think it was Sophie.

Nate: I'm gonna go put more pressure on Kerrity. I want you guys to be on the clear-out. Ice Man, play it cool. That's just an awful, awful name.

Hardison: Genius.

Eliot: See?

Hardison: It's genius.

Eliot: When you get in too deep on this, I ain't bailin' your ass out.

Hardison: I don't need you to bail me out. I'm the Ice Man.

Eliot: Not. Gonna. Help

parker picks locks when she’s upset/annoyed/distressed and I love that continuity for her in the show

also eliot you buffoon you’ll always help hardison you’re fooling literally no one

- - - - -

Guard: There's a Mr. Sterling here from the insurance company.

LMFAO NATE YOU DIDNT

- - - - -

Eliot (on phone): I know. He's driving me crazy. How, huh? I'm backup, they can't rely on me. All right, all right. Hey, thanks. Don't tell Nate I called.

Parker: Who was that?

Eliot: Cable company

eliot is more upset than anything because he’s been put into a position where he can’t protect them as well. THATS what he’s mad enough about to call sophie about it.

also this picture meme describes the situation perfectly

- - - - -

Eliot: Whoa! Whoa! What are you people doin' here?!

Woman: We work here. Who are you?

Parker: We're with OSHA.

Eliot: We issued a class-one evacuation notice for this facility effective 24 hours ago.

Parker: This place is on lockdown for chemical exposure.

Eliot: Nobody read the memo?

Parker: Did nobody read the memo?! You, cough!

(Parker holds a pad to the woman’s mouth and she coughs into it)

Woman: What chemical?

Eliot: Given the set-up for this place, it could be a matrix of solid phase sulfates, uh, nitrates.

(Parker shows a blackened pad to the woman)

Woman: That's inside me?

Eliot: Honey, your lungs are a parking lot, sweetheart.

Parker: And in that parking lot, the diagonal lines are painted with poison.

(parker turns and looks at eliot, who shakes his head slightly in exasperation)

Eliot: People, move towards the door, all right?

Parker: Do not inhale unless you are 50 feet from the entrance. Yeah.

(all the workers leave the room)

eliot just sighing at parker’s antics is beautiful

- - - - -

Nate: All right, nice work, guys. Tomorrow, when he shows up with the diamonds, the state police will be there.

[Exterior Street]

Eliot: Why, so they can arrest Hardison's ego?

Hardison: Be cool, baby. Ice cool. Hey, who wants to go for a spin?

Eliot: Can't believe you rented a Ferrari.

Hardison: Rented?

Parker: I'll get a ride home with Eliot.

(Eliot and Parker move away and get into his truck before driving away)

Hardison: Y'all are just jealous. Oh, they just jealous, baby. Don't worry about that. Look at ya. Lookin' better than green-

okay so now we know hardison in canon owns a red ferrari convertible

- - - - -

Hardison (makes call): Yeah, yeah. Sheila, not makin' it in tonight. Yeah, work thing. Bugger all.

[Interior Van]

Sophie: Hardison? Are you calling me in character?

[Russian’s Office]

Hardison: I told you, butternut. It's work. I can't get out of it.

[Interior Van]

Sophie: What accent is that? Ooh. Ooh, you've been nabbed.

[Russian’s Office]

Hardison: Afraid so.

Sophie: Is it the mark?

Hardison: No. No, muffin, no.

[Interior Van]

Sophie: It's the goons. You oversold the part.

[Russian’s Office]

Sophie: You fell into the trap of the overzealous henchman.

[Interior Van]

Sophie: Don't worry. It happens all the time. As long as they're not Russians.

[Russian’s Office]

Hardison: It's gonna be a bit of a problem.

Sophie: It's the Russians? I'm gonna have to phone Nate.

Hardison: Uh, leave it off, crumpet.

[Interior Van]

Sophie: No, no, no, listen. Hardison—

[Russian’s Office]

Sophie: --you cannot talk your way out of Russians.

[Interior Van]

Sophie: I mean, you can stall them maybe for a bit, but whatever you do--

[Russian’s Office]

Sophie: --do not tell them you can do anything else. (hangs up)

Hardison: Smooches. Love her. (puts down phone)

- - - - -

Eliot: I had courtside seats, man. Tell Hardison if he makes it out alive, I'm gonna snap him in half.

Nate: Uh, Eliot says hi.

again, eliot, you ain’t foolin no one

- - - - -

parker sitting on the dining table,,, I love it when she perches herself on things

- - - - -

eliot is wearing a checkered/white plaid shirt with flowers on it it’s adorable

- - - - -

(Kerrity is placing a necklace on a woman’s neck)

Kerrity: Wow, that looks beautiful. Three hundred thousand dollars on your neck. (Nate knocks on the door) Oh. Amy, I'm gonna meet you at the bar, sweetie, OK? You'll earn that later. Let's go. Excellent. This had better be important.

y’all nasty

- - - - -

we love to see eliot knocking people out with one punch

+ him apologizing to the unconscious guard after

- - - - -

(Parker lays a magnetic strip over the two halves of the sensor)

Parker: This will hold them together.

Eliot (hands her a screwdriver): Electric's faster.

Parker: Vibrations will set off the seismic sensor.

(Eliot leaves the vault as Parker moves the sensors to one side and replaces them with false sensors. She then works on getting the combination)

- - - - -

Eliot buzzes Hardison in. Hardison fakes punching Eliot, who goes down. Hardison continues to fake beating Eliot up)

Eliot: Next time, I'm playing the thief.

Hardison: I'd like to hear you do an accent.

Eliot: I'd like to hear you do an accent.

Hardison: I went to Second City in Chicago.

(outside the Russian and his men watch Hardison beating Eliot)

[Vault]

(Parker writes the combination to the vault on the handle in what looks like invisible ink)

Eliot: When’d you find time between that and karate at the Y?

Hardison: You know what? Just shut up.

Parker: Shut up, guys

chaotic ot3

- - - - -

(Parker hangs on to the vault door as it swings shut, then jumps to an overhead pipe)

[Kerrity Diamonds]

(Eliot watches Parker move across the vault in a security monitor)

Eliot: Stuck it

this is cute okay, his proud lil face

- - - - -

hardison also carries a black light on his keychain ???

- - - - -

I’m sorry, I’m but a simple wlw and parker hanging upside down doing her thing is beautiful

- - - - -

[Flashback]

Hardison: Shh! Do you hear that? Diamond Jim's comin' down here. You go and stop him while I nick the diamonds.

(the Russian and his men turn to the vault doorway. Hardison backs away. Parker steps out of one of the larger boxes and pulls Hardison into it)

Hardison: Thank you, and I mean thank you, but how are we gettin' out of here?

(Parker pulls out some sort of electronic device)

Hardison: What is that?

Parker: Shh! Pull your arms in.

(the device beeps as Parker enters a code. After a moment, an explosion collapses the floor beneath them and they fall into the tunnels below where Eliot helps Parker to her feet)

Eliot: Det cord.

eliot helping them off the ground? domestic ot3

- - - - -

Eliot: What are you smilin' at? You still screwed it up.

Hardison: I'm smiling 'cause you said if I got in trouble, you wouldn't help me.

Eliot: Parker made me.

Parker: No, I didn't.

Hardison: Come on, man. Let's hug it out.

Eliot: I'm not huggin' it out, Ice Man.

Hardison: Just hug it... Just a little man love.

(Hardison puts his arm around Eliot’s shoulders. Eliot tries to push him away)

Eliot: I'm not huggin' it out with you. No...

Hardison (stands to move closer to Eliot): It’s not—

Eliot: Sit down in your stool.

Hardison: Don't make this awkward.

Eliot: What are you doin', man?

Hardison: This is uncomfortable now.

(Hardison lays his head on Eliot’s shoulder as Eliot continues to try and push him away)

Hardison: Get in the pits.

Eliot: I'm gonna break your frickin’ arm.

parker shuts eliot down immediately because eliot needs to step up for his actions

ALSO, ELIOT LEANED HIS FOREHEAD IN FOR ONE (1) SECOND. HE TOTALLY SECRETLY LOVED IT

also this meme sums up the entire episode

* sorry the script said something wrong and I don’t feel like going back to check lol

[soriseerakyra]

Flight of Fancy -5- (Black!Batmom)

“You know we haven’t gone on that date yet.”

Perhaps if this had been the first time that he had said something like that to you would have been surprised. However, it had already been three months since you had come to work for him. More than enough time to get used to his advances. Not that they were unwelcome in the first place.

“We did go on a date,” you comment feeling a smile across your face, gaze trained on the screen in front of you. You were waiting for his X-rays come in.

“That’s how I started working here, remember?”

“Mr. Wayne,” you say in mock irritation, hands on your hips. “No one is demanding you to be the first human test subject.”

“The only test subject, unless you’ve found some mice running around here that I don’t know about.”

“Just the ones native to the Gotham underground,” you quip back. “And besides, if you’re so worried about not being able to feel your arms in the morning, find me someone that has much less to lose than the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company.”

“And have someone try and plant a spy and figure out what we’re doing, not a chance.”

“You brought me here to make experimental tech, and it sounds like you’re saying that anything I make you want me to try it out on you first.”

“I don’t sell anything that I wouldn’t use on myself first,” he says with a shrug.

“A wholesome business practice,” you say looking at him skeptically.

“What can I say, I’m a decent guy.”

“If that’s what you call it,” you say with a smirk as you focus on the screen in front of you. A download prompt had just appeared on the screen, his scans had just arrived.

“You know you don’t have to be here today; the test is tomorrow. I’m just going to be calibrating the machine to focus on any areas that look weaker than the rest on your X-Rays.”

He had been planted in one of the chairs in your workshop since you had arrived this morning, if you didn’t know any better, you’d think that he was anxious about you seeing his X-Rays. That or he just wanted the chance to the pester you.

“And miss the chance to ask you to dinner, no way.”

Seemed like it was that latter.

“Maybe when this is done,” you say non-committally.

In truth, when you had agreed to date and work for him, you had meant it. And while you had been glad about the job, the space, the access, and the ability to limit that amount of people you encountered everyday had been wonderful; you had been hesitant to date him.

Not that you hadn’t wanted to, you looked forward to him coming down to visit you and the smiles he sent you were enough to send you to cloud nine. Still, you worried about what it would look like if you had agreed to go out with him. There was the age difference was bound to be an issue, but not the only one. Sure, the fact that you weren’t like the tall model thin girls that he usually dated, but there was alse the unfortunate reality of the scrutiny and vitriol that you would have to deal with because of your skin color. And to make matters worse, those worries came second to your other feeling, guilt.

You felt horribly guilty about what happened between you and Kenya. One of your oldest friends simply cut out of your life, like the two of you meant nothing to each other. While you would never feel bad about taking a job that would be, in the long run, better for you than any of the others had been, the way you left things off had been bad.

If you gave into Bruce, and dated him like he wanted, wouldn’t you just be proving Kenya’s point? She knew that he would be attracted to you, and she used that to her benefit and you were angry at her for it. And yet here you are, almost in the exact same postion that she had predicted that you be in, and yet you were fine with it. Perhaps agency was the issue, in this case you determined your fate while in the other, she held all the cards.

‘And I want to be in control for once,’ you think to yourself slightly bitter.

“That bad, huh?”

The questions startle you out of your thoughts and your left blinking, looking at your employer stupidly.

“Sorry?” You ask somewhat sheepishly.

“The scans,” he clarifies. “Sorry, just judging by the frown on your face I thought that the results came in.”

“Oh, right,” you say flashing him an apologetic smile. “I was lost in thought, sorry.”

Oh, and look, the X-Rays just downloaded from your computer, but that can’t be right.

“I think that they sent the wrong ones,” You mutter.

“Why do you say that?” He questions.

Your eyes flick over the screen of your computer, barely registering the fact that he had stood and was making his way over to your desk.

“Well, firstly, the folder says these are from six years ago,” you say looking at the date on the folder before opening one of the scans. “I really should be working with something more recent.”

“Hmm,” He’s standing behind you now looking at everything on your screen. “I have a feeling everything would be pretty much the same, just slightly worse.

“And second, holy shit,” you say, with wide eyes, gasping at the sight. “How are you standing right now?”

While you weren’t an expert at reading X-rays you knew enough to see the severe trauma that had been done to his body. And if you were right, judging by the callousing around his joints, this wasn’t the result of a horrible accident, but this was repeated trauma of years. And if these dates were right, there was not telling how bad a shape he was in currently.

“Is this a joke?” You ask spinning around in your chair to face him. “You’re about to keel over any second. Are these really yours? You don’t have to trick me if you want me to use the machine, I’ll do it if you want it that badly.”

He gives you a smile, “It’s not a trick, I’m pretty messed up.”

“What are you doing to yourself?” You question worriedly, your thoughts immediately going down a dark route.

“I like to mountain climb,” he says with a shrug, hands slipping into the pockets of his slacks, “I’m just not particularly good at it.”

“But this doesn-”

“Why are you so worried?” He questions with a smile. “This just means if you can fix this, you’re guaranteed to be a wealthy woman and a certified genius.”

“But-” you start anxiously.

“If it bothers you so much you should come with me to dinner tonight, you know just so you can be sure that I don’t pass out in the middle of the street.”

"Mr-"

“Bruce.”

“Bruce, sir, this is serious,” you say with slightly narrowed eyes. “You need to go to the doctor like now or something, I don’t know.”

“Let’s say it is serious,” he says the joking tone leaving his voice as he addresses your concern. “If I am about to ‘keel’ over like you say what could a doctor do for me at this point?”

“I- nothing,” you answer sadly.

“So what would be the point?” He asks.

“There wouldn’t be, I suppose,” you relent. “But you have to be and pain.”

“Luckily for me, I happen to know a genius that just so happens to have a device that could possibly make at least some of my problems go away.”

“Manageable,” you correct.

“Manageable,” he agrees.

Your eyes find themselves looking at the pale polished linoleum on the floor and your lip drawn in between your lips in uncertainty. On one hand, he was right, if everything went well tomorrow, you could really help him. On the other you were really thinking about calling Mr. Fox and having him help you drag the man to the hospital. Although would he really help you? If anyone knew Bruce it had to be him, right? So, there was a high probability that he already knew what kind of condition the man was in and thought the same way he did about it.

“Alright,” you say with a sigh. “But if this doesn’t work you have to find something that does.”

“I’m touched really-”

“Also, if you die, how will I get paid?”

He looks at you blankly for a moment as if trying to assess the seriousness of your comment, “You’re lucky I like you enough not to fire you.”

“You wouldn’t fire me until after we on a date.”

“What happened to the timid girl that I hired, I remember her being much more agreeable.”

“Well, when you have to beat an old man off with a stick every day, you tend not to feel as shy.”

“You’re killing me,” he says fight the smile from coming to his lips.

“Not as much as you’re killing yourself with your _‘mountain climbing’, _” you counter back arms crossing.

“I could take you, I think you might enjoy.”

“No thanks, I more of a dinner and a movie type of girl.”

“Good then I’ll pick you up tonight for dinner.”

“I didn’t agree to that,” you say with a furrowed brow.

