#i’m gonna draw more stuff like this soon after finals perhaps

[butchrindou]

i look at these drawings and i feel like slamming my head against the wall bc rindou looks soHAPPY🙁😭😭😭😭 immmsickk immgonna dieeeeeee i don’t even like the last one but stilll wtfggg that’s my cigarette btw thanks yes yes yesyes

[subspencer]

the to-do list

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Summary: Reader is worried that she’s not adventurous enough in bed. So, she makes a secret checklist of things to try with Spencer. Based on this request.

Category: Smut, 18+ ONLY, minors dni

Warnings/Includes: switch!Spencer, (sort of?) corruption kink, exhibitionism, mile high club, brief description of oral, unprotected sex, creampie, brief mentions of other stuff but no descriptions

Word Count: 3k

Spencer’s girlfriend has a secret checklist. It could be called a bucket list, of some sort, but really all of the items on it pertain to sexual acts to perform with Spencer, on Spencer, or in front of Spencer. So checklist is a more appropriate term.

The list came into existence after a girl’s night game of Never Have I Ever, in which she discovered there was an embarrassing number of things she’d never done. Some of them seemed nearly impossible to have gone twenty-something years without doing, especially when in a committed relationship. That was made abundantly clear to her when the girls pointed it out, teasing her — and by association, Spencer — for being more than vanilla.

There was no real reason she hadn’t tried those certain things — she wasn’t adverse to the idea of most of them at all. Really, it was just that she never bothered to dip her toes beyond what was familiar.

When Emily, Penelope, and Tara had nearly all ten of their fingers down after a couple rounds, she finally realized she might’ve been coming up short in the sex department. She figured it was about time to find out what she’s missing, so she made a list of everything she needed to try. And one by one, she and Spencer checked the items off.

One of the more simple things on the list, and perhaps her favorite, was giving her first blowjob. It wasn’t something she felt compelled to try with any of the guys she’s been with before, and Spencer, though he was very curious about it, was too much of a gentleman to ask for one.

So when she asked him to sit on the edge of his bed and dropped to her knees in front of him, he didn’t stop to ask questions. His mind went blank the second her fingers undid his zipper. It was Spencer’s first, too, and his fingers knotted in her hair as she took him in as deep as she could, hollowing her cheeks around his cock and swirling her tongue as her head bobbed up and down. Spencer always made pretty sounds in bed, but in this instance she envied his memory because she wished she could replay his moans and gasps from that first blowjob all over again in her mind.

Another favorite was allowing the favor to be reciprocated until completion. She figured she might just be someone who couldn’t get off from oral, because though she always welcomed Spencer to go down, she got impatient every time and pulled his head up by his hair, demanding him to fuck her already. Spencer was one to oblige every request, but he couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t overjoyed when one time she never stopped him short.

There were no interruptions, no hands shoving his face away from its rightful place against her, just increasing moans and shaking legs as Spencer was encouraged to give more. She can still remember the half-moon shapes his nails left on her thighs from where he had to grip them so tightly as she rode out her high. And she definitely remembers the almost feral look in his eyes after, because since that first time he insists on doing it again nearly every day.

There were more or less a dozen other items that slowly but surely got ticked off the list.

Handcuffs in the bedroom — fun, but perhaps better saved for special occasions. Or if Spencer was being extra good and deserved a treat.

Various new positions — a reminder to stretch more. And that sixty-nine is not as easy as it sounds on paper.

She let Spencer put a blindfold on her — it was decided they both prefer it more when the blindfold is on him. It keeps him guessing.

Spanking — both of them like this one, either giving or receiving. Surprisingly, she thinks she might like receiving it a little more, and Spencer is always excited to give.

Shower sex — a bit of a logistical nightmare, yet still a weekly staple. It’s slippery, yes, but it’s also relaxing and intimate. And Spencer just enjoys putting his hands on her wet, soapy body.

Sending dirty texts — great, but Spencer prefers taking nude polaroids of her instead. He keeps a few in his wallet for easy access. And because he knows Garcia can’t hack his wallet and find them.

And there were more items that went in the same tune until there was just one left. The one she was most nervous to attempt.

She wondered if joining the mile high club was better or worse if it was on the BAU jet. They’d have ample opportunities to do it, but they’d also be surrounded by their colleagues, and there is no coming back from getting caught.

But the main challenge was convincing Spencer to do it in the first place.

The initial plan of attack was to drop some “subtle” hints. She brought it up for the first time one night in their shared hotel room, right after Spencer fucked her against the bathroom counter, her legs wrapped around his waist.

“We could totally do that in the jet bathroom.”

“Yeah, I guess the basics are the same. Cramped space and a ledge to lean on.” Spencer was completely aloof as he picked up the scattered articles of clothing from the floor, rattling off about the size and dimensions of the airplane bathroom and missing the entire point of the comment.

She mentioned it again a little later, hoping the repetition may help him catch the drift.

“What’s the craziest place you’ve had sex?” she asked, completely catching him off guard as he ate a breakfast of frosted flakes in his kitchen.

“Um.. I don’t know? You tell me,” he shrugged, knowing that whatever the craziest place was, it was definitely with her.

“What about doing it on the jet?” It couldn’t get more obvious.

“We haven’t done that, silly. OH! I’m gonna say it was in my car,” he nodded with a wide grin, confident in his answer that unfortunately brushed past the proposition far too quickly.

It was time to change methods.

The new plan was to see if she could get him turned on enough on the jet to motivate him to do something about it right then and there. It seemed easy enough.

She sat next to him on the small couch, as she always did, and cuddled up to his side as he read his book.

Once everyone was distracted, she snaked a hand onto his thigh, allowing it to rest there long enough for Spencer to get over his initial shock and relax into her touch. As soon as he let his guard down, she moved her hand up another inch or two, watching him squirm again as he fought his mind from wandering. She repeated that cycle every five minutes until it drove him insane, his willpower diminishing in tandem with the proximity of her hand.

When everyone finally fell asleep, she craned her head to press small kisses on his neck, alternating between quick pecks and lingering ones, sucking warm and wet little flecks onto his skin that drew soft sighs without fail.

“What are you doing?” his breath was raspy and low as he muttered into her ear.

“Nothing.” She kept her tone innocent and sweet as she continued to sprinkle the teasing kisses across the column of his throat.

Her hand finally found its way directly on top of the bulge straining against his slacks and gave it a gentle squeeze. Spencer grinded himself into her palm, desperate to feel some friction, his jaw slacked and pupils wide. She dragged a thumb across his length, stopping to rub slow circles over the sensitive tip, drawing out a wet spot at the front of his trousers.

But even with his skin flushed red and his cock leaking and half-near orgasm, Spencer still found the restraint to stop her from jerking him off right on the jet and ripped her hand away, placing it in her lap as if the action could permanently force her to keep her hands to herself.

“I can’t go to the crime scene with cum in my pants,” he hissed, squeezing her wrist tighter.

She smirked at the opportunity, wrapping her warm lips around his ear lobe and tugging with her teeth before whispering with hot breath. “Then put it in me.”

For a second she saw him consider it. His eyes had a dark cast, gaze flickering between her eyes and lips as he swallowed the thick lump in his throat. But then Emily woke up and it was yet another failed attempt.

She resigned to the fact that it just wouldn’t happen, and that the item might remain unchecked on the secret list. So she cleared the idea from her mind, not wanting to keep pushing Spencer toward something he clearly didn’t have an interest in, or to keep embarrassing herself by trying.

And then a couple weeks later, as the team wrapped another case up, she came back to their hotel room to find Spencer sitting on the bed, facing away from the door.

“Hey, baby,” she greeted. When Spencer didn’t respond, she crawled onto the bed behind him, placing both hands on his shoulders and attacking the side of his face with kisses, giggling into his messy curls. “I said hey.”

Still nothing. Her eyes followed his line of sight down to his hands and went wide with realization.

“Spencer, where did you get that!?” She tried to snatch the crumpled piece of paper from him, but he was too quick to pull it away.

“I was looking for gum in your purse,” he explained, reading the sheet over again in complete amusement, “but I found something better.”

Spencer was much too excited about it, bordering on smug, and she rolled off the bed away from him in annoyance.

“Is this what I think it is?” She remained silent, suddenly feeling very insecure about the note. “Did you... did you make a list of things to do in bed?”

“You weren’t supposed to see that, it’s so stupid.”

“Hey, who said it’s stupid?” He tugged on her fingers, pulling her back onto the bed next to him. “I just wanna know where it came from.”

“Well... when I went out with the girls, we started talking about all the things we’ve done…” she paused to see if Spencer could guess where this was going, and of course he didn’t, “... in bed. And I hadn’t even done half of what they have, so I wrote some of them down. I — I wanted to try them with you.”

“So you… you’ve never done these with anyone else?” Spencer’s eyes widened as he pieced the puzzle together. He looked down again at the discarded sheet laying on pillows, his pride swelling at how long the list was. “I’m the first?”

She nodded in assent and no sooner was Spencer pushing her back flat against the mattress, settling his body on top of hers.

“God, that’s so hot,” he spoke into her neck as he sucked purple bruises into it, allowing his hands to roam freely under her shirt. His nimble fingers made quick work of her bra clasp, pulling the hem of the top up to attach his lips to her exposed nipple. He rolled the other in his fingers, tugging gently as she arched into his touch, rolling her hips up to grind against his. He groaned and pushed back, nestling himself perfectly between her legs.

Suddenly his motions halted and he popped his head up, looking at her with wide eyes and freshly ruffled hair. “We haven’t finished the list yet!”

“I — I didn’t think you were interested in the last one.”

“If my girlfriend makes a list of ways she wants to fuck me, I’m interested.”

A devilish grin took over her face. “Well, we fly home tomorrow.”

And true to the plan, they arrived on the jet the next day with at least a vague sense of strategy: wait until everyone is asleep then go at it in the bathroom. It wasn’t the most elaborate of plans, but there wasn’t much else to think of.

Except for the possibility that the others might not go to sleep.

The flight was already halfway through its journey and everyone was still wide awake, and Spencer was growing incredibly impatient. Perhaps even more than his girlfriend, now that he knew this would be part of a long list of things he got to be her first for.

That fact seemed to encourage him, the thrill of forever being her first at something. Never mind that she’d be his firsts, too.

Spencer’s not stupid, he knows that bending her over the bathroom counter while everyone is awake to hear it is a horrible idea. But his willpower doesn’t extend far enough to stop him from dropping his hand to her exposed knee, rubbing it softly just to be able to touch her. It seemed innocent enough in case anyone might see.

He kept his eyes on the open book he was pretending to read as his fingers traced the inside of her thigh, pushing up the hem of her skirt ever so slightly.

He inched his hand up and slowly spread his long fingers apart until they covered the length of her inner thigh. The tips stopping just below her cunt, delicately tracing lines back and forth parallel to the seam of her underwear.

And she quickly discovers there’s no taste worse than your own medicine. There was gentle brushes and concealed touches, all the things that she did to him. But where Spencer would’ve stopped her teasing before it got too far, she wouldn’t have done the same.

She covered up his hands by bringing her own down to her lap, silently encouraging him to continue unseen.

Spencer looked down at her through his thick lashes, bottom lip stuck between his teeth. Looking for more confirmation that she wanted this. The answer came in the form of her shifting subtly down the seat, pressing her clothed pussy firmly against his hand.

His cock twitched against the confines of his slacks when he felt the damp patch on the fabric. His knuckles brushed against her clit and her knees clamped shut, holding him in place as she brought her lips close to his ear to let him hear her soft whines.

He has to put his book over his lap to cover how hard he is, and it almost makes him regret starting this game. Almost.

Because just as she starts desperately grinding against his hand, squirming for more friction, he notices that everyone’s asleep. And then it’s a race to the bathroom, Spencer positioning her directly in front of him to cover his bulge as they stand up.

Their mouths are on each other before the door even closes, her hands wasting little time in going for his zipper. Both desperate to have each other after all the anticipation. She immediately perched herself on the countertop, spreading her legs wide so Spencer could fit in between them, just like in that hotel room. A confused whine fell from her mouth when he lifted her off from the ledge, interrupting her plan.

“No. Like this,” he growled, turning her around and pushing her hips against the edge of the counter, bending her over it. She muttered a “Fuck,” under her breath as he pressed his cock against her backside, knowing he preferred this angle because he could get deeper.

His lips trailed down her neck as he tugged the skirt up to her hips and pulled her panties to the side, running his cock along her folds to gather the wetness that had been pooling there.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet.”

He quickly inserted his thumb into her mouth to stop any sounds from escaping before lining himself up. Her moans vibrated against the digit as he slowly pushed in, stretching her out and letting her adjust before starting to move. Slowly and deliberately, at first, then quickly gaining speed.

She pushed her hips back to meet his thrusts until he pinned them against the ledge with his own, holding them still so he could set his pace faster.

The hand that was resting on her waist came up to her chest, groping at the flesh over her blouse. Her spine arched into his palm, bending forward to give him more leverage to get deeper to that spot inside her repeatedly.

He alternated between a few quick thrusts followed by a deep one, holding himself there for a moment before repeating.

Her cunt tightened around him as he held still against her, applying firm pressure to her spot with the head of his cock.

“Fuck, do that again, please,” he grunted against her neck, pushing his hips into her ass with bruising force to get impossibly closer. A loud whine nearly escaped her lips as he did so, the motion sending her over the edge.

She sucked harder around his thumb, using it to keep her cries at bay as she reached her climax. Her walls fluttered around him as she did, giving him exactly what he needed.

“Remember what you said before, baby?” he hummed in her ear, “Do you still want me to cum inside you?”

“Please.”

Immediately his thrusts became erratic, hips snapping forward a handful of times before he spilled into her in hot spurts, biting down on her shoulder to stifle his moan as he came.

Still heaving from the comedown, he pulled her panties back on, using the fabric to keep his cum from spilling out.

She turned to feverishly attach her lips to his, panting into the open mouthed kiss. When they finally broke apart, both looked completely wrecked with swollen lips, flushed skin, bruised necks. Still, they tried their best to fix themselves, straightening out their rustled clothes and smoothing knotted hair.

Before Spencer turned the door handle, he pulled her side into him, pressing a kiss onto her forehead. “We should make another list.”

.

.

.

taglist: @suburban--gothic @ssa-sarahsunshine @mercy-burning @reidspurple @mediocre-writer @honeyboysteezy @ssa-m-187 @calm-and-doctor @drayshadow @s1utformgg @you-sunshine @altsvu @reidtheprettyboy @goose-eats-god @sonnydoesrandomshit @rigatonireid @muffin-cup @amoeebaa @reidingmelodies

[serendipitous-magic]

What is your writing advice for young people who want to write fanfiction and original stories in the near future?

If this is just Way Too Much, skip to the end (#16). My most important piece of advice is there. I also happen to think #5 is pretty good.

-_-_-_-

1) Literally just write. Write whatever you want, and do a lot of it.

_-_

2) You don’t have to post everything. In fact you don’t have to post anything. You can, don’t get me wrong, but it can be intimidating to sit down and think “I will now write something that other people will see and read and judge with their eyeballs.” Because that’s probably gonna lead to nerves and writer's block. Just write down the ideas that you have, the things you want to write, whatever’s in your brain that you want to explore and expand upon and make into something. And then if you want to, share it. Or don’t share it. I have plenty of half-baked ideas and documents and random story chapters and shit hidden away on my Google Drive that will never see the light of day, for a whole number of reasons. I wanted to write it but it wasn’t ~Spicy~ enough to warrant posting, or it’s only like an eighth of a good idea, or it’s like one scene with no story around it, or it’s just something incredibly self-indulgent I just wanted to write for my own enjoyment.

Point being, don’t write for other people. Don’t write so that other people can read it; write what you want, write for yourself, and then if you want to share it, do.

_-_

3) You can pretty much ignore any and all of these for fanfiction. In fact, you can ignore pretty much any rules or guidelines you want for fanfiction. Fanfic is a sandbox. You don’t have to be a “professional writer” to post fic. No one expects you to be Stephen King or Margaret Atwood. Fanfic is just for playing in a fandom and having fun. If you wanna write a 50 chapter slow burn with very little plot aside from the OTP slowly getting to know each other, and no real stakes or central conflict, I guarantee people would read that. Really, fanfiction is the Old West of writing: lawless, wild, unpredictable, and free.

However, here are the rules you must follow:

-Separate your paragraphs. (I’m sure you know this already, but I’m gonna say it anyway just in case.) Do not post one big block of text. Make a paragraph break when someone new is talking, when the characters are in a new place, when a new event occurs that changes the scene, when a chunk of time has passed, and when there’s a major change in subject.

-I know it’s obvious, but... grammar, punctuation, and capitalization. They exist to make writing easy for readers to read, and more people will read your stuff if they don’t have to stop and try to figure out what you meant.

-Use tags and labels, as is possible with whatever site you’re using. Especially if you include possibly triggering content in your story. Again, I know it’s obvious, but it’s common courtesy. Bonus: tagging the themes and content of your story helps readers find it and read it :)

-If possible, limit the use of all-caps and exclamation marks / question marks. 99% of the time, one ! or one ? will do. If you overload the page with a lot of all-caps and long rows of exclamation marks or question marks, it hampers readability.

... That’s literally all I can think of. And, like I said, it’s all pretty basic stuff. You were probably rolling your eyes like, “Uh, yeah, Gwen, I know.” But that’s literally it. You can pretty much do whatever you want in fanfic.

That being said, here’s my advice for both fanfiction and original work...

_-_

4) A quick and dirty rule for coming up with a plot, starting a story, keeping up pacing, or maintaining tension: figure out what dreams, desires, and goals are nearest and dearest to your main character’s heart (see #16). Then set up the main conflict to be directly in opposition to that goal. It doesn’t have to be in a tangible way, though it could be. But, if your main character wants more than anything to reach the ships on the southern coast of your world and sail to a new life, make sure the main conflict immediately prevents them from doing that - in fact, make sure to send them north. If your main character just wants to keep their loved ones safe, kidnap the loved ones. If your main character just wants to date their best-friend-turned-crush, make sure they think they have no chance - or, make them cocky about it, and make sure it makes Person B determined not to ever like them. You get it. Figure out what your character most wants, and then keep them from having that. Boom - your conflict now ties in with your character's motivation. It's like instant yeast for plots.

_-_

5) If you’re anything like me, you want your first draft to be Good, despite all that advice about how the first draft doesn’t have to be good and it’s just to get words on the page, yadda yadda. And if you’re somewhat of a perfectionist (like myself), it’s easy to get stuck looking at a blank page because you don’t have The Perfect Words, and you want what you write to be Good the first time.

Here’s how I cheat that:

Instead of trying to write a Good First Draft from a blank page, hit the enter key a few times, skip a little down on the page, change your ink to red (or blue, or whatever - just something immediately identifiable as Not Black) and just thought vomit. Write whatever the hell you’re thinking, exactly as you think it. Don’t worry about it being readable, don’t worry about narrative flow for now, don’t worry about covering all the details, don’t worry about anything except either a) getting all the details of your idea out onto the page, whether that’s a lot or whether it’s just a sentence or two, or b) if you don’t have an idea yet, finding your way there.

Because this method is also very good for finding your way to ideas when you’re stuck in writer’s block.

Because of how human brains work, getting this stuff out onto the page - in all its messy, stream-of-consciousness glory - will likely spark more thoughts. As you write your original idea about the scene, it’ll likely spark more ideas. Creation begets creation. If you just start thought-vomiting your ideas onto the page, chances are you’ll think of more things as you go, and you’ll start filling out description or dialogue or tone or action or whatever, and pretty soon the scene starts writing itself.

Not sure where you’re going with the scene or which ideas you wanna use? Use a lot of ambivalent language in your “thought-vomit draft.” My pre-writing notes are chock-full of the words “maybe,” “perhaps,” and the phrases, “At some point...” and “...or something like that.” In this way, I don’t tie myself down to one idea; it’s just an idea, and I’m keeping it on the page in case I use it, but I might chuck it in the trash or change it or whatever.

And then, once your ideas for the scene (or story, or chapter, or whatever) are on the page, then go back to the top and start translating them into a “real” first draft. Use black ink, and start copy-pasting chunks of the thought-vomit up into the top part of the document and translating them into Draft 1. Separate out paragraphs where paragraph breaks should be. Add the correct punctuation and whatnot. Change “describe the lobby here - include potted plants, fancy carpet, blood stain, etc.” into an actual description of the lobby. Flesh it out, or condense, or whatever it needs. And if you’re still stuck, change back to red ink and ramble some more until you find a path that feels right, then plug that in. This keeps you from looking at a blank page, and it allows you to generate a kind of Draft 0.5, somewhere between a plan and a first draft.

You don’t have to use every idea. Like I said, jot down whatever comes to mind, put a “maybe” before or after it, and keep working. If the idea grabs you and you wanna keep expanding on it and exploring it, cool. If you just wanna jot it down so you don’t forget it and then move on, also cool. Red-ink draft / “thought-vomit draft” is your time to jump around in the timeline, add or finesse details at whatever point your brain moves to, etc. Don’t try to do it exactly in story order, because you will get tangential thoughts and ideas, and you will not remember to write them down five pages later when you finally get to taking notes on that scene. Trust me. On that note...

_-_

6) Write everything down the moment you think of it. Seriously.

“I’ll remember it when I get around to writing that scene in a couple days / weeks / months (/years).”

You won’t.

Write it down.

Phone, journal, google docs - hell, my family regularly laughs at me for grabbing a napkin during dinner and scribbling thoughts down alongside pasta sauce stains.

And then, once you have it written down somewhere...

_-_

7) Consolidate your writing ideas in one place.

Maybe this isn’t really your style, and that’s totally chill.

Buuuut, if you’re Type-A like me - or if you tend to be somewhat unorganized and you know you’ll lose track of your writing notes if they’re scattered across multiple notebooks, journals, napkins, phone notes, etc. - having one consolidated document of notes is a life saver. I keep mine on Google Docs so I can access it, add to it, and look through it for inspiration anywhere at any time. When I have one of those Shower Thoughts that I jot down on my phone or on a napkin during dinner, I set myself a reminder on my phone to type it up in my Story Ideas document later.

(Or, if the idea I had was for a story of mine that I’ve already started planning / drafting / whatever, I put it in the document for that story instead of the Big Random Story Ideas doc. You get it.)

_-_

8) Have other ways to collect and save writing ideas, besides just writing stuff down. If you like Pinterest, make pinterest boards of your characters or stories or settings or whatever. If you’re big into playlists, make a playlist for your character / setting / story / etc. Or both. Or something else. I’m not good at drawing, but maybe you are, and maybe you like to draw your ideas. Whatever form it takes, having another way to save ideas and think about your stories is invaluable.

_-_

9) Some writers can just start writing with no idea where the story is going, and they just kind of figure it out as they go. I envy those writers. And I do that sometimes for fanfiction, where the stakes are somewhat lower and the audience is reading more for scene-to-scene enjoyment (and to see their OTP kiss) than for a Driving And Compelling Narrative.

But here’s the thing: especially if you’re just kind of starting out, writing without some sort of plan is really, really hard, and will likely lead you into a slow, meandering narrative that will likely frustrate you.

Even if you think you’re someone that just can’t write with a plan (and again, I have the highest respect for pansters out there - I don’t know how you do it, you crazy bastards, but you keep doing you) - even if you think “I can’t work with plans, they’re too prescriptive, I just want to write and see what happens -”

Try at least making the most skeletal of plans.

Even if you have no clue what 90% of the story is, yet. That’s fine. But you need to have some idea of what you’re building to, even if that’s nothing more specific than a feeling, or a turning point for your character. Even if your entire plan for everything beyond Chapter 1 is, “At some point, Charlie needs to realize that Ed was lying to her.”

This is where those Draft 0.5 notes come in handy. Because, more than likely, working on your current scene that way will spark ideas for later scenes, which you can put down at the bottom of the document and save for when they become relevant. In my experience, the line between planning ahead and making a Draft 0.5 is exceptionally thin. One can quickly turn into the other.

If you’re really, really resistant to the idea of planning ahead, that’s okay. It’s not everybody’s style. But for the love of all that is holy, write down your ideas for future scenes, even if you’re a person that doesn’t like to plan and writes only in story order, because you will not remember that idea once you get to that scene.

_-_

10) You don’t have to write in order.

Here’s the thing: I’m a person that can only do my Draft 1 in story order (meaning, chronological order). I just have to be in that flow; I need to write in story order for me to best channel where the character is at from scene to scene, both narratively and emotionally.

But my Thought Vomit Draft is another thing entirely. By using the brain hack of putting my notes in red (or another color, it doesn’t matter) and going down to the bottom of the document / page and taking notes there, and then integrating them into whatever plan I have, and then translating them into Draft 1 once I get there in the story - by doing that, I can get my good ideas onto the page (and expound upon them and let my muse carry me and ride that momentum while I’m in the moment of inspiration) without writing out of order.

Maybe that’s just me. But if you’re a person who really prefers to write in story order, that could be hugely helpful to you. It is to me.

_-_

11) Emotion and motivation will do more for your story than technicalities of plot.

If your characters really care about something, and their journey through the (shaky or weak) plot is emotionally engaging, it will be a much more compelling story than a story with a “perfect” plot and unrelatable or unmotivated characters.

If your characters care about what they’re doing, and it means something to them, and their goals and actions are driven by dreams or fears or emotions that are integral to who they are, your audience will care too. If you have a perfectly crafted plot that hits all the right beats and has high stakes and fast pacing and drama - but your characters don’t connect with what’s happening in a way that’s deeply meaningful or emotional for them? You’re gonna have a hard time engaging readers.

When in doubt, prioritize character emotion and motivation over plot. Emotion is what drives story.

This power is highly exploitable. (Just look at pulp novels and shitty but entertaining movies.) You can even use it to glaze over plot holes or reinvigorate a limp narrative. Use it that way sparingly, though. It’s a band-aid, not a surgery. 

_-_

12) Evil villains are hard to write - mostly because there are very few truly evil people in the world. (There are a few. Billionaires and several big name politicians come to mind.) But by and large, there aren’t that many evil people. There are plenty of bad people, but bad people have some good in them, somewhere in there. Trying to write an evil villain is hard, because they often turn very cartoony.

