#if I had a therapist I’m sure they’d have a field day with this one

[abitofboth]

god help me I am reminiscing!!!!!! I am fondly remembering someone that does not want to be fondly remembered!!!!!!! I am looking back and smiling about someone who has not made me smile in a very long time!!!!!! girl help!!!!

[babyhatesreality]

The Sinner and the Saint Ch 3

Pairing: (eventual) Mob!Boss Bucky x f!reader

Warnings: NSFW, f!reader, language, fake names (for now), Truth or Dare, LOTS of innuendos and dirty thoughts, everybody has secrets, reader says unkind things about herself, reader is an exotic dancer, reader is extremely flexible dancer :D, reader uses several dance styles, Bucky (aka Nick) is a little shit, touch of angst, touch of fluff, slow burn relationship. There will be many, many more warnings for future chapters including mafia and all the stuff that comes with that, kinks, and smut. 

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. MINORS DNI. THIS IS AN 18+ STORY ONLY AND IS NSFW. I DO NOT CONSENT FOR ANY OF MY WORKS TO BE COPIED, REPRINTED, OR TRANSLATED ONTO ANY PLATFORM EXCEPT MY OWN.

Previous- Chapter 2

Chapter 3

“Who goes first?” you asked boldly, smiling at him.

“Well,” Nick said, running his gloved finger along his chin as he thought. “I SHOULD say ladies first. It’s be the proper thing to do. Gentlemanly and all that.” He tossed the rest of the bourbon into his mouth, then set the glass down definitively. There was a dangerous sparkle in his eye. “Well, I’m always a gentleman, but I’m definitely not proper,” he said with an evil grin. “So. Truth or dare?”

Your own lips twisting as you tried not to show how much that glint in his eye was turning you on, you merely tilted your head like you were thinking. “Um...truth,” you said, pretending like it had been a thoughtful decision. 

“Do you like working here?”

“Honestly, I love it. Most of the girls are fantastic, and Ms. Romanoff’s one of the best bosses I’ve ever had.” You paused to take another sip of champagne. “Then of course, I get to meet charming men like yourself as well,” you said overtly flirtatiously, in an attempt to...well, you weren’t sure. This guy paid for your company in the freaking VIP Champagne Room, which WAS NOT cheap- shouldn’t you be giving him compliments and making him feel like an alpha male or something like that? Your inexperience was making you both mad and terrified. 

Nick gave a carefully constructed and corporate smile at your words. One that was acknowledging your flattery but also said he didn’t truly accept it. Your guts twisted again. That made you panicked and disappointed that you had failed. Not just at your job, but...him. You’d failed him. And that really bothered you.  Disappointing him was...not an option.

 Before you could put your filter in place, the words came tumbling out again. “Sorry if that was inappropriate,” you said, your face turning Hooker Lipstick red. “I...I mean, you’re really nice and I just...I don’t think you’re getting your money’s worth with me just running my mouth and being so dumb and I don’t want you to waste your time-”

You snapped your mouth shut- FINALLY- as Nick’s jaw dropped, his shocked blue eyes piercing you down to your soul. Finally, he collected himself. “No, I...no that’s not what I was thinking at all,” he stammered. “You thought that...” he choked to a halt, looking flabbergasted. A teeny tiny part of you rejoiced that you weren’t the only one on the back foot now, but THAT made you feel more guilty. Shit, if you could afford a Therapist they’d have a field day with this emotional rollercoaster you were on. “I...I don’t want you to think that you’re not worth the money. But...not in a cheap way, like not that you’re cheap, but not like...oh fuck not like I’m buying you or....I mean...shit. Goddammit,” he finally grumbled, standing up and storming over to the bar and pouring himself another bourbon quickly. He took a huge slug of it before pausing, taking a deep breath, and turning back to you. 

“Sorry. I’m not used to having to explain myself,” he said gruffly, but seemingly more in control now. He exhaled and relaxed a bit, then smiled. “What I meant to say is that I am enjoying my time with you. I’m especially enjoying your forthright honesty. Not many people give me that. You don’t have to worry about me not having a great time. This is one of the best conversations I’ve had in a very, very long time, and I want it to continue.”

It was your turn to exhale, your eyes wide as they could go. How the FUCK were you supposed to respond to such a masterful answer? All you could think to blurt out was, “Can I have a bourbon too? Or whatever it is that just made you so eloquent while you were freaking out? Cause I clearly fucking need it.”

Nick suddenly tilted his head back, laughing loudly at that, which made you laugh too. After you both wiped your eyes and settled down a bit, he pointed to the glass in your hand. “You stick with champagne, missy, you’re still working.”

You sighed playfully. “Yes, sir,” you responded deliberately. He froze again for a heartbeat before making his way back to the couch. 

Damn, that was still very interesting.

After he sat down, he turned you to again. “And don’t call yourself dumb again. I don’t like it. Got it?” he said, with that air of authority mixed with...something... you couldn’t name it. 

Shocked that he cared about that, you took a beat before responding. “Okay,” you said, feeling your entire body soften for a moment, before tensing right back up again. 

His secretive smile returned. “Your turn,” he said in his arrogant tone.

“Truth or Dare?” you asked after trying to clear your throat delicately.

“Truth.”

Wanna fu- “What do you do for a living?”

Nick tilted his head, staring right into your eyes, for three solid seconds. Just as you were about to get nervous that you’d once again put your foot in your mouth, he smiled- softly. It was a good look on him. 

“I’m the CEO of a business that handles a lot of high-end imports and exports,” he said, the words falling so seamlessly off his tongue that you knew he’d said them a million times before. “We dabble in all sorts of fields,” he continued in the same breath, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“Wow,” you said breathlessly, realizing that money clearly was not an issue for this man, but having enough tact and filter thank god to not bring it up. “That sounds really cool. So you manage how and where product comes from, pricing, all that kind of stuff?”

Nick smiled mysteriously again. “Tsk, tsk,” he said, before pointing a finger at you. “That’s a second question.” You blushed again, making his grin widen. “Truth or Dare?”

“Truth.”

“How long have you lived in New York City?”

“Nearly three months. Truth or Dare?”

“Truth.”

“So you manage how and where product comes from, pricing, all that kind of stuff?” you asked sweetly. That caused Nick to snort a laugh into his drink. 

“Yes, that’s the basics of how it all works,” he said, chuckling. Your gaze fell on his leather gloves as he brushed away the moisture in his eyes, and you instantly knew your next question. But it was his turn. “Truth or Dare?”

“Truth.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Depends on the day and how I’m feeling.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“But it’s the truth.”

“Clever girl.”

“Truth or Dare?”

“Truth.”

“Why are you wearing gloves?”

“Poor circulation. Truth or Dare?”

“Truth.”

"Why did you move to New York?”

“You already asked me that.”

“But you didn’t answer. You freaked out thinking you sounded like a hillbilly, remember?”

Turning red again, you tossed your hair back in an effort to recapture your strong persona out of your embarrassment. “I came here to be a professional dancer.”

Nick nodded in understanding. It wasn’t the first time he’d met a wanna-be performer. New York City was full of them. “So what form of dance is your speciality?” he asked, curious. 

You internally steeled yourself, and put on your own seductive grin. “That’s a second question, sir,” you said, pursing your lips in mock disapproval. Nick tried to hide his smile by pushing his tongue against the inside of his bottom lip, but it didn’t work. He shook his head, grinning. 

“Mea Culpa,” he said pompously, before fixing his deep blue eyes on you again and gesturing for you to continue. Thrilled that you had won that tiny little battle and filled with an inappropriate amount of ego over it, you perked up a bit and asked. 

“Truth or Dare?”

“Truth.”

“What’s YOUR favorite color?”

“Black. Truth or Dare?”

“Truth.”

“What form of dance is your speciality?” he asked, cocking his eyebrows at turning the tables back on you. You giggled- you had a feeling it was coming. Brushing a stray strand of hair out of your eyes, you tilted your head as you thought about it. 

“I don’t really have a speciality. I studied as many styles as I could. Basically any time a new class was offered even remotely near me, I took it. Or studied it online. And I couldn’t get enough, you know?” you said, your eyes beginning to gleam. “Like every new class I took just added gas to the tank, and I needed to know more. There’s always going to be a new style to learn, a new technique to try. And I want...I NEED to know it. I...I just want to dance,” you said quietly, your mind flicking through every recital, every show, every class where you’d felt that secret, magical spark, that insatiable drive. “There’s a lot that’s inside me,” you mused, as if you’d forgotten Nick was even there, so lost in your worship of the art form. “And the only way I know how...well, the best way I know how to get it out...is to dance and let it flow through my body...I have to get it out, otherwise, the terrible beauty of the world inside me would crush me.”

The precious confession hung in the still air and you were loathe to shatter the poignant silence. You felt like you should have felt shame for sharing so much, but you just...didn’t. You wondered why. Nick gently reached over and laid his gloved hand on top of yours. 

“Thank you,” he said so softly you almost missed it. “I...thank you.” He managed to look both stunned and in awe, all at the same time. 

As if the oxygen entered the room again, you inhaled deeply and turned to him. You wanted to apologize for oversharing, but the look in his eyes made you realize that he didn’t want an apology- he honestly treasured your deep response. Swallowing hard, you took a sip of champagne, nearly finishing your second glass. “So...truth?” you asked, recovering your sweet smile. 

His smile widened, and he nodded. “Truth,” he acknowledged, toying with his glass.

“What’s your real name?”

His eyes slid to yours. You could see a million calculations going through his mind, and you saw the moment he decided. “Dare,” he said instead, cocking his eyebrow at you in that damn challenging way again. 

Your mouth opening in a delighted surprise, you scrambled to think of something ‘cool’ to dare him with. Your eyes landed on the mini bar in the room. “I dare you to take a shot of tequila...” you began. His smirk and eye roll before you even finished your sentence peaked your competitiveness. “...without the salt and the lime.” His eyes suddenly stretched wide, surprised, before narrowing playfully at you. 

“Well, let it be known that you fight dirty,” he grumbled with a grin, before heading over to the bar, looking at the contents carefully, plucking out a bottle from behind the counter, pouring himself a shot and downing it in one. You saw the faintest hint of a grimace cross his face before he shut it down with him impassive look, that turned arrogantly smug as he looked at your shocked expression. Tequila was NASTY- how the hell had he done that?!

“So. Truth?” he asked, completely smoothly. All you could do was blink at him. He sauntered back over to you, that power just dripping off him so viscerally that you could feel it in your bones. “What’s YOUR real name?”

And suddenly you knew. This was his game, and had been his game all along. He had trapped you into taking a Dare, knowing there was no way you were going to reveal your name unless he revealed his. Taking your last sip of bravery juice, you stood right up, willing your limbs to stop trembling in your nervousness. 

“Dare,” you said simply, forcing your eyes to meet his and not waver. He jutted his chin forward in his moment of triumph. 

“Dance for me,” he said simply. 

Something inside of you cracked at those words. You had spilled inner secrets and thoughts to this stranger, things you had never vocalized before, and in return, all he wanted was for you to take your clothes off for him. The sting of disappointment and...almost...betrayal? hit your heart. But that was ridiculous. He had never asked you to share- you had done it of your own free will. This was all your own fault. You’d forgotten your place. You were just another stripper in a big city to him. That fucking hurt. And it must have showed on your face. 

Nick held up his hand. “Stop thinking whatever it is you’re thinking,” he commanded after he watched the emotion flicker over your face. “Not like that. Dance for me how YOU want to. Your way,” he said softly. “I want to see that world that you’re so passionate about.” 

You absolutely froze, completely obliterated by the about-face that was happening in your brain. He WANTED, actually WANTED to see you dance your way? “Are you sure?” you asked breathlessly. “You don’t want me to...?” You couldn’t finish, hating yourself the moment the words crossed your lips. He had given you a golden opportunity and you were still so unsure of yourself, still so damn insecure, that you were offering to take your clothes off. 

He shook his head, once. “No. I want you to dance your way. Pick whatever music moves you, and just...dance. I want to see.” He swallowed hard. “Please.” He gently forced the word out, as if he was unused to saying it like this.

“Okay,” you whispered back. A look of relief flickered through his eyes before he swallowed hard and sat back down on the couch. 

“Take your time,” he said smoothly. “Whenever you’re ready.” Was that a touch of...nervousness you heard in his voice? He gestured to the wall behind the bar. You turned to look, and found a very expensive looking sound system installed in the wall. Taking a deep breath yourself, you walked over to it with a confidence you didn’t feel. Your mind raced- what song? And more to the point- what was really going on here?

Was he just being nice? Was he really expecting you to strip despite what he said? For fucks’ sake you were working in a strip club that he apparently came to all the time. He really didn’t mean what he said. Or...was it possible? Was he serious? 

Then it hit you. You might not get this chance ever again. 

Carpe Diem.

You quickly turned the system on, and found it surprisingly user friendly. You typed in one of the songs from one of your favorite musicals- a musical that made you go nearly feral from the dancing the first time you saw it. You unbuckled the straps of the Fuck Me heels, then playfully tossed them out onto the floor. You watched Nick carefully when you did that. His eyes never left you. He didn’t care about the clothes you were discarding, even if they were only shoes. He was watching you. Now or never. Truth AND Dare.

You hit play and stepped to the center of the room.

*Nature Boy from Moulin Rouge the Musical*

The evocative notes from the lone guitar filled the room. You closed your eyes and surrendered to the music, letting the notes and the feeling flow through you, gently stepping back and forth and side to side as the mental image of the guitarist’s strong hands gently plucking the strings called to you. 

There was a boy, a very strange enchanted boy, 

they say he wandered very far, very far, over land and sea

You gave the tiniest plié before going up onto demi-relevé as the hypnotic words came. You’d start with the most classical dance- ballet. You moved as if you were mystical, imagining that you had been visited by the enchanted boy and had been touched by his spirit and adventures. You let your arms flirt with the magic in the air as your legs moved you across the room.

A little shy, and sad of eye, but very wise was he

You used moves similar to a Japanese Nihon Buyo style that you’d observed on the word ‘shy’, ‘sad’, and ‘wise’. The rich Japanese culture of dance had a way with expressing strong emotions that was incomparable to anyone else. 

And then one day, one magic day he passed my way

As you continued to move lithely, caught in the emotions of the ethereal melody, you let your eyes drift to Nick on the words ‘he passed my way’. He was watching you with wide eyes, like a child seeing Wonderland for the first time.

And while we spoke of many things, fools and kings, 

this he said to me

You changed it up, going into a more modern Twyla Tharp style, subtly indicating that upon meeting him, everything else changed too. You moved as the music told you to, rejoicing in the talking, the fools, the kings, and every other word sung. 

The greatest thing you’ll ever learn 

You used wide sweeping movements on these words, trying to give gravity to the deep profound thing you were about to learn. 

Is just to love, and be loved in return.

You stopped moving after the words ‘just to love’, simply looking to the heavens in expectation, letting the next words speak for themselves. They were more powerful than any move you could have made just then. On the last moment of the word ‘return’, you looked down and ever-so-slowly brought you right leg up in passé, your arms in fifth ballet position. Except you didn’t stop- you slowly extended your leg up, until your right foot was pointed at the ceiling, and you casually turned your face to the light to look at it. And then you didn’t move; you held perfectly still. It was the move that was making you famous at the club; it was singularly yours. It had taken you years to perfect it. 

Finally getting to use it YOUR way brought tears to your eyes. 

The greatest thing (the greatest thing) you’ll ever learn (you’ll ever learn)

Is just to love and be loved in return

You held your position until ‘thing’, then let the energy flow through your body once again. Holding a position like that for that long took immense and precise concentration, so you let your muscles loose and let them take you where the music whispered to go as a thank you. On the last word you gracefully stopped, picked up your heels, and gently slung them over your shoulder, turning and slowly walking away as the violin cried out its lonely descant. On the last guitar arpeggio, you stopped and turned your head, locking eyes with your audience of one. The music ended, and you quietly turned back around, anxious and exhilarated. You both stared at each other as if you found the secrets of the stars in the other’s eyes. 

Golden silence. 

Suddenly Nick stood and walked straight over to you. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly pulled the glove off his right hand. His eyes bored into you almost in desperation. When you didn’t break eye contact at all, he gasped quietly, then reached towards your face. 

“Please,” was all he said. You nodded, unable to break the stare. He reverently drew one finger along your cheek, along your jaw until his fingers hovered right over your lips. You had never wanted to be kissed so badly in your life. You silently begged him with every fiber of your being. And he leaned in for a fraction of a second. 

Suddenly, he stepped back and let his hand drop to yours. He picked it up and pressed the back of your fingers to his lips, holding it there a long time as he squeezed his eyes shut. Finally, he stood back up, looking you right in the eyes. “Thank you, Miss Angel,” he said, almost in a worshipful tone. Then without another word, he turned and walked out of the room. 

*************************************************************************

He was breathing hard as he shut the door behind him. He looked to his right and nodded at Fury, who gave him a respectful single nod back. He looked to his left and met the blue eyes of the muscular, well dressed blonde man guarding the other side of the door. He turned to his right with purpose and began moving at his typical fast pace. He heard Steve’s footsteps follow him, like always.

Knowing his way around the club all too well, he walked straight into Natasha’s office. As he barged through the door, Natasha looked up, startled, her hand flying under her desk. He knew she was gripping her concealed gun in her shock, but she relaxed the moment she realized it was him. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about startling her- he wanted something and wanted it now.

“Book her with me for the week,” he said firmly, cutting right to the chase. “Every night. And I want the exact schedule of when she dances for that whole time, too.”

Natasha’s jaw hit the top of her desk. “What? Are you serious?” she asked bluntly. His eyes suddenly blazed metal-melting blue in their fury at the idea of having to wait even longer for what he wanted.

“Did I stutter?” he snarled at her. “Do it. Now. You have two minutes.” Eyes stretched open in shock, Natasha ripped her gaze from his to her computer and began typing as fast as her fingers could fly. 

He turned and looked at Steve, who was wearing his typical stoic look. “She has no idea,” he breathed out, still half caught in his moment of wonder. “She doesn’t know who I am. She doesn’t have a clue.”

Steve’s usually impassive face betrayed a rare moment of incredulity. “You’re kidding,” the muscular man in the impeccable black suit said, looking back at his boss- and best friend- in shock, unable to comprehend the idea. His boss shook his head, that daring grin spreading across his face again. He was about to expound on the thought, but Natasha walked up to him, thrusting a piece of paper into his ungloved hand. 

“Here you go, Mr. Barnes,” she said with corporate formality. “She’s all yours.”

Chapter 4

[no-thoughts-only-soup]

To Secure / Risk It All

Chapter 2

PART 2 YALL

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | | Part 10 | Part 11

—————

SCP-173 had been a nightmare and a half, but they’d finally be able to contain it again. Curt leaned back in his chair in the panic room. All in all, everything had worked out decently well. Sure, Den had died, but she was thankfully the only casualty.

Speaking of, Den floated next him, having found him and deciding to keep him company. Curt would never say it out loud, but he appreciated it.

“So.” He turned to her. “How do you find Kristine?”

Den glanced over to him, shrugging. “She’s funny, that’s for sure. Can’t help but think of Chilly though. I know that’s not fair to her but that’s how it is.”

Curt sighed. “Yeah, it’s gonna take a bit to get used to her. But you guys seem to like her, I think.”

Den chuckled. “She definitely brings back the energy we’ve been missing.”

Curt chuckled with her, slowly getting up from his chair and preparing to head back now that it was safe.

Den’s voice stopped him before he could do so. “Hey, do you know what happened to her? To Chilly?”

Curt paused. It was still hard to believe Chilly just up and left them. And honestly, he wasn’t really obligated to tell them. But as he turned to face Den and saw her worried look, his conscience won. Chilly was Den’s friend too. She deserved to know.

“I… was told she was found innocent, so she was allowed to leave the Foundation. Don’t know anything more than that.”

“Oh, I see…” Den rubbed her arm, her face full of mixed emotions that Curt couldn’t really pin down. Emotions were more Christian’s thing. “Well… good for her I guess.”

His eyes trailed away. “Yeah, I’m happy she’s safe…”

But they both felt something else. Betrayal? Bitterness? Disappointment?

Because he couldn’t face Den, he tried to focus his eyes on literally anything else. Which is why noticed movement on one of the cameras.

“Hey are those Foundation guys moving your corpse?”

Den, broken out of her thoughts, spun around, looking at the screen.

“Oh motherf- they better don’t do shit to my body!”

She zipped away, ghosting right through the wall. Curt decided to was time to meet up with his friends too, and left the panic room.

Christian, Ivan and Kristine were teasing Den as she tried to get her body back from some staff member Curt didn’t bother to remember. Soon enough, they were all back on their way to the D-Class cells. At some point, Ivan and Kristine started arguing. Curt wasn’t sure what started it, but from the snippets of dialog he could make out ‘anime titties’ and ‘Worcestershire sauce’. He was good not knowing, thanks.

Besides, he was too busy thinking thinking to himself to pay attention to him. This whole mess didn’t make sense. Why did Chilly just up and leave like that? Why was it a researcher that took her out of the cell? Why were his main assignments only having his friends get into trouble with SCPs? Sure, trouble was usually part of their usual shenanigans with scenarios, but no one had ever commanded him to do things like this. And why did it feel like no one in the Foundation was doing any work towards uncovering what happened that faithful day that resulted in his friends lying unconscious in a field of dead bodies. It’d been weeks now, shouldn’t they be at least having suspicions? What—

Something bumped into his hip. Startled, Curt looked to his side, meeting Christian’s eyes.

“You good, man?”

Curt blinked. Stared ahead. Ivan and Kristine had gotten into a fist fight with each other that got the two guards with the squad occupied, while Den cheered them on. No one was paying attention to him.

Scratching his neck, Curt put his focus back to Christian and exhaled. “Yeah, just… thinking.”

“Mind sharing with the class?” Christian asked him, bluntly reminding him that Christian was in fact, a therapist.

He cast his look downwards, kicking some loose rubble away.

“It’s just… things aren’t making sense. I feel like I’m overlooking something big. Something… important. Like this goes beyond just our usual stuff.”

Christian waved his hands sarcastically. “Oooooh, what tipped you off? Our shitty hint provider? Chilly being mysteriously taken away? The fact we’re still in this shit ass place?”

Curt couldn’t help but give him a small smile, though he dropped it a second later. “All that and more I guess. I dunno, I guess I just have a lot to think about.”

“Use that brain to prevent us from dying next time, thanks.”

Curt laughed. “Come on, how many times have we died already? It’s not that big a deal, Den’s gonna be back soon enough and—“

Realization hit him. Oh. Oh! Oh god, why didn’t he think of that before? Jesus, is that’s true… then…

“Hey,” Christian’s voice distracted him. His look was more serious now. “you figured something out?”

Curt’s mind was racing, but the guards were finally starting to calm down Ivan and Kristine. He took a deep breath and looked Christian directly in the eyes.

“I think do, yeah, but I gotta confirm it first. Can you do me a favor?”

Christian smirked. “Depends, what’s in it for me?”

“Ribs. Dunno if I can get the McDonald’s one but I’ll try.” Curt smirked back.

“Ehhhhhhh… good enough, what’s it?”

He lowered his voice, almost in a whisper. “Once you’re in the cell, wait about 30 minutes and then cause a distraction.“

“Dawg, you should have started with that, I’m always up for starting shit. I’ll still take the ribs though.” Christian laughed, though his voice was softer than usual too.

“Thanks man.”

It looked like the guards finally succeeded in calming the other two down. Before they continued, Curt leaned towards Christian once more.

“Last thing. I might sound crazy, but don’t trust Kristine yet.”

Christian’s face didn’t change, though his eyes did flicker to her. “Any particular reason?”

“Nah just… a gut feeling.”

“Noted, thanks Curt’s gut.”

“Ass.”

They arrived at the D-Class cells. Curt playfully waved them goodbye like usual, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes. The second he walked out, they steeled.

