#imagine taking your kid to their first death match and they lean too far forward

[opbackgrounds]

There aren't enough safety railings in the world to make this death pit OSHA complaint

[liketolaugh-writes]

I've been putting off the Good GIW AU until I finish Life and Death (it's not so far off now!!) but here's a bit more because it's been so long, again-

---

Cory sprouted an enormous headache the moment he laid eyes on FentonWorks, and it only got worse the longer he looked at it. "What the hell is that."

Agent G shrugged, only a faint furrow in his brow betraying his thoughts. Cory sighed, resigned himself to the situation, and stepped forward to knock on the front door. He in no way wanted to be responsible for delivering a certified Official Apology to the Fenton family, but unfortunately the only available alternative was Agent G, which was out of the question.

No one answered the door. Cory hesitated, then pressed the doorbell. He listened for footsteps.

He was still listening for footsteps when the front door opened, and a black-haired teenager opened the door to raise an eyebrow at them, eyes narrowing when he noticed their uniforms. G inhaled sharply, but didn't speak up, leaving Cory to address the kid.

"Excuse me, are you Daniel Fenton?" he asked politely. He matched the description of the Fentons' youngest child.

"Danny," the kid said flatly. "And you're the Guys in White. What do you want?"

The hostility was, unfortunately, already proving to be pretty common around here. The rogue branch had really not made themselves popular among the locals. "I'd like to speak to your parents. They work from home, don't they?"

Danny grunted, but after a moment he gestured for them to come in. He crossed the room to open a door and called down, "Mom! Dad! The Guys in White want to talk to you!"

"We'll be up in a minute, sweetie! Put them in the living room!"

Danny left the door open and jerked his head pointedly toward a couple of couches. Cory nodded in return, and all three of them headed over there. Cory and G took one couch, while Danny opted to lean on a wall instead, watching them with a displeased frown. G stared back, green eyes under ruffled brown hair, so that might have had something to do with the kid's defensiveness.

It took a few minutes for the Drs. Fenton to clamor up from the lab, and Cory was very certain that was the right word, because they made a lot of noise. Jack burst through first, very much the largest man Cory had ever seen, and Maddie was almost unnoticeable by comparison, except she had the same suspicious look as her son.

"THE LAB IS NOT FOR SALE!" Jack declared sternly. Cory stared at him. Maddie sighed and patted his arm.

"They only tried that once, dear, I'm sure they're here about... something else." She'd put on a polite smile, but it was still strained by her wary eyes. "Why don't you join them in the living room and I'll get everyone some water?"

"Of course, sweetums!" Jack kissed her on the cheek, then bounced over to the empty couch. Did this man really have two doctorates? Cory couldn't imagine him sitting still long enough. "Danny! Have these men done anything shady here?"

"No, Dad. I'm keeping an eye on them." It should've sounded funny, but there was something unsettling about Danny's steady, untrusting gaze.

"We're not here to take anything," Cory said, shifting the folders in his arms. "The local branch of the GIW is undergoing a personnel overhaul, since Headquarters discovered that the previous staff had... gone rogue."

"Gone rogue?" Jack echoed with a frown.

Cory nodded, but didn't elaborate until Maddie had returned, juggling a few too many glasses of water. Danny rescued her, taking half of them and helping set them out on the coffee table. Maddie gave him an affectionate smile before joining her husband on the couch. None of them touched the water.

"So, how can we help you?" Maddie asked, equally polite. Cory sighed and shifted the folders he was holding again.

"First, I'd like to officially apologize on behalf of the GIW," he said. Maddie's eyebrows flew up, and Danny crossed his arms, distrustful. Cory kept his attention on the two doctors. "Your research was clearly more sound than any of us gave you credit for, and we should have taken you more seriously when you first put your theories forward. You have accomplished something that we believed was impossible."

"You bet we did!" Jack shouted, punching the air with a grin. "And we did it without anyone's help! Take that!"

Maddie waited for her husband to finish, then picked up the thread. "We appreciate the acknowledgement," she said evenly, studying him with sharp eyes. "But, as Jack said, it's a bit late to help us with it now. What are you really here for?"

Cory suppressed another sigh.

"Under normal circumstances, GIW research is considered strictly classified," he said, holding out the folder to Maddie, who seemed the more responsible of the two. Maddie's eyes fixed on it with interest, but she didn't move to take it. G shifted, and when Cory glanced up, he was still looking at Danny, who had tensed. Cory ignored them both to continue addressing Maddie. "These-" He gestured around them. "-are not normal circumstances, and while your theories on ectoplasm and the spirit realm are unparalleled, your research on ghosts has some... critical flaws."

He was being nice. Very nice, thank you. Reading the Fentons' papers on ghost behavior had made him want to rip his hair out.

Maddie didn't appreciate it. "That's what you said last time," she said tartly, but she accepted the folder and flipped it open with interest. Jack leaned over her shoulder, and she tilted the contents to share with him. "What's so terribly flawed about our research this time, hm?"

"All of your fundamental studies on ghost behavior are based on ectoplasmic echoes and ghost animals rather than fully formed ghosts," Cory said bluntly. "It's given you a very... warped idea of their consciousnesses." Maddie opened her mouth. Cory cut her off. "I'm aware of your theories, Dr. Fenton, and I'm telling you that we have decades of data disproving them. It's all in that folder. We can have a healthy debate once you're more... informed."

God, please, let them see reason. As the ectopsychologist brought in, it would be up to Cory to talk them around if they still refused to see ghosts as having thoughts and emotions of their own. Cory did not want to have to figure out how to explain that beings entirely composed from emotion did, in fact, have feelings. He wasn't at all sure he had the patience for it.

Maybe for Phantom's sake. Phantom was still a kid, eighteen at the oldest, and if the Fentons kept thinking he was evil, they'd keep shooting at him. Which Cory did not want. He could make the patience, for that.

"Don't talk to my wife like that!" Jack snapped, bristling. Maddie's eyes had darkened, turning stormy. "If this is more of the same-!"

"Dad, please?" Danny interrupted unexpectedly, shifting his gaze to his parents instead of the agents. The way his expression softened changed his whole face, and he looked tired and worried instead of guarded. "For me and Jazz?"

Unexpectedly, Jack deflated, and he and Maddie exchanged a look. Cory cocked his head. This must have been an ongoing conflict - a generation gap, maybe? Previous reports had indicated that the kids had a generally positive opinion of ghosts.

"Alright, Danny-boy," Jack agreed, softer. "For you and Jazz."

Danny smiled at him, then shifted his gaze back to G with a frown. Was their staring contest still ongoing?

"What's your problem?" Danny asked bluntly. G blinked, then shook himself.

"I'm sorry. You're very... liminal. It was puzzling me." G still looked more thoughtful than abashed, studying Danny again while Danny scowled in faint confusion. "I've never met a human that seemed so much like a ghost." Danny tensed.

"Oh, Danny has an unusual amount of ectocontamination," Maddie said offhandedly, flipping through just enough of the folder to catch the studies' titles. Her frown deepened gradually as she did. "Jack and I didn't fully understand how much it would affect our kids until they were nearly teenagers, and by then the damage had been done. Add in an accident Danny had a few years later and, well... half our sensors register him as a ghost these days."

That was... exceptionally liminal. Frankly, Cory had never even heard of that.

Cory smacked himself in the face. "My apologies," he said stiffly. "That... should not have happened. I'll send in a recommendation to unseal those studies, at the very least." They might not want to encourage people seeking out ghosts, but the hazard warnings should be there for those who knew how to look.

Maddie nodded. "We published some eventually, but that would be for the best."

"What the heck is liminal?" Danny asked, frowning at his mother.

"It's just another term for ectocontamination, sweetie," Maddie said, glancing up from the folder. "Your father and I are strictly ectologists, but the field at large is heavily populated by people that prefer traditional terms. In that context, 'liminal' refers to people that spend so much time around ghosts and places of death that it starts to affect them visibly."

"Many experienced GIW agents eventually become liminal," Cory added. He nodded at the Drs. Fenton. "Agent G actually specializes in ectoradiation and liminality. Now that competent agents know what's happening here-" Danny snickered at the slight against the old branch. "-we're hoping to figure out whether to expect any long-term effects in the human residents."

Maddie hummed. "We've been keeping track of that as well," she murmured. She'd found a study that had caught her interest, Cory realized, and was already reading it. "There have actually been fewer cases of liminality than we've expected - so far it's only appeared in residents that were directly affected by a ghost attack. And, well..." She grimaced in visible embarrassment. "Ourselves and our children, of course." She gestured to herself and Jack.

"No fatalities in four years!" Jack added cheerfully. "We were worried too, at first, but only mild to moderate symptoms of contamination ever appeared! It's been incredibly fascinating! Maybe we can share data!" He looked less reluctant than Cory would've thought, considering their initial hostility.

G hesitated, then dipped his head toward Jack. "We should take our own data first, but I'd like to compare later," he said quietly.

"Good thinking, G!"

The Worst Branch in the Country

The GIW knows Amity Park is a huge fraud. The “most haunted city in the US”, really? They’ve been checking the place out for decades with nary a peep aside from that couple of crazy scientists that moved into town around twenty years prior.

Because of this, the town became a punishment duty. One of their agents causes trouble? They get put in time out and sent to work for a while in Amity Park. Let those idiots chase after pointless rumors while the actually competent agents work with the more important ghosts. The reports back from the town get barely more than a cursory glance before getting tossed in the shredder.

…Which really came back to bite them when ghosts did actually start to show up, and they didn’t realize until after the Amity Park branch had royally screwed up the situation.

Fuck, they really hope this doesn’t start a war.

Optional DPxDC addition: they call in the Justice League Dark for help with negotiation and taking down their rogue members

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 11

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary:  “When we get out of here, Din will fly us far, far away,” you murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the baby's resumed chewing. “I promise you we’ll be happy together.”

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,511

Warnings: captured reader, angst, bonding with Grogu, plot plot plot

Author Note: To anyone and everyone sticking with this series, I love you so much! I know the plot is more than a little thick right now, but answers are slowly but surely being revealed. 

Links to Part 1 and Part 10 and Part 12

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

You pace the length of the cell, brow furrowed as you try to organize your racing thoughts. Between the chilly atmosphere and the severed bond wailing for its other half, you imagine you outwardly resemble the jittery and unbalanced mess you feel internally. You refuse to feel humiliated by your appearance, not when the witnesses are Gideon and his minions. They can think what they want about you, believe they have broken your spirit, because that just means they won’t expect it when you free yourself until it’s too late.

However, part two of your plan of escape is proving to be more challenging to conceptualize than you initially thought. The collar is tightly wound around your neck to the point of chafing. Apparently the rule of being able to slip two fingers under a collar is only applicable to animals in Gideon’s eyes because your attempt of slipping your finger between skin and metal is dissuaded by another electric shock zipping through your body.

However, as you lightly trail your fingertips over the cold metal, you’re surprised to feel a noticeable dip in the back. It’s not a design flaw, you think as you try to visualize it in your mind. Your heartbeat quickens as realization strikes: it’s a keyhole.

Any excitement you might feel at your discovery is spoiled by the fact a keyhole is useless without a key. You look at the laser gate, further disappointed as you contemplate the complexity of the tunnel system. There could be dozens of cells down here, potentially thousands of hiding places for Gideon to keep the key to the collar secure. Not to mention, you don’t even know what the key looks like. It could be hanging right outside the cell and you’d have no idea.

Lost in the sea of disparaging thoughts, you don’t notice the return of the baby crawling through the hole in the wall until he latches onto your foot. Startled, you barely manage to refrain from shouting a curse as you stare down at him. He giggles, clearly amused by your wide-eyed expression, and then slaps a silver plastic bag against your shin using the hand that isn’t gripping his favorite black cloth.

“Did you bring me a present?” you ask, taking a seat on the pallet and lifting him up onto your lap. This time when you reach forward, he willingly lets you take the item from him instead of trying to take a chunk out of your hand.

You tear open the plastic, revealing its contents to be five teal-colored cookies.

“Wow, bud,” you murmur, holding one up between pinched fingers. The treat smells distinctively like vanilla. From what you’ve witnessed, you doubt Gideon is the type to offer his prisoners dessert with their meals which means these were probably stolen from somewhere. “Where did you find these?”

The baby only babbles unintelligibly in response, gesturing with his free hand in the direction of somewhere beyond the laser gate. You nod along, feigning understanding, but your eyes can’t help but drift to his collar when he turns his head. The keyhole for his collar is smaller than you expect to see which has you quickly theorizing there is not one universal key for all of the collars. If that theory is true, then it raises the difficulty of escaping yet another level.

With a sigh you cram the cookie into your mouth, finding the tiniest smidge of joy in its crunchiness.

“When we get out of here I’ll buy you a dozen boxes of these,” you tell him once you’ve swallowed, offering him one of the cookies. He coos excitedly and takes a large bite, uncaring of the blue crumbs that rain down upon his coat. “And once Din sees you, I bet he’ll want to spoil you rotten, too. He has a not-so-secret soft spot for kids.”

The baby’s head tilts, reacting to the name-drop by making a confused gurgling sound around his mouthful.

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth,” you scold gently, tapping his nose with your finger and laughing under your breath when it proceeds to scrunch up in an adorable manner. Leaning your head back against the wall, you’re unable to keep the note of wistful longing out of your voice as you explain, “Din is my soulmate. To the rest of the world, he’s known as Death. They’ll have you believe he’s someone to be feared and avoided at all cost. But luckily I’m here to tell you the truth.”

He stares up at you, snack seemingly forgotten in favor of listening intently to every word coming out of your mouth. Distantly you think you should be a little scared by how intense his gaze is, as if he’s attempting to look past your skin to the soul beneath, but you remind yourself all babies are innately curious and don’t know it’s rude to stare.

“He’ll never admit to it himself, but underneath all that beskar armor, he is the most socially inept being in the galaxy. I swear, bud, the first time I met him I thought it was impossible for him to say more than two words or else he’d hurt himself.” Your lips twitch at the memory, the smallest of smiles you can make without it feeling forced. “Still, despite his horrible first impression, I couldn’t get him off my mind. I wouldn’t call it love at first sight, but—look, I know how crazy this sounds, okay? But I felt like I had to get to know him better. There was this voice in my head insisting we couldn’t just remain strangers. It took about ten thousand questions and three more meetings for me to earn his trust enough for him to take off his helmet and let me see his face.”