Here’s a tip: it’s much easier to write antagonists who aren’t evil. Even if they’re bad people. Of course, there’s no reason you can’t write a villain that’s just truly evil - a serial killer, or an abuser, or a billionaire, or someone who legit just wants to hurt people or blow up the earth or stay in control of an oppressed population, or whatever. But chances are, it’s gonna be really hard to make them feel real, and even harder to create a plot around them that doesn’t feel forced or contrived.

Instead, try writing an antagonist / villain whose motivations and goals directly clash with your protagonist’s - but not because they want to take over the world or see people suffer. Write an antagonist who’s chaotic good, but whose perception of the situation is completely opposite from your hero’s. Write an antagonist whose only desire is to save people, and who will do anything to achieve that goal - anything. Write an antagonist who believes in the letter of the law, and will hinder and oppose the hero’s methods even if they agree with the hero’s motivation. Write an antagonist who got in way over their head and did some things they regret, and now they don’t know how to get out, and they’re doing their best but whatever they set in motion is too powerful for them to stop now.

Write villains who are human. Write a killer who thought they were doing the right thing by taking their victim out of the equation, who vomits at the sight of the body and sobs over the grave they dig. Write a government leader who truly believes she’s doing what’s best for her people in the long-term, even if it might hurt them in the short term, and is willing to endure the hatred and belligerence of the masses if it means securing what she thinks is a better future for her people. Write a teenage bully that thinks they’re the one being picked on by the world, and they’re just fighting back, standing their ground. Write a scientist who will break any code of ethics and hurt anyone he needs to - in order to bring back his baby sister from the grave, because he promised her he’d protect her and he failed. Write an antagonist who is selfish and self-centered and capricious - because in order to survive they had to look out for Number One, and that habit ain’t about to break anytime soon.

Write villains who aren’t even villains. Write antagonists who oppose the hero because of moral differences. Write antagonists who are trying to do the right thing. Write antagonists who treat the heroes with kindness and dignity and respect and gentleness.

They don’t have to be good. They don’t have to be Misunderstood Sweethearts who “deserve” a redemption arc. They can be cruel and nasty and dismissive and callous and violent and etc. etc.

Just hesitate before you make them Evil-with-a-capital-E. Because evil is hard to write, and honestly, boring to read. Flawed human beings with goals and motivations that directly oppose the main characters’ are much easier to write and much more interesting to read.

Ask why. Why is your villain trying to take over the world? What does that even mean? Are they trying to create a Star-Trek-like post-capitalism utopia, but they know that won’t happen in a million lifetimes, so they’re trying to do it by force? Are they actually super in favor of human rights, but they got very impatient waiting for the world to do anything about poverty and war, so they decided to take it into their own hands? Are they determined to fix the world - no matter the cost? Are they terrified and overwhelmed, but committed to see it through to the end? Or - maybe they’re just doing it on a dare. Maybe they don’t really give a shit about world domination, they were just a mediocre rich white guy who decided to fuck around and find out, and now he’s kind of curious how far he can take this thing. And now he’s kind of an internationally-wanted criminal, so he’s kind of stuck living on his hidden private island in his multi-billion dollar secret base, strapping lasers to sharks’ heads for the hell of it. Gross, selfish, uncaring, and dangerous? For sure. Evil? Depends on your definition. See, now we’re getting somewhere.

_-_

13) It’s tempting to let the plot control the characters. It’s easy to drop your characters into a situation and see how they react. But here’s the thing: that doesn’t drive plot. In fact, it bogs down pacing. Instead, try to build you plot off of your characters’ actions and decisions. Let your character build their own situation. Not to say it should go they way they wanted it to go; in fact, usually, their grand plans should go to hell very quickly. But having the characters take action and make decisions, and letting the plot develop based on that, is much easier to make compelling than making a rigid series of events and then trying to herd your characters into them.

_-_

14) Having trouble justifying a character’s actions? Consider having them make the opposite decision, or having them approach the situation in a different way. For example: you need your character to go meet the bad guy, for plot reasons, even though there’s no way it’s not a trap. If the character goes, readers are gonna be groaning with their head in their hands, because c’mon man, that was really fucking stupid. But he’s gotta go, because the plot needs that. Two ways you might handle this: a) He knows it’s probably a trap. He decides not to go. The plot conspires to get him near the villain anyway. Or, b) He knows it’s a trap. But he needs to go, for (insert reasons here). So, he approaches it in an unexpected way. He brings backup, recruiting a side character we met earlier in the story. Or he arrives on the back of a dragon, because ain’t nobody gonna fuck with a dude on a dragon. Or he goes - early, and ambushes the villain. It may work, it may not. He may get himself kidnapped anyway. But it moves the plot along without having Stupid Hero Syndrome.

_-_

15) This is a legit piece of advice: if all of this sounds overwhelming, literally just ignore it and write what you want. For real. Writing should be fun, and every single writer operates differently. If you’re sitting here like “I’m getting stressed just reading this,” just flip me a good-natured bird and get on with your life. I promise I won’t take it personally. Same goes for literally any other writing advice you see. Lots of rules and guidelines can very quickly make anything thoroughly un-fun. Just write. If you’re passionate about it and you do it for long enough, you’ll start figuring out the tips and tricks on your own.

_-_

16) Here’s the best piece of advice I can give you: know your characters. More importantly, know what’s important to them. Build their personality and decisions off of that, and build your plot off of their decisions.

I see a lot of character building sheets that ask a shit-ton of questions like “What’s their most prized possession?” “Do they like their family?” “What’s their favorite food?”

And while these are good questions, my problem with this type of character building is that if you start there, with the little stuff, you’re building on nothing. IMO, to make a truly strong character (not strong like Inner Strength, strong like effective), you need a strong foundation.

Here are the things you must know about your character:

a) What are their greatest fears / deepest insecurities? And I don’t mean “wasps” or “heights.” I mean the deep shit. I mean fears like “living a meaningless life,” or “turning out just like their parents,” or “that no one will ever love them,” or “being powerless.” You may say, “But they’re really scared of wasps! They fall into a wasp nest when they were little and got stung so much they almost died!” Great! That’s a fantastic bit of backstory. They should absolutely be afraid of wasps, and that should absolutely be an impediment later in the story. But dig deeper. What about that event actually scarred them? Was it the helplessness? Stumbling around, swatting at the air, not being able to do a single thing to stop what was happening to them? Was it that they were alone, and no matter how loud they screamed, no one was coming? Was it the bodily horror of feeling themself turn into an inhuman creature as they swelled up from the stings, unable to move their fingers or face normally anymore?

And don’t forget insecurities, because those factor in, too. Are they deeply insecure about their identity? Do they believe, deep down, that they’re ugly? Did they grow up poor and they’ve always been really touchy about that? Why? Dig deep. Figure out what really, really bothers them.

b) What are their hopes and dreams? What do they truly want out of life? What do they consider the most valuable to their experience here in this thing called life? Is it the freedom to forge their own path and be independent? Is it the approval of their family or peers? Is it a home? Is it knowledge, or understanding? Spiritual fulfillment? Is it deeply important to them that they contribute to their community, or protect those they love? What do they need in order to feel truly and deeply fulfilled in life?

Figure out those two things (each one encompasses several things, btw, you don’t have to stop at just one for each), and then use that to inform how they behave and the types of decisions they make within the story. 

It also informs character behavior and personality. 

Let’s say we have a character who’s afraid of helplessness. They’re probably gonna be the person that always wants to do something, try something, no matter how hopeless the situation seems. They’d despise just sitting and waiting, probably, because it makes them feel powerless. They might even be the person that makes rash decisions and acts impulsively and puts themself in danger unnecessarily, because in their mind it’s better than being at the mercy of fate. This is one way you could use a character’s personality to inform their decisions, which in turn helps to inform plot.

Or, let’s say we have a character whose greatest fear is being left behind or forgotten. We may have a chatterbox on our hands. They might be obnoxious. They might love the spotlight, constantly vying for attention no matter the situation, because deep down they’re so afraid that they’d be forgotten otherwise. Or, it may go the opposite way. They may be so afraid of people leaving them that they’re terrified of bothering people. They don’t want to do anything that could annoy people, anything that might give people a reason to leave them. They might be exceedingly polite, quiet, accommodating. A push-over, really.

These are two nearly opposite types of personalities, both stemming from the same core fear/insecurity. You can go a lot of different ways with it. But if you build on that strong foundation, you’ll have a strong character, and a stronger plot.

Likewise, the structure of your story can and should inform the design of these character traits. If you need your characters to team up near the end, it may be impactful if you give your main character a deep fear of commitment, an insecurity about being unwanted or left behind, and make them highly value independence and freedom. That could make their team-up for the final battle very meaningful. Conversely, you can use your character’s deepest fears and desires to help design the plot. Is your character deeply insecure about voicing their opinions or taking a stand, because of trauma they faced in the past? Make them face that. Build that into the climactic third act. Give them the big inspirational speech where they stand up and talk about what they believe to be important, what they think the group should do. And then design that character arc to run through the story, giving you more handholds and stepping stones, more pieces of foundation on which to design the plot.

In this way, character should inform story as much as story informs character. It’s a feedback loop.

Bonus: if you build your character and your plot off of each other in this way, it automatically starts to build in the foundations of that emotional investment I mentioned earlier. If your character’s decisions are based on what they most want and do not want in life, you basically have your character motivation and stakes pre-built.

Note: you need to know these things about your villain, too.

-_-_-

I’m genuinely sorry about the length of this, lmao. But you did ask.

Best of luck!

Edit: I forgot an important one:

17) Start when the scene starts and end when the scene ends.

What do I mean by that?

If your notes say “Danny asks Nicole out after school and majorly flubs it,” start the scene when Danny approaches Nicole after school. Better yet, cold-open the scene on “I was wondering if, you know, you’d wanna. You know. Hang out some time?”

Don’t start that morning when Danny goes to school, unless you’re gonna cover the school day in like one or two sentences. Don’t spend whole paragraphs going through the school day, unless it’s to cover other plot points first (in which case apply these same guidelines there), or if the paragraphs are there for a specific reason, like to illustrate how stressed he is and how it seems like every little thing is going wrong. Even then, trim the fat as much as possible. Expounding and describing everything Moment-to-moment is for the meat of the scenes, not the leading-up-to and coming-away-from.

Here’s my rule of thumb: study how and when movies cut from scene to scene. Movies have exceptionally strict, limited time for storytelling; they’re excellent examples of starting a scene when the plot point starts and ending when it’s over. If you can’t picture a movie showing everything you showed, start the scene later and end it earlier.

[soulmate-game]

Harley’s Plea for Help: Chapter 2

Chapter 1

“How long do you think it’s gonna take before she decides to sneak out?” Nightwing asked over his comms, lazily leaning against the balcony railing in front of him with his head resting on one hand.

“Dude, I started sneaking out almost twenty minutes ago,” a girl’s voice made Nightwing squeak and turn around, to reveal a teenage girl leaning against the door that led to the balcony he was on. “I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by doing unnecessarily showy gymnastics down from my hotel room’s balcony, no matter how much fun that would be, so I just snuck out one of the hotel’s back exits. Then I looked up to admire the moon and saw you here, staking out what is clearly my suite, and decided to come pay you a visit.”

“How long have you been there? And how did you even get behind me? I hope you didn’t break and enter, that’s an actual lived-in apartment behind us right now,” Nightwing asked, turning around to analyze the daughter of Harley Quinn for the first time in person.

She looked just like in her pictures, of course. Jet black hair like her father’s, except it seemed to have a bluish shine in the light. And her eyes were definitely Harley’s— thank goodness for that —vibrant blue and clearly analyzing him with the same amount of intensity as his did her. He had to bite back a chuckle. In a turn of complete irony, she really did look like a Wayne kid. Fit all of Bruce’s usual criteria to be adopted. But she was tiny, even smaller than Harley’s lithe form. He, Bruce, and Tim were of the hypothesis that the exposure both her parents had to Ace Chemical’s vats of acid likely had an effect on her DNA that stunted her growth. Perhaps there were other effects that they wouldn’t be able to figure out until they got to know her better, too, though it was clear that her skin was a likely one. It wasn’t unnaturally pale like her parent’s after their acid dips but it was paler than normal for sure, just a shade or two shy of being paper white.

And he could see, now, what Harley meant when she referred to Marinette as a powerhouse. It wasn’t very noticeable in pictures, but up close Dick could see the carefully honed muscle of an acrobat curling over her otherwise slim build. Combined with the knowledge that Marinette had been taught at least some serious self defense from a young age, he could see how such a tiny package could be a remarkable threat when necessary.

Marinette grimaced as the other Batfam, who were all nearby staking out her room from different angles, dropped onto the large balcony with them.

“Uh, well. I didn’t break and enter, I rather not get off to a criminal-ly start on my first night in Gotham, you know? But I realized that even though I was able to figure out the exact room you were staking me out from, I realized as soon as I got into the first floor of the building that I had no idea how to actually get to you. So I just climbed the stairs all the way to the roof and scaled my way down to this balcony, and pretended I’ve been here for a while when really I was barely able to hear you ask when I was gonna sneak out. I’m still out of breath, actually,” she put a hand on her chest and sure enough her breathing was still slightly fast. But not enough to be worrying or even all that noticeable. Yet another piece of evidence to show that she was a very active individual and had resistance built up to physical activity.

“Yup,” Robin groused grumpily, crossing his arms. “With all that rambling, you couldn’t be anyone else’s child but Quinzel’s.”

Marinette’s face immediately flushed pink all the way to her ears. “I’m sorry! I’ve been trying so hard to quit that habit, too!” She grumbled a bit to herself, putting her face in her hands. They all chuckled at the display. Red Hood ambled over, draping his arm over her shoulders (he nearly had to bend in half to do it, the height difference was that bad).

“As adorable as your freak out is, why’d you even come up here anyway? There’s no way you’d scale down a ten-story building just to say hello.”

She let out a heavy sigh at that, slowly peeling her face out of her hands. “Yeah, I recognized you guys right away. And honestly, as much as Momma Harley would be super proud of me for managing to give an entire group of vigilantes the slip, she’d also ground me for life if she found out that I saw you guys and still snuck away even though she probably swallowed her pride and asked you guys to babysit me, right? Self preservation. Contrary to popular belief, I do actually have some.”

“Wait,” Red Robin held up a hand, brows clearly furrowed under his cowl. “You expected her to ask for our help?”

“Well,” she made a so-so motion with her hand. “I didn’t think of it beforehand, but it all clicked once I saw Nightwing. I know how much my mom is worried about me, especially since you-know-who broke out a few days ago. She is more than worried enough to ask you guys for help. Even if she does complain about you guys, a lot actually, she also has made it clear that she trusts you guys with the stuff that actually matters.

“‘You know who’?” Batman repeated, arms crossed. If Marinette squinted, she thought there might have been a grin on his lips. “Is that how you always refer to him?”

“What else am I gonna call him?” she asked, face going deadpan. “Sperm donor? Source of a large amount of my self doubt and depreciation? The prime reason I haven’t been able to see my mom in person more often over the years? Oh, I know! How about I just always refer to him as ‘that bastard I wanna punch,’? That sounds good!” she rolled her eyes sarcastically. “Only one person in this world has the right to be considered my father in any capacity, and it sure as hell isn’t him. Genetics notwithstanding.”

Red Hood straight up guffawed at that, landing several rough pats on her back that made the girl stumble a bit. “Yep, I like this one! But as fun as it would be to see you give that jackass a mean left hook, it’s better if he never finds out who you are or knows that you’re here,” the vigilante’s voice got dark and serious very quickly. “He doesn’t forget people he finds interesting easily, and if he ever finds out about the connection you have to him, he’ll be a constant threat in your life.”

“I know,” Marinette agreed with a nod. “And if this conversation was happening two years ago, I’d say that my mom’s concerns aren’t unfounded. That I am too easily emotionally compromised and despite my deep seated issues and hatred for that man, I couldn’t guarantee he would be unable to get to me.”

Batman straightened up, as did all of his sons around him. None of them had missed the ‘if’ there. Batman’s voice went from charmingly deep to it’s usual gruff grumble. “What changed in two years?”

They all watched as Marinette gulped, taking a deep breath as she stalled for time, looking out at the view on the balcony before seeming to steel herself and return her gaze to Batman’s. When she did, it was suddenly full of iron will.

“I didn’t lie when I told Mom that I came to visit her— but that isn’t the whole truth, either. If I just wanted to visit her in Gotham, I would have waited until I was eighteen like we agreed. But I can’t wait, Paris can’t keep going on like this. I entered that contest because it was the fastest way to see you. I didn’t know if I would win, but… I had to take the chance. There was no way I’d be able to get to Gotham behind my mom’s back otherwise.”

“What are you talking about?” Robin hissed, stepping up to his father’s side. “Paris has been silent. If anything were happening, we would have heard about it by now.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Marinette corrected, never losing that ironclad look in her eyes. “Because a combination of magic and politics is keeping it quiet. No news about Paris’ situation is able to leave the city limits. Magic makes any non-native who leaves Paris think that everything they experienced was just a crazy dream. Natives won’t forget, but politics has all of us under very strict NDAs if we leave city boundaries, and all of our local news and social media is blocked from being accessed by anyone outside the city. But, I figured a little breaking of the rules wouldn’t exactly put a stain on my family’s reputation or anything, so,” she dug in her pocket and pulled out a thumb drive, holding it up for all of them to see. She swallowed again, but never stopped her eye contact with Batman. She held out the thumb drive.

“I came to Gotham to ask for your help. This sped things up, I didn’t expect to see you on my first night here, but two years in Hawkmoth’s Paris has really taught me how to roll with the punches. This,” she shook the thumb drive. “Holds videos of every fight since HawkMoth first showed up. It has all the information I’ve gathered over two years, tracks his movements and lists all his targets and— everything. But I’m not a detective, I’m a designer. I make clothes, I spar on the weekends, I am not good at getting evidence to prove that someone is a magic-abusing villain holding an entire city hostage.”

“We’re gonna need some details, Little Q,” Red Hood finally removes his arm from around her shoulders, instead crossing his arms and looking down at her sternly. “If your city has a villain holding it hostage, is anyone fighting him? And if you do have someone fighting him, why don’t you need our help, or why didn’t they call the Justice League? The JLE should be in Paris, right?”

Marinette snorted, face scrunching up in obvious distaste. “I’ll have to answer those a little out of order. First; the JLE was kicked out of Paris. They moved their headquarters to Italy about five years ago, I’m just surprised they apparently kept that secret from you,” she gestured to all of them, who indeed seemed very caught off guard by that tidbit. But Marinette just sighed and continued. “Though that’s a good thing, actually. We do have heroes, it started out as just a pair but it’s grown into a small team out of necessity. They didn’t call the Justice League because the last thing we need is any powered heroes coming in and making it worse— your league doesn’t have the best reputation for letting newer heroes take the lead even on their home turf, you know,” she pointed out, which made Batman shift a bit guiltily. He knew the JL was often a bit… heavy handed in their methods.

“What makes the situation so bad that you don’t want to bring experienced heroes into it?” Red Robin cut in, sounding as if the whole situation was a puzzle he was determined to sort out. Which, really, was exactly what Marinette had been counting on. She shot him a finger gun, grinning.

“That’s exactly the point! Hawkmoth uses a magical artifact, like I said— but this artifact can brainwash anybody who experiences even the slightest negative emotion. Sadness, anger, fear— anything negative. And it gives them powers, but puts them largely under his influence,” her expression twisted again, this time into a wry little grimace. “I guess you can say that my momma’s psychiatry background has secretly come in handy a lot over these past two years. And Hawkmoth is exactly why I try to tell Momma Harley to stop visiting me— I have worked my butt off to keep her from finding out about his attacks or getting Akumatized. Every time she shows up it gives me a heart attack!”

“Akumatized?”

Marinette waved a hand dismissively. “It’s the term used for when someone is turned into a super powered villain because of HawkMoth. The brainwashing— really it’s more similar to a straight up corruption. The person usually lacks their usual moral compass, and just seeks to soothe whatever set off their negative emotion in the first place. Usually, that means they seek a bloody revenge. And if someone who already has extensive training or extremely strong powers gets Akumatized, guess what?” She made jazz hands even though her face was deadpan. “Extra powers, or amplified ones, for the metas or superheroes who are Akumatized. And imagine what someone with, say, Batman’s level of experience could do if he had powers and no moral compass,” the silence that followed her words was deafening. She just nodded, knowing she had gotten her point across. “I’ve been working my butt off to stay positive, because if I’m Akumatized…” her shoulders fell, and she had to swallow a lump in her throat. “... I have no idea what I’d turn into, but if you take into consideration both my training and my family history… it’s really best if we never find out what kind of magic-powered supervillain I’d make.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Nightwing said after another long moment of silence for that to all sink in. He gestured at her with an open palm. “You’ve been dealing with a terrorist for two years who targets emotional vulnerability, you apparently have never been corrupted by this magic at least to present day, but your mother still worries about you being very emotionally fragile. And your heroes are not detectives, which is clearly what you need or you wouldn’t have asked us for our help.”

Marinette nodded. “I used to be very impressionable. At the start of all this, I was a huge people-pleaser. I got attached to new people in a matter of minutes. My mom always said I reminded her too much of herself— but two years of fighting off a guy trying to get into my head—“

“Wait,” Batman nearly barked, taking a step forward. “He’s been targeting you? You specifically?”

Marinette nodded grimly, mouth a straight line. “Not from the beginning, but this past year it’s been painfully obvious. He might be able to sense the strength of people’s emotions, and unfortunately I don’t exactly experience my emotions very… gently. All of my emotions tend to the much more intense side of the spectrum. If that’s true, then he might know that any negative emotion I feel will make an extremely strong Akuma. Either that, or he’s going by process of elimination. All of my friends, except for one, have been Akumatized already. So has my Papan and my grandmother. But it’s obvious when he’s targeting someone, I’ve felt him try to override my will on several occasions. But I can’t just repress all of my negative emotions forever, so consider us working against the clock right now. That thumb drive has all the details you need about our heroes, how exactly Hawkmoth’s powers work, and so on.”

“Do your heroes know you’re asking for our help?” Red Robin asked, gaze burning a figurative hole through Marinette’s face. “Better yet, if this drive has as much information as you say it does, how did you get it?”

Marinette handed the drive over to Batman, who finally took it and tucked it in his belt as she answered.

“Momma Harley might have a lot to say about your detective skills, but you are all still strangers to me. So consider this a test of your abilities— I expect that you will all go to extreme lengths to verify all of the information I gave you anyway. After all, I’m still the daughter of your most hated enemy. Right?” She met each of their gazes, one by one, with a challenging one of her own. “You’ll just have to figure out my connection to the heroes on your own. And how I got the information, too. It shouldn’t be too hard for the so-called world’s greatest detectives. And maybe this can double as a trust exercise. I fully expect you guys to scour through every inch of my past, and dig up everything you can on me. I encourage you to try to find everything you can, so that hopefully you can decide to trust me on your own once you have all the details laid out in front of you. By the way, for your own sanity? I’d start with reading about all of our heroes’ powers and abilities before you watch any footage of past attacks.”

Red hood rocked back on his heels, trading glances with the other vigilantes before they all shared a nod. Apparently having decided their course of action, Red Hood leaned down and hoisted Marinette up into a princess carry. All traces of her previous iron will melted away in favor of the high pitched squeal of surprise she gave, and once more she became an overly flustered teenager.

“Alright, little cutie. Let’s get you to your mom’s place before she and her crazy plant lady fiancé come hunting us down.”

“I can walk! I can freerun on my own! Mon dieu please let me down! Eeeeek!” She squealed again as Robin slapped a domino mask over her eyes and Red Hood wasted no time jumping over the balcony railing with her still in his arms. The fact that they were lowered down by a wire wrapped around Hood’s waist didn’t seem to take away any of the fright that came with a sudden drop over an eighth-story balcony.

Part 1

@emotionalsupportginger @alysrose-starchild @emistar0 @kibastray @justanotherfanficlovinbitch @alyssadeliv @blackroserelina @blackstarlight-co @readingalldaysleepingallnight @maanae @aespades @jaybird-and-co @fleursroses @probably-a-hologram @misterpianoman (didn’t work sorry)

[writefightandflightclub]

Right behind you:(Bodyguard!Santiago “Pope” Garcia x M!Celebrity!reader)

This is my offering for this week’s #writerwednesday from @autumnleaves1991-blog, which this week is joint with @flightlessangelwings’ Jey’s Pride celebration! 🥳

The verbal prompt was: glitter and/or “I’ll always be by your side.”

The visual prompt is the photo below.

This gave me the idea for a very quickly written one shot with bodyguard!Santi and male celebrity reader! I hope you like it!

Warnings: food mentions; mentions of panic attack / hyperventilating. Mentions of sensory overload. One mention of Santi “sucking off” reader. Language. TYPOS, undoubtedly.

Rating: mature for mentions of oral sex but no explicit / actual smut.

Gender stuff: he/him pronouns / masc! terms of endearment used for reader. Implied that reader is a penis owner - no other physical descriptions besides reader wearing a suit and some make-up.

Genre: angst then mainly fluff and happiness! Hurt / comfort, I guess.

ALSO: BONUS CAMEO FROM ANOTHER OSCAR CHARACTER. Did you spot him?

You perch on the couch in your suite, taking steadying breaths and trying desperately to ward off hyperventilation as your bodyguard grips your trembling hand firmly in his. The air is quaking in and out of your lungs and you can no longer help the tears which spike in your eyes and spill over on to your cheeks.

He gives your fingers a squeeze as he crouches before you, and you can’t help the surge of guilt that this is so far outside of his job description. He’s meant to protect you, not comfort you. His work centres on your physical well-being, but you can’t count the times he’s bolstered your emotional well-being too. Then again, this is the only time he’s done so quite as blatantly in front of the rest of your staff, perhaps.

“Oh no, don’t you dare cry, sweetie,” your make-up artist - who will not be getting rehired you decide suddenly- flaps around you, attempting to fuss over you with a tissue. Her panic about her work being ruined at the worst possible moment is plain as day, and it only makes your chest constrict further.