“I don’t think we’ll have time for a movie though, since you know, tomorrow is a big day,” he says backing away from you and phonily checking his watch. "Hmm, maybe a party instead."

“Did you hear me? I didn’t say yes.”

“Though if we have a party I'll need a little more time to plan everything,” he says weighing the options with a furrowed brow.

“I can’t believe you,” you say feeling a relenting smile coming over your face. “Does the word 'no' even register in those ears of yours?”

He eyes you curiously for a moment, "I'm sorry I missed part of what you said. It must be my aging ears."

You can't stop the snort the nearly erupts out of you.

You meet his eyes once again, the casual intensity of his gaze made you flick your eyes away from his, but you manage a relenting nod at his suggestion. He made you nervous, the same way he did when the two of you first met. The thought of subjecting yourself to that torment, seemed like madness. You had been denying yourself something that you had wanted from the first time you met and now you were giving in. Was that really the smartest thing to do?

“Next Friday it is, then, ” he says with a smile.

“If it works,” you stipulate feeling a need to give yourself an out just in case you changed your mine.

“It will,” he promises, clearly having more confidence in your abilities than you did.

He tosses you a wave goodbye as he exits your isolated workshop.

“Shit,” you mutter to yourself.

What had you gotten yourself into?

"What if I kill him, Mr. Fox?" You ask the older man who is standing next to your console, hands positioned authoritatively behind his back. The both of you were watching your subject from the observation room.

Bruce lay on a medical table in what was sure to be a freezing room, only in his boxers.

This was it, the moment that all three f you had been waiting for, although Bruce probably more so out of the lot of you.

You were worried, for many more reasons than just your experiment. It seems Mr. Wayne was more than a little secretive. And while you were aware of that when you took the job, some of his precautions were starting to seem more than a little bit ridiculous. Trying to make sure that you could mitigate whatever horrible side effects that could happen, you had suggested the hiring of a few nurses and maybe an actual doctor, to watch over him and his vitals while the experiment.

He had refused. Reiterating that he had complete faith in your expertise.

'Doesn't meant that I won't accidentally kill you,' you had thought to yourself when he had flashed that winning smile of his that made you agree to all of his requests.

"It would be a problem if he doesn't survive," the older man eventually responds to your question with a chuckle. "Try not to kill him."

You knew he was joking and that he was jut trying to keep you loose, but it only made your shoulders tighten with more anxiety. Why did neither of them seem to see this as the big deal that this actually was? Why didn't they take the possibility of the horrible pain he was about to endure seriously? Sure, he probably wouldn't die, but he could be seriously hurt, you could render him immobile or worse. Seeing the brusies and scars on his body when he began undressing made you think that he was in worse condition then you could actually fathom.

Whit a shuddering breath you try to calm yourself down. If they weren't going to worry then there was no reason that you should.

"This is going to hurt, okay?" You call to your patient lying on the table in the other room. You wondered how your voice sounded coming through that speaker. You imagine it was robotic and cold, making the message you delivered even harder to digest than it already was.

Despite that, however, he leans up and flashes you a smile through the observation window.

"I've been through worse," he says with a mischievous glint in his eye. He must have been horrible to look after when he was a child.

"So you people keep telling me," you mutter to yourself turning your attention back to the knobs and switches in front of you.

You take a moment to center yourself and confront the reality of what is happening. Hovering a few feet of the man who was helping to finance your dream, is your prototype. Well, it's more than that now isn't it? It means much more.

Eight stainless steel mechanical appendages hang limply over the table, suspended by a long arm that goes from the table to your console that holds the medication that you would be pumping into the billionaire in front of you.

The medication: A concotion of manufactured stem cells, cortisone, and other regenerative properties. You were sure that it would help some, you just weren't sure how much. Not only did the damage that he suffers seem to be exceedingly extensive, but there was always the chance that he would react negatively to the new chemicals and fluid running through his system. You weren't sure how well he would be able to function if something like that should happen. There was also the possibility of rapid degeneration of the new cells in his body, meaning that he would have to constantly have to experience the trauma of the procedure if he wanted to retain the same level of functionality after an extended period of time.

In the bright room of your lab is perhaps what scared you most about the upcoming procedure. Attached to the spider like legs of your machine were eight large sterile needles that would be digging themselves into the space between his joints, injecting him with the concoction. He kept saying that he would able to handle whatever pain that you subjected him to, but you weren't completely sure that he understood exactly what all that entailed.

There is a clock in front of you and you watch it carefully. As soon as it reached 11, you would start the experiment and you would know if the life you had so carefully built up for yourself would come crashing down or not.

The ticking of the clock hits your ears like a hammer, and you feel your throat tighten with anxiety.

“We are beginning,” you say announcing he start of the experiment.

Your mind is whirring at with all the possible outcomes, and you barley register Mr. Fox’s “good luck” and the fatherly squeeze that warms your shoulder.

With a heavy sigh you type in a few commands to the monitor in front of your and execute the experiment. As the machine begins to whir to life in front of you, you find yourself grateful that you had the wherewithal to automate the program, you have now idea if you would be able to even man the controls if it was something that you had to do manually.

It doesn’t time take long from the arms to take their positions and begin the procedure that you had only seen in your mind’s eye up until that point. They move to align at his ankles, his knees, hips, and shoulders. You see the fluid flow from the console, feeling the syringes that each was holding. The covers that were keeping the needles clean are shed and they glint in the harsh white light with their sterile glory.

‘This is it,’ you think to yourself, biting your lip in anticipation. It occurs to you that perhaps you should offer some words of encouragement to your patient. Your eyes flash to his face and his eyes are closed and his body is completely relaxed, almost like he is in some sort of meditative state, clearly, he is more ready for this than you gave him credit for.

There is a ten second countdown that flashes in the corner of your screen. The needles are all hovering above their chosen targets. The AI would handle everything else, all you had to do now is watch.

As the number’s count down the needles a lowered down until they press against his skin, forming an area of depression. There is a slight hesitation in the machine as it waits for the clock to reach zero. When it does reach that fateful number, you find yourself having to swallow a gag as the flesh across his body is pierced. To your surprise the man doesn’t let out a grunt or even flinch when the needles enter his flesh. Clearly, whatever ever he had been doing to get his body in such a disastrous shape prepared him from the pain of the procedure.

Still, though, this is only the beginning.

You see, the moment that needles hit the target not only on the screen though, but also through the slightly convulsive flinch that runs through his body. They had hit the joints that they were supposed to be targeting.

There is a feral groan that rips itself from his throat next, and you only have to through a passing glance at the screen in front of you to know that the they are now digging through the damaged areas of his joints to find the optimal place to start injecting the fluid.

You can see the pain that is beginning to etch itself on his face. You feel slightly guilty because a part of you wants to mute the sounds coming from the room as the groans begin flowing from his mouth. While you knew the had pain had to get worse in order for him to get better, knowing that you were the one that was causing him that level of discomfort hurt your heart. You wanted to make him, and others, feel better not cause them pain.

You stop yourself, however, when you see the flexing of his hands and his toes. His body clearly, trying to adjust and fight through the pain.

“I know this is hard Mr. Way-, Bruce,” you say, speaking to him through the intercom, “But you are going to have to do your best not to move so they can have the best chance at to inject the medicine where it needs to go.”

At your voice he freezes, almost like he has been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to do. Like he just remembered that he wasn’t completely alone. His eyes, still closed, seem to tighten. His hands ball into fists and then they fall limp, the same with the rest of his body. He relaxes and all traces of pain seem to fade as if he was never troubled to begin with.

_‘His force of will is amazing,’ _you think to yourself, more than impressed watching his heart rate calm down from its stress speed.

There is a clicking sound as the machine arms have locked into place, they have found their targets and are ready to begin. There is another countdown as the medication is primed and warmed in the machine, the fluid spinning rapidly in the syringes.

“So Bruce,” you start, pausing to make sure that the man is cognizant enough to hear you. He may be so focused on blocking out the pain that he might not register what you are saying to him. Luckily, you see him move his head in your direction, giving you the cue that he as listening to what you are saying to them. “We are about to inject you with the medication, it shouldn’t hurt any more than anything you have experienced already, but it’s going to feel… weird.”

“_‘Weird’ _she says,” he says scoffing slightly.

You can’t help the small smile that comes over your face, relieved that he is aware enough to respond, no matter how sarcastic it was.

“We are beginning,” you say once more as the countdown reached zero once more.

It starts. The fluid begins to be pumped into the man’s system.

He’s quiet at first, the only sign that he is feeling what’s happening a slight groan leaving his lips. His feet start to flex again before him regain control of them and forces them relax. And though you can plainly see that he is trying to control his body as best as he can, there are some things that lie beyond his control.

You see it first in the hands, the fists that are so badly trying not to rip out the needles that are inside of him, are turning red. In fact, all of his skin is turning a deep shade of crimson. There is a sweaty sheen that begins to encase his body and his mouth opens as he begins to pant, the heat rolling over him becoming more than uncomfortable.

“Is that supposed to happen?” Mr. Fox asks you curiously, but there no traces of panic in his voice. You doubt that you would know if he felt uncomfortable until it's too late though.

“The medication needed to be primed and activated for it to work,” you explain. “In order it for it it to activate it needed to be heated up. He feels hot, because the liquid is hot, as it begins to settle he should begin to cool back down.”

You manage to stop yourself from adding an “I hope” to the end of your sentence. There was no reason to doubt yourself now, it’s too far in for you to do anything but to ride the up and downs of the procedure.

Despite the boost of self-confidence that you just tried to inject yourself with in order to come yourself down, it is quickly outweighed by the dread that rolls over as the instruments of your console begin to blink red in warning.

Everything happens so quickly, you're surprised that you were able to keep your head from popping off.

As the alerts flash on the screen, mostly stating that his temperature was reaching critical levels, the man undergoing the procedure begins to thrash and groan uncomfortably, his body rising and arching of the bed.

“Fuck,” you mutter to yourself as you are forced to activate emergency restraints. Two halves of a large silver ring announce themselves with an aggressive whirring and a clanking sound as the connect over top of Bruce’s body. Once they connect, they slowly begin to press down to lock him in place, he begins to shake.

Panic consumes you as your eyes flash between to the screen and back to the man. There isn’t much left that needs to pump in and yet he is in so much pain. Should you stop? Would he want you to stop? Is it right for you to stop? Your finger hovers over a button to terminate the procedure and you feel yourself gulp as the idea of pressing it bounces back and forth between your mind. It’s then that you feel the familiar hand on your shoulder, another fatherly grip there to reassure you.

“Almost done, now,” Lucius says with a hum. If you didn’t know any better, you could have sworn you saw a hint of worry flash in his eyes, but there is a confidence there that reassures you and you find yourself relaxing. You warned the man about what would happen, and he told you to continue. If he has that much faith in you, you should have faith in that he would be fine and pull through.

It’s an agonizing ten minutes, that feels like ten hours. The medicine emptied into him, the needles pause their movement, a pause given in an effort for the body to cool down and the patient to relax. He groans and twists as best he can for another five minutes, but soon, he falls quiet. His body falls still. The needles, pull back and the machine lifts back up moving back into a corner. The procedure had officially finished, and you’re pretty sure that you didn’t kill the billionaire that paid you to do it. You look at the monitor, his heartbeat is steady, and his temperature is slowly returning to normal.

“Bruce?” Your question was spoken through the intercom, he doesn’t respond and all you can see is the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

“I imagine he’s passed out,” Lucius says with a bit of a chuckle with his hand sliding into his pockets. His calm attitude makes you feel like that this is something that he’s dealt with before. What kind of people had you agreed to work for?

“I’ll come back in a few hours, I’m sure he’ll be awake then.”

“Wait your leaving?!” You balk at the older man looking at him with wide worried eyes. “What am I supposed to do about him? What if he’s got brain damage or he doesn’t wake up?”

The old man gives you a small knowing smile and it frankly pisses you off a little bit, why is it they have a habit of making your concerns seem trivial. “Trust me, he’ll be fine, he’s been through worse.”

“Been through worse than mountain climbing?” You question incredulously, arms crossing in irritation. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Mountain climbing, skydiving, base jumping,he’s adventurous”, he says making his way to elevate and summoning it. “Don’t worry, he’ll pull through. And I’m sure you’ll get a bonus for all your hard work.”

You're left alone both agitated and concerned, “Can’t get a bonus if he doesn’t wake up.”

You look back at the procedure room and feel guilt racking up in your chest. The medical instruments and restraints removed from the table, he looks like a cadaver. It didn’t help that the red flush is now gone from his body and he looks disturbingly pale under the harsh lights.

With careful steps, you rise from your desk and tiptoe over to the door separating you from him. With a sigh you resign yourself to the fact it’s your duty to care for him now. It really would have been so helpful if he had allowed you to hire a nurse or two.

You enter the room and immediately make your way to one of the cabinets to fetch a blanket to cover him. There would be no telling how long he'd sleep, but he didn’t have to be cold while he did it, conscious or not.

Draping his body in the blanket, you find yourself tucking him in like a mummy, the way that your mother used to when you complained about being cold. It always kept you warm, so it would do the same for him… right?

You feel a bit of relief wash over you when you look at his face. His pale visage was slowly starting to regain some color, the blue tips of his ears flushing pink as the body begins to acclimate his temperature once again.

For now, your experiment, it seems, is a success. You hadn’t killed your boss, hurray!

Looking at him he seems very much alive, although in a state that you had never seen him before. Unguarded. It’s a strange thing to see his face at rest. A part of you didn’t know it was possible. He usually kept a flirty smirk on his face, but the few times you had seen with anything but that look he had been sporting a heavy frown and furrowed brow. There was always something that seemed to nag you about him. While you enjoyed your time with him and loved your job, you were almost certain that the flirty banter and attitude he'd greet you with wasn't the real him. Perhaps that is why you denied his request for so long. If you had agreed to go out with him who would show up to that date? Bruce the flirt, or the man who let that angry frown form on his face when he thought no one was looking. You weren’t sure that you wanted much to do with either of those people.

Looking at him now though, he looked more real. You imagine it’s because when he’s like this he’s not in control and doesn’t have the ability to act in a way that he thinks he should.

Still, if he was awake, you would have liked that a whole lot more.

When he’s was as bundled up as you can possibly make him, you leave. Back to your observation room and sit and monitor his vitals and wait.

And Wait.

And Wait.

And…

Your neck hurts, it’s aching. Your thighs feel a little numb too, and your shoulders aren’t doing any better than the rest of you. Maybe if you roll around a bit you can get comfortable and go back to sleep.

Shifting your hip to the far side of your chair, you take some unwanted pressure off of your body and soon find yourself relaxing once again into a much needed slumber.

Well, you would have, but there is a deep chuckle bouncing around in your ears and you aren’t sure where it’s coming from.

Your eyes blink open slowly, they feel heavy and you knew you had been asleep for more than a few hours. Your vision is blurry at first, the shock of the white lights confusing their focus for a second and making you unsure of your surroundings. You were sure of one thing though, there was a tall figuring standing in front of you.

“Hello?” You question, voice heavy with sleep.

“Hello,” the deep voice almost coos at you amusedly.