You take a deep breath and stroke your finger over the baby’s ears, needing to feel something other than the flaring pulse of pain from the bond. “One look at those beautiful brown eyes and I was done for.”

Saying Din’s eyes are brown feels sinful. It’s like saying the ocean is blue—accurate, but not detailed enough to describe its depth and volatility. There are days when his eyes are the shade of brown reminding you of leather bound journals—ancient and full of profound wisdom, meant to be admired and cherished for an entire lifetime. Other times, they are the kind of brown that matches your favorite chocolate pastry from the bakery down the street from your apartment—decadent and warm with the slightest hint of temptation.

“When we get out of here, Din will fly us far, far away,” you murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the baby's resumed chewing. “I promise you we’ll all be happy together.”

And I’ll never get tired of seeing those brown eyes everyday.

~~

The hours start to bleed into one another. The baby snoozes in your lap, head pillowed on your thigh, but you have no idea if it’s night or day. Gideon had said he’d let you talk to Din ‘tomorrow’, but that doesn’t tell you how many days you’ve been here in total.

Your legs have started to feel numb from sitting in the same position so long, but the last thing you want is to wake him up by moving. The importance of him feeling safe enough to be vulnerable and sleep is not lost on you. His desire for attention and physical contact is so painfully obvious you hate thinking about how often he must have been ignored before your arrival.

As he sleeps, you’re unable to resist your curiosity any longer and carefully maneuver the piece of cloth out of his grip. Despite its aged and dirty appearance, it is still surprisingly soft to touch. Whatever article of clothing this was torn from must have been well-tailored, you think, imagining a hooded cloak or perhaps a long coat. Your nose twitches when you hold the cloth close to your face to better study it, reacting to the variety of odors embedded in the wool fibers. Maker knows how long the kid’s been dragging the fabric around with him without it being washed regularly, so you shouldn’t be surprised it has absorbed a couple dozen scents.

Still, the faint essence of smoke you detect swirls around in your brain even long after you’ve laid the cloth back over him like a makeshift blanket. Memories of your death start to resurface again despite your best mental efforts to push them away, causing your stomach to clench with nausea as you recall the horrific stench of charred remains.

It isn’t the same, you tell yourself, squeezing your eyes shut and forcing your head to clear itself. It can’t be because that day was fifty years ago and he’s only just a baby.

You repeat these thoughts like a mantra until, without meaning to, you fall into a dreamless sleep.

~~

You’re startled awake by hands seizing hold of your arms and pulling you up onto your feet without warning. You yelp at the sudden rush back to consciousness, brain scrambling to make sense of everything. Your eyes sweep the ground, panic washing over you like a bucket of cold water when you fail to see a tiny green body.

“It’s time, pet,” the twi’lek’s voice hits your ears and you turn to see her standing near the cell’s entrance, a lantern in one hand and a shiny blade in the other. “The Moff is expecting you.”

It takes you a minute to process in your frazzled state, but you realize it must be time to talk to Din. You’re shoved forward by whoever has your arms twisted behind your back, but you manage another quick survey of the cell. There is no sign the baby was ever here and you send a quick prayer to the Maker he had snuck back through the hole without anyone seeing him.

You have mixed feelings about not being blindfolded as you’re led through the underground labyrinth. On one hand, you get to observe everything and everyone you come across, making as many mental notes to flip through later when you’re alone. On the other, you think this must be an intimidation tactic. Gideon wants you to see everything so you know with absolute certainty how high the odds are stacked against you.

There are cells identical in appearance to yours on either side of you, carved into the tunnel rock and blocked from entry by laser gates. Except not one of them contains a prisoner. Either you have severely overestimated the size of Gideon’s collection, or he is purposefully keeping you separate from the rest for reasons known only to him.

Another surprising and unsettling observation you make is how many different types of species Gideon has employed as minions—human, rodian, trandoshan, you even spot a devaronian in the mix. Except for the Cupid twi’lek in front of you, everyone you come across is mortal. It does not make much sense to you why a seraph as powerful as Gideon is relying on mortal henchmen to help maintain control of his secret prison. Your gut instinct is insisting you’re missing a vital piece of information and you don’t like being in the dark about it.

The tunnel you’re being marched down eventually opens up into a larger cavernous space with several dozen lanterns hanging along the walls providing ample lighting. There are several crates spread about the area, and some have been pried open to reveal they are packed full of blasters and ammunition. You rack your brain trying to determine the purpose of the weapons. Yes, clearly, they are meant to cause havoc and destruction, but why are they here? Who or what is the target they will be aimed at?

Gideon stands in the middle of the room next to an empty chair. On his other side is a mortal human male, bald-headed with ginger facial scruff, who has two blaster pistols holstered around his chest and yet another one held by a droid arm attached to his backpack. Overkill much?

You’re shoved in the direction of the chair and gruffly told to sit. Huffing, you wordlessly obey and try not to squirm as all eyes lock onto you as if you’re going to perform a trick for their entertainment.

“You have a minute to record your message,” Gideon says, holding out a piece of paper towards you. “These words I have prepared must be included in those precious sixty seconds or you might find me reluctant to allow you to send a second recording.”

Is he serious? This isn’t the arrangement you previously discussed with him.

“Record?” you repeat, reluctantly taking the paper.

“I never said you would have the opportunity of speaking to Death face-to-face.” You want more than anything to tear the condescending smirk off his face with your fingernails. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, isn’t that the mortal saying? You would know better than me, living amongst them in that quaint little apartment on Umbriel.”

Of course he knows about your home. Of kriffing course he does.

Heartbeat quickening, you avoid eye contact by scanning the few lines of words he’s written, eyebrows slowly inching up your forehead the more you read. “I don’t understand. This isn’t a demand to kill anyone. What does it mean?”

“Now is not the time for you to know,” he answers cryptically.

You shake your head, insisting, “Well maybe it should be. He knows me better than anyone. He’ll be able to tell I’m confused and—“

Gideon’s heavy sigh interrupts you. Then, quicker than you anticipate, he steps to the side of you and unsheathes his sword, its black blade positioned at your throat. It happens in one fluid movement, and the danger of your current predicament doesn’t sink in until the frightening humming notes of the weapon register in your eardrums seconds later. Your expressionless mask wavers, facial muscles tightening as you fail to refrain from flinching.

“All that is required from you, Cupid 1-1-7, is for you to speak from the heart and convince him to follow this one instruction. Do you think you can accomplish that?” he asks the question as if you have an actual choice. Like you can walk away now and there will be no hurt feelings.

But that is ridiculous. Everyone knows Cupids don’t get to have choices. Not when they are only given orders to obey.

You give him the tiniest of nods, careful not to let your skin make contact with the blade. “Yes, sir.”

“Then let’s begin.”

~~

The nav computer on the Razor Crest contains the coordinates of every moon and planet within each region of the galaxy. There is not one inch of space unknown to Din and yet his search for his angel continues to remain unsuccessful. He doesn’t consider the possibility of her being deceased for even half a second. As her soulmate he would have felt her passing the moment it happened. The bond he shares with his angel might be young and fragile still, but he doesn’t doubt her loss would eviscerate him in the same merciless manner he had done to Hess.

His inability to find her can only mean a powerful immortal is involved in her capture. As Death he roams the universe as a neutral entity. The only enemies he encountered—and he uses that term loosely—were foolish mortals thinking they could outlive their destined time by fighting him, only to ultimately meet their fated ends in the process. Prior to Hess’ demise, he had upheld his sworn creed to the universe and never once was tempted to defy the natural order or break a sacred rule.

Although admittedly strange to consider, the thought that maybe his angel’s capture isn’t meant to deliberately hurt him or her is one that keeps crossing his mind. Perhaps they are merely pieces in a game neither of them recognize nor want to willingly participate in.

As Din sits in the pilot’s seat, staring at the screen dispassionately through the visor of his helmet still coated with Hess’ blood, he is well-aware of Bo-Katan standing behind him, attempting to freeze him solid with her iciest glare.

She is the bravest of his reapers, unafraid to piss him off and counteract his opinions with her own. Yet ever since they left Hess’ body hanging in the warehouse and returned to the Crest, she’s not said one word to him, seemingly content to suffer in silence as a background presence while he contemplates whether he should be the one to track down the twi’lek Hess referenced or if he should have his reapers engage in the hunt.

“We’re going to talk about what happened,” Bo-Katan says coolly.

He grinds his teeth. “We will talk if and when I want to.”

“No.” She forcefully pulls at his chair, turning it around to face her. A snarl escapes him, animalistic and furious, but her green eyes don’t even blink, not the least bit intimidated. “You reaped a soul before it’s destined time. The universe isn’t going to easily forgive you for that. There will be consequences.”

“The only thing that matters is getting her back,” he answers. It’s the truth too. The second his angel was taken he knew there was not one rule he wouldn’t break to have her back in his arms—consequences be damned.

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” Bo-Katan asks, looking him over as if she no longer recognizes him. Her eyes linger just a second too long on his bloodstained gloves. “You’re losing your mind over a soulmate you’ve barely known a year.”

“Have you ever had someone you loved taken from you?” Din counters.

She scowls, eyes narrowing with loathing. “How dare you compare—”

“Answer the question!” he shouts, slamming his fist down on the armrest hard enough the metal creaks ominously.

“Yes.” Her chin dips briefly towards her chest as she takes a second to compose herself. “You know I have.”

Din does know. Hours prior to every major catastrophic event in the galaxy’s history he’s felt an invisible leash wrap around him, pulling him in the direction of the tragedy and demanding he be there to personally reap the souls of the victims in the aftermath. He had witnessed the destruction of Bo-Katan’s homeworld when it was ravaged by a series of bombings orchestrated by an unknown enemy. Thousands had been killed, including Bo-Katan’s sister.

He doesn’t let the silence stretch too long, voice unwavering as he says, “And if you had the chance, would you not kill the one responsible for your pain?”

“It wouldn’t bring her back. Not any of them.”

Din sighs, glancing away, but Bo-Katan surprises him not even ten seconds later, apparently unfinished.

“I’d still do it though,” she says, not sounding the least bit guilty for admitting to hypothetical murder. “I’d carve the heart out of whoever set off those bombs and force-feed it to them.”

“We’re more alike than you may think,” Din says. “Think about that before you question my actions again.”

Any potential response from his reaper is interrupted by the beeping of an incoming transmission. He turns his chair at once, noticing the recorded message’s origin source is a random scrambling of letters and numbers. Every instinct is telling him he won’t like what he sees, but his hand reaches forward anyways, as if possessed by an unseen force, and presses the button to view the recording.

His angel appears as a holographic figure and immediately his eyes zero in on the collar around her neck. Anger threatens to course through his veins again, but Din forces his lungs to draw in a deep breath. Now is not the time to unleash his temper. Now is the time to listen and commit every word she says to memory, to study her every feature for any sign she’s been hurt.

“Death,” she begins, and his entire body tenses at the use of his title and not his name. It’s been so long since she’s addressed him as such, he knows it can’t be accidental. “I hope this message reaches you wherever you are. More than anything I wish I could be with you right now. I’m so sorry I broke my pinky promise to you, sweetheart. The way our bond is...I hate to think you’re feeling as much pain as I do.”

Din’s heart shatters when she starts to anxiously rub at her soulmate marking, sniffling quietly. His fingers itch with the overwhelming longing to hold her hand.

“I’m not safe here. What they’ve threatened to do to me...it scares me. I-I need to ask you a favor, a very important one.” A few teardrops escape the corners of her eyes and drip down her cheeks. Din bites the inside of his mouth so harshly he tastes blood. “If you want to protect me, then you must let go.”

The transmission goes dead.

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[fullbusterfantasmic]

Love Potion ♋️ Chapter 4.7

Rated M

It’s all NSFW (As it should be)

1,933 words

A/N: The first position mentioned is called the butterfly or some shit (maybe?) idfk but I like it, & the second is the reverse cowgirl. Formatting is wonky, I know please look past it.

🌬Gray’s POV

The shine her eyes had held has begun to rapidly be overtaken as the (e/c) darkens, while she beckons me closer.

Her mouth is right beside my ear as she says;

“Ravish me...lay your claim on me...let every touch from you send me reeling, and begging for more...show me everything you’ve imagined doing to me and lastly...share every feeling you’ve kept hidden from me”.

The intense requests she made ignites a fire somewhere within me. Flames are rapidly consuming the protective layers of ice I’d long ago placed over my heart. Barriers erected after Deliora’s first attack, reinforced following the death of Ur...gone in an instant. Her tongue runs along the outer shell of my ear, lips placing a kiss to my temple. Pulling away, she then collapses back onto the pillows behind her, now surveying me through darkened, heavily lidded eyes.

My teeth clench as the familiar darkness begins to surface and my internal struggle begins. She asked for it....so why not give it to her? I shouldn’t...I....I’m ready to...no I NEED to let her in that now open space within my heart, within my very barren soul.

You don’t know what you do to me...

✨Your Pov

Im nervous...

I may have asked too much, it was too soon for me to come on so strongly! He still has yet to look at me, and his long bangs obscure his eyes from view.

“Gray I-“

I began to try and retract my previous statement but he interupts me. “From the very first moment I laid eyes on you I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen....and the most dangerous...” he moves out from between my legs, motioning for me to lay on my side. “ I knew if I got close to you I’d end up falling for you and that would put you at risk...”. One of his legs now rest underneath mine and my other rests over the top of his.

“Try as I might, I couldn’t force myself to get or stay away from you; somehow we always end up spending time together” he pauses, pressing a kiss to my temple before continuing; “ -and now we’re here...”.

The room is growing colder once more, goosebumps cover my exposed flesh and I lightly begin to shiver. My entire body is shaking by the time his voice reaches my ear; “With all that being said...I’m done explaining myself, and I’m done talking”.

“Now I’m going to fuck you senseless, this entire town will know you’re mine by sunrise” The vow is whispered to me in such an intimate way, it has my internal walls fluttering, before clenching around nothing. That is soon remedied; A surprised turned pleasurable cry slips out from between my lips as Gray effortlessly slides into me.

This position is a first for me, and experiencing it with this god like man...Said position has quickly become a “10 out of 10, must do again”. He holds my body so closely against his, and somehow those skilled fingers are still roaming up and down my sides. Occasionally pausing their ministrations to ghost across my chest or rub tantalizing circles Into my clit. The angle in which he thrusts into me puts the head of his cock in the perfect position to hit my G-spot each and every time he bottoms out.