“This isn’t helping” is the only thought blaring loudly in your mind, but you cannot for the life of you push the words out right now. You shut your eyes in an attempt to block it all out. To subdue the sensory overload.

You are thankful that your bodyguard intuits that sentiment on your behalf when you can’t, and you hear his voice is coming from a different angle now, his head whipped sharply sideward and up towards the offending MUA.

“For real? Ffff....” you close your eyes and hear Santi bite down on a curse. You’d laugh if you weren’t so preoccupied, trying desperately to focus on his voice amidst the chaotic, intersecting hubbub of the room. “Ma’am, could you please back the shit up?” He bites. Apparently he can’t stifle the cursing entirely.

Your limp hand travels along with his as he waves his arm around emphatically. “In fact. Out. Everyone out. Now. Please.”

His request slices through the nervous air in the room, his words deep and commanding and delivered with an authority that you doubt anyone would dare question. This man must be obeyed, and in the back of your mind you congratulate yourself for your decision to take a chance on hiring this moody ex-soldier with creaky knees. When he needed to he could certainly clear a room. And on top of that, he offers you a whole lot more besides.

Indeed, here he is, going above and beyond, kneeling on said creaky knees for you. Protecting you, and comforting you too.

Your eyes are still closed as the room gradually quietens, until it is so still you could hear a pin drop. Until you can hear the steady rise and fall of Santi’s breath. Until you can hear the delicate wet noise of his lips parting so his tongue can skim his lips. You can hear him swallow.

As you hear the sound of the final remaining person shuffle out, and the door gently click closed behind them, you are finally able to peel open your eyes. You are able finally able to release your bottom lip from the grip of your teeth, an indent having formed where you have bitten down so hard you have threatened to draw blood.

Santi is as still as death as he waits, and as soon as he hears that final click, he is moving. Only then, does he allow his (thin) veneer of professionalism to collapse. He allows the flats of his palms to snake up your thighs, rubbing reassuring shapes into you, and you feel the familiar heat and press of of him through the luxe fabric of your suit trousers.

“Look at me, cariño,” he soothes, in a deep, fond tone, entirely different to those bitten off commands reserved for the rest of your entourage. “It’s just you and me now. Look at me, baby.”

You do. You look into his big brown eyes and you and he could be the only two people in the world, never mind the room. You sniff, and you fumble away a stray tear before settling your palms on top of his.

You slow your breathing and Santi flashes you a small, proud smile. “That’s it, honey. Nice and slow. Just like that.”

Then, he flinches, his head leaning to the side as though he could physically retreat from whatever angry voice is no doubt blaring into his ear. Then, he makes a point of taking the earpiece out altogether, letting it hang over the collar of his white shirt.

He tugs in a huge exhale too, letting go of the tension he held in his body through his concern for you, although his eyes slit flit around your face in residual concern.

“They’ll be mad you did that,” you warn, with a nod to his earpiece.

“Whatever. It’s not my job to get you to the red carpet on time. It’s my job to look after you.”

“Your job? Hmm? That all I am to you?”

He flashes you a lopsided smile as you tease him. “I’m a lucky man. My job happens to be a thing I love doing outside of work too.” You lift your palm to his face, the familiar texture of his stubble beneath your fingers. “Now, honey. No rush. But do you wanna tell me what’s going on?”

You look away from him then as you realise he won’t let you distract him enough to avoid the true issue at hand, but his hands are still languidly smoothing your thighs, and you know he won’t make you do anything you don’t want to before you’re ready. He might dole out some tough love, eventually, but not until he is sure that you can take it. He lets you fumble until you find the words. “It’s... even the thought of it, Santi. This is the biggest thing I’ve ever done. All those cameras. All those eyes on me, I...”

Santi shushes you, as he hears the resurgent panic creep into your voice, even as your fingertips idly trace over his handsome features, a self-soothing unconscious thing, as he continues to kneel before you.

But while you may be panicked, he’s smiling. Looking up at you earnestly. “You deserve all those eyes on you, hermoso.” You don’t mind at all that when his voice comes out now it’s both fond and a just a little dirty as his own, very attentive eyes sweep over you.

“I don’t know...” You nibble on your lip again.

“Baby. You deserve this night. You’ve worked so hard for this. You’re so talented. And holy shit. You look so fucking hot in this suit I can barely function.” You let out a small, tentative laugh, which Santi seems pleased by, his own eyes creasing at the corners in return. “Besides,” he continues, tone more earnest now, his thick brows raised as he hammers his point home. “I’ll be right there. Just a few steps behind you, okay, mi Principe?”

You take one more deep breath, expelling it slowly and steadily through the “o” of your mouth, and Santi can’t resist your pursed lips a moment longer. Yet, for all his comments about how hot you are, his kiss is not as devouring as you might expect. It is a soft, tender thing, barely skimming your lips, and yet even so it appears to inspire a reverent heat in him, his eyelashes fanned on his cheek as his eyes remain closed a moment longer. As he expels a gust of disbelieving air at how you make him feel from this alone.

“Or,” he proposes, his voice breathy. “We could sack this whole thing off? We could order chilli cheese fries to the room and I can suck you off until you can’t think straight?”

You kiss him again, this time giving him just a hint of tongue, even as you laugh musically into his open, increasingly eager mouth.

“Appealing as that sounds, my love, I probably shouldn’t miss this...” you nod your head towards the door “...lil thing.”

“Yeah. Probably.” Santi concedes with a fond, lopsided smile, his eyes flashing with adoration, until he reluctantly schools himself back to something resembling professionalism. He gives you a few moments to gather yourself, and for his... eagerness to subside, before asking “You ready?”.

You nod. “Ready as I’m gonna get.”

“There he is. That’s my man.” Santi gives your thighs one more squeeze before he stands, and you swear you hear his poor knees creak; and then, he is replacing his ear piece, his face becoming all business as he presses two fingers to his ear. “Kolpakov? We’re ready to move out. Everyone in position?”

He awaits the response before turning back to you, practically gasping as he sees you stood there in all your glory for the first time. His eyes sweep up and down the length of you. He shakes his head incredulously, switching his mic off for a moment more. “Fuck me. You look like a fucking dream.”

“Not so bad yourself,” you respond in a loving, flirtatious tone, dancing your fingertips across his chest as you sweep past him towards the doorway and he turns with you as if in your thrall.

As you prepare, taking another deep breath and gripping the handle, Santi reaches for your arm, delaying you for just another moment. “Santi,” you laugh. “We can do the chilli cheese fries later, I promise.”

But that’s not quite what he has in mind. He looks at you intensely, and he cups your face in his broad palm. “Don’t forget. You deserve those eyes on you. But if you get overwhelmed, know that my eyes are on you. Wherever you go, I’ll be right behind you.”

The sentiment and sincerity with which he says this makes your mouth fall open in shock. Makes your chest constrict with happiness rather than nerves - but you aren’t afforded the opportunity to respond. In the next moments, the door is flung open, and your entourage is flooding you, barking directions and whisking you down the staircase and out on to the red carpet.

You are pulled away from Santi, and you don’t get to be near him again, besides a quick, surreptitious whisper into the shell of your ear as he follows you out the door “we need to talk about your ass in these pants because holy shit” - but that is all you can steal.

True to his word though, wherever you go he is right behind you. He is there with a firm arm to form a protective wall should a photographer come too close, or a fan get too handsy over a barrier. He is standing, stern and formidable to your rear as you provide sound bites to the tv stations forming a line up to the venue (and, trying very hard not to ogle your ass in these pants, probably).

He’s right behind you, designed to fade into the background in every sense. For all his charisma, he’s good at it. Not drawing attention. Even his suit is designed to be non-descript.

But... that’s not where he should be, you realise.

And, when you are almost at the end of the carpet, you stop in your tracks. You hesitate, and you turn around, your gaze instantly finding him in the crowd. He looks concerned, alarmed, as though you may have gotten the jitters again and like you might be about to do a runner.

But that’s not it. That’s not it at all.

In fact, you are more calm and sure than you have been all evening, looking at his befuddled, deer in headlights expression as all the attention suddenly falls on him. He has some big talk and a tough exterior, but the centre of him is soft, and you love that about him.

And so, a cautious smile blooms on your face as you settle firmly on your plan of action, and you walk determinedly in the “wrong” direction, going against the stream of attendees and making a beeline for your love, as he, for once -your man of action- stands frozen in confusion.

Then, when you arrive at him you stop, placing both your hands flat on the lapels of his suit, smoothing them down.

“What are you-?” he begins to ask, but you cut him off.

“Santi, my love. This is ridiculous. I don’t want you behind me. I want you by my side. Where you should be. So, fuck it. Will you do me the honour of accompanying me to this premiere?”

He answers with a smile. With sparkling eyes. With his arms flung around your waist. With the press of his curved lips against yours, and a slip of his supple tongue. “Baby. I’ll always be by your side.” His hands slip a little lower. “Or - you know - sometimes right behind you.” He winks at you. God, you adore this idiot.

So, you wrap your arms around him, guffawing fondly into his neck before kissing him again, more deeply, not caring who’s watching. Your face splits with a beaming smile as you break from the embrace and link your arm into his, proceeding to walk up the carpet again: together this time.

“Fuck me though, honey,” Santi leans over to confide in you as he straightens up his tie, as if suddenly noticing the photographers for the first time now that they are noticing him. “You could have warned me you were going to french me on the red carpet, I would have put on a better suit.”

You laugh warmly as he continues to babble, and you reassure him that he looks perfect.

You know he’s doing his best to mask it, but he’s the nervous one now - you can tell. “Don’t worry, handsome,” you reassure. “Just you and me, remember?”

No-one else in the world.

“Jesus. How do you do this?” he asks, balking at all of the camera flashes going off in his face, his voice choked.

Luckily, Kolpakov - his second in command- figures out what’s happening and takes the cue to intervene, shifting the line back just a little to give the two of you some space. A good job too as you see beads of sweat forming on your love’s brow.

“How do I do this?” you ponder. “Well, I always have you to protect me, right?” You squeeze his arm tenderly. “And I’ll protect you now, my darling.”

This- having him by your side? You have no doubt that this feels right. It is where he has been all along, albeit only in the shadows. In private moments. But tonight, as he encouraged you into the spotlight, you realised how little you cared for hiding. You need him with you.

“Jesus,” Santi chuckles, looking around and trying to take everything in. “The boys are gonna have a fucking field day with this one. I didn’t even tell them we were dating.”

“What the hell, Garcia?!” you chide fondly, mouth open in a shocked “o”, before beginning to chatter and banter away with him as you easily fall into step together. Distracting him from his nerves like he always does for you.

With Santi by your side, you no longer care about all of the other eyes on you. All of the camera flashes. The crowds. Those watching at home.

You’re proud of your achievements. You’re proud of your relationship. And besides, the only eyes on you which you pay any heed to are his. Santiago’s gorgeous brown eyes, which, right now, shine with nothing but pride.

Yours shine right back.

You think he is the one who deserves all eyes on him, tonight.

[lesbian-deadpool]

Saving Rosie

Part One of Two: “I’m Not A Spy.”

Rosie Betzer x Reader

Words: 5,768

Warnings: WWII (and everything that comes with that era), Nazis, spy shit, arguing, alludes to execution, sadness... I think that may be it.

Request: No.

Summary: You save the woman you have grown close to over the past few years you have been undercover as a Nazi general, and now you’re going to save her family.

A/N: Me, still broken after watching Jojo Rabbit almost a year and a half ago?? It’s more likely than you think... so, apparently I write Rosie Beltzer fics now lol

Also, just some lil notes. The reader in this is undercover as a male Nazi general, and they’re not actually German in this fic.

EDIT: I accidentally tagged this as a Natasha fic lmao. I fixed it now tho.

Ko-Fi

Commissions

(Not My GIF)

***

"It's a lovely night for it, huh?"

For what? You weren't 

certain. Maybe it was the full moon. Maybe, it was the clear sky. The deserted streets, perhaps... what loomed in the following days to come.

Or maybe, just maybe. It was the woman by your side.

The woman hummed, a small sweet smile caressing her face.

"One of the better ones we've had in years. Came her strong German accent. A stark difference to yours, considering you no longer had to mask it. Around her, anyway.

Your smile mirrored hers as it brightened.

"It sure is."

"I can't believe it's almost over. And after so long..." she said, while you grunted, sitting down beside her on the small roof over the open attic window. "This unjust war is finally coming to an end."

"Okay, you're starting to sound like my commander now."

Rosie chuckled at your words, moving to softly lean into your side, keeping her head up to continue looking at the bright white stars that littered the midnight blue sky.

"Why do you always insist on meeting up here?" you grumbled, no malice in your voice, "It's a pain in the ass to get up onto the roof, from the outside, y'know?"

"You're a spy, aren't you? Aren't you supposed to be good at this stuff?"

"Oh cheeky," you laughed, lightly slapping the side of her leg, with the back of your hand. Rosie's quiet giggles following your remark, "And I'm an undercover soldier. Those are two very different things."

"Still." She shrugged.

You sat in silence for a small while. Over the few years, you and Rosie had grown close. Meeting up on her rooftop, at the dead of night, where there was no chance of anyone seeing you together, this way, becoming an almost every day occurrence.

You knew you could trust her the moment you first met, almost three years ago. After you had stolen the identity of a Nazi officer, that looked starkly like you. Luckily, there was hardly any information about this person. So, there was less chance for your cover to be blown.

Soon, the resistance that Rosie had been deeply a part of was un-earthed to you, thanks to your informant and the letter she carried. It wasn't long after that you started working with them too. Helping them better than they could ever hope, thanks to the military resources and information you brought.

"What happened to your neck?" Rosie asked, pulling you out from where you were, deep in your memories.

A hand came up to rub at your slightly sore skin.

"My informant can be cruel..."

Rosie cocked a blonde eyebrow at you, wanting an explanation from you.

You sighed, getting ready to tell her.

***

Eyes burned into the woman from all sides as her heels kicked against the polished wooden, yet stained, floor. Her light brown hair shone under the glowing lights, confidence radiating from her just the same.

"Can I help you?" a German Soldier slid in front of her, she had to stop herself from sneering at the man. For both his being a Nazi and his sweaty stench. But instead, she managed a sultry smirk.

"I'm here to see your General," she replied, in a German accent.

"Don't bother," another Soldier, this one drunk and slightly swaying, called over, from where he was pressed into the wall a few feet behind her.

"I don't think your General would take too kindly to you stealing what they paid for."

"They're gonna have fun with you," he replied, blatantly looking her up and down. Like a wolf would, to a tiny bunny, ready to devour it whole. However, the wolf was not a wolf at all, the wolf was, in fact, the bunny, and the bunny was the actual wolf.

She would tear him to shreds, given the chance.

"The General is in the usual room," the original man said, "Fair warning, though. They're not in a good mood today."

The woman began strutting down the hallway, once again. Throwing, "Aren't they always?" over her shoulder once she passed him by.

When she opened the thick wooden door you resided behind, the sounds of your continued groan began pouring through the crack.

"Sometimes I cannot believe that you got this assignment," she uttered in her original London accent, with her back pressed against the now-closed door.

You finished your groan off and took a deep breath before you uttered your reply.

"Luck-of-the-draw, I guess," you spoke from the floor where you lay on your back, with a shrug, "That, or I look strikingly alike the guy who died. The Nazi prick."

She walked over to you, one foot rising to press her heel into your neck, your thyroid resting in the open space of the shoe.

A choking noise sprang from your mouth as you flailed your limbs around gently. You knew that if she were to press any harder, she would surely manage to choke you.

"You're not suited for this job."

The brunette pressed harder against your throat before she released you. Leaving you to turn on your side, coughing and spluttering.

"Well, no shit. I'm a soldier, not a spy."

"You can tell."

"What was that all about?" You motioned to your neck. Red marks already making their way upon the tender flesh.

"We need to make it seem like we are having sex. Remember? I am supposed to be your hooker after all."

"You're a bitch, is what you are."

She scowled at you as you rolled yourself onto your stomach, sighing when you finally got to your feet.

"Where's the update?"

You hummed, almost as if you were remembering what you were here to do. Removing the crystal tumbler from your lips the whisky sloshing around inside. Reaching behind you, you pulled the file from where it was tucked into your pants and under your shirt. Handing it over to her.

"Is this it?" She asked, weighing the file in her hand, "It's very light."

"Yeah, and so's the information swimming around. Unless you wanna hear about the fish Agatha caught last weekend," you snarked back, moving to point at the file with the same hand that held your glass, "There's some good stuff in there. It's not much. But it's good."

"I'll take your word for it."

She tucked the folder into the long overcoat she wore, then you saw her eyebrows furrow.

"Aren't you supposed to take care of that?" She nodded towards the uniform jacket you had thrown across the room not long after you had entered it.

"You sneered at the fore-talked about item.

"I hate it and everything it stands for." You turned back to face her. "As soon as all of this bullshit is over, I'm burning that fucking armband. And then the rest of the fucking uniform."

"Real calm there, aren't you?"

"Don't start shit with me, Hannah." You took a large swig of your drink, almost emptying the glass. "I know that you wish you had somehow gotten this mission. But trust me, you don't fucking want it. The shit I've seen and done. The stuff that I've had to authorise, just to keep my cover. The fucking horror storied these monsters have told proudly, or as if they're fucking jokes." You were panting now. "You don't want that."

You had her startled into silence. Hannah had never expected this to come from you.

"How's the resistance?"

You grunted. Downing the rest of the brown liquor before moving to pour yourself another glass three fingers tall.

"It's going." you gave a heavy nod. "Still trying to spread the word."

Hannah hummed, slowly making her way towards you. Fingers coming up to razzle her hair, and wipe her lipstick, so it smudged onto her cheek.

"How's the blonde?"

"What-?" you were cut off when she wiped the red lipstick on her fingers across your own lips, leaving a smudge like hers there. "Ugh," you groaned, moving away from her palm, only to utter small obscenities and sounds of pain when her lipstick freehand messed up your short, slicked-back hair.

"What blonde?" you finally managed to ask.

"The one from the resistance. What's her name?" She clicked her fingers together, in realisation, "Rosie."

"Oh! Yeah, she's fine, and so are the kids."

"You seem to be taking a shine to her, from what I hear from the resistance. You and Rosie seem to be something of a dynamic duo."

Suddenly your shirt was ripped open, from the collar to your ribs. Making your eyes widen in shock.

However, you were used to this by now, so they soon returned back to their regular size.

"Yeah, we're friends."

Hannah hummed, something akin to a knowing smirk on her face. As she untucked your shirt.

"I'd keep an eye on her, though."

She opened your pants.

"She's being watched."

Breathless at what she just said, you stood stock still, watching as she walked towards the wooden door.

"Oh." Hannah stopped, her hand upon the handle, pulling some pieces of paper from her pocket and threw them to the floor, "I'll leave you to deliver the bad news."

And with that, she left.

***

You forewent telling Rosie everything from the mention of her.

Thinking it the best if she heard it differently.

"That really sounds like a spy meeting to me," Rosie said with a smirk, knowing it would annoy you to no end.

You closed your eyes before you could roll them into the back of your head. Taking a deep breath, you exhaled, "I'm not a spy."

"So, you've said," she giggled.

"You're drunk," you mumbled to yourself.

"What was that?"

"How are the kids?" you asked, clearly watching as Rosie groaned lightly. Her head down-turned, almost sad looking.

"Jojo's still obsessed with Hitler and everything. And Elsa's doing her best. But I can tell how much this is affecting her. And in what world wouldn't it?"

"She's strong." You nodded. "She'll get through it. We all will."

"And what about Jojo?"

Rosie turned to face you, hair swaying as she did. You could see the glazed look in her eye's, telling yourself to be extra vigilant with the woman upon the roof. You had to make sure she didn't fall off in her drunken state.

"Is he going to be like this for the rest of his life?"

Tears were building in her eyes now.

"Supporting evil dictators, wanting to take over the world, and fill it with hate?"

"No. No, of course not," you whispered. Reaching over, you clasped her cheeks between your rough, war-hardened hands. Wiping away her silent tears. "He's just a boy. A boy who wants to be a part of something, even if he doesn't understand what that is. What monster's he's following. He will realise one day. Trust me."

"I trust you." She nodded. "It just. It's hard. It's so hard. Especially when he plays up, like he did at dinner today."

"He did?"

She hummed with a nod.

"We're low on food right now. I had to go without to feed Elsa. But Jojo, he didn't know, obviously, so he took that too. Then he started arguing about his father-"

You inhaled sharply, shoulders tensing. But luckily for you, she didn't notice your reaction.

"-I yelled at him... we made up not long after, but I still feel awful about it. I'm a terrible mother."

"No, you're not-"

"I am-"

"No. You're not," you said firmly. Grabbing her forearm, gently moving it side to side, to get your point further across, "You're such a caring and amazing person. Your heart is so big and kind. And you're an even better mother. It's like all of that is doubled for those kids."

"Thank you," Rosie whispered, tears in her eyes once again, before she moved to wipe them away.

"Anyway, you're way better than my mother. She abandoned me at a farm. I was lucky a cow didn't shit on me."

She giggled at your little joke.

"I'm so sorry that happened to you."

"There's no need. I wouldn't change it."

Things were quiet for a few minutes when you suddenly remembered.

"Oh!" You reached into your pocket and pulled out three packages, wrapped in brown paper and tied together with string. "I guess it was just lucky that I brought these then."

"What are they?"

"Beef sandwiches, I thought you would like them."

"Oh, you're a lifesaver," she spoke in something close to a moan as she took a bite out of her sandwich.

You gave a small chuckle at the woman seated beside you, "I'd thought you'd say that. I'll have to start bringing food over to these meetings of ours because it's not like I can do it out in the open."

"People would think something was going on between us," Rosie hummed.

"You're right about that. Everyone is so bored around here. Gossip is like their life sauce."

"Would you be surprised if I told you that it was the same before the war?"

"Not at all," you laughed.

Rosie finished her sandwich, and you dreaded what was coming next.

"I need to tell you something," you almost whispered.

She bumped her shoulder against yours when you didn't continue.

"Well? What is it?"

"It... it's about your husband..."

You watched her carefully as you said that, all the while emotions, flew into her while she processed them.

She held back more tears, ones from the look on her face that she had shed more times than she could count. Face contoured into one of concealed pain. Looking away from your gentle, caring eyes while rubbing her hands together.

"He's dead, isn't he?"

"I'm afraid so." You nodded, looking out before you, into the starry night sky.

That's when you felt a tiny jolt beside you. Looking over at the blonde, you watched as a tear trickled down her cheek.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered.

With a gasp and a wet sniff, Rosie wiped her tears away.

"What happened?"

"There was a raid, some members of a resistance was there, your husband included. None of them made it... they saved the people they intended to, however."

She nodded with a sad yet proud smile.

"How long ago was this?"

You swallowed. Hating the words you were about to say.

"A little over a year ago."

You winced when you heard her sobs, ones being held in so hard just so no one could overhear her cries.

And, sickeningly so, the worst thing of all was that you didn't know how to help her.

Placing a hand upon her back, rubbing small comforting circles into her shoulder. Feeling her lean into you, face now pushed into your neck.

"I'm here. Everything's going to be alright."

You left not too long later, after already spending way too much time up on that roof.

Rosie wished you a "goodbye" with the promise that she would be fine. However, she didn't reply to you when you told her not to finish the rest of the wine. That she had been pounding for the majority of the day.

Before you arrived "home" and promptly collapsed onto the bed.

***

The afternoon sun was warm upon your face as you walked the streets of the German town. Watching as children ran around, women worked, and well, gossiped, and Nazi soldiers came and went.

Soon. You thought. This will all be over soon.

That's when you heard the murmured words from the women you had just walked past.

"Yes, the Gestapo. They're here right now."

"Who for?" the other woman asked, voice slightly higher at the aspect of such "juicy" gossip.

Sometimes it surprised you just how detached some of these people were from human lives. But then you took a step back and saw everything that was happening in the world. And you weren't surprised anymore. Just disappointed.

"The traitors wife. Beltzer."

And now you were scared.

"-They should be taking her to the square, right now."

It was like the world had slowed down as you turned to look at them, meeting their curious eyes.

The last thing you heard before taking off at a run towards the town square was a fading, "Like husband, like wife. I guess."

The people you passed by looked at you like you were insane. To see a, what they thought, General, sprinting down streets and panting like crazy, it set them on edge.

But you didn't give a damn about what anybody thought.

You just had to get to the square.

And quick.

***

By the time you got there, you had a light shine over your skin. Thanks to the sweat from both the running you had done and the worry that coursed through you.

"Remove your hands from her," came your faux German accent.

"She is a traitor to the Reich," one of the Gestapo's, seemingly the leader, replied assuredly.

"And what proof do you have of this?"

Rosie was terrified. You could see that as clear as day, no matter how she tried to keep calm. It was written all over her face.

So, you forcefully pushed their hands from the heavily breathing woman and pulling her to stand by your side and away from the group of men dressed in black suits.

"I'll have you know, we have very probable tips from some of the community-"

""Probable"?!" you shouted, causing the on edge woman beside you to jump slightly. To which you pulled her closer to you as a form of comfort. Your hand, coming to rest on her shoulder.

"Yes. Probable. We cannot have risks."

"Well, I say that it is bullshit."

"You have no jurisdiction or authority over our department."

"And I never said I did. I am saying that I vouch for this woman."

"But the tip-off's-" another man began.

"You choose to believe lonely and bored housewives over a General?!" You watched as their faces fell, and they tried to grab onto any straw they could to change your mind.

"There is still a chance-"

"There is no chance!"

"And can you be so sure?!"

"Do you really believe that I, a General, would be with her if you were right?"

"With her?" a third Gestapo asked curiously.

You knew what you had to do to get her back home, safe and away from the men trying to execute and make a spectacle of her. Just like the poor people hanging to your right.

"It means that I have been seeing her. Romantically, if you still do not fully understand, what I mean."

They didn't say anything for a few short moments, only stumbling and stuttering over their own voices.

"So, tell me. Who are you choosing to believe?"

"Uh. Y-You General."

"Good." You nodded once. "Now, I'm going to take her home. Goodbye, gentlemen," you spat. Turning on your heel, with Rosie under your arm, and walking away.