You know that voice and that condensation.

“Bruce?!” You question sitting up straight in your chair, eyes suddenly as awake as the rest of you are.

There he is, standing tall and strong as if he hadn’t just gone through hell. There is a little bit of weary look about him, but he looks more than healthy. And judging by the smirk on the face, more than ready to get on your nerves.

“You’re okay,” you sigh out appraising him. Nothing looked broken or contorted, and he hadn’t grown and extra arm out his back.

“I think so,” he says, flexing his hands and rolling his wrists around. “A little sore, though.”

“You should feel like shit,” you say bluntly. “But in a few days, maybe a few hours even, you should start to notice a difference. And we should schedule a time for you to do follow up X-rays.”

He nods as if he’s listening to your advice, but you can tell he’s already fascinated with how his body feels. He rolls his shoulders back and you must stop yourself from staring at the tightening fabric of his back. He brings his hand up to his face and looks at the backs and the palms multiple times. You find yourself jumping slight surprise when quickly jab one of his arms out aggressively in what would have been a knockout punch if someone was on the other side. His mouth curls up as a satisfied smirk crosses his face.

“I think you just saved my life,” he says somewhat boyishly, a giddiness in his tone that you had never heard before. It leaves you slightly stunned.

“Were you trying to punch the mountains?” You ask slightly confused by the punch.

He gives you a deep, genuine belly laugh, and you feel a warmth spill over you when it happens. You’d like to hear him laugh like so much more.

He gathers himself with a calming sigh and gives you a rather affectionate look, “With this you’re going to change the world you know that?”

“Well, there are still a few kinks to work out,” you say, averting your eyes feeling heat scorch your cheeks.

“Don’t do that, you’re brilliant,” he reemphasizes earnestly. And you wish you could stop your heart from beating so fast, like a schoolgirl with her first crush. This time, though, you decide to take the compliment in full.

“Thanks.”

“I’m still throwing that party by the way.”

’Shit’

[mysterioh]

The Ignorant Beauty and The Beast of New York - Ch. 12

PAIRING: MOB!STEVE ROGERS X READER

SYNOPSIS: Y/N is an exhausted bio major. Steve is danger with a capital DANGER. She thinks he’s a sarcastic prick with an impressive knowledge of art history. He thinks she’s cute even if she’s only running on one brain cell. All he wants is a single date, but she’s adamant upon denying.

A/N: For some reason my taglist didn’t work last time. Some people didn’t get a noti so make sure you read ch. 11. Link in masterlist!! 

Masterlist

Best Excercise For The Heart? Getting Chased by Mob. 

Peter's heart was beating on another plane of existence.

His palms were sweaty and stomach just a bit queasy. He knew he shouldn't have had such a big breakfast, but it's not like May would let him leave the house without at least three pancakes shoved into his mouth.

Bucky greets Peter by slapping his hand over his shoulder making him jump in surprise.

"Woah, chill out kid," Bucky said with a chuckle.

"Sorry," he shook his head. "I'm just a little nervous."

"I got ya," Bucky replied. "Listen there's nothing to it, you just gotta sit there. The boss is gonna do all the talking. He just wants us there for backup. Natasha can’t make it so you’re gonna take her spot."

"But why does he want me there?" Peter asked curiously, "I'm still new and–"

"The big guy thinks you've got a lot of potential," Bucky explained and Peter's eyes grow wide in shock. The mob king thought he had potential? He smiles in hiding, trying to not let it get to him. Too late. Head full. Pride skyrocketing.

"Truth is, I don't see it," Bucky stated flatly, "but he's weird like that."

"Thanks, you're so nice," Peter replied, mildly sarcastic, but Bucky lets it go just this once. He shakes him with another pat on the back.

"Come on, get in," he pushes him into the office.

Peter takes a seat next to Sam who gives him a friendly smirk. At least he thinks it's friendly. He really can't tell with those two.

Steve enters the room and Peter sits straight up. The kingpin smiles warmly. “You brought the kid.”

“You told us to,” Bucky replied.

“Right,” Steve said as if he forgot. “How’s it goin’ kid? You and your girl doin’ alright?”

“Yes Sir!” he replied quickly. Steve Rogers remembers that he has a girlfriend. Wow, what a nice guy.

“Now listen here,” Sam brought him back to earth. “When the guy comes don’t get all bouncy. Just chill out and relax.”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded.

“And don’t go blabbing random stuff, ya hear?” Bucky reminded him.

“I don’t do that!” he retorted.

“Only talk when spoken too, but never answer if you don’t know what to say,” Sam instructed. “Never show someone else that you’re unsure. Always be confident even when you’re not.”

“Talk but don’t talk,” Peter repeated. “Be confident even when you’re not. That doesn’t make any sense!”

“It makes perfect sense,” Bucky retorted. “You’re just stupid.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Don’t mess this up, kid or your ass is grass,” Sam warned, earning a loud, guttural groan from Peter.

Steve chuckled. “Listen, Pete, just go with your gut, ya hear? Just go with what you know, alright?”

“Yes, Sir!” He nodded like a child.

A knock came at the door and opened.

“Mr. Rogers,” the secretary popped her head through the door. “Mr. Rumlow is here.”

“Let him in,” Steve waved towards him. She opens the door wider and Brock Rumlow enters. Peter observes him. A scar running across his left cheek with beady black eyes that just screamed sneaky. Not even a word and the boy already knew he couldn’t be trusted.

"Mr. Rogers," Rumlow greeted, extending his hand.  

"Mr. Rumlow," Steve shook his hand, "Just call me Steve."

"So the rumors are true, you're an easy man to talk to."

"I just hate the formality and if we can," Steve stated, "let's finish this quick."

"Of course, I know you're a busy man." Rumlow smiles, taking a seat in front of him. "What I'm here for. What I want from you is help," he said. "I need money, investment money. I need three million dollars in cash," he explained further.

Peter's eyes widened. He spoke as if it was a small amount and Steve looked at him with utter nonchalance as if he's just asking for spare change.

"And what else?" Steve question, hooking his leg over the other, tapping the ash off of his cigarette.

"I need connections and you have very powerful friends," Rumlow continued. "I need those politicians you keep in your back pocket."

"And what's in it for us?"

"Forty percent," Rumlow stated. "And by the end of the year you'll be raking in around eight to ten million," he estimated.

"And the Lucchese?"

Rumlow chuckles. "I'll take care of them from my own share."

Steve ponders on the information for a bit. His expression was hard to read, leaving the rest in the room waiting in anticipation of his decision. He sat relaxed in his chair, not slumped, but confident and nonchalant.

"So, I get forty percent for finance, political influence, and legal protection?" He points out, extending his fingers as the list goes.

"That's right." Rumlow nodded.

"Why me though?" Steve questioned with a shake of the hand. "Why do I deserve all this generosity?"

Rumlow scoffs. "If three to four million is a small price for you, kingpin, then cheers to you."

Steve's eyes look at him sharply, then he smiles. To Peter, it's more dangerous than friendly.

"I've heard you're a businessman," Steve reminded him, burning out his cigarette in an ashtray. "A serious man needed to be treated with respect."

Rumlow's cocky smile falls and twists into a subtle scowl.

"The thing is I've been looking into this new drug you're proposing. This is nasty stuff worse than any other drug on the market as of now," Steve criticized and Rumlow wasn't pleased.

"Now let's just say this stuff hits it big. Bigger than crack and weed, which it probably will," he stood up and paced the office. "Those crackheads will take anything that gets 'em off for a good ten minutes. But let's just say hypothetically, it gets stuck in the hands of a policeman or even worse—a kid, and he gets caught smoking or even worse dead with that crap. That causes a major issue for me," he points at himself while standing in front of Rumlow.

Rumlow looks up at him and it's like he already knows the answer.

"Yeah, I've got a lot of friends, but I don't think the mayor would be so friendly if he knew I was caught up in this stuff," Steve remarked. "That thing you got is nasty."

"Mr. Rogers," he retorted firmly.

"Listen, I don't care what a man does for a living," Steve cut him off. "I mean look at me. But your business is a bit dangerous."

"If you're worried about your investment. The Lucchese will take care of it." Rumlow assured.

Steve shakes his head with a laugh. The Lucchese were going to insure him? What was he some second rate gangster?

"My answer is final, Mr. Rumlow. It's a no." Steve stated firmly. "Good luck with your business. I know you'll do very well and I wish you all the best. As best as your interests don't conflict with mine." He wished him with a warning in his tone.

Rumlow stands up with a scornful smile. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Rogers," he shook his hand. "I appreciate it."

"No problem," Steve said, placing his hand over their hands and giving it a final good shake. "Buck, please see Mr. Rumlow to the door."

"No, no," he replied. "That won't be necessary. I can find it myself," he nods and leaves the room. “Not like I found much help here anyway.”

"Hey, Pete," Steve said, he points his head towards the door, "follow him out from a distance."

Peter nodded, dashing for the door.

"You think we did the right thing?" Bucky asked, leaning against the desk.

"We can't risk our connections, Buck," Steve said, lighting another stick. "Besides, me? Insured by the Lucchese? Get the fuck outta here," Steve remarked, a chuckle coloring his words making the two erupt in laughter, filling the room with a lighter air.

"You know you don't have to walk me to the bus stop anymore." You said, walking out of the restaurant. "It's only a block away."

A sudden blow of wind rushes past, making you snuggle into the wool scarf wrapped around your neck. You dig your hands deeper into your pockets and look over at Steve to find him unphased by the freezing temperatures of January. Freak.

"I take my job as your bodyguard very seriously." He replied.

"You're not my bodyguard. I don't need a man to protect me." You retorted defiantly.

"Woah there, Susan B. Anthony," Steve put his hands up in surrender, "I was just saying. Don't get all feminist on me."

"And what's wrong with being feminist?" You jabbed.

"Nothing. I love women. All of them. They're amazing. Absolutely wonderful," he complimented. "But not in a creepy way. More of a respectful and cool kinda way."

"Just stop talking, you're making my head spin," you sighed, shaking your head.

"You're so dramatic," he nudged you with his shoulder.

"You're the dramatic one," you pointed out.

"Am not," he retorted.

"Are you joking me right now?" You asked incredulously. "Oh heavens no, she doesn't speak the language of arts whatever shall I do?" You acted breathlessly desperate. Steve rolled his eyes and kept walking.

"How can someone be so simpleminded? I guess I'll just die right here." You fainted against his shoulder with your hand on your forehead and a dramatic sigh.

He pushes you off of him, secretly liking how open you're being with him.

"Ha ha ha, you're hilarious," Steve deadpanned.

"Thanks, I know," you replied boastfully.  He snorts, looking away so you wouldn't see him smiling.

He failed. It was hard to miss that pretty smile of his. I didn't mean that. It was a completely objective observation.

Even if you told him not to walk you to the bus stop, you had to admit you enjoyed his company. Your cold cheeks were brushed with a numbing red, but the rest of you was warm. You didn't say a word the rest of the way there, just listened and watched.

You quietly listened to the distant drone of traffic, watched the lights of houses flip on and off. Cool steam rose from the sewer holes and swept along the asphalt of the street. There's not a soul in sight and what sane person would want to be out on a cold night like this? Your footsteps grew gradually slower not really in a hurry to get anywhere. Like they're trying to make the journey last as long as it can.

You don't know why, but the air feels tense. Heavy with something you can't really find a name for, but something you knew all too well. You pull your sweaty hands out of your pockets, stretching them to get some air through the cracks.

Steve watches his footsteps and how they're in sync with yours. He feels more at peace here with you than he's felt in the past week. You're like a remedy to all his problems.

When he's with you, the pressures of the mob slowly fade away. The burden of working over a hundred men and maintaining his power disappears for just a moment of time. When he's with you, he's not the kingpin, he's just Steve. Just a normal guy. You've never really seen him as anything else and he hopes it'll stay like that forever.

"That's strange," you said, checking your phone for the time while approaching the bus stop. "The bus is usually here by now."

"Maybe it's just a few minutes late?"

"Maybe."

The two of you waited for the bus patiently. Ten minutes had passed and the bus was nowhere to be seen. You looked from side to side to check the street and your eyes fell onto the car standing right across you. It was black with tinted windows. You recalled seeing the same exact car outside the restaurant and that part of your brain stuffed with crime shows is finally starting to crank its gears.

The car was off and there was a good chance that no one was inside, but you were never one to believe in coincidences.

"Steve," you said making sure not to look at the car again.

"Yeah?" He asked and from his face, you think he's already noticed.

"I might be crazy but I feel like I've seen the car across the street," you said, calmly. "At the restaurant."

"So have I," he nodded with a smile as if he's just having a casual conversation.

"Then what do we do?" You asked, shrugging.

"Let's just walk," he replied, pulling you along with him.

You walked down the sidewalk side by side and while your expression was calm, your insides were a frantic mess.

The quick rhythmic beat of your steps against the cracked sidewalks wasn't the only thing breaking the deafening silence of the street as the sound of car doors slamming and burly footsteps shuffled behind you slowly.

Your fingers intertwined with Steve's instinctively and he squeezes your hand tight. You look at him, heart thumping and thoughts racing.

"Hey, baby, don't worry, I got you." He gave you an amused smile, masking his own fear.

This isn't the first time something like this has happened, or the second, or the third. It's happened many times just not with an innocent civilian by his side. He had a knack for being a bit reckless but with you here he couldn't take that risk. Your safety was his top priority.

You pouted with a huff. "Don't call me, baby," you warned, your strides growing wider to match his.

"At the corner, we make a run for it," he ordered.

You nodded, taking silent, deep breaths to calm your speeding heart. You didn't dare to take a look behind in fear of what you'd see. Not like you needed to see anything. The sound of their footsteps was enough to know that something was wrong, slow and anxiously needy. Each step towards the end of the street gets heavier. The ones behind getting dangerously closer.

Steve pulls on your hand as he makes a sharp turn at the bend, dragging you behind him like a kite in the wind. You don't even know how you're keeping up with him at this point. It's just one foot in front of the other powered by an extraordinary rush of adrenaline.

You can hear the baying howls of the men behind you, ordering you to stop as if you're actually going to do that.

Steve's death grip on your hand is the only thing that keeps you anchored to the real world. Your thoughts are blank and all you can think of how you're possibly going to get out of this.

There are two of you against at least five of them.

Scratch that. More like one and a half against five.

You're screwed. This was where you died and you didn't even get to graduate from college yet.

Steve takes a sharp left at the corner and squeezes you into a tight alleyway between two buildings.

You put your hand over your mouth, muffling the sound of your breathing. Heavy footsteps draw nearer and continue past the alleyway until they fade into the distance. Your hand drops to your side allowing you to take free breaths of fresh air.

"You okay?" Steve asked, catching his own breath.

You look up at him and nodded. "Yeah."

The alleyway was narrow, very narrow, and the two of you were pressed against each other with only enough wiggle room for one to move.

Steve's cheeks redden by the way your body is pressed against his in all the right places. Sure he's imagined it before, but not exactly like this.  He looks at everything but you, so he doesn’t lose himself.

He's not alone in his embarrassment as you start to heat up despite the frigid temperatures of a midwinter's night.

