#if i make it to a third part i'll start posting on ao3

[ichorai]

i'm not made by design ; part two ; jaime lannister.

part one.

pairing ; jaime lannister x stark!reader (she/her pronouns)

synopsis ; wolves and lions tend not to be friends, much less lovers.

words ; 9.0k

themes ; heavy angst, action, fluff, (actual) enemies to lovers, slowburn

warnings / includes ; war/murder/injury, this part covers a few events from a feast for crows, politicking, mentions of incest/rape, foul language, animal cruelty, a lot of generally terrible things going on but what else can you expect from asoiaf, lots of dreams, jaime is a morally grey delight in this part yes, they are being HAUNTED by each other!

a/n ; wow, it's been a long time coming! ok i know this part is quite short and doesn't yet get to where you guys probably want to be, but tumblr has a max limit of 1k text blocks per post now (boo everyone throw tomatoes) so i'll be posting the rest of the story in smaller chunks! expect the third part to be coming soon, and i promise part three will start off exactly where you guys want it to be :) also if any of you can spot any sort of parallels in this part i will kiss you on the Mouth .

main masterlist. read on ao3!

The wintry breeze tousled the two young Stark girls’ hair, whispering frost into their ears. The horse the two were riding whickered as it galloped through the snow. Lyanna was exclaiming something, something lost to the wind, and you only held all the tighter to her from behind. 

“Lyanna, I want to get off!” you yelled, tugging at the furs draped over her. “Lyanna, let me off!”

Your older sister laughed some more. Not wickedly, but more out of fond amusement. She slowed the horse down to a languid canter, then to a trot, and led the stallion towards the shade of a tree. There was snow blanketing the branches and the grass which crunched beneath her weight as she swung down. She looked up at you with her large grey eyes, crinkled at the corners as she grinned boyishly. “Were you frightened?” 

You held your arms out for your sister to help you down. Only at eight years of age, you were still of short stature, and Lyanna had picked a rather tall horse. She had always been a voracious rider, even more so than all your brothers.

“I wasn’t frightened,” you indignantly replied as she wrapped her arms about your waist and pulled you down onto the ground. 

“Right.” She began to stroke the stallion’s mane, his hooves pawing at the snow. “Do you not trust me, then? Did you think I would ride us right off the edge of a cliff?”

“No,” you replied, scuffing your boots against the snow. “I don’t like riding from behind. I can’t see anything from back there.”

There was a moment of silence before Lyanna reached over to ruffle your hair—an action that both she and Benjen often did. Eddard and Brandon often spared you from such irritations, but being the youngest of the family, you were always doted on and hovered over and babied.

“I don’t trust you riding a horse as big as this, so I suppose we can walk back. It’s not too far.”

“Why can’t I just sit in front of you?”

Your sister stuck her tongue out at you. “We’ve got something in common, you know. What makes you think I like sitting behind?” When you glowered at her, she went on, “Let’s get a move on. Ned will complain that I’m stealing you away—especially since he’s just returned. He misses you. Your letters grow briefer and briefer, he tells me.”

You were none too happy about trudging through the snow, but you voiced no complaint and walked alongside your sister, who tugged at the horse’s reins to follow along. 

“He’s always going back and forth,” you said, a small frown marring your features. “I wish he would just stay home. The Eyrie couldn’t possibly compare to Winterfell.”

“You know him.” Lyanna’s dark hair was speckled with snowflakes as she turned to you. “Studious and dutiful as ever.” Her voice went an octave deeper and she pulled a mockingly somber expression in a startling resemblance to Ned. You let out a small laugh at that.

“Last time he visited, you were betrothed,” you said, your voice shrinking to a whisper.

The amusement died away from her eyes, turning stony. “Yes. Though I doubt it will be a fruitful union.”

There were a few more seconds of silence as you considered her words, not entirely sure why she would think so. Robert was loud and robust the few times you’ve met him, but you knew little else of Ned’s friend. 

“Do you think he’ll bring a wedding proposal for me this time?”

Lyanna’s features contorted with surprise. “Why? Do you want to be married?”

Your cheeks flushed with heat, despite the frost settling over your skin. “Well—if Father says I have to, then I will.”

“I didn’t ask about Father,” replied Lyanna. It was hard for her to believe that you were only eight sometimes. You always tried to act older than you actually were. “I asked about you.”

Winterfell grew larger and larger as the two of you drew nearer to the castle gates. Home.

“I don’t think I’d mind getting married,” you told your sister, eyes downcast and brows pulled together in thought. “As long as I get to stay in Winterfell. I never want to leave.”

Lyanna smiled, all teeth and cheek. “Wouldn’t that be a dream?” she sighed. 

The rest of the short journey was made in relative silence, and you left your sister and the tall stallion by the stables (not without her ruffling your hair one last time), and you dashed up to the castle chambers where you knew Ned would be.

He carried no proposals, only a few books he thought you would enjoy and a warm hug.

You awoke with a startled gasp, kicking at the thin blanket that laid over your form. It took you several moments to realize where you were. A boat. Rocking steadily, back and forth and back and forth. You rubbed at your sleepy eyes whilst drawing your knees up to your chest, still blinking away remnants of your dream.

Lyanna. Ned. Still young, still practically children. 

One of the tongueless little birds stood in the doorway. It was an ominous sight. Her eyes were large and unblinking, glinting like glass balls within her small head. In her hands was a wooden bowl, full of what looked to be a poultice of sorts. She drew nearer, and the heavy scent of honey and flowers reached your nose. 

“What is it?” you asked the child, a coil of pity winding in the pit of your stomach. You knew they couldn’t respond—Varys had stolen not only their youth, but their voices, too. “Is this food?”

A foreign delicacy of sorts, maybe? An Essosi dessert you weren’t familiar with, perhaps. It looked quite unappetizing, though you knew you had no room to complain.

The girl shook her head, then pointed to your hair, which was pulled back into a braid. You understood from just that, and nodded your thanks while accepting the bowl from her. This was hair dye, made from a blend of flowers and other substances you couldn’t name. You supposed it was a necessary precaution—you had an unmistakable Northern look to you, and would surely stick out like a sore thumb here down South. Dyeing your hair and cutting it short would help to somewhat conceal your identity. Short enough, and perhaps you could even be mistaken for a man, at least at a first quick glance. 

The little girl left a dagger and a small, rusty, hand-held mirror by your legs and disappeared from your cabin in complete silence, as if she was never there in the first place. They were like ghosts, this crew of children. Everything was so quiet all the time, with only your thoughts and the ocean waves to accompany you.

You unbraided your hair and shook it loose. Hair carried memories. Memories of Catelyn showing you how hair was done in the Riverlands, memories of Benjen tugging at your hair to tease you, memories of Jaime commenting on how your hair was a lovely shade of animal waste. That had been grumpily remarked earlier on, when you and Brienne were escorting him to King’s Landing. Before Locke and Roose Bolton and… Robb. 

You propped up the rust-spotted mirror against the wall and scooped up the dagger. The reflection that met you was only barely recognizable. You looked so tired. With a resigned sigh, you began to slice off your hair with the sharp blade. Handfuls fell to the ground. You sliced and sliced until your head felt light and your neck was bare. It’s never been this short before. If Benjen were here, you knew he would surely laugh at you. Brandon would comment that he never knew he had another brother. 

Yes, you thought. I can surely pass as a man if I wanted to. Though you certainly shared many features with your sister, you hadn’t the wild beauty Lyanna had. No, you were far plainer than her, colder and sharper than she was. Nothing worthy to note—though your father, quiet as a man he was, once told you that you looked the most like your mother out of all your siblings. That had made you feel more beautiful than anything. 

Plain was good, though. Plain meant no eyes would be drawn to you. 

You weren’t too sure what color your hair would turn with this dye. You lathered the thick paste over your newly-cut strands, massaging it into your scalp. Your nose twitched from the strong odor—not entirely unpleasant, but also wasn’t a delight breathing in.

As you rinsed your hands of the dye, your skin was left with a slight copperish stain. You stared at the color with sad eyes—would your hair turn out red like Cat’s? Like all your nephews and Sansa?

And, like a fool, you wondered if Jaime would like short, red hair. He wouldn’t care much, you found yourself thinking, perhaps wishfully so. Did you want him to care?

Two children brought you food—rations of dried meat and crusty bread. You wolfed half of it down and handed them the other half. Though they couldn’t speak, the children made for pleasant company. Or perhaps you were just lonely. It was hard to tell.

After eating, you rinsed out the hair dye and wrung the water out with a cloth over the edge of the ship. The cloth came away stained bright red. You retreated back into the cabin to look at the mirror. 

It was a shock to see your hair resemble Catelyn’s. It was darker than hers had been, but the auburn, orange-red sheen to your head was unmistakable. You looked like a Tully! You nearly laughed with amazement, but any sort of joy was short-lived, and you lapsed into more silence.

You laid on the rickety bed, thinking of Winterfell and your now-scattered family. Robb and Ned and Cat and the younglings Bran and Rickon might have been taken from you, but… you still had family left. Sansa and Arya could very well be scattered somewhere in the Seven Kingdoms, alive and breathing. Jon, at the Wall, as well. At least, you hoped. It’d been so long since your time sending letters to the young boy. Was he hurt that you stopped sending them so suddenly?

Tears pricked the corner of your eyes, and you drew your knees to your chest, willing yourself into a restless slumber.

Days came and went. The little children were growing more agitated, fluttering about the boat with wide eyes and quick feet. They tossed nets overboard into the water—masquerading the boat as a fishing vessel, you assumed. There were many ships out and about Blackwater Bay. Some carried banners of houses loyal to the crown, and others were bannerless. Pirates or fishermen, you couldn’t tell. 

So far, all other ships have passed by quietly. But the risk grew with each day. You knew Tywin and Cersei would likely order more fleets to be sent after you, Sansa, and Tyrion. The chances of you being found on water would grow each day—and you couldn’t risk becoming a prisoner again. Jaime wouldn’t be able to help you escape a second time, not with Cersei around.

At least on foot… you had somewhere to run. Being on sea left you nothing but water for miles on end. 

And so you told the silent children to let you off at the nearest fishing port. Some part of you wondered if they would object, but they stared at you with round, moon eyes and nodded. You didn’t know whether to thank or damn Varys. 

The ship docked in the dead of night, half a mile from Duskendale. One of the little children handed you a map and tapped at where they’d leave you. A pouch full of food rations, more dye, and other necessities was left on your cot. You thanked the child endlessly, who seemed not to hear your gratitude and scuttled away. You grabbed the pouch, the dagger, the bow and quiver full of arrows Varys had presumably left you, and slipped into a large cloak. 

Land felt like it was lurching beneath your feet once you stepped onto the pier. Your body was used to the swaying motions of the waters, and would take some time to adjust. You gingerly shook one of your booted feet. The children watched you disembark on wobbly legs, but you dared not wave back at them. 

Despite it being nighttime, the docks were busier than ever. Fishermen and merchants littered all over the shore, some selling products and entertainment and others working hard to gather more to sell before day broke. You steeled yourself with a deep breath, and made your way through the busy crowd. 

You began trekking your way North towards the Eyrie, the hood of your cloak pulled over your short, red hair.

It took nearly three weeks for you to reach the Crossroads. Nightfall was nearing when you strode in front of the inn, the sky a mirage of bleeding reds from the setting sun and moody greys from the rainclouds. The air smelled of mud and rusted metal. It was certainly no grand castle, but a modest bed was better than sleeping on the cold dirt you’ve been curled up on the past several days. There was a young girl and a dark-haired boy by the front that looked somewhat like your memory of Robert Baratheon twenty-some years ago. At first, the boy denied your request for shelter, but reluctantly clammed up once you offered him some gold, worth more than it ever could in times of war. The two let you pass with not a word more.

Greeting you inside was a ruckus of loud children. Parentless, you realized, as there were none to be seen within the inn’s walls. An inn full of orphans, you thought with a touch of sadness. In that regard you supposed you shared a similarity with all of them. 

Just as you slipped onto one of the creaking wooden stools to momentarily rest your weary feet, you overheard a voice. A familiar voice. Low and raspy and unmistakably—

Brienne, you thought, wide-eyed. But she wasn’t alone. A young boy was by her side, yes, that was Podrick, and an older man—a knight, by the looks of his armor, and an even older septon with grey hair and a hunched back. What a queer party Brienne was leading. She was supping on porridge and salted cod. 

The impulsive part of you wanted to call out for her and rush to her side, ask if she had found any sign of Sansa, or if she had made any progress on her quest. Instead, you drew in a deep breath, and stood from your stool to take a seat across from Podrick whilst Brienne was busy speaking to the knight. The young squire made a half-gasping, half-choking noise once his eyes raised from the cup he was draining to your cold eyes, recognizing you immediately. You discreetly lifted a finger to your lips to silence him. His eyes went moon-round and he nodded once. 

Brienne ignored the knight’s constant jabbering about lips and marriage and castles full of children, and turned to look at her squire in mild concern of him choking on a fish bone. But her eyes landed on you, and her mouth dropped open.

She was very near to bowing her head and saying, “My lady.” But she didn’t, knowing it would draw far too much attention, and stared at you with utter confusion plain over her features.

“Hello,” you said to her. “It has been a while, Brienne.”

“Do you know each other?” the knight bumped in. He spooned some porridge into his mouth.

“Brienne and I were childhood friends on Tarth,” you lied. “I was the son of a cook. A nobody in truth, but Brienne was kind enough to befriend me.”

Brienne was no good at lying, you knew this, but she nodded along to your story. 

The knight looked you over. “A little runt boy and a grand beast of a girl. The two of you must have been a sight.”

You could only offer him half a shrug at that.

“What brings you here?” Brienne carefully asked you. 

“Someone helped me leave,” you responded with equal caution. Avoiding the knight’s curious eyes, you leaned closer to Brienne. “Is there a place for us to speak with fewer naked children milling about?”

Being around Varys’ little birds for long enough taught you that children were oft smarter than they looked. Somewhere to your right, you saw one of the little orphan boys stick a nut inside his nostril. 

Brienne nodded and led you just outside, away from prying ears and eyes. There, you told her everything. From Tyrion’s trial, to Oberyn’s death, to Cersei demanding you to be locked up or killed (whichever suited her taste that day), to Jaime helping you escape, to the birds on the boat, to your journey here. In turn, Brienne told you of her lengthy journey and what she had found on the way. Mostly nothing, lots of war and skirmishes. Sandor Clegane was dead, but Arya had been with him soon before that… not Sansa. The thought of Arya somewhere out there alive, sparked dangerous hope within your chest.

“Varys says Sansa is in the Eyrie, masquerading as Baelish’s bastard daughter.” The thought revolted you. “But I do wonder if the Eyrie is a trap of sorts. I cannot trust Varys. He certainly is no friend of the Lannisters, but neither is he their enemy. For all I know, he may be conspiring with dragons and grumpkins.”

“Sansa would be safe with her Aunt Lysa there, right?” Brienne asked, though even she sounded doubtful of her own question.

“I can’t quite say,” you said, brows furrowed. “Lysa is an unpredictable woman. Frightened and secluded is never a good combination of characteristics. Even so, I doubt Sansa would make her way home up North without being intercepted. It wouldn’t hurt to check the Vale first.”

Brienne nodded solemnly. “We can make our way first thing in the morning. For now, you must rest, my lady. You must be exhausted.”

The sudden reminder of the limitations of your body made your knees wobble. The past few days had you running on little else than adrenaline, fear, and meager portions of salted foods. 

“I missed you, Brienne,” you whispered, looking up at her. “I fear trusted friends are few and far in between in these times.” Not that you ever had many friends to begin with. Everyone had always been so afraid of you—something Brienne could relate to.

 The term friend dusted pink over Brienne’s large, crooked nose and broad, freckled cheekbones. She was certainly not pretty, not by a long shot, but that was of no matter to you. She was the most beautiful blessing you could have possibly encountered—your chances of survival and finding Sansa were far better with Brienne by your side.

“I missed you, as well,” Brienne managed to choke out after many moments of stunned silence. She had never been good with niceties. “Podrick has been company enough, but the boy is young and easily frightened.”

“I’m frightened, too,” you admitted. “One would be a fool not to be, with enemies at every turn. Young, however, is a trait I have long outgrown.”

Brienne looked up at the night sky. “Youth was a curse on me. I always looked older than I was.”

“Me, as well,” you mused with a thoughtful hum. Memories of the lords and ladies living at Winterfell’s court whispering behind your back… sending you strange looks of distant pity… veering far out of your way in fear of you… it weighed heavy on you, especially in your younger years. “My anger has aged me a decade, I think.”

Before Brienne could respond, there came a commotion of noise. Men on horses, their hooves schlocking through mud and puddles. Instinctively, you drew the cowl of your hood up over your head. They are armed, these men, you thought with grim unease. And there were many of them, just above half a dozen. Far too many for you and Brienne to take alone.

Brienne drew in a sharp breath at the sight of them and unsheathed Oathkeeper. She stepped in front of you before you could even begin to react. The biggest man of the party was so hefty that his beaten horse buckled and shook beneath the sheer force of his weight. His pale face was torn and wept with pus and blood. But Brienne’s eyes were drawn to his snarling helm—with its dull metal nose and sharp teeth of steel. It was the Hound’s property but the man wearing it was certainly no Hound.

The sky grew darker and the storm clouds thundered up above. The young girl that had greeted you into the inn had slammed the door open, now holding a crossbow. Whatever she was screaming was lost to the rain and thunder. 

“Loose a quarrel at me and I’ll shove that crossbow up your cunt and fuck you with it. Then I’ll pop your fucking eyes out and make you eat them,” raged the man, his voice nearly as loud as the booming in the sky. Your chest rose and fell in silence as you slowly reached behind you to unsling your bow. 

“Leave her be,” called out Brienne, drawing their attention. “If you want to rape someone, try me.”

The outlaws laughed and chortled at that. One japed about fucking horses before fucking her. The rest of their words were unintelligible to you as you focused on drawing an arrow without pulling too much attention to yourself. It proved to be a difficult task when there were seven pairs of eyes trained on Brienne, and, consequently, you, as well.

Brienne said something you couldn’t catch, leaving the man with the helm fuming. He charged forward through the mud. Brienne shuffled away from you—she needed the man to come to her, but not to get too close to you. You were her priority now.

A song of steel screeched through the rain-torn wind as their swords clashed. Brienne managed to cut through the rags of his tunic and slash a gaping hole in his cheap chainmail just before she just barely evaded his swinging axe. The man was screaming expletives at her—whore, bitch, freak. 

You nocked the arrow with not a second thought.

Then the drawstring was split in two and you were left with a useless bow. One of the outlaws had made his way to you whilst you were concentrating on the man with the helm—and broke your favored weapon. 

“Shhh,” he crooned as he laid the cold, wet blade of the knife he used to cut your bow against your throat. “Enjoy and watch the show, boy.” He must have thought you were one of the orphans that lived here—and not much of a threat, considering he pulled the knife away from you and made a show of pointing it towards Brienne and her attacker. “It’s not every day you see a woman like her battle a man like him.”

You nodded, playing along. You still had the dagger you used to cut your hair tucked against your hip. It was a touch too dull for your liking, but it would have to do for now. You had no other choice. With the man’s eyes drawn back to their messy duel, you drew its blade and drove it forth, straight into throat. His arms flailed for a second before clawing at your face and chest. Pain bloomed over your skin. If you were bleeding, you couldn’t feel it—not with all the rain pouring over you. You savagely tore the dagger out from his throat and drove it through his chest again and again and again. From your peripheral vision, you could see Brienne parry over and over, stab this way and that—and finally skewer her longsword straight through him until its pointy end protruded out his back.

You continued stabbing the man until he fell to the ground in a limp, bloodied heap. Even then you didn’t stop—straddling his waist and bringing the dagger down in furious strokes. It occurred to you that the other men would be upon Brienne a second too late—when you swung around, she was swarmed by the rest of them. 

“Eddard!” she called, immediately halting you in your assault on the long-dead outlaw. It took you a moment to realize that she was addressing you, not wanting to call out your actual name. “Run! Run, now!”

Two of the outlaws were coming towards you.

“Brienne!” you yelled just as one of them sliced a cut through her shoulder she couldn’t properly roll away from. The rest of your protests caught in your throat when you watched one of them—one with wild eyes that had irises too small and teeth filed sharp—dive forward onto Brienne, sending her crashing to the ground. He bit a chunk of her face right off. 

More men surrounded her. Punching, kicking, and slicing at your friend. No, you couldn’t see her anymore, where is she? Get up, Brienne, get up…

“GO!” you could hear her muffled voice scream. “NED, GO!”

No, no, no…

But if you stayed, you would be dead, as well. One of the outlaws made a grab for you, but you danced back. If not for the two slipping on the watery mud the very next second, you would have been dead.

With your heart beating in your throat, you turned on your heel and fled.

What was a kingsguard without his king? Jaime hadn’t been happy to be sent off to the Riverlands again—his place was beside Tommen. The boy-king with a golden crown sitting atop his golden curls. Cersei had insisted on him leaving, however. She’d grown more restless, more paranoid, more snappy since their father’s death. Lancel, his fool of a cousin, was now a religious fanatic who seemed to be intent on fasting until he passed from starvation, and had confessed his sins of lying with Cersei. Apparently he was not the only one. The Kettleblack brothers, the court fools, and hells, even serving girls, if word of mouth was to be trusted. 

He felt a fool for ever loving her. And now she had kicked him out of the castle and away from his duty like one would a dirty mongrel.

Let her run the kingdom to ruin. See if I care.

Jaime wearily pulled at his face. That was the problem—he did care, and he knew he did. Cersei on the throne would mean little good for anybody. Not for his little brother, not for Brienne, not for you. He hoped you were safe, wherever you were.

The knight with one hand had had a long day, even though it was not yet nightfall. He had spoken to the Blackfish, Brynden Tully, in hopes of making some sort of negotiation. Perhaps goad him into a duel of single-combat and spare everyone of the grueling boredom that came with a slow siege. Expectedly, the wind-beaten lord took none of the bait and retreated back into his castle. Then, he had a short, but explosive council meeting with a few of the riverlords. They squabbled over each other like mindless birds over a piece of half-baked bread. Jaime couldn’t help but wonder what his father would do in his shoes, but was quick to relinquish such a thought. Tywin Lannister would never be in this position in the first place. And he was dead, which was perhaps the more important bit. After the council, he paid a visit to Ryman Frey, who was preoccupied fucking some whore who called herself a Queen. He had the big oaf dismissed for wasting so much time and resources, then named his son, Edwyn, command of the siege. He ordered young Edwyn to tell his great-grandsire, Walder Frey, to release all the prisoners for the crown. There was no undoing the Red Wedding, but he could, at the very least, attempt to rectify the troubles it left in its wake.

And now—now Jaime had one more person to visit.

It was his aunt, Genna Lannister, who had urged Jaime to do something about the sullen man with the noose loosely wrapped around his throat. In his state, he posed no danger physically. As a symbol, however, Edmure Tully, was a great danger to the cause. His cause? Jaime wasn’t entirely sure what he was fighting for anymore. It certainly didn’t feel like he was protecting Tommen from all these leagues away from him. His golden hand felt so very heavy strapped onto his stump—why did he still bother carrying it around?

Ilyn Payne made quick work of cutting Edmure Tully down from the wooden gallows he was perched upon. His hair, scraggly and red, hung in limp clumps over his dirtied, bloody face. Eyes deep blue, heavy with exhaustion. Jaime couldn’t help but think of Robb Stark at the sight of him. Gods, they looked alike.

Jaime had Edmure pulled through the tents and mass of Freys and other rivermen alike. One japed about a fish on a leash. A young man holding an instrument was amongst the throng of stares, and he ordered the singer to follow, and the lad obediently did. Onto a ferry they went, where the vessel would carry them to Tumblestone.

“Why?” Edmure has croaked, gripping weakly onto Jaime’s arm. 

“Consider it a wedding gift,” Jaime replied. 

The Tully eyed him warily. “A wedding gift?”

“I’ve heard your wife is pretty. She’d have to be, for the two of you to be abed whilst your sister and king were being murdered.” Jaime gave him a wry look. 

“I never knew. There were musicians outside the bedchamber, I couldn’t…”

“I’m sure Lady Roslin made for a grand distraction, as well.”

At the crass insinuation, however truthful, Edmure frowned and pulled away from the knight. “They made her do it. She had little say in the matter. Roslin never wanted any of it to happen. She wept the entire night, but I thought…”

“You thought it was your rampant manhood that swayed her to tears? It’s a sight any woman would weep to, I’m sure.”

Edmure hung his head. “She is carrying my child.”

Your child or your death? Jaime thought, but tastefully decided not to say it out loud. Not yet. Instead, he asked, “Your king-nephew, Robb. Did he ever speak of his aunt before his end?”

Edmure lifted his gaze to the kingslayer at that. “The Bitter Wolf?” He thought for a moment, eyes distant. “No. She was hardly ever brought up. Robb didn’t like to speak of her. Not after her betrayal with your freedom. If he did speak of her, it would’ve been with Catelyn.”

“Who is now dead,” Jaime dryly said.

“Yes,” Edmured replied, letting his gaze drift down to the waters. 

“Much help you are.”

“Where is she now? The Bitter Wolf.” 

Jaime saw no point in lying to him. “I don’t know.”

The rest of the ferry trip was spent in silence.

Once at his pavilion, Jaime dismissed Ilyn, but kept the singer around. He ordered the servants there to boil bathwater for the honored guest, and had clean garments brought to him, along with warm food and sweet wine. Edmure still couldn’t quite comprehend why exactly Jaime Lannister was being so courteous, but couldn’t deny himself the pleasure of cleanliness. He clambered into the tub and started scrubbing the grime off his skin.

Jaime pulled up a chair to sit beside him. “After you’re clean and your belly is full, you will be escorted to Riverrun. What happens after that is up to you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t,” said Jaime. “Your uncle is old. Valiant, admittedly, but his best years are behind him. He has no wife to grieve for him, nor children to succeed him. A good death is the most the Blackfish can wish for. You, however, have many years remaining to you. You are the rightful heir to House Tully, not him. Your uncle serves you, by law. Riverrun’s fate is in your hands.”

Edmure blinked at him. “I don’t…”

“Understand, I presume? All that time with a rope around your neck must have strangled you of all your wits.” Jaime was growing impatient. “You must yield the castle. Yield, and nobody dies. The smallfolk will be allowed to leave in peace, or they may serve Lord Emmon and his lady-wife, my aunt. Ser Brynden will be allowed to take the black and join the Night’s Watch, with as many of the garrison that choose to join. You, as well. The Wall is in dire need of more hands, I’ve heard. If that is not to your tastes, you may go to Casterly Rock as my captive and enjoy all the comforts and courtesy that befits a hostage of your rank. Your wife may join you. If your sire is a boy, he will serve House Lannister as a squire. Once he comes of age, he is welcome to earn his knighthood, along with some lands I will bestow upon him. If Roslin bears you a daughter, she will be well dowered until she is old enough to wed a fitting lord. You may be granted parole, even, once the war is done. All this only if you yield the castle.”

The water steamed and sloshed in the tub as Edmure gingerly shifted about. “And if I will not yield?”

The servants and squires were all listening. The singer watched the two speak with wide eyes. No matter. Let them all hear it.

“You’ve seen our numbers, Edmure. The ladders, the towers, the trebuchets, the rams. If I speak the command, my cousin will bridge your moat and break your gate. Blood will spill. Hundreds will die, most being your own people. Your former bannermen will be the first wave of attackers, so you will start your day by killing fathers, brothers, and sons of men who died for you at the Twins. The second wave will be Freys, and there are plenty of them to spare. My westermen will be the third once your archers are exhausted of arrows and your knights so weary their blades will no longer lift from the ground. The castle will fall, and all inside will be put to the sword. Your livestock will be butchered. Your river will rot with corpses. Your godswood will fall. Your keeps and inventories will burn.” Jaime swallowed as he said the next words. It was true that he did not actually mean to do it, but a threat was a threat, and words are wind. “Your wife may have the child before any of this. You’ll want the babe, I presume. I can send him to you once he’s born. With a trebuchet.”

There came a lengthy silence. Edmure was still in the bath. All the servants and squires stared in horror. 

Genna had told him earlier that he was not his father’s son. Tyrion was more Tywin’s than he could ever dream to be. Would her mind change if she had heard his speech? Was this what Tywin would have done? 

“I could climb out of this tub and kill you right as you are, Kingslayer,” said Edmure, once he finally regained his wits about him.

“You could try,” Jaime calmly replied. The man made no move, so Jaime pushed himself back to his feet. “Enjoy your food. Singer, play for our guest while he eats. You know the song, I trust.”

“The one about rain? Yes, my lord, I know it.”