"Are you okay?" you whispered. Not drawing any attention to yourself or Rosie.

"I'm fine. Thank you for saving me," she replied in the same way.

"I wouldn't have done anything else." Your hand slipped down to the blondes dip in her lower back, helping to guide her back home. "Where are the flyers? Did you have any on you?"

"Yes. I threw them down the drain before they could see."

"Good. You did good." A squeeze to her hip before your hand returned to her lower back, just to keep up the appearance of the lie. "They're not gonna find them."

***

Rosie had relaxed more by the time you were at the bottom of her street when you saw a distinctly expensive car parked outside of Rosie's house. A car that everyone knows belongs to that of Gestapo's.

"Is Jojo home?" you asked, just stood there starring at the sight, with Rosie by your side.

"Yes," she husked.

"Shit."

And that's when you both broke out in a run.

You, being faster than Rosie, arrived at the building first. Barging through the door, with her hot on your heels.

Pounding your way up the stairs, only to come face to face with a gang of men, identically dressed to the Gestapo's, you had just saved Rosie from. Along with Jojo and Elsa, in clothes that didn't look like they belonged to her. Not to mention the demoted soldier, holding an identification book.

"What is the meaning of this?!"

"What are you doing in my house?!" you and Rosie said at the same time. Your yell angrier, compared to her more so worried one.

"We are searching the premises," the lead man, who wore round glasses, spoke. Face confused as to why Rosie was still alive. But as soon as he saw the anger chiselled upon your face. He could take a successful guess as to who had stopped the execution.

"Mama, they were just checking Inge's identification," Jojo said as his mother rushed towards him. Her hands, on his cheeks, as she checked him over.

"Oh, yes. Of course." Rosie pulled Jojo along to bring Elsa into her side, just as you had done for her mere minutes ago. "Are you both alright?"

She gained words and nods of confirmation from the two children.

"I think it's time that you all left."

"But-" one Gestapo said, looking to Rosie.

"But nothing," you continued, "I'm sure your associates will fill you in on their mistake. Now, if you are finished, I ask that you leave this house."

"We were just about to, anyway," the leader said, leading the way out for everyone. But not before the ID was handed back to the assumed Inge. With you trailing after, to slam the door behind them.

You turned, leaning your back against the wooden door, sighing deeply.

"Are they gone?" Rosie called down, leaning over the railing, to peer down at you.

The stairs creaked below you, the layer of carpet doing nothing to quiet them. You spoke your confirmation, as you reached her, "They're gone."

The kids looked like they had just been caught with their hand's in the cookie jar.

"So..." the caring woman started, "You two know about each other."

They nodded.

"For how long?"

"A couple of weeks, at most," Jojo said.

"How did you even find out about her?"

"I-I found the hatch-"

"He crawled in-"

"And I found her-"

"He was terrified."

"Was not!"

"Was too."

"Was not!"

"Was too!"

"Okay, enough," Rosie raised her voice, gaining the bickering children's attention.

Taking a breath, she ran her hands through her soft blonde hair.

"And you never told anyone?"

"No." Jojo shook his head. "I didn't want you to get into trouble..." It was at that point, he realised you were silently stood behind his mother, watching as everything unfolded and who you were.

Rosie caught this and looked over her shoulder at you.

"Don't worry," she told both of the kids, crouching down before them. Elsa's face one of mild terror.

This is when it hit you that these kids were exactly that.

Kids.

Kid's that were too scared of their mothers, or motherly figure, scolding them, than the actual, apparent danger that lurked not too far away.

"They're not going to tell anybody. They know. And won't let anything happen. To any of us." she manoeuvred to face you. "Right?"

You nodded. "Absolutely. I will do my best to protect all of you."

"Speaking of." She slowly rose to her feet, walking towards you.

The hand that Rosie placed upon your arm was gentle, almost like she was worried she would hurt you. Fingers curling into the jacket of the uniform you loathed.

"I have to speak with the General. So, you two stay up here. Understood?"

They nodded.

"Good." She pulled you through the open door, but before she could close it fully, her head popped through the door, "Oh. And we're not done yet. We still have a lot to talk about."

Then the door clicked shut.

"You're really good at that."

"What?"

"Being a mother."

"I know. You've told me before."

***

Things had changed rather quickly when you arrived downstairs.

Sat upon the blue cotton cushions of the wooden framed couch. Watching as Rosie paced around in front of you, fingertips rubbing against her full lips, worry etched across her face.

Your eyebrows shot up, and your body straightened when she turned to face you. Arms now down by her sides.

"So, we're together, huh?"

"I'm sorry," you replied, German accent dropped, "But that was the only thing that would get them to back off and drop the suspicions against you."

"I know." She nodded, completely understanding. Before her minimal composure dropped, and the worry came back. "What do we do? Jojo obviously thinks you are a traitor now. What if he tells someone?"

"He won't." You stood abruptly, taking Rosie's shoulder's into your hands, squeezing them gently. "He didn't tell anyone about Elsa when he had so many chances to do so. Hell, he had the chance, not even five minutes ago. But he hasn't said a word, purely just to keep you safe... he doesn't understand that this could hurt him and Elsa too. He doesn't know what's happening."

"But this is different-"

"Yes, it is different. It's better he thinks I'm a traitor, helping his family, than him knowing I'm an undercover soldier."

"You mean a spy?"

"Don't you start with that shit." You pointed at her playfully.

Rosie's smile dropped when a thought popped into her mind.

"Do you think they will still come back?"

"It is possible," you said honestly, "Which is why we should leave as soon as we possibly can."

"And go where?"

"Anywhere that isn't here."

"What do I tell the kids- What do I tell Jojo?" she clarified.

"The truth. You tell them that they could come back and that we all need to leave because we could all be in danger."

With her head in her hand's, the blonde scoffed tearily, "God. This fucking war."

"I know. I know."

You pulled her into your chest, letting her cry into you. Arms wound around your torso tightly.

"I hate it, For so many reasons."

"I know," you repeated again, "I feel the same."

"When will it just end? When will people be safe again?"

Deciding that it would be best to tell her the truth, you said, "I don't know. Soon I hope."

And there you sat, for a small while longer, allowing the blonde to cry into your chest.

***

You had left.

Gone to go gather some of your things, thinking it best to stay with Rosie and the kids while you were forced to stay in town.

All the while Rosie, spoke to the kids about leaving.

"I don't understand why we have to go!"

Was what you were greeted with as you entered the home.

"Because it is not safe for us here anymore," Rosie's voice came, calm but firm.

"But they won't come back."

"That's not entirely true," you spoke, entering the kitchen. Placing the leather bag you carried and the wicker basket upon the small table against the wall, you continued, "There's always a chance, no matter how small."

The young boy watched you silently for a minute. Not knowing what to say.

"Trust me, Jojo. I know how all of this works. I just want to keep you all safe, so does your mother. And this is the best way to do it.2

Jojo sighed.

"Where will we go?"

Rosie looked at you intently when her son asked this, wondering the same thing.

"We'll get out of town first. Then we'll focus on a safe place for us all to go."

"Jojo, would you. Would you go to your room, please?" Rosie asked, "I need to speak with the General, alone."

Just as the blonde boy was about to protest, he was cut off.

"Now. I also have to start preparing dinner."

He huffed and walked from the room, bounding up the stairs rather loudly.

You felt bad for the woman as you watched her grip the sides of the oven, bow her head, and give a great sigh.

"Where's Elsa?"

"She's in her hiding spot." Then she turned to face you. "Y/N, K know that Elsa isn't Inge."

"What?"

"She got Inge's birthday wrong, and he didn't say anything."

Your eye's wandered as you took in the information that was just given to you.

"Do you think he will say anything?"

"I don't know," you said with a shrug, "But I don't wanna take any chances. It's too risky."

"I agree." Rosie nodded once. "So, when do we leave."

"As soon as possible. Tonight if we can. Only pack the essentials. And not yet, we can't raise any suspicions."

Rosie's only reply and indication that she had heard you were a good few nods.

And then.

"What's in the basket?"

"Oh," you said chipperly, "Don't worry about cooking. I brought dinner."

***

Turns out "tonight" wasn't a viable option for skipping town, as with loud, almost deafening sirens of dread filled the sky came the air-raid strike.

"Wouldn't it give us a good cover, though?" Rosie had asked, preparing for bed.

You had resigned yourself to staying over, as a sort of bodyguard, while still in town. And the threat was still very much weighing in the winds.

You looked over your shoulder at her. Being spotted by her through the mirror of her vanity, where she sat. Removing her makeup and then applying some face cream.

"I'm not the only one by a window," you told her. Then moved to peer through the window, at the moving lights in the black, midnight sky. "I'm sure I heard Elsa and Jojo in the attic watching them."

"They are," she confirmed.

"See. We're not the only ones. Too many eyes. A good distraction," you admitted, "But almost impossible. And with two kids added to that? No chance."

A hum came from Rosie.

"So, what are our options?"

With a sigh, you began explaining, "People will be too jumpy tomorrow, so our best bet would be the day after."

The blonde, now ready for bed, came over to you. Moving to stand right in front of you, looking out the window herself.

"Wouldn't it be too risky, staying here that long?"

It seemed it was your turn to hum, shrugging your shoulders.

"I'd rather stay here a few more days than risk it out there. But there is a good side to these change of plans."

"And what's that?"

"Now, we can sneak stuff to the car. And won't risk being caught doing it all at night. That way, all we have to do is get in, then drive off."

"Good plan. Partner," Rosie spoke in a slight mocking about sultry tone. Which only made you roll your eyes good-naturedly.

"Yeah. Yeah. You're welcome."

"Seriously," you halted at Rosie's serious tone, raising your head to peer at her, "Thank you for everything."

"You don't have to thank me." Your lips ticked up in a small smile before you lightened the sober mood and atmosphere. "And you definitely won't be thanking me if I accidentally kick you in my sleep."

Rosie laughed at your words, watching as you said into bed beside her.

"Do not worry. If you kick me, I'll just kick you out of the bed."

"Now that's just rude."

Waking up the next morning was strange for you, to say the least.

With the bright sun shining through the thin drapes, across the cosy room, and onto the bed. Duvet lumpy above your forms.

And then there was Rosie.

The blonde pressed up against your side, head resting on your shoulder, arms curled around one of yours, still fast asleep.

Now that.

That was very unusual for you.

But then again. You were too sleepy to process anything at that moment. So instead, you just watched her breathe soothingly, looking so peaceful by your side, with your eyebrows furrowed and eyes squinted in curiosity.

It was a wonder how someone could look so contest face asleep like Rosie was, with everything that is going on in the world.

The world wouldn't be that way for much longer, you thought, it was only a matter of time before everything was over.

And the same thing could be said for the blonde sleeping by your side.

The wooden door barged open, alerting you fully awake, as Jojo strutted in. Only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight of you. In bed. With his mother.

You could see the slight anger in his eyes, purely out of protection for his beloved mother.

"Good morning, Jojo," Rosie said sleepily as she moved to sit up, looking at the boy with a sleepy smile.

You grunted as she pressed her palm into your abdomen to raise up into a seated position.

"What are they doing here?" he asked, nodding his head towards you.

Rosie looked over her shoulder at you, tired eyes evaluating you. Before she turned back to her son.

"There's something I forgot to tell you yesterday."

You watched the mother and child with slightly wide eyes, not uttering a word, just looking like you wanted to escape this situation.

"What did you forget?"

"The General here-" she patted your abdomen where her hand still resided. "-And I, are seeing each other."

It was a few good long moments as Jojo processed the words. You thought he was going to be angry. It would be natural. You would understand. He was a young boy, one who undoubtedly missed his father and would not be happy with his mother being with anyone else.

But you also had to understand that he idolised you, if only for your -albeit fake- position in the German military.

And yet, you were still surprised and confused by what he said next.

"A lion?"

Rosie smiled brightly, nodding her head, "A lion."

"A lion?"

That was the first thing you said that morning, and it was full of confusion.

But it fell on deaf ears.

Jojo nodded once at his mother before turning on his heel and walking from the room, without saying what he initially came in for.

"What?"

Rosie smiled at you.

"Come on, we should get moving."

The bed shook and bounced as she got up from the bed, preparing to get ready for the day.

"I'm so confused," you almost whimpered, only gaining a soft giggle in return.

***

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[smellsfaintlyofvanilla]

Hello omg, can I request Sasha with a warrior S/O? Like reader came with Annie, Reiner, and Bertholdt on their mission and during Reiner and Bertholdt’s reveal, she reveals herself too? UAUAUA it can be angst or whatever you prefer 🥺❤️

I gave the reader the Warhammer titan btw cause it’s my favorite akdkakfkd

Also, it’s a little long, but that’s just ‘cause I wrote out the whole warrior reveal in word form, and it’s longer than I remember lol

With You

(Sasha Braus x Reader)

AU: Canon, slightly divergent

Warnings: Gore/graphic description of injury, season 3 spoilers, slight season 4 spoilers

Genre: Angst

Summary: Following the battle at Utgard castle, Reiner stops to have a chat with Eren, and reveals that he, Bertholdt, and Sasha’s s/o are all titan shifters, right in front of Sasha.

Words: 3.9K

-------

You had no time to process what had happened. Ymir was a titan, Christa was Historia, and Zeke has finally made his appearance.

You sighed and leaned against the rope tethers of the pulley system, regaining your bearings on the platform as you were pulled up and over the wall. The battle of Utgard castle had been tough—and many secrets were uncovered.

So, Ymir was the titan that ate Marcel all those years ago... You recounted in your head, sighing as you held your face in your palms. And now Zeke is here. We must’ve been too long without any sign of progress. We’re in big trouble. If we get back without Annie and Eren, it’ll be all over for us. Magath is gonna—

“Y/n!” A cheery voice brought you out of your slump, and you looked over your shoulder to see Sasha standing behind you, an arm outstretched as an offering of help.

You smiled at the sight of your girlfriend, and you slowly rose from your spot on the makeshift elevator, taking her hand and pulling yourself up onto the wall. “Thanks, Sasha.”

As soon as you stood up straight, Sasha lunged at you and wrapped her arms around your shoulders, lifting her feet off of the ground as you leaned all of her body weight onto you.

“I’m so glad you’re okay...! I was so worried!” She buried her face in your neck as she spoke, and you wrapped your arms around her lower back, putting your hands on her butt as support so she could wrap her legs around your waist.

You giggled at her, cuddling closer into her embrace. “I’m alright, I’m okay. There’s no need to worry.”

“I know, but I heard that you and your squad got held up at Utgard castle overnight in the middle of a titan horde, and when we finally got there and saw the tower collapsed, I was so scared! I... I—!” She cried into your neck as you moved a hand to rub small circles on her back.

“I know, I know, but we’re okay now. We had a bit of...” You glanced to the left. Ymir lay unconscious and steaming in the stretcher, a distressed Historia leaning over her and brushing strands of brown locks out of her face. “Unexpected help.”

“Mhm...” She mumbled, leaning into you for support. You stayed like this in silence for a while, enjoying each other’s presence after so long of being separated.

“Hey, lovebirds!” A loud shout caught your attention, and both you and Sasha turned to the source; Connie. “Save that stuff for the dorms! We still have stuff to do!”

“Right...” Sasha muttered, climbing off of you and running towards Connie, helping him haul terrified soldiers over the wall.

You stared in admiration for only a brief moment before your attention turned to your comrades, Reiner and Bertholdt. Reiner’s arm was wrapped up in the torn cloth of Historia’s skirt, and Bertholdt was close by, the two of them standing in a solemn, heavy silence.

You approached them quietly, taking a seat next to Reiner. Neither of you said anything. The sudden appearance of the beast titan, or rather, Zeke, had shaken you all. You had been gone for years, and gave no sign of retrieving the Founding Titan. Not only that, but you had lost Marcel and Annie. No matter what, the situation wasn’t going to end smoothly for you three.

To the right, many of the Scouts had gathered around a blonde Garrison soldier. Hannes—his name popped into your mind, as Eren had mentioned him before, while in the 104th. He seemed to be disclosing something to the others, and they looked on with mixed expressions.

“Do you think this has something to do with Zeke?” You questioned. Reiner kept his face buried in his palm, and Bertholdt turned to you with a sigh.

“Most likely.” The tall man answered. “I mean, we saw him. He’s clearly here. He must be doing something with his spinal fluid. Speeding up the process, perhaps.” He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists in anxiety, eyes wide. “We’re in deep shit.”

You didn’t respond to him verbally, offering only a huff in solemn agreement.

The group of soldiers disbanded, though many branched of into separate conversations of worry, wonder, and resentment. As they walked off, Reiner stood up suddenly, eyes still fixated on the ground.

“Eren.” He called out, drawing the attention of the shorter man. “We should talk. You got a moment?”

“Sure, I guess.” He sighed, walking over. You and Bertholdt shared confused and concerned looks. The two of you had long noticed that Reiner had gone a bit off the deep end since arriving at Paradis, so you were wary of what he might say or do next.

“Five years ago, we compromised Wall Maria and launched an attack on humanity.” He spoke, turning his back to Eren, hanging his head in defeat. You looked at Bertholdt, and he mirrored your emotion. Panic.

“I’m the Armored Titan. He’s the Colossal.” He pointed his thumb in your direction when he spoke. “And she’s the Warhammer.”

“What are you talking about? Why are you telling him?” Bertholdt chocked out quietly.

“Reiner!” You whispered sharply, venom dripping from your tone. The three of you had done such a careful job keeping your identities secret from the others, and Reiner just spilled all of it. There was no going back from this.

“We were on a mission.” He continued.

“Stop!” Bertholdt pleaded, but Reiner didn’t waver.

“Our goal was to ensure mankind’s extinction. But now, there’s no need for that. Eren,” He turned to face the shocked and confused boy to his side. “If you want the walls to remain standing, it’s simple. Just come with Bertholdt, Y/n, and me. Do you understand?”

A good look to your left proved that he did not, in fact, understand.

“Understand? What the hell is there to understand?!” He shouted, drawing the attention of a few soldiers. Mikasa stood protectively a short distance away, and Sasha, with her impeccable hearing, turned to face the scene as well. The two of you made eye contact, and your distress must have been evident even at such a distance, because her eyes widened, and she started to make her way over with concern and confusion.

“Listen to me.” To your and Bertholdt’s horror, Reiner kept speaking. “I need you to do exactly as I say. Look, I know this is sudden, but we have to go.”

“Right now?” He exclaimed. “Where would you take me?”

“I can’t tell you. Not yet.” Internally, you started to collect yourself. This wasn’t ending quietly. Bloodshed was dreadfully immanent. “Just think of it as our hometown.” Your eyes widened. He’s just gonna ask Eren? You thought, astounded. After all this, he really thinks Eren is just gonna follow us? What is he thinking?!

“Okay? So what’s it gonna be? Not a bad deal, right? The chance to avert a major crisis?”

“I’m not so sure...” He muttered. You were surprised he didn’t have a stronger reaction, especially for someone as fiery as him. Perhaps he was still in shock, or denial. Either way, they were teetering on the edge of battle, even if you and Bertholdt were the only ones to sense it.

“You guys!” Armin shouted, waving to capture the attention of you, Bertholdt, Reiner, and Eren. “Get a move on, we’re heading out!” Despite that, Sasha pushed right past him, closing in to the conversation, standing still now that she was in earshot. Mikasa was to her left, watching Eren with a dangerously protection glare.

Eren closed his eyes, taking in a deep sigh. It felt as if, for a moment, the world stood still. Damn it, he thought, I didn’t want to believe it...

A distant memory flashed through his head. When Annie had been found out, they had discussed the possibility of Reiner, Bertholdt, and Y/n also being shifters, but they didn’t have proof. Was it really so simple, though?

He opened his eyes and placed a firm hand on Reiner’s shoulder. “You’re just tired. That’s it, right? Help me out here Bertholdt, Y/n. Your nerves are shot. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“U-Uh, yeah.” Bertholdt fumbled. “It’s the battle fatigue talking!”

“Yeah!” You reaffirmed, luckily being able to exude more confidence than Bertholdt. “You’re just tired. After everything that just happened, I can’t blame you.” You laughed nervously, praying no one saw through your bluff.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” Between your bluff, and his shock, Eren took the bait. “If you really were the Armored Titan, what’s the endgame here? We wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place. What’d you expect me to do? Say yes? Let myself be kidnapped just ‘cause you asked politely?” Somehow, you found yourself agreeing with Eren on that last one.

Despite Eren’s nonchalant response, a dead silence overtook the air, and Sasha found it as her cue to step forward.

“Y/n? What’s going on here?” She placed a hand on your shoulder, but as soon as she did, you looked back. She gasped at the sight. You looked petrified.

“Right. Not thinking straight, am I?” He finally gave up his ploy, wide-eyed and sweating bullets. “Barely know what I’m saying here. Must’ve gone off the deep end.”

Eren turned his back to the three of you. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Deafening silence and still air ensued. You did not move. The clouds cleared, and rays of sun shone down on the stone beneath your feet.

“That’s the problem.” Reiner shook. He chuckled, and shadows covered his face. You’d never seen him like this before.

“I’ve been here too long for my own good. Three years of this madness, surrounded by idiots. We were kids. What’d we know about anything?”

You couldn’t help but agree with Reiner on that one. You didn’t want to become a warrior, none of you did. If you knew the atrocities you had to commit in order to have the essence of a warrior, the idea would’ve never crossed your mind.

“Why did there have to be people like this.” He choked, tears pricking his eyes and mouth spread into a wide, ugly frown. “Why? Why did I let myself devolve into such a half-assed piece of shit?”

“It’s too late now.” He lifted his arm out of the cast makeshift cast, and held his arm up, showing the red and bloody bite mark. “Damned if I know what’s right anymore! Who cares? It is what it is. No choice but to face what I’ve done! As a warrior.”

His arm steamed, and shortly after, the skin closed up, blood drying and appearing as if he’d never been injured from the get-go.

“No road left but the one that leads to the end!” He screamed. Eren’s eyes widened as he gasped. He finally understood.

“Reiner! Right now? Here?” Bertholdt yelled back, prepared for anything, despite the beads of sweat that rolled down his face.

“We’re really doing this?!” You echoed, and Sasha looked on with a horrified expression.

“Yes. Right here, right now!” He commanded, marching towards Eren. “We settle this once and for all!”

Mikasa appeared out of nothing in a fraction of second, blades drawn and mind set on murder. She swung her blade at Reiner, who put up his hand defensively as the blade split his hand in half from his fingers all the way to his wrist. She spun around in an instant, and her blade cleanly slashed right across Bertholdt’s neck, who fell to the ground screaming and holding his throat.

He eyes were set on you, and an underhanded swing of her blade slashed a line right across your face. Blood immediately clouded your vision, and you groaned in pain as you were sure you had lost an eye.

She charged at you, determined to finish the job, but her sprint was interrupted by Sasha, who tackled Mikasa at full force, and the sword tumbled out of her grasp as Sasha pinned her down.

“Sasha!” She struggled. “Sasha, move! What are you doing?!” She tried to get up, but Sasha managed to overpower her momentarily, keeping her firmly on the ground.

“MIKASA STOP! PLEASE!” She pleaded at the top of her lungs. Rationally, she knew you were the enemy now, but she’d be damned if she let you die here, after everything the two of you had been through.

“Sasha, you can’t—!”

“I DON’T CARE!” She screamed. “YOU AREN’T GONNA HURT HER!”

Mikasa took quick advantage of Sasha’s emotional state and hurled her off, and she tumbled into a heap a few feet away. With little hesitation, Mikasa reequipped her blades.

But it was too late.

“Bertholdt! Y/n!” Reiner barked, lighting already manifesting around him.

The two of you looked at each other with horrified understanding, and prepared your own transformations.

Sparks of electricity surrounded you, and panic filled adrenaline exploded into flesh. Limbs shot out around you, plus the familiar hardened skin of the Armored, the skinless muscle of the Colossal, and the cloudy white body of your own titan.

Seconds passed, albeit one’s that felt like centuries, and you finally opened your eyes. You stood tall on top of the wall; 15 meters high. To your right, Reiner. And behind him was Bertholdt. Only half formed due to the space, and his lower body ceased to exist. Ribs shot out and dug into the stone, and powerful gusts of steam shot off of his body.

The terrified pawns on the wall stared up at you, mouths agape. But the shock didn’t last long.

The hurricane of steam that came off of Bertholdt started to throw things around, and those who didn’t make quick use of their ODM gear were sent flying. One of those figures, Eren, was quickly swept up by Reiner in the chaos.

It was no use, though. That’s why you weren’t surprised in the slightest when he bit his hand and sparks flew, his transformation queued by a guttural scream of rage.

“Damn you... YOU TRAITORS!”

The Attack Titan formed in Reiner’s hand, fist already drawn back and preparing a strike to Reiner.

In a fraction of a second, you formed a large hammer—your namesake weapon—from hardened titan skin, raising it into the air with a passionate battle cry.

The hammer struck Eren in his flank, and he flew abruptly to the left. You shot Reiner a look, and he looked down in understanding, drawing his arms back in preparation for a charge.

Eren had stood up by the time Reiner had started his charge, and immediately braced for impact—he didn’t have the time to move.

Reiner collided with Eren, and knocked him to the ground effortlessly, his greater size and weight being of good use.

The two wrestled on the ground, and you hesitated to intervene. After all, your weapon was powerful, but imprecise. You couldn’t risk accidentally hitting Reiner. Instead, you turned around, assessing the situation on the wall, where Bertholdt had been unceremoniously shackled.

It seemed no one was brave enough—or rather, stupid enough—to approach the colossal in it’s torrid state, and you didn’t know if you should be frustrated or grateful.

But, out of the corner of your eye, a figure swung. Your eyes widened slightly in amusement as ODM gear shot from tree to tree, approaching you at in impressive speed. Hmph. Guess someone is stupid enough after all. You thought.

You were about to swipe them away without a second thought, but you faltered at the sight of auburn brown hair, loosely tied into a familiar ponytail.

You must’ve gotten a little distracted by the sight, because you were suddenly brought back to attention by the figure landing on your shoulder, the hooks of their ODM gear digging into your shoulder, which you assumed were used as leverage mere seconds ago.