"D-do you–um–do you think they're gone?" You whispered.

He shrugs unknowingly. You squeeze past him just enough to stick your head out. You look to the left then to right.

"I think the coast is clear," you said, getting out of the tight spot. Steve follows suit and pats the dust off his clothes.

"Well that was something," he chuckles nervously.

You place your hands on your hips with a judgemental look. "You've got a lot of explaining to do."

Steve scratches the back of his head sheepishly.

In the distance, the shrill screeching of wheels blares in the night with a blinding light coming in your direction.

You should run, but your legs feel like mush and getting caught sounded better than running right now. Steve covers you with himself as the car slows just in front of you.

The window rolls down to reveal a cheeky Bucky.

Steve groans for the whole neighborhood to hear. "For fuck's sake, Buck, you scared the shit out of me."

You peek out from behind him to find Bucky. His eyes meet yours and he smirks devilishly.

"Sorry, big boss, been lookin' everywhere for you," he gets out of the car with a chuckle. "And of course I'd find you canoodling with ya girl."

"I am no one's girl," you stated firmly, jumping out from behind.

"Right. We're not there yet," Bucky replied and Steve might just snap his neck if he keeps talking. "Anyways my name's Bucky, I'm an old friend of Stevie's. Nice to finally meet ya," he extends his hand. You shake it warily. "That's Sam," he points at the man standing against the car behind him and I guess you already know Pete."

"Hi, Y/N!" Peter waves, falling out of the back window with a gummy smile on his face.

You gasp at the sight of the curly-haired boy. You run up to him at the window.

"Peter! What are you doing here?" You questioned. "Do you know what time it is? Go home to your girlfriend!"

"I wish." Peter sighed sadly, arms dangling out of the car. "But I can't, I'm on night duty."

"Listen," Bucky directed towards Steve, "we got some trouble down at the dock in the Bronx. We think it's Rumlow."

Steve mutters a curse underneath his breath.  

"I guess he's the same bastard that tried to kill me like five minutes ago," he cursed. "Can't take no for an answer."

"Who's Rumlow? And why is he trying to kill you?" You asked, eyes solely on Steve, questioning his every gesture.

Steve sighed, not really wanting you to get involved in all of this. He knew it'd happen someday, but not this fast.

"I think it's best if we not talk about this out in the open," Sam advised. "So get in the car."

"Best idea you've had all day, Sammy," Bucky noted opening his door.

"Shut up."

Peter opens the door and scoots over to let you in and you have no choice but to go in. After what just happened, there's no way you're walking home alone.

Steve sits right next to you and closes the door behind him, signaling Sam to drive. It's kind of awkward being stuck in a car with a bunch of mobsters, but beggars can't be choosers. At least you know they won't kill you.

"Nat's already at the house," Bucky told Steve. "She's the one who found out about the whole mixup in the Bronx."

Steve nodded with a cautious look in his eye. Bucky knew exactly what he was saying without him even saying a word.

"Not in front of her."

"So where exactly are we going?" You asked.

"My place," Steve replied.

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought.

"If it's not a problem can you just drop me home?"

"I could but then I'd be worried about you all night," Steve said and it goes straight to the tips of your ears. It shouldn't have. The three snickered at Steve, but he ignored them. "Stay over my place for the night?"

“What? No, I can’t.” you denied. "I don’t even think they saw me,” you noted. “So it’ll be fine.”

“You sure about that sis?" Sam asked with a chuckle. "The mob ain’t as simple as it sounds. They’re probably already trying to figure out who you are.”

“Stop scaring her," Steve warned.

“I’m not scared.” you retorted. “I just don’t wanna intrude.”

“Or get involved," Bucky added.

“Maybe that too. So just drop me off please? I’ve got class in the morning.”

“Sorry, I can’t let that happen," Steve shakes his head in denial. "After what happened tonight who knows what’s gonna happen? I mean they could be trailing us for all we know. You really want those goons knowing where you live?”

“No," you whispered. You didn't think about it like that.

“Then just for tonight, okay?" He places his hand on top of yours and it feels nice, but not enough for you to accept. "I’ll drop you off first thing in the morning.”

“Don’t worry,” Bucky turned towards you from the front. “Stevie’s got a really nice place. With big fancy iron gates and a giant fountain. Never-ending fridge. The whole shebang."

Steve rolls his eyes. Sometimes he questioned why he even knew Bucky.  

"Besides you'll love Lucky," Sam pointed out.

You furrowed your brows in confusion. "Lucky? Who's Lucky?"

"It's the boss's dog," Peter answered.

Your jaw goes slack in shock. "YOU HAVE A DOG?"

"Yeah," he said nonchalantly.

"WHAT KIND?" You questioned shaking his arm violently, "HOW OLD?"

"It's a Samoyed and two." He replied, pushed up against the door by the way you're bouncing on the seat.

"Okay let's go to your place," you agreed. Steve chuckles with a shake of the head. "Hey, Sam right?"

"Yeah?"

"No offense man, but can you drive any faster?" You questioned.

"I don't want a speeding ticket," Sam confessed.

You look at him incredulously.

"The Brooklyn Mob is just a bunch of twinks," you jeered.

"Hey!" Steve exclaimed.

"And you're the biggest one."

TAGLIST: @ashwarren32​ @chuckennuggets1213​ @captainchrisstan​ @rootcrop​ @savedbystark​ @siriusement​ @little-dark-empress​ @great-goddess-of-sin​ @scuzmunkie​ @achishisha​ @calwitch​ @thirstybunz​ @littlebees-things​ @booktease21​ @rinkashirikitateku​ @voltage-my2dlove​ @boxofteenageideas​ @imsonick​

[persona-5-for-want-of-a-nail]

Prologue

She moved with vervor as her boots let out muted clacks against the metal of the casino’s obnoxious lights. The way the crowd below looked around, confused, possibly even scared, it gave her an extra stride of confidence in what she was doing, even if, deep down, a small but loud anxiety boiled in the deepest parts of her stomach.

Still, she perched on one of the highest lights in the casino, out in the open. She smirked, the briefcase under her arms noticeable. It was a taunt, and the security in the area knew it.

“She’s here, move immediately!” One had muttered into his transceiver, two of his cohorts dashing off to chase her down. Without a thought, she had turned on her heel and dashed off beyond the main area off into the rafters.

“Good, now get going!”

“This is our only chance!”

“Stay calm! You can get away now!”

“We’ll collect the briefcase on our end.”

In the midst of her collaborators’ words, she could hear some interference. It was definitely from the casino’s security. It almost made her head hurt.

“Hm…? What was that?”

“Don’t worry about us. Just concentrate on getting away!”

She nodded and continued making leaps and bounds across the casino.

“But I have to say, showing yourself above the crowd earlier was an excellent move!” A grin eked on her face; she couldn’t help it, she adored praise. “Good work as always, Ace.”

“I bet Skull wouldn’t pull it off that smoothly!” A giggle accompanied those words.

“This happens because you have no sense for aesthetics.” Another one had chimed in, agreeing with the former.

“Nobody asked you, Inari!” A third had snapped back.

A giggle passed her lips as she lept from each precariously hanging light. She had to admit, the way they swung when she landed made her heart stop.

“There she is!” She looked up, only to see a group of security guards on the other side of the large room.

“Just run! Get out of there!” Once more, she nodded, and jumped to one of the nearby arches, getting an almost childlike enjoyment as they lit up below her feet.

“Okay, the enemy’s focus is on her. Looks like the rest of us can slip away.”

“Everyone remember where we’re meeting up?”

“No worries, I can guide you all.”

She leapt up onto the second floor’s entryway, only to be cut off by a handful of guards.

“Take ‘em down, Ace!”

A smirk came over her face as almost entirely by reflex she leapt into the air and clung to one of the guard’s shoulders, getting a firm grip on the mask over their face, she tore it off, the guard in question quickly erupting into a black and red mess, taking form of a monster.

“Comparing power levels… They’re no threat at all! Go get ‘em, Ace!”

Yeah, that sounded right. She set a hand upon her mask, tearing it off with no issue.

“Come, Bonnie!” In mere moments a tall looming figure was at her side, azure blue flames licking at its skirt. “Shoot ‘em up!” The translucent figure behind her slowly angled its left arm, the chamber of the gun at the end spinning and spinning as it quickly riddled the creature with bullets, it writhing and perishing instantly. Just as sudden as it appeared, the figure behind her had vanished, the mask on her face returning.

She had a moment of panic as more ‘guards’ materialized out of nowhere, but she quickly regained her wit, leaping onto a nearby pillar, and again onto an overhang yet another floor above.

“Ace, behind you! Go through that door!” Turning on her heel, she nodded at the words of her Navigator, dashing off to the mentioned doorway, into a fairly dark hallway. “You should be able to get out that way! Hurry!” Her footsteps were rather muted in that corridor compared to the larger casino hall, but she wasn’t about to complain.

“Dude, can she even hear us!?”

“Don’t worry, I’m picking up everyone’s signals. Keep going, Ace!”

She was careful as she traveled, hiding out in doorways, watching from the shadows as another guard passed right by her.

“Where’d they go? Damn it!” They had cried out in frustration as they passed by. “I can’t confirm the intruder’s location.” They mumbled that into their transceiver and then dashed off into a different hallway. She came out of hiding promptly, running further down the hall. She never did like travelling alone.

“Up ahead! Stop!”

She almost stumbled over as she did.

“This is bad! Hide!”

As if it were but second nature, she tucked and rolled behind one of the metal crates in the hall, carefully watching the end of it.

“You’ll never get away if you just keep fighting. You know what to do here.”

Again, she nodded, quickly hopping from crate to crate as she neared the end of the hallway.

“...Hey, are you sure she came in this way?” Yet another guard had been asking his transceiver. A beat of silence passed, she could only pick up vague static. “Understood. I will continue my search!” He had said, tucking the device into a shirt pocket. She almost froze as he ran right past her.

“Now’s your chance! Go for the stairs!”

She emerged from the shadows, running up the steps as quickly as she could. A security room found itself nestled upstairs. Unable to help herself, she slowly peered in.

“She’s not alone! Find and kill them all!”

That… That was bad.

She continued her sprint, though she found an anxiety, a different one from earlier, bubbling deep in her throat as more guards were on her tail. She burst through the first door she could find, just needing an out, any out. Though finding it only led to another large hall in the casino, which she was on a balcony for, was a bit concerning.

“Something wrong? The exit should be up ahead.” Up ahead? She looked over, only seeing a large stained glass window.

“Through there?” She had asked, voice quiet.

“Yeah… That’s just how it is. After that commotion, the bottom floor’s completely closed off. You think you can make it!?”

She was a bit taken aback, sure, it was new, but nothing she couldn’t handle.

“Over there!” At the prompting of the shout, she looked over her shoulder to see the three guards that were tailing her. “There’s nowhere to run!” They had guns pointed at her, she could see that much, but that didn’t bother her. She had her confidence about the situation back.

She hoisted herself onto the balcony’s railing, running across it. Once again, she was a spectacle to those below her, but being a show off was the least of her concerns at the moment. Still, the guards pursued, though she simply gave them one of her sweetest smiles as she crouched in front of the window.

“Bye now.” She called, just before jumping through the large window. She could hear the screams of surprise of those on the lower floor. Shards of coloured glass glimmered around her as she flew through the air. It was artful, and she had to admit, probably her personal favourite of her escapes.

“Heh, what a showoff.”

“You’re so reckless. You know that?”

Another smile creeped on her face. Yes, she did.

She rolled to break her fall, ready to go find where her team had made their escape to, but she stopped. Light after light had turned on in front of her, nearly to a blinding degree.

“Enemies, here!?”

“What’s wrong!?”

“These readings… It can’t be!”

...What? Can’t be what!?

“What happened!?”

“An ambush!?”

“Ace, can you handle this?”

“Ace!”

“Oh, no…”

Slowly, she looked around, her mind having trouble keeping up with the sudden developments.

“Capture her!”

That, however. That kicked her brain back into high gear.

She began to run off; where exactly she was trying to get to, she wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter, as long as it wasn’t here. The yells of all of them began to bleed together, it hurt her head. Quickly, she jumped up the fire escape’s ladder nearby, climbing up like a panicking spider. As she neared the top, her nerves began to calm.

Until she found a gun pointed in her face.

There was an entire group of them at the top of the escape, the one pointing the gun at her pulling their weapon back, only to harshly hit her in the face with the butt of the gun.

Just like that, everything crumbled for her. She fell off the ladder, only at the mercy of the crowd below. There was a comotion with everyone in the crowd, though she soon found herself pinned to the ground.

“Suspect secured!”

“Hmm… Didn’t expect to find some kid.” One of them knelt down to her. “You have your teammate to thank for this.” He had grabbed her head, rather roughly at that. “You were sold out.”

“Wha..?”

He had left without another word, leaving the others to their own devices.

“Suspect confirmed! Cuff her!”

The cool metal of the handcuff was one of the last things she remembered before she was forced to come to in the small, dark interrogation room.

“Guess the drug was too strong…” One of the men had muttered to himself. “Wake her up.” The other one in the room nodded, quickly splashing the young girl with a bucket of water. Slowly, she stirred, looking around and trying to register everything around her. Her clothes had changed. No more mask, no heeled boots, no overcoat. Just her school uniform. She eventually met the gaze of the first man. “No dozing off.” He had told her, rather sternly.

She struggled with the restraints around her wrists.

Why did her hand hurt so much…?

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Her gaze slowly drifted back to the man. “Give it up!” He had yelled, delivering a harsh slap to her face. That alone was enough force to have her toppled out of her seat. “Come on, cooperate.” He placed his foot on just the side of her head. “Or what? Do you want another shot?” She winced as he began to dig his heel on her cheekbone.

She slowly looked around the room, noticing the small, bright red light in the upper corner.

“C… Ca…”

The man followed her gaze, realizing what she was talking about.

“Huh? What about the camera?” Much to her relief, he took his foot off her. “Are you thinking it could be used as video evidence?” He lifted her head up by the hair to look her in the eye as he spoke.

“N… no.” She mumbled out, voice still feeling very hoarse.

“So you’re not that dumb. Which is good.” He threw her head back onto the floor, prompting a quiet cry of pain from her. “‘Cause we’re gonna take as much time as we need!” Punctuating his words, he once again harshly brought his foot down on her. She winced. The way his foot so comfortably nestled between her hips and ribcage, the way he ground it further. It hurt so much.

She wanted to call for her best friend, the one she knew would protect her from something like this.

But couldn’t.

Slowly, he removed his foot from her and stepped away, snatching up a clipboard from his associate. His eyes flicked back and forth across the pages on the board.

“Obstruction of justice, blackmail, defamation, possession of weapons…” He looked over his shoulder, back to her rather still body. “Manslaughter too, yeah? Talk about the works.” A look of distaste overcame his features. “And to think all of it would be led by a brat like this.” Slowly he approached once more. “And you seemed to be enjoying every moment of it, huh?”

She remained where she was, stirring in her thoughts. Was she enjoying it…? She could hardly remember.

“...You should know your place.” He motioned his associate over, to which the latter nodded, walking over to her and unlocking her handcuffs. After ward, he forced her back up in a sitting position.