Edmure’s head swiveled between the singer and Jaime. “No. I don’t want him. Get him away from me.” The tub water sloshed some more. 

“Why, it’s just a song, Lord Tully,” said Jaime, feigning innocence. “His voice couldn’t be that bad.”

The knight left his pavilion with the beginnings of Rains of Castamere playing faintly behind him.

The inns you came across the road were growing sparse. Many had been torched, ransacked, abandoned, or torn down. War left much of the Riverlands in ruins. Though you were none too happy about the state of the lands, pillaged, empty villages meant there would be fewer people loitering about, which was all the better for you.

You had managed to outrun the outlaws through the cover of the storm and ruins. It was only when the rain cleared away did you let yourself sit down and silently cry for Brienne. None deserved a fate like that. She was so undeniably good, more honorable than any other man you’ve ever met—and yet her face was torn apart and now she was dead.

Eventually, you made it out of the Riverlands and began to travel along the high road up to the Eyrie. It was the safest option to get there—the mountains were hardly on the table to walk through on your own, considering it was likely running amok with clansmen and thieves of all sorts. Even on the high road, the terrain was far more mountainous than the relatively-level grounds of the riverlands, and the incline noticeably steeper. You were traveling at a much slower pace than before, growing ragged and tired with shorter distances. 

On the third day on the narrow pathway towards the Bloody Gate, you came across two men on a cart. Merchants, perhaps. You spied the stacked wine casks in the back of the cart, wondering if they were empty. Surely they must be, you thought. The Vale is not likely to make any wine of their own, not with mountains as sheer as theirs. 

As their cart slowly rolled by, being pulled by braying donkeys, you overheard one of the men say, “A singer, it’s said!”

“A singer?” the other merchant echoed.

“Yes, a singer! They say he shoved Lady Arryn right off a mountain.” 

Lady Arryn? Your ears perked up at that. Did they mean Lysa?

He glanced at his companion dubiously. “I heard she threw herself out the door once she confessed her love to him.”

“That’s nonsense, have you seen the way she grips that sickly whelp of hers? She would never throw herself to her death whilst little Robin lives.”

That confirmed it. Lysa is dead?

“If I had a son like that, I’d do the very same,” he grumbled.

“Wait! Good sers!” you exclaimed, turning back to hurry after the cart. The donkeys whined protest as they were pulled to a slow stop. They both glanced back at you with wide, curious eyes.

“Sers?” The one with mousy brown hair piped up with a laugh lodged in his throat. “We are no knights.”

“Apologies, it’s a habit now, I fear. I simply wanted to know—” You stopped in your tracks. “What were you saying about Lady Arryn?”

“She’s dead, she is,” the older of the two merchants told you. His nose was crooked in three different places. “Out the Moon Door—or off the mountain—she flew.”

You stared at them for a moment, trying to gauge whether they were being serious or not. Tall tales such as this were not uncommon amongst the lowborn. “And who now rules in her stead?”

“Little Lord Robin is young still—”

“And far too sickly!”

“—Until he comes of age, Lord Petyr Baelish is Lord of the Vale.”

Littlefinger. The realization dawned on you with great unease as you recalled his infatuation with your good-sister and his alliances with the crown. Lannister crowns. This was no good… no good at all…

“Thank you,” you told the merchants. “That’s good to know.”

“Where are you off to?” said the younger one.

“Runestone,” you lied. “I have family there.” 

That seemed to appease them well enough. The one with brown hair waved farewell as he set the donkeys back into motion. You silently thanked the Gods for coming across decent men. You watched the cart of wine caskets descend down the path.

Now what? You could hardly stroll straight into the Vale now—not with the threat of Littlefinger handing you right back into Cersei’s mad hands. Should you even trust these rumors, though? Perhaps the septon at the Bloody Gate could clarify the situation for you. Surely he would tell you the truth. But getting there would take weeks, and you certainly didn’t have that sort of time. If word of Littlefinger’s rule in the Eyrie was true, you would be wasting even more time doubling back to escape. And if he heard of your presence in the Vale there was no telling what he would do… have you locked up and sent to Cersei in a cage? 

But what about Sansa? Your heart shattered at the thought of leaving her alone at the Eyrie with Baelish. You had to be smart about this. Even if Sansa was in the Vale, and if you managed to get to her, and if you could whisk her out of the castle undetected, there was nowhere for the two of you to go that would be safe. Sansa wouldn’t last a fortnight out in the wilderness. Gods forbid, but perhaps it was best for her to stay in the Eyrie until you managed to find a stronghold that would keep her safe and protected. 

Then again, she could just as likely be elsewhere in Westeros. Arya, too. Gods, you wished Brienne was with you. You could still see the blood spurting from her face, her screams cracking through the thunderous air. 

Damn you, Jaime. You should have come with me, you said to yourself, knowing it was a foolish chain of thought. He wouldn’t be much help, anyway. All he did when we traveled together was complain and find new ways to irritate me. 

You lingered on the path for a few more moments. Then, you frustratedly gestured to nobody, made a noise of displeasure, and turned to follow after the wine merchants. 

Back to the Riverlands you went.

Riverrun was now taken, but at a great cost. Brynden the Blackfish had escaped. All thanks to Jaime’s carelessness and Edmure’s wit. This would never have happened if Tywin was around, Jaime couldn’t help but lament. It was no wonder his aunt Genna told him he was nothing like his father. 

He was a fool, and his father knew it.

After a series of threats to both Edmure and his wife, the Tully lord managed to sullenly tell him what he knew of the Blackfish’s whereabouts. Which, to Jaime’s dismay, was very little. 

“He swam away,” Edmure had told him. He had the very same blue eyes as Catelyn did, as well as Robb. The very same look of loathing in them, as well. There was a time when you looked at him like that. “The Water Gate’s portcullis was raised. Not enough to be noticed, only three feet or so. My uncle is a strong swimmer. He pulled himself beneath the spikes and I can only assume the current helped him from there.”

Damn it all.

Jaime had hounds and hunters on the prowl for the Blackfish, but he had little hope of catching him. And Edmure was to be heading west the following morning. Jaime was glad to be rid of him, though he worried that the man would slip through the guards he would be traveling with. The knight wasn’t too keen on hunting for the Tully a third time.

News of Ryman Frey’s death was brought to him by young Edwyn, the former’s son. Hanged, apparently, by a band of outlaws nearby Fairmarket, which was boldly close by. Thoros, or Dondarrion, or this mysterious Stoneheart woman. There was little to do about the matter now—Jaime ordered more guards posted and that was that. 

That night, he practiced his shoddy, left-handed swordsmanship with the silent Ilyn Payne. He managed to last a grand total of three hours before giving into his cramping muscles’ begs for a rest. Afterwards, he poured the both of them cups full of Hoster Tully’s wine, and told Payne of how he used to kiss his sister when they were children. It was innocent at first, until it wasn’t. It felt nice being able to freely tell someone of everything knowing he couldn’t possibly relay such information to anybody else—Payne’s lack of a tongue ironically made Jaime chattier than ever. 

“Tyrion once told me that whores oft avoid kissing their patrons. They’ll fuck you until your legs fall off, he said, but they keep their lips far from yours. It’s what separates work from real romance. I wonder if my sister ever kissed Kettleblack.” Jaime thought for a long moment. “I kissed the Bitter Wolf.”

Payne spared him no reaction.

“She was crying.” Jaime took a sip of wine, leaving out the fact that he had shed a tear or two. “Not because of the kiss, though. I hope not, at least. I’m not that bad of a kisser. Cersei never cried when we kissed.” Though, after he said that, he realized basing his assumptions around Cersei wasn’t a particularly smart thing to do. You and Cersei were many leagues apart from one another.

Payne drained his cup and gestured for Jaime to refill it.

As he did, Jaime went on. “If not for Tyrion’s reckless call for a trial by combat, I would have married her. The Bitter Wolf. We would be at Casterly Rock, and Tyrion would be at the Wall, and my father would still be alive, and my son would sit the Iron Throne, and all would be well. Or not. Cersei would make matters difficult. I doubt Y/N would be pleased about her predicament, either, come to think of it.”

He decided to change the subject back to Kettleblack when Payne’s silence stretched for a little while longer.

“It would be ill-fitting to slay mine own Sworn Brother. I should geld him and send him to the Wall—make up for Tyrion’s loss in some way. He’s been to the Wall, perhaps he had no taste for returning. It’s bloody cold there, I’ve heard. Of course, if I were to lay a hand on Osmund, there would be his brothers to consider, as well. Brothers can be dangerous. Aegon the Unworthy had Ser Terrence Toyne dismembered into pieces after finding him abed with his mistress, and forced her to watch. Toyne’s brothers tried to kill the King for it, though their plans were ultimately foiled by the Dragonknight. It’s written in the White Book. All of it, including every knightly deed and chivalrous act. It doesn’t tell me what to do with Cersei, though.”

Ilyn dragged a finger across his scarred throat.

“No,” Jaime said. “Tommen has already lost a brother, and the man he thinks is his father. If his mother were to die by my hand, he would hate me for it. I’m sure his sweet little wife would use that hatred to her benefit, as well.”

An ugly smile stretched at Ilyn’s thin lips. Jaime misliked the crude gleam in his eye. 

“You talk too much,” Jaime told the mute.

The next night, Jaime found himself in Hoster Tully’s solar, looking over a map, wondering where the Blackfish could have gone. Many of his hunters had returned that morning, torn and bleeding. Direwolves, they had told him. A monstrous pack with a large she-wolf leading them. He wondered if that could have been the wolf that had mauled Joffrey what had felt like a lifetime ago. 

In consequence, Jaime couldn’t help but wonder about you. Did the direwolves like you at all? He strained his mind to remember, but couldn’t seem to recall. It confused him when his chest constricted at the thought of forgetting you.

The war was practically won. Dragonstone was taken, and Storm’s End would be very soon. Stannis was welcome to the cold fruits of the Wall—if Roose Bolton hadn’t already destroyed him. And the Riverlands were successfully taken without Jaime ever having to raise a sword against neither Stark nor Tully. All in all, he was to be content.

But where did that place you? Once everything calmed down, what would happen to you? To Sansa, who surely deserved no harm that would come to her? She was just a young girl and you… you were far from the paragon of innocence, to be certain, but surely he could have Tommen pardon you for any of your crimes. Your crimes being allegiance to your own nephew, which Jaime could hardly fault you for.

Then again, Cersei was the problem. There was no chance she would sit idly by and let you live. Once he returned to King’s Landing, he had to find a way to whisk Tommen from her crutches before he would turn as corrupt as Joffrey. A new council full of abled men would be in order, as well. 

More and more days passed. Jaime had the entire Tully garrison safely released from their keep, which displeased his Aunt Genna greatly, but Jaime was intent on letting them go. There was little harm they could do when they were scattered, weaponless, and hungry.

 He dreamed of Cersei most nights. Of her golden hair, which then molded into golden hands. In his dreams, he always had two hands. Sometimes touching her, stroking her, holding her—dreamy memories of old. Sometimes he was strangling her, which he certainly had never done before.

Other nights he dreamed of Brienne. Her big, brutish face red with rage and exhaustion. She would swing Oathkeeper at his neck and he awoke just before his head rolled off his shoulders.

Some of the nights, however scarce they were, were far more precious. He dreamt of you, your hair freckled with snow, your eyes alight as you watched children play beneath you. He was in Winterfell, he realized, and with a shocked start looked back down at the children. His? No. They were your nieces and nephews, of course. Their faces were a blur, but their red hair was unmistakable. Save for the littlest girl and the bastard boy. Snow, Jaime remembered. 

“We should have one,” your dream-self said to him, so serious that Jaime wondered if it was actually you standing there in front of him. “A little wolf-lion.”

Did Jaime want that? Would they have golden hair like his? Like Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen? But how could he have another child when he was never a father to the ones he already had? It felt wrong to even consider it. Dishonorable. Any romantic notion of a normal life with you was quickly dashed.

“I know we can’t,” you continued on before he could respond. “They’re all dead.” You gestured down to the Starklings. “And I’ll be joining them soon. But it’s a nice thought, isn’t it?”

“No—” he said, reaching out to you, but you had already faded into a blur.

Not all of his dreams with you were as bleak. Once he was abed with you, and another time he was bound by rope as you pointed an arrow at his forehead while he cackled maniacally. 

A week after releasing the last of the garrison, Jaime woke up with a start after dreaming about a cloaked figure that looked eerily similar to Cersei, though he knew it wasn’t her. His mother spoke soft riddles, where Cersei would bark harsh insults. He couldn’t quite tell which he favored. He threw the covers off him with his stump.

The room was frigid. The hearth’s warmth had waned away and the windows had been left pushed open when he fell asleep. In the darkness, Jaime made his way to close the shutters, but his foot touched against a wetness on the ground. Blood had been his first thought, but blood would not be so cold. Rain, perhaps, but he would have heard the sound of pattering coming from outside.

Jaime drew the damp curtains apart, letting the moonlight stream through. Moonlight and snow. Down below, the yard was spotting with white, growing thicker and thicker in the minutes he watched. After a moment, he even began to see his breath misting in front of him.

Winter is here, he thought. Marching south, and our granaries are half empty.

He watched the snow fall, and stood there thinking of you. It irked him that you haunted his every thought. Nonetheless, he hoped you were warm, wherever you were. If he was as fanatically religious as his dear coz Lancel, he would have even prayed for your safety.

When morning dawned, Riverrun’s maester came to pay him a visit. He was pallid-faced and shaking.

“I know,” Jaime said, glancing at the bound letter in the old man’s quivering hands. “The Citadel has sent a white raven. Winter has come.”

“No, my lord,” said Maester Vyman. “The bird came from King’s Landing. Forgive me, I took the liberty to open it, I did not know it was meant for your eyes…”

Jaime took the letter and sat by the window to read. It was Qyburn’s hurried hand, but he knew it to be Cersei’s fevered words. 

Come at once. Help me. Save me. I need you now as I have never needed you before. I love you. I love you. I love you. Come at once.

“Does my lord wish to answer?” asked Vyman, hovering by the door.

A snowflake landed on the letter. He was reminded of the snowflakes in your hair, in his dream. It was quick to melt, blurring the inked words and streaking down the paper. 

Jaime rolled the paper back as tight as he could with his one hand, and handed it back to the maester. “No,” he said. “Put this in the fire.”

[unseededtoast]

Shadow of Obsession | Spencer Reid x Reader

Finale

Series summary: In which you find that love is an obsession that can quickly spiral out of control.

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Finale

And now you know that love is an obsession that can quickly spiral into something all consuming. 

Spencer runs point in clearing out the warehouse. His gun is drawn and he's laser-focused on making sure nobody escapes from inside. The team had split up to cover the entrances, each moving swiftly. And once Spencer hears through his earpiece that everyone is into position, he makes his move.

"FBI hands in the air." He demands as he enters the warehouse. His voice reverberates off the metal walls as he swivels his head to locate Valentine.

But the warehouse is dark and empty. There's nobody here. Spencer holsters his gun and looks around the property to see if maybe Valentine is trying to hide somewhere. The rest of the team searches as well but an uneasy feeling settles within Spencer.

"It's clear." JJ states as the team convenes in the middle of the warehouse. Adrenaline still pumps through Spencer's veins as he tries to work out what this means for the case.

But no matter how logically he tries to think all his mind focuses on is you. Spencer knows that Valentine's absence here means that you're still in danger. He finds his phone tucked in his pocket and dials your number. But it goes to voicemail.

He tries not to panic, he really tries. So he calls again, hoping that maybe you were preoccupied with something else, maybe you had taken a walk or something. But it goes to voicemail again. Spencer calls for a third time, but this time he doesn't let it go to voicemail.

"Something's wrong." He tries to keep his strained voice level, but he can hear the tension in his words as they leave his mouth.

"What are you thinking?" Hotch asks, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Someone try to reach Garcia. I think we've been set up." Spencer says as he turns to run back to the SUVs.

As he runs his fingers fumble to call Penelope. Her phone rings and rings and rings. But nobody picks up. With shaking hands Spencer gets into the SUV and is about to turn the key to start it when someone opens the door.

"Get out kid, I'll drive." Derek says, motioning for Spencer to step out.

"We don't have time." Spencer practically shouts. Derek reaches over to still Spencer's hand clutching the keys.

"We don't. And you're in no right mind to drive. Get over there and let me get us back to the office." Derek's voice carries a sense of authority with it. And so Spencer hands over the keys before clumsily climbing over the middle console to the passenger seat.

While Derek speeds off back towards the office with sirens blaring, Spencer keeps trying to reach you or Penelope. His leg is bouncing up and down rapidly and he wishes that the car could drive at the speed of the jet. He just needs to know you're okay. He needs to know you're safe.

Finally, after the thousandth time, Penelope finally picks up.

"Your wish is my comm-"

"Penelope there's no time. I need you to go to the bullpen and see if she's okay. I can't reach her and Valentine wasn't at the warehouse." Spencer cuts Penelope off with rushed words.

"What? What do you mean he wasn't there his car clearly showed that he was." The panic in her voice is palpable and Spencer hears movement on the other line.

"I need you to go check on her now please." Spencer struggles to keep his cool. He hears Penelope's office door open and close and he faintly hears her heels clicking on the floor.

"The lights are all off." Penelope says.

"What do you mean the lights are off?" Spencer's mind feels like it could start smoking at any second with the amount of scenarios playing themselves out at the same time.

"I can't open the doors. The doors are stuck. I can't, I can't get in." The panic in Penelope's voice escalates and Spencer hears her pushing on the door.

"Do you see her?" Derek glances at Spencer momentarily before focusing back on the road. Spencer can tell that Derek's accelerated more as the car seems to scream down the road.

"No, I don't- wait. Oh my God. Spencer. You guys need to get back here now." Penelope's voice turns gravely serious before the line cuts off completely.

"Penelope? Garcia? Hello?" Spencer practically shouts. But all he's met with is silence. His hands grip his phone so tightly he thinks it might shatter under the pressure. A wave of nausea washes over him but he wills himself to not get sick. You need him, he doesn't have time to spiral.

"What did Garcia say?" Derek finally asks, no longer able to take not knowing. Spencer takes a shaky breath before looking over to Derek.

"The doors are locked. The lights are off. Garcia said we needed to get back immediately." Is all he can say without getting sick all over the car.

Spencer's mind starts playing cruel tricks on him. He sees you as the face of countless other victims. Some had been shot, others stabbed, a few dismembered, but they're all victims of stalking cases the team has worked in the past. He can't bear the thought of anyone harming a hair on your perfect head.

"We'll get there." Derek says with determination. Spencer can only hope he's right. 

———

Valentine's voice echoes through the empty bullpen as you spin around in the dark office, trying to see where he is. Your heart thumps heavily in your chest and your knees feel weak.

"Oh don't look so frightened dear." His voice booms out of the intercom. You're acutely aware that he's actively surveilling you but there's nothing you can even do about it.

The cameras in the corners of the room track your every move. Every inch you move, they move. Your brain is going haywire, wrestling between logical profiler thinking and terrified victim mentality. Thousands of thoughts race through your mind at once to try and form a plan, but no matter how many thoughts cross your mind, it all just sounds like a jumbled mess. You're freezing.

It feels as if your feet have been cemented to the ground. It's almost like your vocal cords have been cut as well, seeing as how you can't find it within you to form a sentence.

"I'm almost there. Don't worry." Valentine's voice cuts through the silence again.

You're too scared to move. He's going to be here soon. Deep down you know it's a threat. Valentines has you right where he wants you; like a caged animal. There's no way for you to get out or warn others. All you have with you is your service weapon. As you reach for your gun it's like your heart stops; you must've forgotten it in your bag you packed earlier, the one you left in the empty office Hotch is letting you use.

You're all alone in here and Valentine is on his way.

Time moves slowly but too quickly all at once. As if everything were suddenly in slow motion, you watch as Valentine unlocks the doors with his phone and steps into the bullpen with you. Instantly, all the cameras turn off.

Your breaths are shaky, your heart pounds and your chest hurts from fear. Adrenaline tingles the tips of your fingers.

But though you're afraid, there's a tiny voice in the back of your mind reminding you that you've dealt with people like this before. You've worked several similar cases. Deep down, you know how to navigate this situation. But when you're the victim, it's like your training has vanished and you're reduced to nothing but a scared little girl. You don't want to be a scared girl, you want to be strong and brave and smart.

Valentine smiles sickly at you, his white teeth shine like fangs in the dim light. The glint of something shiny in his pocket distracts you from this face. It seems he's brought a knife with him.

You try your hardest to level out your breathing and to think with a clear mind, with a profiler's mind. After all, you've been trained and conditioned for high stress scenarios. You can only hope you don't crumble when it matters.

"Well, aren't you happy to see me?" Valentine asks, taking several steps towards you. Instinctively you want to reach your hands out to maximize the distance between the two of you, but you keep your hands to your sides.

"I am." Your voice falters only slightly, hopefully he doesn't notice. Valentine looks you up and down, licking his lips as he does so.

"You know, you are so much more beautiful up close like this." He takes another step closer.

"Thank you." You accept his compliment, swallowing the sickness threatening to rise.

Valentine steps right in front of you, his tall figure looms over you. He stares down at you and you feel like a gazelle in the middle of an open field, and Valentine is a starved lion. His hand reaches out and touches your face. You flinch.

"Do you think I'd hurt you?" He sounds offended by your reaction to his touch. Thinking quickly, you answer.

"No, never. It's just- your hands are cold. That's all." You try to play it off convincingly. He looks down at his hands and rubs them together to warm them up. His fingers trace over your cheekbone once more.

"I've waited so long for this, for you." He whispers as he looks over your face. You can only hope you're masking your fear well enough.

"If only you hadn't let him touch you like that." Valentine's voice turns from sweet to sinister in the blink of an eye. Your eyes meet his and you see malice and hatred within them. He looms over you and takes his fingers away from your face, like your skin suddenly burned him.

"What do you mean?" You decide to play dumb, maybe there's a chance you can talk your way out of this. Valentine snarls and takes a step back.

"You know what I'm talking about. Spencer. Fucking. Reid." He enunciates his words in an exaggerated manner. Your mouth is dry and your brain can't keep up and decide how you should play your cards.

"I, I don't-"

"Save it. I'm not stupid." He cuts you off and begins pacing back and forth in front of you. Valentine pushes his hand through his hair and you see his face turn red.

"I saw. I saw it all. You let him put his hands all over you. You let him put his lips on your skin. You even let him into your bedroom. How could you? How could you do that to me after I went out of my way for you?" He practically yells at you. The vein in his neck pops and you see his hand drift to his back pocket.

You put your hands out towards him, palms facing him and try to de-escalate the situation. There have been several cases where you've had to talk down unsubs in this exact frame of mind.

"I only let him do it because I was imagining it was you and not him." It's a long shot but you hope he buys it. You also wonder how long you can stall before someone finally comes back.

Valentine stops pacing for just a fraction of a second. He stares at you intensely. His jaw clenches.

"You understand why I have a hard time believing that, right?" His voice has returned to being unsettlingly calm.

"I know. But it's the truth." You say, letting your hands fall back down to your side.

You and Valentine stare at each other, a tense silence filling the room. It looks like he's trying to rationalize your words. And after what feels like a small eternity, he speaks up again.

"If that were true, you would've let me stay that day I came to your apartment. Instead, you dismissed me and let him stay." Valentine's hand reaches for something in his back pocket.

He rushes at you and swings, a silver blade in his hand. You barely dodge it before he's swinging at you again. Valentine is a trained FBI agent, you both went through the same hand to hand combat training. He's fast, he's strong. And you struggle to dodge his attacks.

In an attempt to put as much space between you as possible, you back away and tip chairs and files into the floor to hopefully trip him. But eventually he lunges forward and the blade cuts your abdomen.

The pain temporarily freezes you, allowing Valentine to grab you and shove you to the floor. He stands over top of you and smiles widely down at you. You feel the warm blood start soaking through your shirt but you can't look away to see how bad it is.

Valentine drops to his knees and straddles your torso, he drags the blade across your cheekbone and down your throat. He presses ever so slightly and creates small cuts on your cheek. The blood streams down your face and onto the floor in thin streams.

"Please." You resort to begging. At this point you know he's got nothing to lose and therefore he likely has no boundaries or care in the world.

"Shhh. It's my turn, and I earned this." He says and drops the blade. His hands wrap around your throat and he presses down hard in the center, cutting off your air supply.

You thrash and kick and hit to try and get him off of you. But he's simply too strong. He's twice your size and deranged. You dig your nails into his skin and claw at his hands. But all he does is smile. And you feel your lungs burning and you're starting to panic.

You try to get air into your lungs and your body shakes from lack of oxygen. Your efforts to free yourself are only making you run out of air quicker. Valentine presses his thumbs into the column of your throat.

"We could've been great. You and I. We could've been so happy together. But you had to go and give yourself to him. No, he doesn't deserve you. He couldn't make you feel good like I could. How could you do this?" Valentine spits down at you as your limbs become too heavy to move.

The edge of your vision starts to become staticky and dotted. But you can see tears streaming down Valentine's face and you feel them drip onto your face. But you're too tired to wipe them away. Your eyelids feel like they weigh 20 pounds each.

It's just so much easier to close them.

———

"Garcia did you get the door locks back online?" Hotch authoritatively asks as the team rushes into the building. Penelope tries her best to keep up with Hotch, tears stream down her face.

"Sir I tried. I tried but I didn't have enough time." Her words are broken up by sobs.

Spencer doesn't have time for this. He shoves past everyone else and reaches the glass doors. His eyes scan the dark office and he sees you laying still on the floor. Motionless. Valentine is hunched overtop of you, his hands wrapped around your throat.

Without thinking, Spencer reaches for his gun and shoots through the door. The glass shatters and falls to the floor in a billion pieces. But he doesn't care. All he can see is red as he steps over the glass and into the bullpen.

Spencer reaches Valentine in record time and he wastes no time to kick Valentine off of you. He lands a solid kick to the side of Valentine's face and when Valentine loses his balance and falls from overtop of you, Spencer pushes him on to his back.

When Valentine rolls over onto his back Spencer grabs his shirt in one hand and punches Valentine's face with the other. He hits him again. And again. And again. Everything that Valentine has done to you replays in his head each time his fist connects with Valentine's face.

"Spencer, stop. Stop you can't do this here." He hears someone say as he's forcefully pulled away from Valentine's beaten body.

Spencer pays no attention to who pulled him off of Valentine because he sees you still laying still on the floor next to him. Your eyes are closed and he sees bruising begin to form on your throat.

"No, no come on. Come on baby. Come on." Spencer says as he kneels by your side. His bloody knuckles sting but his chest hurts worse, seized with anxiety and fear because you're not waking up. And those bruises are becoming way too dark way too quickly.

Spencer feels for your pulse on your neck, below your jaw. There's a pulse. But it's faint. Too faint.

"We need a medic. We need a medic right now." Spencer rushes his words as he tilts your head back to allow for maximum airflow into your lungs.

He faintly hears commotion behind him but all he can see is you. And he can hear are your shallow breaths.

Pure, genuine fear paralyzes Spencer.

———

"Derek, stay with him. Don't let him get to Valentine just yet. We're going to do pull some overtime today and get everything sorted. I'll keep you updated. Let me know how she's doing and how Spencer's doing." Hotch speaks authoritatively before hanging up the phone.

He sets the phone on the table and looks at the rest of his team, who have assembled at the round table. He sees their faces full of fear and guilt. And he knows that the team will collectively have to go through the process of acceptance, but not now. Not when there's work to do.

He sees your face in his mind and it launches him into action.

"Penelope. I'm going to need every bit of his equipment seized and searched. I'm talking in his office and at his residence. Document everything." He looks pointedly at Penelope, who eagerly nods her head.

"On it, sir." She affirms and he moves on to his next task.

"JJ, Emily, I need you to document every other piece of physical evidence from her residence and his. Construct a timeline of events. Try to pinpoint what caused this." The women look to each other before nodding. Hotch then looks to Rossi, who's been staring at the table the entire time.

"And Dave, you'll work with me to strategize questioning." Rossi looks up from the table and gives one concise nod.

Content with everyone's willingness to do overtime for your case, he dismisses them. Hotch waits for everyone to leave before addressing Rossi again.

"What are you thinking?" He asks, and Rossi scrunches his eyebrows together before meeting Hotch's gaze. There's a sadness residing in his eyes.

"I just can't believe it took us so long to take it seriously. I mean really, we see these cases all the time but when it comes to one of our own? We completely dropped the ball. And now she's in the hospital. We're supposed to be the most capable team, but we can't even protect our own." He articulates slowly so the point isn't lost on Hotch.

"We never could've known it would escalate this quickly." Hotch says, taking a seat across from Dave, who shakes his head.