He knew what he had to do.

————

[fangirlwriting-stories]

They Say You Can't Fight Fate (I Say Fucking Watch Me)

Chapter One

Chapter Six:

Janus, at least, was appropriately guilty for what had happened.  Remus was terrible at holding grudges against him, so he let it go pretty quickly.  Remus was pretty sure he’d also put some pieces together by now, but he didn’t ask, and Remus didn’t feel particularly like telling him.  Janus seemed to realize he’d overstepped, so he let it go.

He did find Roman a therapist, though.  Dr. Emile Picani, who Janus seemed to think would be a pretty good fit.  Remus did some general research, and upon finding all of the cartoon and Disney references, was begrudgingly forced to admit he was right.  Of course, he could always be trying to lull Roman into a false sense of security, so Remus would still be going with him, but that was going to be happening no matter what.

Logan eventually decided to take Janus’ advice too, meaning everyone was just falling to the Man, Remus included apparently.  He was trying to let it go.  Roman said he wanted this.  And Roman got to pick.

But fuck was it hard.  Remus got more anxious as the day they’d settled on got closer, and he was sure Roman could tell.  Enough to the point that when the day actually arrived, Roman told him that he was going to let Remus ask all of his questions first.

“What?  That’s not fair,” Remus said, leaning across the table in their tiny-ass apartment kitchen to look at Roman.  “It’s supposed to be your appointment.”

“I don’t really care about what’s fair,” Roman said.  “I want you to feel comfortable with this too.  You can go first if it’ll help you.”  He smiled a little teasingly.  “Besides, how will I ever know he’s worthy of talking to me otherwise?”

“Oh shut up,” Remus said, rolling his eyes.  “But… alright.”

So they got there a little early, Roman explained to the receptionist that Remus would be joining him just for this first session, and then they both sat down to wait.

Remus knew that Roman had explained to the Emile guy ahead of time that he’d be asking him questions, and he got why Roman had done that, but it still made him a little uneasy.  If Emile knew that Remus was going to be questioning his profession specifically, he’d have time to come up with the best answers to manipulate Remus into feeling comfortable.

It was around the time he had that thought, however, that Remus realized he sounded more paranoid than Virgil, and maybe he should give it a bit of a rest.

Sitting in this waiting room certainly wasn’t helping, though.  Remus was tense next to Roman, bouncing his leg to try and get some of his nerves out.  Roman, eventually, grabbed Remus’ hand and squeezed it, and Remus squeezed back tightly enough to break his fingers.

This was a terrible plan.  They were going to find out this doctor was useless at his job, or incredibly manipulative, or just did not understand their situation at all.  He’d think platonic soulmates were bullshit, or he’s think choosing your soulmate was bullshit, or he’d think every professional in his field was right all the time no exceptions, find out where Remus had escaped from, and send him right back.  He’d—

A door opened off to the left and a smiling man stepped out.  “Hi there!” he said with a smile that was definitely fake it was so fake definitely.  “You must be Roman and Remus.”

“I’m Roman,” Roman said with a nervous smile, and a nod towards Remus.  “He’s Remus.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Emile said with another fake smile.  “You can call me Emile or Dr. Emile or Dr. Picani, whichever makes you most comfortable.”

“Thanks,” Roman said.  Remus didn’t say anything, just crossed his arms and glared.

“Feel free to come on in,” Emile said with a gesture back to his office.

Remus turned to look at Roman, who gave him a reassuring smile and squeezed his hand, before leading them both inside after Emile.

“So, I understand you said we’ll be doing things a little differently for our first session,” Emile said, sitting down behind his desk covered with Steven Universe and Avatar the Last Airbender and Owl House merchandise.

“Yeah I’ve got questions,” Remus snapped before Roman could say anything.  Roman sat down on one of the nearby chairs and sat back to let Remus talk.

Emile, on the other hand, turned to Remus with a nod.  “So I’ve heard,” he said.  “Feel free to ask me anything you’d like.”

“Anything I’d like?” Remus asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Well, within reason,” Emile said with a smile.  “I’m not going to answer probing questions about my personal life.”

“Well that’s tough, cause my first question is why the hell are you doing this,” Remus said, crossing his arms.

“Oh,” Emile said, sounding delighted.  “Well that’s different, I have no problem answering that one.  I want to help people.  I find it fulfilling and satisfying, and it’s something I’m good at.”

“You know this doesn’t actually help people, right?” Remus snapped, narrowing his eyes.

“Well I think I can take a little bit of offense to that,” Emile said, though he didn’t look that offended.  “Plenty of people have told me personally that I’ve helped them.”

“And how can I trust that when you’re saying it?  I don’t know any of them.”

Emile gave a sympathetic shrug.  “Sorry, but I’m not allowed to share other patient’s information with you.  You’re just going to have to take my word on that one.”

“And why should I do that?  You’d never do the same for me.”

Emile tipped his head, looking slightly confused.  “I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.”

Remus looked back at Roman, who didn’t say anything, just looked at him.  Roman was probably going to talk about what had happened to him at some point.  It was intertwined with so much of why he wanted to talk to a therapist in the first place.  Remus had no idea if the patient confidentiality bullshit would protect him from getting sent back in this case, but Remus trusted Roman to not say enough to give them away completely.  He could be fine with that.

Didn’t mean he wanted to talk about it.

So, instead, he turned back to face Emile.

“What do you plan to do with Roman?” he asked.

Emile raised an eyebrow, but his tone was even when he replied.  “Listen to him, talk through whatever he’d like to talk about, and hopefully help him feel a little better about the issues he’s already shared with me.”

“And what if he decides he doesn’t want to come anymore?  Are you going to try some bullshit to get him to stay?”

Emile’s eyes widened in surprise.  “Goodness no,” he said.  “I’d talk with him about why he decided that and we’d decide the best way to go forward together.”

Remus narrowed his eyes in suspicion.  “And what if he says something that doesn’t make sense to you?  Are you going to try and talk him out of it?”

“Remus,” Emile said.  He leaned forward and folded his hands together where Remus could see them.  “That is not why I’m here.  I don’t get to tell Roman how he feels, or how he should feel, or whether or not what he’s feeling makes sense.  Feelings don’t even have to make sense.  My job is to help Roman find ways to deal with problems that Roman decides he wants to deal with.  I will never tell Roman what he should do, and I will certainly never tell him he’s wrong for feeling something.”

“Or not feeling something?” Remus asked.

“Or not feeling something,” Emile agreed with a nod.

Remus considered this for a moment, arms crossed.  “How do you feel about platonic soulmates?” he asked after a second.

“I don’t think my personal opinions on the matter are relevant,” Emile said.  “I don’t think they’re wrong or nonexistent, if that’s what you mean.”

“Do you think people can pick their own soulmates?” Remus asked without acknowledging that answer at all.

“I think that’s very possible,” Emile said with a nod and a small smile.  “Every soulmate relationship is different, and as humans, we tend to be stubborn enough to go after what we want even if everyone else tells us we’re wrong.”

Remus considered this for another long moment, and then took a step back and sat on the other free chair.  He gave a nod to Roman, though he made it clear to Emile he wasn’t happy about it.

Roman gave him a small smile and then turned to face Emile.

“Hi,” he said.  “We’ve kind of had… bad experiences with… therapists.”

“I ventured a guess,” Emile said.  “I’d like to reassure you both that you get to set all the boundaries in regards to what parts of you we talk about.  And everything we say in here is completely confidential, with the exception of if you mention planning to hurt yourself or someone else.  And for today, we’re mostly going to be doing some intake stuff that I do with all of my patients.”

Roman nodded.  “Okay.”

Emile gave a smile and reached to pick up some paperwork that was laying on his desk.  Remus didn’t stop glaring at him as he did it, but Emile just gave him a small reassuring smile before turning back to Roman.

They spent the rest of the session going through the list, which was some general questions about mental health and why Roman was seeking out therapy, along with some logistical stuff like insurance and payment (they were putting it on the credit cards their parents still hadn’t shut off for some reason).  Remus didn’t find any of it explicitly objectionable, but that wasn’t saying much.  It was still the first session after all, they hadn’t really gotten started yet.

Roman still seemed very happy when they left, though, for some reason.

“So you… felt good about that?” Remus asked on the way down to the car.

“Really good,” Roman said, giving him a bright smile.  “It felt like he was actually listening to me, which is a real first when it comes to this stuff.  And he didn’t seem at all like he was going to do anything like what happened to you.”

“That’s just how they get you,” Remus muttered, kicking at the rocks at his feet.

“I’ll tell you if anything ever happens that makes me uncomfortable,” Roman said, nudging him in the side.  “Promise, okay?”

“Okay,” Remus said, and he tried to mean it.  He didn’t think he was going to be comfortable with this for a while no matter how many green flags Emile showed.  But if Roman was comfortable with it, then… then that was what mattered, in the end.  And as long as he really did tell Remus if anything happened, he could be alright with it for now.

“You’re not going to explicitly say what happened to me, right?” Remus asked after a second, glancing at Roman as they climbed into the car.  “I’m pretty sure escaped patient stuff falls under that stuff he has to report.”

“I mean, he didn’t say that directly, but no, I’m also not going to say anything explicitly,” Roman agreed with a nod.  “I’m gonna stick to you had a really bad experience with a therapist, but as far as Emile gets to know, you went voluntarily and left voluntarily.”

Remus considered this for a second, then nodded.

Roman reached out to start the car, but before he could manage, Remus collapsed back in the seat and pressed his hands over his face, starting to shake.

“Remus,” Roman murmured, and Remus heard the keys drop in the middle console a second before Roman’s arms wrapped around him.

“I’m sorry,” Remus whispered.  “This is supposed to be about you.  ‘s not fair.”

“Oh would you shut up already?  I told you, I don’t care about fair.”

“How are you so much better at this than me?” Remus muttered, leaning heavily against Roman.

“I’m just special.”

Remus pulled back a little with a laugh, and found Roman smiling at him.

“Thanks for letting me go with you,” Remus said after a second, leaning back in his own seat so Roman could start the car.

“You’re welcome,” Roman said with another small smile, and then he turned the car to drive them both back towards their apartment.

...

Chapter Seven

[aitarose]

AOT BOYS IN LOVE ISLAND

⤷ characters: eren jaeger, jean kirschtein, armin arlert, levi ackerman, erwin smith, connie springer, reiner braun, bertholdt hoover, marco bott, niccolo

eren would be the type of contestant that’d come off extremely strong at the start, knowing full well of what the show entails—and ready to make any type of connection that could conclude in success.

he’d be the third or fourth contestant to walk into the villa, on the very first day. there’d be about two to three women that’d step forward for him—so he’d definitely get his pick of the bunch. 

however, throughout the season his confidence would start to waver—he’d get overwhelmed with the concept of being filmed 24/7 and wish to have his privacy back. 

there’d definitely be a few breakdowns on his part, solely from the stress of making vulnerable confessions of feelings and emotions in front of the entire world on film. 

that being said, he’d still manage to find someone that relates to him on a deep level that he can walk out of the villa with. the two of them would end up self eliminating—believing that it’d be more effective to build there connection within the privacy of their own homes. 

jean wouldn’t be the immediate heartthrob on the show, but would end up stealing not only the contestant’s hearts—but the viewer’s as well.

he’d be the first to walk into the villa, and literally no one would step forward for him—not because he’s unattractive or anything, just because they wanted to keep their options open and not jump at the first person they see. 

his first couple would be a friendship couple and he’d be best friends with that woman throughout the entirety of the season, they’d be connected at the hip in the best platonic way possible. 

but about halfway through the season, he’d be called to go on a surprise date with a new contestant and they’d just hit it off right away. like this person would be his perfect match and the viewers would be ecstatic for him.

i full heartedly believe that he’d be the one to win the show, obviously choosing to share the $50k with his significant other—there’d be no doubt in his mind that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with them.

armin would be the contestant with a completely open and vulnerable heart. he’d be open to any connections and relationships, just solely focused on the bonding aspect of it all—wishing to have a great summer and find some real friendships. 

he’d be the person that’d stick through their first coupling throughout the entire show, finding that connection extremely valuable and not wanting to let it go.

challenges would be a breeze for him, like this boy would win a majority of them due to his knowledge of strategy and complex thinking—he’d find loopholes to each riddle and physical struggle, just showing off his intelligence in every way. 

however, casa amor would be a big blow to him. he’d feel so secure in his couple that he wouldn’t have that serious conversation of where they’re both at, and his partner would end up recoupling in the other villa. 

he’d be completely blindsided and end up self-eliminating soon after—not having the energy or time to take on an entirely new connection, believing that that person was it for him and that the villa would have nothing else to offer him. 

firstly, i don’t think levi would ever be a contestant on a reality television show, let alone a dating one—but in the off chance that he did so happen to be on love island, it’d be because hange signed him up for it without his knowledge.

he’d be the lone wolf type of character, just living his own life—not interacting with any of the other contestants unless they’d come and approach him for conversation. 

there wouldn’t be very many connections for him—probably only one if i’m being honest—and it’d be with a sort of bubbly type of person, one with good morals that wouldn’t be afraid to break him out of his shell and show him how to enjoy his time in the villa. 

while he’d be wary of a romantic relationship, he’d end up falling for his partner extremely hard and would find himself protective and somewhat possessive of them—just to make sure that he wouldn’t end up losing them to someone else. 

considering all of his doubts, he wouldn’t make it to the final four—probably only to the casa amor point, before being eliminated by viewer vote. however, he’d be amazing at challenges. 

sexy dilf erwin would be a bombshell entrance in the villa—the kind where he’d be waiting in the hot tub balcony for his chosen date partner, just sipping wine and relaxing in the bubbles with his one arm resting on the side. 

he’s very charming and would manage to sway the attention of a majority of the villa, men and women alike—and there’s no telling the shenanigans he’d get up to with the friends he’d make in there. 

this man would be the cause of inborn relationship drama, but wouldn’t be involved directly—rather the type of drama where he’d be discussed but not actually have any say in whatever the matter was. 

his placement would be around the top six or seven, just because he’d be so sought after that there’d be a hard time finding someone who he really connects with—since he’s trying his best to give every suitor an opportunity to try it with his sexy self. 

he’d also have the thickest cockney accent that you could dream of—or a really really posh south london accent, like pinky up tea drinker and everything. 

connie would be the fan-favorite contestant. he’d be that guy that absolutely no one stepped forward for and be the pity party right off the start, but manage to sway the audience with his natural humor and amusement.

he’d be the king of friendship couples, like he’d be the villa’s safety net for contestants who wouldn’t have anyone else to couple up with, and would secure their places in the show—without ever harboring any real feelings for those people. 

casa amor would be his time to shine, he’d be living his best life in the other villa and have all the girls on his arms—with a wide variety to choose from and connect with. this is where he’d meet his perfect match. 

coming back to the main villa with this partner, all of his friends would be extremely happy for him and just excited that he was able to get the experience that he signed up for. 

him and his partner would end up in third or second place—though they’d be a fan favorite pairing, they just wouldn’t have had enough screen time to win the show completely. 

reiner would be the shock contestant that’d be revealed after the first five couples were matched. he’d run into the villa with full confidence that he’d be able to snag one of the beginning contestants with ease.

however, that confidence would soon fade by his own insecurities and emotions—the fear of being unwanted and alone catching up with him in the worst possible ways, causing him to have a small breakdown before the coupling ceremony. 

but he’d still choose one of the contestants, not having any real connection with her other than the first conversation—and that couple would completely crumble beneath him. 

he’d get eliminated soon after by the following recoupling ceremony, and sadly wish his friends goodbye with a tear running down his cheek—it’d be extremely emotional despite the minuscule amount of time viewers would get to know him .

that being said, he’d still leave an impact on the season as the contestant who just couldn’t catch a single break.

lil ole berty would be the contestant that everyone looks over, contestants and viewers alike. he’d be that nice background guy that everyone is fine with, but often forgets he exists—which really puts a stunt on his time in the villa.

he’d be in a safety couple, one where him and his partner are loyal to their connection, but not head-over-heels interested in one another. just two people who are attracted to one another with no real bond. 

challenges would be a bit of a struggle for him, just the competitiveness of it all and the pointless wonder of the whole ordeal—the show in general wouldn’t really be something up his ally.

him and his partner would end up getting eliminated early on to halfway through the season by an islander vote. it’d be a this or that couple elimination and only about two couples would vote to save them, causing him to have to pack his bags and head out. 

twitter would have a field day with memes though, his sleeping positions would be trending all over the love island hashtag every night. 

marco would be the nice guy contestant. the one that’s the boy next door kind of character type that everyone would love and see as the voice of reason and peace. 

he’d be somewhat of the villa’s therapist, if that’s the appropriate word, and would always be there to lend an ear to any islander who’s having issues in their couple or just problems in relation to the show’s process and journey. 

his encouragement would make him a fan favorite with viewers and allow him to make it fairly far into the season—probably past the casa amor point and nearly to the family segments. 

he wouldn’t ever be in a totally stable couple, always having to take on the stress of the other islanders and never having the opportunity to really focus on his own time and relationships. 

but he’d gain a massive following and get a shit ton of brand deals after the whole show is over. 

niccolo’s love island experience would be different from all the rest, as he’d be one of the casa amor contestants—there to sway the main villa’s relationships and connections with a mere four-five days of conversation.

he’d end up stealing the hearts of the women and finding a person that matched him on a deep level—with not only his good looks, but the way he manages a kitchen as well.

the main boys would love him and immediately see him as one of their own—enjoying his company and how he’d make everyone a full course meal every single morning right as they woke up to the automatic bedroom lights.

the viewers would also be a little obsessed with him as his pairing would just be lovable in all ways—the look in his eyes being one of pure adoration and love, nothing falsified or phony—just absolute infatuation.

i feel like he’d snag a fourth place win, happily in the final four, yet still not quite there. overall, secure and safe within his couple—and excited for the future of him and his match.

aitarose do not copy, claim, or mimick my writing, works, themes, copy and paste my words, or headers and tags as your own. do not use my blog as a template for your own, or base your theme on mine.

[miyuwuki]

Is it selfish to ask for another kazuya sister scenario/hq? (it's totally fine if you don't want to do it)

OMG OFC NOT !! a lot of people took a liking to sister!reader so i’m happy to oblige :) the older sister hc is here, so this will be a younger one!

warnings: none

miyuki kazuya x sister!reader hc’s

miyuki’s younger sister

you’re only like a year younger than miyuki

but unlike him, you were calm and quiet (but still have that nasty side (just a teeny bit))

kind of like ryousuke and haruichi

you also had thick glasses like miyuki so people could tell that you guys were siblings

miyuki liked pinching your cheek a lot and when you started off in seido, and he would pull your leg quite a bit

“study hard y/n, you’re kinda stupid” “don’t get lost” he says this as he’s pinching your cheek

“kazuya, please stop talking and that hurts”

being in the same year as sawamura, furuya and haruichi, you ended up being friends with them

it was always the four of you together

miyuki notices this when you hang out with them after practice

you guys could be getting a drink or sitting on the field nonchalantly talking about nothings

“oi y/n, sawamura is not a good friend to be around. find new friends”

“I AM A GREAT FRIEND MIYUKI-SENPAI I DO NOT KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT”

you would laugh at him and your brother’s bickering

as a younger miyuki, you always looked up to your older brother

you notice that he inspires the people around him and works so hard in baseball so that he can lead the team with pride

also sawamura would not shut up about him

“MIYUKI-IMOUTO, MIYUKI-SENPAI IS THE BEST!”

yeah he calls you “miyuki-imouto” like he calls ryousuke “onii-san”

“eijun, you can just call me miyuki or y/n…”

yeah you’re on first name basis’ w the three

anyways, you too wanted to be like him one day. maybe not the baseball part, but being someone everyone could confide in

you actually got a lot of confessions because of the miyuki genes i mean come on

but the ones miyuki would witness he would tell you to throw away their letters after

“i can already tell they’re not good so throw them away”

quite protective of you

if someone else teases you he would tell them to knock it off

“you’re not allowed to do that only i can”

he knows he has to be the one to kind of raise you since your guys’ father is never around

so as much as he bullies you he cares just as much

one time you barely passed a test and he saw

he just sighed and said “we’ll work on it together” “if you get at least a 75% on the next test i’ll treat you out”

and he spent nights helping you understand the material

he would be pretty annoyed if you made him repeat things but he wouldn’t give up until he knew you got it

and because of that you aced the next test

and of course he did treat you out

with a drink from the vending machine

“i didn’t say how i’d treat you”

but it made you so happy

whenever you were sad he would pat your head a lot or ruffle your hair

literally will be your therapist he is ready to listen to whatever you have to say

if you don’t want to talk about it he’ll cook or put on a movie

and if you did want to talk about it he would be all ears and give his opinion after

if you had a boyfriend he would definitely keep him in check

“if you’re not as good as me then you can’t date her” “where are you taking her and when are you dropping her off” “you like baseball? no?”

you honestly don’t mind it because you know he’s just looking out for you

he would tease your boyfriend too

can you imagine his reaction if you dated sawamura, furuya, or haruichi

“WHY, OUT OF EVERYONE WHY HIM”

one time when it was everyone’s off, you, sawamura, furuya and haruichi were hanging out in sawamura’s room eating a bunch of snacks and playing video games

it was one of their rare breaks and it wouldn’t hurt to bond and relax

but miyuki walked in because he needed to talk to sawamura

and then he saw you

and steam started to release through his ears

“k-kazuya”

“what are you doing here y/n”

“CAP! WE ARE HAVING BONDING TIME”

“don’t worry miyuki-senpai. we are taking good care of her”

“exactly kazuya they’re my friends”

he’d scoff, “make sure she doesn’t do anything dumb” and leave

you’d go to his games sometimes, for both him and your best friends

it gets you so hyped every time

“NERAIUCHI”

you’d make rice balls for your brother and your friends so that they’d have something to eat after the game

miyuki would lowkey criticize you like

“this needs more seasoning” “not enough rice”

“then don’t eat it, asshole”

and then you’d switch gears to your friends acting all nice “please have more”

your cooking is also good though it runs in the family, your brother is just competitive

miyuki would definitely be a bother to you

would untie your shoe laces, make you reach something he’s holding up high or poke you

your reactions amuses him

“kazuya i swear”

“what”

“i will kick your crotch”

“haha”

whenever you guys fight, he would be the one to apologize first. he feels that it’s his duty to be the bigger person

but obviously if you were in the wrong you would have to say sorry first

he prioritizes you as much as he does baseball. a little more i would say

would be a nuisance but a 5 stars of a brother

hugs are awkward and a no go btw

BONUS:

“here y/n drink this”

you would drink it and immediately spit it out

“ew what is this”

“melon soda with red bean soup”

“i hate you”

HELLOOO MY LOVE PLS ENJOY THESE HC’S also i think it’s so cute that sister!mc is in a friend group w sawamura, furuya, and haruichi hehehehe

[banditthewriter]

Intensity - Loki

Here we have a Loki fic. That came out of nowhere, I’ve only ever written drabbles for him. It’s not long but hopefully it’s not bad?

Enjoy!

*gif not mine*

*****

Unlike most people, the mutant gene didn’t show up when you were a kid. You could be grateful for that at least. Because of that little grace, your childhood had been completely normal. No worries, no fears, nothing out of the ordinary.

Then you started to notice changes.

People seemed calm around you for the most part. If your emotions were out of control, you realized that others would be that way too. It took a while to understand that it was more than just the environment, more than just coincidence.

It took a disaster.

It was a fight with your dad when you were a teen. You didn’t even remember what it was about, what caused the issue, but you were angry enough that you were told to go to your room. Your mom had come in to sit with you for a while to try to calm you down.

The next thing you know, she went into the living room and tried to attach your dad with a butcher knife. He was okay but he did have to get sixteen stitches. And your mom was traumatized, not understanding why she tried to kill the man she loved.