For once, the rough handling didn’t bother her, she was more focused on the scrapes the cuffs left on her wrists. It stung, but she felt less claustrophobic about the situation.

“Sign here.”

She looked over as the man presented her with his clipboard. Timidly, she looked back at him, subconsciously hiding some of the scrapes with her hand.

“It’s a confession under your name.” He explained. Quietly, she nodded, taking the clipboard from him. He offered her his pen, the metal gimmering almost unsettlingly in the fluorescent light. She had taken that as well, just as cautiously. Though before he fully gave up on the pen, he got closer to her. “Don’t expect to make it out of her in one piece. We’re going to make you understand. One must take full responsibility for their actions.”

Her toes curled. Why was he this close? She didn’t want him to be this close. She wanted to kick, to scream, but she didn’t have the energy to. Even if she did, she knew that things would just get worse.

Finally, he let go of the pen, stepping away. Slowly, she raised the pen, gently writing at the end of the sheet.

Megumi Kurosawa.

She held up the clipboard, handing it and the pen back to the man.

Just outside the room, an older woman with silver hair had walked down the darkened hall, a clear determination in her stride.

“Excuse me, this area’s off lim-” A police detective just outside the door had begun, before getting cut off by the woman herself.

“I’m Niijima, from the Public Prosecutor's Office.” She had told him, keeping a professional air about her.

“The Prosecutor’s Office? What business do you have here?”

“Just let me through; it’s urgent. There’s something I need to confirm with the suspect.”

“Ms. Niijima, I believe this case is no longer in your jurisdiction.” The detective had bit back. “Besides…” Before he could continue, the prosecutor’s phone had buzzed. She picked it up without hesitation, only to be greeted by a loud sigh.

“I thought I ordered you to stand by.” It was her director. She turned around, not looking at the detective by the door.

“I’m in charge of this case, yet I’m not even being allowed an interrogation?!” It would be clear to anyone that she was upset about it, yet nothing happened to diffuse it.

“I’m calling because I knew you’d bring it up.”

Her grip on her cell phone tightened.

“I will not be convinced unless I confirm it myself! This is MY case.”

Her director once again sighed in frustration.

“Good luck to you, then. I won’t be expecting much, though.”

She hung up, preparing to go into the interrogation room, though once again, the detective piped up.

“Ah, Prosecutor. I forgot to mention something important.” She peered over at his words. “Your time will be cut short. We can’t permit you to talk with her for long.”

She sighed. Of course.

“It’s for your own sake. Her methods are unknown, after all. We don’t even know if it’s safe to even sit and talk with her.”

She nodded.

“... I understand.”

Still, without any hesitation, she opened the door. The two men who were there prior ushered themselves out as the Prosecutor took a seat at one side of the table, watching as the young girl clambored to the other chair. She chewed her lip.

“I didn’t expect it to be you…” Still, she regained her composure. “You’ll be answering my questions this time.” Though she couldn’t help but notice the glimmer of the syringe on the floor. “Those bastards…” Niijima looked back to the young girl who was simply fiddling with her fingers, almost looking shell-shocked at the situation. “Can you hear me? It seems as though you’ve been through a lot. Almost anything can happen in here, and I can’t do anything to stop them. That’s why I need you to answer me honestly, I don’t have much time here, either.”

She chewed on her thumbnail as Prosecutor Niijima began prodding with her questions. What was your objective, why did you cause such a major incident, and other such things.

“I didn’t think it was a prank from the get-go, but I couldn’t assemble a case for prosecution. It’s because I couldn’t figure out the method behind it.”

“...Of course you couldn’t.” She mumbled out. The prosecutor crossed her arms and gently shut her eyes.

“Well, I need to know. This is my case, after all. It seems you’re coherent now, so tell me. When and where did you find out about that world? How is it even possible to steal another’s heart? Now… Tell me your account of everything. Start from the very beginning.”

She kept a gentle grip on her head, trying to reach back, way back. How did this start anyway…?

Then she stopped, for just a moment. She heard something but where…?

The butterfly, that’s what it was.

A translucent blue butterfly she had seen time and time again, but was sure almost no one else did. It had been a while, but in a way, she was relieved to see it. In a hushed voice, it spoke to her.

...You are held captive.

A prisoner of fate to a future that has been sealed in advance.

This is truly an unjust game…

Your chances of winning are almost none.

But if my voice is reaching you, there may yet be a possibility open to you…

...I beg you.

Please overcome this game… and save the world.

The key to victory lies within the memories of your bonds -- the truth that you and your friends grasped.

It all began that day… when the game started half a year ago...

[modestlyabsurd]

Compromised (Loki x Reader)

"We're gonna need reinforcements."

Steve Rogers tensed at Natasha Romanoff's grim implication.

The thought rolls around in his mind - all the possible conflicts, outcomes, subsequent issues. It's the last thing he wants to do. But those scenarios meshed with the image of God knows what's happening to you right now at the hands of God knows who.

All of them would rather not do it. What choice do they have, though? With the loss of your cell phone signal, and with no knowledge of who's behind this, it leaves them in an uncomfortable helpless rut.

For a second Steve gets angry at the matter. Of everyone in the compound - every employee, every intern, every agent, and not to mention the Avengers - why would someone target one of the youngest, most caring, innocent, good-doing people in the facility? Why you?

And then he realizes; the answers are there. They're obvious. That's why Natasha is resorting to this, knowing what it encompasses. This leaves him no choice but to use his training to twist that anger into pure determination before someone gets hurt.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," he concludes out loud.

Natasha gives a tight nod and rushes to go find Bruce Banner and Agent Maria Hill.

~

Illuminated by blue screens and beads of sweat, the agents' faces clearly reflect the matter at hand. Bruce presses his fingertips into his temple, Maria bites her nails in concentration, while Steve and Natasha exchange apprehensive glances. They can't bring themselves to look at the screen, the words "waiting for communication" looking coldly back. It never seemed to take this long for a reply.

Tony Stark and Clint Barton were promptly notified hours before at the beginning of the circumstance. While the rest of the world must continue to turn when duty calls, they've both been put on direct standby if needed.

Steve's wondering, staring that white spinning circle down, controlling his temper. Are these guys gonna pull through when needed the most? At this rate, going on twenty minutes of lost time spent waiting while you're still gone, he's losing patience. And with that, he's losing trust. Respect.

He only has faith in one God. But these guys are supposed to be dependable.

"Maybe we should reconsider this."

Natasha sighs, "Steve - "

"Look, we're wasting time." He uncrosses his arms defensively. "We need to be aggressively searching and we're just gonna sit here like lumps on a log?"

"We are searching, we've got every unit on it and every one is coming up cold. This is clearly out of our hands if we can't find any breadcrumbs whatsoever. It's our best bet."

"How do we even know they can help?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Natasha's rolling her eyes at Steve's frustrated nonsense when a distinct ping sounds from the oversized monitor, followed by Bruce stammering.

"Wait wait wait hold on, I got something," he clicks the mouse and types rapidly.

"Connection is established," a computerized female voice speaks. Everyone lets out sounds of relief simultaneously.

"Can we get verbal communication now?" says Maria impatiently, swiping her fringe from her eyes.

Bruce shifts as she hovers over him at the computer desk, "Should be able to - yeah, just give me a second ... " he trails off while clicking away at the tabs and windows popping up on the screen.

Steve shifts on his feet as well, anxious to make some sort of progress. He stares at the computer for answers, only to become even more frustrated because he doesn't understand anything he sees.

He does, however, understand the words "communication unavailable" in red letters spread across the screen. A swear word wisps from his throat quietly enough that no one else knew, along with words from the others.

"That's alright, just calm down. I still have a connection and can send them a distress signal," says Bruce.

"Well, get on it then!" Steve snaps.

It's not often that Natasha is the voice of reason. But when she needs to be, she's damn good at it. She may not even mind it, being the pacifier from time to time.

She steps in front of Steve's view, gentleness in her eyes looking up at him. "Why don't you go take a break? You might wanna recharge for a minute." She grins, "For lack of a better term."

Leaving everyone to their devices and standing idly by is not Steve Rogers' forte. Especially not when the life of someone he cares about is on the line, up for grabs. Out in limbo. What in the world happened her? he thinks, as a wave of pain ripples through his forehead. A stress-induced headache.

He massages the bridge of his nose in anguish. Maybe Natasha has a point. Come to think of it, he hasn't even had breakfast, as it draws into late-afternoon.

Little does he know how Natasha's manipulation skills are working so well. She convinces herself it's for the greater good - and she's right. What good is a distracted soldier in a war?

Steve gives in. For a little less than an hour he's supposed to be "recharging". When Agent Hill runs to the gym in Stark Tower and finds him destroying a punching bag down to the stuffing with his bare fists, she knows he's been fully charged.

Exactly what they needed.

Out of breath, she tries to catch Steve's attention. In his controlled stupor he hears nothing.

"Steve," Maria huffs, "Steve!"

He whips around mid-punch - sweaty, red-faced, arms bulging. Furious.

Maria nods rapidly, wide eyed. "We've got 'em on the line."

Steve and Agent Hill speed walk down the corridors to the computer lab. No sounds but that of their boots hitting the descending floor levels and their pounding heartbeats.

On the way Steve clears the rest of the clouds from his mind, what the workout couldn't get rid of. "How'd you get the connection?" he asks - not really meaning to out loud, but it filled the silence and slowed his mind down.

"Fury gave us the access code into one of our astro-energy receptors," her voice cracks with her steps, "Banner contacted Stark and was able to link JARVIS to the system which gave us a communication inlet. They've been exchanging written messages but ... we all agreed that you would likely be the best one to break the news."

"All this time with a line of communication and you haven't even told them?" Steve begins, but quickly stops himself. Now's not the time; this is good, this is progress. He doesn't skip another beat until they arrive to the lab.

When they walk in, Maria takes a backseat to Steve as he hesitates halfway to approach the computer. From across the room somewhere, Bruce sees something on the screen and squeezes by Steve's unusually intimidating frame. His eyes light up, "Looks like we've got a voice connection now."

He barely hears Bruce say that they've successfully got them en route, before politely shoving by him and Natasha to see the screen - again feeling like a caveman trying to comprehend it.

As a silence fills the thick air, Natasha knows why. She glances down and notices Steve's fingers twitching ever so slightly. From her position beside of Bruce, she lightly hits Bruce's bicep and motions to what she's seeing; Captain America instead of Steve Rogers.

Not quite as reassured as Natasha, Bruce watches his demeanor further. He follows his eyes studying the words on the monitor. It's then that it clicks; what's causing the change. Bruce gently prods him in the arm. "You wanna talk to him or ... ?"

"Yes."

After some clicks and typing, Bruce has the microphone set up. Steve looks off in the distance - away from what he's about to do.

"Does anybody copy?" he says.

A few seconds pass.

...

"Ah, the soldier." A mocking voice comes through. "Now what on Earth could ever bring you to speak to me?"

The room goes cold. Everyone's skin jumps just a bit as old memories flash back, but only for a moment. Composing himself, Steve speaks again.

"Loki ... She's been compromised."

~

Earth's mightiest heroes. That's what those incompetent fools call themselves.

The ones charged with keeping their home planet and those who reside in it protected from danger have allowed one of their own colleagues to be captured, right beneath their noses. And yet, the humans still trust them gravely. A mockery. A damned disgrace. Midgard never ceases to astonish.

On any day, issues such as this would be but the buzzing of a fly - it would never concern Loki, or any of Asgard for that matter. An alliance has been made and continues to be upheld, but no need to call in the help of another realm unless absolutely necessary.

But if they hadn't contacted Loki, if he'd  found out on his own, they would've had to restrain him like an animal and pray it would save themselves from being torn apart limb from limb.

Luckily for the Avengers, it didn't happen that way. Instead, he's here. Hiding under invisibility in the shadows of this dark, barren planet, far away from home. Surrounded by eerie black skies free of any sunshine. Feeling his way through cool walls of rock beneath his palms. All too familiar; a place he wished upon no one to be. Well actually, on second thought, he would possibly like to send the Avengers here ... but the last person deserving of this place is you.

You. His little Midgardian dove.

Your shy touch, soft eyes, your sweet kiss. Your warm embrace; him hating the fact that he loves - no, needs it. Your clammy hands; your blushed cheeks when he tangles his fingers with them. Your entire self lighting up whenever you see him, and for what he'll never understand. Your lovely little way of keeping him firmly grounded, yet on his toes at the same time.

Your captors took that when they took you. Left behind was a murderous rage in Loki.

But he doesn't act on it. Not just yet.

He's made himself a perch, a bird's eye view from ground level. Looking on at the place where everything changed just a few years prior, the fear he remembers, while just below the surface, seems a light-year away at the moment.

Over a boulder, he sees one of their ships in the distance. Steady streams of smoke coming from the rear indicated either an emergency landing, or failure from the ship's operator. He dials in closely. Guards lay motionless spread on the ground. Could it be ...?

Loki goes to gate of the ship. His suspicions are confirmed.

It's them. It's him.

Upon closer examination he sees their hideous faces twisted in agony, frozen in time. A smile pulls at him in brief satisfaction. Fitting, he thinks. He can't tell how the three of them died, but it's clear they're dead. He forces himself to peel his eyes away from the gratifying sight.

And just as soon as he does, he senses a presence approaching. Immediately he's contemplating a move before the being even knows he's there.

Loki drops the invisibility spell and starts to enter the rubble that's left of the ship. Nothing's really there to be found - though he's absolutely positive that at one point, possibly just moments ago, there was indeed something to be found.

The disturbance also caught the attention he wanted, an inhuman noise cutting the near silence.

"You do not belong here, Asgardian," it speaks in a guttural snarl.

Loki smirks and plays along. Without turning around, he raises his open hands in surrender. "Yes, you're right. Though I do terribly apologize for whatever has happened to your ship," he slowly turns.

Oh yes, it is them. He'd almost forgotten just how repulsive these creatures truly are. And they have you in their cold, evil hands.

Luckily, self-control is something Loki is quite skilled at.

The being that distinctly resembles the one he dealt with who he knew only as Other, tilts its head to the side, evaluating him.

Loki interjects before it can speak again, "If I may explain myself ... In truth, I've come looking for something; and on my search I came across this, this, wreckage. Ah, what a shame." He shakes his head, feigning pity. "But since you've survived, perhaps you would be willing to assist me."

The being grows suspicious.

"I may even be able to return the favor."

It bares its disgusting teeth and gums. "A gamble with the Chitauri?"

"I prefer a bargain. After all, you seem to be in a rather large predicament here," Loki motions to the crash site.

The creature appears to sadden at the loss of the ship for just a split second. That's all Loki needed - he knows it's convinced that their predicament is more severe than his. A breeze howls, blowing dark blue dust behind the creature's metal boots.

Seconds pass. Loki never breaks eye contact with the being, and lets his lack of fear be known.

"Yes," the creature hisses, "it would seem so. Of what assistance could you be to us?"

There's more of them somewhere, Loki's mind jumps.

He plays it off well. "I'm quite good directionally. If you tell me where your people's destination was, I could get you there faster than this ship would've."