You turned your massive head to look at it, and you saw the figure gasp and tremble at the sight. Sometimes, you forgot how terrifying your titan was. But you perked up for a moment, brought out of your violent trance by a familiar face.

“Y/N!” It was Sasha. “Y/n, what is going on here?!”

You opened your mouth to respond, and it came out in a gravely, deep tone because of your titan form. “Sasha...?”

She released the grapples of her ODM to run up and hug your neck—the best she could, that is, with your immense size.

“Y/n! Come on! Why didn’t you tell me! This... this isn’t you... tell me there’s a reason!!!” She screamed.

Turning back to observe Eren and Reiner’s struggle, you sighed internally. It was just like her to get too emotional in a situation like this.

You turned back to Sasha with a sad look in your eyes. Carefully, you brought your hand up to pinch the hood of her Scout jacket, lifting her and placing her back down on top of the wall.

Slowly, you crouched down to her level, meeting her eye to eye despite the pain it caused you to see the heartbroken look in her eyes. Your hand curled around her back to support her, the only kind of pseudo-hug you could give at the moment. Your thumb gently made its way to the top of her head, and you moved it down slowly to caress her head. Tears streamed down her face, the internal conflict being far too much for her to bear.

But a sudden mass to your lower back brought you out of your intimate moment with her. Pain shot up through your body as you felt your back collide with the ground, and your eyes opened in horror. Eren had somehow managed to best Reiner in their scrimmage—and he was after you now.

You started to form the base of your hammer in your hands once again, but a forceful punch to your jaw stopped it’s formation out of the shock and pain.

Another fist made it’s way to your face—and another, and another, and another. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you could hear noises. Roaring, growling, and, the loudest of them all, screaming. Though, in your state, you couldn’t discern if it was even you or not.

Eren delivered his last punch with a frightening roar of passion, and your neck twisted at an unnatural angle as your head snapped off the titan body with a horrid, bone-grinding sound.

Your battered body fell out of the nape of the titan, using what was left of your strength to emerge at the last second. It was all you had in you, though, and the last thing you heard was your own heavy breathing and distant shouting as your vision started to vade.

Eren stood up tall, towering over your unconscious body, raising his fists in the air with a triumphant roar of victory, the cheers of soldiers filling the air.

Filled with adrenaline and ego, he picked up your limp body in his hand, dangling your body over his already opened mouth.

He was going to eat the Warhammer—right here, right now.

That is, until a foreboding cracking noise brought his attention away from you. It took a few seconds for him to locate the source. The Colossal Titan.

It’s bones snapped and ground against one another, it’s massive body slowly shifting like a collapsing skyscraper. It twisted, turned, and groaned until it slowly lost it’s iron grip on the wall—and it was heading straight for Eren.

It’s body collided with Eren, and the force of the impact was comparable to that of an earthquake. Smoke rose from the ground as dirt was upended, trees crackling and snapping as chunks of rock flew up and around from the impact area.

The force of the impact sent you flying through the air. It didn’t take any hesitation, though, for your girlfriend to go flying through the air, catching your bloody body in her arms and wrapping herself around you to keep you safe as she hit the ground and slid against the dirt.

She groaned audibly from the pain, gritting her teeth in a feeble attempt to numb the painful sensations. But, her pain suddenly subsided when she laid eyes on you.

Your lower half had been all but obliterated. Your legs were completely crushed and squeezed out like an old container of toothpaste, and blood gushed from your stomach. She tried in vain to ignore the sight of your snapped bones twisting at odd angles and protruding through your skin.

Panicked, she brought an ear to your chest, desperately searching for that steady rhythm of life beating in your chest.

She had never taken a deeper sigh of relief than she did now, overjoyed at the slow heartbeat you clung onto. It was weak, yes, but you were still here. With her. That’s all that mattered.

Steam slowly rose from your stomach as your body attempted to heal your wounds. Even in a situation like this, your body managed to find the strength to start recovering.

She cradled your body to her chest, sobbing out in both relief and distress as you bled out onto her. Her clothes were already stained red, and her hands were sticky with morbid crimson, but she didn’t care. She held you close, as close as you could possibly be without her physically crushing you, catching her breath and calming herself to the sound of your shallow breaths.

It was a short-lived moment, though, as a dark shadow suddenly covered the ground, and Sasha froze with fear with you in her arms. By the shadow alone, it was impossible to tell if it was Eren or Reiner, and she didn’t want to check. She curled around you, crying quietly in preparation of getting crushed.

But it didn’t happen. A large finger instead placed itself on Sasha’s shoulder, pushing her out of the way to observe your injured state. Her body trembled fearfully as she turned to face it, and was met with the Armored Titan.

She wasn’t sure what to expect next, really. It could’ve crushed her like an ant and ran away with you, or worse, separated her and run off with just you.

She didn’t want to be apart from you. Even if it made her a terrible soldier, even if it made her treasonous, dishonorable, and irredeemable, she would stick with you, no matter whose side you were on. Right or wrong, she was staying with you.

Reiner hesitated for a moment. He couldn’t just bring a Paradis soldier back, it would be a huge problem down the line. But, his eyes glanced to you. He was certain that if he left Sasha there without you, you would never have forgiven him.

So, he cut his losses and gently scooped the two of you up in his hand, holding you and her close to his chest as he started running—god knows where to. She caught a glimpse of a Bertholdt in his other hand, as well as Ymir, still unconscious and strapped to her stretcher.

And Eren. Somehow, Reiner had the severely injured and incapacitated shifter quite literally in the palm of his hand.

Sasha knew that once people slowly started waking up, the fighting would only continue, but she savored this moment. Even if you were bleeding and hurt, your face looked peaceful. As odd as it sounded, she felt content with you in this moment.

As Reiner ran further and further from the wall, Sasha glanced over his shoulder, watching as the faces of her former comrades as they faded into the background.

I wish somebody cared for me the way Sasha cares about Y/n in this fic lmaooo

[pluviophile-imagines]

3 for bakugo or todoroki

I decided to do Bakugo for this, & then I got this ask after I closed the prompts for this event so I decided to go ahead and do it because it’s actually one of only two Halloween-related ones and I was planning to make this Werewolf!Bakugo anyway lol. This is a fun little AU that just kinda swaps quirks for supernatural creatures, loosely based off of a bunch of campy halloween stuff like Halloweentown and Sabrina The Teenage Witch. Also, the werewolves have destined mates like those dumb Wattpad novels, because sometimes tropes are fun and cute. Also this is THREE TIMES AS LONG AS I MEANT TO MAKE ALL OF THESE but ive also gotten like five??? individual asks for it 😭😭😭so y’all better not let it flop.

3: kissing so desperately that their whole body curves into the other person’s

Though you’ve known Bakugo pretty much your whole life, there’s a lot about werewolves that you don’t know.

If he were a different person, he probably wouldn’t be telling you at 5:47 on his 21st birthday that he’s apparently supposed to figure out who his soulmate is going to be tonight. If he weren’t so closed off, even to his best friend of over a decade and a half, then perhaps you wouldn’t be having this conversation, and perhaps it wouldn’t feel quite like pulling teeth.

“You have a soulmate?” is really all you can say, because most of your mental capacity is going towards keeping the sob in the back of your throat from being audible.

“Yeah,” he grunts. He’s not even looking at you, because he’s holding his phone in one hand and he’s scrolling through it, and though the two of you are sitting on opposite sides of the couch he has your feet in his lap, free arm wrapped all the way around them like he doesn’t want you to leave. “It’s… I dunno. Kinda cool, I guess.”

“All of you have soulmates?”

“Well, yeah. You witches don’t?”

You wrinkle your nose, trying your hardest to ignore the burning at the backs of your eyes. “No. We don’t.”

Out of the corner of your eye you see him purse his lips, as if troubled by the revelation. “Huh. How d’you know who’s the one, then?”

“We just. Figure it out? I guess. Is this why you’ve never dated anyone?”

“Yeah. Not really interested in anyone but my destined.”

He says it so easily, but you know him well enough to understand. He likes the idea of a soulmate; he’s looking forward to figuring out who they are tonight. Who would have guessed that he was a romantic?

It’s awful. It makes your chest burn. You’d only come to terms with your crush on the guy two months ago. Now he’s gonna be taken from you by some random person he’s never met?

No, you suppose, he’s always belonged to them. That’s how it works, right?

“D’you know who it’ll be?”

“Hah? No, dumbass, if I did that would defeat the purpose.” Bakugo pauses, glancing over at you with just his eyes, then darting them away just as fast. It’s probably just a trick of the light, but you could swear he blushes a little as he mumbles, “I know who I want it to be, though.”

Your eyes widen and you lean up, pulling your legs back (ignoring the way his hands tense before letting them go as if he wants to hold on) so that you can kneel on them right next to him. “Who?”

“Not happening.”

“Bakugo,” you whine, drawing out the last syllable of his name.

“I’m not telling you, brat.”

You lean forward, prodding at his cheek. “Is it Mina?”

“No.”

“Jirou?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Kirishima?”

Bakugo growls out your name, a warning, but you don’t pull away, getting even closer until you’re practically draped over him.

“Todoroki?”

He grabs you, whipping towards you as his arms fly up to wrap around your waist and yank you off him, tossing you back to your side of the couch as you shriek in laughter. He’d never hurt you, you know, and roughhousing like this is hardly new in your friendship; plus, well, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been hoping to feel his big, warm hands like this. Despite all his surprises tonight, he’s still all too predictable, and you’d seen this coming a mile away.

What you don’t see coming is him pausing, braced with one arm against the couch all too close to you, holding his torso over you with his head right above yours. And he stares, those crimson eyes unreadable with an expression you’ve never seen before, locked entirely on you.

You can feel his chest rising and falling steadily against yours, and your own eyes are drawn to where his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly. You’re frozen, unable to move though you’d hardly want to anyway, and it hits you like a brick what he’s really been saying the whole night.

You open your mouth to speak, but then the hazy tension is shattered by the shrill sound of his phone.

Bakugo lunges away, pulls back with inhuman werewolf speed, grabbing his phone as he leaps to his feet. “‘S my mom, sundown’s soon, I have to go.”

“Wait, Bakugo—”

“See ya tomorrow, yeah?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, already half out the door.

“Katsuki,” you try, desperate, and it makes him freeze.

The door is open, his knuckles are pale with how tight he’s gripping the knob, but as much as you’ve tried it’s not enough. He’s gone without another word.

You don’t get to sleep that night.

It’s dumb; he’ll lecture you in the morning as he tells you all about his perfect amazing werewolf destined—that was what he’d called it, right? You prefer soulmate. Mate is a wolf thing anyway—who he’s spending all night with, running around in the forest howling at the moon and making out or whatever.

You stay out in the den, curled up on the couch with a blanket draped around you, ice cream in your lap, and an old movie playing that you’re not really listening to because you’ve been too wrapped up in your own head.

For an instant, you’d been so sure. A mere moment of absolute certainty that he was just as in love with you as you are him, that your oblivious pining for years was actually reciprocated. In the hours since he’d pinned you to the couch, you’d convinced yourself otherwise.

Imagine your surprise when there’s a frantic knocking at your door.

It startles you, making you jump about ten feet up in the air, and you freeze on the couch with wide eyes and a gaping mouth staring directly at the solid wood that seems to be shaking in its hinges. You’re halfway to casting a protection charm when a familiar gruff voice shouts your name from outside.

“I know you’re awake, I can hear you in there! Open the damn door!”

You glance at the time to find that it’s just under fifteen minutes to midnight. Awfully soon for him to be done, but you rise from your spot on the couch with the blanket still wrapped around your shoulders and move to let Bakugo in.

“Coming,” you say, not bothering to be loud because you know he can hear even the shifting of your clothes beneath the blanket.

He looks downright feral when you open the door, panting slightly, hair mussed up, eyes wild. But when he sees you, they light up, happy and excited like a damn puppy.

“Are you drunk?”

“Uh… kinda?”

“...Magical bullshit?”

He nods, a rough toss of his head to affirm. “Ancient rituals. Tipsy’s more accurate, if anything. Figured out who my destined is.”

“And you came to me? Shouldn’t you be with your soulmate, then?”

Bakugo blinks, clearly stunned, barking out a burst of laughter before shaking his head. “You’re somethin’ dumbass.”

You go to respond, more than a little insulted because he’s been acting so fucking weird all day and he has the nerve to say you’re being dumb, but any retort is flung from your mind as he steps forward and puts his hands on your arms.

Leaning in until your noses are practically touching, he speaks. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

“H—huh?” you stutter out, heart stopping and mind reeling with his words.

“I wanted it to be you. And it’s you.” His hands slide down your arms to meet yours. “You’re my destined.”

There’s so much more to say, so much to ask him, everything ranging from but I’m a witch, how is that possible to so we could have been fucking dating this whole time but he doesn’t let you speak, clearly too overjoyed and inebriated, and you’re not entirely opposed when he yanks you in with exactly the level of roughness you’d imagine from him and kisses you.

And finally, finally, after a decade and a half of wanting to (longer than you even knew what kissing was), you can melt into him.

You believe him then, not that you particularly doubted. It’s like his lips are the missing piece to a puzzle, one you’ve been looking for your whole life. He holds you up with ease, werewolf strength coming in handy, as one hand laces with your own and the other darts to the small of your back. He’d be holding you closer, but you’re literally as close as you could be, body curving against him as his taller form hunches over you.

He kisses you far more sweetly than you’d have expected; no teeth or tongue but still all passion, heavy palm and fingers splayed across your back as the other hand pulls you and grounds you. It’s heated and it makes you forget that you’re both standing in the middle of the open front door at midnight.

You’re both reluctant to break away, you can tell because you both linger a little, bodies frozen as the kiss is followed by one, two, three more just as feverish but decreasing in length. Then the two of you pull away for real (not by much, no, he’s holding you far too intensely for you to get far) and you stumble backwards pulling him by his shirt into your home. He gets the hint, following and shutting the door behind you but not letting either of you make it very far beyond.

“All right,” you say finally, breathless both from the kiss and from giddy laughter bubbling up within you, “all right, you’re my soulmate.”

Bakugo kisses you again.

[yukidragon]

Our Life Sippet - A Special Guest

It’s that time again, time for another slice of my first draft fanfic novelization for Our Life: Beginnings & Always! This time it’s another section of the Step 1 prologue. Time for some more cute little eight-year-olds being cute and another XOXO Droplets cameo!

Thanks, as always, to the game’s creators @gb-patch for making the game and inspiring me. You’re awesome and so are your games!

...

Cove carefully set down the box he brought with him before sitting beside Jamie. He realized too late that he should have asked her for permission before moving her stuff like it belonged to him. He made a small, awkward sound, drawing her attention away from the door and back to him as he fumbled for what to say. “I brought the box of shells. I wanna keep looking at them.”

Jamie had already noticed Cove carrying her treasure box with him, but didn’t pay as much mind to the act as he did. “Great,” she said with a smile. “Bust it open. We can keep looking while we wait for Shiloh.”

Relieved, Cove smiled back at Jamie before opening the box. Despite being careful when carrying it, the loose contents had shifted during the move. A bright shimmering streak of orange peeking out of tissue caught his eye. Carefully, he unwrapped a large intact conch streaked in shades of dark and light orange. He marveled at the way the light hit its polished surface and transformed the vibrant orange hue to a different color as he held it up for a closer look. His eyes widened in wonder and a sound of amazement escaped him as he turned the shell this way and that, watching how the shell somehow magically had the power to change from one color from the next before returning to its natural orange shade.

Cove turned to Jamie as he presented the conch to her with stars in his eyes and a huge smile on his face. “I think this one is the best of them.”

“That’s my favorite too,” Jamie said proudly. “That’s why I cleaned it up real good. If you put it to your ear, you can hear the ocean.”

Cove hesitated a moment to make sure that was an offer for him to try it rather than a statement of fact before holding the shell over his ear. He heard the sound of ocean waves just as promised and his smile grew wider.

Jamie delightedly watched Cove admire her prized treasure, her expression growing thoughtful. He seemed so happy with it - the happiest she had ever seen him.

Earlier that day, her moms talked about how it would be a good idea to give the Cove and his dad a special gift to welcome them to the neighborhood. Perhaps just the right welcoming gift would make Cove feel just a little better about the move and being away from his mom, and he wouldn’t have to feel sad anymore.

Sure, it was a bit of a shame to give away her best seashell, but Jamie was confident she could find another one she liked even better eventually. The best part was finding the treasure after all.

Decided, Jamie nodded to herself. “You can keep it if you want.”

Cove froze. He had just been starting the process of re-wrapping the shell in tissue when Jamie made her unbelievable offer. His eyes widened and his mouth hung open in absolute shock. “Really?!”

Jamie smiled, tickled that she had surprised him with her gift. “Sure. You like it a lot, right?”

Cove stared at Jamie a moment more before he had to look away, unable to meet her earnest gaze. It was strange that she was so ready to just give away something so obviously amazing and special, especially after she had just told him it was her favorite of her treasures. It made him feel weird in ways that he couldn’t put into words.

“Uh huh,” Cove finally said quietly as he placed the shell back down in the box. “But… I don’t want to take it from you. It’s okay.”

Jamie saw his hesitation and discomfort clear as day on his face and regretted making the offer. She hadn’t meant to make Cove feel pressured to take it. Gifts were meant to make people happy to get them, not nervous.

Maybe Cove would feel better about accepting it another time when they got to know each other better. They were neighbors now after all.

“Okay,” Jamie said as she gave Cove a reassuring smile to show that she wasn’t upset that he refused her gift. “Wanna hear how I found it?”

Cove shyly smiled back at Jamie, grateful for the subject change and that he hadn’t hurt her feelings. “Uh huh.”

With that, Jamie launched into another colorful story, and the awkward moment was quickly forgotten.

The pair had been able to look through a couple more items in the collection before the doorbell finally rang. They both jumped at the sudden loud sound and turned to the front door at the same time.

Cove frowned a little before looking at Jamie. “Lizzie’s friend?”

Jamie nodded. Only people who knew where to look could find the doorbell, which included Shiloh.

The frown on Cove’s face grew into an uncomfortable grimace. Though he got to his feet after Jamie did, it was with great reluctance as he stared at the door in a mixture of trepidation and resentment.

Jamie looked from the door to Cove. Although she knew she should answer it and let Shiloh in, she was reluctant to do so after seeing his clear distress at the idea. Cove didn’t hide his emotions very well, which made him very easy for her to read. However, before she could ask if he was going to be okay, he spoke up first.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Cove said as he shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be okay,” Jamie said, trying her best to sound comforting. “All you gotta do is say hi. Besides, there’s nowhere to go. He’s at our only door, and if you go upstairs, he’ll find you.”

Despite the reassurance and reasonable argument, Cove was already looking around, his eyes wide and searching for some sort of exit strategy. Finally, he locked his gaze to the back of the house and the large windows looking out to the hills he hid in last night. “I can go out the window.”

Cove didn’t wait to hear Jamie’s opinion on the matter, already moving quickly towards the window.

Panic shot through Jamie at the idea of Cove climbing out the window. What if he fell and broke his other arm? Her mind raced for a way to stop him as she ran after him. “Wait! You don’t have to do that!”

Jamie managed to get in front of Cove, holding up her arms both in an appeasing gesture and to block his way. “Shiloh’s not scary, really! Every single bunny rabbit is scarier than Shiloh.”

Cove frowned, but he didn’t try to get around Jamie. That was something at least, she decided. “But I don’t want to see him,” he said stubbornly. “I don’t know him.”

Jamie gave Cove a sympathetic smile. “I know you’re worried, but you’re not gonna have to meet him by yourself,” she said softly. “If you have a hard time with him, I’ll tell him to leave. Is that okay?”

Cove considered the offer seriously as he looked into Jamie’s blue eyes. Even though they hadn’t even known each other for a full day yet, somehow he found comfort in having her support. Finally, he nodded, his shoulders slumping a bit as he gave in. “Okay.”

That was when Shiloh poked his head into the house, holding open the front door. His big, curious gray eyes quickly locked on the other two children. He focused on Jamie first, who stared back at him.

Jamie managed to return the cheerful smile Shiloh sent her way with a small one of her own, but she couldn’t help but worry about how he was feeling. She had no idea when he opened the door, or how much of the conversation he heard. He didn’t look upset, or any different than he usually did really, but it was hard for her to believe that he hadn’t overheard at least part of what they were talking about.

“Hi, Jamie!” Shiloh said with his typical cheer, which only faltered with a touch of uncertainty as his gaze shifted to Cove. “And hi, uh, Cove?”

Cove didn’t turn around right away, his uneasy gaze lingering on Jamie until she looked back at him and gave him a reassuring smile. Slumping his shoulders a bit and letting out a sound of acknowledgement, he forced himself to face the kid his dad wanted him to make friends with. “Hi.”

Just like that, Shiloh’s smile was back to its normal level of pleasantness. “I’m Shiloh! It’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” Cove said with nowhere near the level of affability of Shiloh. He couldn’t exactly return the sentiment, since that would be lying.

Since there was no escaping this encounter, Cove took a moment to take a good look at the other boy. Shiloh was noticeably shorter than him, with fluffy brown hair hidden under a very large blue hat that matched his striped shirt and overalls. For some reason, Shiloh was blushing, though Cove couldn’t see why. Still, it wasn’t as interesting as the fact that Shiloh’s peachy skin was covered from head to toe in more freckles than Cove had ever seen on anyone before.

“You have a lot of freckles,” Cove said once he finished his assessment.

Shiloh didn’t seem to know what to make of that observation for a moment, but he nodded all the same. “Uh, right. I do,” he said. He didn’t give Cove a chance to make another remark before he moved the topic along. “What are you guys doing?”

“We’re looking at shells,” Cove said as his gaze drifted back to Jamie’s treasure box.

“Awesome,” Shiloh said in what Jamie knew to be the usual Shiloh fashion. “Can I do it too?”

Cove could only offer a shrug. It wasn’t his collection to show, and he couldn’t say he cared either way if Shiloh was interested.

“Sure,” Jamie said happily. She wasn’t about to complain about the interest in her treasures, even if she had a feeling Shiloh would probably get bored of it soon. “We can look at them some more in my room.”

As soon as the three children returned to Jamie’s bedroom and the box was opened back up, Cove had already spotted another shell that caught his eye. “What about that one…?”

Jamie was only all too eager to dive back into another amusing story of her adventures hunting for treasures as she showed off her collection. As far as she was concerned, the plan for the afternoon was to look at all her treasures. She wasn’t particularly in the mood to do something else, especially not when Cove seemed to be having just as much fun as she was.

It was great to see Cove genuinely enjoying himself despite how unhappy the move made him, and Shiloh… well, he was smiling and expressing himself in typical Shiloh fashion, so that meant he was having fun too, right? At least Jamie hoped he was. She could never really tell with Shiloh.

“What’s that one?” Shiloh asked.

Jamie followed Shiloh’s pointing finger to her prized conch. It must not have gotten wrapped back up in its protective tissues properly, and its glittery surface easily drew attention when the sunlight hit it. Still, she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to show it off, and she delicately removed the shell from the tissue before holding it up to the light so it could be seen better. “This one’s my favorite. I found it last year on a family picnic.”

“Cool,” Shiloh said. “I think that’s my favorite too.”

The exchange rubbed Cove the wrong way for some reason. He watched Jamie as she beamed at the praise, and he wondered if she would offer the shell to Shiloh like she did for him earlier. He didn’t like the idea, but he knew he couldn’t say anything to stop her if she decided to give the shell away to someone else.

“Thanks!” Jamie said before retelling the story of its discovery.

To Cove’s surprise, when Jamie was done talking, she carefully re-wrapped the conch before setting it back down in the box.

“Check this out,” Jamie said as she picked up a red and bubbly piece of sea glass. “It looks like a heart, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it does,” Shiloh said. “That’s neat.”

Cove stared at Jamie as she launched into yet another story. It was interesting, like all the others she told, but he couldn’t help but be distracted by his confusion. When he said the conch was his favorite shell, she didn’t hesitate to try to give it to him. When Shiloh said the exact same thing, it was like the thought of giving the shell away never crossed her mind.

It was strange. Cove didn’t see why Jamie would try to give the shell to him and not Shiloh; she knew Shiloh a lot longer than him after all.

Still, Cove wasn’t about to complain, no matter how weird and fluttery he felt about it.

[whump-only]

meal time -- Golden (vamp whump)

Part 2 of my mini vampire-whump series. Wherein Pollen tries out this whole feeding a vampire thing. 

tw: captivity, starvation/hunger, light gore (description of prior injury), it/its as pronouns, manhandling, reference to broken bones, suffocation/drowning, knives + cut skin, and who can forget blood

-------

“Come on, vampy. Breakfast,” Pollen called. Or, he guessed, this was technically its dinner. Since, nocturnal, right?

The thing didn’t stir under its blanket. With a little jolt of concern and hope, Pollen wondered if the shock of having its legs broken just straight up killed it. Pollen placed the dog bowl down on the ground, with the cube of cow’s blood sliding around the bottom, already a small pool of it melted. 

With one hand Pollen pinned it down, putting his weight into it. This elicited a moan so at least it wasn’t dead. Yippee. He pulled down the blanket, revealing its thick matted hair and the iron straps that held its muzzle in place. This also meant it was on its stomach, which was good. Its bound hands must be pinned below it. 

Pollen fiddled with the key for what felt like far too long until the lock holding the muzzle shut dropped open. He pocketed the lock but hesitated to pull the muzzle away from its face, what if it tried to bite? But he couldn’t leave it like this… Pollen held its hair with one hand and yanked the muzzle off with the other, then swiftly scrambled up and away. 

His worry was for nothing, because it didn’t react at all, except to groan. The bottom of its face looked all discolored and part of it was torn open and oozing blood or something.

Pollen grimaced. With his foot he shifted the bowl closer so it was right near the vampire’s head. He then bounded up the stairs and slammed the door shut. 

——

When Pollen returned that night, the vampire was curled up away from the bowl, again tucked entirely under the blanket. Pollen checked and the cube had melted, leaving the bowl nearly full of the dark liquid. 