"But we could have. The signs were all there. The flowers, the altering of footage. There were indicators present." Hotch is lost for words as the reality of the situation truly sinks in.

Hotch sighs and looks down at his hands that are folded on the table.

"You're right. We should've seen this before it even happened. But it did, and now we have to make sure Valentine never sees the light of day again." Hotch says, hoping that by seeking justice is makes up for a lack of action.

"Yeah we'll lock him away. But do you think she's going to come back? I mean after all this, how could she trust us again?" Rossi asks, exasperation replacing the sadness.

"I don't know." Hotch answers truthfully. He knows that when you recover and are released from the hospital that there's some chance you'll retire from the team. And he couldn't blame you.

"And the kid. You saw how much she means to him. I've never seen him act like that before. During any of it. You saw that picture too, and you saw how he shot through that door, you know exactly what I mean." Rossi says and stands from the table. Hotch rises as well, and he nods.

"I know Dave." Is all he can come up with. Rossi claps a hand on Hotch's shoulder.

"Just have to take this one day at a time." Rossi says before leaving the room, leaving Hotch alone.

Rossi's words repeat in Hotch's mind. What if you decide to not come back? Do you blame the team for what happened? Will Spencer blame the team? Will he leave too? Will you be okay? Will they be able to ensure Valentine's life sentence?

Question after question swirls in his mind until it becomes overwhelming. He closes his eyes and clenches his fists in frustration. He can't help but to blame himself for the team's lack of action. After all, he knew weird things were happening and there was more he could've done sooner that might've prevented this from ever happening.

And he knows the truth, the truth is that Spencer is the only one who took you seriously from the very beginning. And it's because of that bond the two of you share that Hotch knows deep down, that if you leave then Spencer will leave too. Maybe not right away, but soon after.

Hotch can see clear as day that you two love each other deeply. And he knows that Spencer is not prepared to lose you. Not to Valentine and certainly not to this job.

But he has no control over your decision. And he shouldn't stress about things that are out of his control. So instead, he walks out of the room and begins to stress about things he can control, like the compilation of evidence against Valentine.

And so he joins the team and gets to work.

———

Your mind is alive before you can even muster the strength to open your eyes. You hear squeaking shoes on tiled floors, the beep of a monitor somewhere near your head. Whispered voices come and go. But you can't seem to focus on one thing at a time, the sounds blur together.

And you don't know how long you're suspended in this state of mind. All you know is that your eyes are heavy and your throat burns. But you can't move to get a drink, you can't even open your eyes no matter how hard you try.

So you succumb to sleep once again.

And then you awake once more, much like the last time. But now you hear voices and they're closer. They sound like they're near the beeping machine behind you. The tone and cadence sound familiar but you can't make out their words.

You feel trapped within your own body and you begin to panic because you can't open your eyes. You're here and you're awake but you can't open your eyes and you can't move.

You hear the beeping sound behind you grow louder and the voices you heard are now gone, replaced with squeaking shoes against tile. And before you know it you feel people's hands on your arms and on your forehead. It feels like they're trying to soothe you, and it's working.

The beeping behind you calms and voices are heard once more. And this time, you try your hardest to listen in. You really want to know who's here and what they're saying. 

"Hotch wants updates on her. I'm going to give him a call. Will you be okay here for a while?" A deep voice says. 

"Yeah, yeah I'll be fine." Another voice says, and this one you recognize. You'd recognize his voice anywhere, that's Spencer. You feel his hand on yours and you desperately try to open your eyes, but you can't, you're still stuck.

"I think you can hear me. At least I hope you can." Spencer talks again, his hand gently squeezing yours. You hear him sigh before continuing, 

"I want you to know that we got him. We got him and he's never going to hurt you again. I'm so, so sorry that I wasn't there to protect you. I should've been there. I should've seen the signs that we were being set up but instead I was blinded. I was so focused on catching him that I didn't slow down and think rationally about it. I am so sorry." He raises your hand and places a delicate kiss to the back of it. And you feel something wet drip onto your skin too. 

His words make your heart ache and you want to open your eyes and let him know that none of this is his fault. He shouldn't blame himself one bit. You hear him sniffle and it ignites a fire of determination within you. With all your might, you try to at least wiggle your fingers. You just need to show him that you hear him. 

And so with all of your might and strength you can muster, you feel the tips of your fingers twitch. And then you do it again. You hear Spencer take a sharp inhale and you know that you're message reached him. He knows. 

"Do that again if you can hear me." He whispers. And so you try your best to do it again. 

It must've worked because the next thing you feel is Spencer's lips on your forehead. The feeling of his hand holding yours and his lips on your skin sends a warm sensation through your body. And you hear the monitor beep louder again. 

But then the moment is interrupted as someone enters the room, apparent from the sound of their shoes. 

"Pretty boy I think she likes you too, look at that heart rate." The voice is undeniably Derek's. His voice is clearer now and you know that nobody else calls Spencer "Pretty Boy". 

"What did the doctors say?" Spencer asks him. 

"They said it shouldn't be too much longer. Her vitals have stabilized." Derek answers. 

The room falls back into a silence, the only sound to be heard is the monitor behind you. Spencer's hand stays on yours and you feel yourself being lulled back into sleep by the rhythmic monitor.

———

Spencer looks down at your sleeping face and wishes there was something he could do to nurse you back to health in an instant. He thinks it's his fault you're laying in this bed in the first place. Out of everyone on the team, he should've been able to see that Valentine was setting everyone up. That was his hail Mary; to get everyone out of the office on a goose chase so that he could get to you. 

And Spencer knows that if the team had arrived even one minute later that there may not have been a chance to save you. It's a miracle you're alive, even more of a miracle that your hyoid bone didn't break or that nothing internally was severely damaged. The deep bruises were superficial the doctors had said. 

Spencer isn't sure how long he's been standing by your bedside with your small hand enveloped in his. And truthfully, he doesn't care. He would stand there for an eternity if it meant you would be okay. 

"Hotch just texted. They're planning to question him tomorrow, time constraints of the arrest and all." Derek says, showing Spencer the screen. 

With a sigh, Spencer knows that questioning Valentine tomorrow is cutting it close. The team will be strapped for time trying to piece everything together without him there. But he can't fathom the thought of leaving you, not now. 

"They'll be able to pull it off." Spencer says, less than confident that everything will be concisely and plainly compiled. 

"Spencer, we both know that you know exactly what happened, beat for beat. They need you back there. She's okay. I'll stay here with her. You go help the team secure the arrest." Derek says, walking over and putting a hand on Spencer's shoulder. 

Spencer looks back at your peaceful face littered in dark blue bruises and it makes his stomach turn. While he would rather pull his own teeth than leave you here, he knows that he can leave no room for error when it comes to Valentine. And he knows that besides you, he's the only one who knows the depth of everything that happened. His eyes drift from you to Derek and he sighs.

"I'll go help them. But if anything changes here, let me know right away." Spencer lets go of your hand and forces himself to walk away. 

"I will." Derek answers as Spencer exits the room and heads back to the office. Each step he takes he feels like high-force winds are pushing against him, making it difficult to keep going forward. 

When he arrives at the office, everyone regards him quietly. There's a tension between him and the team, one that likely won't go addressed until this is all over with. But Spencer knows it's about that picture, about him shooting the door, about him crying as the EMTs took your body away in an ambulance. 

But he can't afford to dwell on that, not now. He pushes his sleeves to his elbows and finds Hotch, ready to get to work and do it quickly. There's no room for error here.

———

You hear the beeping monitor again and feel the blankets had been pulled up higher on your body. You don't even remember going back to sleep. But you do remember that Spencer is here. But you don't feel his hand on yours anymore, his warmth is gone. 

Panicking slightly, you wonder where he is and what happened. Is he okay? The monitor picks up frequency and you feel someone touch your arm. But it's not Spencer, no the skin is too rough, the fingers too big.

"Hey, hey it's me. I'm here and you're okay." Derek says to you. 

And you're thankful he's here but you need to know where Spencer is, you need to know he's not in trouble. What if Valentine got to him? What if Valentine has his hands wrapped around Spencer's throat, draining the life from him slowly? The thought of Valentine hurting Spencer like he hurt you sends a rush of adrenaline so severe through you, that you think for a split second you had been struck by lightning. 

Suddenly, the room isn't dark anymore. No, it's blindingly bright. The white light burns. But eventually, it calms into something more manageable. And then you see Derek standing right next to you, his mouth open, his eyes full of worry and then joy. 

"I knew you could do it. I knew you could." He says and smiles. 

You go to say something but your throat burns and is too dry so instead you end up choking and coughing. 

"Here, here you go." Derek holds a cup of water to your lips. Your shaky hands land atop of his and you help him tip the cup so you can get a drink. Every swallow feels like you're consuming liquid sandpaper. 

"Spencer." You whisper, trying to ignore the sharp, stinging pain. 

"He's okay. He left a few hours ago to help the others." Derek says, pulling a chair over to your bedside. You make eye contact with him.

"Valentine?" You ask, needing to know if he's still in custody. 

"We got him. Spencer's filling in the others about what happened. He's never going to see the light of day again for what he did to you." Derek says and you can hear the clear conviction in his voice. 

There's a tiny part of you that becomes angry at his words. If they had believed you sooner, this wouldn't have happened. But instead they chose to believe you were fabricating evidence to make yourself look better. And for what? To gain clout over a case that happened months ago? To make yourself look better overall? To prove you're just as good as the rest?

You opt to say nothing back. Because one, your throat feels like it's made of molten lava, and two, because you really can't find anything positive to say to him. You almost died because they didn't believe you were in any real danger, not until it was too late. 

Staring down at the water cup in your hands, you wonder if you can go back to the team after this. Would you be able to trust them and rely on them in the field? Would they take you more seriously? Would they treat you the same? Or would their guilt cause them to treat you differently? 

There's too many questions racing through your head and you feel a headache coming on. You wish Spencer was the one who stayed with you, but you know that he's the best equipped in briefing the team. But then again, so are you. 

"When can I leave?" You ask Derek. 

"I'll go find someone and ask." He offers a tight smile and leaves the room. 

If you can get out of here then you can find your way back to Spencer. You would be able to help the team, maybe for the last time. 

———

"Are you sure that you're well enough for this?" Hotch asks you with crossed arms. You give him a nod, knowing that you're more than capable of doing this. 

Hotch simply nods and looks down at the folder in his hand. You stare through the one-way glass at the man who tried to kill you. He's sitting there, chained to the table, looking like a pathetic coward. All of his confidence he had when he was strangling you had been washed away, revealing his true self; an insecure excuse of a man. 

You hear someone else walk in behind you and turn to see Spencer. His hair is disheveled and the stubble on his jaw is prominent, evidence of his lack of sleep. You meet him halfway and he welcomes you into his arms. He holds you like he may never again, his arms wrapped around you securely. 

Hotch is obviously ignoring what you two are doing and is immersing himself in the file folder that you helped them complete yesterday. 

The hospital staff had been reluctant to let you go, but you were determined to get out of there. You pushed through the pain and told them that because your injuries are superficial, that there's no reason to stay any longer. And sure, they tried to persuade you to get more imaging done, but you denied. All you cared about was getting back to Spencer. 

"Are you ready for this?" You ask him, your voice weak and scratchy. Spencer's jaw tightens and he nods, looking through the glass. 

"More than ready." His tone is flat and you know that he's trying to get himself into the right mindset. 

Hotch didn't want to let Spencer participate in the questioning, but Spencer was unrelenting. Spencer told Hotch that Valentine has a personal prejudice against him and that they could use his anger against him. And Spencer was banking on the fact that Valentine hates him to secure an airtight confession. And eventually, Hotch agreed once he saw that Spencer could control his own anger. 

"Spencer." Hotch says, causing the two of you to step away from one another. 

"I'm ready." Spencer answers, face void of emotion. Hotch nods and you watch as they step into the interrogation room together. You take a seat on the other side of the glass and feel your heart beat heavily, anxious for what's about to happen.

Hotch and Spencer take their seats opposite of Valentine and you see Valentine's eyes lock onto Spencer immediately with malice. You lean forward in your seat. 

"You've been read your charges and your rights, do you understand them?" Hotch begins the questioning. Valentine nods, 

"I do." And you know that's the all clear needed to dig into the interrogation. 

Hotch lays out the altered documents on the table, taking his time to spread them out. Valentine looks over each paper, his eyes scanning over the words. He says nothing. 

"These are documents you altered under the credentials of another agent." Hotch states, not breaking eye contact. He doesn't frame it as a question, because if it's presented as a known statement, it gives further incentive for someone to want to defend themselves and provide alternate facts. 

"How do you know she wasn't the one to make those changes herself?" Valentine asks and a small smirk breaks out across your face. He just admitted that he knew the credentials used belonged to a woman and that there were in fact changes made. 

"We know because I personally review each and every one of her case reports. Hers are not nearly as detailed as these, and there are phrasings included that are not conducive to our report writing policy." Hotch fires back flawlessly. You see Valentine clench his hands on the table; he's getting flustered. 

"And in addition to these documents, you were able to spoof credentials to make entry into our office and retag evidence and alter the footage." Hotch says, his tone indicative of being impressed. This is to build Valentine's confidence back up and stroke his ego. When people are overly confident in their abilities, they tend to slip up more by trying to prove themselves. 

"You can't prove that." Valentine resists. Hotch takes a moment before responding. 

"You chose to wait until the cameras were being replaced to send the flowers. You wanted to remain anonymous. You wanted her to work as hard for you as you were working for her. So you used your knowledge and expertise to your advantage." Hotch says, trying to further inflate Valentine's self confidence. 

"She just needed to see the lengths I would go for her." Valentine slips up again. 

"And you didn't stop there to show her that did you? You orchestrated a false cellphone ping at an abandoned location so the rest of the team would go there and leave her in the office. You knew we wouldn't bring her along, so you created an opportunity for yourself." Hotch doubles down again, knowing that Valentine can't help but to brag about his perceived accomplishments. 

"It wasn't that hard. I knew with him around I wouldn't have another chance. So I did what I had to do." Valentine glares at Spencer as he speaks. 

And you know this signals for Spencer to take over the questioning. They've got under his skin, they've got him flustered, and they've got him overly confident. Valentine has so much conflicting thoughts in his head right now that he likely can't think straight or have the foresight to see what's happening. 

"And you hated seeing her with me so much that you entered her home and placed a camera." Spencer states. Valentine crosses his arms. Spencer licks his lips and leans forward, continuing his approach. 

"But before that you entered her home while she wasn't there and took her sweater. That was a shame, that was my favorite one she wore." Spencer then leaned back and sighed, acting as if he could only think of you in that sweater in that moment. 

Valentine's fists clench on the tabletop once more, the vein in his neck starts bulging. He's close to cracking and losing it all. And it's all being done in record time. No matter how smart Valentine thinks he is, the BAU is smarter. 

"You don't deserve to have her like that." Valentine growls through gnashing teeth. Spencer tilts his head to the side. 

"Have her like what?" Spencer provokes him further. Valentine takes a measured breath. 

"You were in her room, I saw you. You were in her house and you had your hands on her. I just needed a small part of her." Valentine now starts to sound unhinged. His voice rises in volume, and Spencer keeps pressing on. He stands from his seat and leans forward on the table. 

"I was there because she wanted me there. In fact she begged for me. It was nice of you to send her those flowers, it just made it more easy for me to take credit for it all." Spencer makes eye contact with Valentine, and refuses to get back into his seat, instead opting to stay leaned forward. Valentine's face is red, his veins popping, his jaw tight and his teeth clenched. 

"Those were for her to see how much she means to me. You couldn't let me have that, you couldn't even let me speak to her that night at the bar. You put those curtains up so I couldn't see her anymore. No you took her all for yourself. What was I supposed to do? I couldn't sit around and do nothing while you got every part of her to yourself. I tried to forgive her, I really did. But she wasn't grateful for what I was doing for her. I was trying to give her the credit she's due and the love she deserves. I did it all for her! And you just swooped in and took it all for your fucking self!" Valentine screams in one breath. His chest is heaving and his face is as red as a tomato.

And after a minute of silence, Spencer stands back to his full height. 

"Thank you." He says and walks out of the room without another word. But Hotch stays. 

Once Spencer walks out Valentine loses his composure again. But Hotch is there for more, they're going to take everything they can get from him. 

"And what were your plans for the photos in your basement?" Hotch's voice starkly contrasts Valentine's delirium. 

"Those were for myself. I needed to see her any time I wanted. But I had to cut him out of the picture." He answers, glaring at Hotch. 

"And so you loved her that much that you were willing to kill her?" Hotch's voice is soft. This causes Valentine to look down at the table where he stares at his hands. 

"I didn't want to. But I couldn't live knowing he was with her. If she were to die I would've killed myself right after, so that we could be together in another life." Valentine answers and it sends a chill through your body. 

"And how did you plan to kill her and yourself?" Hotch's head tilts to the side.

"I brought the knives. I wasn't going to cut her skin with those blades, I would never. But once she was gone I was going to stab myself in the neck." He answers casually, as if Hotch had asked him about the weather. 

"I see." Hotch closes the folder and stares at Valentine. You had one request of Hotch, and you know he's about to fulfill it. 

"Well, you succeeded in one step of that plan." Hotch prefaces, piquing Valentine's interest once again. 

"What do you mean?" Valentine asks, eyes wide. 

"I mean you were successful in strangling her. She passed away hours after she was transported to the hospital." Hotch tells him. 

Valentine lets out a loud sob and hits the table with his fists over and over again. 

"No! No I couldn't have! No!" He screams until his face begins to turn purple. Hotch then stands from his seat and adjusts his tie, unphased by the drama of Valentine.

"Thank you for your time." He says without emotion and walks out of the room to join you and Spencer.

Valentine carries on with his screaming and crying, the three of you watch him from the other side. But you can only look for so long before it starts disturbing you. 

You stand from your seat and leave, content with how things ended. Valentine will live the rest of his days thinking you're dead. And that's exactly how you wanted it to be. 

———

Rain drops pelt your window and thunder rolls above in the sky. Your apartment is empty and the sounds echo off the walls. It had taken you about two weeks to get everything packed up and moved out. It would've taken longer, but you had some wonderful help. 

Spencer enters the empty apartment, his hair wet from the rain outside. He sighs as he stands beside you, taking in the emptiness. It's odd to see your apartment like this, but you know it's necessary if you want to move on with your life. You couldn't stay here any more, all you could think about was Valentine. And if you're dead to him, you want him to be dead to you as well. 

Valentine had been sentenced to two consecutive life sentences without the possibility of parole. Hotch had some connections to the judge and was able to secure the maximum sentence. And for that you're grateful. 

"You ready?" Spencer asks you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. 

You take one last look around the empty apartment and remember the good times shared here. The happiness you felt when you first moved in, the giddiness of Spencer staying over, and how you two made this like your own haven for a short while. Some of those memories stay untainted, but the most recent ones leave a sour taste in your mouth. And you don't want your memories with Spencer to be distorted any more. 

"I'm ready." You answer and the two of you leave. You hear the door click shut behind you and you keep moving forward, refusing to look back. 

The two of you arrive at Spencer's apartment about ten minutes later. Or, you should say you arrived at the apartment you now share with Spencer ten minutes later. He opens the door for you and you smile, feeling over the moon. 

Your furniture now complements his, your photos hang on the wall next to his, and your clothes now occupy the space beside his. The two of you had made this your sanctuary, your own personal utopia where you two blend perfectly with one another. 

Every night you're able to fall asleep in his arms and wake to his perfect face every morning. You still love the way his eyes squint when he first wakes up and how he insists that you make pancakes every Saturday morning. 

There's no pressure or threat looming over the two of you any more and you're able to grow closer and closer naturally and without stress. Truthfully, you had never loved anyone like you love Spencer. The love you have for him is rooted deep within your soul and blooms higher and higher each and every day. 

The two of you sit on the couch together, Spencer's leaned up against the arm and you've fitted yourself between his legs, leaning your head back on his chest. His arms wrap around you and you sigh, feeling nothing but pure peace and contentment.

After Valentine was sentenced and everything started going back to normal, you and Spencer had discussed what the future held. You had told him the truth, that you didn't want a future without him in it, you didn't want to live in a world without him in your life. And thankfully, he felt the same way. 

You took an extended leave of absence from the team, just until you figure out if you want to go back or not. Spencer supports your decision either way. But you can't seem to make up your mind. Hotch had given you all the time you need, and you're taking full advantage of it. Spencer had taken a month off as well, the two of you using this time to focus on nothing but each other. 

You tilt your head back and look up at him through your lashes and he smiles down at you. 

"Hi there pretty girl." His smile widens, revealing his perfect teeth. Adoration fills your heart. 

"I love you." You tell him, and he leans down and kisses your forehead gently. 

"And I love you more, much more than you could ever know, with all my heart." He answers and hugs you tightly to his body. 

You melt into his touch and take in his intoxicating smell. You'll never get over the way he holds you, the way his hands map out every curve of your body, how his kisses you like his life depends on it. How he looks at you as if you had personally painted the night sky.

And now you know that love is an obsession that can quickly spiral into something all consuming. 

But this love is tender, this love is kind. This love you and Spencer share is pure and true. And you will happily live with this love for the rest of your days. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

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[noxi3xe]

Unfortunate turn of events

AFAB reader x Pantalone - NSFW (Minors DNI) Synopsys: You're in a tough spot and have terrible luck with finding jobs. Whatever might happen once you apply for a job at the Northland bank?

Warnings: Smut, Porn /w plot, public sex, hair pulling, overall just a quick smut scene w some plot

Words: 3.5K

Author's note:

This is also posted on AO3 HERE!!

this is a quick fic I wrote while bored, the *smut* scene is short and awkward so I apologize, but still enjoy!!

Minors dni!!

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

»I— I'll fix it.. I swear!«

I beg and plead as the shop owner shoves me out the door. I was a good employee, I really was, I always tried my best and always put my everything into every shift. I slump down against the door and begin to sob. This job was barely enough to cover for monthly food rations.. and aside from food I needed to fix up my house and save up for new clothes. I was going to even look for a second job to cover all of my expenses but now I don't have anything! I do not even know what triggered that immediate reaction, I mean, firing me on the spot? After breaking a simple vase that the shop manager bought just a week ago? From what I overheard it wasn't even expensive!

I stand up slowly and make my way back home, head hung low in defeat. I wasn't sure what to do now, I mean.. I've got to find a job, sure, but that was harder done than said nowadays, especially at this time of the year. Snezhnaya was a cold country all year round but winters were especially harsh. I wonder how I'd survive this year, I mean my roof is busted, my water supply is running low due to my pipes freezing up thanks to my broken heating system and not to mention that one of my windows cracked. With no heating, cracked windows and a part missing roof my house was as cold as the outside and I was barely surviving. I wasn't sure what to do till I saw freshly hung posters in the town square as I passed.

'Looking for hire.'

They said, and I stepped closer, considering the idea without even checking for the publisher. I'm glad I did because my eyes almost jumped out of my skull. It would've been a death sentence to join the Fatui and there's no way I'd even consider taking up this job offer, even if my life depends on it. The Northland bank is looking for hire? Yeah no thanks..

I stumble along and head home, hugging myself tightly, already missing my warm.. well.. as warm as it can get, blanket.

________

I stare at the dry piece of bread and the already lukewarm coffee set before me on the table. Everyday is getting harder and I don't know if I'll have enough money to buy food for next week. I lean forward and rest my head into my palms, sighing loudly. I don't know what else to do, I cannot find a job and donations from doing community service aren't enough. It's getting colder each day and I have a feeling I'll freeze if I don't get my house fixed up. That's when I decide that enough is enough and stand up, grabbing my coat.

I step out into the cold and begin to venture downtown, ready to start my search. I couldn't continue on like this knowing I'll eventually starve without a stable income. I knew I'd have to get up and start looking this morning when I found another window cracked.

—

I shuffle through the thick snow, snow slowly falling from the sky. It's a beautiful sight, the sun rising behind the parting clouds coloring the sky a bright gray-orange-blue-ish color. It was barely 6:30 in the morning and I was already threading through the city, heading towards the commission's guild, knowing I could make a quick buck or two there. Then I'd head towards the community board in the city center at around 9 to check for any new posters. The idea was great and It worked out perfectly.. to a degree.

I stopped by The adventurers guild like I said I would, greeting Katheryne and wishing her a wonderful morning. I accepted two out of three commissions offered to me, seeing as the third involved fighting some Hilichurls and I wasn't very skilled with weapons. I barely used my Pryo vision and even that was when I needed a source of heat, having no other use for the darn thing. The other two commissions were the delivery type. Ivanka, a widow living on the outskirts of the city required a fresh batch of groceries delivered and Jasmine, a local florist required some fresh soil that needed to be picked up from the dock and delivered to her straight. The commissions didn't take long and I was done very quickly, before the clock even struck 9.

I made my way back towards the Adventurer's guild, waving towards Katheryne from a far.

»I'm back!«

I exclaim excitedly. Katheryne offers me a bright smile, opening her mouth to speak.

»Thank you for completing Today's commissions. Here is your reward.«

I grab the pouch she holds out to me and flinch due to it's weight.

»A-Ah! Thank you!«

I grin and straighten a little then look around. People were beginning to wake up, go about their day and open up shops. I turn back to Katheryne and stare at her for a second then ask.

»Do you know if anybody's offering jobs of any kind for a little income?«

She thinks for a second then nods, giving me a reassuring smile.

»Well I believe the Northland bank is still searching! Best of luck if you do choose to give it a try!«

I freeze and look around. The Northland bank? Still? It's been a week and the spot hasn't been filled yet? There's no way I'd even get the job if no other has been able to in the past week! Still I believe there's no other choice I have.. Katheryne would've mentioned it if there were any other job offers available but I doubt there is since she hasn't mentioned anything. I slowly make my way towards the plaza hoping and praying to the Tsaritsa and any Celestial force that might hear my prayers to bless me with a job that is NOT working at the Northland bank.

I round the corner, passing by the local bakery and spot a younger girl standing by the notice board, either taking something off or nailing a poster to the board, I wasn't sure. I approach her slowly before making my presence known as to not startle her.

»Hey! Morning..«

I say and she turns around to look at me then offers me a friendly smile.

»Mornin'«

I now stand next to her and look over at the board confirming my suspicions. She indeed was taking a poster off, the one for the local flower shop. I tried applying for a simple cashier job there but I was too late and the place was taken before I could even ask about the offer. I sigh, spotting the last job poster on the board and my heartbeat speeds up a bit. I groan and the lady looks over at me, worriedly.

»You alright, ma'am?«

She asks and I nod, apologizing.

»Indeed, I apologize, I'm just having terrible luck looking for a job.«

She hums, nodding.

»Good luck, hey the Northland bank seems to still have an open spot? Considered checking it out?«

»I have but I doubt it's smart to get involved with the Fatui..«

»That is true.. well best of luck!«

She wishes me a good day and I return the kind words, watching her disappear around the block. I stare at the board. Town info, news reports, missing person posters, the board was filled with crap like that yet no job offers. I snatch the Northland bank poster, ripping it off and turn towards home, deciding that perhaps this was my last chance. I'll put on my best clothes and warmest smile and hope for the best.

_____

I stand before the large doors, shuddering at the thought that if luck's on my side today there might just be a chance I'd have to pass them every day. I take a moment to collect myself then slowly push the pine doors open, taking my first step inside. The warmth hits me in the face immediately and I stop for a moment, taking in the warm air and sweet smell. The Bank smells like a bakery would and it isn't as loud as one would think. People are speaking in hushed tones and keeping to themselves, not one dares to speak up. The place is clean, and I mean clean. Even the plants look perfect!

I step up to the front desk and the secretary looks up from the papers, giving me a warm smile.

»Good afternoon! How may I help you?«

She asks in a tone so cheery I didn't think was possible.  I look around for a brief moment then back to her, forcing myself to return the gesture.

»I heard you were offering a job?«

Her cheery facade drops and she stares at me, dumbfounded. I wasn't sure whether she was about to laugh seeing as somebody like me was definitely not fit to work in a bank, or because I was ballsy enough to actually show up to the bank without hesitation and ask about the job? I mean the poster was up for a long while therefore I'm guessing nobody realllllyyy wanted to even think about taking up the offer.

»M-Ma'am?«

I stutter and freeze up when she suddenly snaps out of whatever trance she was in and her warm smile returns.

»A-Apologies..! Come with me!«

She doesn't ask for my information, for even my name nor what the job would be other than working behind a desk! She just asks me to follow after her and seeing as I hold no authority over her I do not really have the right to stop her and ask her pointless questions that have a chance of getting answered even after I follow her.