The whole “I’m finished talking now” line was absolute bullshit! As soon the smug Ice mage was balls deep inside me, did the sinful whispers begin. Dear God! That deep husky voice alternating between uttering the most endearing things, having my eyes growing wet with tears. Only to make a flawless transition into speaking the most obscene and sensual promises (or threats), have my face continuing to burn red.

I was an absolute wreck.

“You should see yourself right now...Completely fucked out of your mind, slobbering all over, and tear stains coating your cheeks...yet still so breathtaking”. My enthralled lover may no longer be whispering, but the chill of his breath on my neck is still ever present. I don’t speak, I knew my ability of coherent speech had vanished long ago.

Gray doesn’t need my words to go off of now, not when my breath hitches and my body jerks involuntarily. “This one will be....number four right?” He sounds so proud. That wasn’t really a question, and I wouldn’t of answered it even if I could have.

As much as I craved release, my pride urged me to deny it. A small voice inside my head is saying; “Ignore the relentless tingling of your clit, the tight wound knot in your stomach, the pressure from that magnificent cock sinking itself into your deepest depths...”.

Dammit ___________, get it together!

You are a proud Fairy Tail mage; A living embodiment of strength, determination, and destroyer of adversity! You’ve let this man turn you into putty within his hands, he thinks he owns you! Now it’s time for you to reclaim your pride and turn the tables on him!

Who am I kidding?

🌬Grays POV

“Holding back now are we?”

I can’t help but tease her when she’s trying so hard to hide the fact that I have her teetering on the edge of bliss. She lets out and annoyed huff and I poke one of her inflated cheeks, making sure my cock is buried inside of her as far as it can go.

“You take my cock so well baby, you’re already starting to shape to me on the inside...you’ll be my perfect little cock sleeve in no time” I murmured before giving her another nice dark love bite to match the one on the other side of her neck. “I know you want to drench my cock some more” my ice coated finger flicks against her clit before circling over it.

“Hah!” she shrieks at the frozen contact to her bundle of nerves, involuntarily jerking and in turn slamming her hips backwards, burying my dick inside her once more. The tip of my head just barely makes contact with her cervix, and then her walls suddenly contract, clamping down around me. I have to give every effort to not paint them white as not only her ecstatic wail reaches my ears, but I look down just in time to see her lightly spritz the hand id been using to play with her clit.

For a moment my brain begins to short circuit, and then it just shuts down completely.

✨ Your POV

That was....incredible.

Several minutes pass with my mind reeling from the intense orgasm I’d just experienced. It’s like I’m drunk, but not from the alcohol I’d consumed earlier. Drunk from the dopamine flooding my brain, and my heart swelling with overwhelming feelings of love. Love....love for the man currently sharing my bed.  Before I can turn to Gray and embarrass myself with a bunch of post orgasm love drunk rambling, I remember something....oh my god.

I sober up and am slammed back into reality almost instantly. My face begins to burn and I Stifle a cry of humiliation as I realize; I’d just squirted all over his hand! That’s never happened to me before! Gray hasn’t said one word...he’s been silent since it happened! He probably has a look of disgust on his face, I can’t bring myself to look and see.

I try to move,, intent on getting away to take refuge on the other side of the bed. His arms immediately constrict around me, “Oh no you don’t, you aren’t going anywhere!”.  Suddenly he’s flat on his back keeping a firm grip on my hips as I’m forced to straddle him. Glancing over my shoulder I see the proud smirk he’s wearing, then he speaks; “Never had a girl do that before...I like it” giving me a wink afterwards. “Sh-Shut u-up” I mumble as I return my gaze to the wall in front of me, breathing deeply in attempt to calm my palpitating heart.

“Y’know normally I’d give you a little break but... I can’t...not after seeing you do that” he pauses, and I can’t see his eyes roaming over my back side, but I feel his hands slide down from my hips. Then a sharp SMACK resounds around the room, followed by my startled gasp. “Ride me...now!” a fierce growl preludes another sharp smack to my other ass cheek.

I don’t even bother to stop the excited shake that over takes my body, the sudden change into this demanding demeanor is thrilling! Keeping my back to him, I’m quick to position myself over his length and begin to sink down on it. The soft mewl I emit is drowned out by a hiss as the tip of his dick slips between my lips. “That’s it...good girl” he praises as he begins to rub out the red marks on my ass.

Eager to please I get straight to work.

Albeit a bit awkward at first, but Im able to get a steady rhythm going in no time. “So much better than in my dreams...fuckin’ hell __________ your ass is perfect! Yeah that’s it babe, bounce it just like that” Gray mumbles appreciatively, completely enamored with the sight in front of him. “Dream about me often do you?” I tease, throwing him a smug glance over my shoulder. “More often than I’d ever care to admit, now turn around and face me would you?.

I do as he asked, rotating my body to face him. He gently pulls me down towards him and I stop short, my face now inches above his own. My stomach feels like it’s filled with butterflies at the sudden closeness. Unsure of what to do I quietly whisper an awkward sounding “Hi”. A wide grin appears on his face as he responds; “Hi” followed quickly by a chuckle at my sudden awkwardness.

Now we’re both smiling at each other like complete dorks, and I’m compelled to lean forward and kiss him. I resume my ride as his tongue curls around mine, quickly losing myself in the passion of this moment. Gray is quick to pick up the slack, thrusting his hips upward each time mine sink down. The atmosphere in the bedroom has changed, we both feel it. When I say his name again it comes out in a breathy whine.

His eyes reflect an emotion I’ve never seen in them before and his tone is gentle when he says “I know baby, hold on just a little longer for me”. Strong arms wind themselves tighter around me, drawing my body in as close as possible as he speeds up the pace of his thrusts. “I want to feel you gush all over my cock when I finally get to cum inside you” his lips are on mine again, kissing me passionately while bouncing me up and down on his cock.“That okay with you baby? Do you want me to fill up this tight little cunt?”

My confession comes out quick and shameless; “Yes! God there’s nothing I want more right now, I’ve wanted that for ages!”.

“Tell me, who do you belong to now snowflake?”

“YOU! I belong to you now Gray”

“Tell me you need me”

“I need you, I never want to be without you, so please just-“

“Tell me...” he pauses, placing a hand on my cheek and staring into my eyes.

“Tell me you love me”.

[searchingwardrobes]

Ivory Runs Red: 5/6

First off, massive thanks to the @cssns​, my beta @demisexualemmaswan​, and my artist @cocohook38​. Cocohook created this amazing cover art, and she is working on something else too to go with this story. The rough sketch made my jaw drop, so I can’t wait for ya’ll to see it!

This part  is going to be a little long, but I need to address something that I got multiple comments about. Just bear with me; this is the only way I can think to clear things up. I was really surprised to see that some people were angry at David and Mary Margaret for not doing anything to find Emma and/or "allowing" her relationship with Neal. Others simply expressed things along the lines of "I hope you explain what David and Mary Margaret did about all this." The reason this reaction surprised me so much is because I thought it was clear that they HAD done something. Why would the Golds need to get rid of police files if the Swans never reported Emma missing? Why would issues of the newspaper be missing from the library if Emma's disappearance wasn't reported on? Obviously, David and Mary Margaret did something! As for Neal, they had no idea Emma was seeing him. If you'll recall, in a previous chapter, Emma told Killian she had to sneak out at night to meet Neal. So that wasn't Snowing's fault either. Also, how would any of these characters know what David and Mary Margaret did or didn't do for their daughter? This is almost a hundred years later, and Emma's memories are dulled from being a ghost for so long. The only way I could spell out clearly how Snowing handled their daughter's disappearance would be some sort of convoluted info-dump, and I didn't want to destroy the tone and mood of the story to do that. But just so everyone knows: Yes, Emma's parents were devastated. They did everything in their power to find her, never giving up hope (which is so in character for them!). They died still believing she was either still out there or that crimes against her had gone unpunished. It broke their hearts. The Golds spread rumors that Emma was some kind of slut who ran away with a guy, and the people of Storybrooke overall thought the Swans had gone crazy. So there it is, that's the back story that I just couldn't figure out how to fit in the story, lol.

I'm not mad at the questions, to be clear. I was just surprised by them. I guess I blame the show for ruining these two as parents the last couple of seasons. Maybe that's why everyone jumped on them so fast. I was also honestly worried that ya'll would be upset with me for not addressing the topic, hence this long explanation! No one was rude by any means, so don't go trying to defend me from nonexistent trolls, lol! My feelings have NOT been hurt. I simply wanted to address the questions that were asked and the misplaced anger toward Snowing. (Not anger towards me - but fictional characters!)

Okay, now that I've cleared all THAT up, let's get on with the next chapter, shall we? And I'll go ahead and warn you: this is gonna hurt . . .

Summary: When ebony flashes gold, blood runs cold. When ivory runs red, you’ll be dead. Killian Jones had heard the old rhyme his entire life. Every child did in Storybrooke, Maine. They heard it whispered in the dark at sleepovers as children; taunted as a challenge as teenagers. Killian never believed it was actually true. Until that fateful night …

Rated M for graphic depictions of violence, abusive relationships, and major character death (I mean, it’s a ghost story ya’ll, people are dead. BUT I promise, there is a happy ending. Trust me? *peeks from around a corner*)

Length: 6 chapters, complete, updated every Friday

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @kmomof4​ @xhookswenchx​ @let-it-raines​ @bethacaciakay​ @tiganasummertree​ @shireness-says​ @stahlop​ @scientificapricot​ @spartanguard​ @welllpthisishappening​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @thislassishooked​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @kday426​ @ekr032-blog-blog​ @lfh1226-linda​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @ohmakemeahercules​ @carpedzem​ @branlovestowrite​ @superchocovian​ @hollyethecurious​ @vvbooklady1256​ @winterbaby89​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​ @jennjenn615​ @snidgetsafan​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @lassluna​ @distant-rose​ @courtorderedcake​ @winterbythesea​ @thesschesthair​ @killian-whump​ @thisonesatellite​ @batana54​ @it-meant-something​ @xsajx​ @therooksshiningknight​ @gingerchangeling​​

Chapter Five: Run

“You’ve got to tell them what you saw - what you’ve learned,” Killian pleaded. 

Graham shook his head, his curly hair falling in his eyes as he stared at the slender hands he clasped in his. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw sported far more facial hair than it normally did, and Killian didn’t have to ask if he’d slept in the past forty-eight hours. 

“They won’t believe me.”

Killian’s jaw clenched in frustration. “But if I saw Emma, and you saw her, then maybe they’ll believe -”

“That Belle saw a ghost push Mike Gaston off the troll bridge? They’ll believe that? Really?” Graham let out a sarcastic, bitter laugh. “You really are just a naive kid if that’s what you're thinking.”

“But you’re a cop!”

“I’m still only nineteen! They’ll think we’re just over-imaginative teenagers.” Graham paused, reaching up with one hand to trace the curve of Belle’s cheek as she slept in her drug-induced prison. “That will land us in rooms just down the hall with our own IV full of an antipsychotic cocktail. How will I help her then?”

“You’ve fallen in love with her.” It wasn’t a question. 

Graham sighed. “How could I not? And how could he -” He broke off, his blue eyes flashing. “I’m not sorry he’s dead. If I’d been there and saw him hurt her -”

“Shh, I wouldn’t say things like that. Not here.”

Killian’s gaze fell to the bruises around Belle’s neck, and he didn’t blame Graham at all. It terrified him to think what could have happened if Emma hadn’t shown up.

“History repeats itself,” he murmured under his breath. 

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

Killian had scarcely arrived at the bridge when headlights blinded him. He turned away, blinking, stumbling, refusing to be stopped. 

“Emma! Emma!” he shouted. He tripped and dropped his flashlight. It broke as it hit the ground, rolling to the edge of the bridge. Now all he could see was ebony before him and radiant luminescence behind him. 

His palms scraped against the asphalt as Liam hauled him to his feet. His brother gripped his upper arms so tightly it was almost painful, and he gave him a brief shake. 

“You’ve got to stop this!”

Killian fought him. “I have to see her!”

Liam had always been broader than Killian with an unfair advantage in all their childhood tussles. Even now, Killian was no match for him as he lifted him bodily with one arm and hauled him over to his car. 

“You need help!” Liam literally tossed him into the backseat. 

“I’m not going home!” Killian tried to scramble out, but Liam just shoved him back inside. 

“Good, because I’m not taking you home.”

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

“Why won’t you be straight with us, kid?”

Killian glared at the detective with a cynical sneer. The psychiatrist on the cop’s left frowned at Killian’s attitude. The choice of words was cruel considering he was in a literal straightjacket. His vision of the two men was obscured by the long strands of dark hair before his eyes. Haircuts were apparently seen as a luxury on the psych ward. 

“I’ve answered all your questions,” Killian finally told them wearily, “you just don’t like what I had to say.”

“Because we want the truth,” the psychiatrist, Dr. Archie Hopper, said gently. He was clearly playing the part of “good cop.” Or “good doctor.” Whatever.

“I told you the truth.”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

Killian snorted a laugh. “Tell that to Mike Gaston.”

The detective’s voice took on a harsh, warning tone. “Mike Gaston was the victim of murder.”

“The victim!” Killian cried, his voice snapping up. “What about the bruises he put on Belle? Or the fact that I nearly died when he tied me to that bridge!”

The detective’s lips curled up in a lewd sneer as he lit a cigarette. “If some horny teenager likes it a bit rough, that’s none of my business.”

Killian fought his bonds, his jaw clenching at the detective’s insinuation. He was as bad as Neal Gold, maybe worse. He had to be pushing fifty at least, and a pot belly strained at his button up shirt. His eyes widened as Killian raged.

“Bothers you though, I see.” He leaned forward. “Nobody blames you for wanting her, kid. Nobody blames you for being jealous. But murder? That’s a different story.”

“I told you I had nothing to do with that!”

The detective glanced at Dr. Hopper, and the soft spoken psychiatrist took over. “Killian, start at the beginning for us. What did Belle say when she called you that night?”

“I’m telling you, she didn’t call me, she didn’t come to my house. I saw her early that afternoon at the library. That was it. Then my brother got a phone call that there had been an accident, and we came to the hospital.”