Careful, he reminds himself. Seeing the two thumbs on the creature's gray hands flexing is a good indication not to get too snarky.

He thinks of you. It keeps him calm.

But then, the air changes.

Under his armor the skin of his arms raises in goose flesh. A shiver threatens to ripple through his body. He feels himself moving, although both him and the creature have remained still. Locked on each other. The sensation brings about memories he doesn't wish to revisit.

The being begins to raise its hand, to test him. To use its power to tear apart Loki's mind from the inside out. To graze him with concentrated pain. A defense mechanism, a torture method, and a good one at that.

It never got the opportunity. It fell to its knees after noticing Loki had disappeared. Pain barely registers behind its legs before a horrible stinging, burning, pounding feeling pours from its shoulder.

A continuous hissing wail erupts from its throat. Blinded by white hot pain. Instinctively a deformed hand reaches up to the wound, only to feel a handle of some sort sticking up from it.

The wails begin to get weaker, as the world darkens around the creature. As though it is falling into a bottomless pit; just before it slips into the abyss, an uncontrollable vivid vision plays in its mind.

Loki squeezed the creature's forehead as hard as he could, just for good measure.

He closed his eyes and watched the images. He recognized so much of it. The throne hovering above ground. The incredible starlight. He saw figures of those standing guard as well as the one in their grip - struggling, flailing, screaming. Fighting.

He grew angrier and angrier. Your hair, your clothes. Your body.

You.

Loki saw red. Dark, metallic, sticky red.

"Where is she?"

He made a point not to kill the being. A small dagger strategically laced with poison to keep the victim awake.

The being pants, mouth desperately hanging open. It drawls in a wave of pain, "I do not know who ... "

Loki twists the dagger.

Over gurgling yells, he growls next to the creature's head, "The girl. The human. The Midgardian, where is she?!" He screams the last of it.

Before it takes another breath Loki pulls the cold dagger out, then sinks it into the other shoulder. As the poison works, the being inwardly wishes for death. "Closer ... than you think," it chokes out.

"Where?!" He twists the dagger again, rendering the being morbidly defenseless.

It screams something in a foreign tongue. Loki's brow furrows, about to pivot the knife to pop the shoulder off when the images around him alter.

In a cloud of smoke, the rubble left from the crashed ship is revealed to be nothing but an illusion. The smoke clears to unveil the hidden sight; Chitauri standing in a defensive line ready to attack, and just behind that line is three or more of them - he cautiously looks closer to find that they're surrounding you.

That's all he needed.

He hesitates no further at the sight of you to raise the stabbed creature up, roughly pulling out the dagger and exposing its neck to it.

It's when he speaks that he realizes he's ran out of breath and his blood is running hot.

"Let her go ... or I will retrieve her myself."

The creature in his grasp shakes violently, whimpering, a blood-like substance oozing from both shoulders. Loki feels it getting on his hands, on his chin.

"Make your move," he taunts them.

A few of them cock their heads.

Then one of them raises a spear.

The knife sinks into the dying creature's neck and Loki drops it, conjuring and strategically throwing two more in a matter of seconds. Three Chitauri drop dead.

Five more come forward. Loki creates another two daggers and uses their momentum to slash critical points - the neck, chest, and head. He hits each with precision. Two larger Chitauri come barreling toward him as he conjures an illusion of himself, leading them a few feet away before throwing knives into their necks from behind. They drop with bleeding wounds.

One grabs his shoulder. Loki whips around with incredible speed and kicks the creature behind the knees then twists its neck, killing it instantly.

He's now facing you. Through wild strands of hair he makes eye contact with you. You're a distance away, held in place by chains to a boulder. His throat flutters at your loving eyes.

He gets lost in them, as always. His feet slowly take him over to you, and he sees the marks on your face. No, no no no, his mind starts racing at what they've done to you, when a hard blow to the middle of his back knocks him to his knees.

He sees the sky, now a dusty brown haze.

He feels the tip of a cold metal at the back of his neck.

You gasp, afraid to make a sound. You can't breathe, you can't think, seeing Loki with a spear to his neck.

The alien son of a bitch says something to him, but you can't hear it from your position as well as over the amplified sound of your blood pumping. Loki's face curled up in pain ...

His hands are up, his eyes squinted shut. The alien begins stepping closer to his back, angling the spear downward toward his spine. He winces, making your entire body jerk against the restraints like a rabid dog. A defenseless rabid dog.

Loki opens his eyes, locking with yours. You watch as the alien steps flush against his back, the spear pointed straight down against his skin. You see something in him you've only seen maybe once - and never in such a circumstance - fear. He's scared of dying.

You panic. In a frenzy you look around for something, anything, and quickly realize there's nothing you can do. No way to distract. No way to kill. You can barely even move for fuck's sake.

Loki eyes you, trying to ask something. You shake your head, not understanding, but then you quickly see it. Unbeknownst to the alien he's conjured another blade, but he can't see where to swing it.

You become his eyes. He needs a kill shot. The blade is in his right hand. Keeping eye contact, you wiggle your left foot. Rock scrapes beneath your shoe.

Thank goodness, he understood that primary gesture.

He whips his arm around and slices the alien's Achilles tendon open.

The ground thumps with the fall. Loki stands up and crouches over the alien; you see his arm swinging down near its face multiple times, until it doesn't move anymore.

This time, when he sees you, he doesn't walk leisurely. He runs his ass off and nearly crashes into you.

As his hands go to the chains around you, you can't take your eyes off him. It doesn't feel real. None of it feels real up to this point. All this time you've felt so heavy, like cinder blocks. The smell of travels, sweat, blood and that of Loki envelopes you, his frame shadowing you from the massacre that just occurred.

You've been staring at his chest. You lift your head to his face, and you feel light as a feather. Pure, unrefined relief in a physical form looks like Loki. You can almost taste it it's so sweet.

You hear his heavy breathing, the washing sound of a radio speaking the words "Congratulations, you're an Avenger now", and the clangs of metal falling to the ground piece by piece. The coldness falls from your skin, replaced by the familiar coldness of his hands on your cheeks.

He says something, you don't quite catch it. "Are you alright, my dear? Did they hurt you?" he says louder, gently shaking your head.

"You found me," it comes out as a weak whisper. "How ... ?"

His face flashes with disdain at the thought of those imbecile Avengers. "I had a bit of help. A small, small bit," he smiles at you, resisting the want to hold you close to him and never ever let you go again. He squeezes your cheeks in his hands and gives you a long kiss to your forehead.

You smile tiredly, falling into his chest. "I've never seen you fight like that," you murmer.

He tenses, "I know. I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve to see that."

You look up, your chin against the brass of his chest plate. "I thought it was pretty hot."

~

tag list: @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @afinedilemma @fire-in-her-veinz @paradisaicsam @drakesfiance

[thechaoscryptid]

Writer’s Tag Game, Bouncy’s Edition

Many thanks to @tipsyraconteur for tagging me ❤❤ I know I said this was going to be my strictly Naruto blog but there’s definitely some of my other fandoms that are going to worm their way in heh.

Rules: brag to your heart’s content, you’re awesome, and then tag 5-10 people to do the same.

I’m tagging (if you’d like to play, no obligation): @magnustesla, @scarecrowinthewoods, @dunloth, @caped-ace, @alexianite, @benicemurphy, and @ocean-in-my-rebel-soul (you Voltron peeps, it’s Ary 😉)

1) What’s a paragraph you’ve written that you’re really proud of?

From Order and Obedience (KakaIru): 

“Think Konoha’s dog is going to be an easy fuck, ranger?” Kakashi asked, eyeing every possible exit. Just in case. “That my allegiance is so easily swayed?”

“I think if you were still wearing your boots you’d be trembling in them,” Iruka said without missing a beat. “Your desire to serve the light may not make sense to me, but even I can see that the way your skin drinks in the moon would be pleasing to any god. I’m not demanding darkness, only obedience.”

2) Pick a favorite scene from your longest fic!

The scene in Wake the White Wolf (KakaIru) where Sera and Kakashi part ways. I still get chills at the lines “You are no longer my problem. I am no longer your whore.” There’s plenty of fantastic scenes from that fic, but that still remains one of my favorites. That whole arc, really, from when she finds out the news to when it’s finally 100% over. 

3) Give us a snippet of your most recent WIP:

Voltron! This is a part of one of my stories for the Sheith Big Bang coming up:

A galaxy will never be enough to contain my love for you. 

Mechanically, Keith’s hands go through the motions of powering up Black as Krolia’s voice comes through the comm link. It’s another diplomacy mission--another he’d rather skip in favor of liberating some far off colony from oppressors or just staying in bed, unmoving. The lion doesn’t speak to him the way she used to, and neither does anything else. The universe, for all its glory, has become simple.

Dull.

Grey, even with color sprays from passing planets and nebulas.

He chews on the side of his lip as he lets his head tip to the side, checking to make sure things are in order. His mother’s still rattling off information about the mission and he just wants to tell her to be quiet, he’ll figure it out on his own later. He wants to hear the ghost of Shiro’s voice whispering it loves him again.

Keith…

Ghosts are never enough, but Shiro’s I’ll love you until forever ends echoing in his head assuages the pre-mission blues. “Not that it’s ever anything else these days,” he says under his breath. Krolia asks what he said, and he blames it on a squeaky chair. “Gotta get in here and tune up the cockpit when I’m back. Project for Shiro and I.”

“Well, just as long as it doesn’t interfere with things now. You ready to give ‘em hell?”

Keith pastes a smile on his face, though he knows she’s not on the video link. “Would you expect anything different?”

4) If all of your published fics sparred, who would win and why?

Ohh, tough one...based off of stats, Wake the White Wolf, no question. Off of personal preference? Probably Crescendo (SakuOro) right now. 

5) What’s a fic/author you’ve taken inspiration from and in which one of your works did you incorporate that inspiration?

I won’t lie, Tipsy, a lot of my recent style choices came from Scar Tissue 😅 I found I really enjoy storytelling in present tense, with longer flowing lines punctuated by short lil ones for emphasis. It’s appeared in...most of my recent stuff? I switched within the last year or so.

(putting the rest under a cut because there’s some longer answers)

6) Which fanfiction character do you enjoy writing the most? In which one of your fics do you think you wrote them best?

This is another tough one xD I think I actually have to go with a three part answer here, though really, I enjoy writing so many more.

Kakashi Hatake: Shatter Me (KakaIru), best fic

Dazai Osamu: Marionette (Dazushi), best fic

Keith Kogane: since I can’t tell which one of my bang fics yet, I’ll go with my favorite published, which is Unsteady (Sheith). Truly, it’s going to be the fic from the above snippet hehe

7) Smut or fluff? Give us a sneak peek of your favorite fluffy/smutty scene you’ve written.

Mmm, smut. I’ve really got to be in the right mood for fluff, and my not-so-guilty pleasure reading is angsty smut.

My favorite fluffy/smutty scene...I think it’s probably from Reciprocity (KakaSaku)!

He wishes he still had the Sharingan to capture these moments. Sakura’s still got her thin undershirt on, but the delicate hollows of her collarbones call to him as she reaches over to light their lantern. There will be no fire tonight save for the one burning low and heavy in his stomach, as if he’s swallowed molten rock.

“Do I need to do the rest?” she says, dragging her hands up her legs as she stands. “Should I strip for you, Kakashi?”

He stands along with her and tugs off his mask first, then his shirt. Sakura gasps as the angry red of fresh scars is revealed, fingers twitching toward him before he shakes his head. “Let me,” he murmurs.

Inch by inch, the pale curve of her stomach is revealed. Shadows flicker and dance over it along with the flames, and when Kakashi pulls Sakura’s shirt the entire way off he thinks not even the prettiest sunset could compare. There’s several scars--no shinobi makes it out without them--and no shortage of muscle packed into her small frame, but somehow she makes a battleborn body beautiful.

Sakura makes life beautiful.

Her breath hitches when he tells her this, something shifting in her at the tender touch of his lips against her forehead. “You’re sure you don’t want me to just jump you right now?” she says breathlessly.

“No jumping,” he says. “Only falling.”

8) What’s a scene in one of your fics you wish you would receive fanart for?

Uh, literally any one 😅 My top choice, though, I think would be of my favorite OT3 in Desperately:

“I’ll be a lot cuter when the day comes.” Sakura shoved the bandana up and crunched her nose as she looked back with Ibiki. “You might have to leave me at the altar to catch everyone fainting at the sight of me.”

Ibiki’s laugh rumbled through the living room as he gathered her back to his chest. “We’re never leaving you there, baby, you know we couldn’t,” he said. “Or maybe we could take turns catching them. How d’you think your clothes will hold up, Rai?”

“They’ll be fine. I volunteer for catching duty as long as it’s you two falling for me at the end,” he said, spreading his arms over the back of the couch as he watched them sway. “And of course, falling into bed with me later.” Ibiki cocked an eyebrow as Sakura giggled into his scarred chest. “What, you think I”m joking?”

“Never considered it,” Ibiki said. He pulled away from Sakura to trail his hand up her arm, urging her to spin. His uniform lifted from her creamy skin and Raidou sucked in a breath as the purple lace on the bottom of her underwear was revealed. She knew he couldn’t resist those, and Ibiki certainly didn’t mind them either.

“Come here,” he said. Ibiki let her go and gave her a gentle push toward Raidou’s outstretched arms before flopping next to them as the song began to repeat. “I saw those. You can’t hide them from me.” Her hair tickled his face as he kissed over her cheek down to her ear. “Wearing my husband’s shirt and my wife-to-be’s favorite underwear, how scandalous, Sakura,” he purred.

“I’m sure your wife-to-be will be so very displeased I stole them,” she said, pulling back with a mock pout before turning to beg a kiss from Ibiki. “I hear she picked them specifically for tonight because she wanted to get laid.”

9) Would you ever consider turning one of your fics into a podfic? If no, why not?

Not on my own? I have hearing problems, so it’s just really never occurred to me. If anyone else wanted to, though, I wouldn’t say no!

10) The best (or your favourite) 5 reviews you’ve ever gotten! Don’t forget to tell us which one of your fics received them!

There’s so many 😭😭 My commenters are all fucking awesome, but I’ll trawl my saved comments for some highlights!