We make our way up a looped staircase onto the first floor which is connected to a balcony that overlooks the bank. Every millimeter of the bank walls is covered in golden and wooden details, gems and crystals of different kinds. Even the floor looks expensive and neatly polished. I heard that the maids get paid quite a lot and they don't have to deal with customers or any of the Fatui officials therefore I wonder how much I will get paid for doing both! I could salivate at the thought of how well I'll fix up my little house with the hard earned money but I decided to push those thoughts away seeing as there's a chance I'll jinx myself and not get the job if I think about it too hard. I focus my attention back onto the bank worker and offer her a soft smile as she opens the glass double doors for me, the ones we stopped in front of after leading me down a maze of hallways.

»One of our employers should be in right now, they'll take it over from here. Best of luck, Comrade!«

She says and turns on her heel, leaving me alone. I take a deep breath before creaking the door open slowly, dipping one foot inside the room then following with my whole body and finally the other foot. I now stand inside the room my attention immediately falling onto the circular desk in the middle of the room. Behind it sit three ladies, all facing away from each other, a slim pillar extending outward towards the ceiling stands in the very middle. Their desk looks awfully messy and they seem to be in a rush. I step over and greet the black haired one, offering her a smile although I do not get one in return.

»Make it quick please, I'm busy.«

She chews on a piece of gum rather loudly, clicking the pen impatiently. I stutter but step closer, placing my ID onto the table.

»[Last name][Name], [Age], I saw you guys were looking for a secretary and was wondering whether there was any chance it was still open. I'll be honest I have no work experience in this field and don't really know what the job of a secretary involves... b-but I learn very quickly...!«

She stares at me and sighs, shaking her head. Her demeanor went from annoyed to tired in an instant and she didn't seem so hostile anymore.

»No experience you say? Ughh... erm.. well this job requires a lot of running around and a good memory s—«

I cut her off immediately, scrambling to catch my words. She shoots me a glance but doesn't stop me.

»That's no problem, really.. ! O-Oh and I remember things quickly!«

She nods, signalling that she indeed was listening as she writes something down.

»Well you'll have to wait because we were ju—«

Just as she was about to finish speaking she gets interrupted for the second time, this time not daring to look a bit annoyed. Through one of the hallways enters..

The Regator

The doors opened by Fatui Skrimishers as they escort him into the room and he sets eyes on one of the desk workers, unfortunately exactly the one I was speaking to.

»You!«

One of the Skrimishers calls out and she yelps.

»M-Me..?«

The Skrimisher walks over, slapping a pile of reports onto her table.

»Go make a copy for each and every one of these separately, now!«

The Regator stares at us intently and she looks up at him, then at me and finally at the Skrimisher.

»But.. M-My Lord.. I was tending to this young lady, she's here for an interview..!«

His smile twists into a large grin upon hearing those words and he finally speaks, his voice silky smooth.

»Wonderful, I'll take over from here.«

He purrs and I freeze. Take over? I'll get interviewed by The Regator himself? This is a joke..

I step back towards the desk and stare at the man who takes a step closer, eyes narrowing.

»Chop, chop! I don't have all day.«

He says, his tone changing immediately. He moves past us towards the back of the room where stands an impressive set of double doors which leads to another hallway. The Regator looks over his shoulder and I jump, realizing I have to follow and not just stare! We enter another expensively decorated room which seemed to serve as a waiting room. At the very far right wall stood yet another set of doors. I wonder how many this place even has. The Skrimishers open the door for the 9th and he steps inside. I hesitate for a second but just for a second as the next moment I am standing inside of the office, doors closed behind me. I was shoved inside and didn't really have a choice.

»Well then? I sure don't have all day. Come on, sit.«

His demeanor changed immediately, his smile gone and his eyes cold, staring daggers through my form. I approach slowly and pull the cushioned chair out, cringing at the sound it makes as it scrapes against the floor. I cautiously sit down and The Regator leans back, pulling out a blank form from one of his drawers.

»Let's make this quick. I'll need a full name and age, address, previous work experience..«

He continues on but I don't really listen to him, more than what not staring at the blank form. Would my picture go there? Why do they need so much information? What would happen if I just refused and got out of here. He snaps me out of my thoughts as he clears his throat.

»Are you still with me?«

He's becoming irritated.

»My apologies, My Lord.«

»Ah so you can speak after all.«

He grins, sliding me the sheet.

»Make sure to be quick, we'll have to interview you properly.«

I nod and swallow nervously as I rake my eyes over the sheet of paper. He holds out a pen, his long slender fingers adorned with all kinds of rings and jewels. He smiles, although his smile unlike the other employees' wasn't warm and welcoming, more like threatening. I return the smile awkwardly as I take the pen, focusing back on the paper. There wasn't much to fill out except for personal information. Why would my work place need my address? My previous one sure as hell did not, so why now? Well perhaps it was to mail me the check, but still I can collect it at work!

»[Name]..«

He mumbles as he watches me write my name down. I look up immediately and he grins, waving me off.

»Is there a problem, M-My Lord..?«

»Oh don't you worry your pretty head off, nothing's wrong, continue on.«

I hum and skip through the attention notice, then finish the task I was given. I lay the pen down and look back up. He's focused on the sheet rather intently. He reaches forward, sliding it over the desk and I freeze. Oh right, he actually has to read this. His eyes scan the page and he frowns. Oh no..

»Antique shop manager? That's unfortunate.«

»I— Is there a problem...?«

»I don't think your past work experience matches what we are looking for. Quite unfortunate I must say.«

He sighs and stands up and my heart drops. Wait.. so I didn't get it? But..!

»W—Wa— My Lord! I seriously need this job I..«

I cannot believe I'm begging for a job I was at first hesitant to even apply for but at this point it is my last chance, the only means of survival.

»Oh really? Do tell me why this position should be granted to exactly you over every other person twice as experienced as you.«

As experienced as me? For fucks sake it's just some numbers! I grit my teeth and look at him, knowing I'd regret my words immediately.

»What every other person? As far as I've noticed I'm the only one applying for this job, no other was in line behind me!«

His smile falls and I freeze yet again.

»Oh?«

»I— W—«

He slams his hands onto the table and stands up, I gulp.

»You've got guts to bark out against a harbinger, I'll give you that.«

I melt into my chair as I watch him round the table, staring down at my form.

»Not only you decide to go against my word and my beliefs you as well try to demand things from me?«

»I—«

»So tell me, Gem. Why should a job as highly paying as this go to somebody lowly like you?«

»M-My Lord..«

He scoffs and stops before me, leaning against the desk just two or so feet away from me. I look up and he grins widely for what feels like the 100th time, knowing I'm afraid and won't even think about acting out again.

»W-Well.. a tree fell and some windows cracked.. I— I have been barely s-surviving...I—«

I stare at my feet, fumbling with my hands. I know there's no chance of redemption now but all I can do is pray. He hums, grabbing my face and I flinch, staring up at him in disbelief. The cold metal of his rings digs into my face and I grimace at the feeling.

»I have an idea how we could fix this mishap..«

I try to pull away but he grabs at his belt and I think I've got just the Idea.

___

He pulls at my hair, bringing my head back as I gasp for air. Tears run freely down my cheeks as I choke on his precum and my own saliva, barely catching a breath before he brings my head back down, stuffing my mouth.

»Yo-You know— haah..«

He bites at his lips before pulling my head off again.

»I usually don't do this but.. celestia.. I couldn't help myself..«

I sob as he brings me up by my collar, chasing my mouth with his own. He groans as our lips connect, moving together furiously, melting into each other. A string of saliva connects us as he pulls away, the scene is absolutely filthy.

»The way you looked up at me.. dear Tsaritsa.. haa—«

He groans as I trace my hand up his length and attempt sink back to my knees to finish what I've started but he stops me, gripping my arm before I could. I look up at him again and he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Suddenly I'm flipped around and over his desk as he grips my hair, forcing me forward. I gasp as he grips my hips, leaning over my body.

»You know... I'm tempted to sign you up as my personal assistant right about now. You'd like that, wouldn't you?«

He says as he slowly slides pulls my pants down, slapping my ass.

»I asked you a question.«

He grips my throat and shoves me further into the table and I cry out. His cold rings making me shiver.

»Y-Yes! I would love to—«

He slaps me again, this time harder before pulling my undergarments off with such force I swear to everything I own I could have heard a rip. I can hear the grin on his face as he speaks again, fingers tracing my opening.

»I'm sure of it..«

He slides his fingers inside my heat, curling them upwards and I jolt, sobbing into my hand.

»We'll have to train you then, you said you were a fast learner? Did I hear that right?«

I simply nod but he frowns, not that I could see it, of course. He removes his fingers with a whine from my side and smacks my ass again, hard enough to leave a mark.

»I expect a proper answer whenever I ask you a question.«

»Y-Yes! Ye—ees My Lord!«

He grins again, rubbing the spot he just struck.

»Wonderful, don't you worry I'll call off my next meeting then we'll have plenty of time!« ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Written by DottoreEnjoyer69 on AO3

[randomshyperson]

Spring Break - Cheerleader!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Every year during Spring Break, you travel to a camp filled with outdoor competitions. It comes with a bonus of facing your rival from back when the whole thing started, and there's nothing more attractive than Wanda Maximoff kicking your ass in every game. Some might say you let her win just to see her smile, but maybe that's loser talk.

Warnings: (+18), enemies to lovers, so much teasing and bickering, a lot of making out and kissing, bottom!Cheerleader Wanda being a tease, soft first-time smut, semi-public, gays who can't keep their hands off each other, fluff, mild angst when they’re being stubborn, friends being done, high school but summer camp vibes, happy ending i promise. Words: 11.176k

A/N-> I’m back with enemies to lovers (and some smut finally). This fic is quite old, but it was abandoned; after seeing Wednesday and Bianca dueling I regained inspiration for what I was doing in the 5k that was already done. You can thank Netflix for this one.  I wasn't sure whether to split it into two parts or not, but I think I have longer fics than this one so I decided to post them all together. If you notice there's a pause, because I wrote it as two different parts, you didn't.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

--//--

There was something about pissing you off that made Wanda twitch.

It started so long ago, when you first bumped into each other at Avengers Camp three years ago, and Wanda had the best and most stressful Spring Break since high school began; all because you were there and she was winning.

Now, senior year had arrived, and the annual tradition of joining the spring games for an entire week in the middle of nature at one of the most renowned vacation camps in the United States was going to happen again.

Wanda likes to believe that she was not expecting this. It would actually be absurd to admit that she waited, every year, for the familiar image of your old Danvers cap and your bored expression leaving the bus that brought your schoolmates, but if Wanda would be honest, now sitting in the driveway waiting for their driver to finish unloading the car while she lets her gaze run across the entrance courtyard of the Camp, pretending not to look for someone and yet feeling her whole body warm-up when she recognizes the female figure in the crowd of students from the rival school, Wanda has to admit a few things. First, you grew annoyingly attractive every year. The second, she couldn't wait to beat your ass at every game.

"Man, I can't believe we're competing with the Skrulls again, it's the third year in a row." Her twin's complaint made Wanda blink away, her face half-reddened with fear that she had been caught staring. But Pietro seemed busy enough with his own complaints. 

"Well, at least we're winning." Wanda retorted making him laugh. 

"Fair point." He said and looked at her. "Speaking of which, do you know what games you'll be competing in this year yet?"

"Um, I think I'll check with the girls first. I don't want to end up alone in swimming like last year." Wanda mutters and Pietro nods in understanding. 

Soon the monitors are addressing those who have already arrived, and Wanda loses sight of you - not that she was looking - and busies herself with going to the cabin that would be hers for the next week.

You, on the other hand, lose your bag in a pile.

"God, why does this always happen." You grumble in irritation as you manage to see the handle of your blue suitcase, below a few hundred others. 

"Every year, Y/N. And I keep saying, carry your bag on your lap, and you keep ignoring me." Your sister, Carol, comments beside you, throwing an arm around your shoulders. You roll your eyes, gently pushing her away. Carol is happy, with her dark, safe suitcase under her arm. 

"Stop bugging me and help me." You grumble and she laughs before trying to find a better position for you two to pull your bag together.

With a little effort, you manage to pull your backpack out, and you stumble backward with a grunt - bumping into someone who keeps you from falling to the ground - as Carol pulls your bag out of the pile.

"Yay, teamwork!" She celebrates on the other side, but you are busy turning to thank her who held you up, only to face your best friend with a small smile.

"Bucky!" you greet him excitedly, turning your body to hug him tightly by the neck, and laughing when he spins you in the air. 

You met Bucky at camp, and despite going to a rival school, you had enough things in common for the friendship to grow strong even though he was studying and living almost on the other side of the country. Fortunately, Skype and Whatsapp existed, and even as spring ended, you were still friends. 

"Hello, my favorite Danvers. " He greets like that only to annoy your sister behind you, who rolls her eyes and chuckles, moving closer to hug him as well as soon as you let go. "How was your trip, girls?"

"Y/N slept the whole way." Carol replies.

"And Carol ate the whole way." You accuse taking your bag from her hand and ignoring the grimace to add, "Oh, no, wait, I made a mistake. She was actually daydreaming about Natasha Romanoff."

"Shut up!" Carol grunted quickly, trying to hit you, a soft pink appearing on her cheeks. You fled from her hands, laughing and running toward the check-in booth where the monitors were calling out names, and Bucky shook his head for interaction watching your sister run after you.

Avengers Camp was huge, and besides the cabins divided up among all the students who stayed there during the vacation seasons, there was a lake, volleyball and tennis courts, an auditorium, and even an arcade. 

You were lucky to end up in a cabin with your sister and the other girls in your class - the brilliant Gwen Stacy and Darcy Lewis - who didn't seem too interested in the sports competitions but would surely win any of the scientific tests.

After packing up, all the campers were called to the main cabin, where there were tables scattered throughout the area, where the teenagers were seated ready to enjoy the delicious lunch and listen to the welcome speech.

Nick Fury was the Camp Director and no one could ever tell the real story behind his eye patch, each year new campers came up with new legends that made you laugh - like the story that an alien cat had been responsible for cutting the limb off.

"[...] It gives me great pleasure to welcome the honorary Skrulls from California!" Announced Fury and all the students of your school made a chorus of claps and shouts of celebration, banging on their desks. Fury laughed from his seat in the center of the room, waiting for the commotion to pass before announcing the other school. "And equally welcome, the so-far undefeated champions of the Spring Competitions, the Avengers!"

The rival school made an even better commotion, almost starting a food war. But you were having fun, even though your school had never beaten the Avengers in their home, it was to be expected that they would want to keep their camp as an undefeated venue. Even though last winter during the interclass event, the soccer team lost badly to another school. There was a taunt among the students that if the Avengers played away from home, they would lose. But you and the rest of your school were more interested in proving that you could beat them anywhere, and this was your last chance to be part of it.

As Fury continued with the general announcements - about the rules, and the competitions, concepts that were already very familiar to you after three years - you felt Bucky pull your cap off your head, muttering something about manners that made you laugh.

You were adjusting the tousled strands of hair when Carol gave you a gentle nudge.

"Your majesty will speak now." She sneers and you aren't even confused, knowing full well what this is about before you even raise your eyes to the center of the room again, and feel your stomach do a full turn at seeing Wanda Maximoff step up to the podium with the confidence and posture worthy of a queen.

You met Wanda in first grade, and from the first conflicting interactions, you have an obligation to call her a princess. Because the perfect little girl's posture is too annoying for you not to do so. This, and the fact that her father is a famous politician, and the family is deep in the money, kind of lives up to the nickname. Also, it gives you real amusement to see the pink in her cheeks when you call her that.

And Wanda, of course, is the representative speaker at the games. So every year until she graduates, she announces the competitions and collects the names, as well as basically running the whole thing with the other monitors. It's like Queen Bee and her subjects, and neither you nor any of your friends stop making fun of it.

"I didn't think the Maximoffs were going to come this year." Bucky comments low beside you, as Wanda announces that year's games. And you frown in confusion.

"What, but Wanda has basically been representing this competition forever." You reason, but Bucky shrugs his shoulders.

"I know, but I heard they were going back to their country for college." Bucky retorts. "And you have to admit, while Avengers Camp is fun, it's not worth much here for us to get admission points."

Carol murmurs in agreement. "Man, now I'm pissed they didn’t leave. Imagine a year without having to put up with Little Miss Perfect, a stolen dream." She mocks and you force a laugh, a strange feeling in your stomach. You should be happy at the possibility of not having to put up with Wanda. But it occurs to you that the games wouldn't be as much fun without her.

Clearing your throat, you poke at your food with your fork. 

"I think I'll sign up just for racing this year." Bucky comments beside you. "We have Football season, and I don't want to end up accidentally hurting myself before the games."

"But you love wrestling." You say but he shrugs his shoulders, offering you a small smile.

It occurs to you as the announcements end, and students have to move to leave their names for the competitions, that the seniors are not very excited. Probably the stress of college admissions, you can relate to that yourself, still, it's a little sad to see how little participation from classmates your age.

"Danvers sisters, good to have you back for another year." Fury greets you excitedly as soon as you and Carol approach the registration stand - where there is a small crowd of students trying to choose which games they will compete in, and put their names on the prepared murals. 

"Hey, Nick!" Carol greets back, doing a handshake that she never taught you with the principal. You merely offer him a smile. "How's the family?"

You took the attention away from your sister as you approached the mural that read Wildness Competitions, adjusting your cap slightly as you did so. There were many options for activities at Avengers Camp, and you usually chose mostly the ones that the public school wouldn't give you access to for the rest of the school year, like Hispism or Fencing, the latter being a secret talent.

"Well, if it isn't the Skrulls’ Golden Armor Knight." A female voice mocked behind you, and you were smiling before you even turned around. 

"Maximoff, it's always a displeasure." You retorted sarcastically, your hands in your pockets. Wanda doesn't flinch at your rudeness, tossing her hair to the side as she approaches with some buttons which she as a representative, needs to put on the murals to signal about the teams.

"Having trouble picking your sport this year, Danvers? A suggestion, try to remember that you are going to lose no matter what."

"Really? 'Cause as far as I remember, that shiny trophy up there has my name on it." You retort nodding to where the fencing awards are set in the corner of the main hall. Wanda rolls her eyes. "But don't worry, princess, I'll go easy on you this year."

Wanda lets out a wry laugh, her eyes glittering in defiance.

"I guess it's more the other way around, huh?" She retorts. "Or in case you've forgotten, the highest number of wins is still mine."

Wanda had a point. You could win at Fencing all you wanted - and get the ridiculous nickname of Skrulls’ Golden Armor Knight from the girl just to annoy you - but Wanda still won everything. From archery to fighting to spelling. Never in a million years would you admit that maybe you were losing because you were busier trying not to be distracted by her annoyingly pretty face.

"Let's see how this year turns out." You tell her with clear defiance in your voice, and Wanda smiles, moving closer, and you swallow dryly, your body tensing up. But she is just reaching for something behind you - a jar with other buttons - and offers you an innocent smile.

"Game on, Danvers." She says, grabbing one of the items and placing it in your hands before turning around, hips swaying more than necessary as if she knew exactly where you were going to look, and you choke softly, your face heating up before you shake your head and focus on the badge in your hands. The symbol of your school pinned on it.

–//–

The first day of competitions was a complete success for the Avengers, which means it was complete hell for you.

Unlike basically all the rest of your colleagues who were taking it easy, you almost destroyed a snack machine that refused to deliver your energy drink after you finished in second place for the fourth consecutive activity. If anyone asked, you were annoyed because of the little victorious smile Wanda had on her face all morning, but no one asked, because Carol had to drag you away from the brunette to avoid you jumping on her neck and pulling that little smile off yourself.

"It's so strange to see you like this." Your sister comments as soon as you guys are so back at the cabin, and you flopped down on the bed, grunting irritably against the pillow.

Gwen - who participated in the short race and was still wearing the same uniform as you - handed Carol the small bottle of energy drink that the machine released after you and Wanda got into a heated argument. 

"Like what?" you asked confused with your voice muffled by the pillowcase. Your sister laughed.

"So angry." She clarified by sitting down in one of the armchairs to take off her shoes. "I'm the hothead Danvers, you know? You're like, so good vibes all the time."

"I agree, and I don't even hang out with you guys that much." Gwen remarks before moving to grab her shower stuff. You prop yourself up on the bed with a chair.

"What are you trying to tell me?" You ask your sister, and she gives a short chuckle, shrugging.

"Nothing, I just think it's weird." She mumbles. "You're so calm usually, but just walk into the same room as Wanda and you turn into a ticking time bomb. It feels like she has some sort of switch, or as that other saying goes, of the matchstick and the spark-"

"This conversation doesn't make any sense." You interrupt by frowning and standing up. "I am as I have always been, and it's not my fault if Wanda is the most annoying creature on the planet who keeps wanting to beat me at everything. I'll be taking a shower before you come up with any other weird sayings."

The locker room was a complete mess, but at least you were distracted by Gwen's comments about the competition and about the Avengers planning a sleepover to care about.

Since the next competitions were not until the afternoon, you finished your shower and decided to put on a comfortable sweater to spend the next few hours with Bucky at the lake, and were just finishing putting on your socks when giggles attracted your attention.

Well, you recognized the sound, and you had a hundred insults ready to use, but when you turned your face and had the image of Wanda in a towel, they all disappeared with any other coherent thought.

She was laughing at some comment her colleague made, but when her gaze met with yours, her smile faltered.

"Hey, Danvers, nice running today." She complimented, the sentence loaded with sarcasm. 

"Yeah, Y/N, congratulations on the silver medal." Wanda's friend, you think her name is Monica, said and unlike the brunette, she seemed completely sincere. 

You didn't respond with more than a hum of understanding, suddenly hyperaware that Wanda was without clothes just a few feet away from you. Turning your attention back to your socks, you cleared your throat softly, trying to keep your gaze in front of you.

Wanda took up a locker three feet away from yours. You could see her figure out of the corner of your eye. Long legs exposed and-"

You cleared your throat again, shaking your head quietly. 

"Are you going to watch the boys' race, Y/N?" It was Monica who asked - from the locker behind yours - and you frowned slightly.

"Hmm, I'm not sure." You muttered, feeling your face heat up when you saw Wanda take her underwear out of the cabinet. " I don't really have anyone to watch there."

"Really? But I thought you and that long-haired cutie were going out." Monica comments excitedly, and you turn your head to her with confusion. "What's his name again? Ben?"

"Bucky." You correct and don't notice the way Wanda is glancing at you out of the corner of her eye, pretending to be busy with her own clothes. "And we're not dating, he's just my friend. Besides, he decided not to run."

Monica makes a noise of agreement, and you look away because she is suddenly changing and you don't want to be disrespectful.

"We'll watch Pietro race, but I'd honestly rather hang out at the arcade." Monica continues. "We can play something after the race, can you call your sister to join us?"

"Sure, Monica." You mutter finishing your shoes. You stand, and turn around, ready to say goodbye, but you face Wanda without a towel and simply freeze.

She, despite the soft pink appearing on her cheeks, holds your gaze, a small smile threatening to leave her lips as she works to put on her bra. You let your gaze lower, your heart racing in your ears as the image of full breasts and down to her belly and-"

"O-kay, I'll see you later." You gasp with a very hot face, stumbling off the bench and running so fast from the locker room that you leave Monica with a confused expression.

"What was that?" She asks, and Gwen, who you didn't even remember to say goodbye to, shrugs her shoulders.

"I think she may be trying to avoid arguments." She suggests, and the comment makes Wanda sigh softly as she finishes dressing. "Speaking of which, Maximoff, any chance you'll go easy on Y/N? She gets stressed when she loses to you."

Wanda chuckles. " Not a chance."

–//–

One of the afternoon competitions, besides the boys' race, was archery. Which meant watching Kate Bishop, a girl from the year before yours, destroy all the older students. Her coach, Clint Barton, kept smiling proudly with each completed trial, and you overheard some students from the Avengers saying how he was sure to write a letter of recommendation there when the time came for Kate to enter the university.

However, this year you were distracted. Bucky and Carol were sitting next to you, clapping and whistling for Kate along with her friends - Yelena Belova, who was coincidentally the sister of your sister's long-time crush, Natasha Romanoff, and Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson, the latter two being on the soccer team with Bucky.

While everyone was impressed by the long-range targets, you were trying to keep the image of Wanda out of your head. The problem was that ever since you saw her without a towel in the locker room, the curve of her waist, and of her breasts seemed to have stuck.

"Are you okay?" Bucky's voice snapped you out of your fantasy. "Your face is red."

"I'm fine." You mumble grudgingly, stretching out your legs and letting your cap cover your eyes. "I'm just resting my eyes."

"Kate just hit a target in the sky." He comments. " It was pretty incredible."

"I bet it was." You merely reply, the image of something far more interesting in your head. Bucky makes a confused face but doesn't insist. 

When the next contestant was announced, you grunted softly and started to get up, muttering that you were feeling queasy and were going to get some air. The ironic comment about you being outside already made by Carol was ignored.

You ended up in the back of one of the huts, and as you leaned your back against the wood, you took a deep breath.

Stop thinking about her. Stop thinking-

"Victory is already ours but you didn't have to skip the game." The teasing made you flinch. On any other day, before what happened in the locker room at least, any comment from Wanda would have been rebutted with an equally sarcastic one. But the image of her naked torso was still fresh in your mind, insistent, and you just wanted to be left alone.

"Fuck off, Maximoff." Aggressiveness failed in your tone, as your voice faltered hoarsely over your thoughts. You didn't have time to fix your mistake - Wanda was already mockingly chuckling, slow steps toward you.

"You know, I've been practically fencing back home. I even have a private tutor now." She informs you, to which you just roll your eyes without patience, trying to look at everything but the girl in front of you. "Maybe it's time for that trophy to stamp another name."

You chuckled dryly, stealing a glance at her.  "In your dreams."

"No, I'll just kick your ass in reality." She assures you finally close enough. "It'll be too easy, you're all distracted this year..."

Your breath hitched in your throat as Wanda simply began to move closer, eyes intense and provocative as her tone of voice. You stared at her in shock at the magnetic tension between you, wondering if she would have the courage to break the distance as you wished to do. Wait, since when did you-

"Maximoff, Danvers." The voice of one of the monitors broke the momentum completely and made you both jump in fright, away from each other as if you had been burned. "The game is still going on. What are you two doing alone here? I hope it's not another fight-"

"No, sir-"

"Go mind your own business, Logan." You cut off the apologies of the good girl next to you, practically pushing her out of your way as you moved away from the cabin wall. The monitor grimaced at the hostility, but you knew him long enough to know you wouldn't have a problem. Logan was like an older sibling, and you didn't need another in this position. "We were just talking, or rather, Maximoff was bugging me, as usual."

Wanda snorted angrily, but Logan rolled his eyes impatiently at the whole thing. "Back to the game, girls." He ordered, ignoring your grumbling that you were already walking anyway and waiting for Wanda to do the same.

She followed you back to the bow field - Surprisingly quiet. You were too busy trying not to think about her to notice, and at some point, you both took completely opposite directions, drifting apart in the crowd of students.

Carol, however, noticed you coming, and as soon as you were seated again, she looked at you with a frown.

"What were you and Wanda doing?"

The question startled you as if your sister had been able to read your last thoughts. You grimaced immediately, knowing that your face was blushing.

"What? Nothing." You assured quickly, irritation in your voice. "We just bumped into each other in the entryway."

Carol didn't buy the lie judging by the look on her face, but she didn't have time to question - Kate won the event undefeated, and a crowd of clapping and celebrations erupted in the open field.

With the last match of the day, and having won the vast majority of the challenges, the Avengers were happy enough for a Victory party - Which was nonetheless a direct tease to the Skrulls, who by some miraculous luck, if manage to win all the next day's matches, could win the tournament. In this way, the crowd took the celebration back to the camp's main campfire, where the staff arranged dining tables and benches for the first outdoor meal of the holidays.

Alcohol was obviously not allowed, and that never stopped campers from smuggling it between disguised water bottles. 

As one of the athletes for tomorrow's competitions, you decided to stay away from alcohol - quite unlike your sister, who took advantage of vodka shots to build up the courage to talk to Natasha Romanoff.

You were watching her awkward attempts from a safe distance with Bucky beside you, laughing softly when the boy announced that he was also going to try his luck with the one he liked tonight.

The thing was, Bucky didn't like anyone - As far as you knew. So the information caught you by surprise.

"Wait. What?" 

But he chuckled, waving to a front with his glass, and you frowned trying to find the person. It took you a moment to realize that it was Sam Wilson, Co-Captain of the American Football Team. Avenger.

"Wow, he's..."

"An avenger, I know."

You chuckle, hiding your smile as you look down at your soda glass. "I was going to say handsome."

Bucky was blushing. You gave him the privacy to keep your gaze on Sam, knowing it would get worse if you stared at your friend. 