That’s what had them put it all together. The little things they’d noticed but had brushed off had come out in a big way.

You could influence other people’s emotions. Oddly enough, anger was easier than the nicer emotions, but you’d had a pretty laid back life so you didn’t feel anger a lot. 

Maybe that’s why it was so potent when you did feel it.

Emotion manipulation could be dangerous without proper training so in college, after a few years of trying to pretend you were normal, you left to find someone to train you. Therapists, doctors, military people all tried their hand to get you trained. All of them had the same thing to say.

You were undisciplined at best. At worst? You’d never be able to be completely in control. 

Over the years it became harder and harder to keep in contact with people, including your family. It wasn’t like you could have an actual relationship that way. You could never be sure if you were influencing someone’s emotions, even when you tried to get control of your powers.

The military had a bracelet that worked for other mental powers. It didn’t work flawlessly, but it helped. It dampened your emotional field so that it took touch to influence someone for the most part. That and a steady regime of keeping calm, you got a better grasp on it.

Better didn’t mean perfect though. You still sometimes affected people when you didn’t mean to. You still hated it when you did it.

One of the things you did learn while working with various therapists was that there was more to your power than just emotion manipulation. To a lesser degree, you could read emotions on people. It didn’t work as well when you had the bracelet on, dampened that power as well, but sometimes...sometimes you could catch bits and pieces off of the people closest to you.

While you traveled from military base to military base to try to figure out a way to work on your powers, you didn’t expect to get a call from the Avengers. 

Well. It was less of a call and more of Iron Man dropping down in front of you and one of the generals so that he could offer you a place to stay at his tower.

“How’d you hear about me?”

Although you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew that Iron Man—Tony Stark, it was Tony Stark in front of you—was looking at you.

“Fury. He has a way of getting information on lost souls that need a little help. What do you say? Wanna be a part time Avenger? Use your mojo to make some people really docile so that we don’t have to keep wrecking New York City every time some supervillain decides to stop by?”

You shifted a bit and looked at the general beside you. He just shrugged.

You weren’t a prisoner of the military. It had been very evident that you were there voluntarily. It was up to you.

“I’m working on a better dampener for mental powers. Maybe I can make one that’s specific to your power and you won’t have to worry about it anymore.”

And just like that, you didn’t need to hear anything else.

------

The tower is bigger than you thought it would be. Which is a good thing. Especially when you realized it’s not just the Avengers that frequent the tower but other members of Shield.

“This area is all yours,” Mr Stark says as he shows you to your room. Suite. Apartment. “The walls are made from the same dampening material as your bracelet so it’ll contain your powers.”

“My powers aren’t that powerful,” you said softly as you touched the bracelet in question. “Thank you Mr Stark. I...I want to help people but I am scared of what my powers might do. I want to protect people from me.”

He turned to look at you and dropped some of that rich man bravado he’d been sporting since he escorted you onto his private jet.

“You don’t have to be scared of yourself here. I promise.”

That’s not the last time you see him either. He explains that you should call him Tony and although it’s weird at first, you do.

“Tony, aren’t you scared I’ll influence you?”

He looked up from where he was typing on a tablet, his feet up on the table in your kitchenette.

“Pretty sure you do,” he said casually as he looked back down at the tablet. “It’s only ever small things though. Calm sometimes, tired sometimes. Hungry that one, that’s why I ordered pizza.”

You felt your heart start to beat fast at the thought of you accidentally influencing him, but he must have caught on to that. 

“Anxiety and I are old friends,” he explained as he put the tablet down and crossed over to you. “I’m not worried about it. Your influence doesn’t last if I’m not around you so once I leave, I’m back to myself. But honestly? Your influences are a lot simpler than some of the things I’ve felt.”

You thought about everything you knew about Iron Man and the Avengers and decided, yeah, he was probably right. Anything you could make him feel would be pretty tame compared to flying a nuclear warhead into a wormhole without knowing if you were coming back.

------

The first time you meet Natasha Romanoff, you spill orange juice on your shirt. She just smirked and grabbed a napkin to hold out to you.

It was the first time you’d let yourself out of your rooms. The new bracelet was supposed to be more effective, but Tony said he wouldn’t know if he was on the right track until you let yourself be around people. 

People meaning Shield agents. You didn’t expect to be face to face with Black Widow.

Her grin wavered for a second before it came back even brighter.

“You have better control than I thought you’d have,” she admitted as she leaned against a nearby table. “Stark said this new bracelet would still let you influence, but you stopped it pretty quick.”

“I didn’t even realize what I was doing,” you confided as you gripped your half full glass of orange juice. “I just want to hold it all in when I’m around people.”

Natasha tapped her fingers on the table before she crossed over towards the door.

“It’s not good to hold it in. You might end up like a grenade without a pin.”

With that helpful piece of advice, she left. 

Later, in Tony’s lab rather than your room, you told him what she said. He nodded as he made a few adjustments.

“She’s got the right idea at least. You stretch your wings with it every now and then, that’s one thing. You don’t work it at all and the muscle will atrophy. Who knows what a gift like yours can do if it degrades and you don’t have control over it?”

It took a while to come up with a plan. A few Shield agents, volunteers specifically, would work with you and let you influence them. Under supervision in case you lost control. 

It was a step. You just wish you knew if it was in the right direction or not.

------

“This is Thor and that’s his...brother Loki. Don’t worry, he’s on his best behavior these days.”

You nearly swallowed your spit when you turned around and sure enough, you were faced with Tony, Thor, and Loki. This was somehow your life but you hadn’t really figured it out yet. You were a few feet away from literal Gods.

Thankfully Tony couldn’t read your thoughts because he’d think you lumped him in with that group. 

“Uh, hi,” you said as you introduced yourself.

“Ah, another Avenger? Welcome.”

You smiled at Thor and shook your head, but Tony moved over and draped his arm over your shoulder.

“Definitely an Avenger, just with training wheels. Probationary,” he explained at Thor’s uncertain look. “We’re working on the kinks.”

You wanted to elbow Tony to get him off of you, especially as you could feel your heart start to race in your chest. This was nerves, anxiety building into a spike in your chest. Only Tony didn’t seem to react. He usually would at least look at you if he felt you influencing him.

And he didn’t seem to feel anxious or nervous in the least. Neither did Thor who was talking to Tony about...something about a bridge, you weren’t sure.

But Loki. You hadn’t paid much attention to him after the initial greeting, but you met his gaze now. He was staring straight at you, an intrigued look on his face as he watched you. 

Tony and Thor might not have noticed your influence, but it seems Loki had. Great.

“I should get back to the lab,” you said as you stepped out from under Tony’s arm. “It was nice to meet you both. Bye.”

You heard Thor’s farewell at your back, but you could still feel Loki’s gaze on your as you turned the corner.

------

Any other time that you ran into Thor in the tower, he always put you at ease. Tony had explained your powers and how you were coming to grips with them. Thor asked questions about it, always careful to never put you on edge, but he didn’t seem concerned for himself.

“It would be hard for a human such as yourself to influence an Asgardian mind,” he said with a smile when you asked him about it.

That didn’t explain Loki then. Besides your first meeting, every time you were around the dark haired God you’d turned into a nervous, babbling mess. The look on his face was always intrigued, but it wasn’t cruel. It seemed almost clinical. 

Although you’d heard a lot about that particular God’s abilities. Maybe since he had some mind control abilities himself, he could feel it in you.

And didn’t that just put you on edge. You weren’t sure how you felt about having something in common with Loki, God of mischief. 

Although you weren’t entirely sure that was the only reason you felt nervous around Loki. Most people talked about how attractive the God of thunder is, with reason, but there was just something about the dark haired God that caught your attention.

So of course you would find yourself alone with the God in question while you waited for Tony. The Avengers were off Avenging and you didn’t like to be holed up while you waited for them.

You weren’t sure why you expected Loki to be off with them, but he wasn’t. He was in a chair in the room, a book on his lap that he flicked through lazily. When you walked in, his eyes lifted up and met yours.

There was a challenge in his gaze. Normally you’d make an excuse and turn to leave. He was challenging you to see if you’d do it now that there weren’t other people around.

Instead you crossed over and went to the kitchen area.

“Is it because of my past misdeeds? Is that why you’re nervous around me?”

You hadn’t heard him speak before right then, but his voice fit him. You tapped your fingers against the fridge door that you had pulled open even though you weren’t hungry. 

“I’ve heard a few stories about you, sure. But you’re a God. It’s...intimidating.”

You heard the chair creak. When you looked over your shoulder, he had stood up and crossed a few feet to be closer.

“Regardless of my past, you have nothing to fear from me.”

Slowly you shut the fridge door and turn to face him completely. The look on his face made you believe him. But it was more than that. You could feel something from him, an emotion buried in the haze from your bracelet.

Honesty.

“Okay,” you whispered as you met his eyes. “I’ll...keep that in mind.”

------

The lower library wasn’t exactly your favorite, but it was usually empty. You walked through the first few aisles and froze when you saw that you weren’t alone.

“You come here to be alone,” Loki guessed as he looked around the room. “It’s one of the few places that’s technically public but usually void of people.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself and nodded.

“I’m supposed to be in public for a few hours each day but sometimes it gets to be a bit too much. So I come here.”

He nodded as if he understood that. Then he turned to face you head on. 

“How powerful are you?”

You almost laughed at that, but held it in.

“I’m not powerful, I’m untrained. Dangerous,” you added as you looked away from him.

One of the Shield agents had to be sedated when you’d made her feel too many things at once on accident. You weren’t sure how she was doing. 

Tony was still calibrating the new bracelet, but you wore it anyways. You just hoped...hoped it was enough. 

“I can help you. I’m skilled with mind control of stronger beings than humans.”

You fingered the bracelet you wore and thought about the Shield agent, your parents, all the people you’d influenced over the years that had bad results.

“I’ll think about it,” you said softly. Then you sighed. “I should go back to the lab. Tony will be looking for me.”

“Ah, yes, we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

You smiled and looked away. You weren’t sure you could handle for Loki to pick up on how charmed you were by him just then.

You really needed to get better at keeping your feelings a secret.

------

The lab was in disarray. You stumbled from where you’d fallen, the debris mostly away from you.

Even in his panic, Tony hadn’t hurt you. He’d flung himself as far away as he could, kept his robots from hurting you, but he’d nearly destroyed his lab in the process.

“Tony?”

It was quiet for a moment but then you heard a rasping breath. You climbed over a fallen stool and went to your knees next to where he was crumpled on the floor.

“Tony, are you...what can I do?”

He let out a gasp, his eyes on your face for a moment before they slammed shut tight.

“JARVIS, get Pepper,” you called out, unsure of what else to do. 

The mechanical voice said it would be a moment and then said that Miss Potts was on her way down. You slumped on the floor next to Tony, careful not to touch him.

Your anxiety about this test, about how long it had been since there had been any progress, had bled over to Tony. Only it was heightened somehow, the anxiety and worry causing a full blown flashback for him. You’d caught glimpses of it, almost-images of the wormhole and falling through the air.

It’s why you asked for Pepper. He hadn’t been able to talk to her before...before.

When she came in, she gave you an understanding look before she went to his side. Since he was being cared for, you got up and stumbled away from them. Your bracelet was still on the receiver so you grabbed it and hooked it on, grateful for the dullness you felt afterwards.

Then you left the lab. All you wanted to do was go to your rooms, to bury yourself under your blankets and wish it all away, but instead you headed in a different direction.

The room that Loki had been given was in the same hall as Thor, but you thought Thor was away on a mission with Steve and Sam. Loki’s door was shut, but when you raised your hand to knock, it came open.

“I need help.”

Loki came from across the room in a hurry, probably thinking you meant you were being chased. When he was sure the issue was less immediate, he nodded and met your eyes.

What he saw there made him let out a breath. He reached for you, slow so that you wouldn’t pull away. He unhooked the bracelet and set it to the side.

“This might be a bit uncomfortable,” he said softly as he raised his hands to your forehead.

In an instant you were no longer in the tower, no longer in New York. You were in your childhood bedroom, your mom helping you make your bed while your dad laughs at the two of you. It was such a distant memory, something you had forgotten.

As more and more of those happy memories come to the surface, you sense something from Loki. A bitter tang on your tongue. 

He had hoped that your childhood would have been like his. He had seen you and imagined that you’d been set apart as well. To see a loving, happy childhood had almost been a disappointment for him.

That faded away as the next memory appeared. He watched from your own eyes as your mother, in a rage not of her own, tried to kill your father. He sees your best friend yelling that she can’t trust you, teachers telling you that you can’t come to class, job and job firing you after only days.

He sees relationship after relationship burn hot and bright at first and then the horror sets in, the worry that they didn’t want you like you wanted them, the anger from them, the apathy. You felt it all in spirals, in such quick succession that embarrassment started to well up inside you.

“Shh, it’s alright,” he promised as he continued to dig inside your memories. “You’re not there. They don’t matter.”

There’s something like a tug and then suddenly, like a dam breaking, you're overwhelmed with emotions. They seem to come from every direction like the room is crowded.

You open your mouth to say his name, to ask him for help, but instead there’s nothing but darkness as you give in to the pain.

------

The medical wing is new to you. When you sit up, there’s a hand on your shoulder to help you ease up the rest of the way.

“It’s been two days,” Natasha says in a tone you can’t quite read. “Thought we were going to have to take turns kissing you, Snow White.”

“Thanks for…not doing that,” you said as you reached up to rub at your forehead.

Loki. You had been in his room, he was in your mind. He was trying to help you, going through your memories. There had been...oh the emotions you’d felt before you’d passed out.

“Where’s Loki?”

Natasha doesn’t say anything, just reached out to grab a cup of water from next to your bed. As she held it out to you, you pushed it away.

“Natasha, where’s Loki? Tell me.”

She sighed and put the cup down.

“Steve and Thor had him put into a holding cell for attacking you.”

You were shaking your head before she even finished.

“He didn’t though!”

A tablet was on the table. After a brief hesitation she grabbed it and navigated through a few things.

“Watch this and tell me he didn’t attack you.”

You watched the recording from his room. The two of you were in front of each other, his hands on your head. There didn’t seem to be anything at first but then you saw what looked like a surge of magic go from his hands to your head.

You shook your head as you rewound it and watched the same spot.

“I need to see him,” you said when you finally looked up at her. “Now, Natasha.”

Although she obviously didn’t want to let you, she gave you a nod. You were already in sweats for comfort while you were unconscious, so you just slid on some too big slippers and let her lead the way to the holding cells. 

Steve immediately raises his hands once you enter the hallway.

“What the hell Romanoff, I said–”

“Yeah, when’s the last time I listened to you,” Natasha snarked with a smirk. Then she gestured at you. “She wants to talk to him.”

Steve was just about to say no, but Thor came from down the hall with a frown.

“I think she should. I know what we saw, but we don’t understand it. It’s possible the only one that can understand it is her. Besides,” he added with a sly look in your direction, “Loki is on his best behavior when she’s around.”

You didn’t know how to take that, but thankfully it seemed to persuade Steve. He told you he’d buzz you into the cell once you were there. They had a camera so they’d see and hear everything and, if you needed it, could come and save you.

You really didn’t think you’d need it.

In the cell, Loki seemed different. He ignored you when you came in, just threw a ball against the wall and caught it over and over again.

You wished you could use your powers to read Asgardians as well as humans, but...wait.

There was nothing. From Natasha, from Steve, from the nurse who had released you. Usually you felt something, a low hum of their emotions, but there was nothing.

“The force of it was too much for you, but it’ll come back.” He caught the ball and let it rest beside him on the bench. “You felt too many emotions at once. Your mind was adapting to having mine in there when it happened and it overloaded.”

You nodded and sat down beside him, a few feet away just so that Steve wouldn’t bust in. You really didn’t need observers with this, but you knew you didn’t have a choice.

“It felt so weird. It was like I could feel the emotions of everyone in the tower at once.”

Loki looked over at you in surprise.

“In the tower? That was everyone in the city at once.” At your surprised look, he offered a smile. “I knew you were powerful when we first met, I just didn’t realize how powerful.”

You sighed and leaned back against the wall.

“Holy shit,” you breathed with another laugh. “No wonder I’ve been asleep for two days.”

And here you thought you couldn’t really surprise the God of mischief more than you already had.

“Two days? So that’s...why you haven’t come to set the record straight.”

Oh. Had he thought that you believed the story that he’d attacked you? Or did he just think that you were letting him suffer?

“Just woke up. Saw the video, heard you were down here, came to rescue you.”

He laughed at that, a sound that both surprised and pleased you.

“How do you feel?”

You thought about it. The emptiness in your head was blissful. So was the fact that you didn’t need to worry about making people feel your emotions.

“I hope it never comes back.”

His hand closed around yours and, with a gentle tug, he pulled you a little closer to him.

“You shouldn’t hope for that. The gifts you have don’t have to be a burden. You can learn to control them, learn to use them.” He smiled at you, his eyes locked on yours. “I said I knew you were powerful and I meant it. I could feel it in you.”

You rubbed a hand over your wrist where your bracelet usually sat.

“Maybe I should be the one in the holding cell.”

Loki’s face became more serious as he looked you over.

“It could happen one day.”

The memory of Tony curled up on his side after your influence made you think about what had happened in Loki’s room. Your mind had reached the entirety of the city. If you could push your influence that far…

“I have to…”

You didn’t bother saying more, just tore from the room in a rush. Steve was outside and he nodded when he met your eyes.

“We saw. We believe you. We’ll let him out.”

You nodded because that was good, but that wasn’t the only thing on your mind.

You needed to talk to Tony.

------

“You sure you don’t feel anything?” At your baleful look, Tony shrugged and looked back at the scan. “Your brain is unusually active.”

“I’ll try not to be offended,” you said with a laugh. 

Tony crossed over to where you sat. He looked good for a man who just a few days ago had been basically curled up under his table in a panic. And he had forgiven you for that.

“Make me feel something. Something small, please,” he added with a grin.

You drummed your fingers on the table for a moment before you nodded. Then you focused on Tony and a new feeling.

“God I could eat a cheeseburger,” he commented as his hand went to his stomach. “Wait. Was that it? Was that you?”

You started to smile but then you focused on him some more. There was surprise, under the surface, but you had to actually look for it. It didn’t come out of nowhere.

“I have control?”

Tony clapped his hands together. Then he reached out for your bracelet and tossed it into the trash can.

“It was a prototype anyways. We’ll get one together just in case, but I think we can say you’re off the bench for now.”

You laughed and tossed your arms around his neck.

“Thank you Tony.”

“Yeah, yeah, now let’s get something to eat. Seriously, I’m starving.”

------

A few days after his release, you found Loki in the library. He looked up as you entered as if he knew it was you.

Maybe he did.

“Thank you. Because of what you did, I have control now.”

“I know,” he said with a smile. “Thor said you’ll be going on a mission with them soon to celebrate.”

Yeah, you’d heard that as well. It was exciting, if a little daunting.

“It might do you some good to continue to train with me, if you wish. To perfect your talents.”

You smiled. Then you moved over to sit beside him. Now that you had control, you let your mind open to try to read him.

Silence. You frowned and tried again.

“Because of my powers, I can protect myself,” he said with a tap of his fingers to his temple, a grin on his lips. “I do appreciate the effort though.”

You laughed and looked down at your hands. Nervousness settled over you.

“I just thought if I could read your emotions, I could know if…”

If he was interested in you. If your feelings had influenced him at all.

“You could never influence me, I promise.”

You opened your mouth to ask how he knew that’s what you were thinking, but then you remembered. He’d been in your head. Besides seeing just how horrifically all of your past relationships had ended, he would have felt how you felt about him.

He was putting you at ease. Your nerves started to rise and either he could tell, or he just knew you that well already.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You met his eyes and smiled, a little breathless as you thought about the possibilities. 

“Not uncomfortable. Just...nervous.”

He leaned in towards you, his grin nearly blinding until his lips met yours. 

You didn’t need to be nervous anymore.

X

Thanks for reading!

[misslilli]

You guys are incredible, thank you so much ❤️ I don't want this story to ever end 😂

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 28 - Miss Undercover

[ FM ]

Don’t judge me, but I’ve become a creature of habit when it comes to frequenting coffee shops at the exact same time on the exact same day for the third time in a row now. When I hear the door open, I turn my head to see a small figure coming in, in black leggings and black boots, the hood of a black sweater pulled down low to obscure her face. I don’t need that one strand of red hair poking out to know who it is.

Stopping to stand before me, she hisses quietly. “Face forward. And whatever you do, don’t say my name!” Obviously, she doesn’t need to see who’s standing before her, either.

Maybe it’s the new boots I ordered from Land’s End.

I’m thoroughly confused by now but I do as I’m told, whispering out of the corner of my mouth. “Hey Eminem, what the heck are you doing?” With her head down, I have to strain my ears to hear her speaking out of the hood.

“I’m incognito this week. Parents. Talks about report cards. Don’t want to be harassed.” Not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to ourselves, I stifle my laugh and order our drinks at the counter.

While we wait, some woman sidles up to us. “Miss Scully, is that you?”

With reflexes I’m quite proud of, I pull Miss Undercover into me to hide her face and the strand of hair from the woman’s eyes.

“Nope, not her. Just my girlfriend, she’s shy. She just had a bad case of the measles, you know, worst on the face, awful scarring… Bye now!” Balancing the paper tray with both cups in one hand, I lead Scully outside.

Once we’re safe, she steps away with a shove to my chest, glaring at me from under her hood, but I can see the smile tugging on her lips.

“Measles on my face, Mulder? You couldn’t come up with a better cover story?”

“Hey, I just saved your butt, a little gratitude for the Knight in shining armor?” I look down at the paper tray I’m holding to see that they haven’t put any names on our cups this time. “Aaaw man, they forgot our names this time. And I had such good names picked out!”

Scully takes a pen out of her purse and scribbles something on both of our cups, grinning. “There.”

I turn the cup over to read what she has scribbled and my eyebrows shoot up.

“Moose, Scully? I’m not sure if I should be offended at that.” I grab her wrist to turn her cup over as well. “And Squirrel? You’re a very strange woman…”

Laughing, she shrugs, pushes the hood off her head and we start walking, recounting our days this week so far. It sheds some light on her strange get-up, because it’s the last week before Christmas break and the parents come in to discuss the current status of their children’s report cards. And they seem to harass the teachers outside of school for a bit of a heads up of what to expect.

“You’re a pretty decent undercover agent, have you ever thought of joining the Bureau - you already have the perfect outfit!” She laughs and shakes her head.

“I’m sure they’d be so embarrassed by my love of rainbow colored outfits, they’d stick me in the basement to hide me away. And you’d be stuck having to check up on me, that I haven’t died from neglect down there for being the FBI’s Most Unwanted.”

“You’d be head of the Bureau in no time, we’re nothing but a bunch of little kids playing pretend, always misbehaving in some way or another, just like in school!”

“I’d give everyone who solves a case a golden stickers they can trade in to reach into the treasure box of sweets and pencils and mini-erasers.” The mental image of grown-up, tough as nails, Special Agents carrying guns with their own little star reward system is hilarious.

“I’m sure the solve-rate will go through the roof with those incentives!”

I’m a little sad we’ve reached our parting junction once again, I’m having such a good time just talking and bantering back and forth. It gives me a sense of calm, unlike the past few months when I’d spend my days obsessing over when I’m going to see her again. Now I know, it’s Tuesday afternoon after school. I hope it becomes a standing tradition.

We hug our semi-friendly half-hug goodbye and she gives me a little wave on top of it, before turning to walk back home.

“I’ll see you around, Moose!”

“You bet, Squirrel!”

—————

[ DS ]

I get home that day with a sense of calm I haven’t felt in a long time. The preparations of the Christmas celebrations have given me a much welcomed distraction and slowly, as the first flakes of snow fell, the ache inside my chest begins to let up.

Just like the snow settling inside a shaken snowglobe, I begin to see a little more clearly.