P5eud0Nym on Wake the White Wolf (KakaIru omegaverse): So, I just wanted to say you’ve been doing a fantastic job. I appreciate that this isn’t, and hasn’t at any point been, a dumb tropey kink fic. That you’ve taken the time to put so much heart into all of this. The fact that you’re exploring the politics, the social issues, and writing all of the characters as being more than just their A/B/O designations, so good. The multifaceted way you write is just really and truly refreshing. It’s obvious how much work and thought you put into this. You’re tackling a lot of really important stuff, from consent to civil rights, and it’s some grade A USDA certified Good Shit. Thanks for the fic and keep up the good work <3

Lilmeliz on Monster (ShigaDabi): AAAAAAA GUARANTEED I CAN BLOW YOUR MIND mwa. Please excuse the lame dua lipa reference I’m so sorry I’m so sorry I couldn’t-- Delicious. Finally some fucking good food. I want to congratulate you. This is such a beautiful, touching, heartwarming masterpiece. I even cried a little. I usually read shiggy with his dark past and his (soul) scars and all that jazz, and venturing into the thought of him having a mere fiber of good will in himself, in his actual self, is risky and prone to be ooc. But here it sounds right. It feels personal, private and even possible, my boi :( Dabi is an angel, I’m dying. I like the reminder “they lie, they kill...” Yes he’s an angel but he’s still evil. I don’t know what else to add but really, this is stunning! IM GONNA TATTOO THISSS amazing work 

Prism0467 on Forbidden (KakaIru): You have written their mutual dependency with such nurturing attention to detail I feel as if I know them. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt...embraced by a work of fanfiction before now...this may well be a first. Your enthusiasm for this pairing comes through loud and clear, I’ll tell you that :)

PearlBear on Crescendo (SakuOro): Wow. Just wow. This is brilliant, heart-wrenching, creative and extremely, extremely well-written. You have such a way with words, I was actually crying. And you adapt their lives as shinobi so seamlessly to situations that happen in real life (how many partners give up on possibilities for their significant one and get nothing in return?). This story managed to move me deeply and all the while, they all were in-character (it hurt when Tsunade looked at Orochimaru in the same way they all do, also loved how Tobirama and Madara are his parents). The omegaverse wasn’t heavy at all, instead it’s well integrated enough that I, who don’t particularly like it, barely noticed and completely accepted it. It’s just the way things are. You manage to convey so, so much in a few words. I’m amazed. So, thank you for sharing this! I am very, very excited for what’s next, whether Orochimaru experiments to save himself, whether Sakumo commits suicide (or worse, dies on this mission), whether... So many possibilities. Your story is outstanding. Thank you for writing this gem!

(insert special shoutout to Tipsy’s review of Testing the Waters...)

and no comment appreciation section would be complete without at least one from @magnustesla! 

This one from Of Scale and Steel (Sheith naga AU): Ary, sometimes I am left speechless and I don’t quite know how to articulate my thoughts after reading one of your fics. Like, everything is just so...so brilliant that it’s like my brain fucks off when I try to get my thoughts down onto a page. Turning well known and beloved characters into something else entirely isn’t easy and often they miss the mark leaving the reader not really connecting with it. But you, you are brilliant and clever in all that you write because damn, I love Naga Keith. It feels like it IS part of canon. And your oc? Super adorable and she just belongs. I really loved her interactions with Shiro and the chewing on his finger had me rollling because it reminded me of when J would test everything by chomping it. Not relevant but it sparked a good laugh from me, especially because it is totally something kids do. I’m so fucking proud of you and I’m excited to see you get your mojo back with this fandom. Love you ❤

[dareistodo]

Chilly and winksy - winksys dreams come true when madders has to go home over international break

It’s not that Harry hates Madders, because he really doesn’t. He doesn’t hate anyone - apart from the odd Arsenal fan who’s barbed insults about Spurs wriggle under his skin more than they should - so he definitely doesn’t hate Madders.

He actually quite likes him. He’s loud and brash and Harry likes that in people, especially when their loudness and brashness is funny too, and Madders can make Harry laugh for hours. He’s like every other boy Harry’s friends with, a spin-off of the same brand Harry is. He likes Madders. They get on fine.

It’s just that Madders, being loud and brash, demands a lot of attention. Specifically that of Ben. And that’s fine too, because they’re best friends and Harry knows and respects that and he’d never worm his way into it, just like he wouldn’t with Marcus and Jesse or Dele and Eric, but international break, when Gareth actually deigns to call him up, is the only opportunity he gets to see Ben and he wouldn’t mind having some of that time concentrated just on them. Him and Ben.

He thinks about it wistfully as he watches Ben across the players lounge when they’re all crowded in upon arrival, buzzing off each other with beams and firm handshakes before reality sets in and they argue over who took the last fried egg at breakfast and whether that tackle was really a pen and, actually, we should’ve beaten you, why are you screaming at me for saying that?

It’s the equilibrium that makes Harry smiley and happy, hovering around Danny even though Danny glares at him sternly for it from the very corner of his eye whenever they’re left alone just the two of them again. Harry just smiles sheepishly and shrugs and Danny sighs but stays where he is, shielding Harry, despite being even shorter.

Madders is ruffling Ben’s hair which is soft and wavy and thick, falling into his eyes with the highlights Harry spent 30 minutes taking the piss out of with increasingly creative insults and that he still doesn’t really like. He doesn’t mind that, though, because he still wants to play with the little strands that curl on his forehead when he pushes it back even if he doesn’t like the colour that much.

*

Ben grins at him, skin all glowy from the breakfast buffet hot plates and Harry has to bite his tongue and call himself some choice names in his head for being so ridiculous. He tears his next piece of toast off so aggressively he splits the piece in half and it thuds to his plate in a little shower of black crumbs because he didn’t realise the toaster here was so powerful. Ben slides into the seats opposite him and puts his sliders over Harry’s trainered toes and slides a piece of perfectly cooked toast onto his plate with a grin.

“Shocking culinary skills, mate.” Ben scoffs, waving a forkful of cooked tomato in his direction and Harry feels his cheeks pink as he laughs.

“Even I can cook better than that!”

Ben chuckles and immediately turns to Madders to berate him, shoving and prodding him with firm fingertips all over his arms and chest and Harry sighs, slumping down into his seat as Ben’s feet leave his under the table and Madders sits down next to Ben with a cursory smile shot in his direction.

*

“The only way you can survive is if one of us nets a free kick. You picking me or Winksy?”

Harry perks up at his name, essentially galloping the short distance from Kane’s shoulder to Ben’s side. Barkley is glancing between them, sizing them up, face set solemnly. Harry starts giggling as his deliberation drags on and Ben shushes him playfully, pinching his hip. Harry instinctively pushes into his side and now they’re pressed together hipbone to hipbone.

“Chilwell.” Barkley declares, looking over his shoulder for support and then Sterling is agreeing, and then Sancho and Harry’s trying to smooth out his scowl.

“Hey.” Ben teases him, pinching him again, the soft skin stretching across his waist now. “First to get it wins. Prove ‘em wrong.”

Harry hasn’t scored a free kick in his life. Maybe he would’ve done, if people had asked him to more, but he’s Harry Winks and he has no reason to be in front of goal, so no one’s ever bothered to ask him to be. Sure, he can get on the end of a cross when the cogs of his brain tell him to run at the right time but his accuracy is shocking. He can barely hit the dartboard playing darts.

But Ben is ruffling his hair, so softly he’s really just stroking through it gently, and Harry sighs all warm and content and nods. He vaguely hears everyone cheer but it’s background white noise to the buzzing that’s Ben teasing him, praising him, wishing him luck all in the same short breaths.

“We’re diabolical.” Harry giggles 10 minutes later, stomach aching from laughing so much, pitch in front of them an obstacle course of failed balls. Their audience left after the first few failed attempts but Ben kept on setting them up and Harry kept on playing along, because he loves that he’s the one making Ben laugh right now. Even if it’s through his own incompetence.

“Oi!” Harry turns, breathless smile still plastered on his face, and Madders is jogging towards them, going for the ball Ben just set down and of course, strike clean as a whistle, he bangs it into the top corner with a smirk. Ben wolf-whistles and clambers on Madders’ back and Harry wanders back off to hang off Danny’s elbow, knowing his time in Ben’s spotlight has run out.

*

“What did you think of the series finale then, eh?” Ben asks, flopping onto the settee beside him with a soft thump. He immediately stretches his legs out so his calves are crossed over Harry’s legs folded neatly in front of him. Harry leaves a hand around his calf and tries not to squeeze.

“Of Peaky Blinders?” He asks, wanting to tuck the bit of hair covering Ben’s left eyebrow behind his ear as he watches it tickle his eyelashes. Ben nods, jaw working at the chewing gum in his mouth.

Harry launches into an eager monologue, hand gestures and eyebrow movements although his palm wrapped around Ben’s leg never leaves and sometimes when he’s caught in the middle of a sentence, he puts pressure in his grip without thinking and he can feel Ben’s muscles tensing. He tried not to think about that as he bemoans the ending and how he really, absolutely cannot abide cliffhangers.

“I actually quite like ‘em.” Madders declares, arms crossed over the back of the sofa, fingertips dangling in front of Ben’s face. Some of those fingertips brush back the hair Harry wanted to tuck behind his ear. “Keeps it interesting, innit?”

Harry’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he shrugs, realising he isn’t being listened to anyway because Madders is telling Ben about what Mings just said over at the pool table and Harry knows the conversation is open and he is very much invited but he still wriggles out from under Ben’s legs and trundles over to Trippier watching telly, even though his comments about Poch make Harry’s skin hot and itchy with anger, and he really couldn’t give a shit about how difficult it is learning Spanish.

*

He’s just on the phone to Dele with a little summary of the goings on and every single comment he has heard about Dele since his arrival, getting a little bratty when he sulks about how Madders is always around Ben and Harry never gets any of Ben’s attention and how badly he just wants him to himself, just for a little bit, when there’s a knock and then a thud at his door. Harry leaves his phone on the bedside table, Dele still snapping away about why he couldn’t give less of a fuck about Harry’s pathetic Ben issue when he’s sat on his arse at home, and opens the door to Ben, grinning breathlessly and already wandering in.

“Oh, hi, Del.” Harry hears him call over the muffled ranting still echoing from Harry’s phone. There’s a beat of fuzzy quiet before silence, Dele hanging up. Harry snorts.

“Madders’ got a little cold.” Ben tells him, lying on his side on Harry’s bed, already reaching for the remote. “Load of fuss about nothing, complete wuss, but he’s been sent home.”

Harry has to sink his teeth into his bottom lip to keep from smiling, making the appropriate sympathetic noises and asking the right questions until he’s lying on his side next to him, curled in so they’re facing each other. Their knees touch and Ben smiles at him, soft and quiet and Harry wriggles closer until his head is pressed under Ben’s chin and Ben’s fingers are stroking through his hair and he can feel the gentle rumble of Ben’s laugh as they chat and tease each other. When Ben’s distracted with the telly, Harry unlocks his phone and texts Madders, get better soon, mate, hope ur alright x and tosses his phone away as Ben strokes the soft skin at the back of his neck.

[thefreshfinds]

GRIM: Damage Control

By: Natalee Gilbert

With more truth and less falsity, New Jersey-based creative, Grim creates a sound that holds nothing back and instead, paves the way for other artists to do the same. Advocating for originality, Grim says that while his music is based on real situations, he also makes sure to add in a vibe that everyone can rock to. "I like a dark trap or dark slow melody kind of vibe to match the Grim Persona" he adds. And if I'm being frank here, his project Damage Control lives up to this notion. Aside from carrying that spook in its overall soundscape, Damage Control comes with scathing verses and a cadence that could crush anyone's "so-called" ego.

In this 12-piece collection, Grim bust the clout-chasers and he even leaves room to speak about his dwellings. However, he's worked hard to get to where he is (unlike them). The artist says that the album’s theme stems from how rappers are acting now. To elaborate, Grim says “They all believe that got everything on lock, now it's time to show who deserves the recognition.” Notable tracks like “No Games,” “LEGO,” “Thankful,” and “Storytime Pt 1” deserve some spins. But really, the whole project is a bop. To say the least, Damage Control provides listeners with multiple flows, witty punchlines, catchy hooks and a variety of genres that intertwine. Grim is a persona, feeling, and vibe, in a way but the difference is that he uses his gift to tell stories that leave some sort of impact. As one flips through the tracks, they won’t be able to resist their urge to hear more. However, don’t be mistaken. By no means is Grim a rapper. To clarify, he’s an artist. “Hip-Hop helped me go through any issue I had growing up, it was my escape, my everything. It's all I ever wanted to do. It will never end it's only going to get better and I will support every artist that cares about their craft.”

To begin, “No Games” speaks volumes in its lyrics but the beat, however, is a big misconception of the song title. Grim talks about how he works hard to get to where he is now. Due to working around the clock, he’s able to flex off luxurious jewelry, foreign cars, and drip. And the artist even says that he’d rather not be compared to others. To amp up “No Game,” Grim possesses a bouncy, articulate flow and cut-throat verses. Regardless, the soundscape goes in an upbeat tempo and integrates a gritty 808. Grim says that “No Games” was the most fun to make, “My producer and I baked some cookies and made hits.” he continues “It was a classic night.”

“See Thru” meshes faint harmonic cries with sporadic hi-hats and an anonymous eerie progression. The track itself highlights Grim’s maturity and the rhymer even goes so far as to say that he’s drippin’ now and has his water too. His collaborator, Will Harbor uses slight auto-tune to speak on how he lives by the silver lining. My favorite punchline to date is when Harbor says “Need the ice, I need the cream. Ben and Jerry’s double scoop.”

Still, “LEGO” holds weight in keeping things trap-ridden. Besides this genre, “LEGO” takes influence from country in its guitar riffs and steady, faint eerie piano progression. Even so, the synths ride out with an 8-bit backdrop to prove that Grim didn’t come to play. Starting, “LEGO” comes with a little hum and then he does a repetitive pattern on the last words of his rhyme schemes until the 0:50 mark. He says that he’s going to go and get it.

Additionally, “Story Time Pt 1.” crossovers between jazz-inspired piano riffs, boom-bap, and a steady, dark baseline. This song tells an intriguing tale that takes place on a rainy night. Praying to the one above, Grim hopes that he doesn’t get robbed. But sure enough, someone tries to stick him for his paper at his doorstep. Still, the joke is on him because Grim keeps his bands in the stash box. Shortly after, things get hectic after the guy pulls out a gun in which Grim refers to as “sunny.” To add, Grim mentions that the wangsta only pulls it out on a rainy day. And as the artist runs around aimlessly, his life flashes before his eyes, (don’t worry, he isn’t dead). In short, “Story Time Pt 1.” ends with a cliffhanger.

Moreover, “TROOF” takes influence from the trap and follows up with futuristic synths and sporadic hi-hats. Essentially, “TROOF” takes the melody from “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” for a dark spin. To play off this idea, Grim even says “I let my light radiate,” and “I’d rather pass the shine.” Punchlines like “They be peddling their bikes, I’m on my 4 wheeler” and “They only rap what they assume, I’m recognizable in close rooms” speak volume on the song’s underlying message.

Grim grew up in the 732, so he only had to bring it! “Let Em’ Dance” talks about everlasting growth and how he’s only going to reap the benefits of being an icon in the game. Sure, others can do what they want, but just know that he’s going to get it regardless (and lend a hand to his loved ones along the way). Production-wise, “Let Em’ Dance” uses daunting hi-hats, piano riffs, wind percussions, and an oh, so heavy base. The metaphoric line “Just wait till I blossom, a flower needs to water and b*tch I’m dripping like a faucet.” takes a jab at one double entendre whereas the rest plays out as a punchline.

Categorized as a trap song, “UFO” provides hi-hat progressions, a dark snare pattern, speaker-knocking base, and distorted spacey synths. Grim goes to say with a little flex that he’s trying to make the proper moves to get two steps ahead. Lines like “I’ve been trying to find a place and time/Park the ship and make the stars align,” express this message to the max. The feature, Will Harbor carries a deep tonality and just has fun with his verses.