“You and Belle were at the library together a lot,” Hopper said softly, “what did you two do there?”

Killian rolled his eyes. He hated the patronizing way the man asked the question. “We studied. Did our homework. We were friends.”

The detective snorted again, and Killian wanted to scream. “Drop the act, kid. You really expect us to believe that you spent all that time with her, all that time with a hot chick, and you never fucked her?”

Dr. Hopper recoiled at the foul language, and Killian thought his own jaw might actually break. 

“You’re just as much a misogynistic, narrow-minded, neanderthal as Mike Gaston.”

The detective grinned and slapped Dr. Hopper on the knee. “You were right, shrink, this kid’s smart.” He took another puff of his cigarette as he eyed Killian. “Smart enough to plan an elaborate murder with your knocked-up girlfriend?”

“That’s the most ridiculous - wait - did you say knocked up?”

“Hm,” the detective mused, leaning back in his chair and rubbing at his five o’clock shadow. “You didn’t know?”

Killian was horrified when a laugh slipped past his lips. Another bitter laugh followed, then another, until before he knew it, he was shaking with them. He was laughing hysterically while wearing a straightjacket. That thought made him laugh even more, and if he didn’t seem like a lunatic before, he sure as hell did now. 

“What the hell is so funny?” thundered the detective.

Killian’s laughter stopped abruptly and he leveled the man with an intense stare. “History repeating itself. That’s what’s so funny.”

A smile that he knew bordered on manic curled his lips. Yes, history had repeated itself, and this time, Emma Swan had won. 

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

They didn’t have enough to charge him, or Belle, or anyone else really with Gaston’s murder. It was officially declared an accident, and theoretically, Belle French and Killian Jones were free to move on. 

Killian wouldn’t say it was easy for Belle. She had severe trauma from that terrifying night, and she ended up losing the baby because of it. Nevertheless, she had Dr. Hopper’s patient help, her father’s support, and Graham’s unwavering devotion. Soon, though it would be a long time before she was truly healed, she was able to go home. 

Killian, on the other hand, didn’t really want to go home. For one, he, unlike Belle and Graham, refused to stop talking about Emma - refused to lie and say he made it up. He didn’t fault his friends for it; didn’t take it as a betrayal. He even understood their reasoning when they begged him to do the same and just play along, damn it. He simply couldn’t do it. Emma was too real, too precious. He knew her in a way they never would. He knew the feel of her skin, the taste of her lips. He wouldn’t - couldn’t - let that go.

The psych ward wasn’t so bad. The drugs numbed him to the point that he sailed on a sea of oblivion half the time. He’d stopped fighting, so there was no more straight jacket, no more bed straps. 

And she came to him. Sometimes the drugs meant he wasn’t lucid enough to really carry on a conversation. On those nights, she curled up next to him on the bed. She ran her fingers through his hair and caressed his cheeks. She pressed kisses to his lips, and sometimes he could respond in kind. 

Other times, though admittedly rare, they would talk. About everything and nothing at all. One night, they talked about their dreams for later, after high school, and suddenly Emma began to weep. 

“I know,” he soothed, brushing her forehead with a kiss, “you fear you can never have that. But maybe we can figure it out. If we somehow get the truth out. About your murder -”

Emma silenced him with a finger to his lips. “That isn’t it, Killian. It’s you. I have no more tomorrows but you can.”

His brow furrowed, and she sighed and soothed the lines away with the pad of her thumb. 

“But not if you keep holding onto me.”

His arms instinctively pulled her closer. “I’ll never let you go.”

She sighed, and sadness filled her eyes. She slipped out of his embrace and rose from the bed. Her skin grew white, her gown floated in an ethereal way at her feet. He frowned and scrambled to a sitting position. 

“I have to say goodbye,” she told him. She said it with an edge of discovery in her voice. Her lips turned up in a soft smile even as a tear slipped down her cheek. 

He shook his head and tried to reach for her, to leave the bed, but he had just enough drugs in his system to make his movements sluggish and ineffectual. 

“I won’t let you see me again.”

“No, Emma, please! I love you!”

“And I love you. That’s why I have to do this.” 

She was already fading away. Killian made a fist and slammed it into his thigh. Tears stung his eyes. 

“Be happy,” she told him, “for me.”

Then she was gone.

[mianavs]

coming to conclusions

part 9 of Cathexis

a/n: hiiii i’ve been working on this update and haven’t done much else lol. it’s a long update but i didn’t want to split it. after this ill work on the stuff in my inbox :)

wc: 4.1k+

Cathexis

Expecting the unexpected was a concept that had been engrained into your psyche at a young age. It saved you countless of times during missions and only improved over time—at least until that fateful meeting with Illumi. Since then, your actions grew erratic and the precautions you once took when dealing with the unknown were forgotten. When it came to Illumi, you were a reckless mess and it was that recklessness that led to your current situation—Illumi’s lips pressed against yours.

Maybe it was the adrenaline that coursed through your veins whenever Illumi was nearby. Or perhaps it was your inexperience in all things carnal. Whatever the reason, you didn’t reject his kiss and instead tilted your head to give him ease of access to your mouth.

Illumi’s kiss was paradoxical.

Unlike his cold cut-throat self, Illumi’s lips were gentle and almost hesitant against yours. He took his time caressing, nipping, and sucking on your lips until they tingled with numbness. It wasn’t until you let out a whimper that Illumi’s warm tongue delved into your mouth and languidly tasted every crevice, clouding your mind with desire.

The low groan that erupted from his throat and reverberated in your conjoined mouths was what snapped you out of your hazy state of mind to reality. Your hands traveled up Illumi’s chest and gently pushed him away until the clear strand of saliva connecting the two of you broke.

“We can’t,” you panted and you couldn’t help but notice his parted swollen lips, labored breathing, and the dust of pink on his cheeks. Illumi looked beautiful and that realization alone frightened you enough to tear your gaze away from him.

“Is it because of Hisoka?” The accusatory tone threw you off.

“Wha- no!” You blurted out in disbelief. “Why are you even bringing him up?”

Illumi’s hand took you by the chin and forced you to face him. The intensity of his gaze was unsettling as he scrutinized your face and you tore away from his grasp as soon as you could.

“Forget it. I’ll let you rest.” He stated, any remnant of emotion stripped from his voice.

As Illumi stood up and sauntered to the door, your mouth opened with a protest on the tip of your tongue but your sense of judgement returned, effectively killing the words on the spot.

If Illumi resented you for rejecting him, he didn’t show it when he visited the next morning with Canary in tow. As the young butler fed you your medicine and helped you with your physical therapy, the weight of Illumi’s eyes made you wish he’d been upset enough to avoid you.

But that wasn’t Illumi and the assassin escorted you to a greenhouse in a corner of the Zoldyck mansion where a breakfast for two was set up. Breathing in the fresh air and admiring the beautiful flora around you was enough to take your mind off the previous night’s events. So when Illumi helped you take a seat on the wrought iron chair before taking his seat opposite you, any lingering awkwardness dissipated and all of your attention was on the plate of food in front of you.

After taking a couple bites, you turned your attention to the assassin in front of you and broke the comfortable silence to get any information you could about the world outside the mansion’s walls.

“How was your mission?”

“It went well. The target was eliminated.”

“Where was the job?” You asked, pushing the subject to see if it would take you where you wanted.

“York New,” Illumi then paused, narrowing his coal eyes slightly. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, just curious,” you took a sip of juice. “I’m just not used to being holed up in one place for too long.”

“Then just tell me.” He leaned forward and uncrossed his arms. “What do you want to know.”

You sighed knowing there would be no beating around the bush with Illumi. “The aftermath…of Saul’s death.”

Illumi quirked his head and furrowed his brow slightly as he thought over your words for a moment before the metaphorical light bulb went off in his head. “Ah- you want to know if your reputation is still in ruins.”

You winced at his harsh words but nodded, nonetheless. “I just want to know what awaits me when I go back.”

“It’s not what it used to be but his death definitely helped.” He paused for a second. “That mafia boss also did some damage control in your stead.”

“Who? Ruo Wen?” Illumi nodded before finishing the last bit of his breakfast.

The last time you’d been in contact with your last client, he’d merely confirmed your payment and wished you a speedy recovery but didn’t say anything beyond that. Ruo Wen wasn’t the type of person to go around doing favors for others without something in return, so you anticipated that the next time he contacted you for a job there would be no denying him.

“I suppose it’s better than nothing,” you admitted, stabbing a piece of fruit with your fork. “I’ll be able to get some work.”

“You wouldn’t have to worry about that if you married me,” he suggested and memories of the night before flooded your mind.

“I-I can’t-” There was an edge to your voice as you scrambled to come up with an excuse.

“But you eventually will so why not get it over with.” Illumi pushed and you knew he wouldn’t be satisfied until you gave him an answer

“Because! I-” You took a deep breath to steady yourself. “I’m in no rush to get married. I need to help my parents as much as I can and I’d like to enjoy whatever time I have left being single.”

The assassin remained silent and you decided to get some answers for yourself. “Why did you kiss-”

An unfamiliar presence in the greenhouse caused you and Illumi to turn in the direction where it came from. It was Illumi who recognized the intruder first and called out to them.

“What are you doing here, Kil?”

Silver hair emerged from the greenery and you smiled at the sight of Killua, your preferred Zoldyck. The young boy looked surprised to see Illumi and visibly tensed when Illumi stood up, simultaneously emitting the faintest hint of bloodlust.

“Canary said Y/N was in here…” Killua stopped when Illumi took a couple of steps towards him. Seeing him in action, you were reminded of the type of person Illumi Zoldyck was and your convoluted feelings towards him sorted themselves out.

“That’s enough, Illumi.” You reached out and held his wrist in a vice-like grip.

“He interrupted us,” Illumi deadpanned

“No, we’re done here.” Was your pointed reply before releasing his wrist. “I want to spend time with Killua.”

The slight tensing of his jaw was all you needed to confirm he wasn’t pleased with your declaration but you stood your ground until Illumi finally relented.

“I have a meeting with father so I’ll leave first.” Illumi turned to leave but not before addressing his brother. “Take care of her, Kil.”

Looking down at the forest from the top of Kukuroo mountain reminded you of home. The thin air and cool winds that tickled your face were so familiar you couldn’t believe it. All you had to do was close your eyes to picture the cliff your home sat upon and hear the waves of the sea crashing against it. Most of the memories you held near and dear to your heart involved diving off the cliff into the cool sea water with—

“Y/N!”

Immersed in your memories, you opened your eyes expecting to see your brother but found a worried Killua instead.

“It looked like you wanted to jump off.” He motioned to your hands gripping the balcony’s railing and your body leaning over.

“Ah-sorry! This just reminded me of the cliff back home. My little brother and I like to dive off of it into the sea.”

Stepping away from the balcony, you resumed walking the perimeter of the mansion. After being cooped up inside for so long, your readily accepted Killua’s tour of the Zoldyck family’s grounds and the two of you were just about finished.

“Illumi never mentioned you had a brother.

“Well he’s only eleven plus he hasn’t gotten his license yet.” Was your explanation although you doubted Illumi and the Zoldyck adults didn’t know about your baby brother given their profession and the relationship of your families.

“Is he also getting his when he turns thirteen?” There was a liveliness in his step and big blue eyes that reminded you of your brother. So as Killua matched your slower pace and waited for your reply, you found yourself caring about the middle Zoldyck sibling more than you’d ever anticipated.

“Yes, it’s our family’s tradition. In fact, I haven’t been able to see him lately because he’s been busy training.”

“Is the Hunter Exam that hard?”

You paused, thinking back on your experience, before you formulated your response. “It’s difficult for most adults with years of martial arts training so you can imagine how hard it must be for a kid. That being said, your family, like mine, doesn’t raise children normally so I’m sure if you ever decided to take the exam you would pass.”

The smile that spread across Killua’s face was infectious and you matched it with as much vigor and went so far as to ruffle his soft silver hair affectionately.

For the remainder of your stay at the Zoldyck mansion, you failed to cross paths with Illumi again. Upon returning to your room after spending the entire day with Killua, Canary informed you of Illumi’s departure for a long mission and the news came as a relief to your troubled mind.

You hoped that the time apart would serve to smother the flames of attraction Illumi’s kiss ignited.

Any further interaction with the Zoldycks—excluding Killua—was also avoided as most of them also embarked on missions of their own. The one’s left behind had been Kikyo, Milluki, and Killua which meant you weren’t summoned to any more awkward meals with the former two. For the last few days of your stay, you watched over Killua train for the upcoming Hunter Exam.

On your last day, you bid Killua and Canary farewell and trekked down the mountain debating where to go. York New was always a possibility but with your reputation the jobs would surely be difficult in your weakened state. Heaven’s Arena was also a possibility but the thought of crossing paths with a certain magician changed your mind. In the end, your weakened state and the time spent with Killua contributed to your destination—home.

A quick call to your mother confirmed your brother’s return home from his training trip and you looked forward to the time you’d spend together with him while regaining your strength. On the way to Padokea’s capital airport, you stopped by a souvenir shop to look for a gift for your brother. It was a fun little tradition in your family to bring souvenirs to him after returning home from missions, and as far as you knew, your parents hadn’t stepped foot onto Padokea ever since that event almost nineteen years ago.

A miniature version of Kukuroo Mountain on a shelf caught your eye and, after checking the price, you picked it up and took to the front. As the cashier rang you up, your phone rang with an unknown number lighting up your screen. You answered it immediately thinking it was a potential client but Illumi spoke instead.

“What did you tell him?” It was faint but you could hear the vexation in his voice.

“Tell who?”

“Killua ran away from home after injuring Mother and Milluki and I think you have something to do with it.”

You scoffed in disbelief before shutting down his accusation. “I didn’t tell Killua to attack your mother and brother. He was curious about the Hunter Exam so he probably left to take it.”

A harsh, derisive laugh filled your ear as you took your gift and stormed out of the shop. “Only a few days and you already filled his mind with foolish notions.”

“And what’s so bad about Killua becoming a hunter?”

“He’s not cut out to be a hunter. He was raised to be an assassin and cannot stray from that path.” Illumi answered, as if the reason had been obvious all along.

“He’s just a kid and deserves to have a say in what he wants to do.” You replied firmly, remembering the excited expression on Killua’s face during training. “He can work as a hunter just as well-”

“Of course an outsider like you wouldn’t understand. The Zoldyck name is synonymous with assassins. The heir can’t possibly be hunter instead.”