It didn’t drink any? Pollen wondered. He stared at the bowl for a while, then finally decided to dump the old stuff and put in a new cube of frozen cow blood. Again, he pushed the bowl so that it was right near where he assumed the hiding vampire’s head was. 

“Come on. Food. Drink,” he encouraged, tapping its back with his toe. 

It growled from under the blanket.

Pollen left hastily. 

——

The next night Pollen managed a few hours of sleep but still woke and lay awake for hours before getting up to check on the vampire. 

He felt a sense of relief at seeing that creature right where he left it. But the bowl was also exactly where he left it, untouched. 

Was it too sick to eat? That was really possible considering its almost catatonic state. Pollen figured it’d only get even weaker if it didn’t eat soon. It was strange that Hyde hadn’t mentioned this… His skin crawled from the thought of Hyde blaming him for killing his little pet. 

Perhaps the vampire just needed to smell the blood or taste it to be… inspired. 

Pollen pulled its blanket down off its head, careful to draw his hands away quickly. It growled and squeezed its eyes shut angrily. It was still unmuzzled and now under closer observation, Pollen could see its mouth was all blistered and the sides were torn open, half scabbed and still open. 

Pollen gagged. Trying not to look directly at it, he cupped a bit of the cow’s blood in his hands then splashed it onto the vampire’s face. 

The vampire huffed in surprise and opened its eyes ever so slightly. Pollen didn’t think he imagined its nose twitching a bit and it swallowing, though it was hard to tell under the dim yellow light. 

“Come on. Smells good right? Drink, it’s right there,” Pollen encouraged. 

The vampire stared at him for a beat before closing its eyes again. 

“Hey!” Pollen said, and splashed a bit more onto it. 

It scrunched its nose and looked him over with one eye before defiantly closing it again. 

“Fuck,” Pollen sighed, then turned to climb the stairs. “So stubborn…”

Pollen closed the basement door behind himself. Right there, on the counter in front of him, lay the vampire’s muzzle that he’d dropped there after taking it off. 

Pollen tried to walk past it. Twice. Finally after rocking on his heels he snatched it up and flipped it over. 

A silver bit. Designed to pressed into the mouth, burning lips and tongue. 

Pollen chuckled emptily. That would do it. 

——

Pollen trudged down the stairs. Unsurprisingly the vampire was under its blanket. Its bowl was full. 

“Come on, vamp. You’re gonna starve,” he complained. Pollen knew these things were resilient but they still needed food, right? 

Pollen tried to push the still-blanketed vampire onto its back but it resisted, making a low sound, not quite a growl. Pollen put a little more weight into his foot, until he was able to fully pin the creature on its back. 

With his boot Pollen tapped the lump of blanket until he thought he found where its bound hands were, and then by stepping down, pinned its hands into its chest. Pollen held his breath and ripped down the blanket, revealing the vampire’s glowering stare and what looked like a scowl behind its ripped lips. 

“I hate you too,” Pollen informed it, then grabbed its bowl.

Pollen tipped the bowl, aiming the cow’s blood at the creatures mouth. But the vampire kept its mouth firmly shut so the liquid splattered all over its face and chest. 

“God damn it,” Pollen muttered. Was it doing this on purpose? A little protest? 

Pollen stepped away to strategize. He could wait the creature out, eventually it would get hungry enough and drink. Right? But what if it didn’t? Maybe it’d had enough and was trying to kill itself. Could he could force it to open its mouth long enough to poor the liquid down? That would be hard. He didn’t want to touch its face. Did vampires even like cow’s blood? 

Pollen placed the bowl on the ground, by now the cow’s blood was nearly all gone, poured out and wasted. But there was a good inch left.

Pollen got a firm grip on the vampire’s hair. It winced a bit, before he even pulled.

Pollen took a deep breath and lifted the vampire’s head and smashed it into the bowl. The vampire immediately started to thrash and cough and wail. Pollen lifted its head above the blood for two seconds, letting it gasp for air, then pressed its face down into the bowl again. He continued like this four or five more times before releasing it.

Its whole face was covered in the watery blood, but it looked more like it’d gone for a swim than for a meal. It took shuddering breaths for a while, then as if declaring itself finished, pulled the blanket back over its head. 

Pollen checked the bowl. It was pretty much empty but most of the blood had probably been splashed out instead of swallowed. Pollen decided that was enough for the day. 

———

Pollen returned the next morning, ready with a fresh bowl of melted cow’s blood. 

The vampire whimpered as Pollen made his way down the steps, clearly less indifferent than before. 

“Don’t cry at me. Are you gonna eat today? Hm?” Pollen asked it, and set the bowl down by its head. 

The vampire didn’t move to drink so Pollen ripped away its blanket and took it by its hair again. It made a long, sad whine. 

“I know. But I can’t let you turn to dust on my watch,” Pollen explained, then dunked the vampire’s head into the bowl, trying to keep its mouth under and nose above the liquid. 

Like last time the vampire thrashed and growled. Pollen lifted its head and it seemed to cough blood back into the bowl before Pollen pushed it under again. Dunk. Breathe. Dunk. Breathe. 

It didn’t seem like the blood was actually going anywhere except the floor. Pollen dropped the thing’s head to the side of the bowl and sighed. It was hopeless. 

Maybe he could threaten it. Pollen got up and inspected the toolbox that Hyde had left. Many of the tools felt untouchable, too gruesome to consider, and the rest were useless. There was a little pocket knife… Pollen flicked it open. 

The vampire had closed its eyes again. Pollen pointed the knife at it, accusingly. “If you don’t drink everything in that bowl, I’m gonna cut you!” he announced, testing out the words. 

The vampire huffed without opening its eyes. Pollen doubted the vampire would even understand why it was being hurt, if Pollen really started cutting it. How absurd this must all be for a creature like that. To wake up one day in this nightmare. Pollen felt his resolve draining. “Shit.”

Pollen looked at his reflection in the blade of the pocket knife. The thought that entered his mind was so absurd that he laughed out loud. 

And yet… Pollen chewed his lip. He couldn’t be this soft. It was a vampire. Human blood was off limits. Didn’t Hyde say that? Right? Pollen wasn’t sure. 

Maybe a little bit of human blood would make it less… sick. Less depressed too. 

Pollen rolled his eyes at how much of a pushover he was for this. He’d never tell Hyde. 

Pollen crouched over the bowl that still had the cow’s blood. He took a few deep breaths then lightly pressed the blade into the pad of his pinkie finger. He hissed as it sliced open the skin but just as quickly the pain faded to a throb. A bead of blood welled up and slid off his finger, into the bowl, one drop of human’s blood lost in an ocean of cow’s blood. Plink. 

Pollen glanced at the vampire and his heart skipped a beat. It was staring directly at him, eyes alert and wide. Its irises were an undeniably beautiful color. Gold was rare for vampires. 

Pollen grinned in triumph even though his heart thrummed in his chest from its hungry attention. “Yeah, you can smell it right? You want this?”

The vampire’s nose twitched a bit, as if to confirm. 

Two more drops landed in the bowl. Plip. Plip. He’d really captured its attention now. It really was a beastly thing, so hungry for human blood. 

Pollen pressed his thumb just below the cut, pushing out a few more drops of blood. Plip. Plip plip plip. Plip. It seemed the vampire breathed a little faster, imperceptibly strained toward the bowl. But it made no moves, no sound. 

Pollen stuck his hurt pinkie into his mouth and stood up. He nudged the bowl toward the vampire, until the bowl touched the thing’s forehead. 

“Come on. I know you’re tempted,” he whispered. 

The vampire’s nose still twitched but it somehow still didn’t move. 

Pollen took a seat on the bottom stair. They were both out of each other’s reach. 

The vampire glanced at him, sizing him up, then the bowl, and Pollen thought he could see the gears churning in its brain. 

Finally, it shifted. Pollen held his breath as it laboriously got up on its elbows and lifted its head. It gave the blood a sniff and at last, lowered its mouth to the liquid and took free swallows. It even licked the bottom of the bowl. 

Pollen waited until it was finished before getting up. It startled, shooting Pollen a glare. 

But Pollen was just amused. “Good job today, Goldie,” he said, remembering Hyde’s nickname for it. 

[its-monster-mash]

Marko(Lost Boys) X Frog!Reader Imagines

Gender Neutral Reader

Content Warnings: gun, near death, brief mention of weed

• You spent most of your life on the East Coast, but you had a lot of family out west, including your beloved Grandfather. So when he passed, you dropped everything to attend the funeral

• You didn’t even recognize Edgar and Alan when you showed up at the trailer with your bag; last time you saw them Ed was just learning his first words(“Bullshit”, thanks Uncle Frog), and Al couldn’t even walk yet. Now here they are, a couple of Angsty sullen teenagers

• “You guys used to be so cute, what happened?” “We grew up.” “Oh please, what are you, 12?”

• You decided to stay for a while, help out with the comic book store while your Uncle deals with the legal stuff about your grandfather’s death. Dying sure was a pain in the ass, you guessed

• All things considered, you liked the work. You were a huge comic fan, and the store was slow enough that you had plenty of time to spend working on your own art. You hoped maybe you’d have your own comic some day, if only you could stick to one idea...

• In fact, you were so focused on your art that you forgot to lock up after closing time; so you were more than a little bit started when someone tossed a comic on your desk

• You look up to see a curly-headed blond man, with one of the most beautiful faces you had ever seen, and you can’t help but blush, he smiles at this. “New in town? I think I’d remember seeing you.”

• You notice his friends snicker as they mill around the store. So he IS flirting with you...this does nothing to help your blushing

• You try to collect yourself, ringing up his comic book as you explain your situation; about your grandfather, and how you’re staying with your uncle for a while...how you accidentally kept the shop open way late

• He seems infinitely more interested once he hears that you’re an artist, and absolutely wants to see your work. In fact, he doesn’t even wait for you to respond. “Is that your sketchbook?” Is all the warning you have before he’s snatching it off of your desk and flipping through it

• His jaw all but drops as he appreciates your work. “This is so sick!” Suddenly he’s pushing the sketchbook back to you. “Can you draw me?”

• Normally, you hate that question as much as any other artist, but you’d been dying to draw him since you saw his face, so you absolutely take him up on that

• It doesn’t take you very long to sketch him, and the second you’re finished he snatches it out of your hands, staring at it like he hasn’t seen himself in years

• While he’s busy being in awe, you snatch the sketchbook back from him, much to his surprise, and you hold up a finger to tell him to wait while you scratch your phone number onto the page. You hope he can read your terrible writing

• You tear the page out of the sketchbook, handing it to him. “Here, my phone number...you could call it sometime...if you want to.”

• Your heart flutters when he smiles, and you think you might die when his fingers brush yours when he takes the page. “I want to.”

• His spikyheaded friend nods at him, signaling it’s time for them to leave. “Name’s Marko, I’ll call you!”

• After a couple of late night phone calls, you never leave the shop open late again; Marko never failing to pick you up just after the sun goes down. You tease him about never seeing him in the daylight, like he’s one of those vampires from your cousins’ favorite comic

• “I’ve never seen you in the daylight either.” “Fair enough.”

• Unfortunately, your cousins overhear this little talk just outside of the shop; and one very early morning you notice them sneaking out of the house...you follow of course, you are the adult after all

• Following at a distance, you watch them climb into an old cave...very clearly labeled “Stay Out”. You wonder if maybe they go down there to get stoned with their friends or something...they have friends right? You consider leaving them be...but decide it would be so much funnier to bust them

• Except it isn’t funny at all. By the time you get down there, you hear your cousins’ screams. You frantically follow the sound, and much to your surprise you find Marko, his face distorted monsterously, ready to tear Edgar’s throat out

• You hardly even notice his friends, making a daring slide to pick up the stake Ed had dropped, and grabbing onto Marko. You aren’t strong enough to pry his grip off of your cousin, but the shock of seeing you here causes him to let go anyway. Ed scrambles to Al’s side, terrified under the gaze of the other vampires

• You press the point of the stake to Marko’s chest, and he looks at you with the most devastated expression. “Touch my cousins and he fucking dies.”

• Contempt and fear plays across the faces of the other vampires, guys you thought had become your friends since you started dating Marko; they didn’t know if you could kill him, but they didn’t want to take that chance. David nods for them to part so your cousins can start climbing out of the cave

• Marko...Marko looks at you with his golden eyes full of sorrow and anguish. Seeing him now for the monster he is, you know that the only reason you’re still alive is because he doesn’t want to kill you. You have a stake pressed to his chest, but you both know he could tear your throat out before you ever got the chance to use it

• “(Y/N), please, I-”

• As soon as your cousins reach the safety of daylight, you toss the stake violently to the floor, glaring into Marko’s eyes. You don’t even spare him a final word before you turn and walk away

• Every night, the phone rings; your Uncle doesn’t even bother to tell you anymore, just hanging up the second he hears Marko’s voice. If he knew the truth about what happened that night he’d be terrified, but as it stands he just thinks you had a nasty breakup; and you’re grown...so it’s not his business

• You hate yourself for it, but you miss him...you want to blame it on his Vampiric Charm, but you know in your heart that he never had to manipulate your feelings...they were real

• One night, you just can’t stand lying awake staring at the ceiling anymore. At damn near 3am, you leave quietly so not to awaken your family, and take off for your grandpa’s old shooting range

• Perhaps it was unwise to take yourself to a secluded area so far from any civilization in the dead of night, but you don’t care anymore. You load your grandfather’s old shotgun, the one he taught you to hunt with, and fire at the target

• Eventually, you hear a lone dirtbike pull up the long road behind you; you don’t even turn to look at him. “It’s four AM Marko, what are you doing here?” You fire at the target in the distance

• He walks up behind you, watching you lazily reload. “I could ask you the same thing.”

• “S’my grandpa’s range. I couldn’t sleep so I figured I’d get in some target practice.” *Ting* “You know that’s no good against Vampires, right?” “It’s not for vampires.”

• He can’t help but be frustrated with you; how could you just come out into the open like this? In the middle of the night? Were you stupid or suicidal?

• You don’t need to read minds to know what he’s thinking. He opens his mouth to speak and you cut him off. “If you wanted me dead, I never would have left that cave.”

• “So why didn’t you do it? You know what I am now, so why didn’t you drive that stake through my heart?” “Even if I could have stabbed you faster than you could have killed me, your brothers would have torn me to pieces.”

• “My brothers aren’t here now.”

• You finally turn to look at him, tears welling in your eyes at the sight of him. Your heart tenses at the sight of the sun threatening to rise on the horizon. “If you don’t leave now, I won’t even have to kill you.”

• “No (Y/N).” You can see the tears in his eyes as he shifts into his monstrous form. “No, if you really want me dead, you’re gonna see it.”

• You’re confused at first, until you see the smoke beginning to rise as the first rays of morning light threaten him. “Marko, what are you doing?”

• He lets out an agonized hiss as his skin begins to singe. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

• Tears well in your eyes as you run to him, throwing your jacket over him in an attempt to shield him from the sun. “Knock it off!” You practically drag him into the old gun shack

• He collapses to the floor once you get him inside, too weak to stand. “If I’m gonna die, I want it to be you.” He sounds so raspy and exhausted

• You shake your head, tossing an old blanket over him. “Well too bad. You’re not dying on me today.”

[izzyfandoms]

Like Lipstick Stains On His Skin

SHIPS: Remile

CHARACTERS: Emile Picani, Remy Sanders

WARNING: Anxiety, references to heartbreak

GENERAL TAGLIST: @quillfics42 @aj-draws @phantomofthesanderssides @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game @because-were-fam-ily @imtryingthisout @a-creepycookie @emo-disaster @littlestr @spooky-scary-virgil @fuyel @mimsidoodles @soupgremlin @aroaceagenderfluid @birdsbookshiddeninrealbirdsskin @quirkalurk @gingers-trashy-stuff @iinyxtello @justaqueercactus @melodiread @mrbubbajones @glassferns @pun-master-logan @gayturtlez @k1ngtok1

Masterpost

A Series Of Soulmate AUs Masterpost

Emile Picani had been in love with his best friend for as long as he could remember.

The moment he had first laid eyes on Remy Sanders, his initial thought had been that that was the most attractive person he’d ever seen. And, after getting to know him better, Emile’s thoughts only solidified; Remy was funny and sarcastic, smarter than anyone gave him credit for, and casually flirty in a way that made Emile’s heart stop and pound and ache all at once.

And Emile’s feelings had only strengthened as they grew up together.

From awkward teenagers still figuring out their sexualities to adults with their own homes and jobs and independent lives, Remy and Emile had stayed friends through it all, sticking together like glue since they’d first met in middle school. They knew almost everything about each other, and they were best friends.

But that was just it – they were friends. Nothing more.

And Emile was... fine with that. He was fine.

He loved Remy. Loved, loved, loved Remy.

And, sure, it hurt when he was with Remy, but not really with Remy, not in the way Emile always wanted to be. It hurt to be around him and know that it would only ever be platonic, that his best friend would never love him back in quite the same he loved him.

But time spent with Remy was better than time spent with anyone or anything else. And Emile knew that Remy cared deeply for him, too.

Emile could take the heartache if it meant he never lost his best friend.

When Emile heard the knock on his front door, he immediately recognised it as Remy’s. He jumped up – perhaps a little too enthusiastically and excitedly, but the only person that could see him right now was himself, so there was nobody around to judge. He rushed over to the door and pulled it open. Remy’s eyes lit up when he saw Emile, and he grinned.

Emile would never admit aloud to the tremble of his heart in his chest at the expression on his best friend’s face, but he did immediately squish down the traitorous hope that emerged every time Remy looked at him like that. Which happened almost every time they saw each other.

“Hey, Remy! You’re here early,” Emile said.

“Hope that’s chill, babe. I was not watching the time.”

(Emile did his best to ignore the feelings that the use of the nickname ‘babe’ stirred up.)

Remy’s sunglasses were propped up on his head, as they often were, and his warm brown eyes were on display. He was wearing his signature black leather jacket, too, as he usually was, with a white crop-top – with the word ‘bitch’ across the front in block capitals – underneath, exposing his midriff.

It took effort for Emile to keep his eyes from drifting downwards.

“It’s fine, Remy,” Emile smiled, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on his best friend’s face. “You’re always welcome here, you know that.”

Remy laughed. “If you keep saying that, I’ll end up showing up here at 4am when I’m drunk.”

“Well, I would rather you came here than go somewhere else and get yourself hurt.”

“Even if that means I wake you up from whatever candy-coloured, cartoon-filled dreams you’re having?”

“Mhm!”

“Damn, gurl, you really are sweeter than sugar, huh? How the hell did someone like you end up being besties with someone like me?”

“Aww, Remy, I think you give yourself too little credit.”

Remy laughed again. “Nah, babes, I love myself. I’m just kinda an asshole sometimes.”

“Isn’t everyone sometimes?” Emile said.

“Not you, apparently. Come on, you’re basically an angel, like, 24/7 and I have legit no idea how you do it. You’ve got the patience of a saint and a smile that literally gives me toothache just looking at it. You’re downright adorable.”

Elation bubbled up in Emile’s heart, and those bubbles filled his chest and spilled over in the forms of happy giggles. He covered his smile with his hand, and practically melted on the spot at the soft, fond look that crossed Remy’s face for just a moment – almost unnoticeable, but Emile paid enough attention that he saw it – before being replaced with Remy’s usual grin.

“Do you want to come in?” Emile asked, still smiling.

“Sure.”

Emile stepped to the side, and Remy’s arm brushed against his own as he walked past him. He hoped the stuttered breath at the contact wasn’t obvious.

“I like the new tie,” Remy commented as Emile shut the door and turned to face him.

Emile perked up. “Oh, you noticed!”

“Course I did,” Remy said. “I’ve seen every tie you’ve got like a million times. I could tell that one was new basically as soon as you opened the door.”

“Aww, Remy... you’re great. The best friend a guy could have!”

Emile’s smile was soft, fond, and so, so caring, and – for just a moment – he could have sworn that Remy looked flustered to be the recipient of it: wide-eyed and as still as a statue. But then, the moment passed, and Remy’s expression smoothed over and returned to normal, and Emile was sure that he’d only imagined it.

“It’s nothing, babe,” Remy said, waving his hand dismissively. “You noticed when I got that new skirt last week, even though it’s identical to my old one-”

“Your old one had a big hole in it! The new one didn’t.”

“Yeah, so I had to get a new one ‘cos it made my ass look great and I wasn’t ‘bout to give that shit up, you know? Ooh, and I especially love it paired with those heels that get everyone looking at my legs, ‘cos that combo makes me look fab AF.” Remy paused. “You know what, I think that’s kinda beside the point. Any-gay, you noticed ‘cos you’re cool like that, so me noticing your tie is, like, nothing.”

“Aww, Remy,” Emile reached forward, and poked Remy’s arm. “It’s not nothing, most people wouldn’t even be able to tell! You’re my best friend, and it makes me really, really happy that you notice these kinds of things.”

Remy’s expression softened. “Well, then I guess it makes it pretty special then, huh?”

Emile felt like screaming. Or kissing Remy. Or kissing Remy and then screaming.

(Though, really, if Emile ever got the chance to kiss Remy, he’d be too busy savouring it to even think of doing anything else. Too busy savouring the feeling of warm lips against his own, of Remy’s gentle hand against his cheek, of a chest pressed against his own, of being so close to the one person he wanted to be close to more than anything else in the world. But he never thought he’d ever get the chance.)

Emile stumbled over his words, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other as he fiddled with his hands. He had no idea how he was supposed to respond to that, and wasn’t sure if he even could without losing control of his mouth and accidentally confessing his undying love for his best friend.

“Um...” he trailed off.

Remy laughed awkwardly, running his fingers through his hair and glancing away.

“So, uh... what did- what did your patients think of your new tie?”

“Oh!” Emile perked up again, at once both disappointed and relieved by the return to the original topic of conversation. “Yeah, two of them complimented it. And someone said the red was a nice change from the usual pastels, so I think it was a big hit!”

He smiled, and Remy immediately smiled back.

“Nice.”

“I think the pink tie’s still my favourite, though.”

“Mine, too. It’s a classic Emile colour.”

Emile laughed. “There are classic Emile colours?”

“Sure, there are! You’ve got your baby pink, baby blue and, you know,” Remy reached out, tugging gently on Emile’s cardigan sleeve. “You’ve got your cardigan-colour. I’ve, like, barely ever seen you without this thing. How many of these do you have? Like, a hundred?”

Emile giggled again, covering his mouth with his hand. “I have two. And they’re both a little different!”

“Right, right,” Remy nodded. “One’s, like, a little bigger.”

“Mhm! And this one’s a bit softer.”

Remy nodded again, slowly and with an amused tint to his smile. “So, are we gonna, like, move, or are we gonna stand in your hallway forever?”

“Oh, right!” Emile said, like he’d only just remembered that they were still stood at his front door.  

He moved past Remy, gesturing for his friend to follow as he went into the next room and sat down on the couch. Remy immediately flopped onto it beside him, getting comfortable on the soft, squishy cushions. He leant back lazily and stretched.

“Ooh,” Remy finally said, straightening up. “I bought a new lipstick yesterday!”

“Ooh, what colour?”

“It’s, like, pink. It matches the shoes I bought last week, and it makes me look killer. I’m gonna get all the guys’ eyes on me, so it sucks that I can’t wear it when I’m, like, actually looking to kiss strangers, you know?”

Emile ignored the pang of pain in his heart, and did his best to smile encouragingly.

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned,” he said. “I- I bet you look great in it. And it- it's a shame you can’t wear it when you want to.”

“Yeah, I’m kinda tempted to, you know, but, like, if I’m wearing lipstick, then I won’t know if any marks my lips make are ‘cos of my lipstick or ‘cos of soulmate shit, right?” Remy continued, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “And, like, what’s the pointing of making out with people if I can’t also know if they’re my soulmate?”

“Right.”

“So, I can only wear lipstick when I’m not looking for people to kiss. Sucks, but it’s gotta be done.”

Emile nodded slowly. Then, he paused, and his brow creased in thought.

“You don’t usually wear lipstick when you’re with me,” he said. “Even when we’re going out and it’s just us, no- no kissing strangers involved. How come?”

Remy froze in place.

“Uh...”

Emile blinked at him. He tilted his head questioningly. “Hmm?”

He could practically see the cogs turning in Remy’s head, while he searched for an answer that he obviously did not have or did not want to share. He looked... flustered, in a way that Emile had almost never seen him before – opening and closing his mouth a few times – and Emile just couldn’t seem to figure out why.

Remy and Emile just stared at each other, neither knowing quite what to say to the other. Emile was confused, not wanting to speak up at the risk of interrupting whatever Remy wanted to say. He also absolutely would not let his mind wander to the any possibilities that would fill him with hope.

A crushed hope was definitely not something Emile wanted to deal with, not right now.

Remy cleared his throat. He swallowed.

“Um- there’s...” he then huffed, looking down at his lap and running his fingers through his hair. He let out an awkward laugh, and then looked back up at Emile. “I... okay,” he sighed. “There’s something I think I should probs tell you.”

Emile stared at him, blinking. “What is it?” He asked.

“It, uh...” Remy sighed again. “I have no idea how you’d react to this. The thing I want to tell you... it could probs mess up our friendship.”

“Remy...” Emile said softly. “You’re my best friend. You can tell me anything, and I promise you this won’t mess anything up, okay?”

“You don’t even know what I’m about to say.”

“I don’t need to. I know you.” Emile leant forward slightly, giving Remy his best attempt at a soft, reassuring smile.

Remy stared at Emile for a second. Then he laughed again, a strange mix of awkwardness and nervousness and with a hint of slight joy, too – with a confusing, even a little alarming, effect. His eyes never left Emile’s smile.

“Jeez, babe. How are you making this so much harder but so much easier at, like, the same time?”

Emile blinked. “Um... is that good?”

“Dunno. But...” Remy took a deep breath. He clenched his hands into fists, looking up at the ceiling for a moment before he turned back to Emile. “Okay... wow, I’ve wanted to tell you this for forever, but, like, fuck, this is terrifying.”

Emile’s expression creased with concern. He reached forward, looking him over worriedly, and rested his hand on his best friend’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

“Remy, are you okay? You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he frowned slightly.