Countless sessions with both my therapist and my friends have been spent facing the demons of my past relationships and while it’s been a pretty bumpy ride, I feel like I’ve come a long way since that afternoon in the gym.

The girls are out grocery shopping, so I settle down on the couch with my e-book reader, diving into the world of The Seven Sisters, a series of books I’ve been enjoying for the past few years.

I get so lost in the adventures of one sister in Australia, I’m startled at the noise the girls makes when they get home from the store. Putting my Kindle aside to help them with the groceries, they pull me into their excited conversation about the upcoming field trip to the Chocolate Factory.

Once that topic has been exhausted, we move on to the Christmas party at The Cabby Shack. “Hey D, have you picked an outfit for the Christmas party yet?”

“I did, I’m wearing my favorite Christmas sweater, you know the one with Rudolph on the front and the red pompom for his nose.”

We’ve made it a tradition to wear our most cringey sweaters for this party and they’re always a big hit with the crowd.

“I’m glad we’re going this year after all. I thought you’d be much too sad to come but you seem to be doing better, D. Am I right?” Nodding, I give her a smile.

“Yeah I am. I feel like I’ve come out the other side, finally. In a big part thanks to you guys!”

“Ya, we’re pretty awesome, right girls?”

The casual meet-ups with Mulder, which are not as casual as they might seem, is the first thing I haven’t shared with the girls in as long as I can remember. And I won’t share my plans for the Christmas party with them either.

They’re my little secret to keep.

[justmypartner]

Still Breathing: Chapter 5

Summary: AU | When a case goes sideways, Hailey wakes up in the hospital with a revelation that leaves her evaluating her life. While she recovers at Med, she meets Jay, an aloof, yet intriguing patient that catches her by surprise. The two get to know one another as they take on the task of rediscovering what it’s like to truly live, and eventually learn their lives intersect in more ways than one.

Writer’s Note: Hi lovelies! I’m sorry this has taken so long to update. I started an internship and my senior year of college these past few weeks, so things have been crazy for me. Also, full transparency: this chapter took me a really long time to figure out. Alas, I finally figured out which direction I wanted to go in & I’m so happy with how it turned out. Thank you for your patience with this story, and I really hope you enjoy this chapter!!

Read on AO3 or below

Hailey pushed the door open from the lobby of her therapist's office, grimacing at the brisk wind that met her on the other side. She pulled her jacket tighter across her chest as her eyes searched up and down the street for her ride. After one of the hottest summer’s ever, Chicago was finally beginning to see cooler weather as summer seemed to slip away each day and autumn slowly crept in. With it came that comfortable kind of chill that made it nice to be outside, so she didn’t mind having to wait.

It had been a few weeks since Hailey’s return to work. During that time, things had changed a lot for her. On top of her adjustment to desk duty, she started physical therapy which brought her that much closer to being back to full duty, and she also began to see a therapist on the regular.

As things changed, Jay was her only constant through it all. Though her schedule was chaotic, she didn’t let it stop her from seeing him. They worked in coffee before PT, dinners after work, and she’d somehow made it a habit of calling him every night on her way home. He even took on the responsibility of bringing her to and from her therapy appointments. It was something she’d said in passing about feeling anxious by the thought of opening up to a complete stranger. He teased her, explaining that was exactly what she’d done when they first met. Then the day her first appointment arrived, he was waiting outside of place, ready to drive her there. He explained that though he couldn’t be in the room to support her, he’d be there before and after, and it was the kind of thing that had her second-guessing her feelings about him. 

Much like the seasons in the city, their relationship seemed to change with each day that passed. As things got crazy in her life, he became intentional about being her reminder that life was more than just work or crazy schedules. Her mind was running a mile a minute almost every second of the day, but when she was with him, she could slow down and finally find a chance to breathe. They couldn’t go a day without at least talking to one another. Though that kind of bond could seem smothering, for her it was necessary, and it was clear that it was a feeling that went both ways. They’d gone from strangers to best friends in the short span of just about a month. With everything, her feelings for him had become confusing, but the only thing she knew for sure was what she knew from the first time they met — they were supposed to be in each other’s lives.

She wasn’t outside long before Jay pulled up, sending her a large smile through the window as she approached to get in.

“Sorry I’m late. I hope you weren’t waiting long,” he told her, propping his arm on the console as he watched her climb in. 

“No worries, it’s nice outside,” she assured him, settling into the seat as he pulled back out into the road. 

“So, how’d it go?” 

“Uh good.”

It wasn’t convincing, but she did mean it. Therapy was helping. Though the nightmares hadn’t subsided completely, and she still felt nervous about returning to the field, the things she carried from that day weren’t weighing as heavy on her as they once did. She was due back in the field in a week, assuming full clearance from her doctor at her next appointment, and though she wasn’t exactly jumping at the idea, it no longer paralyzed her with a fear that made it seem impossible.  

“How are you feeling about going back in the field?” he asked, pulling in his bottom lip as he glanced over at her with a look of what she guessed to be his way of making sure the question didn’t cross a line. 

“Better. It’s definitely still a lot, but Doc helped me come up with some grounding techniques in case things become too much,” she whispered, twisting the hair tie on her wrist back and forth as she spoke. She saw him nodding in her peripherals as silence fell upon the truck. 

“What about you?” she finally asked, looking over at him as he pulled his eyes from the road briefly to send her an unwitting look.

“What do you mean?”

“I just mean, are you okay talking about all of this? Today in session, we were talking about support systems. I told her I have support at work, but that you were the only one I felt comfortable talking about all of this with. Then, it hit me how insensitive it is for me to complain about how scared I am about returning to the field when you can’t even-” her hand raised in the air, gesturing to the words they both knew she meant but didn’t want to say.

It wasn’t something they talked about. She knew he had cancer, and she knew he was undergoing chemo treatments, but beyond that, he was pretty tight-lipped about his condition. She realized she could ask him and he’d probably tell, but in all honesty, she had been too scared to know. Though he kept her in the dark, it wasn’t enough to keep her from noticing the change in him over those few weeks.  

He tried to put on a brave face, but it was clear his treatments were beginning to wear him down. She first started to see it in his face. His warm smile and positive attitude were no longer enough to hide the exhausted and worn-down look in his eyes. Then there were the dizzy spells. He explained that they were to be expected and insisted they were no big deal, but there were a few times she’d had to help hold him upright because he suddenly lost his balance. That was when she began to truly worry, but even still she only worried from afar. As long as he told her he was fine, she was able to convince herself that he was, but it didn’t ease the doubt that lived in the back of her mind.

“Hailey, you never have to worry about that with me. You talk about whatever you need to talk about, I’m always going to listen,” he promised, sending her a look of sincerity that allowed her to know he meant it. She forced a smile, dipping her head into a weak nod as she tried to accept his words. 

“You know, you never have talked about it. Does it bother you, the idea of living this secret life, of being away from the job?” she continued, curiosity getting the best of her. 

“Not when I think of the alternative. I mean sure, I miss the job. I miss my team too, but I’d much rather them think I abandoned them for some dream vacation than have them pity me as I go through all of this. I just hope my job is still there by the time I can actually go back… if I even make it that far,” he told her, his voice remaining surprisingly steady as he spoke. 

“Stop,” she said, reaching over and resting a hand on his forearm. “You’re going to be fine.”

She said the words with confidence, needing them to be true for her own selfish reasons. As she pulled away, she kept her stare on him. Something twitched in his brow, and he met her eyes briefly, sending her a nod and a gentle look she’d come to know so well.

“I hope so,” he muttered. His eyes communicated what his mouth didn’t — he needed her words to be true too. She broke their gaze as she turned her head away, blinking away the emotions that the conversation had stirred up.

“By the way, you’re not doing anything right now are you?” he asked, clearing his throat as he lightened his tone. 

“No…” she dragged the word out with a skeptical voice. She took note when he missed the turn back to her place, her eyes traveling up and down the street before sending him a questioning look.

“Okay good. We are crossing something off of your list,” he said simply, his eyes staying glued to the road.

“Okay, but where are we going?” she inquired, pulling her bag out to look for her list. 

“Oh, I already picked something,” he said simply, her attention shifting from her bag to him. 

“How? You haven’t even seen my li-“ her words stopped when his hand reached down into his door and pulled out a folded up yellow piece of paper. She knew exactly what it was. 

“Where’d you get that?” she asked, snatching it from his hands as her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

“It must have fallen from your bag. It was in the seat after I dropped you off,” he said, his voice softening as he realized how embarrassed she was that he’d seen it. “It’s a good list. A little short, but I took it upon myself to choose the first thing we cross off.”

It was the promise he’d made so many weeks ago after bringing her along to cross an item off of his list. After weeks of busy schedules, it was the first time they’d even talked about the lists. 

“So, what are we doing?” 

“It’s a surprise.”

“You and your surprises,” she rolled her eyes. “You know I hate surprises, right?”

“You’ll like this one.” 

When they pulled up outside of his apartment building, her confusion only grew. They got out of the truck and he gestured for her to walk towards the building. When they entered, he brought a hand to her waist, instructing her to go up the stairs when she stopped in the middle of the lobby. It was an innocent touch, but it sent her heart pounding in her chest.

She shook that feeling off as they climbed the steps all the way up, and when they reached the door to the roof, she let out a snicker. 

“If you’re bringing me to the roof to play golf, I think we’ve already done that,” she joked. 

“Shut up and close your eyes,” he instructed her playfully. She gave him a hesitant look and he shot her a glare right back. She inhaled deeply, shutting her eyes as she let out a dramatic exhale. She heard him open the door and he grabbed at her wrist, pulling her outside onto the roof.    

“Okay… open,” he instructed. Her eyes took a minute to adjust to the light, blinking rapidly to see the last of the sun’s minutes lighting up the sky with an orange glow. She looked around, taking in the string lights that lined the rooftop.  

“Now, I know it’s not a rooftop in Florence, but do you want to dance with me?” he asked shyly, extending a hand out to her. She smiled widely as she realized what was going on, and in that moment she felt as though her heart was going to leap out of her chest.

Her list hadn’t grown much since she’d first added to it. Between indecision and busy schedules, she hadn’t been able to add much to it, so much of the list was written right after she had returned from the hospital. At the time, she was hopped up on painkillers and bored out of her mind, so some of them were deep and meaningful, while others were just fun little results of brain fog and boredom. One in particular was inspired by the book she had picked up in the hospital. The very same one Jay had first written his number into. There was a scene in the book where the Italian stranger took the main character dancing on a rooftop in Florence. Though she didn’t have any real plans of going to Italy any time soon, she was so enamored by the idea that she’d added it to her list.  

She shook her head in disbelief, flustered by how sweet and absurd the whole thing was as she took his hand. He pulled out his phone, pressing play as music played from a speaker behind them. He finally pulled her in, resting a hand on her back as the other held hers in his. It was the first time she’d been that close to him, and she couldn’t get over how habitual it felt. 

“I didn’t know you could dance,” she told him, looking up as his eyes dropped down to her. 

“I know a little, but don’t expect too much,” he warned, eliciting a throaty laugh out of her.

They danced until the sun had disappeared from the sky completely, leaving them under the dark and starless Chicago sky. They danced together to the slow songs and judged one another’s horrible moves during the others, and after a while, they had to settle on the ground to catch their breath. 

“So what gave you the idea for this?” he asked, taking a sip from the bottle of wine he’d brought up from his place before extending it to her. 

“You know that book I was reading in the hospital? The one you wrote your number in?” she asked, taking the bottle from him and taking a sip herself. 

“Oh, so you stole the idea? I thought it was something you had come up with yourself.”

“Ah yeah, I’m not creative enough for that.” 

“You know, the characters in that book kind of remind me of us though.” 

“Oh yeah, how so?”

“Well, their meeting was serendipitous, very much like ours. It started as this simple little shared moment in time, but it turned into this big thing, this soulmate-like bond that helped her get out of this really low point in her life. He saved her, and in turn, she ended up saving him,” she told him, looking at him with a sentimental look in her eyes.

“Did I just hear you call us soulmates?” there was a mischievous tone in his voice that told her he was joking, and that was the only thing that kept her from feeling embarrassed by her choice of words.

“Shut up,” she spat, smiling into the bottle as she took another sip. 

“That does sound like us though. Except I think you saved me more than I’ve saved you… and you know? I haven’t thanked you for that,” he admitted. 

“You don’t have to thank me for anything,” she insisted, her forehead twisting at the idea.

“No, I do. Before I met you, I was hanging on by a thread. I was angry and upset, and even though my brother and I made that list, I was just in a really bad place… then you showed up out of nowhere. You gave me a reason to follow through on that list, a reason to get up in the mornings, a reason to smile throughout the day, a reason to actually want to keep fighting this stupid thing. You gave me a reason beyond that list to remember that I’m still breathing. You’ve done a lot for me. More than you’ll ever know, so yeah I’ve gotta thank you for that,” his voice was quiet, but stern.

She could feel her heart tearing apart in her chest. She hoped he couldn’t see the way tears welled up in her eyes. The way every word he’d just said made her feel something for him so far beyond what she’d already felt before. She cleared her throat, shifting her position so that she was facing him.

“You’ve done a lot for me too. I guess we can call it even,” she told him earnestly, looking over at him as he looked ahead with glossy eyes. He finally folded his lips into a meek smile, turning towards her and blinking slowly in agreement. 

It got quiet and Hailey realized the song Nothing Can Change This Love by Sam Cooke was playing through the speaker. Her face lightened almost immediately. 

“I love this song,” she said, flashing him a dimpled smile as she listened to the music. He smiled back, looking up for a moment before standing and extending a hand down to her as he hovered over her. 

“One more dance,” he said, and she grabbed his hand, rising with him as he pulled her into his chest. 

This time there was no space between them. She rested her head on his chest, hearing the sound of his heart against her ear as they swayed together to the song. A smile crept across her face when she heard him singing along with the words. His voice was low, and though he wasn’t much of a singer otherwise, he was surprisingly on key as he continued to lead them back and forth. She noticed the way she could feel the vibration of his voice against her head as she leaned closer into his chest.

Oh, nothing will ever change that thing I got for you. 

She heard his low voice singing those lyrics and suddenly the sounds around them became muffled. She let her mind imagine a world where they were singing the lyrics to one another and meaning it. One where they weren’t just friends. One where she could be that close to him any time she wanted. As her mind wandered, those feelings that had been so confusing didn’t seem so confusing anymore.

Then in a fit of bravery, she pulled away, looking up into his eyes that shown so bright against the dark sky behind him. They twinkled back at her, meeting her own eyes with a look of curiosity and perplexity. She brought the hand that was against his back to rest on his chest, and her mouth parted as she prepared to give in to whatever it was that had overcome her.

“I’ve gotta tell you something,” the words came out in an almost inaudible whisper, and she could feel the thumping of her heart in her ears. 

She took a breath, her eyes never breaking his as her mind tried to piece together some way to tell him she was starting to see him as something more. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. It was like her mind and her heart were at war with each other. Her mind was sounding off an alarm, trying to keep her from getting too close, from ruining what they had already built, but her heart was another story. Her heart was being pulled to him like a magnet, a force she couldn’t control, and she wasn’t sure which one to listen to. Her eyes closed, she took and breath, and she called a truce on the battle as she rose on her tiptoes, placing a light kiss against his cheek. 

“Thank you for all of this,” she settled on, not even waiting for a response before she was tucking back into him with her head against his chest. She felt him pause, stopping his movements as she clung to him, and she froze too, scared she’d just made things weird somehow. Then his grasp on her tightened and they were right back to swaying to the rhythm of the song, and everything seemed okay again. 

He rested his chin on her head, and she let out a sigh of relief and frustration all in one. She wasn’t sure what it was she was feeling for him, but she did know that she didn’t want to tell him until she had sorted it out. Then she realized she wasn’t sure if she wanted to even tell him at all. The next week, day, hell, even the next hour with him wasn’t promised, let alone a future with whatever it was her mind was imagining only moments earlier. It was a fact that scared her as his friend, but one she knew would scare her even more if she even had a glimpse of what it was like to be something beyond what they were.

So, she tucked her head as close to his chest as she could get it, memorizing the sound and feeling of his heart beating in his chest. She closed her eyes, trying to take in every detail of what it was like to be with him in that moment, hoping that if it was the only one like it she got, she’d be able to remember it for a lifetime.

[writerwrites]

Yuánfèn | 01

Ch.1: Depaysement: “The feeling that comes from not being in one’s home country; being a foreigner.”

Summary: When you’ve lost everything and try to run away from your problems, you keep finding a way back to the one person who completely understands. Can you make another person happy with a broken heart?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader Chapter Word Count: 3.9k Chapter Warnings: Slow burn, grief, fluff

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After the 2012 Battle of New York, you didn’t have anyone to tell you that you shouldn’t start working for Stark Industries. The United States government swore that less than a hundred people had died in Loki’s Chitauri attack on the city you called home, but the loss of both of your parents and your only sibling was still sitting like an anchor of depression on top of your chest. They hadn’t even been in the same buildings and thinking about those devastating hours sitting at home alone waiting for them to come through the door as the wireless network collapsed under the panic of the city still sent you into a week of night terrors. The blood never did wash out of your scrubs, one of the worst days of both your professional and personal life. Still, you didn’t blame the Avengers and thought that if anyone was going to stop the world from falling into that darkness again that it was them. If all you could do was patch up those few people skilled enough to save the world, you would manage your own emotions. Compartmentalizations, that was all you knew after that day.

It was your maternal grandmother, a reclusive woman that retired in Mallorca, that was all you technically had left. With no relationship between the two of you, it was easy to take up the offer to start working for Stark and the team, especially with how busy both Dr. Cho and Dr. Banner had been with their own research. The facilities in Stark Tower were far beyond ‘state of the art’ and you’d been given a team of androids and nurses that helped you build confidence in knowing what you were doing when, in terms of years of experience, you’d been an unlikely choice for the job. It was those years learning under great minds that you really flourished and in a few short years, had found a rhythm to your new normal. Work, apartment, study and practice technique; rinse and repeat.

There was more expected of you at Stark Industries than just the titles of doctor, surgeon, or even therapist. You kept your head down for years, expecting Stark to think he’d made a mistake choosing you. It was Dr. Cho’s encouragement that made you stand a little more straight, a little less invisible, a little more emotionally available. When the team came back from Sokovia with an entire hole through Clint Barton, Dr. Cho took him for tissue repair and you ran your checks on the rest of the team. To your surprise they weren’t in the common area, everyone dispersing and choosing their solitude, uncommon for a mission that should have been deemed a success. You found Natasha first, sitting in a room next to Clint’s. “Hey Doc, I’m all clear. Just need to know how Clint’s doing.”

Pulling up your stool you shook your head. “Nice try, jacket off.” She nodded and you worked her bruised arm to make sure there weren’t any fractures or sprains. “Dr. Cho seemed confident Clint would be fine. You know that as long as you clean up she’ll let you in there. Physically you’re good to go, but what happened out there. Everyone’s run off.”

Watching Natasha’s gaze fall, the swallow at her cottonmouth, and the brief silence it was obvious the injuries were different on this mission. “There were some enhanced kids working for HYDRA, she got in Tony’s head, banged Cap up pretty bad too. I’m fine and we got the scepter, but this one isn’t feeling like much of a success. I just have to process, I guess.”

“Well, I’ll have JARVIS pencil you in for a chat. If you’ve worked through it, great. If not, you’ve got me. I get it, really I do. He’s your person.” Offering up a soft smile you tapped away on the tablet. “Clean up so you can get to Barton.”

“Thanks, Doc. I took it pretty easy compared to Steve and Tony.” She trailed off, offering an apologetic smile before she slipped out of the door.

Pinching your nose, you asked JARVIS for everyone’s location in the Tower and the A.I. made you a map with little blinking lights. Captain Rogers was closest and you went into the gym quietly, hearing the sound of his fists lobbing into a punching bag. Quietly crossing the wooden floor, you knew that with his enhanced sense he already knew you were coming before you walked in, but it didn’t stop you from being cautious. He had swapped the suit for sweats and an undershirt and you could see the crusted over cuts on his bicep and forearms, the stain of blood on his wrapped knuckles. By the time you were within arms reach, tablet and medical bag in hand, he grabbed the bag to stop it from swinging into you. Sweat dripped down his forehead causing his disheveled blonde hair to stick to his skin and you lowered your gaze so you’d stop staring. He broke the silence first, “Did you already check on the others?”

For a moment you were tempted to lie, “Clint is with Dr. Cho. Nat’s patched up. Your turn now, Captain Rogers.” With a firm nod to the bench he surprisingly obliged. As you carefully took off the bandages on his hands, cleaning them up and wrapping them in fresh gauze, you asked about what seemed to have shaken the team up. “What did the enhanced agents in the field do?”

He stiffened, not just from the sting of the astringent on his cuts as you moved up along his arms. “The girl used some sort of mind control. Tony thinks it was a vision, but I got the brunt of whatever telekinesis she has. I’ve never seen anything like it before. The boy that got Clint was just fast, threw him off and he got hit.” Pressing one of Dr. Cho’s artificial skin patched over a deeper cut in his bicep, you took off your gloves and tapped away on the tablet before meeting his eye, wondering if he would continue. “Whatever Tony saw, it’s put some idea in his head and, well, you know how Tony is. There’s a lot of pressure to do things right, to get everyone home. I’m not saying I’m not used to it, but since I came out of the ice I’ve had it relatively easy working with SHIELD and the Avengers.”

A crease formed between your eyebrows as you looked up at him. “I know the feeling.” Letting out a slow, shaking breath you took his hands in yours, just for a moment, “Focus on what you can control, Tony’s not one of those things, but the team could learn from the mistakes made. You can make a training plan to better prepare for another run in with the kids. Until you’ve got that down, I’m sure you’ll be busy trying to find out who they are.”

Unless Steve had looked into the undoubtable file Stark had made on you upon your hiring, there was no way he knew you had lost your entire family years earlier while he was out avenging. Maybe he didn’t know you’d noticed he was a planner. He certainly didn’t know you were too or if he did, he wouldn’t know why. Both of you pulled away simultaneously, neither managing to look at the other. It was isolating, unintentionally so. The dynamics in the Tower between the team and everyone else that worked there made you feel like you had each foot in two different worlds; a stranger to the team in an even stranger land. To your surprise, he stood up and grabbed the scraps of packaging and dirty gloves, “I’ll heal up in a few days, so I promise to stay off the punching bag until then. If I need anything I’ll find you, Doc.”

It was exactly what he needed and proof that he was used to these doctors orders. Despite the job, you’d kept a low profile. None of them really knew you. You were at best ‘Doc’ and at worst completely invisible. You watched him do what the rest did after a check up, walk away without another word. Under your breath you whispered your name- seemingly the only thing you could manage to string together as you felt misplaced. It was worse than homesickness because you knew there was no home to go back to, no friends that knew your former self. Lost in your thoughts you almost didn’t hear the soldier softly repeat your name before tossing the trash in the nearest bin and marching out the door. It closed so loudly behind him you flinched.

Pulling up the map that JARVIS had made for you, you finished your rounds and slipped back into your office to fill out your paperwork, the equivalent of a debriefing report. There wasn’t much to write, not a single one of them told you what they’d seen and it was the psychological, not the physical injuries, Clint aside, that worried you. Your thumb pressed into the smooth metal of the two gold wedding bands that sat against your sternum under your scrubs, then across the links of the gold necklace that held them. It was in the unspoken images the woman had placed in Tony’s mind, the powerful scepter sitting in a lab in the Tower, and the near-loss of Hawkeye, all of it was too much at once for the team. You could hear Natasha’s voice saying she had to process that gave you the sense of being unsettled and separate from one’s place of belonging and it had you reaching for the tokens of your past.