"Fuck, yeah, I know." He gasped softly making you laugh. 

"When did this happen?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, back at school?" He starts half uncertain. "We played together and he started to follow me on Instagram. One day, just playing conversation and even insults until it turned into a habit..." He jokes with a short laugh. "We came back here and it made sense. You know?"

You giggle at your friend's nervousness and clumsiness, finding the whole thing kind of adorable. "Yeah, I guess so." You say. "Go ahead, talk to him."

He sighs, deciding to turn his glass all at once before waving at you and heading off to talk to Sam Wilson.

Alone, you think about joining some colleagues closer to the fire, but nearby laughter catches your attention.

There is something about Wanda Maximoff's beauty that takes your breath away. And it's not fair that it seems to grow in the dim light of the moon and the stars. And Wanda, surrounded by her friends, laughing at something she has been told, with soft dimples in her cheeks, it is even more unfair the way the image makes your stomach turn nervously.

Has she always been beautiful like this, since her first win, and you were too busy with the game to notice? Or somehow, the school has changed you enough in the last year to notice that although Wanda was the most insufferable person you knew, she needs to be recognized as the most beautiful girl you have ever seen.

And then, if you think about it as you notice her not minding having her moment with her friends interrupted to help a freshman camper who seems lost as to where their cabin is, you'll realize that Wanda, when she's not competing with you and testing all your buttons, is not so insufferable. You will notice that she has always been kind and thoughtful and that people don't make her the leader of everything because she is rich or beautiful, but because she is the best at organizing games, and guiding people. And if you think about it, you will recognize that Wanda is just as tired as you are at the races, sweaty and breathless, and just as bright and hard-working at everything. 

You suddenly think that Wanda deserved to win for the first time, as you have never acknowledged before. She must really be much brighter than you, because she surely wouldn't have taken all this time to realize what she was feeling.

Did it occur to you, so many years after you first laid eyes on her, that now you were really seeing her. There, near the campfire, accepting some more soda, so, so gorgeous.

'Fuck." You gasped in realization under your breath into the night, feeling something burn behind your eyes. 

Wanda, as if she could guess, even sense the moment you pined for her attention, looked away for her friends until she met your gaze. She hesitated before assuming the same expression as always - Ready to torment you - but this time, you looked on the verge of tears when you stared back.

The second she noticed, she frowned in concern, all the masked arrogance falling from her face. But you didn't give her any time to react, you left your glass on the first table you could find and practically ran away from there. From her.

And of course, Wanda would be stubborn and insistent enough to follow you. Not daring to call your name on the way as if she guessed that you were going to run until you disappeared, or worse, turn to her and tell her to mind her own business.

When you walked inside the fencing hall, empty of course, she let her head work without thinking straight about what she was accusing you of.

You barely reached the sword cabinet when she walked in through the ajar door.

"I should have known you would try to cheat." She sneered convinced that she had caught you in the act. You froze, not for the reasons she imagines, your hands still on the closet lock. "That's sad, even for you, Danvers."

"Shut up." 

She chuckled wickedly, crossing her arms as she stopped a little behind you. "Come on, if you admit it, I might consider not reporting you to the juries."

It was your turn to chuckle - Unlike her, almost tearfully. Wanda hesitated, confused, even more so when you turned to her, and your face had tears dried on the way there on your cheeks.

"Get out of here before I do something stupid." 

But Wanda uncrossed her arms, concern on her face. "I've never seen you cry before."

"Wanda, I swear to god-"

"Not even when you broke your arm back in the first year." She recalls as she takes a step forward, and another, raising one of her hands toward your face slowly. You know you should move away, push her before she could realize how much you were trembling, how hot your skin was, but you couldn't move a muscle it. Wanda touched your cheek and you gasped, unable to keep your eyes open. "Sweetheart, what happened?"

It was so tender, so loving that your heart jumped in your chest. You almost sobbed, but instead, your emotions mixed and you raised your hand to her wrist, gripping hard but not pushing away, your angry eyes hiding insecurity that Wanda could only see because she knew you well enough, perhaps better than anyone else, even if neither of you had ever admitted this.

"Why do you care?" That's what you retorted, and it took her by surprise because Wanda didn't expect to have to answer that question. Not to her father, when she insisted that she was going back to Camp this year and he demanded a reason, nor to Pietro who questioned her why she still kept the brooch with the Danvers name on it that you lost to her in a card game in sophomore year. And even less to you, with tears in your eyes inside the hall of the only game she could never win.  Her hesitation made you let go of her wrist, a tired sigh leaving your lips. "You don't. I...please, Wanda, just leave me alone."

You scared her. You looked so small, so insecure and uncertain, vulnerable. You? Never in a million years had you allowed Wanda to see you like this. She didn't know how to cope with it.

Your footsteps moved away, and by your breath, you were crying. She came closer but lost the courage to break your privacy. Her mind filled with anxiety - It didn't matter how long you had known each other. You were rivals, nothing more than that. Wanda had no right to invade your space.

"Go away." You insisted seriously with a voice hoarse with emotion and Wanda shuddered. It was different from the anger of losing - It was almost as if she had stabbed you in the back. Or had hurt you.

She swallowed dryly, and before you could repeat the order, she spoke:

"If I win tomorrow, you will tell me what happened."

The deal hangs in the air for a few moments, carrying the tension between the two of you. Wanda almost decides to leave without an answer when you sigh.

"What if I win?"

She smiles even though you can't see it. "You can pick your prize." She says and doesn't wait for you to think about it, clearing her throat before murmuring goodnight and leaving the hall.

You walk away to the trophy cabinet again and stare at one of the photographs of last year's Fencing team. You and Wanda are in it, in opposite positions. And for the first time in three years, you wish she were standing right next to you.

–//–

Sleep puts some sense into your head. 

You were practically mortified with shame after thinking about the whole interaction with Wanda the night before, imagining that it now gave her enough power to somehow humiliate you and then hating that you thought that way of Wanda, who despite the rivalries, didn't seem the sort of person who would use a moment like that to mock you in the least.

So you had a foolproof plan the next morning: You would win fencing, and ask Wanda to stay away from you for the rest of the summer as your prize, succinctly hiding any unwanted feelings until it was time to leave Camp so that you would never have to see Wanda Maximoff again.

You think you were lucky this whole thing was happening in the last year.

The next day of competitions seemed to have been more aggressive than the previous one. To your complete happiness, the Avengers were irresponsible enough about the previous day's party to get careless.

The Skrull won the day's activities - Tight, you have to admit - but still champions. It wasn't all of them, unfortunately, but it would put both teams through to the final day of matches the next afternoon.

Fencing was one of the last competitions. 

You managed to avoid Wanda and her worried glances all morning, and consequently, your friends and sister, who noticed the lack of fighting between you. 

The fencing hall was considerably full when you arrived. Although most people didn't share much interest in the sport, everyone enjoyed watching you and Wanda compete. 

She was already in uniform when you arrived, and you ignored with a tightness in your chest her attempt to search in your face for any discomfort from the previous night. 

"You're late, Danvers." Professor Jacques Duquesne warned, also in uniform and with a sword at his waist. You sighed wearily, taking off your jacket to put on your uniform.

"Sorry, I... I didn't want to come." You muttered quietly, and the man frowned in confusion.

"What was that?" he asked without having heard, but you forced a smile.

"Nothing. Shall we get started?"

The spectators arranged themselves around you just as the teams were getting into position to compete. As Captains, you and Wanda were the last.

Your team won most of the duels, which on any other occasion would have cheered you up infinitely. But not today, because you spent most of the competition stealing glances at Wanda, who did the same, unsure of whether or not to approach you.

You had to face the champions of her team, as did Wanda with yours, and so when you finally went to face each other, you shared the slightly breathless but undefeated posture.

Wanda removed her protective helmet to drink water, and her slightly ruffled hair and rosy cheeks made your heart soar. 

Somehow, you decided that teasing her was a better idea than complimenting her on how pretty she looked.

"Hey Maximoff, did Daddy pay for private lessons for the rest of your team as well?"

Your team laughed at the joke, but Wanda finished a long sip of the water leisurely, staring at you long enough to make you feel completely clumsy.

As soon as she returned the bottle to the table, she stared at you again.

"Are you really going to pretend nothing happened yesterday, Danvers?" 

Everyone who was paying attention to the conversation whispered in curiosity, and your body froze. Wanda didn't seem to mind the audience one bit, but you huffed impatiently when Carol asked what she was talking about.

Without answering either of them, you turned your back and walked to the mat, waiting for the competition to begin.

As it turns out, teasing and ignoring Wanda seemed to have infuriated her. The hall filled with tension once the last duel began, and you, and all your confidence as an undefeated champion faltered when Wanda became a beast in the sport overnight.

She scored two points in a row, moving so quickly and masterfully that if you didn't have a reputation to uphold you would have congratulated her.

"It looks like we're going to have a new champion this year." Mr.Duquesne commented proudly and teasingly, receiving a chorus of soft celebration from the Avengers present.

You've had enough.

She tried hard to maintain a defensive position, but you scored within seconds of the announcement that the round had begun.

With the tip of the sword still on her chest, you teased:

"I guess we can't buy talent after all." 

Wanda grunted angrily, without waiting for the next round to be announced, spun the sword striking yours, and resumed the duel. You fought back every blow with the mastery of a champion, but Wanda didn't back down once.

"What's the matter, Maximoff, can't get me?" You sneered between one defense and another, irritating her even more. When it looked like she was going to hit you, you spun your body around and hit her in the arm.

The audience, completely tense, split between boos and cheers of celebration. The teacher laughed impressed.

"It's a draw." He said. "Girls, get back to-"

But Wanda attacked you - For a microsecond, you managed to react in time and prevent her from scoring.

She seemed a lot angrier all of a sudden, and you kept up the defense, waiting for a gap that apparently she wasn't going to provide.

Long steps backward to avoid the sword in your direction, in an albeit hurried, fully coordinated dance, Wanda managed to take the fight to the outside. 

The crowd got excited and drowned out Mr.Duquesne's protests about rules, the whole group following you and Wanda outside. Any campers who had previously been uninterested in watching the match took an immediate interest in the fight taking place, and it wasn't long before there was a large number of people in an open circle around the huts, trying to watch.

In one of the deflections, you had to do a somersault between two haystacks to dodge a blow that was impossible to block, stealing certain victory from the girl behind you, who grunted in annoyance.

In the motion, you knocked the helmet off your head.

"Going to play dirty then, Maximoff? Fine." You gasped equally affected at the girl who had paused her attacks. "It's our last year, let's make it count."

Wanda removed her helmet as well, her sword still raised for any attempted attacks. "I'm listening, Danvers." She returns between teeth, and you have to smile.

"I invoke a military challenge." You announce then, surprising her for only half a second. "No masks, no tips." You continue, the audience getting excited. "First one to draw blood wins. I might give you a nice scar to remind you who defeated you."

Some Skrulls laugh, but Wanda is not intimidated. She throws her helmet away and raises her chin in your direction. 

"What about our deal?"

You swallow dryly, but try to disguise it. "Still standing."

A glimmer of a smile forms on Wanda's lips, and she has the nobility to wait for you to nod before attacking next time.

It's suddenly much harder to fight Wanda. You blame these stupid feelings on your chest because once you realize that if you hit her, you're going to hurt her, you just can't do it.

Wanda doesn't seem to have much of a problem with that, because she attacks you with fervor. You think you might lose, because of the way she starts cornering you, and no chance for you to do another flip, so you despair. If you lose, you'll have to confess why you were crying, and that's unacceptable.

She throws a low, clean hit, but you jump. Before Wanda can get ready for the next one, you grab her waist and pull her to you.

The protest about the rules is muffled in your ears as your lips crash against hers. Wanda gasps, closing her eyes and dropping her sword to the ground at the same second the entire audience goes completely silent, shocked.

It's good, no, it's incredible. As breathtakingly overwhelming as you imagined kissing Wanda Maximoff would feel. She gasps against your lips, pressing back, and your chest screams. 

The audience vibrates and you wake up, realizing what you had just done.

You let go of Wanda with a long step away from her, who opens her eyes at the same moment, her breathing now affected for a completely different reason. She looks at you dumbfounded.

"W-what are you-" She tries as she steps forward, her hand raised towards your wrist, but you flinch. You raise your sword, and with one clean strike, hit her palm. 

The cut is small, but it makes her grunt in pain and surprise. You feel like you might start crying again, but you declare in a hoarse voice:

"I won."

Wanda's eyes fill with tears, but you assume they are tears of rage by the way she begins to shout angrily in the teacher's direction, saying that you had cheated while trying to be heard as the audience begins to shout your name and spread out in celebration.

Duquesne is equally in shock and mutters that technically there isn't a rule about kissing your opponent.

They lift you into the air, with the trophy, but when you capture Wanda's head-down posture and the completely hurt look she gives you before turning away, you don't feel like you've won anything.

–//–

With an injury, Wanda was out of all the upcoming competitions, which were sure to count in the Skrulls' favor.

Your school couldn't be happier, and you couldn't be more miserable.

Wanda was walking around the camp with her hand bandaged and you just wanted to get away from the people who kept congratulating you on the duel. 

There was also the matter of the angry stares from the other Avengers, especially your opponent's twin, which only made you feel like the worst person in the world.

When night came, and a few groups decided to set up card tables from poker to blackjack, you slipped outside to breathe properly.

The universe was surely testing you when you met Wanda across the door, and to add to your misfortune, she wasn't alone.

Some stupid guy was cornering her against the wall of one of the booths - clearly flirting by whispering things in her ear that made her giggle shyly.

With your jaw locked, you approached them in hard steps.

"Hey, Maximoff, I want to talk to you." You announced impatiently, feeling your chest burn with the scene in front of you.

She flinched at your sudden arrival, but the boy let out a short laugh.

"We're already in a conversation, cheater." He sneered, his hand on the wall coming down to Wanda's shoulders. "Why don't you go back to your cabin?"

"Listen here asshole-"

But Wanda sighed impatiently, pulling the boy's arm off her with a shove. "Fuck off you two, my day was bad enough to deal with this now."

She stormed off annoyed without caring, and you huffed impatiently. When the boy made mention of following her, you stepped in front of him, receiving a wry laugh.

"Back off, Danvers." He warned. "You may be a girl, but if you piss me off I'll break your face."

The kick to the ball made him bend his knees, grunting in pain. You didn't let him fall, holding him by the shoulders to mock against his ear:

"It's more the other way, don't you think?" He couldn't answer, still shaking from the blow. You pushed him away, and he fell to the ground, holding his front. "Stay away from her, she's mine."

Despite the pain, he gasped in confusion, "I thought you two hated each other, you maniac!"

Without bothering to respond, you headed off in the direction the girl had left.

Wanda was clearly not in the mood for conversation, but you had to chuckle as you realized where she was going - or practically running at hard paces. 

The fencing hall was empty of course. Even the Professor had joined the rest of the staff for the day's celebrations, and so you followed Wanda without any concern.

"I don't want to talk to you, Danvers." She warned between teeth still on her back, hearing your breaths panting from the rush of having to catch up with her. You chuckle humourlessly, closing the door behind you.

"But you got time for some idiot to flirt with you?" your retort came out so bitter - so jealous - that Wanda turned her face to you with a frown in complete confusion.

"How is that your problem?" She demanded but you shrugged relaxedly. The lack of an answer only irritated her more. "I've had enough of you for today don't you think? Leave me alone."

You snickered taking a step forward that made her lock her jaw.

"Come on, what's this?" You teased. "One defeat and you get tired of all? Don't you even want to try a rematch?"

It was Wanda's turn to chuckle, the tension growing between the two of you with every second. 

"So you can cheat again? Hard pass."

You smiled, raising your hands in the air as a sign of surrender. 

"I don't need to cheat, Maximoff." You retorted. "Everyone, including you and I, knows I'm the best." You declare receiving a snort and a roll of the eyes. But you continue to smile, not losing your confidence. "In fact, I bet I can beat you even without a sword."

Wanda shook her head. "You know what, Danvers? You must have had a few beers, huh?" She deduced, motioning to the sword cabinet and continuing to speak without giving you a chance to deny it. "Any other day, I'd tell you to fuck off and leave me alone. But you were a brat today, that whole scene and whatever manipulation you were trying to pull off with the crying and then the kissing..."

You hesitate, losing your posture completely. "Wanda, I wasn't-"

But she chuckles, interrupting you. "Whatever it is, let's put an end to it." She says seriously, arming herself with one of the swords. "You got what you wanted. Me, out of all competitions because of this stupid injury and your team winning tomorrow. Yep, I admit it. Everyone knows you guys are going to win baseball, it's your school's specialty, and there's no reason to deny it. But let's be honest about today: you cheated. And I want you to acknowledge that I would have won."

You sigh, deciding to put an end to those games with each other, as Wanda wanted. But not in the way she expects.

Shrugging, you gesture with open arms. "I'm really sorry, Wanda." You say in a false tone of regret. "I'm sorry you're such a bad loser."

Wanda grunted in irritation, and in the blink of an eye, spun the sword around - Hitting your open hand and mirroring your bruises. You gasped in pain, taking a step backward.

"What the hell-"

But your shock was short-lived, Wanda moved and you reacted. Without a sword, your only option was to dodge and that was the hardest task. 

"Just admit it, Danvers!" Wanda demanded between one blow and another, growing breathless as the movements went on. "I am. Better.Than. You." Each word was punctuated with an attempt to hit you - Not really to hurt but to lean in and mark. 

She finally hit you for the second time when she trapped you between one cupboard and another. You protested in irritation at the gentle burning on your thigh.

"You little shit." You cursed low as you dodged her last. Wanda smiled in satisfaction. 

Somehow, you managed to get around her after a miscalculated blow that pinned her sword to a cushion. Wanda got busy trying to pull the item out and gave you enough time to jump on her.

Her healthy hand tried to pull the sword out to hit you but you kicked the handle, and the item flew to the ground. Wanda protested breathlessly, trying to struggle away, but you pressed her against the wall of the room by the waist.

Faces flushed from the exertion and proximity, she looked at you with a fury in her eyes that didn't just look like anger.

"Fuck off, Danvers, let me go!" She demanded clearly affected, her fists closed against your shoulders. You weren't thinking straight - Since when did Wanda look so beautiful when she was pissed off? - She tried to throw punches but you grabbed her fists, holding them tightly against you. "You just can't help it, can you? You know you can't beat me and you just keep cheating!"

"Yeah, I can't help it." You pant, letting your gaze fall to her mouth. Her breathing hitches and when you start to lean in, Wanda gasps, stopping struggling.

"Don't." She asks in a whisper, and you stop leaning in the same instant, worried eyes scanning her face. Wanda's fill with tears. "I can't take it... if it's just a game... if you don't mean it."

Your heart races in your chest, threads of hope burning outwards.

You stare into her eyes, trying to read everything she hasn't explained. "You... You want me to mean it?"

Wanda sighs incredulously, tired. 

"I've been waiting for you to notice me for three years, Danvers." 

"W-what?"

Wanda looks away, despite her rosy cheeks like your own, she looks sad.

"I'm just tired of all this cat and mouse between us." She continues. "Trying to capture your attention for the few days we have together each year. You've never seen me that way, and I just don't have it in me to keep trying to get you to notice me." She declares with a sigh. "Let me go, okay? It's our last year, you'll never see me again after this spring, it doesn't have to be weird on our last days. We can do a truce, and be mature about-"

Instead of letting her finish her completely meaningless monologue for feelings that Wanda has no idea are much reciprocated, you just kiss her. Though abrupt, your lips are soft on hers. She shudders, first surprised and then affected, ready to reciprocate when you loosen her.

"I notice you, Wanda." You confess in a husky voice and short breath. "Every damn day of this camp, from the first moment I saw you. I noticed you, and I liked you. So much, it infuriated me. All I could think about was you and your face and your jokes and every little smile of victory. I never hated you, Wanda, I just hated how much I cared about you."

She gasps softly, trying to believe the confessions. "B-but you never said anything..."

"Neither did you." You retort with a small smile. "We just competed. Yelling at each other, trying to... just put it out, never saying the right words. Well, I'll do the honors, I guess. Wanda, I like you. I'm in love with you. The whole puppy love, to the moon and back, lovey-dovey, carry a torch for-"

Wanda interrupts your sweet teasing with a soft, emotional giggle. "Shut up, you idiot." She says, pulling you by the collar of the blouse to kiss you again. Slower than the other time, bringing delicious shivers to your entire body. She breaks away only to say she feels the same way.

Then you just kiss her again, just to make sure. It's easy to get addicted to the feeling of her lips on yours until her tongue slides over and starts to get too hot all around. The sound of lips slapping together mingles with affected gasps until the pace picks up and all the accumulated lust from so long of rivalry burns between you.

Wanda grows impatient - Her mouth firmly pressed to yours distracts you from where her hands are moving. You grunt affected as she scratches under your shirt, your back, and your torso, trying to pull you over her. 

You press your hips together to keep her against the wall pulling out an affected whimper that makes you shiver - But surrendered to the urge, you forget about recent events and press your open palm to the wall for support. The pain is immediate and makes you break the kiss with a yelp.

Wanda opens her eyes worriedly, trying to push all the arousal away. "What's wrong?" She asks, but you're already bringing your bruised hand to chest height.

"I forgot about it." You mumble, trying to squeeze your hand to make the pain go away. Wanda bites back a smile.

"Karma's a bitch, huh?" she teases, getting a short laugh out of you. Your instinct is to kiss her again at the same intensity as before, but Wanda doesn't let you, breaking the session the next moment. "Easy tiger." 

A little breathless and definitely missing kissing her, you ask, "Don't you want it anymore?"

She licks her lips, looking away to try and gain some rationality again. "I don't think you'll be able to do much with a bruised hand, huh?" It's clearly a joke, but you're too turned on to catch it.

"Well, I have another one, and my mouth..." Wanda stares at you in stunned shock, her face burning and her eyes darkening a little. You grunt in shame, hiding your face in her collarbone. "Shit, you didn't mean it."

She giggles awkwardly, wrapping her arms around your waist. "You need a bandage, baby. We'll have time for this later."

You raise your gaze to her again, and Wanda stares at you doubtfully from your expression. "I like it when you call me that."

She smiles, teasing and loving at the same time. "Better than shithead, I suppose."

"They both have their charm, I guess." You joke back managing to make her laugh before stealing a few more kisses.

All the way to the infirmary, all you can think about is how happy you are - And how your friends are going to adjust to the new dynamic.

–//–

Falling into a routine with Wanda was as easy as falling for her.

The familiar teasing didn't end - In a way, it got infinitely better, because, after each little bickering, you and Wanda made up with lots of kisses.

The most absurd thing was your sister's reaction. No surprise at all.

"I mean, everyone saw you two kissing." She retorted unimpressed, continuing to eat her breakfast as if you hadn't spent the previous day preparing the best way to tell. You huffed indignantly, but Wanda sighed, giving you a pat on the back before going to sit down. The same reaction for your friends, who seemed even somewhat reassured that now they wouldn't have to endure the arguing.

As for the rest of the people, well, everyone else had their own lives to take care of to give a damn about what Wanda and you have been up to.

With the baseball game approaching and the end of Spring Break, there was an understanding between you and Wanda that your time together was coming to an end. You didn't want to talk about it - to avoid creating impossible expectations if you considered the distance between California and New York and the hurt of an inevitable goodbye. 

For now, you and Wanda were enjoying as much time together as possible, and that included escaping the game to make out before and between breaks.

Wanda giggled affectedly at the tickling your fingers did next to her hips, an attempt to make her relax to what was about to happen between you since the first kisses began. The question hung in the air and the way your breaths were uncompressed and your clothes crumpled.

"They'll start looking for us at some point..." Wanda recalled, the noise of the game resuming in the background, muffled by the closed doors of the empty locker room where you two were hiding. Despite the warning, her hands were entwined behind your neck, and her legs tight around your waist. The cheer skirt pulled up by your hands on her thighs.

You hum in understanding, distracted by the soft skin of her collarbone. You traced a path down to the valley of her covered breasts and Wanda shuddered, moaning in anticipation.

But as soon as your hands reached under her skirt, fingers playing with the fabric of her panties, Wanda tensed anxiously, biting her lips as she sought your gaze. 

"Is everything okay?" You asked immediately, stopping your movements and staring back at her. "Do you want me to continue...?"

Wanda let out a broken breath, the look full of anxiety made you frown. You were ready to assure her it was okay if she refused when she replied:

"I want to but... I've never done it before." She confesses in a small whisper, and your heart skips a beat. "And also, I had to talk to my friends about this, and they told me it would be special because we like each other but I just kept thinking that it's going to happen and it will be amazing and when you leave, I'll never be able to do it again without remembering you and I'll be missing you back home..."

"Hey, breathe." You interrupted her anxious babbling with a small chuckle, moving your hands to her face, and squeezing her cheeks for a moment. "God, you're so beautiful." You murmured staring at her adoringly. Wanda blushed, looking away, "Hey, look at me, sweetheart. You want to talk about leaving?"

She swallowed dryly, nodding. "I'm sorry." She mumbles immediately. "I know we kind of agreed not to talk about it, but... fuck, I really like you. If I, you know... have sex with you, I'm just sure I'll fall harder. And I don't know if I want to go through the pain of losing you in a few days."

You swallowed dryly, caressing her cheeks as you absorbed her words. Wanda was even more nervous at your silence.

"Say something, please."

You smiled, staring at her. "I'm sorry, I just... I really am in love with you, Wanda." You confessed tenderly, making her blush. "Sex or no sex, I really am. And saying goodbye to you will hurt." 

Wanda nods sadly before hugging you. "Yeah, I know." When she sniffles softly, you kiss her neck to calm her, until her breathing stabilizes again and Wanda releases you to kiss you gently, once and twice, until it starts to get hot again and she sighs against your lips, her trembling fingers groping your body unhurriedly as if she wants to memorize.

"Baby..." She called softly against your lips, her hands moving up into your blouse and making you shudder. "I want to make love to you." She whispered taking all the air out of your lungs. "Give me something to remember you by."

Despite the nervousness and excitement, you managed to tease as your hands retraced their way under her skirt. "What, the matching scars aren't enough for you, darling?" 

Wanda lets out an affected giggle at the proximity to your joke about the healed bruises on your hands, but the sound turns to a deep sigh when her panties slip down her legs. You maintain eye contact with her, pulling the item down until you take it off by her ankles. Wanda bites her lip hard as she sees you on your knees, moving up your way again with kisses on her legs.

Her muscles quiver as you kiss the inside of her thighs, and Wanda inhales a shaky breath, her hands gripping the table she's sitting on tightly.

"Be gentle." She asks as she feels the kisses coming closer to where she is burning. You let out a soft laugh, rising again to kiss her on the mouth. Wanda has no time to be eager for the delay of her relief, because you grab her waist and pull her closer, the friction between your hips making her whimper. 

Your tongue slides over hers hungrily, kissing her until she's dizzy with arousal, and instinctively starts forcing her hips against yours - The uncovered intimacy smearing the wetness on the fabric of your leg and making you moan against her.

One of your hands spreads her legs open by her thigh, fingers coming up fast to tease her entrance and make Wanda break the kiss with an affected whimper.

"Y-yes, baby, please, no more teasing." Wanda moans, throwing her hips against your hand. "I'm ready."

You grunt softly, tentatively cupping the folds between your fingers, spreading the wetness over the entire length. "Hmm, I can feel that." You teased softly, pulling your hand away to get a taste. Wanda choked, blushing heavily as she watched you suck your fingers one by one, rolling her eyes in pleasure as you tasted her. The next second, you moved your hand back between her legs, staring her in the eye before sliding a finger inside. She moaned at the intrusion, and you let her get used to it, encouraging her with your free hand on her back, relaxing her with a gentle massage.

"There you go... all the way in." You narrated softly, having to maintain all mental control not to fuck her roughly, feeling your body vibrate with the sensation of Wanda's soft wet walls on your fingerprints. She pulsed against you, her hands gripping your blouse tightly as the repetitive motion made her legs twitch. "God, you're so tight." You grunted, hiding your face in her collarbone and angling your palm to press against her clit as well. Wanda let out a loud yelp, wrapping one of her legs around your waist and increasing your reach.

"M-more, please-I just need-" She tried to formulate, starting to follow your movements with her hips. You shushed her against her neck, kissing your way to her ear. 

"Relax, I'll give you what you need, baby." Was your only warning before removing yourself from her, only to sink two fingers inside next time. Wanda gasped at the intrusion, but you swallowed her moan with your own mouth, not moving inside her until she was ready.

Soon, your movements had resumed, and with your mouth glued to hers, you swallowed each breathless moan as Wanda began to tremble in your fingers, squeezing as her orgasm built. 