Illumi spoke to you like a child and if there was one thing you hated most it was being belittled. You’d been plagued by it during your rookie years and refused to go through the same thing again—even if it came from a dangerous man like Illumi.

“You’re right, Illumi, an outsider like me will never understand the inner workings of the Zoldyck family so maybe this engagement shouldn’t take place.”

Ending the call before Illumi could reply, you took a couple deep breaths before making your way to the airport now more eager than ever to return home and escape the madness that was Illumi Zoldyck.

Unlike your previous visit home, you took your time passing through the small town near your home. It was a small town that mostly profited off fishing. Many of the grounds people that worked at your home belonged to families that had lived in town for generations. Such was the case, the people that waved as you passed by were familiar to you and they knew you as well.

“Y/N!”

The distinct raspy voice from behind you sure enough turned out to be Jakob, a fisherman and the son of your family’s cook. He was a couple years older than you but the two of you grew up together and he’d been the one to teach you how to swim.

“Long time no see, Jakob! How’ve you been? How’s Petra?”

“I’m hanging in there,” Jakob grinned and held out a wooden box to you. “Petra’s six months pregnant, you see.”

You took the box and found it to be heavy and smelled like fish. “Oh congratulations! I can’t believe it’s already been a year since your marriage. You better be treating her well, Jakob.”

“I know, I know.” He replied with a roll of his eyes. “By the way, take that to my dad so he can cook it up for you and your brother. It’s from today’s catch.”

A peak into the box confirmed your suspicion and you recognized it as your brother’s favorite.

“Thanks,” you replied and closed the box. “Do you know what it’ll be?”

“The baby? It’s a girl. We found out last week.” He admitted with the biggest-shit eating grin you’d ever seen.

“She will be spoiled rotten by the two of you and your dad!” You laughed imagining old man Olvar playing with his granddaughter. “I don’t know much about kids but I’ll be sure to prepare a gift for her.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” and Jakob paused. “What about you? When are you settling down and having a family of your own?”

Jakob’s words triggered the memory of your first conversation with Illumi and you shuddered remembering his expectations of a wife.

“Not anytime soon,” you replied, shaking your head to rid yourself of the memory. “Well, I should really head up now. Say hi to Petra for me!” And with that, you said goodbye to your childhood friend and continued the trek up to your family’s home.

Passing the last home in the outskirts of town, the paved road ended and the dirt road that led all the way to your home began. The incline was quite steep but after years of climbing, you hardly noticed it. Besides, the scenery that surrounded it served as a distraction. To your left was a thick coniferous forest that stretched for miles inland and supplied the town with plenty of lumber and game. On the right was the cliff’s edge and the crashing waves of the sea below. You could practically taste the salty sea water just from the wind itself as it blew past you, whipping your hair and causing goosebumps to form across the surface of your skin.

You wanted nothing more than to drop everything and jump into the chilling waters below. It was very tempting but you figured it would be more enjoyable with your brother so you picked up the pace.

No matter how many times you visited, the warm tickling sensation in your chest never failed to manifest when you stood on the front lawn and peered up at the imposing centuries-old structure. If there was one thing your grandfather did right, it was refurbishing the old family home. Electricity flowed through every corner of the house giving it the heat and lighting it needed while the new plumbing system gave adequate water supply to all of the bathrooms and kitchens. Therefore, while the outside walls gave off the appearance of an old fortress, the interior was as modernized as any home built in the last fifty years.

Upon entering, you instantly felt a presence following your every move and it only took a moment to realize who it was. Deciding to humor him, you took the wooden box and headed towards the kitchen waiting for your little brother to emerge.

After reaching the annex, a shadow to your right caught your eye but you were faster and avoided the small fist that whizzed past your right arm.

“Ugh, you noticed me didn’t you?” Your little brother pouted, relaxing his shoulders and stance.

“Nice to see you too, ” you grinned and reached out to ruffle his hair. “And of course I did you were way too obvious.”

He slapped your hand away and patted down his hair before his eyes lit up at the sight of the wooden box and the gift bag you brought. “Are those for me?”

“Well I suppose they both technically are but the fish in the box is dinner. The bag is your souvenir from Padokea.”

You handed him the bag before picking up the box. “Now let’s take this to Olvar.”

By the time you settled in, it was dinner time and you joined your brother in the dining room. It was then that the two of you caught up since the last time you seen each other almost a year ago. You told your brother about your missions and the training you did but made sure to leave out any information about Illumi and the Zoldycks. It had been one of the conclusions you and your parents came to when discussing the debt’s repayment; your little brother would have nothing to do with it.

“So how was Padokea? I don’t think our parent’s have ever been there.”

“Lots of forests and mountains and the towns are nice.” Was your short reply and you steered the conversation towards your brother. “So how was training? Where did you go again?”

“Rokario,” He replied, stabbing a piece of fish with his fork but said nothing else to your surprise.

“Hmmm isn’t that near the NGL?” you commented. “I don’t think I’ve been to the Mitene Union.”

That last comment captured your brother’s attention and he stared at you wide-eyed. “Really?! You’ve never been there?”

For the remainder of the evening, your brother went told you everything he knew about Rokario, NGL, and the other neighboring countries. He spent a large amount of time discussing the people, flora, and fauna native only to that area of the known world. He also told you about the medicinal properties of different plants from treating a common cold to serving as a poison antidote. In the end, he didn’t tell you about his training but you figured you’d find out first-hand over the next few days.

Training was to a hunter as sunlight was to plants; it was vital to their growth. That was a fundamental that’d been passed down in your family and was engraved in you. So over the next few days when you observed your little brother’s movements and Nen strength, it became clearer that he’d slacked off in training. He was more than happy to help you out with your training but when it was his turn he’d get tired quickly and would leave to rest.

You debated when to address the issue and in the end decided to do it the day before you were set to leave. The two of you went swimming for hours before heading to shore and eating the food  Olvar had packed you.

“So…what happened,” you began taking a swig of water to wash down your food. “You’ve been slacking off during training.”

Panic flashed on your brother’s face before he looked away. “The thing is…I don’t think I want to be a hunter.”

“Wait, what? Not be a hunter?” You couldn’t believe what you’d just heard. “We’re hunters, B/N. That’s just who we are. It’s family tradition!”

“I want to help people. I want to be a doctor. I want to go to school and be a normal kid!” Tears welled up in your brother’s eyes as he looked at you.

“O-okay, we can always just postpone taking the exam so you can go to school but-”

He stood up suddenly and shook his head, tears falling on the floor. “No! You don’t get it, Y/N! I don’t want to take the exam ever! I just want to do what I want to do, not what you, mom, and dad want me to do!”

With that, your brother darted towards the house leaving you dumbfounded and confused. Ever since he first started to talk, he’d always wanted to be a hunter like the rest of you. Your parents even had him start his training early since he’d follow you around anyway. Not to mention, he also had a natural talent when it came to martial arts and was strong—even before finding out he was an Enhancer.

That night, after dining alone, you tried to figure out what had changed your brother’s mind and concluded that something must have happened during his trip. The conversation you had with him regarding the trip came to mind and you remembered the animated way he told you about the people, animals, and plants. Your brother’s face when he told you about the different medicinal properties of plants came to mind. He looked so excited and proud of himself…almost like Killua when he was training with you for the Hunter Exam.

“Hah…”

The bitter realization that you’d acted just like Illumi was like a slap in the face. What right did you have to judge Illumi when here you were telling your brother he had to become a hunter? Once you came to that realization, you thought about Illumi’s reasoning behind not wanting Killua to stray from his path and wondered if it was similar to yours. You fell asleep late that night mulling over what you would tell your brother and whether you should apologize to Illumi.

The next morning, after packing a bag for your trip, you headed to your brother’s room and knocked on his door. You heard shuffling in his room after the first few knocks but he never opened the door, so you decided to talk anyway hoping he wasn’t too upset to ignore you.

“I’m sorry about yesterday. It’s just you caught me off guard and I didn’t know how to react. You deserve to do what makes you happy and if that’s being a doctor then I’ll support you and we can talk to mom and dad about it when you’re ready. I would like for you to at least take the Hunter Exam, though. You don’t have to be hunter but it would be nice if you were licensed at least plus there’s a lot of benefits that come with it.”

You paused to see if he would open the door but you didn’t hear him move. “Well, I’m heading out now. Stay safe, okay?”

In the end, you weren’t able to see you brother again so you asked the grounds people and Olvar to look after him while your parents were away. Leaving home was always a melancholic event but this departure in particular was gloomier than usual. You wanted your brother to be happy but the family’s legacy remained steadfast in your mind.

With a sigh, you pulled out your phone. The number Illumi had called you from had been a payphone and you had no other means of contacting him, so you scrolled through your contacts until a particular name appeared on your glowing screen.

[Hisoka]

[forasecondtherewedwon]

In the Arms of the Anus

Fandom: Spider-Man, Thor Pairing: Roger Harrington/Grandmaster Rating: T Word Count: 8883

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @spiderman-homecomeme!!!

Summary: While people all over the world are finding their soulmates, Roger Harrington can barely find time to grab a sandwich. Clumsy, anxious, and stagnating in a mediocre marriage, it's a miracle that he still believes in love.

Today's the day the universe rewards that belief.

Three things about Roger Harrington: he’d just tripped on the sidewalk, he worried daily that he was developing a bald spot, and, at the age of 36, he felt he still believed in love as strongly as did the little girl in his building who’d made all the residents Valentine’s Day cards the year before.

The cards—which Roger had found endearing while his wife had been baffled to the point of annoyance—had been wedged into everyone’s mailbox sometime on the afternoon of last May 19th, and maybe that was why he thought of them today, exactly a year later.

It was helpful, he found, to consider love in markers of time passing, or just numbers. The anniversary of those Valentine’s cards would always be 271 days early, leap year or not. Roger had been married twice, longer the second time. He had zero children, and that was alright with him because he wasn’t totally sure that he did want kids and, anyway, he was too profoundly stressed about the welfare of the teenagers he taught at Midtown to comfortably imagine himself as a fulltime parent.

His wife was cool. Significantly cooler than he was. She drove out of the city to hike every other weekend (he had never joined her and hoped to never be called upon for woodsy companionship), had once performed an emergency tracheotomy on a friend at a dinner party, and had a tattoo on her hip that predated their relationship, which made it consequently, eternally, enigmatic, no matter how many times she told the objectively trite story of its acquisition. Also, she was a casual shoplifter, which made him very, very nervous in a way that he found difficult to differentiate from how he felt when he was turned on.

He was the kind of person who consistently forgot to take his glasses off before stepping into the shower. She was the kind of person who would run into and recognize a famous race car driver at Whole Foods (that had happened) or fake her own death (that had not happened—knock on wood!). Essentially, what and who his second wife was was the natural successor to his first wife (the reckless young bride to his insomniac young groom), who had in turn been the natural successor to the only other romantic encounter of his life worth mentioning: a kiss on the cheek at a birthday party on the day the Berlin Wall fell. Roger had been seven.

So his romantic history was speckled and, in two out of three cases, spoke a little too loudly of a need for legally-recognized codependence. So he didn’t feel like a man anyone would ever get a tattoo in honour of. So his wife had been a little unkind in the long pause before her negative when he’d asked her if she thought he was getting a bald spot. Roger still felt that love was going to happen for him. Hopefully sustained in his current marriage, but if not, there was always what Julius Dell had taken to (highly unscientifically) calling the Love Wave.

If Roger decided to be really delusional, he could pretend that the Love Wave was to blame for his stumble over uneven concrete on his way to grab lunch. That he was finally feeling its cosmic tug. Not that he would be the last to sense it—the inexplicable force that had lately begun guiding people the world over to their new partners—but every day that he didn’t, he feared his wife would feel it first and go careening out of their life together in a Thelma and Louise-style launch that somehow left her intact and him feeling like he’d plummeted to his death at the bottom of a canyon. Sometimes, when he thought about it, he imagined feeling that impulse to go to this destined soulmate and pictured it leading him home. Not in some metaphorical way, but literally home, to the apartment he shared with his wife, to find her arriving at the same time, the two of them matched up, the universe endorsing their marriage.

The reality was that he was a man with clumsy feet (and knees and elbows) who’d forgotten to pack himself a lunch and had just enough self-awareness (though probably not dignity) not to believe that eating in the cafeteria with his students was something he would be able to socially recover from.

He thought about a poorly-cut-out pink heart glued to a fold of red craft paper. He went to buy a sandwich.

At the deli, Roger waited in line and didn’t so much allow his mind to wander—like a dog off-leash in a dog park—as feel his mind jerk insistently away—like a dog on-leash, trying to snap a dropped slice of pizza off the sidewalk. He was violently not present as his thoughts migrated from Valentine’s Day cards to lesson plans to the anxiety he always felt over the fact of never seeming to have enough power to go with the tremendous sense of responsibility he felt for all situations in which he was even remotely involved. He would have, should have, continued to shuffle vacantly forward in line, except that the man ahead of him grumbled something that drew his focus.

What he grumbled was: “Even the Sorcerer Supreme should be able to spare a minute to decide what kind of sandwich he wants.”

Now, Roger Harrington was a man of science, but he was also a man who had previously enjoyed a close friendship with the Hulk (and if anyone challenged him on specific parameters within that assertion, Roger knew that he would cry). Aliens swarmed the sky like clouds of bees. There were compilation videos of Spider-Man nearly getting hit by city buses that could’ve been designed expressly to see how hard Roger could flinch. For a clumsy man with the unathletic, knock-kneed gait of Pippi Longstocking, Roger did his best to roll with the supernatural punches. Hey, this was how science worked too: just because there wasn’t a precedent yet didn’t mean there never would be. Just because he couldn’t explain something didn’t mean no one could. Sorcerers? Alright. There could be sorcerers.

“Sorcerers?” Roger blurted to the man, overeager to expel the word.

All other words had fled to the back of his mind, twitching in an agitated cluster, leaving just the one to be snatched frantically from the surface. Like fishing. (Roger had never been fishing. One of his greatest fears was having a live fish somehow jump into his shoe and stepping on it by accident.)

“Uhhh,” the man droned. He looked uneasy. If Roger knew how to make his eyes a little less wide in situations like these, he would’ve done it.

“No, yeah, sorcerers, sure,” Roger swiftly backpedaled. “I’m a teacher.”