Absentmindedly clicking away from the forms to your email you noticed a high alert message with a heading in Spanish. As you clicked, you tried to switch your tired mind into what had once been your first language but that you hadn’t used in deep conversation in years. Line by line you reread the message, thinking that what you read was simply lost in translation. Right when you were about to ask JARVIS to translate, the door to your office opened. Tony Stark never had the decency to knock so you didn’t know why you half expected him to not read your emails. “Stark, come to tell me what the kid put in your head?”

Tony leaned against the door to your office, whiskey in one hand which was more than a hint that he’d found his own way to cope with what he saw. He tapped on the tech on his wrist and projected an images of your grandmother, her villa in Mallorca, and then swiped to display medical records. “I’ve made arrangements for you to take some time off and handle everything with your family.”

Before you could scold him for reading your email or tell him that he shouldn’t be keeping tabs on you, your phone chimed. The screen lit up with alerts from various apps indicating a flight, Uber, and Airbnb were all set up for you. “Mr. Stark, you didn’t have to…”

“Ah, but I did.” He cut in, wagging his finger at you. “You’ve kept the team in one piece for years, this is the definition of doing the bare minimum. Come back when you’re ready, your job will be here. We might even manage to stay out of trouble while you’re gone.”

“I might actually buy that if it was coming from Cap, but you wouldn’t know how to stay out of trouble if you were given a manual.”  Getting out of the chair and picking up your things you hadn’t noticed you’d been crying. Wiping the tears away when you weren’t looking you managed a soft, “Thank you.” By the time you turned around Tony was gone.

Walking the familiar path to the elevator you popped in your AirPods, keeping your head low as you waited for the elevator in case someone tried to stop you or ask you something personal. The doors dinged and opened and you were met with the familiar scent of bar soap and laundry detergent. Reaching for the garage button to see it lit up you pulled your hand back. “What happened to taking it easy?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” His voice was soft, but you kept your head down, music playing quietly in your ears, “What’s this song?” Pulling your phone out of your pocket you showed him the screen, uncertain if you could keep yourself together enough to speak, and ultimately not realizing that you hadn’t cleared the notifications from the screen when he asked with a tone of surprise, “You’re leaving for Spain?”

Fighting the burn in your eyes as your nerves seemed to insist on making you face the reality of this trip you looked up at him, only half way, talking to his chin instead of meeting his eyes, “Yeah, for my grandmother. I have to take care of… I won’t be gone long I don’t think.”

His calloused fingers lifted your chin forcing you to meet his eyes. The bright blue, the concern that melted into sympathy. “Cancel the Uber. I’ll take you to the airport.”

“You don’t have to do that. I haven’t even packed.”

“I want to,” His soft smile made you attempt your own broken smile, causing the tears to trickle down your cheeks. Despite never having a real conversation with you and knowing nothing about you, he wiped the tears away and gently squeezed your shoulder. “What’s easier for you, leaving your car here at the Tower or leaving it at home?”

You didn’t want to admit that the thing that would probably bring you home before the date on your return ticket was the team getting into trouble. “Leaving my car here.”

Giving him directions to your place proved to be an amusing distraction by the third wrong turn. Despite knowing him for three years, it was the first time you really saw him laugh. That melodic, deep laughter was contagious and you found yourself laughing into your hands to hide the ferocious blush that wouldn’t seem to leave your cheeks. With some relief you made it to your apartment and invited him in. “I just have to pack really quick.”

“I could help. Military made me a master at it.” His eyes were wandering over the place, hands in his pockets.

You didn’t need to look at him for more than a second to know that he had no idea who the people in the pictures were or that you’d lost them all. Your stomach twisted hoping he wouldn’t ask, so you thoughtlessly thanked him and led him to your bedroom, only partitioned from the living room with a vintage panelled wall divider. It was a relief you were almost never home, leaving the place fairly clean. Taking out your one small suitcase and your old canvas backpack from medical school you tossed them on the bed, “The longest I’ve been away from work was four days. I have no idea how to fit enough clothes in here.”

“Just set what you want to take to the side and I’ll get it in there. You should grab your toothbrush and computer, chargers and things.” He sat on the bed and picked up the backpack and suitcase, checking out the pockets as you tossed a handful of clothes onto the bed. You’d changed scrubs in front of other doctors and seen most of the super soldier, leaving you unfazed by the fact that he was now handling your intimates. Steve on the other hand was quickly becoming a warm shade of pink as he made quick work of the task at hand. “So...what’s the trip for?”

When Steve looked up from your luggage and reached for the item in your hands he knew immediately, as if he’d forgotten in the laughter on the car ride that he’d found you in the elevator fighting back tears. The black dress was formal but not flashy, a practical length but not something meant for an interview… and you knew that he knew as he took it and set it as delicately as he would have laid the flag of one of his lost soldiers in the hands of a mother or wife. “I just hope it still fits.” Turning away so he wouldn’t see you cry, you held your breath and rummaged through your dresser for something to wear to the airport.

As you pulled a tunic and leggings to your chest you turned around and smacked right into the super soldier. He didn’t hesitate to pull you right into a tight hug. “If you end up needing anything while you’re there just let me know. Anything at all, okay?”

You couldn’t be sure how long he let you cry into his shirt, but you knew it was soaked through when you finally slipped into the bathroom. With a glance at your phone you realized there wasn’t much time left to get to the airport, certainly not to shower. Cleaning your face and changing, you stepped back into the room to find him with his nose in the book you’d been reading that had been sitting on your bedside table, Heart Like a Window, Mouth like a Cliff. “Home is the place, for better or for worse, we learn to love.” You quoted as you picked up your backpack and put it on, “I haven’t finished it yet, but you can borrow it while I’m gone. I don’t think I’ll have much time for reading.”

He stood up and grabbed the suitcase, but not before tucking the book into the pocket of his coat. Both of you managed a smile and he looked around, “Got your passport, ID, and…”

“Yeah, thanks.” You nodded and patted the bag.

“Stop saying thank you for something you’d do if the shoe was on the other foot.” With one last look around your place Steve noticed the plants and a pet fish on the window sill. “Why don’t you leave your keys with me. I’ll check on your fish and water the plants, grab your mail.”

You hesitated, but it wasn’t as if you’d been home often enough to get to know your neighbors. Telling yourself that it was okay to let a coworker be nice to you, that this wasn’t anything like forming an attachment, you nodded and passed him your keys. “I’ll completely understand if it’s an assistant that ends up coming here, but, umm…” Catching yourself from saying thank you again, you stepped into the hall and watched him lock up a bit unnerved by how quickly he realized which key belonged to the three locks.

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” It was the first time you’d heard him say your name in full voice, close up and yet it somehow felt softer than it had earlier. You shuffled quickly down the one flight of stairs, but not before Steve took your small suitcase. Those blue eyes watched you the whole way, making you wonder if he thought you were about to snap.

From holding the door open to passing you the auxiliary cable and asking you to play the music from the elevator, the ride to the airport was fairly quiet. Periodically, a song would come on that would choke you up and you’d go to reach for your phone to skip it. Every time, Steve would grab your hand and give it a squeeze, waiting until you’d caught your breath before moving his hands back to the steering wheel. To your surprise he didn’t pull up to the drop off and instead parked and walked with you as far as the TSA would let him go, carrying your small suitcase and giving your hand a supportive squeeze every time you were asked about the reason for the trip overseas. Rather than saying thank you as you prepared to part ways, you cleverly thanked him in Spanish, making him shake his head disapprovingly. “Steve, you’ve been an absolute gentlemen through the hardest night I’ve had in three years. I know you said I would do the same for you, but I guess I never thought anyone at work knew I existed.”

Steve scoffed, “You’re a little hard not to notice. I’ll make sure you don’t feel that way when you’re back.” Your eyebrows furrowed, concerned he was going to scold the team or worse. “Don’t make that face.” He let out one laugh and shook his head and passed you his phone. “Here. I’m getting a lot better with the texting thing. Keep in touch while you’re gone... even if it’s just pictures of food so that I know you’re eating.”

You put your number in his phone and passed it back. “I’m not going to have a problem eating.” When you looked up at him, he seemed unconvinced. “I’m a doctor, knucklehead. I’m trained in the stages of grief.”

He nodded, but you both exchanged the sort of look that said you’d keep in touch anyways, thank you, and goodbye all at once. You wanted to hug him, but felt like maybe you’d used up all the proximity of a fresh friendship’s timer in your fit of tears in your bedroom. Looking back, glassy eyed as you prepared to move through the last line of metal detectors, you noticed he was still standing there, hands in the pockets of his leather bomber jacket as he watched you. Your chin quivered as you fought back tears. No one had stood by you through the loss of your family in 2012, now you didn’t know what you had done to deserve this, but you were eternally grateful for this man.

Your gaze felt to your feet as you fought back fresh tears and then, before you knew it, there he was, arms wrapped back around you, one hand rubbing your back and the other holding your head to his warm chest. He was saying something to the TSA agent but you couldn’t hear it over the fresh bout of weepies. Steve rocked you and then lifted your face in his hands. “What did I say? If you need anything, all you have to do is ask, okay? Don’t miss your plane. You’re going to get through this.”

Then, and you were certain he’d only done this to get your mind off the grief, he placed a kiss to the top of your head. You looked up at him as you slowly untangled yourself from the hug, his eyes stayed on yours but he stepped aside to let you go after another moment or two. You didn’t say goodbye or thank you, words seemed to fail you, and you’d have an entire plane ride to sit confused and overthink how this night hadn’t just turned into some crush on America’s most high profile bachelor. Nearly twelve hours later you made it to your grandmother’s home in Mallorca, emotionally and physically exhausted. As you collapsed onto the sofa, too anxious to roam through the house just yet, your phone chimed. “It’s Steve. I hope you made it to Spain and are getting some rest before you take care of your family. Thank you for the book, I really enjoyed it.”

With a sleepy smile you type back, “Finished already?!? What did you think? I made it. Resting is TBD...”

His reply surprised you, a quote from the book, and you fell asleep before you could muster one last reply:

We cannot know the remarkable velocity at which we pull each other, tear at individuation, until the distance between us curves and no one is themselves.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I would love feedback from you. As my followers know I have an obscenely demanding job, but I always try my best to keep you posted on if there will be a delay in a chapter posting. While I do keep Reader vague, I’m a Latina writer and I write fics I want to read.

Divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics​

I will be reblogging with tags, send an ask if you’d like to be added either to the series or to my overall tag list.

[fluffy-lee-boa]

Teaching Me How To Move On

(A SamBucky tickle fic :3)

@tickleebug requested some Sam and Bucky, so I went a little wild with it and made a short story to show how Bucky is adapting to his new life, and his new partner. Spoilers for Endgame/TFATWS btw!

“Buhucky! Cut it out!” Steve snorted, swatting at the younger’s arm as he lightly dug into his sides.

Before he’d taken the serum, it had been a well-known fact that Steve Rogers was probably one of the most ticklish guys in Brooklyn. Sure, he hated to admit it in public, and Bucky respected that, but when he and Bucky were hanging out at home? All bets were off.

So James Buchanan Barnes took every opportunity like this to tease the other about his sensitivity, sitting beside him and carefully scratching at all the spots he knew would make the other squeal. He never took it overboard, considering Steve’s fragile state, but he did tire the other out enough that he would be sure the smaller wouldn’t get revenge.

“Come on Stevie, there’s no way you’re gonna make the army if you can’t handle a little tickling,” he smirked at the other.

Steve gave an snort, slapping a hand to his face before shaking his head rapidly, “This is just tohorture!!”

“Mhm. And?” Bucky snickered as he trailed his hands up to Steve’s stomach, relishing in the deeper laughter that it gave him.

This certain brand of “torture” continued for a few minutes, interspersed with cruel teases and barely-masked flirting that the ever-oblivious Rogers seemed to let fly over his head. Though it was easy to tell Steve wasn’t trying very hard to escape the other’s grasp, especially considering how lightly Buck was holding him down in fear of injury. He could stop any time he wanted, really.

Bucky finally let up once the wheezing started, almost immediately leaving the room only to reappear with a cup of water. He couldn’t help the smug grin on his face as the other struggled to hide his deep blush. The moment was perfect.

Too perfect.

He would wait another day to tell him about his draft card. He didn’t want to ruin what they had just yet.

~

Years.

Years had gone by since that day- decades, even. He had gone for most of that time without Steve, without those affectionate touches and softness, and without love. He’d gone for even longer now that Steve was....

No, he didn’t like to think about the past few months. About how the very man he’d grown up with, who’d told him he’d be with him to the end of the line, got off early. -He couldn’t be angry with him, though. It was his life, after all. His choice. Steve would probably be better off with Peggy, anyways.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell, and that he was absolutely starved for affection with no one in the world to fix it for him.

Well... almost no one.

Admittedly, he’d grown closer to Sam in the time since the new Cap was gifted the shield. Despite his reservations, and the rocky start to their partnership, they’d come to an understanding. Especially after all they’d been through in their mission to stop Karli, and then Walker thereafter.

And there was the boat, of course. Bucky hadn’t even known Sam had a boat before this week- never even been near one besides during war times. Yet he found himself spending hours and even days of his time on helping him fix it. Then the days after that teaching the new Captain to toss the shield.

Was this what having a friend was like?

He couldn’t tell. I mean, after Steve, nothing was going to feel just right. ...Or so he thought.

See, even if Bucky had tried to deny it, Sam felt safe. He felt like Steve did. They shared that same big heart Bucky had always admired, and honestly, the shield couldn’t have found a better wielder. But on the other hand, Sam was also more honest, and more direct. That was something he needed after all those years of manipulation and self-pity. Not exactly tough love, but the truth. A kinder, softer truth.

“Hey! Buck!” Sam had called from the other side of the open field, between a few lone trees that were wrapped in foam.

Bucky looked up, torn from his deep thoughts about friendship and Captains and shields. He didn’t give away any of it through his glance, much better at hiding behind an emotionless mask these days.

“Are you gonna throw it back or what? -The shield, I mean.” the figure laughed.

James rolled his eyes and walked over, trying to play it off, “Your stance is off. You’re gonna get someone killed if you don’t have enough balance.”

“Balance my ass,” Sam scoffed jokingly as he took the shield back from the other, looking him over suspiciously, “...You’re just deflecting again. You’ve been spacing out like crazy today... did something happen?”

Ah, there was that signature therapist-like concern that Wilson managed to worm into every conversation. It made Bucky’s heart beat faster and his stomach flip and he hated it. No one had been this worried about him since he came back from the icy abyss of HYDRA’s control. No one else had checked up on him so consistently for no other gain than his continued wellbeing.

“I’m fine.” He shot back despite himself, half of a glare on his face as he turned away to go back to his spot.

Sam rolled his eyes at the other’s dramatics, at this point being readily used to the cold demeanor Bucky used to push aside his own feelings. But he wasn’t ready to let it slide this time around. So he stepped towards him after setting aside the vibranium shield, reaching out to stop him from walking away again.

Quite a few things happened after that, one after the other.

For one, Sam had underestimated how quickly Bucky could power-walk away from him, and ended up grazing his side with a small grabbing motion rather than taking him by the wrist.

From there, Bucky had faltered in his pace with a quick giggle, before looking back at the other with a somewhat horrified expression. Oh no.

It was painfully obvious to Sam now, by Buck’s initial reaction and the way he seemed just about ready to jump out of his skin.

“There is no way in hell....”

“Sam, you don’t want to do this-”

“You’re ticklish?!”

Bucky cringed, almost immediately blushing just as Steve had whenever he’d done the same to him back in Brooklyn. Karma may have been delayed for almost a century, but it sure did come back to bite him. Figures as much, right?

Bucky had started walking backwards away from the now-very-menacing falcon, though with the woods around them, his ankle caught on a rock and sent him flying back onto his butt. Figures even more.

Before he could up and scramble away, probably going to rush to Sarah and beg for protection, Sam had pounced. The super soldier found himself being straddled, which didn’t help his confusing feelings from before at all. He hands ended up under Sam’s knees, and even if he knew he could probably escape, he was concerned he’d end up hurting the other if he lost control of his own strength.

“Sam! Get off!” He said in a shockingly squeaky shout, obviously flustered.

“Nu-uh. I need to see this for myself.” Sam snickered, making the other look away as his blush deepened.

“You su-AHAHUCK-“

Before Bucky could articulate what would have totally been a coherent and witty response, Sam had taken the initiative and dug straight into the dip of his sides. There was an explosion of sunny and bubbly laughter that didn’t suit the awkward Soldier at all, making Sam beam down at the other.

Bucky internally cursed as he looked up and caught glimpse of the smile. He was too perfect- it was unfair!

Sam chuckled as he lightened up, tracing circles around his hips and making Bucky jerk back and forth with a few left over giggles, “Wowwww... It’s worse than I thought.”

“Shut the hell uhuhup...” Bucky muttered in embarrassment, making Wilson roll his eyes.

Sam knew he could definitely find a worse spot, and ignoring Bucky’s continued insults and thinly-veiled threats, he scanned the other’s upper body as thought to himself.

His metal arm probably couldn’t feel anything, right? But what about the spot just where the two met...?

Bucky noticed where his partner’s gaze had fallen, suddenly looking alarmed as he turned to begging, “Hey, wait, hold on, that’s a bad idea, Wilson. -Agh- Please? Is that what you want? Fine! I’m saying please-“

Sam just shook his head with that stupid, handsome smirk on his face, “Saying please isn’t gonna save you this time around. Tell me what’s wrong.... and I won’t absolutely wreck you. And trust me, I have an older sister. I know exactly how to do it.”

Bucky went quite besides his quick breathes and squirmy giggles, looking off to the side as he tried to consider his options despite the continued teasing of his sides and hips. But no- he couldn’t say what was really on his mind. Stubborn is as stubborn does.

“Do your worst.”

There was only a moment of reprieve as Wilson took in the other’s bratty reply, before he wiggled his fingers into that horrible dip between Buck’s metal arm and his ribs, right in the hollow. His other hand went to the rest of his rib cage just as quickly, alternating between both sides and dipping in between the spaces for added torture.

Bucky was pretty much lost in a handful of seconds.

He cackled, kicking his legs and pulling at his arms with only a shred of resistance from the last part of him that was conscious, which was still bent on making sure he didn’t hurt Sam.

But, that part of him could only hold out for so long, and when Sam found an extra sensitive spot between his ribs, Bucky ended up arching so suddenly that Sam was sent a good five feet away by his super strength.

Whoops.

There was a long pause as the air around them stilled once more, Sam laying feet away and laughing hysterically at his friend’s reaction while Bucky himself calmed himself down to a frenzy of frantic giggling.

After he was able to regain control of himself, he sat up to look over at Sam, his arms wrapped around his own torso protectively so the falcon could no longer access his weak spot. His voice was hoarse as he asked sheepishly, “...Are you ok?”

Sam’s own laughter died down, and he waved his hand dismissively, “Fine, fine. I shoulda expected it. You’re a hyper-ticklish super soldier. I’m just lucky you didn’t break my arm.“

Bucky didn’t find much humor in that joke, but he got up and made his way over to the other anyway. He held out his hand to help him stand beside him, and Wilson smiled softly at the other’s still reddened face, “Maybe we should do that more often. You’re cute when you’re blushing like that.”

And he walked away.

Bucky, for better or worse, didn’t have the same luxury that his old partner did of obliviousness to such direct declarations of affection, so he simply stood in shock as he was left in the small field of grass.

...Maybe, just maybe, his new life wasn’t as empty and lonely as he’d previously thought. Maybe Sam... could be what he really needed, as a partner, and as a friend.

Or.... maybe something more.

Lots of maybes today. But then again, when is anything ever certain?

[stillebesat]

The Green Gremlin

Danny Phantom: Danny, Dash Blurb: The Ghost reflects the person. Dash had heard that somewhere and after tonight...the thirty-sixth freaking time he’d been turned green...he knew it was right. There was something fundamentally wrong with him. Fic Type: Hurt/Comfort Overall Fic Warnings: Past Bullying Talk, Mind Control mention

Dash had no idea how long the hole in the fence of the Fenton’s backyard had been there and at this point he didn’t care.

Considering he’d found it back in the beginning of sophomore year...and it was still here nearly two years later...he doubted the Fenton Parents even knew it existed since it was hidden behind their shed.

After all, ghosts didn’t exactly need holes to get anywhere. They could just phase through solid objects--ones that didn’t have a ghost shield protecting them at least.

He hissed under his breath, shoving himself through the opening, purposely ignoring how his shoulders--which had nearly gotten him stuck in the hole a month ago at his last visit--didn’t stop him this time.

Intangibility.

Dash gritted his teeth, shoving his way along the gap between shed and fence into the main backyard.

He knew there would be no one home even with the late hour, considering the Fentons were still dealing with the aftermath of yet another ghost army invasion that had compromised most of the student body at Casper High. Fentina--Danny should also still be somewhere on the school grounds with his two weirdo friends, and with his old tutor, Jazz, off at college...it would be quiet here for a while yet.

Not that it would have mattered if they had been home. He’d yet to see anyone come back here unless someone was trying to get Fentroid fit enough to pass yet another fitness test. And that had only happened twice.

Dash reached the brick wall, his fingers--still green tinged from his unfortunate...change today--brushed the rough surface before he placed his back to the wall, sliding down so that the overgrown bush nearby hid most of him from view.

He let out a slow breath, ducking his head against his knees, feeling the hum of whatever protective shields the Fentons had on the building resonating through the wall and matching the burning throb in his chest as he ran slightly pointed nails through his hair.

Another ghost invasion. Another...transformation where the attacking ghost had done something to bring out the more ghostly natures of the student body to make things all the more difficult for Phantom.

And once again...Dash had been changed into that horrible green skinned gremlin ghost creature.

“It’s not fair.” He whispered, fingers flinching away from the pointed tips of his ears.

The Ghost reflects the person. He’d heard that somewhere...probably from Mr. Lancer, and after like the third incident where he’d ended up green...Dash had begun to think there was something to that thought. After tonight...the thirty-sixth freaking time he’d been turned green...he knew it was right.

There was something fundamentally wrong with him.

None of the others, in the dozenish times they had been affected, held such a consistent ghost form when they were altered, changed, or manipulated to be something else rather than human. Whether it was becoming like ghostly Vampires, Sirens, Multi-Colored Blobs, Cyborgs, or various WereCreatures, his classmates had experienced it all.

But Dash?

He remained the green gremlin.

Nothing more. Nothing less. Sure the size of his gremlin form might shift depending on the ghost doing the changing and his...well...anger issues that day.

But overall...Green. Green. Green.

The Ghost reflects the person.

And since halfway through sophomore year Dash had been trying to change that reflection. Be better.

He’d stopped taking out his...issues on the dweebs at school--especially Fen--Danny.

He’d gone to see a therapist.

He’d worked on improving his grades and study habits.

He’d tried to branch out in his hobbies. Sewing, Screenwriting, a disastrous attempt at Acting and yah, just trying anything else he had a slight interest in that wasn’t a sport. That wasn’t football.

...and yet.

He dropped a hand to his chest, rubbing at the burning sensation that no amount of Tums or Tylenol could get rid of and only seemed to grow stronger with every ghastly change he’d been forced into.

He closed his eyes, running his tongue over his sharpened teeth, feeling most of the points finally beginning to shrink. “One more year.”

If he could just survive senior year in this hellscape then…then....

He didn’t know. Colleges only wanted him for his football skills.

Football skills that he should just stop using because that seemed to bring out the worst of the Green Gremlin when the ghosts attacked.

He’d destroyed yet another uniform -his third this year- today at the game when he’d become the freaking Hulk and smashed his way through the bleachers to try and catch the annoying fly that he hadn’t realized was Phantom until after his Hero had burst free from his grip and sent him flying over the school to land face first in the grass by the flagpole.

It was a move that had placed him far out of range of the ghostly lady-like creature who had changed him in the first place, freeing him from her control. Allowing him to run like the coward he was away from the fight and his classmates and get...human again.

Dash let out another shuddering breath, trying to focus on the hum coming from the Fenton’s home as he rested his head on his knees. Trying to ground himself like the therapist had suggested.