Just as she was panting and restless, the locker room door opened. She raised desperate eyes to you, but you covered her mouth with your free hand and sped up your movements.

Your skin muffled her whimpers, and you bit your lips at the sinful image in front of you.

"Danvers? Maximoff? Are you guys here? The coach is looking for two." it was some of the monitors, probably checking the camp behind whoever was running away from the game. You reached a deep sweet spot inside Wanda and she threw her head back.

The monitor grumbled in frustration and the door closed again - You barely noticed, bringing the girl beneath you to her climax. Wanda spread herself in your hand, her body spasming against you and a long muffled moan against your hand.

Her pupils were so dark they nearly hold any green.

"Fucking gorgeous." You praised as you removed your hand to kiss her, and Wanda corresponded with difficulty, smiling breathlessly as she tried to recover from the intensity of her first orgasm.

As soon as she could properly match it, Wanda dominated the kiss - One hand moving up to the back of your neck, to tug at your hair as she bit your bottom lip, drawing a soft moan from you.

"Please, can we go back to the cabin?" It sounded like a request but felt like an order by the way Wanda dug her nails into your waist. A warning. "I want you to be comfortable when you go down on me."

"God, Wanda, you're such a tease." You grumbled in a mixture of arousal and embarrassment, moving like an obedient puppy as she stood up on shaky legs and guided you by the hand back to the cabins. 

Her panties are tucked tightly in your pocket.

–//–

Disgustingly adorable, is how your friends would describe the last few days in the company of you and Wanda, who have apparently unlearned how to function away from each other.

Especially the last day - Without any concern for the rest of the world while in an intense make-out session against the bus that was supposed to take you and Carol back to California.

"Jesus, I'm going to have nightmares." Your sister complained with a grimace to her now official girlfriend - Natasha Romanoff - who was putting away the last bag in the family car that was going to take her home. The redhead laughed, looking at where Carol was staring and knowing she was referring to your hand firmly squeezing Wanda's ass as she giggled between the kisses you two shared. 

"Why are they behaving like they're never going to see each other again? It's traumatizing." It wasn't Nat, but Bucky who spoke as he arrived with Sam beside him, who laughed in agreement. Carol made a mischievous face.

"Well, maybe that's my fault? I may have forgotten to mention to my lovely sister that Nat told me that Wanda was going to the same college as her next year."

"Pretty mean, Danvers." Nat commented with a certain pride in her voice. Carol laughed.

"When you share a room with a couple in love, you'll understand." She retorted. The group continued to watch you and Wanda, until you kissed deeply in farewell until she let you on the bus. Carol sighed. "Maybe if she starts whining on the way, I'll consider saying that she and Wanda chose the same college without even knowing it."

The group chuckled, saying goodbye one last time.

[googleitlol]

Sorry if my thoughts are all jumbled here. Or if it doesn't make sense. I'm also kinda being vague here cause these are kinda in the beginning stages of forming to proper theories.

But first of all, thanks for answering my question and indulging me.

Also sure I'll share a little bit of my theories here. Once again, you don't have to confirm or deny these. Hell, you don't have to answer this if you don't wanna.

I had a feeling since the title and the dove symbolism kinda went together, there would be at least some surface level nods to it, but now that there's confirmation that there's more reason behind the dove transformation I can kinda go into my little "theory" (more or less speculation). Not really connected to the stories ending too much that I know of buuuuut, I've just been thinking what enlightenment would be for Dove herself since everyone is going through their respective character arcs to achieve enlightenment in the end. I'm also keeping in mind the love symbolism from this creature, even though it's not really symbolism from religion and more so a universal thing across multiple cultures, as a possible significance.

But also, these little teasers with the endings and the one shots here got me (oop here comes more theory and speculation) thinking about what the hell happened. Cause the heavenly court and Buddha don't seem to be the "badguys" in this story. So i kinda figured a 3rd party got Dove separated from the group somehow since everyone else (allegedly) got to stick together. So something really bad definitely happened here, and either Dove is going through some corruption arc or someone else is pulling at some strings here. But nooooow, I'm inclined to believe the latter, if not this 3rd party, causing the corruption arc. These are just things I kinda think about in 2 possible endings. I hope this all makes sense.

I could be waaaaaayyy off though so yeah

Oh, you know I'm gonna answer these! Also, I'm glad you caught onto some of this!

Love is definitely a big part of Dove's character arc, tho it's more of a catalyst for what she has to realize. Dove at the start of the journey isn't really… her own person. Or at least, she wants to change herself to be more like the person who saved her. It's like she thinks there's some moral obligation she has to follow in Guan Yin's steps, and as her relationship with Sun Wukong develops, she starts to question that.

Your other thoughts on what happens near the end… muahahaha…

I've mentioned it in passing so I won't try hiding it, there's another party involved in PoM. They don't get too involved until after the Red Boy arc, which is lowkey why I decided to start posting to AO3 after I finished with those chapters. Everything from the start of PoM to Wukong realizing his feelings can be considered… the first act of my little soap opera. This third party doesn't become more prominent until Act 2.

Technically, the third party has been causing problems since the prologue. They're just chilling cuz one of them doesn't know about the journey yet while his accomplice… she knows about the journey, she just gives less of a fuck. But when they decide to take action, stuff gets fun (stressful and full of agony). I'm excited to get to them, who they are, their backstory and powers, EVERYTHING! UUUGGHHHWVBOJNVUSBDCS I WANNA TALK ABT THEM SO BAD–!

ahem, anyway–

As for your theory about a 'corruption arc'… depending on how I end PoM, Dove may or may not cross a line she wouldn't have crossed at the start of the pilgrimage. The fun part is, the ending I consider the 'good ending', the one where she doesn't get separated from her friends and loved ones… is where she crosses that line. If Dove kept trying to be like Guan Yin, she would never think of going down that road. So in that good ending where she stops trying to be someone she's not, and the ones who helped her get to that realization are put in jeopardy… she has no hesitation.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Therapy (2) Masterlist

part one

a map to the lost (ao3) - dizzy

Summary: Dan's third therapy appointment, circa late 2014.

a pinch of sugar (ao3) - angelmichelangelo

Summary: dan comes home to find a treat waiting for him at home

But I'll Be Close Behind (ao3) - fringesandcringes

Summary: Exploring how they work through Dan's depression individually and as a partnership, through therapy sessions, episodes, and posting a YouTube video about it for the whole world to see.

Deceit and Devotion (ao3) - Thatonefunhun

Summary: Phil Lester has it all. A successful career doing what he loves, a “bestie” who's always got his back, and a can-do attitude! He’s living the life! But what goes on beyond the camera? And is everything as it seems…

Dropping Anchor in a Storm (ao3) - jestbee

Summary: Phil wakes in the early hours to a thin beam of sunlight breaking through his curtains, and the soft sound of Dan breathing by his side.

He should be able to bask in the peace and stillness of the room, but his brain won't let him do that today.

(TW) Exhausted (ao3) - breatherepeat

Summary: Dan has spent years in therapy unpacking the issues of his past and coming to terms with himself. In order to complete his journey of self-acceptance, he knew he would have to face some difficult aspects of his past. The only way to work through years of repressed memories is to bring them to light and process them.

It Gets Better (ao3) - yikesola

Summary: The air in the waiting room is too hot. Dan is hoping his therapist’s office is cooler— it usually is, she has a fan that she always turns on when he walks in— but he also is sitting with that heavy feeling in his stomach that today is going to be a hard day, and the room being stifling would just be part of his luck.

A fic about self-empathy and good sessions.

it's a church of burnt romances (ao3) - phanetixs

Summary: Dan backs into the car and the driver asks where he’s heading. His head swims with thoughts of Phil, and of guilt and embarrassment at how he’s subconsciously treating his friend. Whose life centres around virtues like chastity. And non-objectification goes both ways. Dan takes a few deep breaths, pressing a palm to his insistent bulge to quell his arousal. As always, it doesn’t work.

Well, he resolves, if he can’t get Phil out of his head, he’s got to get someone else into it. Or onto him, preferably.

Or, a Fleabag AU.

Redemption Arc (ao3) - philsmeatylegss

Summary: classic, slightly dramatic and unrealistic rags to riches au

run don't hide (ao3) - calvinahobbes

Summary: Dan has a run-in with a girl from school.

somebody's gone (ao3) - dvp_95

Summary: Dan's first therapy session after the incident.

the brain inside my muddled head (ao3) - angelmichelangelo

Summary: dan sees his therapist

the uncertainties of sexuality (ao3) - danhoweiis

Summary: “For me, having a label means having to be that thing and maybe sometimes I don’t want to be that thing but how on earth can I explain that to them when all I have to do is talk about a cute boy or something and suddenly I’m a bisexual icon when I’m not...not that.”

Therapy Day (ao3) - kattdan

Summary: Sometimes therapy makes Dan feel worse and he seeks comfort in Phil.

thursday at eleven (ao3) - cityofphanchester

Summary: This isn’t Dan’s Thursday morning, and no matter how much and how long he’s been pushing the idea, these first steps have to be Phil’s own.

Unfiltered (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: "Start with the unfiltered version," his therapist had told him. "Write it all out, as if no one else will ever see it, and then work your way from there."

It's a long process, getting everything together, readying himself to open up about depression, but he can take it in steps.

we were never in the park (ignoring tornado warnings) (ao3) - pasteldanhowells

Summary: After Phil leaves Dan, Dan starts seeing a therapist. Then, Phil comes back, and Dan starts lying to his therapist about him.

What A Catch (ao3) - hygge

Summary: Phil visits the same cafe every weekday morning without fail. But, when he decides to visit the cafe on the weekend for once, the atmosphere that he had grown used to has completely changed thanks to a piano player named Dan. While Phil is ready to jump into a relationship, Dan is hesitant and is still trying to stitch his life together again after What Had Happened in his past relationship. And that’s easier said than done.

wherever you stray i follow (ao3) - calvinahobbes

Summary: Dan brings Phil with him to therapy.

[kcwriter-blog]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤️

Thanks @freesidexjunkie! I have only four works up on AO3 but I have more than a few WIPs so I'll choose one of those for the 5th. I'm terrible at explaining my thoughts behind stories. I just sort of write them? Here is my attempt at explaining them.

1. In Consultation With Spirits - At the start of All New Faded for Her, you can have a dialogue with Solas where he admits to having no friends. That set me to wondering where a man like him would go if he needed relationship advice. The Fade. I didn't think he would always seek those spirits out. Sometimes they would find him. I paired each stage of the romance with the spirit I felt he would most likely meet- Wisdom, Love and Regret.

2. And Yet - I've always had a soft spot for this piece. I wanted to write something from Solas' point of view reflecting on his guilt for getting involved with Lavellan and hurting her. I wanted it to be lyrical and dreamy like Solas, which is why the refrain "and yet" keeps popping up.

3. Cold Comfort - This story has gone through many iterations. It is also my first attempt at adding smut to a story. Whether or not the Inquisitor and Solas had sex was left open. I've always wondered what might cause Solas to cross that line. In his romance scenes he always seems to get himself under control before things can go too far. So, I felt it would have to be a very conscious decision on his part. I also liked the idea that Solas would be a very tender lover. This was what I came up with.

4. An Elf Walks Into a Tavern - Part 1 of Where Wolves Fear to Prey. I was fascinated by the idea of Theneras and Varric getting together to trash their exes. When it came to writing it though, I realized that Theneras' confused feelings about Solas would make her less likely to want to talk about him. The entire conversation between Varric and Theneras then became more about her avoiding the fact that she is still in love with Solas and not being very successful at it.

When Lovers Call in Dreams - This is a WIP. The third installment in my Where Wolves Fear to Prey series. It is post-Trespasser. In it my Lavellan, Theneras, confronts Solas in the Fade after an attempt on her life. I want to explore the jumbled feelings the pair have for each other and how those feelings might affect their actions going forward.

[solar-wing]

okay, just so you guys know...

I'm still working on Shadowing Nightwing. Just making edits and doing my best to tone down the length because it's well over 40k words and I–... I just can't.

Also, I'm trying to make sure that it's good and spicy enough for what y'all are expecting, but also something that won't get taken down on patreon, tumblr, etc. the literal second it's up—because again, it's spicy. Honestly, what I might end up doing is posting the first part of it, and then doing what I did with 'One Kent Was Enough,' linking the rest of the story to AO3 cause I'm tired of having to jump through hoops and loops with these platforms.

like Patreon is taking forever to "review" and put back one of my stories for "violating" community guidelines. And don't even get me started with Tumblr and their nonsense because I just saw one of my mutuals get his post hidden on here due to "explicit sexual content" that was "outside" of user guidelines.

and the crazy part is, his fic was under 1,500 words and was nowhere near as bad as some of the fem!reader content I've seen on here. Like I know I keep ranting about this (and I'll damn sure continue to), but I'm so sick of the bias against m!reader content, especially when it's explicit.

We already get a bunch of fem readers getting mad at us for not wanting to write content that includes them even when we explicitly state that we are m!reader authors and only write for male or gen!neutral readers. Then, the content we do write for our audience always ends up getting flagged or taken down for being outside of user guidelines, when it's barely anything bad.

Like the amount of abduction, non-con/CNC that could be considered borderline grape without the g, coercion, manipulation, Stockholm Syndrome, YANDERE, etc. f!reader fics I've read on this platform and others that have no warnings, flags, or shadowbans from what I can tell is truly something ridiculous. Matter of fact, they'll literally have the most likes, reblogs, and engagement I've ever seen. But, our male reader fics get flagged for using the word bussy instead of pussy...I'm not even joking.

but, I digress.

ANYWAY, with all that being said, once Shadowing Nightwing is posted, I'm gonna take a break away from smut and Omegaverse fics for a minute only because trying to do that specific stuff has started to feel more like a job than something I enjoy and have fun with, and I don't want to burn myself out or give y'all content that I'm not proud of or feel like it's half-assed.

Plus, I'll be honest, this past week has been really hard mentally, emotionally, and creatively for me given the results of this election, I can't even say I'm surprised, but I can damn well say I'm pissed off. Like, I can barely write without sitting there thinking about the fact that this orange peel of a FELON AND THUG—yeah I said it for you sibling and cousin fucking, buck-tooth, bobblehead, ding-dong, dropped ON your heads, mindless little minions—ahem—I mean, conservatives (if conservative means conversing brain cells that is) and his adult sid phillips looking ass v.p. cheated like someone trapped in a room with all their favorite foods while being on a diet, or more than half this country is really that stupid.

keep in mind, we're talking about a country with a lacking education system paired with a population of *checks note* sibling and cousin fucking, buck-tooth, bobblehead, DING-DONG, SLAMMED on their heads, mindless little minion bitches—AHEM—conservatives so that last part really wouldn't be surprising.

but again, I digress.

Shadowing Nightwing will be out soon, and we'll be returning to some PG-13 content for some time until I can wrap my head around this—or find the cheapest and quickest flight to Saturn—whichever comes first.

anyways, pls stay safe out there guys in these next four years, especially my minorities out there WHO VOTED FOR KAMALA AND TIM. If you voted third-party, didn't vote, or voted for the felon and adult sid phillips, I PRAY you get everything you voted for 😉. no seriously, I'm really rooting for you 😊

MWAH 😘 kisses, bitches 💛

to the rest of my lovelies, I love you all, stay safe and shine bright, and I'll be here soon with Shadowing Nightwing (that is if I haven't found a direct flight to Saturn first...fingers crossed🤞🏽)

[sssammich]

collateral pt5

author's note: this part finishes this arc of the story. i'll post again until the next arc is finished. no eta on that, unfortunately. but outline has been written out so there's an end to this lol

this part is rated M for sexual content.

ao3 link (opens to part 5)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

alright thx yall xo

---

Kara stood right next to Andrea as she eyed both hotel doors. 

“It seems we’re neighbors,” Andrea offered. 

She glanced at the woman beside her. “Why do I get the feeling you knew that already?” 

Andrea only shrugged, seemingly unaffected. “That’s why my hair’s so pretty. It’s full of secrets.” 

Kara’s jaw dropped, not sure how to process the unexpected joke. “Did you just…quote Mean Girls to me?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that that movie was only for peasants.” 

“Peasa—I have a Pulitzer!” 

The other woman smirked and stepped forward, their face suddenly closer than Kara anticipated. “Oh, so now you accept that you have a Pulitzer.” 

“I always accepted–! It was the nickname. It’s don’t like the nick—” 

Yet before she could finish speaking, Andrea’s lips found their way on hers. 

Kara’s first thought should have been to stop Andrea. To pull back, To immediately put a stop to whatever this was. Instead, her first thought was the softness and suppleness of Andrea’s lips as she kissed back. Her second thought was that Andrea tasted a little bit of alcohol and faintly of the cigarette she’d had earlier. Her third and most fleeting thought was how she hoped her own lips weren’t chapped—

“Whoa, wait…” she said, finally pulling back just as she placed some distance between them. Andrea carded her fingers through her hair and watched patiently as Kara tried to gather her wits about her, all of which were slipping through her fingers like water. “I don’t understand. You know I’m in love with someone else.” 

“I’m aware.” 

“So why would you…” 

“Haven’t you ever heard that the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else?” 

“Yeah, but…” 

“Look, Kara,” Andrea started. It was weird to hear her name come out of Andrea’s mouth, but now that she had, Kara realized that it was the first time Andrea had said her name all night. “The way I see it is that if you want to get over Lena, you have to let her go. And what I’m offering can help with that, if you’re open to it. I just think that if you’re interested, an arrangement could be made that’s equally beneficial to the both of us.” 

She furrowed her brows. “What’s in it for you?” 

“Well, Pulitzer, if you’re not terrible, then an orgasm or two.” 

Kara stepped up and placed a hand on Andrea. “Please, be serious.” 

Andrea watched her, a moment passing between them. Kara tried not to squirm, her eyes focused on Andrea’s blue-green eyes roaming her face. Then, Andrea brought thumb up and tried to wipe something off around her mouth, Kara belatedly realizing it was probably the other woman’s lipstick. “It’s exactly as I said. This doesn’t have to mean more than what it is. You and I can have fun tonight and be back to normal in the morning. The walk of shame for you isn’t even that long.” 

Finally, Andrea stepped back, taking out her keycard from her purse and tapping it against her door until they both heard the small chime of the door unlocking. The other woman pushed the door open into a darkened room before she shifted to face Kara, leaning against the door and looking directly in Kara’s eyes. 

“You have until the door slams shut to make a decision.” 

Kara watched as Andrea slowly walked into her room, pushing the door as far back as possible and walked away leaving the decision in Kara’s hands. 

She didn’t know Andrea, didn’t know if the woman was genuine. But as she quickly rifled through their time together during the evening, she couldn’t deny that she had a fun time with the other woman. Whatever her reason was for helping Kara worked, because Kara came out of that wedding alive. 

And, if she was being very honest, Kara couldn’t deny that Andrea was a very attractive woman. 

Kara caught a glimpse of warm light filling the room, but the door was just about to slam in her face when—

The tip of her shoe wedged itself between the door and the jamb. She shut her eyes, wondering if she was really going to do this, before taking a deep breath. All she’d done tonight was think and overthink, her mind running rampant and her heart struggling to catch up. Whether there was more or less to Andrea’s offer, she’d run out of time to determine. And, at this point, she didn’t care anymore. 

With a push, the door swung open and she rushed to where Andrea was standing by the edge of the bed, taking her earrings off. 

Just as Andrea was about to make some comment—no doubt some testing quip of some sort, Kara surged forward and kissed her. She took Andrea’s face in her hands and held her there—a touch to ground her as she closed her eyes and kissed a woman who held no place in her heart. 

Their kisses turned frantic, her hands relinquishing their hold of Andrea’s face as they roamed down Andrea’s shoulders and to the zipper on the back of her dress. Andrea, for her part, was all too eager to run her own hands all over Kara’s body, her hands lingering and squeezing her biceps. Kara would have teased her about focusing on her arms if she hadn’t been so distracted with the fine figure beneath her after she tugged at Andrea’s dress. She then pushed Andrea down on her now exposed back, brown hair fanning in contrast with the white comforter. 

“This means nothing,” she insisted, even as she unzipped her own dress from the side and let it crumple on the ground. Andrea pushed herself up on her elbows and fully slid back to get to the center of the bed, her dress pooling by her ankles, kicking them out of the way until she was left in her matching red underwear. 

“You’re not even my type, Pulitzer.” 

“I thought you said you wouldn’t kick a girl while she’s down?” she asked with an arch of her brow, a teasing grin on her face. 

Andrea shrugged and unclasped her strapless bra and let it fall to the side. “Surprise, I lied.” 

Kara unclasped her bra and threw it somewhere behind her before she crawled between Andrea’s legs, excitement growing as she glanced down at Andrea’s red lace panties. It made sense, Kara mused, that this woman would match and accessorize accordingly. She almost wanted to make a joke of it, but when she saw the darkened patch at the center of the lace, her mind blanked a little.  

Instead, carefully, she slid her hands starting from Andrea’s hips and slowly up those smooth long legs until her thumbs teased the inside of her  “Anybody ever tell you that you have a bad habit of lying.” 

“And you have a bad habit of stalling. So, if you don’t mind,” Andrea said, waving her hand for Kara to continue. She shook her head, amusement and arousal prickling her skin as she shoved all thoughts of Lena and the wedding and the grief of all the love she could not give freely out of the way for something that could tether her to this moment. 

She dropped her head and kissed Andrea fully in the mouth, further encouraged by Andrea wrapping her legs around Kara’s middle. Kara then shifted to bring her body down, until their naked fronts touched, their nipples pressing into one another. She enjoyed the way Andrea’s nails scratched at the base of her neck and her shoulders in response to their bodies reacting to one another. 

Entangled with each other, she rocked them back and forth as they kissed and nipped for control. Their rhythm was fast, hungry, unable to stay in any one place. Kara was more than fine with that, because they weren’t anything to each other but a means to an end. She groaned when Andrea managed to push her head to the side so she could suck purple a sensitive spot on Kara’s neck. 

She caressed Andrea’s body as she slid down, her mouth traveling from the crook of Andrea’s neck and onto her chest until she was faced with Andrea’s tits in full display. She hoisted herself on her elbows as she palmed both of them, giving them a teasing squeeze before her mouth descended on a nipple. Andrea moaned underneath her and tightened her legs around Kara’s body. 

Encouraged, Kara continued to play and tease Andrea with her tongue while a free hand made its way down to Andrea’s center, her knuckle rubbing against the lace fabric, worsening the wet patch as she pushed in to tease. 

“You’re this turned on already?” she asked, pulling up slightly and looking up to see Andrea’s eyes remain closed. 

Andrea huffed, her hand making its way to Kara’s hair. “Not for long if you don’t keep going.” 

She rolled her eyes but nonetheless returned to her task at hand. Andrea seemed content with Kara’s decision to continue because her hand held Kara’s head in place. Kara pushed the lace fabric to the side and let her fingers finally touch Andrea’s wetness, the heat of her core affecting Kara as she slid her fingers back and forth between Andrea’s sensitive inner lips. 

“Fuuuck—yeah keep doing that.” 

Dutifully, she followed Andrea’s voice as she directed Kara to play her body to her specifications. Of course, Kara was more than happy to comply, her own underwear growing a wet patch at how gratifying it was to satisfy someone. 

She pushed back up to kiss Andrea, her brain hazy with the feel of this woman beneath her just as her fingers pushed into Andrea’s depths. Meanwhile, Andrea’s fingers dug into her back, small delicious bites of those beautiful red nails against her skin. 

Soon, Andrea was moving her hips in rhythm to Kara pumping her fingers in and out, her forearm straining slightly from the angle, but not wanting to disappoint the woman in front of her. 

“Yes, yes—” Andrea groaned. “Almost…” 

Kara brought their lips together once more, her tongue seeking entrance in Andrea’s mouth even as the other woman struggled to kiss back as she neared the precipice of her orgasm. Kara stayed quiet during the whole ordeal, though her eyes were laser-focused on Andrea’s features when shadows of their movements danced on her skin, sweat forcing her hair to stick on the edges of her face. 

Finally, Andrea pulled Kara into a searing kiss just as she tightened her arms around Kara’s shoulders, her ankles crossed behind Kara’s back. Kara let her body move with the climaxing current that was Andrea as the woman underneath her came all around her fingers. 

They held each other for a moment, their heavy pants slowing to loud exhales, until Andrea completely dropped her limbs to her side. The heat of their entangled bodies suddenly disappeared, Kara suddenly feeling all cold. 

Silently, she watched in wonder and curiosity until Andrea opened her eyes and gave her a pleasant smile. “Not bad, Pulitzer,” she offered, her voice coming out rough. Kara found it hot, if she was being honest. 

She laughed, despite herself, her body and mind feeling weightless at this particular moment. She carefully pulled her fingers out, wiggling them before touching the wetness from her fingers on Andrea’s breast. She was rewarded with a squeak escaping from Andrea’s mouth and an earned slap on the shoulder. “I can do better, if you’re so unhappy with my performance,” she reasoned as she bracketed her arms around Andrea’s frame.  

Andrea placed an arm under her head and stared at Kara above her. She nodded exaggeratedly even as she pulled Kara down with her free hand. “Very unhappy. Try again.” 

Kara still didn’t know what was going to happen after tonight. Maybe nothing, maybe something. But Andrea was here with her, and not the figment and fantasy of a life she wished she had. So she would take what she could get. And she would give the woman in front of her another orgasm. 

So, as she tilted her head down until their lips touched and she pushed her thumb on Andrea’s clit, Kara tried again.

[skyfallscotland]

Hi! I'm Amy (She/Her)

I write fanfic, which you probably already know if you came here from my AO3 page (where I go by hurricane).

Currently I'm writing for Fourth Wing.

My favourite colour is green, I love Taylor Swift and Fall Out Boy, and I hate spicy food (but love spicy books).

Below you'll find links to my work/fandom masterposts & some FAQ

✧ Fandoms/Works

Fourth Wing

ACOTAR

✧ FAQ

Do you have an update schedule?

Not really. Sometimes it's once a week, sometimes twice, sometimes not for weeks (though I try to only do that in between projects), it really depends on the hyperfixation.

How do you write so much?

I get super anxious about starting things and not finishing them (and then having people asking me about them) so I try to write ahead before posting, so it isn't always in real time. I do however write on average (based on year to date) 2.5k words a day, which I guess is a lot for most people? The simple answer is I don't work full time and I try to write everyday.

What's your writing process?

I prefer writing either in the morning or later at night. I always write in bed, propped up against the headboard. Sometimes if I'm home alone I'll venture out to the kitchen and feel supremely uncomfortable for no reason, so I quickly return to my low-lit cave.

I just write what I'm inspired to write when I'm inspired to write it. I've learned not to force it, that just makes writer's block worse!

Do you have any writing advice?

I do! I get asked this a lot, so I wrote a masterpost: Part One—the advice & Part Two—the resources

Can I bind your fic?

At the moment my stance on fic binding is that it’s fine if it’s only for personal use and not for sale, profit, distribution or commission. Please don’t use commercial companies like print houses (due to legal issues). I feel very strongly about fanworks being and remaining free, and the way fic-binding has been commodified recently worries me 💖

Do you allow translations of your work?

You’re bilingual, that’s so cool! I appreciate you asking 💗 I believe in fanfiction being accessible to everyone. I would request however at this time that any translations of my work be kept on AO3—there’s a checkbox you can tick to link it as a translation.

Can I use a scenario in your fic for my own or write something inspired by your fic?

Mostly, yeah. See my in-depth answer/thoughts on this here.

Can I use your characters for a fic of my own?

I respectfully ask you not to at this time. All my original characters from my series' are very close to my heart, especially Remi (the one people ask about the most) and their stories are not yet finished! So there's more you guys don't know about them. At the moment, I'm a bit sensitive about it and I'd like to keep them close. If you do still write something inspired by them, it's also highly likely I won't read it, at least until I'm finished the series. Thanks for understanding.

What else are you working on?

I have a dozen fic ideas for Fourth Wing, at least four of which I've already written bits and pieces of while working on Basgiath (Remi's Version). I don't run on any kind of schedule though, they'll see the light of day when they do and if they don't, then they won't!

I also have two original novels I'm writing, one of which I hope to finish in the next couple of months (it's in the plotting stage!) 🥰

Will you ever come back to ACOTAR?

I plan to at some point, hopefully this year! I just want to get through some of these Fourth Wing ideas while I'm still inspired and eventually I'll come back to write Callie's story and maybe some Feysand, or an Eris fic. It's tough because I've been writing that series in third and my FW works have me in first person mode. I find it very hard to switch between them.

Do you have any fic recs?