As if being a teacher equaled knowledge of sorcerers. As if that were a normal unit of the high school curriculum. Roger’s understanding of sorcerers began and ended with Mickey Mouse in a blue wizard’s hat. He wondered if that was sort of the standard look.

The man did not appear reassured. Roger thrust his hand forward.

“Roger Harrington, Midtown Tech.”

Face still wary, his deli companion shook hands.

“Wong.”

“So, this sorcerer of yours didn’t pick a sandwich?” The line shuffled forward and, now in reach of the long glass case of food, Roger attempted to lean his elbow casually against it, misjudged the distance, and jerked back upright again before he could fall over.

“No… You heard that part too?”

“If I could hear the part about the sorcerer, why wouldn’t I be able to hear the rest?”

“I think most people would’ve been so fixated on the sorcerer thing that they wouldn’t really absorb the part about the sandwich.”

“Just got sandwiches on the brain, I guess,” Roger said.

God, if Wong knew a sorcerer, odds were that he was a sorcerer too. (Roger based this on being a teacher with almost exclusively teacher friends and acquaintances.) He was making it sound like he cared more about sandwiches, he knew he was. He stared silently at Wong for a few painful seconds and wondered if the man could tell that he had worked for a sandwich shop as a teenager—the role of wearing a full-body sandwich costume and standing on the sidewalk, trying to attract people into the shop.

But Wong surprised him by nodding.

“You could get one of everything,” Roger heard himself suggest.

He was not typically one to make suggestions, but rather one to panic when other people did and he was in the position of having to choose between them. He could never decide on a restaurant for he and his wife’s now few-and-far-between date nights, or provide straightforward feedback when she asked for his opinion on her clothing choices… which movie they should see… what they should buy for her friend’s sister’s housewarming gift...

Oh god, she was probably going to fake her own death and his biggest anxiety was knowing that someone would ask him to choose the casket!

“I have like…” Wong jingled his pockets and extracted a fistful of coins that, when he opened his hand, Roger saw belonged to several different currencies. “…six bucks.”

Like a mirror with a delay, Roger patted his own pockets to locate his wallet. He flipped it open to reveal something promising and terrifying: he’d forgotten to return the school credit card after the last field trip he’d chaperoned. He shouldn’t, but… sorcerer.

“I think this’ll cover it,” Roger said. “It’s for emergency expenses.”

“Like lunch?” Wong asked doubtfully.

“I could be very hungry.”

“They sell seventeen different types of sandwiches here.”

“I could be very, very hungry.”

Wong shrugged in evident acquiescence and Roger marvelled that it was so simple for him to accept this act of generosity. Roger couldn’t recall the last time someone had been as generous towards him. Wait, yes he could. The Valentine’s Day card. Well, handing over a credit card that wasn’t technically his didn’t exactly equate to presenting his ticket at the Love Wave gates (not that there were such things—not that he’d know), but he was hoping to trade this generosity up for a different magical experience in the near future.

When they reached the front of the line for service, Roger ordered a total of eighteen sandwiches. (And received an undisguised groan of complaint from the people still in line behind himself and Wong.) While they waited, Roger buzzed like the posterchild for over-caffeination, doing his best not to let his excitement translate into erratic movements.

Of course, once the sandwiches were presented and paid for, it only made sense for Roger to help Wong carry them all. His own ham-and-Swiss was stuffed into one of the three bags and they were all bulging, threatening to spill. If one of them ripped on Wong’s journey back to wherever he had to take them, who would be there to gather the sandwiches into their arms so that Wong wouldn’t have to leave them on the ground? Roger was clearly the best (only) person for the job.

And if they talked on the way? That would be natural. If Wong stared at him with abrupt, unyielding suspicion the instant Roger attempted to negotiate a visit with this ‘Sorcerer Supreme’ in exchange for buying his lunch? Yeah. Yeah that suspicion would be fair.

“Not for my sake!” Roger defended as Wong blinked back at him. “For the kids!”

“The Sorcerer Supreme isn’t a birthday party magician.”

“No, I would never imply that! These are bright kids. They’d be there to learn, respectfully. They’ve had their own traumatic encounter with Spider-Man already so there wouldn’t be any clambering to meet another person with superhuman powers!”

“What did Spider-Man do to traumatize them?”

Wong looked interested now, in an entertained sort of way. Meanwhile, Roger was having a flashback of his life flashing before his eyes inside the Washington Monument.

“Actually, he saved us,” Roger explained. “That’s not the point. It would be purely educational. You and the Sorcerer Supreme would call the shots. As long as it wasn’t anything dangerous.”

“Dangerous? We would never put children at risk!”

Roger was about to clarify that he hadn’t meant to imply that they would when he realized Wong seemed to be taking this as a reason to prove himself, or to make the other sorcerer prove what he’d just said.

“I would hope not,” Roger said carefully, “because not all of the children I’ve taken on field trips have come back alive and that haunts me.”

“Well, what haunts me is everything I’ve seen and learned from in order to become someone who could now guarantee a safe field trip environment.”

“Well, that would be great.”

“Well, good,” Wong concluded.

Roger looked down at the bag he was holding as he dug out his sandwich. His wrist twisted and he caught the time on his watch. Oh wow, oh no, his lunch break was almost over.

“Ok, deal,” he said quickly. “We’ll come by next Tuesday!”

“I’ll be out here to let you in!” Wong agreed with a parting wave.

Roger took off running in the direction of Midtown and when that got too awful, he wheezed like an asthmatic and waited at the closest bus stop.

—

Roger had expected Principal Morita to say there was no room in their budget for this trip. That they were nearing the end of the school year, that parents and guardians would be reluctant to sign another form for an excursion that Roger could only give a vague, stammering explanation of. At the very least, he’d anticipated the journey via school bus in lurching, stop-and-start traffic to take so long that the kids would revolt; Flash Thompson would lead the complaints that they could’ve walked to their destination faster than the ride took and Roger would feel the primal horror of a confrontation with a self-possessed teenager who wielded the kind of peer influence Roger could only have dreamed of when he’d been Flash’s age.

But no.

Highly improbably (Roger didn’t like to consider it miraculous), things went smoothly. The trip cleared the budget assessment on zero notice because, besides renting the single bus to transport the students, their outing didn’t actually have any costs. Permission slips came back signed. Traffic was light. And dear, dear Flash—who usually gave Roger so much anxiety—slapped the hand Roger raised to shield his eyes from the sun as his students disembarked from the bus, rewarding him with a surprise high-five for getting them out of the classroom on a Tuesday afternoon. It almost knocked Roger’s glasses off.

They were ushered inside by Wong, who was now laying the mystical solemnity on pretty thick. He certainly wasn’t talking about sandwiches or complaining about the Supreme Sorcerer under his breath.

Before Roger could feel too good about himself though, he realized he’d had time to run through his headcount of the students three times without interruption. Normally, something would happen partway through his first count and he’d be uneasy for the rest of the day, sure that one of the kids had fallen down a manhole or been stampeded by a dog-walker’s unruly canine swarm. The universe shoved teenagers into the path of bike couriers with one hand and paired up soulmates with the other. That was just how things went! However, inside this house (or, no, Sanctum, Wong had called it), the air was still and quiet.

“Do you think he’s gonna make himself appear out of thin air?” Roger heard Ned ask at a whisper. “Or out of a wardrobe, or a trapdoor, or one of those boxes people get in to get sawed in half?”

“Those are cheap tricks,” Wong said loudly. He stared unsympathetically at Roger’s motley group, hand closed around his opposite wrist to maintain a serious pose. “The man you’ll be meeting shortly has capabilities that far outstrip those of the kind of magician-for-hire you’d find in a phonebook.”

From behind him, Roger heard Peter ask Ned what a phonebook was.

“What kind of capabilities then?” Flash demanded.

Roger sighed and was turning to reprimand his student when Wong said, “Like this!”

The man faked a sneeze of horrific volume and range, doubling over and cupping his hand around his mouth and nose. When he straightened up and presented his open palm, there was a raspberry sitting in it.

Roger closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself and his teaching career played on a fast-forwarded film reel behind his lids. The Sorcerer Supreme was a no-show; all Roger had accomplished was taking the kids to a weird building to witness a man pretend to sneeze out a raspberry. Midtown Tech was going to fire him. His wife would recognize his unemployment as a reason to leave him. Depressingly, Roger was thinking about how that would almost be a relief—an end to his incessant worrying that they were really kind of a mismatch—and he was thinking it while he blankly watched Wong eat the raspberry he’d just feigned dislodging from his nasal cavity.

He was really unprepared for a different man to come sweeping down the stairs, motion with his hand, and have a red sheet come whizzing down after him to settle itself on his shoulders. Roger blinked. He heard the mixed noises of fright and appreciation from his students.

Then Flash piped up with, “That’s just a trick. It’s wires or something.”

Roger backed into the cluster of his charges and, without taking his eyes off the obvious Magical Guy in front of him, reached over and placed his hand across Flash’s mouth.

Unfortunately, his censorship seemed to be too late. The Sorcerer’s narrowed eyes zoned in on Flash.

“Oh yeah? How ’bout this? Is this just a trick?”

Fingers splayed, the man moved his hands in a precise, practiced way and a window opened up in the middle of the room. No, not a window, but Roger was having a tough time wrapping his head around it. What this non-window showed was something that wasn’t the room, that wasn’t a view of the street, that wasn’t anyplace in New York, if he had to guess.

“You can’t just do it like that,” Wong said wearily. Roger felt himself and his students look from one of the men to the other as though watching a tennis match. “There should be a little more finesse.”

“Look,” the Sorcerer told him. “You don’t get to spring this on me and then expect me to ham it up for the kids. This isn’t a David Blaine show.”

“Maybe you should watch one. You might learn something about showmanship.”

“So, it’s fake, right?” Flash checked.

Dammit, Roger had dropped his hand, distracted as he tried to make out what he was seeing through what he was becoming increasingly comfortable with calling a ‘magic portal’ in his thoughts. He scrambled to take hold of Flash’s shoulder—yanking him back would be bad, but dealing with the fallout of him pissing off somebody who could make magic portals would be much worse—but Flash dodged him, swaggering forward to inspect the Sorcerer’s work.

“What is it? Mirrors? Greenscreen? You buy your tech from Stark?”

“Stark?” the Sorcerer spat out derisively.

Overcome with the terrible feeling that he was about to find out what it looked like when a wizard put a curse on a child, Roger sprang forward. As he did, three things happened: the Sorcerer rotated his wrist slightly, the scene on the other side of the portal changed, and Flash turned to the side.

Without a student to grab onto and pull to safety, Roger’s momentum sent him hurtling through the gateway currently connecting Midtown to parts unknown.

Of all the times to trip, he thought.

—

The world was bright and fast and bad. Actually, Roger was almost positive that what he was seeing wasn’t the world at all, but he couldn’t put a name to where he was any more than he could think of better adjectives to describe it. Unless the Sorcerer Supreme owned a magical slip ’n’ slide that operated at speeds designed to train prospective astronauts for space travel, Roger was no longer in his building.

The colour of the tunnel of light surrounding him turned from something like the intestinal track of a unicorn who ate lightning and nebulas to a dangerous, broiling red. Roger kept waiting for his skin to bubble, his face to melt off. Maybe he was the fabled frog in the pot of boiling water and had failed to notice the heat steadily increasing. Because he didn’t feel hot. He couldn’t tell whether or not he felt cold either and before he could work it out, he finally landed.

It was rough.

He curled his arms up around his head, protecting his face. He hit and tumbled, hit and tumbled, banging his shins and elbows, setting off a series of metallic clangs and thwumps like his body was playing drums made of the contents of somebody’s recycling bin. Roger could see—once, shaking, he was able to lower his arms and open his eyes—that his imagination hadn’t been far from the mark: he was lying in a heap of trash.

Trembling like a baby deer, he got to his feet and assessed his surroundings. There were piles everywhere. Piles of stuff. Roger could identify some of the battered objects, but most were utterly alien to him. This was like the time he’d found his wife’s sex toys all over again.

“Hello?” he called out, because he seemed to be alone. “Hel—”

His throat closed off abruptly when he swiveled in place and noticed the sky. His mouth fell open. Was that what he had just come through? That furious-looking, billowing, volcanic, enormous… disturbance? Weather pattern? Entrance to hell, if hell were a mountain of trash?

Oh man. Where was Spider-Man this time? Roger didn’t know which would come first, but if something distinctly reassuring didn’t happen in the next 30 seconds, he was going to either burst into tears or pee his pants. His cool wife was going to be so bummed to have to declare him dead instead of faking her own death. And his students would be traumatized, having just witnessed their teacher disappear before their eyes. He spent a frantic 17 of his 30 seconds wondering if this were Jumanji and he’d started a game without realizing it; being sucked into a board game was another of his greatest fears, ever since he’d watched the chilling horror film Jumanji in his teens.

“Hello?” Roger croaked a final time.

Some other scientist—a Tony Stark type—would thrive in this scenario, Roger knew. They would scavenge the surrounding mounds of metal, collecting and assembling pieces into some sort of technology that would either get them home or enable communication with a rescue team. Would there be a rescue team for Roger Harrington? Would anyone even try to get him back?

The cry/pee conundrum was looking more like cry with each passing second until suddenly, amongst the broken things Roger was aggrieved to consider the lone sentinels of his demise, some kind of spacecraft touched down. Based on his recent luck, whoever was at the helm was likely here to kill him, but he immediately elected to throw himself on their mercy, whether that meant rescue or just a swifter snuffing out of his life than he would otherwise experience on this sad island of garbage as he died from dehydration, starvation, and exposure to that infernal gateway in the sky.

He mouthed the word “help” more than said it as he staggered forward on legs he could hardly feel. A door in the side of the spacecraft slid smoothly open and party music blared out. Roger flinched back as though he had not heard the sounds of civilization in years.

A woman exited the craft. She wore an expression about as kind as the murderous upside-down mushroom cloud in the sky and when their eyes met, she barked, “Back!”

Roger executed an awkward reverse lunge, pleading hands raised. Ok, now that his time had come, he didn’t want a quick death. Put out of his misery? No, he would learn to live with his misery, the way he’d learned to live with his college roommates, or his wife’s collection of handmade bowls! With food and water to sustain him, he was suddenly confident that he could be successfully miserable for years if this intimidating woman would just leave him to his own pathetic devices.