He was safe here.

No ghosts dared to attack Fentonworks directly. Not when it housed the only stable portal in the area.

No one would come here to hurt him. To hunt him.

He just needed to wait until the last dredges of these ghost alterations left his body and then he could go home.

Go home to where his Dad would be furious that he didn’t stick it out. Didn’t win the freaking football game.

Like a ghost attack wouldn’t have forced them to reschedule anyways.

It wasn’t like that mattered to his Father though. He only ever cared about football when he wasn’t off traveling for one of his stupid work trips. Nothing more. Nothing less. His Dad hadn’t even noticed that Dash had grown out his hair to cover his ears because they’d remained pointed since Thanksgiving break and he couldn’t hide them any other way. He hadn’t noticed how Dash barely smiled anymore to hide the stupid fangs that had stuck around after the last change. He hadn’t noticed---alot. He’d come home once with his skin still green tinged and his Dad thought he’d been trying to fake an illness to get out of practice instead of recovering from another Ghost Attack.

Dash pressed his hands to his chest, again fruitlessly massaging at the burning ache there.

One more year.

One. More. Year. And he could move out of this place. Get far away from his Dad. From the Ghosts. And hopefully forget this whole gremlin nightmar---

“Dash?”

Dash jerked at the unexpected voice, hissing as he smacked the back of his head against the bricks. Great. Hello headache. Not that he didn’t already probably have a concussion from how hard he’d face planted in the dirt earlier. But still.

“...Dash?” The voice was softer. More cautious. Like the tone you’d use to try and soothe a wild animal trapped in a corner. “You...uh? Okay?”

Dash snorted, resting his head back on his knees so he could better rub the back of it and avoid looking at the speaker--at Danny. “Sure.” He gritted his teeth at the demonic growl that still was his voice. Please let that not be a permanent change this time. “I’m. Just. Fine.”

“You uh...don’t look fine.”

Nooo really? He hadn’t noticed. Dash flexed his fingers, feeling the claws still present, which meant his skin was probably still ghost colored.

Great. Fenton probably thought he was still mind controlled. Why was he even home? Or better yet. Out here? There was no reason to come back here at night--even so, he’d thought that he’d be hidden from view!

Dash exhaled, turning his head to the side, looking up to see his one time punching bag sitting on the back steps, bright blue eyes staring right at him. “I’m fine.” He repeated, hiding a wince as his chest burned hotter for a second. “Just….catching my breath.”

Danny frowned, slipping off the side of the steps to crouch in front of him. “Here? Why? My parents--”

“I KNO--” Dash flinched, groaning as Danny jerked back. He half uncurled, lightly tapping his aching head against the bricks as he closed his eyes. “I know.” He repeated in a softer growl. “They haven’t looked back here yet though. I’ll be...fine...in a minute. I won’t attack you.”

“Here yet---wait you’ve come here before? Why?”

Shouldn’t Fenton be more concerned about Dash still being well….ghostly? Or hurting him? Sure, Danny had stopped running away at the first sign of a ghost attack forever ago, finally taking after his parents in a way. He’d often seen Danny running around with Sam and Tucker helping Phantom with capturing ghosts---liked they’d done tonight. The three of them working together in tandem to keep the football team from rampaging off the field before the Fentons got there.

...Maybe Danny being back from the game already wasn’t that odd actually now that he thought about it. If Fenton was returning with a full thermos of spirits to send back in the Ghost Zone and one of his parent’s devices happened to sensed a ghost nearby---

Dash gave a one shoulder shrug, opting to look at his green tinged hands instead of at Fen---Danny’s face. “Feels...safe here. I guess. No ghosts attack it at least.”

“It feels safe.” Danny repeated an odd note to his voice.

What was he? A parrot? “Yes.” He bit out, clenching his hands before relaxing them. Anger wouldn’t help. It would only make him revert. He drew in a slow measured breath. “What’s the big deal Fent--Danny?”

Danny chuckled and shifted so he too was sitting with his back against the wall of his home. “The fact that you feel safe at my house? The place practically screams stay away to people, Dash, what with the big old Ops center on top and the threat of my Dad causing something to explode here every other day.”

Okay...yah...that...yah. Dash made a face, rubbing his aching chest. “Your sister tutored me here twice a week until she left. Maybe I’m just used to it.”

Danny made a skeptical noise, drumming his fingers on his knees. “It’s probably the increased ectoplasmic radiation here.” He remarked conversationally. “My parents thought they had it contained to the basement...but I can feel it seeping through the bricks. A neutral source of energy coming from the portal, like a recharging station at a cafe but for ghosts instead of laptops.”

A recharging station? For ghosts? Was that the humming sound? Not a shield? No. No. It couldn’t--and he--he---Dash shot to his feet, nearly stumbling into the bushes as his shredded sneakers briefly lost contact with the ground. “NO. I can’t--”

Danny reached out with a surprisingly firm grip, pulling him back down. “Hey, hey. It’s okay--”

Dash growled, hating how feral he sounded as he jerked free, backing--floating--away from Fen--Danny and the house... “I’m not a Ghost, Fenton! I can’t recharge--I can’t--” Crap. His voice was only getting more demonic because he was getting upset. He grabbed his football jersey as he roughly hit the ground, falling to his knees by the shed, clawed fingers digging into the ruined fabric as he struggled to breathe. Ectoradiation. Had he been making the problem worse this entire time? He thought hanging out here was safe! That it would help him get back to normal!

“Hey.” A cold hand squeezed his shoulder.

Dash growled, hunching further in on himself. “I can’t--I don’t want to be this! I’ve been trying to change! And it’s not working. I’m just making it wors--”

“Dash.” Danny placed his pale hand over Dash’s green one before moving it to rest on his chest, right over the burning ache like a cooling balm. “Hey.” He repeated softly. “You’re okay, you’re not a ghost.”

Wasn’t he though? After thirty-six freaking alterations, was he even human anymore? Dash gave a ragged laugh, chest burning hotter under his touch. “Fe--Danny, I’m green.”

Danny hummed, hand feeling all the colder as he tilted his head, frowning as he gave him the once over. “Not your best look, I agree, but you’re not a ghost.” He gave him a half smile, eyes sparking with silent humor. “Trust me. I’d know.”

“Ha.” He couldn’t though. Dash squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on Danny’s hand on his chest, on just breathing. “You can’t know that.” He whispered. “It doesn’t all just go away when the ghost does, Fenton. Not anymore.”

Compared to the rest of the student body, Danny had barely been changed a handful of times. How could he know how ghostly or not ghostly Dash was? Even Fenton’s parents had been wrong more than once on that account.

Danny’s fingers twitched. “...What doesn’t go away?” He asked, an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before.

Danger.

Dash flinched, pushing Danny’s hand away, ignoring how his chest twinged as he moved back to his feet. He had to get out of here. “Nothing.” Fenton was the son of Ghost Hunters after all. He now helped Phantom capture the bad ghosts. How would he react if he saw how Dash had changed? The pointed ears? The fangs? The whatever else tonight’s attack would permanently alter. Maybe his skin would stay green this time. “It’s noth--”

“It’s not nothing.” Danny’s voice was quiet as he too stood, flexing his fingers. “There is an echo to you. Not enough to be ghostly, but far too much to be just regular contamination like the other students have.”

Dash gritted his teeth, shaking his head. He already knew that.

“Dash.” Fenton’s voice was soft. “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Why would you want to?” Dash retorted, glaring at the shed, claws digging into his palms as he clenched his hands. “I’m just the bully am I not?” He hadn’t shoved a nerd into a locker in forever, but that didn’t stop them from side-eyeing him and shying away whenever he walked by...especially on a bad day.

Danny huffed. “You’ve hardly been that. We may not...hang out...but I have noticed the change. You’ve been...well...” He stepped into view rubbing the back of his neck, “good, man.”

Ha. “Not good enough.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Dash made a face, gesturing to himself once more, though he could already tell his skin was returning to its normal color. Finally. “I’m always like this, F--Danny. Thirty-six freaking times,” His chest burned as Fenton’s eyes widened. “I’ve been altered by ghosts and I always look like this. None of the others do if you haven’t noticed. They always look different with each attack. But me? I don’t--I’m just---Green.”

He should stop talking. Let it go. It wasn’t like Fenton cared what was going off with his one-time bully.

Yet...He needed to tell someone. Anyone. What he was dealing with. It wasn’t like he could go to Star or Paulina. Not even his best bud Kwan. They couldn’t understand this. They didn’t have to live with the permanent weird.

Fenton did though. His parents had been weird his entire life with their ghost obsesion.

Danny frowned. “So? It’s not like it’s perm--”

“Permanent?” Dash gave a bitter laugh, brushing his hair away from his ears to reveal the points. “Tell that to my ears. To my fangs.” He bared his teeth, ignoring the shiver that ran down his spine as Fenton bristled and bared his teeth right back.

Were Danny’s teeth more...pointed?--No. It was a trick of the light. Fenton couldn’t have fangs too. Dash growled, hands clenching as he heard a slight rumble come from Danny in response. “If those have already changed in me then how much longer before the ghost’s contamination permanently changes my voice, Fenton? My eyes? Will I keep the green skin next time?! Will I permanently remain a ghost and never change back one day? I don’t freaking know and it scares me!”

Because he was the only one. No one else could understand.

Danny shook his head, his defensive stance relaxing as he raised a hand. “Dash, I--”

Dash crossed his arms, glaring at his one time punching bag. “Don’t you dare tell me you understand or some sort of sentimental crap! You’ve been altered by ghosts like what? Three times? How could you even understand? How could anyone understand when none of the others have to deal with this either? Even though they’ve been changed a dozen times, they’re still able to be normal because they never look exactly the same under the various ghosts attacking us. Nothing sticks for them. But me?” He kicked at the grass, already regretting letting his emotions get the better of him, for revealing his...fears to Danny of all people. “I’m always just a violent green gremlin and I hate it, Fenton. I hate it. I’ve tried to change to stop it. Be a better person. And yet I always end up looking exactly--” he swallowed, roughly brushing over his eyes, hating how hot and wet they felt as he finally broke eye contact. “The same.” He whispered.

“It’s not--” Danny cleared his throat, stepping forward to place his hand back over the ache in Dash’s chest. “It’s not...bad to have a consistent ghost form, you know.” He said, giving a one shoulder shrug. “To have the same abilities. To not worry about what power you might accidentally unleash next.” His hand seemed to grow colder on Dash’s chest, drawing the heat away. “I’ve heard people talking. In school. About how they hate that they don’t know what they’ll end up being when the next ghost comes.”

Dash shakily exhaled, leaning into Fenton’s hand despite himself. Kwan had mentioned something like that before today’s game too. How he wished he could just stick with duplicating as his power like Dash was stuck with being a gremlin.

“You’re lucky in that sense.” Danny said in a low voice. “Even if you don’t like being the--” He raised his free hand to make quotation marks. “‘Green Gremlin’ At least you know what to expect when a ghost attacks. It gives you the uhh...field? Yah. Field advantage.”

He--he had a point. Dash did know what to expect. The only thing he had to adjust for was his size. Otherwise...everything else remained the same. He slowly looked up. “Doesn’t mean I like it. Or that I’m any good.” Dash grimaced. “I mean, I attacked Phantom! My hero! Who does that?”

Danny smirked, eyes glinting, reflecting the green glow coming off of Dash’s skin. “You were mind controlled. The entire football team went after him in case you didn’t notice, you just happened to reach him first. I think he understands.”

Dash scoffed, resting clawless fingers on Danny’s hand. “Does he?”

Fenton hummed, surprisingly at ease for being in the presence of his one-time bully. Of course, Fenton had bulked up a bit since freshman year. Gotten taller. Become more of a fighter with Phantom. He wouldn’t be that easy to push around anymore on a normal day if Dash were still the type to shove nerds into their lockers.

“You didn’t continue attacking. You left. That says something.” Danny said, putting slight pressure on Dash’s chest, urging him to take a step back.

Back towards the Fenton’s home. To the...freaking recharging wall.

Dash tightened his grip on Danny’s hand, the ache in his chest fading more the closer they got to the red bricks. “That I’m a coward.”

He shook his head. “That you’re smart. You got out of her control. You came to a safe place to recover.”

Like the Fenton house was actually safe. Danny had been right in pointing that out. No one in their right mind would come here.

So why had he? He shook his head. “If I was any good then I should have fought with Phantom, Danny. Not gone running off!”

Danny raised an eyebrow, pulling his hand free. “Then why don’t you?”

“Huh?”

He shrugged, moving past Dash to scoop up a familiar battered Fenton Thermos from the steps, fiddling with it. “You know what’s going to happen to you right? You Hulk it out. Why don’t you use that knowledge to help Phantom fight other ghosts next time?”

Dash frowned, absently rubbing chest as he looked up at the shadowy ops center perched overhead. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it multiple times. It just-- “I...figured I’d just get in the way.” He admitted, running fingers through his hair, relaxing as he felt the last of the ghostliness leave his body. “I mean, you know how it is, Danny, if we’re altered then it usually means we’re controlled in some way. Sent to attack. Cause destruction and chaos. Why would Phantom trust any of us, let alone me, to help?”

Even though they’d all taken ghostly defense classes. Even though most of them carried a Fenton weapon of some sort that could take down the weaker ghosts. Even then, only Fentina and his friends were allowed by Phantom to get close in a major ghost fight and even so they ran mostly interference. Damage control.

Danny hummed, bouncing the thermos in one hand as he rubbed the back of his neck with the other. “Point. He does tend to...work alone.”

“Exactly.” Dash took a seat on the steps, hunching his shoulders as he felt the hum of the building resonating through his hands. “And me bumbling into a fight with fists swinging would hardly help him.”

“Well…” Danny settled on the steps next to him, placing the Thermos by their feet. “No...probably not.”

That’s what he thought. Still...it was something to reconsider. Especially if he could convince Fenton to give Phantom the heads up that Dash wanted to try and help--

He exhaled, running fingers through his hair, lingering on the tips of his ears. He’d have to check in the mirror when he got home, but it didn’t feel like anything had permanently changed this time.

“Do they hurt?”

“Mmm?” Dash tilted his head.

Danny gestured to him, looking for a moment like his old awkward freshman self. “Your ah...teeth? The ears? You said both had changed right? Do they hurt?”

Oh. Right. He had brought that up hadn’t he? Dash exhaled, resting his head on his knees. “No. Not now. In the beginning, sure. But not now.”

“That’s...good. That they don’t hurt anymore. I--umm...what did you...ah...use for them? To stop the pain?”

Why did it matter? It wasn’t like they hurt anymore. It wasn’t like anyone else--Dash blinked, breath catching in his throat as he abruptly sat up, whirling to Danny. His teeth. He knew they hadn’t looked normal. But how?! “Let me see.”

Danny stiffened, a wary glint of green in his eyes.

Only Dash’s skin was no longer green. Where was his green glow coming from?

“See what? I was just asking a question.”

“One you shouldn’t care about unless you are having the same problem, Fenton.” Dash said, jabbing a finger at him, heart pounding like a drum in his chest.

Not alone. Was he seriously not alone in this? If Fenton!! If there were two of them instead of just him--even if it was Danny, it was someone else. It was-- Dash raked his eyes over Fenton, taking all of him in. Noting all the little changes that he hadn’t noticed before. That no one seemed to have noticed, like the fact that his hair was shaggier than it used to be. Not quite as long as Dash’s hair, but definitely hiding the ears. “Kwan, my best friend, never ever asked me what I used to stop it when I casually brought it up. Why would you ask me unless you have the same problem?” Dash said, trying and probably totally failing at keeping the desperation out of his voice. “Show me.”

Danny bit his lip, deliberately not showing any teeth with the motion, his eyes darting to the darkened yard, then away. “Seriously, Dash--”

Dash growled, hands clenching on the stairs to keep him from hitting something. “Please, Danny. Show. Me.” He had to know. Know he wasn’t the only one. “It’s not like anyone comes back here. Trust me. I know. Besides, your parents will be off decontaminating the school for forever again, if you’re that worried about them seeing.”

Danny flinched.

Ah. So it was something like that then. Dash leaned forward like a bloodhound sensing...well blood. “My Dad doesn’t know either.” He said, quietly. “I get it. Like...how do you explain this to them? Especially when they refuse to listen. If it’s not about football my Dad tunes it out.”

“They only ever talk about eradicating ghosts.” Danny mumbled, running his fingers over his left palm, tracing some invisible pattern. “Never about studying them. Learning from them. Just...how their next greatest weapon will defeat them or permanently get rid of them. It’s not like they want to---”

“See that their son is becoming more ghostly?”

Danny stiffened, a flicker of green appearing around his fingers before vanishing as he let out a slow breath. “Sure...something like that.”

Oh. “That...sucks man.” Dash rested his chin on his hand, eyes flicking between Fenton’s face and his fingers. Ecto energy. Was that why Danny had said he could feel the ectoradiation coming from his home?

Or was it a new Fenton invention that they hadn’t yet introduced to the public to help fight against ghosts?

He frowned, looking away. “I...well I get it. Being scared to tell them. I’ve been on the wrong end of their weapons more than once. It’s not fun.”

Danny hunched his shoulders, rubbing at his own chest. “Yah. I--yah. Most days it feels like they only care that I’m following in their footsteps...hunting ghosts...but beyond that? Beyond the next ghost attack? It’s like good ectoenergy doesn’t exist to them. Or shouldn’t exist. That it’s just bad pretending to be good and should be torn apart. Molecule by Molecule. So it won’t hurt anyone.”

Dash shuddered. Oh yah. He’d heard that particular speech from Jack Fenton before. He’d had nightmares for weeks. How could he have thought that he’d had it rough with his Dad and his football obsession when Danny probably heard that speech on a daily basis? When Dash had seen how they had all those weapons lying around the house, ready to be picked up and shot in the blink of an eye at the merest hint that a ghost was nearby. And Danny lived there. If he was experiencing ghost changes too….How would his parents actually react if it came out that their son had fallen victim to the ectoradiation they, the number one Ghost Hunters of Amity Park, claimed they were protected from?

Not good judging by Danny’s reluctance to admit that there was anything wrong with him in the first place.

Or it could just be his bad history with Fenton. Showing your weakness to a bully--even a former one--probably went against instinct.

“Well...if you...ah...need to tell anyone. Or get some help.” Dash offered, rubbing at his own chest, at the hollowness he could feel. Maybe he had jumped the gun there. Desperate to believe that he wasn’t the only one. That there was someone else who would understand. “You already saw my fangs...so I kinda know...things. Like there’s some creams at my place you could grab...you know...if you are having the same problem. I’d understand what’s going on a bit more than your parents would.”

Maybe. He didn’t know them that well. Maybe he was just projecting his own problems onto Fenton again.

“Mmm. I---” Danny exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, before nodding to himself, turning to face him. “You’re right, Dash.” He said, his eyes glowing a bright neon green as his lip slowly lifted in a half smile, revealing the gleaming tip of a fang. “You would understand.”

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

Correspondence, Chapter 02

Pairing: HotchReid

Summary:  An AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email referred from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. They know nothing about each other, but they don't really mind.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventually)

Chapter CW/notes: Vague mentions of PTSD, spoilers for the Foyet storyline/mentioned character death. Little angsty, maybe a little OOC since Reid and Hotch don’t actually have a boss/subordinate work relationship in this story and I’m adapting that whole-heartedly. But other than that, it’s just grown men acting like dorks and Reid attempting to give parenting advice. Set in season 6, self beta’d.

Word Count: 4535

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link 

--

Chapter 02

--

May 2010

-

Hotch does, indeed, take Dr. Reid up on his offer.

They work on a few more cases together, over the course of six to eight weeks, and each time Dr. Reid proves to be an invaluable asset. His knowledge is unsurpassed, extensive, and astounds Hotch every time he opens a correspondence email from the esteemed professor. 

Have you ever thought about being an FBI agent? He teases one night, when they’d been sending theories back and forth in emails that had become less and less formal. Dr. Reid still sent dissertation-length assessments of the cases when they landed in his niche (which was often), but their replies had turned to a messaging template instead of the business-like format Hotch is used to writing all day every day. Quick, rapid-fire messages replacing the professional grade layout that felt so impersonal, with titles and headers and enough filler to give him chronic headaches.

This was much better. Informal as it was.

I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t pass the physical exams, but thanks for the compliment. Another life, maybe. Dr. Reid answers, and Hotch finds himself smiling and huffing a laugh behind closed lips, the kind that stays caught up in his chest. He’s not sure how much older the professor is, for all he knew he could be bordering on retirement, but it was an amusing thought nonetheless.

 I would get them waved, or curve the scores. I have that kind of pull around here. Never would he speak with his agents or anyone at the Quantico office like this, and it had taken weeks and dozens of emails to get to this point. But the freedom of it was nice, enchanting, like a little taste of his life outside of the office. Just confined to the response box of his email. Despite what everyone (ie: Morgan, Prentiss, Garcia) said about him, he did have a sense of humor. He just also had a sense of propriety, and he was their boss. He wasn’t going to make light with them in the place where they catch murderers.

Don’t tempt me. I have tenure. But Virginia gets so cold, I’d freeze to death half the year. 

Didn’t you attend MIT? What did you do during winter?

Froze to death. Pay attention.

Hotch outright laughs, and then snaps his mouth shut and looks out the open blinds of his office. Everyone has gone home, for the most part, but he doesn’t need JJ or someone else hearing him and coming to check on him. He hasn’t been getting much work done since Dr. Reid started replying to his emails that evening, and the little half smirk on his face is something he doesn’t think he can school as he rereads their conversation over and over. 

Apologies. Next I’m sure you’ll tell me how you had to walk to class uphill both ways in the snow.

No, I took the bus. And Froze. To. Death. I live in sweaters, and I’m from Las Vegas, I’m not meant for the cold. 

Las Vegas? Really?

Born and raised. My mother still lives there. 

Hotch’s eyebrows raise at that, apparently he’s not so old that his mother is still around. His own parents are gone, have been for years, but that’s under different circumstances and really not a situation he likes to reflect on.

Must be nice, only being a few hours from home. Do you go back often?

As little as possible. I should really visit my mother more, but that’s hard for reasons I won’t get into. I do write her, though. A letter every day, although not much happens around here for her to get invested in.

As in a real letter? Not an email, or a phone call?

She doesn’t do well with phone calls, or computers. Letters are more personal, anyway, and she likes being able to have the paper in her hands in my own handwriting. It’s the least I can do, not going home unless I absolutely have to. 

This is the most the man has ever spoken about himself, in a personal manner instead of an academic one, and Hotch isn’t quite sure how to take the evolution. It feels like a shift in their dynamic, an opening that could lead to a deeper level of friendship and -- it’s been a while since he’s had that. Allowed himself to have that. After Foyet, and even before when Haley started pushing for divorce and Hotch responded by isolating himself as much as he could to keep his work unaffected, he’d had trust issues. Hotch is man enough to admit that. 

But speaking with an old professor on the other side of the country might just be the stepping stone he needs. Who knows, maybe they’d even get the chance to meet one day.

I just grimaced at my own triteness. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to give you such a maudlin review of my life story.

No, that’s okay. I don’t talk much about myself, so I wasn’t sure how to respond. Work and home are kept very separate for me. It’s an unhealthy coping mechanism, I know, but it works as best as it can.

In your line of work, I can only imagine. You do what you have to. 

Hotch pauses in their conversation, looks at the clock and the stack of paperwork he still hasn’t finished -- too busy lost in his talk with Dr. Reid -- and feels an itching in the back of his mind he wants so desperately to scratch at. To give into. Lists of things he knows he should talk about, but doesn’t trust anyone enough to do so. Hotch really isn’t sure he can even trust Dr. Reid with them.

At least, not yet.

Thank you. And thank you for entertaining me, as well. 

Anytime.