“No, I- I want to tell you. God, you have no idea how many times I’ve thought about telling you about my feelings.”

Feelings. Feelings, feelings, feelings.

Did that mean what Emile thought it meant?

The hope rose up, though he tried so hard to squash it down, but it was like trying to fit something large in a container too small and he could hardly keep it from filling up and overwhelming him. His breath stuttered, and he was sure he tensed up and froze in place for a moment, before he finally regained his composure and physically relaxed.

“Feelings?” He asked, in a voice slightly more strangled than before. “What feelings?”

Remy let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, that’s- that’s what I’ve gotta talk to you about. My- my feelings... for you.” He took another deep breath. “I... I love you, Em.”

“I love you, too,” Emile answered back immediately. “Haven’t we said this before?”

They had. The two best friends had been friends for so long: exchanging ‘I love you’s was practically part of their routine, by now.

But it had always been platonic, at least from Remy’s side.

Right?

“We- we have...” Remy said slowly. “But that’s not what I meant. I love you. Like, love love. Like the head over heels in love kind. The- the I can never stop thinking ‘bout you kind. The, fuck, you’re so gorgeous kind. The kind that means I’m, like, basically always thinking about you and about kissing you and about how, wow, you’re- you’re just amazing. I mean, damn, I know last week when I told you that you’re my favourite person, I kinda said it like a joke, but I meant it. I like really, really meant it.”

When Remy realised that he was rambling, he clamped his hand over his mouth, like it was the only way to get the words – the pretty, pretty words that had set Emile’s heart aflutter – to stop tumbling out.

Emile was frozen.

He stared, wide-eyed at his best friend.

“Oh,” was the only thing he could say, in a strangled voice.

He was sure that his face was already bright red.

“Great.” Remy sighed, removing his palm from his mouth and burying his face in his hands. “I’ve really fucked this up, haven’t I?” He mumbled just loud enough to be audible. “I- I know you don’t feel the same way, babe, and it’s fine. It’s totally, totally fine. I’m happy just being friends with you, ‘kay? You- you don’t have to return anything. It’s- it’s whatever. It’s chill.”

Emile’s brain had broken. He could hardly think anything other than the words ‘Remy’ and ‘love’ just over and over on repeat.

Instead of saying anything in response to that – as he wasn’t even sure if he could – he just suddenly burst into nervous, delighted laugher. Emile was sure he sounded like he was crazy, especially when Remy turned to him with a bewildered expression.

“Did- did you really mean that?” Emile asked when he could finally collect his thoughts enough to speak, which took slightly longer than he would have liked it to.

Remy blinked. Then, his expression softened.

“Of course, I did,” he said. “I’d never lie to you about something like this, Em.”

“So, you... you really mean it?” Emile asked hopefully.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did,” Remy said. He hesitated for a moment, before nervously adding: “Do you- I mean, is it-”

“I love you, too.”

There was a beat.

Remy stared back at him, wide-eyed. The moment of silence was somehow simultaneously nerve-racking and also soft and so, so exciting, because, oh my gosh, Remy loved him. Remy loved him, he loved him, he loved him!

Love! Love! Love!

And, oh, heavens above, Emile was about to start wiggling excitedly because, gosh, he really, really just had to kiss Remy, right now. And maybe – maybe, maybe, maybe – Remy would say yes if he asked.

Emile let out another giggle, covering his mouth with his hand.

“You... you do?” Remy asked, eyes wide and hopeful, and Emile was suddenly glad that the sunglasses were propped up on his head, as his expression was always much easier to read that way.

“Yeah,” Emile responded, equally soft. “I really, really do.”

“Wow. Just- just wow.”

Emile reached forward, impulsively cupping Remy’s cheek with his hand, and Remy froze. His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

“Oh, gosh- sorry,” Emile apologised. “I should’ve asked-”

He moved to take his hand away, but was stopped by Remy covering Emile’s hand with his own.

“You’re good- you're- yes. Yes.”

And, well, that was exactly the answer that Emile had wanted to hear.

He leant forward, and finally – finally! – did the thing he’d most wanted to do for years. Years. Since the moment he’d first laid eyes on Remy, he’d thought about it.

He kissed Remy.

Softly. Carefully. Holding Remy’s face so delicately like he was holding something precious.

And the way Remy was kissing him back...

Emile had seen Remy kiss people before – strangers, friends – and he’d always kissed them like he was doing it for fun, not love. He’d never seen Remy kiss anyone as gently as Remy was kissing him, right now.

Bubbles of delight and fireworks of excitement were going off in Emile’s heart and his mind.

He sighed happily into the kiss, and he could suddenly feel Remy smile against his lips.

Emile broke the kiss with another delighted giggle and Remy couldn’t help but just start laughing with him, too. And, of course, that just made Emile’s giggles louder and more enthusiastic.

He was so focused on the laughing and the delighted feeling in his chest from the fact that he had just kissed Remy, that Emile didn’t immediately notice that Remy’s lips were suddenly pink – a light, pastel pink that certainly hadn’t been there before.

And, in fact, it was Remy who halted the laughter first, by freezing in place and staring – yet again wide-eyed – at Emile’s own lips.

Emile paused, and tilted his head in confusion.

“Remy?”

Remy opened and closed his mouth a few times, never taking his eyes off of Emile’s lips.

“Em... your- your lips.”

Emile blinked. He reached a hand up to his own lips, and swiped a finger across them. He then looked back down at his hand, and found nothing – no blood, no anything.

He paused, and then turned his head to look at the mirror that hung on an opposite wall.

His eyes landed on his reflection, and he finally noticed that there was a smear of shiny silver across his lips that definitely, definitely hadn’t been there before.

Emile sucked in a breath as Remy turned his head to look into the mirror, and he realised that Remy’s lips were now a lipstick-like pink, when he certainly hadn’t been wearing any just before the pair had kissed.

“We’re-” Remy started.

“Oh,” Emile breathed.

“Oh,” Remy echoed.

They turned their heads to stare at each other, equally wide-eyed and shocked and excited.

Soulmates.

They were soulmates.

And then Remy surged forward, and kissed Emile again.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

May I have a scenario/imagine, whichever makes more sense, of Trey, Rook, and Crewel trying to tame some sort of wild, magical invasive species of Poison Ivy that has taken over the greenhouse?

Crewel gives me perpetually disappointed wine aunt father vibes. This piece also lowkey turned out to be Trey x Rook, but you didn’t read that from me.

This imagine’s longer than my usual 1k word self-imposed limit, since it goes out to a friend of mine that’s been supporting me through final projects and exams. I’m not sure if they’d want me tagging them so publicly, but they know who they are.

Imagine this...

To Professor Crewel’s chagrin, members of the Science Club had never had strong academic intent. In actuality, the club was a thinly veiled excuse to bake cakes (just to find the perfect ratio of leaveners and sweeteners!) and to stalk watch students in their natural habitats (nothing wrong with an impromptu observational study, right?). Instead of test tubes and beakers, the lab benches were littered with cake pans and photographs of unsuspecting Savanaclaw students.

“I do wish you two would take this club more seriously,” Crewel would often gripe, fingers massaging his temples. “Science is not a play thing, it is a powerful tool with which we can use to redefine and reshape the world around us.”

Such were the woes of an instructor--but today, he had no time to lament.

Crewel’s jaw tightened as he gazed upon a sprawling mess--the shattered glass panes of the Botanical Garden, with massive stalks of ivy reaching for the skies. Casualties lined the ground--plants and flowers drained dry of their life, all withered and decayed. The ivy writhed in glee.

(He shouldn’t have been surprised that the headmaster summoned him and the Science Club to resolve the issue instead of hiring a real exterminator.)

“How unseemly,” Crewel noted, clicking his tongue. “Running amok and ruining so many of the specimens we’ve carefully cultivated... This shall not go unpunished.”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“Clover.”

“Yes.” Trey stepped forward, his magical pen ready.

“Hunt.”

“Oui.” Rook followed suit, smoothly drawing forth his own pen.

“The time has come to prove your mettle,” Crewel announced, rapping his pointer against his palm. His onyx eyes seethed with a quiet, controlled rage. “Show this overgrown weed what the Science Club is truly capable of.”

At his command, the boys nodded and tore off toward the Botanical Garden.

Crewel held his ground. The corners of his mouth curled into a condescending smirk as he addressed the poison ivy. “Come here.”

An arm of ivy flew at him, so fast that it was but a blur.

An alive, but livid, blur.

“Heel!”

A column of fire erupted from Crewel’s pointer. His attack slammed against the plant, settings its leaves awash in embers. The rogue plant let out a sky-splitting roar.

The battle had just begun.

Trey ducked under an arc of burning ivy and threw open the door to the Botanical Garden. Tucking his limbs in, he barreled through right as more ivy snaked in to seal off the entrance once more.

He could feel the heat upon his back, the earth quaking under his feet, and Rook close behind him--yet he willed himself to keep his eyes glued ahead, even as he launched across the threshold and into a terrifying new realm.

The inside of the greenhouse now glistened with ivy--covering the glass panes, slowly strangling what few plants remained. The Botanical Garden had always been warm before, but it was unusually so today. Sweltering, and almost so humid that the floors and walls seem to eerily pulsate with life.

“Keep your wits about you, and don’t look back, boys,” Crewel had instructed them. “Just get in there, and cut it off at its source--at the heart.”

Trey’s eyes darted this way and that. Green, green, green. It all looked the same to him. Where in the world was the point of origin?

“Got any ideas?!” He glanced over his shoulder at his partner--and his protective goggles nearly went askew.

Rook had dropped to one knee, pressing a gloved hand against the floor--now a carpet of vines. “Hoooh! What a fascinating specimen!” he marveled. “Such destructive power, and yet it also sports this emerald sheen... Très manifique!”

“H-Hey... No offense, but I don’t think now’s the time to stop and sniff the roses. Or, well. I guess it would be ivy in this case.”

“Non, non! There is always time for beauty--even in dire situations!” Rook insisted, his hands continuing to grope around. His eyes suddenly creased, and his smile turned sly. “Ah, te voilà.”

“Even if you say that, that’s not going to help us fix this...!!”

“Calm yourself, Chevalier des Roses,” Rook advised with an airy laugh. He cupped a hand to his ear and beamed. “Listen closely! Surely even your own heart beckons you to still your worries.”

“Heart?” Trey straightened, adamant as he folded his arms. “Sorry, but I just don’t believe in stuff like that. Come on, Rook. We need to focus--Crewel-sensei’s trusting us with this task.”

He cast a concerned glance at the doorway, ensnared in vines. They’d have to blast their way through later--but if they stayed in this space for too long, they, too, would soon be drained of all their life force. “We can’t just mess around!”

“Ah--but you must put your faith in me as well, Chevalier des Roses!” Rook insisted, pointing to the patch of floor that he had been not-too-subtly groping earlier. “I implore you to lend me your strength!”

“You want me to attack the gr--?!” Trey froze mid-sentence. He had become vaguely aware of a gentle sensation creeping around his ankles.

In an instant, he was yanked into the air, dangling upside down like a useless rag doll. Blood rushed to his head, and his surroundings spun.

“Chevalier des Roses!!”

“I’m fine!! I-I’m fine!” Trey called--though he clearly wasn’t. “I can just--” He waved his magical pen, the air growing tense as a small ball of fire collected at his command.

“Non!” Rook warned, startling his classmate. “There is nothing to cushion your descent, mon amie! You will surely break a leg--and certainly not in the theatrical sense!”

He’s right. Trey’s fire extinguished itself, replaced by a chill crawling down his spine.

“A little help then?!”

Rook’s eyes widened. “You would give me your trust?”

“Not exactly like I have any other choice.” Trey would shrug, but it was a rather difficult motion to pull off while suspended midair--and far more troublesome, his veins ran cold. It was a sure sign of the ivy sapping his energy.

“Have no fear! Today, it shall be my turn to be the chevalier.” The hunter grinned from ear to ear, magical pen in hand.

“Please, Rook! Any day now--before I become plant food!” Trey’s voice was hoarse--from exasperation, or from the magical ivy, he wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps both.

“Just for today, I shall be your Chevalier D’amour.”

And with a confident wink, Rook plunged the ivy-covered floor into a sea of flames.

The accursed plant wailed as it shriveled to ash upon a backdrop of billowing smoke. Embers flickered and danced in the afternoon, the Botanical Garden set ablaze. Crewel took a step back, grimacing at the growing fire.

A figure emerged from the greenhouse, carrying another. The professor squinted into the smoke, pinpointing the familiar outline of his Science Club members--Rook, cradling a pale-looking Trey in his strong arms.

“Puppies.” Crewel pinched his temples.

“C’est chose faite--it is now done.” The brim of Rook’s hat eclipsed his eyes, making the typically cheery hunter appear dark to match his tone. Then he lifted his head, basking in the sunshine, and that somber moment was over. “All is well and good again, as it should be!”

“I... I thought I was going to die,” Trey groaned. “... And Rook, I appreciate you catching my fall, but you didn’t need to carry me out like you’re an action hero in a movie or something.”

“Are you able to still stand after an attack from that heinous plant?”

“Yeah. Just put me down.”

“Oui.”

Trey stood on shaky legs--and instinctively leaned on Rook’s shoulder.

“Well, boys. You’ve exterminated the ivy--as well as just about every other plant in the Botanical Garden. How exactly do you intend to atone for this?!” Crewel snapped, whipping his pointer at his students. “I believe my instructions were quite clear--destroy only the heart of the ivy.”

“The fault lies with me, Monsieur,” Rook declared, dipping into a bow. “We dallied for longer than was necessary, and in a moment of panic, I unleashed my magic.”

“Always one with a flair for the dramatic. Unfortunately, that will not serve you well in detention, Hunt.”

“Wait. Crewel-sensei, that’s not the whole story,” Trey interrupted. “Rook got me out of a pinch--and he deserves credit for that. He’s also the one that found out where the ivy’s heart was--buried in the floor itself. I didn’t realize until it was too late.”

The professor’s lips pursed into a straight line. “Clover, are you confessing to your own negligence?”

“I am.” He nodded firmly. “I’m the one that deserves the detention.”

“Trey-kun is not responsible!” Rook protested. “He is the one that attempted to set us on the right path. I refused to heed his advice, which led to events escalating.”

“I didn’t listen to Rook when he tried to tell me about what I needed to do.”

“I should have phrased it more concisely.”

“You--”

“Trey-kun--”

“Enough. It is clear to me that both of you contributed to this chaos.” Crewel sighed. “... Hunt, take Clover to the infirmary. I will put out the fire myself.

“... Are you letting us go?”

“Of course not. Once you’ve recovered, Clover... you boys will be restoring plants in the Botanical Garden for the remainder of the semester as punishment.”

“Ahhh, I should’ve known. Riddle’s not gonna like this at all.”

“Chin up, Chevalier des Roses! At the very least, we shall have each other’s company!” Rook laughs, smacking Trey on the back and sending his peer nearly doubling over.

Crewel sighed once more--he was disappointed, but not surprised.

His Science Club puppies still had a long way to go.

[kasha-formerlydrabbletastic]

Ranking

Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 1,967

Warnings: Food mention. Possible secondhand embarrassment trigger.

Author’s Note: Fluffy stuff. 

You had never been one for rag mags - celebrity gossip is simply uninteresting at best and horribly cruel at worst - but the bold headline this week on People Magazine catches your eye as you absentmindedly place your groceries on the belt at the supermarket. 

“Seriously?” you mutter incredulously, your fingers wrapped around a bottle of orange juice. 

Is it worthy of a chuckle? Should you keep moving, pretend you didn’t see it? Or... and you can’t believe this thought has even occurred to you... would it be worth the six bucks to bring it back to the compound and share with the rest of the team? The options occupy too much of your brain space as the cashier tells your total, distracting you from the inane tug-of-war in your head. 

“How much?” you say, shaking away the silly predicament for a moment. 

The cashier, hardly older than 16 it seems, points at the screen instead of answering. Before you pay, however, you glance back at the magazine, finally coming to a decision. 

--

The magazine slaps the counter top, its glossy front page gleaming as you unload the rest of the groceries; it gets lost in the vegetables and fruits, the cereals, the junk food... and for a while you forget it.

"Back with the grub, eh, Y/N?" Tony says, swiping up a bag of Doritos and popping it open. "I gotta say, you've done shopping trips quicker than that."

You laugh, gathering all the reusable bags into one and putting them away and say, "Maybe you should don your supersuit and fly over all the New York City traffic if you want it quicker.”

"I believe that would be an unnecessary trip," Bruce mentions from the kitchen table, sipping his tea. 

“Hey, I offered to send someone out to do it,” he replies. “You insisted on doing it yourself, remember? If I recall correctly,” he continues, feigning concentration as he puts on a teasing mocking tone, “you said that you didn’t want to let the fact that you’re an Avenger now make you too... what was the word.... bougie.”

“At least one of us needs to be grounded, Tony.”

Your gaze shifts to Steve as he passes, a subtle smile on his face when he meets your eye; your tummy flutters, having nothing to do with the hunger pang you’re feeling and everything to do with the way Steve’s eyes sparkle in the soothing lighting of the kitchen. You smile back, hoping the burn in your cheeks is obvious to no one but yourself. 

One by one, the team trickles into the kitchen, looking for a lazy Sunday lunch or ingredients for a post-workout smoothie. Your voices mingle together, a pleasant hum in the early afternoon of a rare mission-free, drama-free weekend. 

Or so you thought. 

"I'm not number one?!"

The incredulous shout draws every eye in the room; Tony sits on the counter, eyes wide as he stares into the open magazine in his hand. You giggle, turning back to your lunch, relieved to know you don't have to live with his over-inflated ego for the next century.

"What are you on about?” Thor says, looking up almost mid-bite. 

“This,” Tony replies, shaking the magazine; he flips through the pages, apparently intent on finding his ranking. “It’s the Top 10 Sexiest Male Superheroes, and I’m... not even second... I’m... how am I fifth?”

At this point, you bite your knuckle to keep from bursting aloud with laughter. You lock eyes with Steve, who mirrors your amusement.

“Lang is ahead of me? Are you serious? He’s a goddamn ant! An actual bug!”

“Who’s number one?” Natasha inquires after swallowing a bite of her sandwich.

Tony looks up, annoyed or crestfallen, you can’t tell. 

“Thor, of course,” he answers with a shrug. “Can’t beat a demigod, I guess.”

Thor jumps up from his chair, his arms raised in victory, Clint giving him a congratulatory high five. The kitchen descends into loud chatter, and after many demands to know the full list, Tony gives the magazine up to Natasha, who reads off the ranking. 

“Cap,” she says with a nod to him. “Good job, you’re second.”

“What?” he laughs; if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear it was humility that makes him say it. There’s no chance that his ranking would go to his head.

“It’s gotta be the beard,” Clint laughs. “Otherwise you would’ve been eighth or worse.”

“It’s definitely more than the beard,” you answer.

Biting your tongue might have been the better option, as now you find yourself the center of some very intrigued attention. Perhaps your tone was a little too defensive, or the blush that certainly feels infinitely hotter now has finally caught flame on your cheeks. Whatever it was that garnered such smirks from around the table, whatever your intentions, your immediate wish is for the ground to open up and swallow you whole. 

“Care to elaborate on that, Y/N?” Tony asks, seeming to forget his fifth place ranking for a moment in favor of someone else’s total humiliation.

You clear your throat, glancing down at your food, bereft of your hunger. 

“Well,” you begin. “Maybe it has a lot to do with the way he carries himself, you know? There’s a lot of dignity there, a lot of virtue. He’s respectful and honest, stands up for what he believes in. He’s definitely not hideous, either. You know... he’s a - ”

“Y/N,” Steve says, leaning forward in his chair. “You don’t have to explain yourself. It’s really sweet of you, of course, and I do appreciate it, but - “

“No, Cap,” Tony interrupts. “I think we should let Y/N keep going.”

Your throat closes in panic and you clear it again, getting to your feet as you say, “I’m actually just gonna go.... uh... make a phone call. I’ll catch you guys later.”

Steve chastises Tony as the rest of the team breaks into discussion, but you don’t hear any of it. Soon, you’re in the elevator, bumping your head against the wall over and over, wondering if it’s too soon to pack your bags and leave the team with no notice as to where you’ve gone. You barely register your surroundings until you enter your room, locking the door behind you and requesting that FRIDAY ensures that you remain undisturbed until further notice. 

---

Each time your knuckles meet the leather of the punching bag, your mind gets a little clearer. It’s almost as if all the big and little things plaguing your thoughts settle on the surface of your fists, only to be smashed to pieces when you punch. The nervous energy that settled in you at lunch drives your fists forward, burning off into nothing with every movement you make. 

Midnight was the perfect time to sneak into the gym, to get a workout in without anyone bothering you; everyone usually slinks off to do their own things a little earlier in the evening. Perhaps some have fallen asleep by this time. It didn’t matter where they were or what they were doing as long as they weren’t around to say anything to you about Steve.

“Y/N?”

Then again... sometimes you’re wrong. 

You halt in your activity, breathing heavily and dreading turning to look at Steve. Your hands drop to your sides as you pluck up your courage, facing the man with a deep breath.

“Hey,” you reply as nonchalant as possible.

“Hi,” he says softly, his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants; his eyes fix on yours, drawing you into their depths as usual as he slowly approaches you. “Can we talk?”

The pit in your stomach grows exponentially, making you regret ever leaving your room in the first place.

“We don’t have to,” you answer quietly. “It’s just a silly magazine. It’s not like it’s about anything important, right?”

Facing the bag once more, you resume your activity, hoping against hope that Steve just leaves it there, that he doesn’t press the matter. The very last thing you want to do is spill your guts about what you thought was just a casual crush to the very man you’re crushing on. You hadn’t expected to become so flustered in such a situation, but with the spotlight on you at lunch, it had really sunk in just how much you feel for him. 

“Y/N,” he continues, but you evade him.

“It’s not a big deal,” you say, deciding to give up your workout for the night and hit the showers; he’d never follow you there. 

Before you can get too far, though, he says, “That’s why you’re running away from me, right?”

The anger is a surprise, bubbling up as you turn on your heel; perhaps it’s your shield in this moment, a veil to wear to save face. 

“Don’t push it, Cap,” you insist, making one more attempt at escape. Again, however, you’re stayed by his response.

“You’re definitely not hideous, either,’ he says, and you turn to face him once more; he stands there, wringing his hands, an earnest expression on his face. “You’re funny, and whip smart, and you don’t take anyone’s shit. There’s compassion and a goodness that I haven’t seen in anyone in a long time.”

Perhaps you’ve hit your head and you’re dreaming this. Maybe there’s a chance you inadvertently ingested some kind of hallucinogen at an enemy’s lair. Whatever it is, there is no way that Steve Rogers is standing in front of you, singing your praises like this. Not in the real world. Never once had you imagined the feelings reciprocated, so this must be a figment of your deepest desires.

“What?” is all you manage to say.

Steve’s brows knit over the bridge of his nose, desperation threading through every feature on his face.

“You can’t possibly think I wouldn’t fall for you, can you?” he asks gently. “That I haven’t noticed you? Y/N, you’re almost the only thing I notice anymore.”

"Well, that's a good way to get yourself killed during a mission."

You didn't mean to say it, and the moment solidifies around you, even the molecules in the air coming to a stand still. Steve’s eyes sparkle, blinking in slow motion as he moves forward. The corner of his mouth twitches upward in a sweet smirk. 

“What a way to go, then,” he says, within reaching distance of your hand. 

“So much for our selfless leader,” you giggle.

He hesitates for a moment, but when you move to offer your hand, he reaches out with his, his fingers curling around yours. The blue in his eyes glints in the low light of the gym, hinting not a single bit of insincerity. 

“There is something wrong with your ranking, though,” you say after a moment, amused at the almost-surprise in his expression as he straightens his posture.

“What do you mean?”

You grin before replying, “You should definitely have taken the number one spot.”

Steve relaxes, chuckling as he glances away. His free hand combs through his hair.

“Over Thor?” he says. “No way that’s happening.”

“Please,” you answer, finding your gumption and pulling him closer; the two of you are close enough to feel each other’s breaths on your faces, “There’s no contest.”

One more tug on his hand and his lips meet yours, hesitant at first, but with a sigh, the pair of you relax into each other. Lips parting, you taste his breath, minty and clean, as his hands find your waist, pulling you flush against his front. 

“If you say so,” he says as he pulls away, gazing into your eyes as he smiles, his expression a little dazed, a little satisfied. 

“Oh, Cap,” you reply, your hand above his wildly beating heart. “I do say so.”

[tipsydipsydo]

The hands of a sinner 🔥[M]

Pairing: Dom! Jungkook x Sub! Reader

Gender of the Reader: female

(The Version of this Idea with a male reader could be found here!)

Word Count: 2k

Genre: Smut!

Warnings: Filthy Language; also filthy Dirty Talk; Hand Kink + Tattoo Kink = Jungkook Hand Tattoos!; Petnames; Daddy-Kink; soft Dom-/Sub-Themes; a freaking lot of teasing; Jungkook is the biggest tease in the international history (he's literally Satan!); fingering; a little bit of Pussy Exhibitionism(?); Squirting (+ a wet bed); mentions of unprotected vaginal sex (stay safe, condoms are there for a damn reason!)

A/N: Just realize how damn sexy his hand tattoos are... even when I don't have usually a thing for Tattoos, especially not on Hands! But... it's Jungkook. That should be explaination enough!

And I think it could be maybe interesting for @h0esvck and @lustfuldevils! Love you😏🔥💕 

Info: Well... I’m pretty embarrassed and I’m so sorry (really hunny!!) to forgot where I got the inspiration from and WHICH LITTLE DEVIL AWAKE THIS DEEP DESIRE AND THIS KINK IN ME! IT WAS @sugarly-laysa​!!! (I think I didn’t want to remember it because your Scenario turned me way too much on... Take this poor excuse as a compliment Sweetheart xD 💕)

Well, you can find the inspiration material aka the work of a very talented devil here!

Summary: Since Jungkook got his hand tattoos, you've found out that they have a stronger effect on you than you would like it. You also have good reasons not to tell him that you are developing a kink for his tattoos. And these reasons getting also confirmed...

「© tipsydipsydo」

This following story is my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!