But then, like a visitation from a tan, eye-liner-wearing angel of indeterminate age, a man in gold robes emerged from the vessel. He beamed like he had always been beaming, and always would be.

Just like that, Roger Harrington got it. He got what Hot Chocolate meant when they sang that they believed in miracles. He got the meaning of Kylie Jenner’s year of realizing stuff. He got why a child would send out Valentine’s Day cards in May and why his wife was so dedicated to her hiking group and why he was here.

“Now, what did I say about that before we left?” the angel seemed to be asking his companion, though he’d locked his eyes on Roger. “Did I say to harass our visitor or did I say to be nice?”

The woman narrowed her eyes at Roger, which he felt more than saw; it was possible that he was crying after all. Tears of joy.

“Harass,” she answered flatly.

The angel chuckled.

“You know, I do like having you around. Before you, I said to myself, ‘Next time, get an enforcer with a sense of humour.’” He sighed as his laughter dwindled. “But you can, uh, skedaddle back onto the ship now. That’ll be all.”

“What if you want to melt him?” she queried.

That was enough to tear Roger’s gaze away from the man and send it zipping nervously to the threatening almost-smile the woman was now directing his way. He’d preferred the murder face.

“Melt him!” the angel said, in a tone that implied her suggestion had been ridiculous. (Roger relaxed. A little.) “Topaz, don’t you realize who this is? Don’t you know?”

She shrugged.

“Trash.”

“No, he’s not trash! Do you think I would’ve left the Grand Arena to retrieve a new gladiator by hand? All those Scrappers don’t do my bidding just so I can dig through the garbage looking for fresh challengers for my champion! I wouldn’t even assign Scrapper 142 this task, and you know she’s my favourite!”

When the woman only grumbled, the man pressed, “You have an unbelievable poker face. Do you really not know why I flew all the way out here for this guy?”

“I’m his soulmate,” Roger blurted, because that was the one thing he did know.

He had no idea what a Scrapper was, or whether the man in front of him was more or less important than the ‘champion’ he’d mentioned, or how his homicidal sidekick planned to melt Roger, but he understood what was happening here. Forget the Love Wave—what had come for him had yanked him violently across solar systems, maybe galaxies. He’d been sucked under by the Love Riptide.

The angel pointed at him and proudly proclaimed, “Correctamundo!”

Then he strode forward and folded Roger into a hug. Roger thought this must be what it was like to be a piece of antique furniture, tenderly wrapped in gold leaf.

“I’m the Grandmaster,” he said.

“Roger Harrington,” Roger offered, feeling that his life was entirely surreal as he cautiously returned the hug.

“As soon as I felt you land on my humble little planet here, I came looking. My orgy guests were disappointed, naturally, but I had to put my interests first. What was I, elected? If they wanted a leader who would pretend to care about everyone equally, they should have organized themselves into a viable political party capable of rivalling my dictatorship, am I right?” He drew back slightly and laughed. “You should see your face! I’m kidding. I would’ve had anyone involved in such a thing put to death. Don’t you worry, Hairball.”

Roger cleared his throat. He’d learned so much in the last few sentences alone. Death. Dictator. Orgy. Any one of those things was a lot to confront and yet… he was calmed by the Grandmaster’s presence. He was alive and unmelted. He’d managed to find his soulmate—a man he’d been almost certain to never meet as things stood with Earth’s individually-impressive but cosmically-insignificant progress with space travel. At long last, the universe had smiled on Roger Harrington.

“Just Roger is good,” he said. If last names ever came up again, he would tactfully correct his soulmate, but with a name like ‘the Grandmaster,’ he doubted they ever would.

“Roger. Anything you say.” Gripping Roger’s shoulders, the Grandmaster leaned in and planted a sound kiss on his forehead with a loud, “Mmmwah!”

He asked Roger if he would like to go aboard his ship, apologizing that it wasn’t the one where he’d just been having the orgy and appearing to check Roger’s face for disappointment. Roger didn’t know what the Grandmaster saw in his expression, but he knew it wasn’t that.

Inside the spaceship, Roger looked around with huge eyes. He hadn’t felt this kind of wonder in a room jammed with so much beyond his understanding since the first time his mom had taken him to the New York Hall of Science as a kid. Everything was bright and white and immaculately clean, and Roger could concentrate on all of it because the Grandmaster had Topaz drop the volume of his party playlist until it was just a low pulse of background noise. Seemingly amused by his awe, the Grandmaster allowed him a peek at the controls before gently herding him into a chamber with seating arranged for socializing. A pneumatic hiss sealed them safely inside and away from the woman’s scowl.

“I really just wanna sit here and, uh, just look atcha, but that look on your face tells me you’ve got about a million questions.”

The Grandmaster settled back into the bench seating, resting his long arms along the top of the seat. Across from him, Roger fidgeted, experiencing sensory overload. Soulmate. Spaceship. Alien planet. He found it hard to decide what to ask first. Was that even polite? Was the Grandmaster just saying that Roger could ask questions when he really wanted Roger to say or do something else? There was an awfully flirtatious look in his eye, the likes of which Roger hadn’t seen directed towards himself in several years.

“What is this place?” Roger asked before he could stop himself. “Where am I?”

“Oh! This is Sakaar! Are you saying you didn’t come here on purpose? I figured you weren’t aiming for a pile of trash, but you really didn’t know where you were going at all?”

Roger shook his head so hard that he had to nudge his slipping glasses back up his nose.

“It was an accident. I fell through a wizard’s—uh, I mean, a sorcerer’s—magic portal. That kind of clumsiness must sound pretty farfetched to someone who’s so obviously…” Roger motioned spastically towards his soulmate, the dictator, with both hands. “…in control of their life.”

The Grandmaster laughed, transparently pleased and preening.

“Oh, Roger, you flatter me.”

He stretched out his leg to playfully tap his shoe (gold) against Roger’s (plain, brown, frayed shoelace). Roger jumped, giddy from an alteration in sea level, possibly, plus life-changing events.

“But it really isn’t so uncommon for people, beings, things… to end up here without meaning to,” the Grandmaster went on. “A lot of junk passes through the Anus. Not that you’re junk, obviously.”

With a winning smile, Roger’s soulmate leaned forward and patted him on the knee. He was a touchy-feely guy, it seemed, and it made Roger cognizant of how very lonely he’d been in his marriage, in the last year especially. How skittish around strangers, how unaffectionate with his friends. This was what he needed, and the universe had understood that.

It took his brain a few seconds to catch up with what his soulmate had said, distracted by the comfort he was taking in his easy warmth.

“The Anus?” Roger asked in a choked voice.

“The Devil’s Anus, to be exact. That enormous, horrifying wormhole out there in the sky!” the Grandmaster explained, gleeful. “Best I can guess, it acts as a funnel for accidental travelers, like yourself. And boy, are we ever grateful for that thing. I’ve never had to post any ‘Help Wanted’ flyers, I’ll tell ya that. We need more people serving drinks? Boom. More entertainers? Boom. More lubricators for the orgies? Boom, the Anus provides, baby.”

Roger didn’t inquire what the duties of a person with the job title ‘orgy lubricator’ entailed; it seemed sleazily self-explanatory. He just nodded.

“And now,” his perfect, golden match continued, “the portal brings me my soulmate. I love that thing. It’s really somethin’, huh?”

“It’s really something,” Roger agreed. “Really, really something.”

“You’re looking just a little stunned there, Rodge. Can I offer you something to eat? A drink? I promise, I’m usually a much better host. I feel like I’m positively, uh, bumbling right now.” He beamed.

This man was so many things at once—possibly too many—but bumbling was so far from being one of them that Roger actually laughed weaky in his state of happy, semi-delirium. He accepted the cold glass that was pressed into his hand, the brush of the Grandmaster’s warm palm across his forehead. He had moved to sit right next to Roger.

“You can get used to this place at your own pace, within reason.” His soulmate chuckled. “Heck, we can stay right here a day or two. My plans are cancelled, and when I stop, the world stops. That’s how it is, being the Grandmaster, and that’s how it’s gonna be for you too. You can give all your worries a big, wet kiss goodbye, my love. You’re living a life of luxury now. A court of sycophants, fights to the death in the evening, orgies on a lazy afternoon. I’m talkin’ a life of pure class—”

“Class!”

“Yeah, baby, that’s what I said.” The Grandmaster was wearing a languid smile as he traced the back of his fingers along Roger’s jaw.

But Roger was suddenly too alert to be lulled by welcome caresses and delicious, exotic beverages.

“I was teaching a class before I fell through the portal,” he said. “I’m a teacher. My students are probably terrified. Some of them might be messed up for life after watching me disappear right in front of them. What have I done…”

“So you gave them a cool story to tell their friends! You don’t need to think about that anymore. Now that you’re living here—”

“I can’t live here!” Roger said, seizing the Grandmaster’s hands in his as he tried desperately to explain. “I have responsibilities as an educator! Jesus Christ, I’m married!”

“Roger. Rodge. Rodge. Hey,” his soulmate said, finally disrupting Roger’s spiral of panic. “That’s all in the past. Do you know how many creatures from just, uh, every darn corner of the universe I’ve made slaughter each other for my entertainment? Thousands, Roger, ok? Thousands. And it’s taught me oodles about life. What I’ve learned is that love is the only thing that matters. What all of those poor bastards scream for in the end is their mom, their partner, their best friend. Now, that doesn’t help them, but it helps us. It helps us understand that we’ve done it—we’ve achieved the one thing in our lives that was worth a damn to achieve. I’m not gonna, gonna now be parted from you, sweetheart. You are the point of me.”

Roger felt himself growing teary at the speech. Yes, this had been a whirlwind—they’d met no more than 15 minutes ago—but he was feeling something just as deep as the love the Grandmaster described. It was a fantasy in the best way, the life his soulmate pictured for them (most of it… maybe not the part about slaughter). But it was a fantasy in the worst way too, something so impossible that Roger felt sick for getting as attached to this man as he already had.

“I can’t,” he said softly. He let his head hang down, solaced when the Grandmaster guided it onto his shoulder and wrapped a protective arm around him.

“Can’t you? For me? Roger, if I put you on a ship and send you back through the Anus, we may never meet again.”

Roger squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to be selfish, but there were people he couldn’t leave in the lurch. People who maybe didn’t care about him in a way that was equal to how he cared about them, but that was how any kind of relationship was, apart from soulmates. There were imbalances. He knew he might not be the most brilliant scientist, the most inspirational teacher, the husband a woman would prefer over the outdoorsy hunk in her hiking group, but he knew who he was: he was someone who couldn’t just walk away.

“We’ll be together again,” Roger said, clutching the Grandmaster’s robes. “After.”

Though he didn’t yet know what ‘after’ would mean.

—

It wasn’t as unexpected as it could have been—Roger had always had a feeling he’d die on a school bus.

The difference between his fears and reality was that he wasn’t departing this world in a fiery crash or zooming out of control between the steel trusses and into the East River. There was confusion, there was chaos, there were screams and the violent honking of horns, but there were elements he couldn’t have predicted. Primarily, the giant alien spacecraft hovering over the city. The ship immediately moved into first place of the most ominous rings in his life (he and his wife were not in a good place). Since its sighting, things had quickly spiraled out of control. Julius had radioed Roger from the other bus of students they were chaperoning to MoMA to report that Ned Leeds had ‘flipped his shit’ and Peter Parker was currently missing. Roger had nearly passed out. The only thing that had kept him conscious was his jittery concern for the rest of his students.

At Midtown Tech, they had drills for almost every eventuality. As of 2012, hostile outer space invasion was actually part of their repertoire, but it had always been assumed they would be at school when it happened, not out on a field trip. The most Roger had been able to think to do was get the kids to a secure location. Which meant getting the buses to a secure location. But the buses were on the bridge, and all over the bridge drivers were panicking, mindlessly stomping on the gas and attempting to swerve around the rest of the vehicles. Above the blood rushing in his ears, he’d heard crash after crash, until their bus was hemmed in and, through the smoking, crumpled hoods of their fellow commuters, the alien ship hung stationary in the sky. Disturbingly tranquil as New York City went to pieces to the tune of apocalyptic dissonance just below.

In the end, the spaceship hadn’t stayed put, but Roger had. The lanes around them were crowded with smashed cars. Glass from shattered windshields glittered on the pavement. Still, more vehicles surged forward as drivers attempted to use the bridge to flee the city; this wasn’t NYC’s first alien rodeo. He hadn’t attempted to force any of his students to remain on the bus—they were some of the smartest and the best of their generation, and he trusted their survival instincts far more than his own—but he did direct the ones who fled to first climb up onto the roof of the bus instead of dropping directly down onto the street and risking injury. Yes, he worried about minor cuts and bruises. Even now.

He thought that Flash was staying with him, and was touched. But then he realized Flash was just gripping his shoulder for leverage as he jumped and grabbed for the emergency roof hatch with his free hand. Roger knew the boy was somewhat neglected by his parents, and so, for the first time, he was happy go hear ‘Hotline Bling.’ It was Flash’s ringtone and it played incessantly as his phone rang and rang until the song, and the sound of Flash running, faded into the distance. Somebody wanted to see that he was safe. Somebody cared about him.

Alone, Roger hunkered down between the seats, knees bent in front of him. He scraped one hand anxiously through his hair and gripped his phone in the other.

He should call his wife. He knew he should. Only, he was afraid that she either wouldn’t pick up or she’d answer and be with the guy from her hiking group. Roger wasn’t even upset; he was glad she had someone, if this was it.

Ever since he’d returned from Sakaar, he’d been different, he was aware that he had. In the past, his wife had been largely responsible for the sundering of their marriage, but Roger knew that he was now pulling away too. It had begun inside him—the tear. He wanted to be with two people for two different reasons. In two places, on two worlds. Commitment clashed with longing. Logical rightness fought emotional rightness. He’d been weak, persuading himself daily to tough it out with his wife (even as he slept on the couch every night because lying beside her made him unhappy), when, for once in his damn life, he wanted to be fulfilled. Somewhere out in the stars, there was a man with blue eyeliner and an entire planet at his capricious command and he was the person for Roger.

If only, he thought, picturing the face he shouldn’t have been able to recall so clearly for the brevity of their encounter months ago. Roger shut his eyes to better remember the Grandmaster, and so he wouldn’t have to see his phone clatter to the bus’s dirty floor when the hand that held it turned to dust.