--

It’s not a month later that Hotch is sitting at his desk, after hours, once again. Head in his hands and his phone still warm, overworked from the hour-long phone call he’d just endured with his ex-sister-in-law, Jessica. 

Jack was being bullied in school. She’d had to attend the parent-teacher conference about it instead of him, because he’d been on a case in Florida for over two weeks. Which really just highlighted to Jack’s teacher what his home life is like and she expressed her worry. Adamantly. Jessica was in agreement, and she once again wanted to have the conversation on if Hotch returning to work at the BAU had been the right choice after Haley was killed. He’d taken his sabbatical for 30 days, passed his psych evals -- which didn’t mean much, he helped write the qualification questions -- and Jack was doing well with his therapist and in school.

Or so he’d thought. Until today. 

That ‘conversation’ turned into an argument, because Hotch gets defensive when someone questions his choices in regards to his family, and as much as he knows that she is right -- he feels awful about how it devolved. Jessica has gone above and beyond in taking care of Jack, to allow Hotch to return to work, and she is the last person that deserves the brunt of his frustration. He only has himself to blame, and he doesn’t know what to do. Who to turn to. Who might have answers for him, if there even was a correct answer for his situation. 

The Foyet case is classified. His assigned therapist is so easily played he hasn’t returned to her in months. 

Hotch just wants someone who won’t see through him, even when he pushes back.

He wants to talk to someone who he doesn’t want to push back against.

Who he trusts.

Dr. Reid, I need help with something no one seems to have an answer for, but it’s of a personal matter and not a professional one. Would you mind lending me your services?

Hotch sends the email before he can take it back. It’s late in Virginia, but Dr. Reid is four hours behind him in California and there’s a high chance he might still be in his office. He seems to keep longer hours, for an old professor. 

He won’t admit it to himself, but he feels a tightness in his chest as he awaits an answer. All the paperwork from the Florida case is completed, there’s nothing keeping him there at the office any longer. But it’s too late to go pick up Jack from Jessica’s, and he doesn’t think he would be welcome to come sleep on her couch like he often does on nights like this. When he wants to be there when Jack wakes up, and tonight he longs to do just that. But he isn’t sure he can even look Jessica in the eye right now.

So he sits there, and watches his computer screen, and feels himself distance from the ache in his bones. Knowing if Dr. Reid doesn’t answer him, he would have to spend however long it would take to compartmentalize his apprehension, once again, and go home to his empty house and not think about how he is failing in raising his son. In being a good father. 

The soft ping of his inbox is his single solace in the storm of his thoughts.

Agent Hotchner, You know I’m always happy to help, in any way -- personal or professional -- if I can. What is it you need an answer to?

That tightness releases, but it also gives way to the worry building up in his chest. An overwhelming, crushing amount of it that he didn’t realize was climbing higher and higher the longer he’d been left alone with his thoughts. Drowning in trepidation. Everything he doesn’t want to have pressing on his mind when they are hunting down serial killers, working with criminals that would see it as a weakness and exploit it without batting an eye. 

But this time, Hotch knows this is becoming something he shouldn’t try to hide away. 

Child psychology. Trauma, in particular, and the effects on children after the fact. 

It’s enough to describe what he needs answered, without telling too much of what happened. It’s still hard for Hotch to think about what happened, to fully realize what they had gone through. What had happened to Haley, what had happened to him. What Jack will have to grow up knowing nearly happened to him. What he almost witnessed.

(626)-595-0387 I have unlimited texting, and tend to stay up very late at night. Also, I have a feeling that you might want to keep this off government regulated emails. I’m not a practicing psychiatrist, mind you, but anything I can do to help you I will be more than happy to offer. 

Hotch is stunned. Whatever he expected, that wasn’t it. He’s near speechless, staring at the phone number with a Pasadena area code, and hesitates in moving their correspondence off of the email platform. A drastic change in dynamic and expectations, but… it would be nice, to be able to message the professor whenever he wanted. The ease of access an alluring thought. 

Another soft ping in his inbox has him looking up from where he’d been glancing at his cell phone in contemplation.

Also, it goes without saying, but everything we talk about in our conversations would still be confidential. I have no one to tell them to, anyway. 

Hotch huffs out a sound that could have been a laugh, and he’s surprised he even can manage that. But he’s barely thinking about it before he’s picking up his cell phone and typing in the number Dr. Reid had given him. []6/3, 22:46[] This is Agent Hotchner.

He sends it, pauses in thought, then keeps typing.

[]6/3, 22:47[] You can call me Hotch, since this is outside work. Agent Hotchner just reminds me I’m abusing bureau resources for personal gain.

The whole interaction is causing this clawing, hot feeling in his chest that might be nervousness in risking the change in their work relationship, or residual guilt from the fight with Jessica about Jack, or just… the fear that Dr. Reid will tell him he is fucking this up and he should never have returned to the FBI at all. Because there are days, like today, where Hotch really starts to think that might be the case.

[]6/3, 22:49[] I figured as much. No one else actually messages me after 6pm except you and some of my more zealous students. 

[]6/3, 22:51[] And although I don’t think you’re abusing anything; in that same vein, you can call me Spencer. This is just two friends having a chat, nothing more. 

Hotch appreciates the gesture, finds himself almost smiling about it -- but then he remembers what he has to relay to ask what he wants to ask the other man. And he isn’t sure where to begin. 

So he just -- begins at the start. The case where Foyet fooled his whole team, posing as a victim, and managing to get away. Slipped through their fingers. Gotten away with murder and insider FBI information and more than he should have ever been able to access. Dr. Reid -- Spencer, please -- doesn’t say anything as he relates all of this, and Hotch commends his patience. Because from the start, this isn’t about child psychology at all. But it is certainly about trauma, and that becomes apparent when Hotch throws caution to the wind and describes what happened to him in his own apartment. Paraphrasing and dropping out intimate details, but explaining what happened is still brutal even stripped to its bare minimum. When Foyet had broken in, and blitzed him, and tortured him as he stabbed him nine times in the chest. Precise, practiced, indicative of letting him live with the knowledge of what that monster masquerading as a man could do. 

The details begin to bleed through the more he types. The more he remembers.

How he’d had to put his ex-wife and son into protective custody. How it hadn’t been enough. His late night obsessions all for naught. And finally, a brief -- or as brief as it can possibly be, for as brutal an event as it was -- summary of what happened when Foyet had found his family. How he had killed Haley, how they had stopped Foyet and Jack had been spared witnessing anything. Even the fight inside Hotch’s own house. He doesn’t… well, Hotch doesn’t plan on describing that and keeps it at bay. He barely remembers it. Blurs of fists and broken furniture and rooms he has memorized from years of memories flying by as they tore through his home like a hurricane. 

But he gives enough of a picture. Enough that, though he doesn’t say as much, Spencer probably knows Foyet didn’t make it out alive. Can guess it was by Hotch’s own hands. 

Which leads them to now -- to the part Hotch needed help with more than anything. His past and his trauma Hotch has a lot of practice dealing with, knows how to handle it alone. As he always has. But the part he doesn’t know how to handle?

He is raising his son on his own. His ex-sister-in-law, Jessica, has been a godsend and is helping with Jack so Hotch can be at work. His lifeblood. His identity. Everything he’s ever worked for. He almost left; Strauss had offered him an early retirement package that was too good to pass up, but he had in the end. Because being an FBI agent, catching the monsters that plague their world, that is what he does. And that’s what Jack knows him to do. 

It helps Jack, Hotch found, to know that his dad is out there catching men like the one that took away his mom. He probably would have taken the loss a lot worse, if Aaron had left the bureau. 

But he’s messing up. Hotch feels that in his bones. He’s gone so much, Jessica is taking on the role of parent instead of Aunt more and more, and Hotch does not want to turn into that father that shows up once in a blue moon and pretends he never left. He’s worried that what Jack’s teacher, and Jessica, had said is true and Jack’s home life isn’t going to be healthy for him. It’s going to make him suffer.

That what Jack has gone through, Hotch doesn’t know how to address correctly. 

It’s near a half hour later that he’s gotten the entire story out, and Hotch realizes that even though text is probably going to be easier to have a conversation like this… he probably could have written it in an email and saved them both some time. He apologizes at the error, because it’s late and his head isn’t quite screwed on straight whenever it comes to matters with his son, and he just… he’s at a loss. Doesn’t know what the right course of action is, or if there even is one outside of a professional’s opinion. 

Then Hotch waits for a reply.

It feels like hours, but in reality is only a couple of minutes. 

[]6/3, 23:22[] Hotch, the fact you are so worried about your son and how your actions have affected him through all of this, is all I really need to know about you being a good father. The consideration you are showing him is not something every parent can do, in the face of what happened to you and your family. You do not need to worry about that. You love your son, and that is the most important factor right now.

[]6/3, 23:25[] Secondly, I’m so sorry that this happened to you at all. You and your son sound like you have such a strong bond, and I know that’s what must have helped you through such a difficult time. It’s apparent that you love him very, very much. 

[]6/3, 23:29[] I don’t have a lot of friends that ask me the hard questions like this. Not that I don’t want them to, I just understand why, because I can recite statistics all day and give you textbook answers easily. Which I know you were hoping would give you a black and white response to your question. But in this there isn’t one, sadly. I know you are worried and I feel like you don’t need to be. And I don’t know how to express that in a way that won’t make you detest me. 

[]6/3, 23:32[] Your son just lost his mom, and you just lost your ex-wife, and there’s not going to be a straightforward path to healing. Everything you say you have done for him? It’s perfect, it’s exactly what you should be doing, and don’t stop. That’s all you can do and all you should focus on, in truth. Listen to what he tells you and watch for what he doesn’t, and hug him, because you are a great dad -- and this is coming from someone who did not have such an example. 

[]6/3, 23:33[] And I am very sorry about Haley, Hotch. I truly am. 

Hotch doesn’t even answer him for a good few minutes. It is a lot to process, to read through, and he does read through it more than once. But every single time he reads that final text, his eyes sting hotly and he has to blink back emotions he thought he had waded through plenty on his 30 days of leave. Apparently, not enough.

It’s so much, and yet he wants more. It’s not enough in the sense that he wishes Dr. Reid -- Spencer -- would keep talking to him. Keep telling him he’s doing a good job. That he hasn’t failed his son. 

That for once, he’s handling something right.

With a breath that feels like it shudders through his chest a little more roughly than it should, Hotch slowly types out a response that doesn’t even begin to feel anything close to adequate.

[]6/3, 23:41[] Thank you, Spencer. I could never detest you, in the slightest. Everyone keeps telling me I’m not screwing this up, but 

He pauses, not sure if he even believes what he’s about to type. 

At the last second, he switches tactics entirely. Feels a flood gate open. Just one, solitary floodgate in the vast Hoover Dam size wall he keeps up from the moment he shrugs into his suit jacket at home until he sheds it all away at the end of the night. In the confines of his home, with six physical locks on the door and two different digital security systems. With a weapon carefully concealed and childproofed in every room. With steel reinforced windows and no exit save for the front and back doors. A fire hazard, but a good precaution against anyone who would try to break in -- like Foyet had. 

[]6/3, 23:41[] ...I find it so hard to believe them. In some ways it’s hard to believe you, too, but that’s not personal. Your words have resonated more than anyone else’s, if that’s any consolation. Even more than the therapist they assigned after everything. 

[]6/3, 23:45[] My sister-in-law flat out told me I was failing my son, being away like I am, and his teacher believes his home environment isn’t healthy. He’s being bullied in school. I don’t know what to do.

Hotch types it all out and sends it. 

The reply is instantaneous.

[]6/3, 23:46[] Yes, you do. You know exactly what to do. 

And then there isn’t any further elaboration.

At first, Hotch is confused. He feels himself being pulled from that precipice of self-loathing and despair. Tugged by a string. The confusion forces him to look at Spencer’s response, nine words long, and decipher what they mean. 

Trusting his first instinct, once more.

[]6/3, 23:49[] I have to talk to Jack. 

[]6/3, 23:54[] You have heard all of this from everyone other than your son. He may be young, but he is going to know the answer better than his teacher or his aunt. Talk to him, before you start nailing yourself to a cross. You may find the answer to the situation a much easier fix than you are anticipating.

Hotch considers this, thinking about his son. Six-years-old now, first grade, smart as a tack, curious and kind. But so strong, a foundation that even he found himself clinging to sometimes, in the face of the storm of everything that had happened to them. Which is not healthy, and Hotch learned to not do that to him. To instead find solidarity in their relationship, withstanding the storm together. As they always have. 

[]6/3, 23:57[] He’s not one to let a bully have his way. He knows that’s not right. Maybe he has another strategy.

[]6/4, 00:01[] He’s young enough that trying to befriend his abuser would be a good tactic to counter the situation, does that seem like something he would do?

[]6/4, 00:02[] That sounds exactly like Jack. Hotch replies, with a smile finally easing on to his face -- and it feels lighter now. Easier to hold.

[]6/4, 00:04[] He sounds like a sweet kid.

[]6/4, 00:05[] He is. I’m very proud of him.

[]6/4, 00:07[] You really are a great dad, Hotch. I’m not just saying it to say it. 

That crushing, overwhelming feeling has ebbed to nearly nothing -- and with a sudden rush of vertigo it is replaced with gratitude for the old professor lending him his evening hours. It flashes warm and sudden and Hotch isn’t used to that, either. 

[]6/4, 00:08[] I would never expect you to, but thank you.

Even he feels lame for thanking the man for saying such a thing.

[]6/4, 00:10[] You don’t need to thank me, I barely did anything.

[]6/4, 00:11[] But if you ever need to talk, about anything really, I’d be more than happy to do so. 

[]6/4, 00:13[] I promise I can be good at that. The listening part. Day or night, it really doesn’t matter. I’ll always be around.

Hotch pauses at the offer, and then types slow and hesitant.

[]6/4, 00:16[] What if I just want to check in on a friend?

[]6/4, 00:16[] I am also around for that. 

The answer is sudden, without hesitation, and Hotch feels a smile start to ease the muscles in his face. Soften the edges once more.

[]6/4, 00:18[] I wouldn’t mind someone to talk to after a long day. It’s been a while since I’ve had a…

He pauses again, not quite sure if he remembers how to do this without pressing in too fast. Committing to too much, not sure what he is able to give of himself. But he’s already shared more with Dr. Reid in two months than he has with David in the past two years. 

Hotch makes a decision, for himself, for the first time in a long time.

[]6/4, 00:18[] ...It’s been a while since I’ve had a friend outside of the bureau. 

[]6/4, 00:19[] Do I still count if I’m a consultant?

[]6/4, 00:19[] You absolutely count. 

His own message makes him smile, and there’s a beat between messages where he hopes he made the older man smile as well. 

[]6/4, 00:22[] I’m never short on topics of conversation, I warn you. So unless you want a lecture on quantum physics -- how do you feel about chess?

[]6/4, 00:24[] I’m getting the feeling you’ll wipe the floor with me.

[]6/4, 00:25[] Oh, without a doubt. But the desktop app also has a chat feature.

[]6/4, 00:26[] Look at you, all modern and with the times.

[]6/4, 00:28[] My home phone may be a rotary, but even I can’t scoff at the vast reach of online chess. 

[]6/4, 00:28[] So what say you?

Hotch pauses, one final time, and considers the night; the conversation, Spencer’s advice, the way talking about what had happened helped ease the weight of it more than he’d ever anticipated. Then he thinks of the source, of what started it all, and how -- once again -- Dr. Reid was right about a number of things. But one thing in particular. 

[]6/4, 00:32[] I’m going to take your advice and go to my son. But tomorrow night, after he’s in bed, I have many hours to myself.

[]6/4, 00:35[] By no coincidence whatsoever, my evenings are always free. Care to show off those FBI honed deduction skills? My best chess opponents have ironically been FBI agents.

[]6/4, 00:36[] Oh, I’m terrible. Trust me.

[]6/4, 00:37[] I promise I don’t care. Your company is worth however many short games we can endure. 

Hotch smiles, despite himself, and this time doesn’t try to hold it back.

[]6/4, 00:39[] Then, it’s a date.

-

(tbc...)

-

Tagged list: @spencehotchner @ssa-sarahsunshine @gothamapologist @reidology @marsjareau @dragon-snaps-fandom​ @emmyraebird @just-an-emo-rat​​​ @aaron-hotchner187 @dk18077 @more-heid-pls @fakin-it-til-i-make-it @merpancake

[cyhyr]

Whumpmas in July: "Look At Me"

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: T

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka

WC: ~1640

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

A/N: I don't know how parole works in the best of cases so here's me avoiding the issue by having Iruka avoid it too.

Is this whump? It references whump, and it's heavy on the care/comfort, and honestly I'm using this month as a whump series and like. Today I just needed some fluff.

A continuation from "Mistake"

For @whumpmasinjuly prompt list

Read On The Archive

~

For the first time in a long time—ever, really—Kakashi finds that he’d rather stay in the village as opposed to leaving for days or weeks at a time for missions. Alas, he is one of Konoha’s best assets, and a weapon is only good if you use it, right? So he receives his missions and keeps his pouches stocked and his kunai sharp, as always.

The change in his routine is Iruka. Then again, the change started back when he started seriously flirting with the other man; the routine hasn’t changed now that they’re dating, but it certainly makes it easier and they get less odd looks. But he makes time before he leaves to see Iruka and say goodbye. Even if he has to leave in the middle of the night.

It was how he let Iruka know he was serious about pursuing a relationship—that he woke Iruka up, tapping on his window, two weeks before they actually started dating to say goodbye. Iruka had worried over him, asked about his supplies, offered ration bars, and asked him to come home safe. It was what pushed him through sleepless nights, waiting for the right time to strike; that soft, sleepy, “come home safe.”

It still is.

When he gets back, every time without fail, he checks in with Tsunade, and then his very next stop is wherever Iruka is. He’ll sit on the roof of the Academy, wait at the Mission Desk, help with grocery shopping; whatever Iruka’s doing, Kakashi needs to be near him to come down from the mission high. Iruka seems to understand and doesn’t push. It’s wonderful.

~

He’s two kilometers away from the village—two kilometers from getting to see Iruka again—when he notices movement in the trees a ways out. And sure, it could be another Konoha shinobi coming or leaving, but with the state of things can Kakashi really take that chance? If they’re ANBU, he won’t notice them. If they’re Konoha shinobi, they’ll appreciate his checking in. If they’re someone else… well, T&I has some fresh blood who need to whet their chops, last he heard.

Kakashi flashes silently through the limbs of the trees, looking for whoever caused that movement he saw. He moves for about five minutes before coming to the edge of a small clearing and stuttering to a halt.

Chakra wire?

He lightly runs his finger along it, testing the structure. Different villages have slightly different ways of building their tools. This is Konoha wire. Why so far out of the village, though?

A quick glance with the sharingan shows Kakashi a few more traps set up around the clearing, along with an opaque fūinjutsu barrier in the center. A barrier that he recognizes.

He smiles and replaces his hitai-ate. Carefully, he makes his way through the traps—now that he knows who set them, seeing the non-lethal way to get through them is fairly obvious. Iruka would never set traps with ways through if he were on a mission, but this close to the village? He likely feels safe enough to set his traps like such.

Kakashi stays vigilant until he reaches the edge of the seal and presses his palm along the firm, cloudy barrier. He only needs to wait a few seconds before the barrier turns translucent, and soon after that breaks apart completely.

Iruka sits cross-legged in the grass grinning up at him, a scroll spread out in front of him. “Hello, Kakashi,” he says.

“Hello dear,” Kakashi responds, and bends over to kiss Iruka’s head. Iruka closes his eyes and leans into the affection given, and Kakashi’s home. He steps around Iruka’s side and looks over the scroll. “What are you up to out here?”

“Practicing a barrier seal,” Iruka shrugs.

“And this couldn’t be done at your home? Or at a training field at the very least?”

Iruka shrinks.

Suddenly worried, Kakashi kneels in front of him and offers his hands. “Iruka?”

“I’m… Um.” Iruka slowly takes his hands, and takes a few deep breaths. “I’m okay,” he says in a smaller voice.

“You promised,” Kakashi says. “Just before I left, remember?”

“I do. I’m sor—” Iruka chuckles softly. “Thank you for reminding me.”

Kakashi brings their hands up to kiss Iruka’s fingers, smiling. “You’re welcome. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“But should you?”

“Probably.”

Kakashi stares pointedly at him. They had spoken, just a few days before he left for his mission, about keeping open communication; they’d discussed Iruka’s triggers, his tells, his limits. They’d discussed Mizuki and how he’d treated Iruka, and small changes Iruka can make to shift his perception of the events of back then and how he responds to potentially triggering material now. They’d also heavily discussed Iruka seeing a therapist; while Kakashi was versed in field response for trauma patients, it won’t help Iruka in the long run. He would try anything to help Iruka, but he’s trained to take lives, not… whatever it is therapists actually do.

(He wouldn’t know; he’s been avoiding his own semi-required therapy for over ten years.)

Iruka swallows, saying, “Mizuki is receiving a hearing today for a reduced sentence. They had to move him through the village, from the prison to the Tower. I came out here to avoid any chance of seeing him while he’s in transit.”

Kakashi can be honest. He stopped really listening when he heard Mizuki and reduced sentence.

He’s been fantasizing about killing this man for weeks, and casually hating him ardently for over a year. Mizuki is out of prison for one day. He’s receiving a hearing to determine if he can get a reduced sentence.

He stands up and brushes himself off.

“Kakashi?”

He grins down at Iruka. “It seems I have another assassination to complete, excuse me.”

He turns and readies to jump back into the trees, but Iruka reaches out and snaps his hand around Kakashi’s ankle. Kakashi doesn’t turn back around.

“Kakashi please. Please don’t do this.”

“He’s a threat to the members of this village,” Kakashi says nonchalantly.

“He has plenty of guards and won’t leave their custody. Plus he has no way to mold chakra anymore. Mizuki’s no threat.”

“He’s a threat to you.” Kakashi surprises himself with how dark his voice gets.

“Mizuki hasn’t been a threat to me for over a year, and even then—”

“I have an obligation as your partner to end him. He—” Kakashi can’t say it. If he says it, abused, aloud, it becomes real. And if it becomes real, Kakashi will lose himself to hate and the chase of revenge.

Iruka hears him anyway. The fingers around his ankle tighten. “Kakashi, look at me.”

“Iruka—”

“Look. At. Me.”

He does. He turns his face down to Iruka and sees him, really sees him. Iruka has a gentle smile in his eyes and a relaxed posture. His lips are still in a firm, steady line, but he’s… he’s calm. He’s—

“I’m okay,” he says. “Really. Tsunade-sama… she already assured me that this hearing is just a formality given to prisoners around their one-year point, and that Mizuki isn’t getting out.”

“But—”

“Would you just… Just stay?” Iruka lets go of his ankle and folds his hands together in his lap. “I did come out here to be alone, but now that you’re here, well,” he smiles, but looks away like he’s embarrassed to say, “I’d rather be with you.”

Kakashi glances back towards the village. Two kilometers away, Mizuki was walking around with minimal guards. It would be so easy to just… slide a kunai across his throat and flash-step away.

“Besides,” Iruka continues. “While I appreciate you wanting to defend me, I’d rather Mizuki stay alive.”

“What? You’d—!”

“I’d rather he live with what he’d done, live with the consequences of his actions,” Iruka says, “than get to have the easy way out and die. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s not worth it.”

Kakashi doesn’t agree. But…

He can cede that it’s not his call to make.

“I have to send in a mission report,” he says quietly.

“Can I help you write it?”

Kakashi nods; the mission he’d been on was an A-rank, and Iruka has that clearance. He sits down in the grass beside Iruka and waits while his partner takes another sealed scroll from a pouch on his vest and releases the seal. A small stack of blank mission reports appear in place of the seal, along with a pen. He smirks at the readiness of his partner, leans against his shoulder, and waits for him.

Iruka eventually says, “Whenever you’re ready,” pen ready.