Now “Story Time Pt 1’s” predecessor, “Story Time Pt 2.” switches the tempo and turns into boom-bap. Over the deep piano riff, an 808 cuts in now and then. Sure, they make a sudden appearance but the instrumentation refuses to stay in the same pattern. To further put it, the soundscape just always seems to fit. “Story Time Pt 2” basically speaks about how all rappers fight for the same spot. In first verse, Grim metaphorically exposes how clout chasing rappers glorify drugs and alcohol by saying “Slip him half of a Xanny and watch him wash it down with Jack/told him spit a 16’ all the sh*t that you can think of.” and “He dropping to the ground/every smile turns into a frown. I’m asking where the clout at now?” “Body and Prada up in a box” Speaking of which, Grim would rather stay in his lane and build rappers up. In means of encouraging others, he hints that he’s always going to stay true to himself no matter what.

Then the song shifts to “Lights Out” which implements eerie, spacey synths in a trap-ridden fashion. In “Lights Out,” Grim reminisces the hard days and celebrates the good ones. And he doesn’t forget to add that he likes a girl who wears Louis Vuitton. On the other hand, “Lights Out’s” strongest component is its bounce and to take it up a notch is Grim’s collaborator, Will Harbor who weaves into a fast flow as well.

Second to last, “White” tackles onto cash register synths and deep, booming bass. Here, Grim flexes off the jewelry while his featured femcee, KillaKay lets her natural swag take over and she ends up shutting it down!

Finally, “Thankful” comes in as a somber ballad and provides listeners with a dark, bellowing bass. Through switched up flows, Grim allows himself to be vulnerable and lines like “I got too much on my mind, I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t want to close but I don’t want to open” prove this very statement. He’s tired of others excluding him out because he’s different. And one can just hear his pain through his rhymes. In means of relatability, Grim says in this very line, “Every soul know the struggle of the come-up/The 9-to-5, then come home, record till sun up. It ain’t for the fame or Hussle, boy you better nut up/Deserve some plaques now/Not a little, I need a tunnel. All-in-all, Grim is thankful for all those past situations because it helped him to become who he is today.

With Damage Control, Grim hopes that fans hear that he’s taking this seriously, “I'm not here to just talk about drugs, guns and sex 24/7.” he continues “Yes, it has its place but you can do more with music.”

If you haven’t already, listen to Damage Control. It is available on all platforms.

Fun Fact: Grim says that 17 by XXXTENTACION saved his life.

LINKS:

1. Instagram: @real_grim

2. Damage Control: https://soundcloud.com/realgrim/sets/damage-control

[scripted-dalliances]

Rest In Peace: Chapter Six

Title: Rest In Peace

Chapter: 6

Summary: A part of Faithless Fairy Tale, a more in depth look at how they brought Laura back to life. Appearance of old faces, creation of new ones and if you’re looking for canon, it left a long, long time ago. If you squint you might be able to see some pieces from the book.

“No, love, in real life you can get all the way to death and never have finished one single story." -Catherynne M. Valente

+

“I can't believe I'm doing this.” Laura tells herself, looking at the open deep freezer before her. What had started as a seedling of a threat from Sweeney, had now become a reality of her own making because she could feel herself getting squishy.

She had moved what she could, shoving it into a different freezer across the way. Piling things that wouldn't matter next to it. If Ostara really cared about the damp bag of peas, she would buy her a new bag. Correction, she would make someone who was tall and ginger buy a new bag. This was technically his idea.

With help from an overturned bucket, Laura climbs in and lays down. The deep freezer is wide and long enough that it's an easy feat if she curls on her side. She can't really feel the cold any more, but she does relax a bit. No longer feeling like she's about to melt, or worse, start dropping limbs like a break dancing leaper.

-but the silence becomes an issue. And the darkness.

Laura forces herself to fake breathe in deep and out, twice before accepting defeat and pushing the freezer back open.

With renewed energy, she climbs out and rushes up the stairs, back into the massive kitchen where she finds Sweeney about to bite into a sandwich.

“I need your help.” She admits, and it pains her, it really does. The last time she asked for help...shit she doesn't even remember. Its like taking a knife to her own guts. But somehow, in the after math of his little story time, she finds the words slip out easy as a sin.

Sweeney looks angrily at her, then to the sandwich in his hands. Then back again, clearly struggling to make a choice.

“You can bring the damned sandwich. I don't care.” She tells him, only to promptly turn back down the stairs so she doesn't have to argue with him.  She waits on top of the bucket until he shows up. He takes one glance at the freezer then at her and frowns.

“I thought we were good.”

“We are.” As good as either of them could get. Her being dead, him her killer and the god that decided to fuck with them both gone. Obviously there was remaining issues but they were working on them. “I need you to talk to me while I chill in here. So I don't feel like I'm about to melt into a goo.”

“...You want me to talk?”

“Yup.” She chirps. Opening the freezer once more to climb in, back into the winter darkness that awaited. This time, when it shuts closed, she waits to hear his voice.

Finally after a beat, she hears him.

“What exactly do you want me to say?”

“I don't care.”

She can't see it, but she knows he's rolling his eyes.

“How about I tell you of the time some undeserving bastard stole my coin and how I met the smallest, bitterest dead bitch in the world?”

Laura grins widely, knowing he can't see.

“Yeah. Okay. Tell me that one.”

+

He tells her tales. Some from his past, now that she knows, he can tell her the bits and pieces that aren't important. That only he knows, that only matter to him. He tells her of the Gods and Goddesses he has met, working for the man she knows as Wednesday who would later be revealed as Odin. He tells her how some of them are doing just fine, how others live in the gutter. Which ones he likes. Which ones he hates with a passion.

Who chased him from their doorsteps and who tried to eat him.

He tells her about the time he went on a drunken rampage and burned down a Lucky Charms factory.

About the time he got into a fist fight with an Irish nun in New York because she wouldn't stop bad mouthing his kind. He had been young and bitter, and following some young lad who still believed.

“Who won?” Laura's voice echoes out from the deep freezer.

Sweeney grins, “I fuckin' did. Cops saw her throw the first punch, hauled her away.”

Laura laughs, and he decides to tell her about the time in Las Vegas, he saw three strippers of various stages of undress bitch slap Odin. How when he went to defend the old dirty bastard, they kneed him in the junk and stole his wallet.

All because they were all sisters of Lady Luck.

That one makes her laugh hard enough to pop her jaw out of its alignment.

+

“Your turn.” Sweeney proclaims hours later. The night is nearly over, and he's not slept but it's not a problem. He doesn't feel tired.

“My turn?”

“Tell me a tale.”

“Nah,” She drawls, “I mean, the dead tell no tales, remember?”

“Cop out.” He tells her, throwing a pea he found on the floor at her freezer.

A whole minute passes in silence before she speaks again.

“How about I tell you about the time some asshole leprechaun tried to bully me?”

“Aye, tell me that one then. He sounds like a handsome lad.”

+

Laura isn't the best story teller, but she manages to spin a web of interest. More than once getting distracted by a minor twist that she has to explain. Or to defend her choice, because Sweeney isn't a good listener and he wants to argue with her just to drive her up the wall. There are points in stories where she has to raise her voice just to keep it going over him.

She has to fight to tell her tales.

She tells him of the time her mother had an affair with her Sunday school teacher, and that's probably what jump started her apathy for religion. He mocks that maybe that's just how her mother choose to pray to her god.

She tells him about meeting Shadow, and he complains how lame of a meeting it is. She argues that it's a lot more interesting than most.

Finally she tells him about the world of sand, the God judging her and the feather instead.

“...Shit. That sounds like Mr.Jacquel. Or Anubis if you’re dead. Cheerful bugger was he? Haughty as the Pope and twice as judgmental? Wears a black smock like a granny at a funeral?”

“That doesn't make sense...but yeah. Why, he on Odin's side too?”

“No. He doesn't pick sides. Death gods don't have troubles like the rest of us do as much. They just get bored, go mad with it before they fade. Grimnir was friendly enough with ‘em, but only because they owed him a favor or two. What did you do?”

Laura thinks about lying, of telling him that she was drawn back before anything could be done.

Instead, she finds herself telling him the truth, “He tried to reach for my heart and I smacked his fucking hand. Then told me he had to weigh my heart against a fucking feather of all things.”

“That's how they do it, I hear there was one that ate your sins or something like it. Was he there?”

“Never got that far. I slammed my hand down on his stupid little scale. Good or bad, I lived my life and it sure as fuck wasn't light as a feather.” Laura recalls the god's stunned expression, that quickly turned into simmering anger at her attitude. “He told me I was to go to darkness. Not peaceful nothingness, darkness. To be crammed into a hot tub like the one I attempted to killed myself, complete with bug spray. So I told him to go fuck himself.” She still remembers how she felt. Pissed off and cheated.

Maybe she didn't believe in a fluffy cloud heaven, and more over knows she doesn't meet the requirements to get through those particular pearly gates but it had seem unfair regardless. If she hadn't believed, if she had simply vanished from the world that would have been better. Easier to accept.

Instead she felt insulted and punished for not believing at all, in anything. For not making a choice. And that wasn't even mentioning she wasn't even suppose to die, that gods had interfered with the course of her life for their own personal gain.

“Oh, I bet he was pissed. No one likes disorder like Mr. Jacquel.”

“He was fine with it last time I saw him.”

The lid of the freezer is lifted, Sweeney peers down at her, “You saw him again?”

Laura leans up onto her elbows, “Yeah. After I punched the shit out of those guys for hurting Shadow. I tore my arm off, and was trying to piece it back together with Aubrey’s crafting supplies. Next thing I know I’m bumping into him and his brother. They offered to stitch me up and give me a make over.”

His face contorts into clear confusion.

“The gods of death gave you a bloody make over.”

“You got a hearing problem? Yes. Why?” Laura stood up, only mildly annoyed with the fact that even in the box she was hardly reaching his neck. “I got the impression they didn't care what I did. So what does it matter? You said yourself they don't really pick sides.”

“Aye, when it comes to Grimnir and his war, no. They keep to themselves, on occasion they help out for a favor but that doesn't mean they ain’t got their own agendas. That's every god, dead girl. Not a single damn one of them does something for nothing. Not even Jesus Christ himself.”

He has a point.

“All he said was that I had a heavy heart, and oh man, didn't that suck. Oh, and some bullshit about vowing to return me to darkness.”

“Well it is the man's job.”

Something clicks, “Why is that?”

Sweeney sucks in a deep breath and rolls his eyes, “If I have to fuckin’ explain the ins and outs of what it means to be a god of death, I will cut my own throat with a fuckin' butter knife. His real name is Anubis, surely you took an ancient history class once or twice. Or has the American educational system become that bad?”

“It has, but not my question. I meant why him. I didn't believe in anything, that's what he told me himself. So why the hell was Anubis the Egyptian god of death in charge of my, clearly not Egyptian ass?”

It's a good enough question to stump the leprechaun for a moment or two, eventually offering a hesitant, “Coulda been the ol one eyed bastard again.”

“Question is still why, numb nuts. I was dead, super buried and all that jazz. No way in hell he accounts for Shadow getting your coin and him dropping it on my grave. What would have been the point of him going the extra mile of hiring Anubis to deal with me. I mean, if we are going by that logic, wouldn't it be easier to send one of the Jesus Christ super stars, someone I would have easily recognize and maybe not question if he just kick me down to hell?”

“I've only met the brothers twice, all I know is that they have a crazy cat sister and a crazier missing brother. Rest of the family is either rumors or gone. They've been running that funeral home for ages, neither of them have a taste for trouble or war. All they really seem to care about is hearing a good story and getting a good nibble on the dead.”

Which, holy shit why did no one mention that had to be something she worried about now.

“You mean they could have eaten me?”

“Not you, dead girl. To them you are a questionable chicken salad sandwich from the gas station gone bad. They like their meat a bit fresher.”

“Thanks.” She glowers, debating whether or not to punch him but when she goes to peer over the edge of the freezer, finds that something is missing. “Where's my bucket?”

“Oh, you mean my bucket? The one I had to sit on so my arse didn't go numb as fuck, sitting on the ground down here, talkin to you? Aye, that bucket is over there.” His joy evident as he points to said bucket,  which is a clear distance away from where she needs it to be. If she doesn't want to attempt to climb out of this damn thing like a toddler out of a crib.

“Go get my bucket.”

“My bucket, you mean.”

Laura feels the anger in her bubble up, “Either you get that bucket for me or I will stand up on this ledge, fling myself up at your stupid head and rip out every single strand of ugly hair you have. Including your fucking nose hair!”

“You can’t reach, cunt!”

“Wanna fucking bet?”

Laura makes a false pinching attempt towards him, and he steps back so quick he almost trips over his own feet. She smiles, satisfied at his growl until he stomps over and picks her up. Massive, strong hands wrap around her waist and for a second she is weightless.

She has always been a tiny woman, shorter than most, and that meant she was used to people; mostly men hauling her up. She didn't hate it, and even enjoyed the action with Shadow but normally it was just the sensation of being carried up. Of her toes leaving the ground and her weight being rested against someone's chest or arms.

Like she's something to carried, luggage turned burden because that's what happens. They pick her up, twirl her around and only then, realize slowly she is heavy in different ways.

She isn't what they expect hidden under her appearance, of a slim girl with no scars to see. She is dense bones and tense muscle, lacking sweetness and kindness, with a heavier heart than most. That’s when they put her down. Or let her down. Which ever comes first.

It's different with Sweeney, in his grasp she feels lighter. Like she's made up of something soft and airy, like spun cotton candy from a carnival. All because his strength completely envelops her, forcing her to realize this is him weak. This is him without his luck that currently rest in her belly, and yet it's still enough to make her feel as though she was floating.

Shit, if this is half of what people felt in the arms of their patron of worship, she could understand.

Unconsciously, she reaches out before he can let her go. Touching his wrists where they rest on her waist, making him go still. Obviously he had meant to just help her out, but she isn't ready to let this feeling go, not  just yet.

It's nothing like kissing Shadow, where she felt her heart beat, like she was drinking down a new born star and would happily implode if she could have just consumed her fill of him and his warmth; his love, she had wrongly assumed.

This, makes her lungs expand and draw in air. She exhales slowly, sharper than before. Like for once she needs to breath.

“What is this? What's happening?” She feels rather than sees his shrug, the bunching of his arms the way his pulse jumps under her thumbs.

“Your guess is good as mine, dead girl.”

Laura’s mind races. Nothing makes sense. Sure they swapped some stories, and she did her best to keep an open mind but surely it's not that easy? Getting an oil change is harder.

“It feels…” She can't explain.

Sweeney shifts subtly, enough for her to look up at him and gauges his guilty expression.

“Don't make this weird.”

“I ain't!”

“You so are.”

-and just like that, he is dropping her completely. Pulling his hands away and stalking back up the stairs. Muttering darkly under his breath.

Before he can shut the door, Laura shouts.

“That was a weird reaction, by the way.”

He slams the door so hard it cracks.

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