I do! Only for Fourth Wing at the moment, you can see them all here. I'm slowly adding to the list/collection 🌟

[missazurerose]

FFXIV Write 2024

I guess I'm going to make this my master post for this 30 day challenge. I don't know how this is going to go. Never done anything like this before. I can't imagine I'm going to make it through all the prompts but part of why I wanted to do this was just to do it.

The whole point is to make not to make perfection. And I think it would do me some good to do that. And to write something other than WoLmeric. I mean, I'm still gonna do that. And maybe if any of these have legs, I'll try to flesh them out into a full story.

Definitely Endwalker spoilers. Probably Dawntrail too but I'll try to keep them very vague if they're there.

Primary WoLmeric pieces are 6, 7, 8, 10, 12, 15, 21, 23, 24, 25, 26, 29 and 30 if you're unwell like me. 23 and 29 are also light NSFW. There are somewhat significant DT spoilers in 16, 19, 21, 22 and 30. You've been warned.

Steer ~ Horizon ~ Tempest ~ Reticent ~ Stamp ~ Halcyon ~ Morsel ~ Extra - Stealth ~ Lend an ear ~ Stable ~ Surrogate ~ Quarry ~ Butte ~ Telling ~ Extra - Tundra ~ Third-rate ~ Sally ~ Hackneyed ~ Taken ~ Duel ~ Shade ~ Extra - Calibrate ~ On Cloud Nine (Explicit) ~ Bar ~ Perpetuity ~ Zip ~ Memory ~ Deleterious ~ Extra - Afterglow (Explicit) - Two Heads Are Better Than One

I finally started uploading everything to AO3. It's not all up yet but if for some reason you want to read them again after this post gets unpinned and lost in the shuffle, there is a place

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

The Grim Reaper’s Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe - Masterlist

Hi! Welcome to the third major fic that I've started when procrastinating my other ones! Alastor is my babygirl, so I hope you love it just as much as I do! It's a bit long winded, so I'll try to make it worth the read! Enjoy!

Summary: When touring America for the sake of it, you go to stay with your aunt in New Orleans for a while, taking up a peaceful part-time job restoring objects. But a few weeks in, a package arrives containing an old radio that's seen better days, along with a note seemingly written by someone who thinks they could fist-fight the Devil.

What you didn't know, was the hell of a path that was now set out in front of you. Not fist-fighting the Devil, but instead a very smug radio host who would have no problem spending the rest of his days driving you up the walls.

But two could play that game.

Tags: Demiromantic-Asexual Alastor x Demiromantic-Asexual OC/Reader - 1920s/30s New Orleans - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Violence (It's Alastor what else)

Warnings: Graphic Descriptions of Violence, swearing, graphic descriptions of injuries, character death, Cannibalistic themes, blood, murder, stalking (anything else I will add)

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

Go back to Hazbin Hotel Masterlist

The Grim Reaper's Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe

Chapters will be infrequent depending on how much work at Uni I have going on - don't hesitate to message to see where I am with the next chapter (it may help me along tbh)

Purple text - In Progress

Green text - Posted

Extras:

Behind the scenes notes (may or may not post)

Headcanons - Alastor x oc (to be written)

Playlist - Part 1 (coming soon!)

Soundtrack Playlist (coming soon!)

Memes

Part 0 - The Universe

Prologue

Part 1 - Oh, peace and quiet, where have you gone?

Chapter I - Congrats! You're adopted.

Chapter II - Another box for my trinkets it’s trinketville.

Chapter III - I’d rather be unemployed.

Chapter IV - Unconditional Violence

Chapter V -

Chapter VI -

Chapter VII -

Chapter VIII -

Chapter IX -

Chapter X -

Part 2 -

To be continued...

Fic oneshots

Paella

More coming soon…

Enjoy! <3

[holewithinahole]

The Spirit’s in It | Egon Spengler x nb!reader [2/3]

Summary: “I didn’t know psychology doctors also specialized in particle physics, is all.”

What you meant as a light joke to relax him did quite the opposite. He straightens, righting up his glasses one more pointless time. “I have a degree in nuclear engineering,” he states before walking out, leaving you confused and feeling like you’ve spent the entire time offending him unintentionally.

Warnings: dubious science, non-native writer, non-beta’d

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

And here's part 2! I'll probably post part 3 tomorrow so I can upload everything on Ao3. I realised this work is super underwelming compared to what I've been releasing lately haha But well, if one person like it that's all I'm asking!

I also love write all the different dialogues I have in mind for the Ghostbusters. It's like I can hear the voices of the actors in my head! It's all very amusing.

EDIT: I hate the third part so I'm rewriting it lmao

Fall, 1984

“What are they doing?” You mutter under your breath as you step into the psychology aisle of Columbia University. It’s the most animated you’ve ever witnessed Weaver Hall be.

Clutching your latest research papers, you stride to the paranormal studies labs, almost running into a green-shirted man in the process. You mutter a quick apology without looking back. Inside the lab, a few men are busy getting boxes on trolleys and carrying them out of the room. You clear your throat as you stand close to one of them.

“Excuse me, do you know where Dr. Spengler is?”

The man arches an eyebrow and shrugs. “No idea who that is.”

Putting down a box labeled ‘Electronics’ on his trolley with a loud crashing noise – which makes you wince, he starts making his way out of the room, smacking your flank in the process.

“You do know those items partially belong to the researchers working here,” you argue, clutching your side and standing in front of him. “You can’t just take them without permission.”

“Listen, I’ve been asked to remove this stuff, ok? So move out of the way.”

You swallow back your irritation, ready to conjure up every ounce of antagonism, but you’re halted in your need for confrontation by a giddy tone.

“Ah, Professor.”

You turn back to face an uncharacteristically smirking Dean Yaeger: a self-satisfied smug that would deserve to be wiped right out of his face. It makes you fear the worst.

“I’m sorry to announce to you that Dr. Stanz, Dr. Venkman, and Dr. Spengler have departed our university,” he declares, voice devoid of any empathy.

“Departed?” you ask. “Did they quit?”

“Oh no,” he laughs. “We’ve terminated their contracts. The psychology pole deserves better than three frauds ridiculing our university.”

It is, indeed, the worst that could happen. Baffled, you watch as the dean gives directions to the workers with a large smile. You’ve never wanted to hit someone more.

“Frauds?” you scoff, trailing behind him. “Dr. Stantz has a doctorate in parapsychology, so does Dr. Venkman. Dr. Spengler graduated from this very university and possesses several diplomas notably in nuclear engineering and psychology. What makes you possibly think they don’t deserve their places here?”

Another worker almost bumps into you. You glare at them.

“While I admire your lovely attempt at defending the undefendable, the decision is taken. This room will be emptied and used by actual scientists.”

The dean has started making his way out of the room, radiating self-satisfaction and throwing prideful looks at everything his eyes come across. You run after him, pushed forward by this revolting sight.

“Those files are their own research! You can’t take them away without consulting with them first! Yes, they were working for this university, but it’s still years of their work that you’re just confiscating.”

The smirk he gives you makes you regret your words instantly. “Since you’re so willing to maintain your questionable relationship with the three of them, you won’t see any problem with being entrusted with those files? I’m sure you can return them in person.”

“Questiona–” you stutter, but Dean Yaeger claps his hands obnoxiously.

“It’s settled then.”

Shit.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Accepting to take care of Dr. Venkman, Dr. Stantz, and Dr. Spengler’s stuff had been both your good deed of the month and a middle finger at the face of Dean Yaeger. Stuffing piles of boxes in your tiny car hadn’t been easy. Especially since the dean had decided to dump everything in front of the university, grinning all along, savoring his cruel little prank. It says a lot about the actual interest Columbia University has in the work of its researchers.

There were at least over thirty different boxes, filled to the brim with research papers, littered all around your apartment. Obviously, Yaeger had made sure to take back all equipment – broken or not, leaving you with pounds of paper stored in their cardboard containers.

That is to say, after a month, you're starting to regret it.

The cluster of your home is slowly but surely disrupting your peace of mind. It’s almost as if the air has been saturated by dust and cardboard specks, the lack of luminosity not helping. Browsing through research papers and ordering everything has been fun at first, your curiosity satisfied, but you couldn’t decently keep digging through personal stuff. Therefore, you stopped, and now you loathe the view of these boxes.

The problem is that you have absolutely no idea where the three men went, and even on your deathbed, no one would witness you ask the dean for information. You simply can’t believe they would just switch universities, despite it being the ‘logical’ course of action. Mainly because Yaeger would behave like a goddamn leech and talk shit about them ‘till all universities in the country know about their turbulent history. You hoped for one of them to drop by your department but no one ever showed up.

Opening the door to your apartment and immediately feeling dejected at the view of the stacked boxes, you let out a sigh, getting rid of your work clothes and falling head first on your couch. You grab the TV remote, zapping mindlessly before deciding to let the device run in the background as you stand up to prepare something to eat.

During the small amount of time you’ve spent with the doctors this month, you’ve learned more about spooky theories and proton cages than about their actual life stories. Well, sort of. Dr. Stantz was certainly the most open of them all.

“Have you ever experienced a paranormal experience before?” he had asked, one morning, as he leaned conspiratorially towards you.

“I don’t think so?” you replied.

He had then talked extensively about a plethora of incidents, most notably a sponge migration which he’d assured was clear proof of paranormal activity. You had simply nodded, not wanting to question nor deter his enthusiasm. You quickly noticed – despite Dr. Spengler’s eclectic choices of study which could testify about his interest in science in general, Dr. Stantz remained the most passionate of the two; his obsessions towards specific subjects going further than a simple craving for knowledge on a Sunday afternoon. He kept lending you books on the supernatural which you had to decline after a fifth one joined the pile on your bedside table. It made wonder if the man didn’t own a secret bookshop somewhere. It left you with a sour aftertaste, knowing you had some of his prized possessions in your bedroom but couldn’t return them.

Dr. Venkman was– well… he was something else entirely. If Dr. Stantz was eager to share clever insights, Venkman was eager to share made-up stories. The diplomas on the wall did attest to his title of ‘Doctor’ but he couldn’t be more detached from it. Oh, he was researching psychological phenomena alright, but never knowledge for knowledge’s sake or even out of pure professionalism as you could expect from a researcher. If psychology books were leafed through, it was for manipulation tactics and to weaponize the uses of sugary words. In that, he was talented.

“Is it my time to interview the case subject?”

It was your third time in Weaver Hall. Both Dr. Stantz and Dr. Spengler had looked up from their ‘ghost trap’ schematics as Venkman took place in the chair in front of you.

“You never do interviews,” Dr. Stantz had said, deadpan.

“I feel magnanimous today.”

Venkman was a case study on its own, a study you weren’t willing to commit to. You had trouble understanding his true intentions most of the time. In the end, he remained the most enigmatic of the three, despite a boastful, overly dramatic persona (All the world’s a stage!). In the end, you couldn’t genuinely despise the man when he was driving away nosy students and even nosier teachers with phlegm, or when, during his rare excursions in the lab, he would bring sweet treats and coffee.

As for Dr. Spengler, well… he was brilliant and devoted to his work. Alike Dr. Stantz, although sporadically, he would sometimes get caught in a tirade of explanations and postulates. Every day, you resented the apprehension that staved off your second meeting for he could make your neurons flare and burst into ideas that’d spin in your head fast enough to weave entirely new conceptions. You were somewhat drunk on the feeling, making you distracted which even your colleagues noticed, embarrassingly enough. It all ended up in a self-deprecating mantra that led you away from Weaver Hall and back to the arms of your students and lab partners.

Now, they are gone, and you have no idea how to reach out.

“Are you troubled by strange noises in the middle of the night?”

You know Dr. Spengler has spent his entire life either studying for new degrees or researching. Universities are probably all he has ever known, and that makes you wonder how he’s managing the whole thing. Maybe he was hired by another university; with his degrees, it shouldn’t be too hard, despite what happened. Damn it, you should have given either of them your number. What if he’s already halfway across the country by now?

“Do you experience feelings of dread in your basement or attic?”

 What the–

You glide out of your kitchen, spatula in hand, almost falling as your sock-clad feet slide on the wooden floor.

“If you or any of your family ever seen a spook, specter–”

“You’re fucking with me.”

As the three of them stand inside your TV offering ghost-hunting services, it makes you wonder if they didn’t take things a tad too far – or too seriously, this time.

“Call the Ghostbusters! We’re ready to believe you!”

Well, you certainly don’t believe it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Phoning the place has been like stepping into another dimension. You’ve been bombarded with words you’ve never heard in any discussion, except in Dr Stantz and Dr Spengler’s endless chatter about compendia and other mystical publications. 

“Is your haunting an apparition, poltergeist, phantasm, wraith, banshee, demon, specter, tortured soul, or–”

“Excuse me but–”

“For your information, we do not summon dead family members.”

“I’m not calling for that–”

“Wait, hold, please. No Dr. Venkman I haven’t–”

And that was the end of the conversation. It left you with a strong puzzling sensation and a definitive confirmation of your aversion to discussions happening over the phone. The secretary never called back and you were secretly glad, leaving you time to summon all of your courage and go there directly. Which you did… eventually.

Funny how when you’re not searching for something, it comes to you from every angle. After discovering the strange choice of reconversion the doctors took, you were bombarded by advertisements, radio talks and covers of magazines. The men have managed to put all of New York in their pocket, and half if not as many ghosts in their traps. You’ve never been a firm believer in specters but Dr. Spengler and Dr. Stantz had talked extensively about them and their prototype to finally be able to catch one. You’ve been more interested in the physics aspect of it all; Dr. Spengler has been more than willing to explain and you’ve been more than willing to add your own theories.

You now stand in front of their headquarters, preparing to face them. And once again–

“Hey, it’s you!”

–it’s Dr. Stantz who nudges you in the right direction. The man smiles widely, face darkened by car oil and dirt, a crooked cigarette hanging from his lip. His uniform is equally as dirty, and he looks more like a mechanic than a ghost hunter… but no one has ever been a ghost hunter before so, what do you know?

“Hi, Dr. Stantz.” You smile. “It’s been a while.”

You can see he’s struggling to not pat your shoulder in a welcoming gesture. “Man, we thought we’d never get to see you again! Spengs’ gonna be so happy to see you!”

Somehow, you have trouble imagining Dr. Spengler overjoyed or overexcited. It’s not in his character.

“Come on!” He gestures for you to follow him. You’re barely inside that he has already strode through half the hall. “Sorry for the mess! It’s so hectic these days.”

“I saw the articles,” you say, taking in your surroundings.

At the front desk sits a fashionable lady whom you guess to be the secretary. She’s busy answering the phone, munching at her pencil and looking exhausted. She barely acknowledges your presence as you follow Dr. Stantz up the stairs.

The man never stopped talking. “Venkman is out right now; he wanted to check on one of our clients. The woman had blood dripping from her chimney, can you believe that?”

You clearly have trouble to. The blood part, not the seducing clients part.

Upstairs is as messy as the hall if not worse. It rivals the state of Weaver Hall. Dr. Stantz throws his extinguished cigarette in a nearby bin before grabbing a paper napkin to wipe his oily hands.

“Egon!”

Dr. Spengler appears from behind a desk, light on his forehead, and invested in organizing a large number of electric cables. “Ray, I found the problem with the Aura-Analyzer–”

He pauses when he sees you, which you can’t say that you did, blinded by the light of his lamp. “Hi,” you say, smiling while protecting your eyes.

“Oh,” he answers, turning it off. “Hello.”

The uneasy silence that follows throws you all the way back to your first meeting as if a month of socializing had suddenly vanished in the span of four tiny weeks.

“Do you have issues with a ghost?” he ends up asking, putting down his torch.

Your eyes widen in surprise, unsure of how to react. Dr. Stantz, however, lets out a strong laugh so you chuckle awkwardly to echo him. “No, no ghost.”

“It’s crazy that you came in today,” Dr. Stantz says, throwing away the dirtied napkins. “We have to improve the storage facility and we need to be able to boost the grid while saving as much power–”

As he speaks, he disappears behind a wall, the sound of running water overlapping his words. You stay silent, watching Dr. Spengler rearrange electric cables until his friend emerges from the bathroom, clean-faced.

“But anyway, Spengs can give you the big tour,” he declares, grinning. “I have a check-up to do at Tai Hong Lau! If we’re lucky, I’ll come back with dinner as well.”

This time, he gives you a clap on the shoulder before running to the stairs but turning back at the last minute. “You’re staying to eat with us right? The owner has the best Peking duck in town, I’m sure you’ll love it! See you later!”

And then he’s gone, leaving you alone with Dr. Spengler. The distance separating you makes the room feels even bigger. You clear your throat. “I see you were able to create your ghost trap after all.”

He nods. “The day we were… dismissed, we managed to have enough readings on our first supernatural encounter to finalize the prototype.”

“Incredible,” you praise before realizing how uncaring you might sound. “I mean, I’m sorry about the whole Dean Yaeger situation.” 

Dr. Spengler shrugs, stepping out of the corner of the room he crammed himself in. “There’s nothing you could have done to change the outcome.”

You decide not to comment. There’s a certain tension behind his words that makes you think he might truly have been upset about the situation.

“So, what’s up with the… grid?” you ask, looking at the different types of equipment stacked in the room.

He does sound relieved by the change of subject. “The Containment System is the storage facility we use for paranormal entities. Lately, the growing number of stored entities has put a strain on the main chamber.” As he explains, he searches in a pile of paper, extracting a large sheet. “The simplest course of action would be to enlarge the room but in case of an exponential increase in psychokinetic energy, it wouldn’t be possible to expand indefinitely and I’m not even addressing the energy consumption problem.”

You saunter closer to him. Half of your brain is focused on how easily he slipped back into his rambling habits. Perhaps not all socialization has been lost, you muse delightfully.

“What’s the worst that could happen? An explosion?” you joke, hands on your hips.

There’s a moment of hesitation. You stare at him in disbelief. “Don’t tell me–”

“The system has a high-voltage laser grid.”

You gape at him for a second before clearing your throat. “Uh, you’ll have to tell me more I’m afraid.”

On the table, he puts down what seems to be the blueprint of the storage chamber. You study it from the side.

“PKE bounds together the negatively charged particles composing a ghost. Our two laser grids…“ He ignores your bewildered expression. “…prevent the entities from escaping.”

He continues, “But we’re completely dependent on the city’s power grid.”

“No redundancies?” you ask, starting to see the problem.

He shakes his head. “We had no way to generate our own power supply when we moved in – we still don’t, and we weren’t planning on a strong surge in PKE.” There’s a tremor at the corner of his eye, perhaps from tiredness. “It makes us vulnerable in case of a power outage.”

It all sounds very hazardous. “I’m surprised you still haven’t had Public Services knocking at your door, with you powering high-voltage grids and…” You throw another look at the blueprint. “…a penning trap of this size.”

Dr. Spengler looks up solemnly. “We have been drawing attention.”

That’s one way to put it, you think. “Won’t you also have problems with your… residents in there?”

“It’s complicated to assess the level of ionization inside the chamber,” he explains, lost in his musings. “I do daily samplings to monitor psychokinetic energy but it’s a time-consuming process and as minimum as it is, there’s still a risk of slippage. Stronger entities could attack the grid from the inside, despite the threat of–”

He comes to a sudden stop. “...perhaps I can just show you. If you’re willing to.”

Blinking away the feeling that is suspiciously looking like infatuation, you smile, trying to convey what you hope is a convincing agreement. “Of course.”

Dr. Spengler nods, putting away the scheme of the Containment System as you stare, unable to stop yourself. Funny how history repeats itself, you think, already picturing how you’re going to neglect your work just to hear him talk more. You can’t bring yourself to care the right amount. The concretization of it all – this whole Ghostbusters thing – is exhilarating. It was fascinating when it was mere speculations but now it’s all real. Right here, in an old firehouse in the middle of New York, are new forms of life; new not in age but in terms of discovery. Your work has always been focused on the future, so this is just another step toward it. It’s – funnily enough, all thanks to the past: the dead, the undead and the spiritual.

“Say, Dr. Spengler.” He turns back. “Have you been able to learn more about that psychokinetic energy?”

“Ghost energy can take various forms. I don’t have a clear idea of what it could be yet.” He frowns. “Which makes the improvement of the unit even more complex.”

“If you and Dr. Stantz are ok with the idea,” you say, heart beating faster. “I’d like to study this matter further. Apart from the effect on the valences, there could be laser-nuclei reactions that are worth looking into, as well as interactions between the entities themselves. Perhaps, it’s too soon to theorize about potential ‘ghost particles’ though...”

Dr. Spengler looks pensive for a minute, and you’re afraid he’ll chastity you – gently, but he just walks closer, extending an arm. “I’ll show you the unit, and we can talk about a new schematic.”

The ‘we’ is a heartwarming promise. “Lead the way, Dr. Spengler.”

As you approach the stairs, he has a small smile on his face. “Egon, please.”

You’ll have to tell him about his stuff at your place someday.

[witty--fool]

Fallout: Vampire/Werewolf AU

Ok, so this started as a Hancock/oc sole vampire/werewolf AU in my silly little head... But it's spilled into a full blown supernatural/steampunk/gothic reimagining of the game? I'm probably going to write snippets of my ideas of this to post on Ao3. But I've written up an AU overview, and honestly? If I don't post it rn I'll explode. Kinda long, hope you enjoy. (I'll probably add more post as I add more character/locations)

Overall

The bombs still dropped, the Great War occurred and robots still roam– but the Commonwealth is more of a gothic wonderland. Radiation having permanently darkened the skies. Supernatural entities existed before, but more have been created as a result of the radiation. Like sole/Mary–Anne, the only known werewolf, created by Institute experiments with DNA splicing and radiation. 

Goodneighbor

Tucked deep into the dense, mist-shrouded woods, Goodneighbor has become a hidden refuge for the supernatural and the outcasts of society. It is a sanctuary where the unwanted and the feared come to seek safety from the harsh realities of the post-apocalyptic world. Goodneighbor didn’t exist before the bombs dropped, instead, it is a creation of the last two hundred years or so. Created by mayor Hancock with help from his closest advisors, Nick Valentine and Fahrenheit. 

Locations from the game still exist, but I’ve changed them to fit ti gothic landscape better. Such as: The Old State House is now just The State House. Hancock’s grand manor in the middle of the village. The Third Rail is now a tavern, the Memory Den is now more like a…place where the line between dead and living are blurred. Where people can make connections with the spirits of the long sense deceased. 

Goodneighbor is a myth, a legend. But some factors vehemently believe in it’s existence. The Brotherhood of Steel, hunters of all things unnatural, have strived to hunt down Goodneighbor, and more so, it’s mythical mayor. The Institute is sure of it’s existence as well, suspecting that’s where it’s wolf human hybrid experiment has escaped to.

Mayor Hancock

Still the mayor of Goodneighbor. Hancock is a centuries old vampire, he wasn’t always a ghoul though. Having existed centuries before the bombs dropped, but the two hundred years of being surrounded by relentless radiation has changed him into a ghoul.

He still sports the radiation scared skin of a ghoul, but his skin tone is more of a marble/ashen gray. His eyes are still the dark pits that they were in the game–but now they take on a red hue.  His gaze can be hypnotic, almost entrancing, capable of lulling people into a sense of trust.His fangs are a defining feature, longer and sharper than normal human teeth (as all fangs are).  When retracted, they barely peek from under his lips, giving him an unsettling smile, but when extended, they are vicious. Hancock’s fangs are imperfect and jagged–maybe even chipped. 

Hancock still sports his signature tricorn hat. The hat is worn and weathered but now features subtle, intricate embroidery along the edges, stitched in dark, shimmering threads. His hair, or what’s left of it, falls in uneven golden locks from underneath his hat. 

His clothing is basically the same. He still has his iconic red coat–but it is more regal,  No longer frayed at the seams, the coat’s rich, velvet texture seems both old and expensive.  The coat flows around him as he moves, as though he’s gliding through the air rather than walking.

 Beneath the coat, Hancock wears a deep black waistcoat over a loose, cream, billowing poet’s shirt. His waistcoat is embroidered with swirling dark patterns, almost like vines crawling across the fabric. The buttons of the jacket are pure gold, and the collar of his shirt is open, revealing part of his pale, scarred chest.

 Hancock’s pants are fitted and black, made from a leather-like material. His boots are worn leather, knee-high, and reinforced with metal buckles. The boots are heavily weathered, with scuff marks and dust.

He wears several rings on his fingers, each one unique. Some are simple golden bands, while others are adorned with dark gemstones—onyx, garnet, and blood-red rubies.

As a vampire, Hancock is known to not control his hunger well. Going as long as possible between feedings, is it because he dosen’t want to feed? Or is it because he’s too caught up with the responsibilities of keeping Goodneighbor, safe–and hidden?

Mary-Anne/The sole survivor

Once a normal Minuteman solider, Mary-Anne was captured by The Institute when her squadron was cornered by synths. In The Institute she was subjected to a variety of horrific and painful experiments. Primarily using gene splicing and radiation. Somehow, someway,  they introduced lycanthropy into the wasteland.. They broke her down mentally, trying to make the wolf DNA and instincts fully consume her. The scientist wired her so that both her transformation could be periodically triggered by the full moon, as well as by high amounts of radiation. Like that produced by a radstorm, or a potent injection. The Institute forced change after change, curious as to the effects of their sick experiment. Eventually, The Institute flew too close to the Sun, and Mary-Anne grew powerful enough to escape in her wolf form. Changing back into a human just in time to use a teleporter to escape.

She pops out deep in the woods outside of Goodneighbor, naked (bc werewolf transformation) and being chases by a multitude of gen 1 and 2s. She’s able to unknowingly make it to the gates of Goodneighbor. Where she’s lucky enough to have the guards gun down the approaching synths. 

From here, Finn, another vampire, suggests turning her out, seeing as she almost led the Institute right too them. Hancock appears from the shadows (and basically the ~iconic~ Hancock intro scene takes place.)

From there, Hancock takes her under his wing–and eventually they start a relationship. It’s a long time before he learns of her werewolf nature.

Mary-Anne is a woman of about thirty years, her eyes are a deep green, a shining emerald when she’s forced into her wolf form. She has long, black hair, down past her hips.

In the safety and quiet of Goodneighbor, Mary-Anne favors long, flowy gothic dresses that sway with her movements. The dresses are often in shades of deep crimson, black, or emerald green.  The lace-trimmed fabrics and corseted bodices make her feel connected to who she was, even as the wolf tries to consume her. While outside Goodneighbor, on trips or helping with patrols, she opts for a more practical approach. Wearing old, battle hardened road leathers. 

Every time her clothes are destroyed by a transformation. Hancock is always quick to replace them. He never seems bothered by the destruction, finding joy in seeing her comfortable and prepared, whether in leathers or lace. It's one of the ways he shows his affection and understanding—quietly making sure that no matter how many times she shifts into the wolf, there will always be something new waiting for her when she returns to her human form. He is also always quick to rush to her side when she transforms back into a human, wrapping his coat around her, preserving her modesty (something that is very important to her) before she can get proper clothes on.

When forced to transform, more often than not against her will, her once-human frame expands, standing nearly seven feet tall on hind legs. Her long, black hair remains a part of her, now blending seamlessly into the thick, glossy black fur that covers her body. 

Her face elongates into a sharp, feral snout, lined with razor-sharp teeth capable of tearing through flesh and bone with ease. The fangs, white and gleaming, are long and deadly. Her ears, now pointed and alert, twitch at the slightest sound.. Her nose, keen and powerful, can pick up scents far beyond the range of any human or normal wolf, for that matter.

Her transformation into this form is a brutal one, often leaving the remnants of her shredded clothes scattered in her wake. The change is fast and violent, bones snapping and reshaping as the wolf takes over. When she stands in this monstrous form, there is a wildness about her, but a controlled ferocity—she is not a mindless beast. Mary-Anne in her wolf form is still aware, still driven by her desire to protect those she loves, even if her human side struggles to stay in control.

Nick Valentine

Nick is still a synth, and is still haunted by the memories of a pre-war cop. But now, after waking up in the Institute’s garbage pile, he found his way to Goodneighbor. His smarts and his analytical nature has served him well as Hancock’s most trusted advisor. Nick acts as a foil to Hancock’s more passionate nature. Forcing him to slow down, and really think about his decisions. Especially when it comes to Mary-Anne. He estimates that he’s about one hundred and fifty years old, strangely, making him one of Goodneighbors younger residents. Among all the ghouls and vampires (Goodneighbor’s primary populations).

His mechanics are more clockwork/steampunk. With his skin taking on a tarnished copper hue. The lines of his artificial skin seem almost carved, like the visage of an ancient statue brought to life. Peaking out from the rips and tears in his synthetic skin are various cogs and gears. He makes a faint ticking sound when the room is deadly silent. His glowing neon eyes from base game are now a dimly glowing gold. 