Kakashi begins giving his report orally, and Iruka writes it down for him. After a few minutes, he’s relaxed and calm enough that he can appreciate Iruka talking him down from going to kill Mizuki.

He finishes. Takes the pen from Iruka, signs the report, and tosses it away; then, he asks, “How secluded is this clearing?”

“I’ve been out here all day, but you’re the only person I’ve seen,” Iruka shrugs.

“Good.”

He slips his mask down, tips Iruka’s chin up, and murmurs, “I’d like to kiss you, if that’s alright with you?”

Iruka blushes; it’s always worth asking him for permission for this reason alone. “You don’t have to ask for that, Kakashi,” he responds, and brushes their lips together.

“I like asking,” he whispers into Iruka’s mouth. They lay down in the grass and forget the world. His report is finished and he can turn it in when Iruka’s ready to head back to the village. They kiss gently for hours, hold each other for hours, breathe and look at the sky and live in the leaves.

And for one afternoon, the shadow of Mizuki isn’t a part of their lives.

[avengerscompound]

The Surrogate - Chapter 2

The Surrogate:  A Clintasha Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Clint Barton x Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Word Count:  1746

Rating:  E

Warnings: None

Synopsis:  A freak end of the world incident leads to meeting your two best friends, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff.  While your friendship with the two Avengers is anything but conventional, they are your all-time favorite people.  When you find out that Clint and Natasha want to start a family but have exhausted all their options, you realize your powerset might allow you to give them what they want.  Having your best friends’ baby might seem like a good idea on paper, but when you are as close as you, Clint, and Natasha are, will doing something so intimate mean feelings get a little mixed up?

Chapter 2

 “Clint and I just had sex!”   You hadn’t meant to blurt the words out like that and they had almost definitely signed your death warrant, but they’d burst out of you out of your control.  Things had gotten out of control, but in that good way, where your adrenaline had been up and with the alcohol and the way your powers worked, when he’d suggested you both go to the public restroom, you couldn’t think of anything you wanted to do more than that.

Now that you could see that Natasha and Clint were in a relationship, the guilt about being the one Clint had cheated with had made you spill immediately.  Even if it did mean the Black Widow would gut you like a fish.

Natasha Romanoff looked back at you with her head tilted to the side.  “Oh, dorogáya,” she soothed, before turning her attention back to the controls of the jet and taking flight again hovering up away from the bar she’d picked you up from before shooting off away from the city.  She took a moment to smack Clint on the back of the head in between flicking different switches.

“Ow, Nat,” he complained, rubbing the back of his head.  “What was that for?”

“You can’t do that,” she scolded. “You need to tell them what your deal is before you seduce them.”

“Seduce them? Me?”  Clint argued.  “Who am I seducing?  Shit just happened.”

“You know what I mean, durak.  You can’t just sleep with people and not tell them you’ve got a girlfriend,” Natasha snarked.  She tilted her head back and raised her voice so you could hear her better over the jet engines.  “Clint and I are in an open relationship.  I’m sorry he didn’t tell you that first.  He’s an idiot.  But you didn’t cheat on anyone.  I just hope he didn’t lead you on.”

“No,” you assured her.  “I knew it was casual.  But … I wouldn’t have… if you two…”

“It’s fine,” she assured you.  “I promise.  Have as much sex with Clint as you like.  I don't care.”

“Gee, thanks, Nat,” Clint snarked.

“Well you won’t be getting any from me if you’re gonna be an idiot,” Natasha said.  “Might as well see who else is offering.”

“Nat…” Clint whined.

You relaxed back in your jump seat while they argued in that loving way people who were completely comfortable with each other do, glad that for once your libido and need for complete honesty hadn’t gotten you in trouble.  The last thing in the world you wanted was to piss off any of the avengers because you weren’t thinking with your brain.

“It's gonna be a bit of a flight, so just relax and get some sleep if you can,” Natasha called back to you.

You already knew you weren’t going to be able to sleep.  You were running on pure adrenaline now and the jump seat was far from cozy.  You did close your eyes and listen to the engine as Natasha guided the jet back to New York.  Things were about to change for you, you knew that.  Even if the Avengers deemed your powers to be useless to them, things weren’t going to be the same now.  You couldn’t go through life after seeing the end of the world come so close and pretend like you weren’t gifted with something special.  You had to find some way to use it.

By the time the Quinjet touched down at the Avengers Compound you had been up for well over a full day and you were exhausted.  It was that level of exhaustion that went right to the bone.  Each turn of your head caused your vision to go blurry as your brain tried to catch up with what it was processing.  Each time you spoke you found it difficult to modulate your voice.  You were also hyper-aware that you probably smelled terrible too.  You’d been wearing the same clothes since you got up the day before and since you’d put them on you’d been running around the city and you’d had sex in a public restroom at a bar. The thought of any of the Avengers meeting you like this was quite frankly, mortifying.

You followed Natasha and Clint off the jet and they were greeted by Captain America and a tall, brunette woman wearing a grey pencil skirt and a black turtleneck. The exhaustion you felt made it really hard to process the fact that Captain Steve Rogers was less than a yard away from you.  Especially given your current state.  He was always going to remember that when he met you, you were the human embodiment of the living dead.  Smell and all.

“Welcome home,” Steve said.  “This must be the healer.”

“That’s right,” Clint said.

You introduced yourself to Steve and offered him your hand.

“Welcome to the facility.  This is Hill,” he said, indicating to the woman with him.

“Alright, you two go get some rest. We’ll debrief after you’ve slept,” Hill said, scratching something down onto the Stark Pad she was holding.

“See you then!  Totally gonna go and sleep right away, nothing else!”  Clint said, saluting.  Natasha stifled a laugh and the two of them headed off down the corridor.

Hill turned to you and continued tapping away on her tablet.  “You’ll have very limited access to the facility until you’ve been cleared by security.  I’m guessing you might need sleep?  A shower?”

“That would be fantastic,” you agreed.

“Follow me,” she said.  The two of you began to walk in the same direction as Clint and Natasha at a brisk pace.  “The compound is run by an artificial intelligence.  Her name is FRIDAY and she'll let you into the parts of the facility you are allowed in and keep you out of what you're not,” Hill explained as you walked.  “I appreciate that you have come here voluntarily to assist us, but we are still a private military installation, so security is important.  For now, you will be primarily restricted to your room, however, if you need any medical care I can take you to the medbay.”

“No.  I never need that,” you said.

“Oh, right,” Hill said, shaking her head.  “So used to the script.”

“Carry on,” you said with a soft laugh.

“I'm also giving you access to the smaller pool and gym,” Hill continued.  “It's the one used by the administration staff and generally fairly quiet.  Ask FRIDAY.  We would prefer that you go straight to the security clearance and debrief, but we understand after an event like you just experienced you may need to let out some stress.  For this reason, you can have access to any onsite psychiatric services.  We have many therapists on staff.  At some point you will need to speak to one but if you feel you need one sooner than later that can be arranged.”

“Oh… I'm… I think I can wait until after security clearance,” you said.

“If that changes just let FRIDAY know,” Hill replied.  The two of you rounded a corner and then she opened a door that led outside.  It was bright out and there were teams of people in sweats running in formation.

She led you down a path to a large white building with huge windows and an A on the side.  “That building is the main hub, that's where you'll go when you're ready to speak to us.  For now, we're just going to housing,” she continued as you made your way through the facility.  “Barton said you helped him in the field.”

“Yeah, he fell off a building,” you answered.  “I used my powers to heal him so he could get back.”

“That certainly sounds like Clint,” Hill said.  You thought she might have stifled a laugh, but you couldn’t be sure.  “You're okay with us running some tests?”

“Yes, of course,” you answered. “I wouldn't have come…”

“Great,” she said, cutting you off.  “Ideally the run down when you're ready will go, security clearance, debrief and interview, then we’ll run some tests.  But it's up to you how much you can handle.  It's a big adjustment coming here.  It can get a bit much for some people.”

“I’ll be sure to let you know if I'm feeling overwhelmed,” you said as a set of glass doors opened for you, letting you into the accommodation building.  “Getting close to that now.”

“Right, sorry, you must be tired,” Hill said.  “We’re nearly there.”

Your room was on the first floor and Hill opened the door to let you in.  It reminded you of a cheap hotel.  There was a full-sized bed, with gray linens, that offset the grey of the walls.  The walls were unadorned and the only other furniture in the room was a side table, desk, and dresser.

“The bathroom is in here,” Hill said, opening the bathroom door. “There are towels and toiletries.  We're not a hotel though so if there's anything missing or you need anything, and I do mean anything, let FRIDAY know.  She’ll place an order.  Inside the dresser is a Stark Pad.  You can use it to find out what the kitchen is making and have it sent up.  Make sure you eat.  You can also browse the internet.  Please do not post on social media about where you are until your security check.  We’ll know so don't think you can get it by us.  You haven't signed an NDA yet but you will and what you post about will be taken into account when we're deciding if we’ll actually recruit you.  When you're ready to have the security run let FRIDAY know and someone will come and collect you.  If you want to back out, we understand, just let her know that too and we’ll take you home.  Any questions?”

Your head was reeling from the amount of information just dropped on you along with your complete exhaustion.  “Uhh…” You said blinking slowly.

“Right, well if any come up…”

“Ask FRIDAY,” you finished.  “Got it.”

She smiled and closed the tablet.  “I'll leave you to it.  You’ll be fine, kid,” Hill said.  “Just get sleep, eat, and you’ll be part of the team in no time.”

“Thank you,” you said.  “I’ll do that.”

“I'll be seeing you,” she said and left you alone.  You peeled yourself out of the clothes you were wearing, collapsed onto the bed, and were asleep almost immediately.

// NEXT

[sylvies-chen]

Brettsey please “so not to be rude or anything but i’ve been coming to this cemetery at this time on this day every week for fucking years and i’ve always been alone up until now seriously what the hell” au

Ok anon I REALLY have to apologize because this request has been sitting in my inbox for probably a month or two now but I didn’t get the inspo to finish this until last night. That being said, I got this into a short little oneshot so I hope you enjoy!!

Tags: alternate universe, grief, mourning, light emotional hurt/comfort, meet cute

Word count: 2922

183 days.

It’s been 183 days since Sylvie last visited Julie. 183 days thinking about how things should have been different. How Julie was supposed to survive, how her and Scott and Amelia were supposed to be a family. How Sylvie was supposed to reconnect with her, to finally know the woman who had given Sylvie her own life’s blood.

She was supposed to have more time.

Instead, Sylvie ends up feeling like more of a stranger to Julie than ever. The last time she visited was the funeral, and that hadn’t done much for her in terms of closure. If anything, it made her feel more out of place. Random strangers came up to her, asking how she knew Julie. Sylvie can still remember the confused looks on their face as she’d told them Julie was her birth mother who had given her up at sixteen years old, and the awkward condolences that came stuttering out of their mouths afterwards. She’d felt too guilty eventually, and left early. Who the hell was she anyway, to be tainting everyone’s view of her birth mother at her own funeral?

She hasn’t been to visit Julie’s grave ever since. All Sylvie had done was stay with parents for a few days to clear her head. A few days turned into a few weeks, and then a few months. Today marks month six of her stay there. Her parents had told her they’d be happy to have her. They hadn’t been receptive to the idea of Sylvie meeting Julie in the first place, so they were more than willing to help her through the loss. The only condition was that she had to go to therapy and work through her grief, which Sylvie happily agreed to. But last week, her therapist suggested she visit Julie’s grave to get ‘true closure’, whatever that means. It’s a strange idea to Sylvie but nothing else seems to be working. Her boss had assured her that Fowlerton was much too peaceful (the polite way of calling the town boring, and rightfully so) and it would do just fine without its favourite paramedic for a few days. So, reluctantly, she accepted.

That’s why Sylvie’s now halfway through an hour-long drive to Chicago, all the way back to the cemetery. She buys hydrangeas at a tiny flower shop she passes by when she first enters Chicago territory. They’re Julie’s favourite. They were Julie’s favourite

Her fingers anxiously tap at the wheel when she finally pulls into the cemetery. It’s a dreary Sunday, grey clouds hovering in the sky bringing the prominent threat of rain. The graveyard is empty when she gets there, from the looks of it, except for one single person. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see a man around her age sitting on a bench near a grave, his eyes observing her curiously from over his shoulder. He’s not someone she knows-- she doesn’t really know many people here in Chicago after all-- but she ignores his lingering eyes. Shades of grey stick out against the field of green and wilted flowers are scattered across other tombstones. It feels like a ghost town, for lack of a better term. It’s gloomy and it looks like no one’s visited this place in a while. Even for a cemetery, the sight is a depressing one.

Sylvie slams her car door shut and takes a deep breath. Relax, she thinks. Just a quick drop by to see her, place the flowers, and then leave. You can get through this.

She makes a beeline towards Julie’s grave, less than 100 feet away, and stops dead in her tracks when she gets there. Her feet feel heavy in her pink rain boots, sticking out like a sore thumb against her black coat as she observes the tombstone.

Julie Walters

Loving wife and daughter

1973 - 2019

Sylvie doesn’t know how to feel reading those words. A whole life, one she only scratched the surface of, reduced to a mere four words and eight numbers. It’s underwhelming, and she doesn’t know whether to feel relieved that Julie’s entire being wasn’t etched onto stone or insulted that they could summarize her in so few words.

Maybe it’s for the best. What else would they put on there anyway: that she was a flawed human who left behind a child who she wasn’t ready to have, only to die before she could see her second daughter years later when she was finally ready for one? When she was finally ready to reconcile with her first born? Yeah, it was definitely for the best.

She places the bouquet of hydrangeas on the wet grass next to the tombstone and stands back. Man, this is harder than she thought. The words are there, racing in her head, but they don’t come out. Every time she wants to say something, it gets caught in the back of her throat.

Sylvie’s trying to pick from a list of infinite questions and countless ways to begin when she feels a chill on the back of her neck. At that moment, a voice comes from behind her. “Hi, are y--”

“Ah!” Sylvie shrieks, the voice startling her. She nearly jumps out of her skin as she turns around in shock, only to see a guy standing in front of her. It’s the same guy, she realizes, that had been staring at her earlier. Now, up close, she guesses that he can’t be all that much older that she is. He has blonde hair that’s short at the back and longer at the front, his eyes a soft shade of blue-green. His jacket and boots are a little worn but other than that, he looks completely normal. Except for the fact that he’s the only other person in this whole cemetery, and he just came up to her from behind without making a sound.

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he assures her, his hands up in surrender.

“Oh, uh, it’s okay.” Sylvie lets out a big breath, shaking off the nerves from the jumpscare.

“Not to be rude or anything, but I just-- I’m usually the only one here,” he explains awkwardly.

“Are you a groundskeeper or something? I can leave if you guys need me to.”

“No no,” he laughs bashfully, scratching the back of his neck. “I work in construction, actually. But I’ve uh.. I’ve been coming here the same time, every Sunday for years now to visit my dad. Nobody’s ever here when I am, so I figured you must be new.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry for your loss,” she offers. So okay, he’s not such a creep after all. Actually, he’s kind of sweet. “He must have been a really great dad, for you to be visiting him every week after all these years.”

“He… had his moments,” the man explains delicately. “Honestly, he wasn’t the most affectionate guy. I guess I just don’t want to end up like him. Jaded and cruel.”

Sylvie nods understandingly, because she gets it. Her parents are loving and supportive, but she’s had some exes that have put her through the ringer. Her first real love, Harrison, had been manipulative and heartless. She’s always hoped that these awful guys wouldn’t change her for the worse either.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I’m saying all of this. I’ll get out of your hair,” he offers. “But uh, here. Take this.” The guy holds out a single rose, which Sylvie accepts.

Her eyebrows narrow in confusion at the gesture. “A rose?”

“Yeah, well, my dad has been getting a dozen roses a week from my family since I was 17, he won’t turn over in his grave if he gets 11 just this one time. I’m sure whoever you’re grieving could use it a lot more than he could.”

Sylvie’s confused expression softens into gratitude, a faint smile pulling at her lips. This guy, whoever he is, didn’t have to do this for her. It’s a sweet gesture. He really does seem nice. No catches, no mind games, just simple and kind. She hasn’t met a guy like that in a while, at least not one her age. “That’s actually really sweet, thank you.”

“Of course.”

“I’m Sylvie, by the way,” she introduces herself awkwardly. Everything about this situation is awkward, frankly. But she extends her free hand anyway. “Sylvie Brett.”

“Matt Casey. I wish it were under nicer circumstances, but it’s nice to meet you.” His smile is wide as he takes her hand and shakes it. It’s confusing, but it makes Sylvie smile all the same.

“You seem awfully cheerful for someone who’s in a graveyard,” she observes.

“Like I said: I’ve been doing this for a while. I’m sort of all talked out now,” Matt explains with a shrug.

“Right,” she nods. “I wish I could relate. Normally I’m the one who’s cheerful and talkative, but it’s hard with this sort of thing. Everything I want to say just doesn’t seem to come out. Sometimes, I think if I start talking…”

“You’ll never stop?” He guesses.

“Yeah.” How did he know?

“Well I can tell you from experience that you definitely do stop talking at one point. I got all talked out two years ago. I looked around one day and realized I was talking about types of screwdrivers to my dad’s grave with no one else around. Eventually, you’ll run out of topics like I did. And then new ones will come, and you’ll talk some more, and then you get quiet again and then you just… stop talking.”

“I hope so. I’m a big talker-- I mean seriously, I never shut up-- but I just… I don’t know where to start with this one,” she explains.

“If you don’t mind me asking, who are you visiting?”

“Julie Walters.” She points to the tombstone in front of them. “My birth mother.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.”

Sylvie’s heard those six little words before. She had to stomach every single insincere, fake utterance of sympathy when she was at the funeral. But for some reason, the way Matt says it to her makes her think he really means it. She’s not used to people meaning it when they offer their condolences. It’s strange. Then again, this whole interaction is strange. “It’s okay,” she brushes it off.

“It’s not. At least, it doesn’t have to be,” he soothes. Something about his voice is so horrifyingly comforting. It’s calm and low, and it feels like warm tea and honey in her ears. It’s enough to make her want to burst into tears right then and there .

Sylvie takes a deep breath and then, before she can stop herself, breaks the silence to ramble. “I love my parents, you know? They raised me, they fed me, they’re responsible for the person I’ve become. But I’d always wondered where I came from, why my birth parents gave me up for adoption. And when Julie sought me out, I panicked at first. I wasn’t ready to give up that fantasy in my head of who she was, to have all my questions answered. But now I’m standing here, visiting her grave for the first time in the six months since her funeral by recommendation of my stupid grief counselor, and I… I just can’t stop thinking of all the questions I was too scared to ask. And man, it sucks.”

Matt stands there and nods understandingly, his gaze unwavering even as she turns her eyes towards Julie’s tombstone.

“I’m sorry,” she continues, wiping tears from her cheek. “We just met, and I’m rambling, and--”

“No no, it’s good for you,” he assures her. “ And I don’t mind it, I-- I like hearing you talk.”

“Oh.” Sylvie looks around, unsure of what to say. This Matt Casey guy, whoever he is, hasn’t run for the hills by now which is strange to say the least. But weirdly, it’s comforting.

“You’re right, you know,” he continues, switching the subject. “It sucks. Life… life sucks.”

“Yeah, it does,” she agrees, letting out a small laugh. This makes Matt laugh a little, which makes Sylvie laugh even more, until they’re both smiling and giggling in a cemetery like a bunch of blushing lunatics. It’s quite possibly the weirdest thing Sylvie’s ever experienced and yet somehow, it’s exactly what she needed. A bright light in the vast sea of darkness.

“You’re smiling again, that’s a good sign.”

“It is,” she agrees. “Am I crazy for that? I mean, I’m smiling and laughing in a graveyard with somebody I just met. Isn’t that weird?”

“A little,” he admits with a shy laugh. “But you’re not crazy. Sometimes people need a little bit of weirdness in their lives.”

“I guess stranger things have happened,” Sylvie shrugs playfully.

“Yeah.” He flashes her another smile before turning his attention towards Julie’s grave and facing it with her. Sylvie stares at the marked stone. She fondly remembers the few memories she had with Julie, and the countless ones they never got around to. It’s unfortunate, really, but it feels more manageable with someone there. Even if it’s someone she barely knows. Matt stands with her for a moment, the peace and quiet taking over. It’s nice. Sylvie’s never had silence be so comforting; it’s always made her anxious and uncomfortable up until now. Matt sure is a puzzling guy in that sense. She sneaks a peek at him through the corner of her eye, this guy who’s supporting her even though they just met. He’s lost someone too, he could be going back to his father’s tombstone. Instead, he’s staying there with her. Sylvie decides at that moment that Matt Casey is an unfailingly kind, weirdly solid guy. And, admittedly, a little attractive. Ok, a lot attractive.

“Hey, and don’t worry,” she adds after a few minutes of silence, “about being like your father. We aren’t our parents. And you seem… good. That’s all you can ask for I guess, is to be one of the good ones.”

“Thanks,” he nods, his eyes filled with a bit of confusion and a bit of something else Sylvie can’t quite place. Wonder, almost.

Sylvie turns back to Julie’s grave, tracing over the words with her eyes. Suddenly, it doesn’t feel so scary. Sylvie’s still sad, and wounds take time to scar over, but it doesn’t feel like she’s bleeding out anymore. She sighs, and she can sense the weight on her shoulders blowing away into the wind.

Unfortunately, when the sorrow blows away with the wind, it brings in the rain.

“Oh god,” Matt groans, wincing while looking up just on time to catch a raindrop in his eye. He squints and turns to Sylvie, who’s standing there laughing. “I didn’t see this in the weather forecast for today.”

“Me neither,” she giggles. “Today’s full of unexpected things, I guess.”

“It is.” He gives her a shy smile, nodding in agreement.

“Do you mind the rain?” She asks, looking up at the gloomy sky with a smile on her face.

“No,” he replies gently.

“Me neither.”

They stand there, hoods pulled away from their heads, letting the rain wash over them. There’s no shelter in sight anyway. They talk for a while about Chicago, about their lives, their friends, things that make them happy. But then they fall into a comfortable silence, smiling peacefully in the rain. Sylvie only moves a few times to brush raindrops off of the bouquet of flowers she’d placed at Julie’s grave. She looks at it, the name and the date etched in stone, and she doesn’t feel sick anymore. No questions unanswered, no bitterness. Her loss feels manageable.

She’s okay. More than okay.

“Hey, this might sound a little crazy, and I know we just met,” Matt starts after a while, “but would you want to… go get dinner or something?”

“What, like a date?” She snorts at her own joke, the idea being very nice in theory but impossible. It’s seriously impossible that this guy is actually asking her out, right?

“Er, yeah,” he nods. “Like a date.”

Oh. Okay, so he was asking her out. This is unfamiliar territory for Sylvie. She’s been asked out before, of course, by the small-town idiots in Fowlerton. But by an admittedly very good-looking stranger, under these circumstances no less? It’s a bit of a bizarre situation. That’s the crux of it, though. Matt Casey, whoever he is under all these sweet, charming layers, doesn’t feel like a stranger. Somehow, through one chance encounter, it feels like catching up with an old friend.

When she considers the facts, she’s had fun today. Every interaction they’ve had has come with such ease, and from a place of goodness and light. Yeah, maybe it’ll go absolutely nowhere. But one date in a public place won’t hurt her. She’s in Chicago for the rest of the weekend anyway. If anything, going out with someone like Matt Casey would do her a lot of good. And she hadn’t realized it until now but god, she really really wants to. So she does.

“I’d like that,” she finally replies while brushing rain off of her coat.

“Yeah?” He asks to make sure, his face lighting up with hope and slight excitement. Sylvie finds it adorable.

“Yeah,” she assures him.

He nods and grins excitedly as he leans in closer, and Sylvie feels the happiest she’s felt in a long time when he finally replies. “Me too.”