I’ll not accept any kind of reposting, stealing or using/editing my work!

That includes reposting my content on other social media platforms too, even when you link me as the original author.

Thank you.

"Hm, Baby? Why didn't you tell me that you like my tattoos that much?" Jungkook whispers in a teasing tone and laughs softly as you gasp for a breath and observe his calm right hand on your thigh like hypnotized, only his thumb draws small circles on your bare skin. A gesture that's supposed to "calm you down", but it does the exact opposite, causes that your breathing only gets quicker and you have to bite your lower lip in order not to let the whimpering, that is in your throat, comes over your lips.

You really can't remember how you got into this situation right now... but it has something to do with your intense stare at Jungkook's tattooed right hand. Perhaps also with the dirty thoughts that you had in your head at the moment and maybe caused that your cheeks had turned bright red without you noticing.

In any case, you are now with your back to the head of your bed, a Jungkook who's kneeling over you with a knowing smirk and this damn hand, which has put so many indecent thoughts in your head, is on your thigh and is just waiting for it to ruin you.

"T-This here was the reason! I k-knew you would tease the shit out of me and wouldn't let me live with it anymore!", you reply with a trembling voice and press your lips together to let these sinful moans and whimpers where they belongs to. In your mouth and not to let them come over your lips and thus give Jungkook the pure satisfaction and complacency!

But Jungkook knows you, knows how to interpret your facial expressions all too well, especially in situations like this, and he also knows all your other soft spots, which is why it really doesn't help to resist his charm. To your displeasure, you already know that you can't stand it for a longer time anymore.

His hand, exactly this very dangerous hand with all the seductive tattoos, is no longer lying still on your leg, but now is slowly sliding up your thigh. Slips cheekily under the hem of your skirt and head to the center between your legs. You involuntarily hold your breath, longingly expect that his hand will lie on your clothed vulva soon and maybe even slip under the already damp fabric of your panties. But his hand stops at the top of your thigh, so that a frustrated whimper leaves your mouth.

"After such a long period of abstinence so damn needy, Babygirl? If you had said earlier what I should do with this hand, you would have cum countless times with the help of this hand, Princess~", Jungkook whispers in a husky voice into your ear and chuckles again at the end of the sentence. A hot shiver chases down your spine as your boyfriend grabs your earlobe between his teeth and gently tuck on it, before he lets his lips wander down and spread hot kisses on your neck, sucks on your soft skin here and there and leave dark marks.

Meanwhile, your own desire rises immeasurably, little moans leaves your lips, you close your eyes and buck your hips helplessly and desperately up, in the hope that Jungkook will finally let his hand wander into the area where you need him the most. You can't get that damn last sentence out of your head. Then you would've cum countless times with the help of this hand.

Fuck, how many times have you imagined how Jungkook could finger you with this hand, with those damn sexy tattoos on his knuckles. With these deliciously long fingers into your greedy little pussy.

A high pitched moan leaves your throat when suddenly the tips of the fingers of this specific hand caress and tease your clothed pussy lips. A deep growl can be heard from Jungkook.

"Fuck! Baby, already so wet? Already so damn ready to get fingerfucked by Daddy? Getting fingerfucked by Daddy's Hand full of tattoos? Babygirl, I wanna see that facial expression of the emoji on my middle finger on your face when I'm torturing your G-Spot with the exact same finger and gonna make you squirt for me~"

His dirty talk shoots directly into your abdomen, makes this ball of pure pleasure bigger and bigger and therefore makes you more and more restless and needy. "Please...", runs from your lips. You can no longer withstand his touches, his words and certainly not his fantasies about what he wants to do with you. Damn Jungkook!

"Please what? You have to say what you want in proper sentences, my little girl~"

Your cheeks turns into a deeper shade of red than they already are. "P-Please finally fuck me with your fingers! I want you to stuff them into my tight pussy hole and let me cum on your hand... please!"

You whimper and buck your pelvis into his palm, to find some friction and with it, some relief. Jungkook suck a breath in sharply.

"Fuck, you want that? You want me to finger you until you squirt all over my tattoos?" A loud whine fills the room, you furrow your eyebrows together and nod violently, rubbing yourself against Jungkook's hand. "Yes, yes, yes Daddy! I-I wanna squirt all over your tattoos and make them all wet! Please let me cum on your hand!"

Some curses comes out of Jungkook's mouth, suddenly his hand is gone between your thighs, making you whimper out of frustration.

But this tone of your voice changes very quickly into a surprised one, turns the whimpering into a squeak, since Jungkook pulls with two rough yanks at first the pair of panties down and then your skirt.

Now your lower half is completely bare in front of him and instinctively you want to close your legs. But Jungkook is faster.

"Nuh, nuh, nuh! Not so shy my darling when you begged me to finger that pussy of yours just a few minutes ago~", he growls with an unreadable devilish smile on his lips and puts both hands on your knees and presses them gently, but determinant apart. Licks his lips at the sight of your shiny pussylips, glistening full of your arousal. He smirks at you arrogantly, but this kind of arrogance that only makes you even wetter.

To prevent you from closing your legs again, he places himself between your legs and sits on your calves. Spreads his own legs, on which your own legs are laid, a little bit more, so that you're finally completely exposed and lying open in front of him. Pussylips are slightly spreaded and allows a seductive view at your tight hole, what is still clenching around nothing.

With his left hand he supports himself on the headboard and now let his right hand slides down of the inside of your left thigh, until his palm lies on your vulva and his thumb gently strokes your clit.

Whimpering, you're moving forward with your hips, looking for more friction, for touching, just for more! "Please, Kook! Don't tease me!"

"But it's so hot to tease you... to make my stubborn babygirl all whiny just for me~" You're about to start begging for real to get finally fingered, but in that moment he moves his hand down and spread your pussy lips completely open for him, to enjoy the sight of your glistening cunt, just perfectly ready to take two fingers into your sweet hole right at the beginning.

But before he finally going to fulfill this wish of yours, it's still too interesting to see how you react to other plays with his fingers. Like how you flinch and what cute moans he's able to elict from your lips when he rubs the pads of his index and middle finger sideways to your clit.

"D-Daddy, please! I-I need your fingers, your tongue, your cock! I need something of you in my pussy, p-please!", you beg.

Your hands grabs Jungkook's wrist, you think about to lead his fingers into your cunt by yourself.

"So greedy, such a greedy and naughty girl I have here! To be honest, you should get a punishment for your impatient behavior, but this pussy of yours looks so beautiful, so wet and messy... I think I could get over it. But don't think I'll go down easy in you!", he wispers into your ear, when he's fingers finds finally his way into your tiny hole. 

A moan full of relief left your lips and out of primal sexual instinct and need you're bucking your hips up, so his fingers are literally sucked in by your desperate pussy and your tight walls keeps him all way in.

"My Babygirl's pussy is so needy and eager to have tattoed fingers in herself that she wouldn't let me out anymore? So desperate, such a desperate and naughty Princess I have here...", he groans in a deep voice.

"What about I bend my fingers just in the right position for you?~"

As he is saying this, his fingertips reach exactly the right spot and before you realize it, he slamms his fingers into you, make you scream. Hitting your G-spot with every stroke, lets you see stars and your desire to grow infinitely.

"Baby, look! Look down on yourself! Look, how my hand full of tattoos fucks you, how your tiny hole sucks my fingers in, how wet you're already and what kind of mess you already have here between your legs. I'm gonna ruin you so bad baby~ "

As your eyes wander down between your legs, it feels like getting a punch of pleasure straight into your abdomen. He wasn't lying, not at all. Your pussy really sucks his fingers it, you are so wet, your sweet juice is overflowing, this loud lewd squelching sound that are coming out of your cunt, thanks to Jungkooks fingerfucking. The knot in your belly, full of lust is getting bigger and bigger and is not far from bursting. Sounds come from your throat that you don't even know from yourself. And Jungkook also knows that you are not far from cumming.

"Hm? My little naughty Baby is already about to cum? So fast, just from a bit fingerfucking? Just because you see Daddy's tattoed hand is coated all over in his Princess juice? Wanna cum, Babygirl? Wanna squirt all over Daddy's Hand, gushing all that clear pussy cum over Daddy's Tattoos? Being a dirty girl and make Daddy's Hand all wet from your pussy juice and cum? Being a naughty and filthy girl just for me and squirt on my Hand?~ "

"Oh my God Jungkook! Oh my god, I-I'm gonna... I'm gonna..."

"Come for me, baby! Be a naughty girl for daddy and squirt your juices all over Daddy's hand~"

You only need two more thrusts of his hand to gush all your cum over his hand and whining and sobbing out of pleasure and oversensitivity.

Jungkooks movements slows down and massaging your trembling and shaking legs gently with his other hand to give you some time to find yourself again. But your eyes snaps open, when you hear Jungkook unbuckles the belt of his jeans.

"Jungkook wha-"

"Well princess, seeing you squirting on my hand was pretty hot and my cock agrees to that. The sheets are already soaked with your cum and it's not much time left then it'll be the mattress too. So we will need a new mattress anyway, that's why I thought I could fuck you now properly too and make you squirt again, with this magical hand on your clit~", says Jungkook with a smile of satan and licking complete satiesfied your cum off the fingertips of his right, tattoed hand.

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[last-operator-standing]

Toll of the Bell

Chapter 2 - Tempestuous

> Ao3

> Chapter 1 (tumblr)

> Chapter 3 (tumblr)

Summary: What now? He could roll over and accept the fate thrust upon him and die as Adler intended. Starting a new life away from it all couldn't be that bad either. Or…

Or he could finish the mission.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: None apply this chapter

Words: 3.4k (5.4k total)

A/N: This took me a little longer than I wanted but I have the next few chapters thought out now, so hopefully I'll be able to get them done and shared soon!

It's bright and early when Lazar shuffles in and startles Bell awake. He offers a sheepish smile and holds up the tray in his hand as peace offering. "Thought you might be hungry." 

 Bell stares down at the tray Lazar sets across his lap. There's a small bowl of noodles in broth and a pack of unopened saltines along with a bottle of water. "You've been out for a while. Figured you should start with something light." A soft jingle fills the silence and draws Bell's attention. There's a gentle pressure at his left wrist and he tries to peer curiously at what Lazar's doing. 

 "Can't eat without hands, eh?" He playfully waves Bell's now free hand about. Bell can't resist the small smile that makes its way across his face. It falls quickly when he waits expectantly for his other arm to be released only for Lazar to awkwardly avoid his eyes. 

 "Eat up." The atmosphere turns tense and awkward. "We can, uh… Talk when you're done." It sounds more like a question than a statement. Lazar makes a quick retreat, leaving Bell alone with his bland breakfast. 

 Bell sits in silence. The meal remains untouched and he stares unblinking into the cooling bowl. His previous anxieties start to resurface, leaving him nervous and uncertain once more. One question in particular forces itself to the front of his mind.

 What now?

Lazar wouldn't save him just to turn around and execute him, right? He must want something. More intel? Perhaps he and Park were starting a separate investigation into Perseus. 

 "I just.. I feel like I owe you, Bell."

 Bell heaves a heavy sigh. All this thinking was giving him a headache. He finally relents and reaches his free hand for the saltines, bringing them to his still restrained hand to pull the package open. The plastic is stubborn at first and refuses to part. No amount of tugging or prying can pull the traitorous material apart. Bell is seconds away from gnawing the damn thing off when it finally gives, showering him in crumbs and scattering perfectly good crackers to the floor.

 The dramatic groan and loud Russian cursing is well justified, Bell decides. He angrily stuffs a saltine into his mouth and crunches it with a vengeance. The door is abruptly thrown wide, nearly causing him to choke in surprise.

 "Bell, are you-" 

 Lazar pauses to take in the sight of the wide-eyed Bell and his mess of saltines. 

 "I can explain."

 Lazar visibly relaxes and grins. "We thought someone was trying to kill you with all that yelling." From behind his shoulder, Park peers in, calculating eyes scanning the room. They both step inside. Lazar takes a seat on the edge of the bed and snatches a cracker from the open pack. Park remains at the door, leaning against the frame. Bell doesn't miss the way she discreetly holsters her gun. 

 "So, Bell." It's Park who speaks this time, catching his attention. "What do you remember?" Something about her tone feels familiar. Almost.. unsettling.

 "So close to Perseus."

 "I, uh.. Well.." 

 The room is dark. The overhead lamp is the only thing to illuminate the space. Lazar stands nearby. He faces Bell, but his expression is twisted in something akin to discomfort. "The CIA reinvented you, Bell." Adler stands directly beside the gurney he's strapped to, demanding all of Bell's attention. "If you believed you were someone else, we could lead you to a place where you'd give it all up."

 "Fuck this," he hears his voice waver with fear. It's the wrong thing to say. "I don't think so." Adler practically launches himself forward and roughly grabs the front of Bell's vest. "One way or another, Bell, we're gonna get it out of you." 

 "I mean, I remember up to Solovetsky."

 The bitter wind feels good against his face. It brings a sense of serenity to Bell's turbulent thoughts despite the tense atmosphere with Adler. 

 "It was never personal."

 Bell chews on his lip as the memories resurface. "And when Adler.. shot me. But nothing new with Perseus." Park's eyes narrow a fraction, further unsettling him. There's something else on his mind that's been bothering him since the first moment he saw Park. 

 "Ah, well, give it time," Park offers without much conviction. She opens her mouth to speak again but Bell cuts her off.

 "I'm sorry," he blurts. The apology seems to catch Park by surprise. "I should have been faster. If only I had been faster, I could have saved you, too…" Park suddenly looks uncomfortable.

 "It's alright, Bell. It.. It wasn't your fault."

 "How are you..?" 

 "Alive?" Park's expansion finally softens. "After the skyhook pulled you two off, I knew I only had seconds left before I was dead. I managed to stumble back inside and take cover in an empty room. Luckily, Perseus didn't seem interested in checking if the building was clear."

 Bell gets the feeling there's more to her story but he opts not to pry. A silence falls over the three. Lazar keeps picking at the abandoned pack of crackers while Park keeps a steady watchful gaze on Bell. Before Solovetsky, he would have matched her with his own unyielding stare. Back then he had no reason to doubt or fear her. But now he's not so sure. 

 "So kid, what will you do now?" Bell looks away from Park and over to Lazar. He's sitting casually beside Bell like he's unbothered by the tension but his easy smile doesn't quite reach his sharp eyes. It isn't lost on Bell that his words up to now have all been for show. 

 They don't trust me.

 He shifts uncomfortably, careful not to make a bigger mess of crackers and soup, and clears his throat before he speaks up. "Perseus is still out there," he starts slowly. Park's expression flashes and Bell tries not to flinch. Lazar simply watches and listens closely. "Someone needs to stop him. I want to stop him. He still has the codes to Greenlight, right? All he needs is a new location to activate."

 "Why?" Lazar is casual about his question but his eyes tell a different story. He wants to believe what Bell is saying.

 "Because it isn't right." It seems so obvious to Bell that he's almost surprised by the question. "This is bigger than me. Millions of lives are at risk. I don't know who I was before, but.. I know who I am now ." Bell does his best to sell it, and to his relief they seem to buy it. 

 The truth is, the Russian doesn't know what else to do. He can't remember his life before MK-Ultra. Right now, the mission is all he has; stop Perseus. Without that, he has… nothing. 

 "I just want to stop Perseus before he causes a nuclear war."

   And maybe punch those damn shades off Adler's face , but he leaves that part to himself. 

 Lazar hums thoughtfully and Park starts to relax. They don't seem quite at ease yet, but it's a start. 

 Over the next few days, Bell heals and collects himself. After their talk, Park eventually gave in to Lazar's pressuring and agreed to allow Bell some freedom. Stretching his legs feels nice and the fresh air certainly helps him collect his thoughts. This safehouse was undoubtedly cleaner than the last, with actual rooms and furniture rather than a dingy warehouse. 

 "What about Adler?" 

 Lazar and Bell are sitting peacefully at the kitchen table, Lazar with a bagel and an open file, Bell with a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Lazar looks up at the question. "You sound like you're ready to fight him." The Russian huffs with indignance at his amused tone. "He shot me," he complains loudly. "Just one good punch, Lazar. Please ?" 

 "You'll have to get in line," Park grunts as she joins them in the kitchen, gravitating towards the coffee machine. "I think we'd all like to give that bastard a good punch." 

 Lazar grins. "I think you should avoid throwing punches for now, Bell, least he shoots you a second time." Bell pouts. Lazar flicks bagel crumbs at him. "Jokes aside, if you're serious about taking down Perseus, it's probably best if the rest of the team doesn't know you're still alive. For now, anyway. It'll only cause more problems and distractions, not to mention Adler probably wouldn't hesitate to kill you for real."

 Bell sighs dramatically. "Alright, alright, fine . But I'm definitely getting a swing in once Perseus is six feet under." He throws his head back and downs the rest of his coffee. "So where do we start?"

 Park leans against the counter with her mug of coffee. "Well, if you can remember anything about Perseus or his associates.."

 That tone is back again but Bell forces himself to not bristle at it. "I'm sorry. Nothing new has come to kind yet." Park gives a slow nod. "You were our most successful subject. Any old memories will be buried behind weeks of.. reprogramming. Now that the drugs are filtering out of your system, it should only be a matter of time."

 "Is there any way to speed it up?" Park squints suspiciously so Bell is quick to add, "Maybe if I can remember something, we'll know where to head next."

 An idea pops into Lazar's head. "Bell, do you recognize any of them?" He pulls something from the folder in front of him and slides it across so Bell can see. Park steps closer to watch curiously. "They're POIs we think are working for Perseus." 

 It's a group of photos. Bell sets aside his mug to spread them out and study them closely. The first three are men, but he doesn't recognize them. The next two are women and he feels discouraged when their images fail to spark any memories, too. There's one last one. He slides it close and is about to push it away when something scratches at the back of his mind. 

 The pub was lively tonight. Loud and rowdy with cheering, swearing, and the clanking of glass on glass. Bell too embraced the vibes; His spirit was high and he was most certainly past tipsy. He was sitting at the bar with his comrades, a still-full shot glass in hand. 

 "Aww, c'mon, give us the details!" The man to his left nudged him roughly. He grinned  wickedly and despite the sunglasses covering his face, Bell still caught him wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

 "Did he kiss you? Did you kiss him ?" Bell felt his face flush and he shoved back. No way in hell he was going to answer that. "I don't kiss and tell, Vang." 

 "Bell?"

 "Aww, you did !" Bell huffed and threw back his glass as an excuse not to answer. He did his best to ignore how hot his face was. "No, wait. He definitely kissed you, didn't he?" Bell choked on the shot. The man grinned wider. 

 "Leave the poor kid alone." Another familiar voice called out, not bothering to hide their amusement. "Now get over here so I can beat your ass. Loser pays the tab." Bell turned to look at his savior. Their figure is too blurry to make out, but he's so sure he knows them. 

 "Oooh bro, you're going down !"

 "Bell?" Lazar tries again, shaking his shoulder and startling him from the memory. "You alright there? You look like you've seen a ghost."

 "I.." The Russian glances between Park and Lazar before he stares back down at the picture. The person's face is completely covered, but the glasses make him unmistakable. Naga.

 "Kapano Vang," Bell offers quietly and taps the photograph. "They call him Naga." Lazar watches him a moment longer before pulling the picture back over. "You know him?" 

 The memory implied Bell more than just knew him. A feeling in his gut tells him so too. They were.. friends, perhaps. "Yeah.. We are- We were friends. I think." 

 Park remains silent as she observes. Lazar offers a slow nod. A gentle push and the picture lands back in front of Bell. "Do you remember anything else about him?" 

 Bell stares. The shades are so painfully familiar. He can't quite shake the sense he's seen them a lot. This shit is stressful. I need a cigarette. Something in his mind clicks. 

 "New shipment's ready." The nicotine filled Bell's lungs with a pleasant burn. He turned and offered the cigarette to Naga with a hum of acknowledgement. "Got a little extra if you're interested. On the house." The Laotian accepted the cigarette, taking a grateful drag while his free hand slipped into a vest pocket and produced a small package. He held it up to between his fingers and offered it to Bell with a small flourish. "Rest of it's headed out to some of my buyers, so don't get hooked."

 Bell hesitated. "I'm not so sure.." Naga pressed it into his hands anyway. "Hey, hey, it's quality stuff. How do you think my lines stay in business? Your boyfriend will certainly thank me." 

 " Not my boyfriend , man." Naga cackles. "Sure, bro, sure."

 A shaky sigh escapes Bell. The memories are blurry and incomplete, but there's enough there to put some pieces of the puzzle together. "He's.. a smuggler."

 "For Perseus?" 

 Bell gives a small shrug. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so." Right now, Bell can't be sure about anything.

  "I'll make some calls and check with MI6." Park sets her empty mug in the sink. "We have a name now. That's a good start." 

 Not wasting any time, Bell muses as he watches Park leave. That's fine with him. The less time to dwell on his past transgressions, the less time he'll have to deal with the impending existential crisis. 

 "Meanwhile, I'll check in on the team." Gathering the papers and photos back into the folder, Lazar stands. "What about me?" Lazar barely even pauses to acknowledge Bell. "Stay put. Read a book. Do a puzzle. Embrace day drinking. Do whatever you want, just stay put ."

 "But I-"

 " No , Bell. Water's too hot right now. Just lay low, let it cool. You'll get your turn but not yet. Just enjoy being dead while it lasts." Lazar's wink is met by Bell's deadpan face.

 By noon, the Russian's already run out of things to do. He's showered, washed the dishes, and cleaned the space lent to him. Now he sits at the table once more, impatient tapping the surface and bouncing his leg. He briefly considers snooping but the last thing he wants to do is give Park a reason to confine him to a bed again. 

 Time creeps by. Boredom is barely kept at bay by the pen and paper Bell found discarded on the end table beside the couch. The doodles are nothing to write to home about, but it provides temporary amusement. When he gets tired of that, he abandons them at the kitchen table and opts for a nap. 

 It feels like he's barely just closed his eyes before he's woken by an insistent shaking. 

 "Bell. Get up. Bell ." 

 Bell groans. It's dark now so he has to squint to make out the figure kneeling next to him. "Lazar? What, man, I was sleeping ." 

 "We need to go. Now. C'mon." A hand wraps under Bell's arm and pulls, forcing the Russian to his feet. Lazar's voice was calm, but the firm grip on his arm made Bell nervous. "What's going on?" He has no choice but to allow himself to be guided towards the back door. 

 "Here, wear this." Something is shoved into his hands and he fumbles to grab it. Looking down, it's a thin black coat. Inside rests a matching beanie hat and vibrant blue scarf. "What's going on," he tries again. "You're kinda freaking me out."

 "Look, just put the shit on and I'll explain on the way. There's no time right now."

 Lazar snatches the hat and scarf from the pile and Bell flips the coat around to slide his arms in. He grunts when the hat is forced over his blonde curls and the scarf is wrapped high around his neck and face. Once the coat is zipped and all curls tucked messily under the hat, Lazar practically shoves Bell out the back door and follows close behind.

 The air is bitter and cold but Bell hardly notices past the adrenaline. A brisk pace is set. Squealing tires catch his attention but an arm around his shoulders stops him from turning to look. 

 "Park tipped off MI6." 

 The statement is unexpected. 

 "She called to warn me. Apparently, she

told them she was harboring a loose CIA asset with potentially valuable information that needed to be relocated immediately for proper interrogation. How they got an extraction team on a Soviet island, I'll never know." Lazar heaves a groan as they turn the corner and dip out of sight. "She's going to kill me once she figures out we ran."

 First Adler, now Park. I'm getting tired of proving myself. Bell sighs lightly. For all he knows, Lazar is just leading him to a CIA trap. Who gets the broken toy first, MI6 or the CIA? They walk in silence for some time, occasionally cutting through small alleyways and doubling back around others. 

 "Why are you helping me?" Bell finally speaks up. "Look, if you're just going to take me back to Adler, do me a favor and kill me now." I refuse to be shot by him a second time. 

 "Don't be so dramatic." Lazar gives him a rough pat on the back. "There's another safehouse not much further ahead. I got it sorted out on the way here. Told them I had a potential lead I needed to follow up on and that's all they needed to hear."

 "As for why? Well, I personally think when it comes to catching Perseus, there's nobody more qualified than you. I trust you, Bell."

 A quiet clank-clank-clank fills the silence. Bell's eyes were wide in shock. He wasn't sure he heard right. There were other, more experienced agents who would certainly make a better second-in-command than him. "But sir, surely there's somebody else who-"

 "Nonsense!" Perseus stood from his desk and marched to Bell's side. He swept his coat back and planted firm hands onto Bell's shoulders. "There's nobody more qualified than you. I trust you, comrade." Bell swelled with pride and childlike enthusiasm. "Of course, sir. I won't let you down."

 The memory hits Bell like a slap to the face but he remains nonchalant despite the rising dread. He almost misses Lazar that stopped and narrowly avoids colliding into the back of him. "Right, here we are." 

 Bell finds it odd that the safehouse is nestled in the middle of a public street but he's too tired and too cold to question it. Keys jingle as Lazar frees them from his pocket and unlocks the door. They hurry inside and lock it behind them. "Home away from home." 

 It's smaller than the MI6 house. It's just as neat and organized, though, so Bell can't complain. 

 "Kitchen's here. Bathroom is the first door on the left. Your room will be the second on the left, and I'll be across from you." Lazar gestures as he speaks. "Help yourself to anything you find. I, for one, need some sleep. We can talk about everything in the morning." He disappears down the hall. 

 "What about Naga?" The Russian calls. 'Did you find anything out about him?"

 " Tomorrow, Bell." A door snaps closed. 

 Bell clicks his tongue in annoyance but relents. The coat, scarf, and hat are left discarded on the back of the couch on his way toward his designated room.

Damn it all. As he lays tangled in the sheets and nursing his aching wound, Bell struggles to recall anything else about Naga or Perseus, but he comes up blank. Memories seem to be coming and going at their own discretion and it's infuriating . Now his mind is buzzing too much to sleep. Between Adler and Park and his renewed quest to stop Perseus, he doesn't know what to think. He can only hope Lazar has something to share in the morning to shed some light on it all.