 Gone is the detective’s trench coat and fedora. Here Nick wears a finely tailored, Victorian-inspired ensemble, albeit with patches in some areas from the inevitable wear and tear of over a hundred years. He is dressed in a deep, charcoal-black waistcoat with copper embroidery tracing along the seams. Over the waistcoat, he wears a long, dark coat that flows around him, made from rich, heavy fabric. The coat has a high collar and brass buttons, each adorned with delicate, swirling engravings. 

Underneath, Nick wears a crisp, high-collared shirt.The cuffs of his shirt are visible beneath his coat sleeves, fastened with brass cufflinks. Around his neck, he wears a simple, dark cravat. On his head is a sleek velvety top hat.

 Nick’s hands, still mechanical, have a more polished, clockwork-like appearance. His movements are smooth, yet slightly mechanical, giving him the presence of something between a man and an automaton. He frequently keeps his hands gloved in dark leather, though the slight clink of metal can be heard when he moves.

He still struggles with the identity issues that he has in-game. The inbetween space between man and machine. A tin man, haunted by the memories of a man in the distant past who was loved, deeply and truly loved.

Fahrenheit

Still Hancock’s body guard. Fiercely protective and almost always by Hancock's side, she is not only a skilled enforcer but also a lethal, vampiric presence within Goodneighbor. Her vampiric transformation has made her even more focused, cold, and dangerous. She has embraced the strength and immortality that vampirism offers, becoming a ruthless enforcer for Hancock and Goodneighbor. Her bond with Hancock runs deep—he trusts her implicitly, and she, in turn, serves him with unwavering dedication.

Residents of the town speculate it’s Hancock who turned her. But Fahrenheit denies this, although she’s never offered an alternative explanation.

In Goodneighbor, Fahrenheit is both feared and respected. She is Hancock’s shadow, always present and watching, ensuring that no threat gets close to him. While Hancock is the face of Goodneighbor’s leadership, Fahrenheit is the enforcer who makes sure his orders are carried out. The people of Goodneighbor know that to cross Hancock means dealing with Fahrenheit, and her reputation as a relentless protector precedes her.

She still wears practical, protective gear, but her armor is now enhanced with dark leather and steel accents. She dons a long, black leather duster, similar in style to Hancock’s coat. The coat is reinforced with armored plating beneath the leather, and dark steel buckles and rivets adorn the cuffs and shoulders. The coat’s high collar is embroidered with subtle, intricate designs, similar in motif to Hancock–showing her role and relation to him. Beneath the coat, Fahrenheit wears form-fitting black leather pants and a dark, corset-style vest lined with steel trim. Her boots are heavy and steel toed.

(Side note: If you haven’t picked up on it yet– Hancock→ gold, Nick→ brass/copper, Fahrenheit→ steel.)

Though Fahrenheit has fully embraced her vampiric nature, there is a part of her that remains haunted by her past humanity. She remembers the days before she was turned, when her strength and survival depended on her human grit and willpower alone. While she outwardly shows no signs of weakness, she sometimes struggles with the cold detachment that comes with being a vampire—constantly reminding herself of the line between protector and monster.

Codsworth

Here, essentially his role and personality are the same, except he is Hancock’s dedicated mechanical Butler. He’s a lot more steampunk/clockwork. 

Codsworth is responsible for maintaining Hancock’s estate, ensuring that everything from repairs to daily chores are handled efficiently. He oversees any other robotic staff or helpers in the household, ensuring that the estate runs smoothly.

Though just his butler, Codsworth acts as an informal advisor to Hancock. He offers calm, measured advice, particularly in moments where Hancock’s more emotional or impulsive nature may cloud his judgment.

Codsworth’s once-gleaming chrome body is now made of aged brass and copper, the metal is finely polished–most likely a task her does himself. His spherical central body is adorned with intricate, hand-etched designs—gears, cogs, and swirling patterns. His limbs have been reinforced with brass joints and copper piping that connect to his core.

Codsworth’s mechanical components are now more visible, with gears and pistons exposed at various points on his arms and torso. Like Nick, his parts are constantly whittling, clicking and ticking. Codsworth’s mechanical components are more visible, with gears and pistons exposed at various points on his arms and torso. His "eyes" are now encased in small glass domes with glowing, amber lights within them, his eyes glow warmly when he’s in a calm, domestic mode, but flicker and pulse with intensity when he switches into protective or combat modes. His eye stalks are adorned with copper fittings, and the glass occasionally fogs with condensation.

 In keeping with his role as Hancock’s butler, Codsworth wears a small, polished brass top hat perched at a jaunty angle atop his central body, complemented by a small brass bowtie. These features are all purely decorative. 

The Minutemen

The Minutemen’s primary mission remains the same: to protect the settlements of the Commonwealth and fight for the survival of what remains of humanity. However, in this world where vampires  and other supernatural entities roam, their duties have expanded. They are not just protectors from raiders and super mutants—they also defend against supernatural threats that stalk the woods and attack the vulnerable. They aren’t necessary on the side of the Supernatural. If they were to find Goodneighbor, things would most likely get ugly, fast. 

They also serve as a critical resistance against the growing influence of the Brotherhood of Steel and the Institute

Their General is Preston, and their fighting force is volunteers, mostly young people hungry to make a mark on the wasteland. 

The Brotherhood of Steel

Honestly? They’re quite similar to the games. FInding pre-war technology takes a back seat to their crusade against anything they deem unnatural. Vampires, ghouls, synths, and now a werewolf once they hear about her.

Clad in hulking suits of power armor adorned with religious symbols and iconography, the Brotherhood has adopted an almost Inquisitorial approach to the Commonwealth’s supernatural threats. They wield not only their traditional laser rifles and energy weapons but also silver-edged blades, enchanted relics, and advanced tech designed specifically to combat the supernatural. (everyone knows you need something like that to kill a vampire)

 Still led by  the zealous Elder Maxson, the Brotherhood operates under a strict dogma that views both the supernatural and those who sympathize with them as threats to humanity’s future. All those who oppose them often face the Brotherhood’s wrath for their "blasphemy."

To many, they are seen as overzealous tyrants who threaten anyone who doesn’t adhere to their rigid view of purity and progress.

The Institute

While still dedicated to technological advancement, genetic experimentation, and the perfection of synthetic life, the Institute’s goals are also driven by a vision of humanity where they control not only the future but the very nature of existence itself. They are not just scientists—they are alchemists of flesh and machine, seeking to transcend the limitations of life and death, manipulating both the natural and the supernatural for their own ends.The Institute’s experiments now go beyond simple synth creation and cloning. They are obsessed with understanding—and ultimately controlling—the supernatural forces that have emerged in the wasteland.

Now they not only capture residents of the Commonwealth te replace them with synths. They also kidnap for victims of experiments. Trying to induce vampirism and other supernatural states. Their newest successful experiment was inflicting a young woman with lycanthropy, through a delicate process of DNA splicing, exposure to radiation as well as mental and physical torture. 

[geekthefreakout]

The GaaNaru Letters (part 1 of ?)

AN: this might not be anything, but its been floating in my head. It's a tumblr post instead of going on Ao3 because it's lower commitment rn.

Dear Gaara,

Heh, it's weird calling you dear when we only kinda know each other. But Iruka-sensei said that's how letters are supposed to start. This is my first time writing to someone else- all my friends are in my village! Anyway, I just wanted to see how you are after that asswhooping I gave you! That's not me bragging, by the way. It's just. You seemed lonely. Like I told you back then, I know what that pain is like. I guess I want to help you with it. And I think you and me have something else in common, too. Do you know what I mean? Anyway, everyone knows that the Sand village only attacked the Leaf because Orochimaru-bastard was manipulating you, so I don't think we have to be enemies anymore. That snakey bastard killed the Third Hokage, but I heard he killed your Hokage too? I hope you get this and write back, maybe?

Love From, Uzumaki Naruto

Uzumaki Naruto,

I have been informed that honorifics are not required at the beginning of letters if one does not wish to include them. Unless this is one of the cultural differences between the Leaf and the Sand, you should not feel obliged to use "dear" for me. This is also my first time writing a letter to someone. I am not sure what to say, but I will answer your questions.

I think I do know what you mean, if you are referring to that red chakra that you summoned. Do you have a monster within you as well? It is difficult to imagine.

Orochimaru did indeed kill our kage, though the Sand Village has a Kazekage, rather than Hokage. Rather than in a great battle such as befell your leader, the Kazekage seems to have been murdered on the sly. That man was my father. I am told that most children mourn their fathers. I have not mourned anyone since Yas I was small, and I see no need to change that. Perhaps if my father did not try to assassinate me so often, I would feel differently. At any rate, my siblings are too afraid of me to press the issue.

You, however, are not afraid of me. Despite the damage I wrought on your friends and your village, you are still reaching out. I find myself wondering why? Perhaps we are not actively enemies, but we are not allies either. What use am I to you? Why should it matter to you that I am lonely?

Why did you weep for me, Uzumaki Naruto?

From,

Gaara of the Desert

Dear Gaara,

I already said- I know what your kind of loneliness is like, and I want to help! It's not some big complicated thing. You don't have to have a use to me, you know? Except maybe to talk about stuff.

Like the monster thing. This is kind of a secret so I probably shouldn't confirm or deny that I have a giant demon fox sealed inside me, but I want to tell you. I've never met anyone like me before, you know? Even if yours is different, with the sand and the crazy laughing and all. Mine doesn't laugh, he's just mean and grumpy and scary. When did you first know about yours? Have you always been able to use its power?

I'm sorry about your dad. Not that he's dead, but that he was an asshole! And I guess that he's dead too. I can see how that would be complicated. Did he try to kill you because of your demon? It's not how I would do things. I don't know who my parents are, or were, but I hope they wouldn't do that to me. I think parents are supposed to support their kids no matter what!

I guess it makes sense for your siblings to be scared of you when you do scary things, but I heard you apologize to them back then. So if you're trying to do better by them, they should give you a chance!

I'm going on a journey with Pervy Sage soon to look for our next Hokage-- whoever it is better meet my approval, because I'll be the next Hokage after that, believe it! And I want to get the job from someone awesome. Anyway, if I'm not in the village I'm not sure how to get mail so if I don't reply for a while it's cuz I'm out there being awesome!

Also- didn't forget what you did. You tried to hurt my friends, and that's not okay. But I kicked your ass about it already, so as far as I'm concerned it's all settled. So don't keep thinking there's something bad between us!

Sincerely (This is a new sign off I learned. It's nicer than From!), Uzumaki Naruto

PS: Iruka-sensei said you're right about the "dear" thing, but your name looked kinda naked if I didn't write it, so I'm gonna keep using it, OK?

Uzumaki Naruto,

Your answers leave me with more questions, but I will continue asking them as long as you are amenable.

My demon is the One-tail, Shukaku. He does laugh a lot, though it is not a pleasant sound. I have always known about him, for his voice has always been in the back of my mind. Furthermore, I was told outright when I had a strong enough grasp of language. Your question implies that you have not always known about yours. You called it a demon fox- could it be the Nine-tails? Is he truly so quiet that you could be unaware of him? As for tapping into Shukaku's abitilities, that has not always been conscious on my part. He is often eager to emerge and inflict is insanity upon others, so if I fall asleep he will take over on his own.

Needless to say, I am seldom allowed to sleep.

Shukaku is one reason my father tried to kill me. The other is that I killed my mother the day I was born. My existence has always been fueled by blood. I am not sure if I can change that. Can my siblings be blamed for resenting me?

Are genin often involved in the selection of political figures in the Leaf? Perhaps that is more efficient. In the Sand, it seems that the council just sits and talks in circles. My team's sensei, Baki, has taken a leadership position there, but has not assumed the title of Kazekage. I assume it is because the council wants him free to keep an eye on me. They are not sure what I will do. I am not sure either. For now, I have tried to appease them with silence. I do not wander at night, and I have not hurt anybody since our return from the Leaf. I have kept to myself. I can't say if it is doing any good. Temari and Kankuro speak gently to me, but I see the fear in their eyes if I move unexpectedly.

You keep saying that you "kicked my ass." No one has ever done that before. Yet I seem to recall you being unable to move at the end as well. Did I "kick your ass" too?

It is interesting that you view our fight as an instrument of peace between us two. Perhaps if I let Kankuro hit me, he will stop jumping whenever I speak.

I like your new sign off, so I will use it.

Sincerely,

Gaara of the Desert

TBC, possibly

PART 2

[seidenbros]

Breaking the Ice - Chapter 1

Pairing: Wylan van Eck x Jesper Fahey Summary: When Hockey star Jesper Fahey is knocked unconscious during a game, he is out for weeks. Once back on the ice, his coach Kaz Brekker teams up with figure skating coach Inej Ghafa to bring him and figure skating talent Wylan van Eck together, because he'd come back from a very bad injury before, and they think these two can learn from each other. What neither of them know is what happened between them a few months back at a Charity Gala. Or, well, nearly happened. Misunderstandings are pretty much inevitable, especially because they don't really talk to each other properly. What is undeniable, though, is the attraction between them. Will they be professional enough to ignore this, or will the sparks between them begin to melt the ice more and more? And of course, there is also Jan van Eck, hockey legend, praised by many, but hardly anybody knows what it really was like for Wylan to grow up in the van Eck mansion - and what his father did to him even after he moved out.

Warning/Tags: POV Jesper Fahey, POV Wylan van Eck, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Figure skating, Hockey Coach Kaz Brekker, injuries, Jan van Eck is the scum of the Earth, sexual content, implied child abuse A/N: HELLO! It's finally time to post this, because I can't keep it to myself anymore. This Hockey/Figure Skating AU has been in my head for a long time, because I love both sports, and I think they fit these two so well. There will be some more explicit content in the later chapters, which you don't have to read, if you don't want. I'll make a note at the beginning of the chapter, and give the parts a different text colour or divide it from the rest of the text some other way. It won't affect the story, and it's not like these are whole chapters, just parts of them. I hope I can stick to my schedule with posting a chapter every Friday, so you know you can expect that. I also hope I managed to explain certain terms when they pop up, so they don't stop the reading flow (though with the jumps in figure skating, I didn't explain them in detail) Special thanks go out to @taylacosplays @shog_draws @shippoutsy and @saskia_s89 (all of them on Instagram) for reading this when I started with the first two chapters and giving me their opinion, because I was so unsure about this. You're the best! So, now, I hope you enjoy 💚

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“Fahey to Helvar, moving past Bukowski, back to Fahey. He shoots… and scooooores! Goal for the Ketterdam Crows!”

“Sharpshooter does it again and scores his second goal of the night.”

“It’s certainly a great start to the season for the Crows.”

“Especially after that crushing end in the playoffs last season.”

“True. But it seems like they did their homework in the off-season.”

“I sure hope so, because I’d love to see a lot more of that.”

The first game of the new season was a huge success for the Ketterdam Crows, who won the game 3:2, with two goals from Jesper Fahey and one from Matthias Helvar. Helvar’s offensive line had the team captain in the centre, Jesper on his left wing and Tolya Yul-Bataar on the right wing. They were a force to be reckoned with. At least they were that now again, but at the end of last season, a lot of their team had played with injuries, and they’d been exhausted - and that had shown. In the third round, they hadn’t even won one game. Jesper had wanted to play despite two broken ribs and the third time he’d gone down, he’d been out for good.

That alone had crushed him, and he’d spent the first part of the off-season far away with lots of alcohol until his coach, Kaz Brekker, had personally dragged him back home. Oh, he’d gotten the lecture of a lifetime when Kaz had set him straight and told him that he’d been drinking too much, and the time for wallowing in self-pity was over. Jesper had needed that, because he knew that he could get distracted from what was really important quickly, and hockey was important to him. As were the people on his team, and so he’d been back for the first training session, even if he’d been a little hungover. Kaz hadn’t said anything to him then, and the game today had shown that they were all taking the game seriously. They were paid a lot of money, that much was true, but it was something they loved, something they wanted to excel in.

With the first game out of the way - and a successful one at that - they were all in a good mood to take part in the Charity Gala the following day. It was a big event that was held once a year at the beginning of autumn, and Jesper had been looking forward to it ever since he’d gotten his ticket. The tickets were expensive of course, but that was only because that was one way of gathering money for charity. Another way was an auction that took place in the evening after the dinner itself. The Crows were contributing a training session with the whole team as well as being on the bench for the next home game. Jesper quite liked that, because it was always nice to see some happy people who really enjoyed that.

Jesper opted for a dark blue suit for the night, a black button down, topped off with a tie in the same colour as the suit - Nina his physiotherapist had chosen that one for him, because to an event like this, he couldn’t go without a matching tie. He wasn’t a big fan of them, but he had to admit that they completed the look. Once it got later and the official part was over, he was sure that it wouldn’t be a problem if he either took the tie off or at least loosened it. Before that, he’d have to talk to a couple of people, smile for the camera, and enjoy a five course dinner menu that he was really looking forward to.

“I’m on my way downstairs,” Jesper said into his phone the moment he picked it up. Kaz had put Matthias up to picking Jesper up for this, so he wouldn’t be late. It was just a safety measure, but it had still made Jesper roll his eyes.

“Alright. You’re sitting in the back, Nina’s already with me.”

“Woah woah woah hold on.” Jesper stopped in his tracks, reaching for his wallet. He took one last look in the mirror and grinned at himself before grabbing the keys. “Our Nina?”

Nina Zenik, physiotherapist not only for Jesper but for a couple of guys on the team. Jesper liked her a lot, and not only because she was good at her job. She didn’t back down from anyone and handled the locker room talk without a problem. Hell, she even managed to get the guys to blush with the way she talked, and Jesper loved to see it. The two of them were able to talk about pretty much everything, even stuff that had nothing to do with hockey. He’d known that Matthias hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her for a while, so he was glad that he’d finally asked her out.

“I told you that I’d bring a date.”

“Mhm, could have just mentioned who your date was.”

Jesper hung up the phone and put it in his pocket. After making sure that he had everything he needed, he headed out the door and took the elevator down. Matthias’s car was waiting right outside the apartment building where he lived, so he could get inside immediately.

“Hello gorgeous, nice to see you here,” Jesper said with a grin from the backseat as he reached his hand out to the front to squeeze Nina’s shoulder gently.

“I see you stuck with the tie I chose for you,” she said as she turned around to him with a smile on her lips. She really did look absolutely stunning in a red dress that hugged her curves and matched the colour of her lips. She was stunning, and Jesper really hoped she wouldn’t eat Matthias up and spit him out when she was done with him. He may be a big, buff guy, who could throw a punch and had the hardest and fastest slapshot in the league, but Jesper knew how fragile his heart was, and that it took him some time to open up. The fact that Matthias was taking Nina out, and to an event where everyone would see them together nonetheless, really had some meaning.

When they got to the location, Matthias’s car was parked for him. Sometimes, this still felt strange, but at an event like this, it was part of the whole experience. Jesper looked up at the tall building and took a deep breath before he followed the other two inside. In the entrance hall, there were already some decorations as well as guideposts. He knew that the Charity Gala was held at the top floor of the building. He’d been there once, so he knew that they’d have a beautiful view over the city and the harbour, though Jesper was rather sure that there was more than enough to catch his attention and keep him from going to the window front to stare outside.

Once they stepped out of the elevator at the top, they were greeted with a glass of champagne each, before they were shown the seating plan. It was kind of interesting to read all the names, figure out who else was here, and especially who they would be sharing a table with.

The name van Eck made his eyes widen slightly. Jan van Eck was a hockey legend, and as a child, Jesper had been looking up to the man, as had a lot of other players. Most of them probably still did, but not Jesper. After he’d met him once a couple of years ago, when he’d just started playing for the Crows, he’d been so arrogant and condescending, and he’d told Jesper that he didn’t think he had it in him to play in the big league. Well, being here and being a very valuable player for his team, proved that man wrong. It would be very satisfying to be sitting at the same table as him. There was also his son, Wylan van Eck, who was a talent on skates as well, but not in hockey gear. No, Wylan was making money as an extremely good figure skater. Jesper had seen him practising once, not so long ago. He’d spent quite some time in the fitness room at the rink and everyone else had already left. He’d needed this to clear his head, and after a long, hot shower, he’d wanted to head out, when he’d heard music coming from the rink. Curious, as he always was, he’d gone over there and had seen Wylan van Eck on the ice, skating, or more like dancing to the music. Even without seeing his face straight away, he’d known that it had been him. Wylan van Eck had a very distinct way of moving, pure elegance wrapped up in one person. It always looked so effortless when he moved over the ice, as if he was flying. The only thing that had destroyed that idea, had been the swish swish of his skates on the ice. Jesper had watched him, completely enthralled, until Wylan had spotted him. He’d stumbled a little, but hadn’t fallen, and Jesper, feeling responsible for that, had quickly turned around and left the building. He’d felt like he shouldn’t have seen any of that, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. Well, tonight he’d get the chance to talk to him for the first time. He just had to watch out that he didn’t stare at him, because Wylan was beautiful, almost had something ethereal to him. But that might still be better than doing or saying something stupid, which could always happen with Jesper. He’d try to behave tonight.

The food was incredible and the live music accompanying the dinner fit rather well. Not that he’d listen to piano versions of songs in his free time, but it fit the atmosphere here, and anything louder would definitely be too much. After all, there were conversations at the table as well, and Jesper tried to follow them, though he had to admit that it was difficult to listen to anyone else when Jan van Eck overpowered everyone with his voice. That man really thought he was the most interesting person anyone could ever meet, and it was annoying to say the least.

His eyes landed on his son, who didn’t look up to his father or even listened. In fact, when his voice got too loud or he laughed unexpectedly, Wylan winced or rolled his eyes. It wasn’t obvious to everyone, but Jesper paid close attention - despite telling himself beforehand that he wouldn’t. Wylan was way too fascinating to not look at him, and when their eyes met, Jesper couldn’t help but smile, no matter that Wylan quickly averted his gaze again and looked down at his plate to concentrate on his food.

“Hm?” he asked as he turned to Matthias who had just said something to him, but Jesper had been too preoccupied with the man  across from him.

“I asked what you were looking at.”

“Nothing in particular.” Oh, he’d definitely not tell Matthias that he’d been watching van Eck’s offspring, because he might never hear the end of it.

“Mhm, sure.” Maybe, Matthias didn’t believe him, but at least, he didn’t pester him with any more questions. Nina may have had something to do with this when she reached for his hand and cradled it in her own, beaming up at him.

Jesper finished off the last bits on his plate, before he looked over at Wylan again. It had gotten a bit quiet at their table, because van Eck was talking to his son, making sure that nobody could overhear them. There was something in Wylan’s eyes that made him wonder what this was about, but it certainly wasn’t a friendly conversation. That proved to be true, when Wylan got up a little too quickly, his chair almost falling backwards.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” Wylan said to the people at the table, a polite smile on his lips as he showed them his empty glass. Jesper figured that he’d need something a little stronger than the champagne they were serving here.

Jesper kept an eye on him, while pretty much everyone else at their table hung on Jan van Eck’s lips again - except for Matthias and Nina who were deep in conversation by now. Just like he’d expected, Wylan ventured to the bar, but he didn’t just get a drink, he got comfortable on one of the barstools. Without rethinking this, Jesper got up, excused himself, and followed him. There was enough room at the bar, and they only had dessert left, which would take a moment to be brought out, considering that most people were still eating.

Jesper stepped up next to where Wylan was sitting and placed his elbows on the bar. While he saw Wylan turn his head towards him in the corner of his eye, he kept his eyes on the bartender, who walked his way as soon as Jesper smiled at him.

“What can I get you?”

“A Spellbound for me, please, and one for him as well.” Jesper nodded towards Wylan with a grin, and the bartender just nodded and got to work.

“I… already have a drink,” Wylan said a little confused, turning more towards Jesper, who was now turning to face him as well, leaning with his hip against the bar.

“I know, but I think you’ll really like this one. And I think you might need it.”

“What makes you say that?” He got a little defensive, his back straightening and Jesper could see that he was wearing suspenders beneath that nice black jacket he was donning. Interesting.

“Saw the way you were looking at your Dad, so… you might need more than one drink.” Jesper shrugged his shoulders, knowing that he’d just implied that he knew who Wylan was. It wasn’t a secret after all. The lopsided smile he got from Wylan in turn definitely had its effect on him, drew him in even more, and instinctively, he inched a little closer.

“Very observant, and also very, very right.” Wylan downed the drink that had just been put in front of him, making Jesper widen his eyes.

“That bad, huh?” Jesper raised his eyebrow, but there was still the hint of a smile on his lips.

“You have no idea. But I’d rather not spend time talking about my father here.”

“Yeah, I can think of better things to talk about than him.” Rolling his eyes, Jesper cast a quick look in the direction of their table, before he focused on Wylan again. “I’m Jesper by the way.”

“Oh, I know.” Wylan smiled at him and it lit up his whole face, now that they weren’t focusing on his father anymore.

“Do you now?” Jesper let his eyes roam over his body, starting with the shoes that went perfectly with his black suit, over his legs and his waist up over his chest and the bowtie that perfected the look until he reached his lips, lingering there a moment too long, before their eyes met again. Wylan’s were framed by long lashes that would make anyone jealous.

“I mean… of course. I know who plays hockey here.” The way Wylan’s cheeks started gaining colour betrayed how nonchalant he wanted to be.

“Aww and here I thought you may have looked me up.”

“Maybe I did.”

“Now, it’s getting interesting.” Jesper took another step closer, but then the barkeeper brought their drinks and Jesper quickly paid for them. He handed one of the drinks to Wylan and held up his own glass. “I hope you’ll like it, but it’s really good.”

“And the colour goes well with your suit,” Wylan observed, making Jesper laugh out loud at that. It was so random in a way, so refreshing, that it was amusing in the best way.

“Yeah, you got a point there. Cheers.”

“Cheers and thank you.” Wylan took the first sip of the drink, humming happily at the taste. “Oh yes, this really is amazing. You have great taste.”

“And not just in drinks.” Jesper winked at him, before he hid his smile behind the glass while taking another sip. It was wonderful to watch Wylan’s reaction to everything he said and did. It only spurred him on to get to know him even better, maybe tease him a little more.

“Is that so?” Wylan asked, sizing Jesper up, and he had to admit that he straightened a little under his gaze, put out one leg and pushed his free hand into his pocket. He hadn’t expected Wylan to say something like this, and he quite liked this duality he was showing. For a moment, he cursed the dress code here, because he’d usually have a few buttons at the top undone and the tie in his pocket, so Wylan would have at least something to look at, but it seemed like he was rather interested in what he was seeing as it was.

“Mhm, maybe I can prove that to you somehow.” Some motion at their table caught his attention again, and he looked over. They were motioning for them to come back, since dessert was being served, even though some people had just now finished the previous course.

“This is too pretty and good to down, no matter what my father will say when I come to the table with anything but champagne or whiskey.” Wylan rolled his eyes and hopped down from the barstool, his glass still in hand.

“Does he ever shut up? I feel like he loves hearing himself talk.” Jesper pulled his hand from his pocket and put it on the small of Wylan’s back to slowly guide him to their table again.

“Oh, you have no idea.” Wylan shook his head just slightly, but put a smile on his lips again as they kept walking.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t listen to him anymore, so I hope the dinner is over soon, so we can leave the table again. If you need saving from them, just let me know.”

“Thanks. That’s very kind of you.”

“And save me a dance later, will you?” Jesper had to shoot his shot right now and hope for a positive reaction, because he still wanted to get to know him a little better. And he’d get him away from his obnoxious father.

“I will,” Wylan said with a smile in Jesper’s direction, before he had to move around the table to get to his chair. It was fascinating and a little concerning how Jesper could immediately see the change in Wylan’s face as soon as he was close to his father.

But that dance never happened, because Wylan left the table after dessert and another drink. Jesper could see his father holding onto his wrist tightly, trying to keep him in place, but Wylan said something to him and ripped his wrist from his grip, before he got up and swiftly made his way out of the room.

Jesper didn’t hesitate a second. He got up and didn’t even say goodbye to Matthias and Nina - who were pretty much occupied with each other anyway, so he doubted that they realised that he was leaving, or maybe just thought that he got up to get some fresh air or something of the like. Good for him and good for them, because it showed just how well they were getting along.

On his way out, Jesper managed to grab a bottle of champagne while nobody was looking. It wasn’t exactly like he was stealing it, since the champagne was free, part of the menu they’d paid for, but some people would probably not be that happy if they saw him leaving with the bottle.

Once outside the ballroom and in the hall, he saw Wylan step into the elevator. Jesper had to jog over there to catch the closing doors so they opened again for him. Wylan was leaning against the wall on the other side, but immediately looked up when the doors opened again. With a smile on his lips, Jesper stepped inside and held up the bottle.

“Couldn’t let you dash off all by yourself.”