—

As with his life on regular, non-apocalypse days, not much happened to Roger. Despite his paralyzing breakdown on a school bus, he wasn’t among the billions scattered to the wind like sentient dandruff. He picked himself up and went home. Sure, he was shivering almost out of his skin from the shock, but he didn’t collapse into wracking, snotty sobs until he was safely in his living room, listening to his neighbours’ wails through the condo’s walls.

Roger’s wife wasn’t there, didn’t answer when he called her, and, three weeks later, still hadn’t made contact. It took another two months to hold her wake; the funeral business was booming. Never had so many words been spoken over so many vacant graves. Some members of his wife’s hiking group attended, some had even helped him select the right music and flowers beforehand. They knew her preferences. It felt surreal to be burying a person he couldn’t prove—in any meaningful way—that he’d really known.

With a queasy sense of being very lucky, he accepted that, apart from his marital status, his life hadn’t been upended. His windows weren’t broken, his car wasn’t stolen, the few family members he was out of touch with anyway had also survived. He went back to work before anybody called him in. There weren’t any students at first, just the echo of Roger’s clumsy footsteps tripping over the rug in the staffroom, half-solved equations on the whiteboards in the math classrooms, and the unholy stench of unwashed pinnies when he poked his head into the gym storage room to see if Coach Wilson was around. One day, Roger tipped back in the chair at the front of his own empty classroom and spotted a gigantic cobweb in the corner of the ceiling. It made him think of Spider-Man. He guessed that guy was gone too.

The most important thing for keeping sane was establishing a regimen. Work was a big part of that, but Roger also traveled daily into Manhattan to visit the Sorcerer’s place. It became a kind of pilgrimage. Early on, Wong would come out to say hello, but it was eventually less about commiseration and more of a perfunctory thing. Roger knew (assumed, hoped) that if the Sorcerer ever did return, Wong would let him know and welcome him inside. And then… a portal? And then the Grandmaster? He tried not to think about it too hard. Yearning took up a lot of energy and, when his students began to come back to school in distressingly low numbers, Roger needed to reserve that energy for teaching.

Everything was the same, every day, until it wasn’t.

For a reason he couldn’t rationally explain, Roger knocked on the Sorcerer’s door. While he was waiting—just a few seconds, he planned—a man materialized on the sidewalk right next to him. He tottered and Roger reflexively said, “Whoa!” and grabbed his shoulder to keep him on his feet. Before Roger could hypothesize or ask the man any questions, a teenage girl returned to existence a few feet away. Then a woman holding a toddler tightly in her arms. A little boy. A man with a dog. A bicycle-less bike cop, still wearing his helmet. Releasing the man, Roger spun and pounded against the door with his fist.

Still, no one answered.

Fighting the urge to show up at Midtown Tech, Roger made himself stay put, right there on the Sorcerer’s doorstep.

He waited a long time. As the sun set, New York City rose around him. He watched people hugging, running home down the middle of the street. He fielded unfinished questions as the newly returned began to ask him what had happened, what time it was, what year, before jogging away, more purposeful with every step they took. Roger’s foot began to bounce on the sidewalk and his clammy hands twisted fretfully. It was still another 12 hours before the door opened.

Roger fell backwards into Wong’s shins, delirious from the sickening seesaw between urgency and exhaustion. Everywhere, people were reconnecting. He scrambled to his feet because he wanted to be one of them.

“Is he here?” Roger demanded.

Wong narrowed his eyes slightly, holding the door so it couldn’t be pushed open further.

“Might I remind you that it’s me you’ve been seeing here the last five years.”

“Yeah,” Roger agreed, trying to see past.

“I thought we had developed a rapport.”

Finally, Roger met Wong’s eyes, his own pleading.

“No, yes, you’re right, we have,” he babbled.

“We’re friends.”

“Yes, of course, we are friends. Definitely.”

“So when is my birthday?”

Roger’s mouth hung open as he searched his brain for a piece of information he knew wasn’t in there. A few seconds later, Wong turned mirthful.

“Did you spend the Blip hiding under a rock where there are no jokes? Come inside. We just got back.”

None of the thousands of times he’d come to the door mattered—Roger hadn’t been inside the Sanctum since that first time. He hoped the Sorcerer remembered him.

When he saw the man, Roger’s steps stuttered. The Sorcerer appeared grim and wiped out. He was dirty and he looked older, though Wong whispered to Roger that the Sorcerer had been among the Snapped. Roger understood that, for something to go right and bring everyone back to life, something else had gone wrong. He could dwell on that and awkwardly bow his way back out of there, or he could convince himself that things had gone wrong for him too, and that he’d like them to be righted. He remembered that his soulmate was a dictator and tried to channel that sense of entitlement.

“What do you know about the Anus?”

The Sorcerer blinked.

“What.” The word came out perfectly flat.

“The Anus.”

“I wasn’t that kind of doctor.”

Roger strode eagerly towards him, hands gesturing before his words caught up.

“When I was here about, um, five and a half years ago, I fell through your magic portal—”

The Sorcerer snapped his fingers in recognition and turned to Wong.

“Oh, that’s who this is. I always wondered what happened to that guy.” He looked at Roger again. “How did you get back to Earth?”

Roger hadn’t been prepared to answer this question, just make his demands, and he began to explain what had happened to him, all out of order. The words ‘orgy ship’ had barely left his mouth when the Sorcerer was waving him into silence. His expression told Roger he was sorry he’d asked.

“So you went through the portal…” he prompted instead.

“That’s right! And for a while, I was just falling. I don’t know where I was.”

The Sorcerer stroked his chin.

“The connection must’ve been unstable. I know—one of your students distracted me.”

“That’d be Flash,” Roger said.

“Jesus. This is why I prefer not to be a field trip destination. Normally, the portal would allow you to pass cleanly through one place and into another.”

“And instead he passed cleanly through the Anus,” Wong summarized.

“…Yeah.”

Roger glanced from one man to the other.

“So,” he said, “could you do it again?”

The Sorcerer stared at him.

“The short answer is no. The long answer is also no, but it contains a great deal of vernacular to do with the Mystic Arts, so I’ll save us both some time.”

The last time Roger had defended his intellect and qualifications had been years ago, and he was out of practice. Anyway, he didn’t want a lengthy debate.

“Can’t you just open a portal and shove me through?”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a lot going on today. I’ve only entertained you this long because you and Wong seem to be friends. I’m not just going to mess around to humour you.”

“What if you had to do it?” Roger asked quickly, beginning to feel desperate and preparing to metaphorically jam one of his clumsy feet into the closing window of opportunity.

“Uh, let me think about that,” the Sorcerer droned disinterestedly. “No.”

“What if I attacked you and you opened a portal in self-defence?”

The Sorcerer squinted at him in disbelief and befuddlement.

“What?”

But Roger was already gracelessly throwing his weight into a wild, uncoordinated punch.

For once, he didn’t think critically of himself; he told himself that the Sorcerer’s portal sparked up between them because he was intimidated by Roger’s tenacity. And that it didn’t show a clear destination because the Sorcerer’s reaction speed was no match for Roger using the element of surprise. And that he dove purposely through the portal—on a mission for love and science and the unknown—instead of tumbling into it sideways because the momentum of his unpracticed punch had gotten the better of his balance. It didn’t matter. His feet went out from under him and he was on his way.

Roger had forgotten how intense the trip was, but he completely recalled the rough landing, bouncing down through a stack of the universe’s lost garbage. He shut his eyes to the whooshing and the brightness and braced himself (probably too early, but he didn’t think he could be too careful on this reckless endeavor).

He felt his body hit open air and gasped as he fell, trying to keep his limbs tucked in. The hat he’d been wearing was torn from his head. Didn’t matter; it wouldn’t have offered much protection anyway. At any moment, his poor elbows and knees would be battered by space junk. Between his velocity and his fear of the coming impact, Roger could hardly breathe.

Music. A familiar voice singing, It’s my soulmate! made his eyes fly open. Right in time to land on his back. Whatever was beneath Roger was soft, but he’d still had the wind knocked out of him and was struggling to fill his lungs. His eyes clamped shut as he began to cough.

“I have no idea how you survived that thing twice, but I sure am glad I caught ya.”

Finally sucking in a stronger breath, Roger opened his eyes and looked up. His glasses were askew. Above him was the opening in the ceiling of a hovering spacecraft, but closer than that, leaning over him, was the face of the Grandmaster. He was beaming.

“Any trouble with the Anus?” he asked.

Roger grabbed for the hand his soulmate had rested on his shoulder and moved it to his chest, right over his heart.

“The asshole who got me here will probably be thrilled to never see me again, but the Anus treated me just fine.”

“Ha!” the Grandmaster barked. His free hand lovingly patted Roger’s windblown hair back into place. “Welcome home.”

[sunflowerspecter]

ghost of cases past (a.h.)

summary: friends can be found in strange places. 

warnings: mentions of death, ghosts

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader

words: 1.8k 

note: lmao this is 100% born of my love for julie and the phantoms and also might turn into a series? let me know what you think of this one AND if you would like more! (also if you’re on my taglist and don’t want to be, no hard feelings! just leave a message or an ask! 

~~~oOo~~~

Emily was staring at him like he was crazy. 

To be fair, he probably was. 

“What do you mean you saw a ghost?” she said, crossing her arms. He looked helplessly across the empty bullpen, the office dark and unsettling in the late hour. The only light came from the lamp on Emily’s desk and the lamp in Hotch’s office, which poured dimly down the stairs. 

“I mean that I saw someone walk towards my office door, assumed it was you, opened the door, and then saw nothing.” 

“Like, you had just imagined it?” Emily sighed, looking down at the watch on her wrist. “It’s almost 3 in the morning. You’re sleep deprived. Let me drive you home.” 

“I’m still on London time,” he said. He and Emily had just arrived back from a rather brutal consultation at Interpol. The man had been on the run for nearly a decade, and some of Emily’s old friends suggested the BAU. Strauss couldn’t afford to lose the entire team, so just Hotch and Emily had been sent, although the use of the entire team probably would have been helpful. 

“Yeah, and even in London time, neither of us have slept in three days.” Hotch crossed his arms, and Emily just raised an eyebrow. He wouldn’t fight her on it. “Come on. If there’s really a ghost, you can look for it after you sleep.” He just nodded, gathering his things. She watched as he did. 

He followed her out of the bullpen, sparing only a glance over his shoulder as they waited for the elevator. He could have sworn he saw someone. 

He yawned. 

Maybe Emily was right. 

Finally, the door opened, and Emily ushered Hotch in. The doors closed, and then they were in Emily’s car, and then she was walking him inside his apartment, and then he was asleep. 

He dreamed of someone he had never seen before. Someone who felt familiar. He couldn’t name them, though. 

~~~oOo~~~

Three and a half weeks later, the team sits hopelessly around the conference room table. The current case had no leads, no sufficient evidence, and nothing to base a profile off of. They also had a woman missing, and no hope of finding her before time ran out. The team was scrambling to come up with something, anything, and the tension in the room was going to give Hotch a heart attack. 

“I’m going to take a breather,” he said quietly, standing. Everyone watched as he left the room, walking briskly through the poorly lit hall and through the darkened bullpen, trying to find someplace to ground himself. They tried to work without him, but really, they had all noticed him falling apart the last couple of weeks. 

“Should we send someone after him?” Morgan asked, looking around at his teammates. 

Emily shook her head. “I think that’ll just stress him out more. Give him a minute.” 

Meanwhile, in a corner somewhere between Garcia’s office and the elevator, Hotch was leaning against a wall, closing his eyes as tightly as they would go. 

“Aaron,” you said quietly, and Hotch snapped to attention, looking down the hall. Near Garcia’s door, there was you, wearing dark pants and a t-shirt with the name of a band he didn’t recognize. 

“Who are you?” he called, but you ducked into Garcia’s office. He raced down the hall, throwing the door open, just to find the room completely empty. 

From behind him, you gave him your first name. He spun around, his eyes narrowing. “That’s alright, I wouldn’t expect you to know me.” 

“You, you can’t be here,” he said, taking a half step back. “This building is federal, federal…” he trailed off, squinting his eyes as he stared into yours. That was when he noticed it, the fact that your eyes were different. Not just a strange color, but no color at all. Your eyes were solid black, as if you were a demon in a horror film. “What’s wrong with your eyes?” 

You frowned, blinking, and suddenly they looked human. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “Sometimes they do that. I wasn’t aware of it until an old friend of mine pointed it out.” 

He looked down the hall again. “You really can’t be here, I’m afraid I’m going to have to see you out.” 

“I don’t think anyone would really mind that I’m here,” you said, turning and walking down the hall, past Garcia’s office. He followed you, his pace brisk and his stride wide as you seemingly floated ahead of him. “I’m not really here, after all.” He stopped, but you kept going, so he reached forward to grab your arm, and found that he couldn’t touch you; his hand went right through your body. He took a step back, shocked and appalled. 

“What are you?” he called. You turned around to him, shrugging. 

“I’ve been called many different things. Technically, I’m a ghost. I believe there’s something involving unfinished business that qualifies me as that.” Hotch takes a breath, shaking his head. “Oh, I’m your first ghost. That’s okay, I can answer all of your questions.” 

“I think I need to see a doctor,” he said, turning away from you. 

“It won’t help,” you called after him. “I’m very real.” 

But he was already gone. 

~~~oOo~~~

He didn’t go to work for four days, after they finally solved that case. Called in sick. Everyone knew it was a lie (Hotch hadn’t had a sick day in years) but no one dared protest. 

On the fifth day, he showed up at eight in the morning and didn't leave his office until everyone had left. At nearly 12:30 in the morning he began to pack up his things, but then he heard a knock on his door. 

“You know,” you began, stepping through the door. “You really shouldn’t work so much.” He stared. He blinked. He stared again. 

“Who are you?” 

“I already told you my name.”

He huffed, crossing his arms. “Alright, what are you doing here?” 

You hummed, crossing your arms to match his, leaning against the doorframe. To his surprise, you didn’t fall (float?) through it. “I don’t know. One day I was living it up with some skaters in the In Between, the next I’m walking the halls of this building.” 

For a moment, everything was silent but for the incessant buzzing of the walls. You supposed he was trying to figure out if he believed your story or not. 

“Can you leave?” 

“Well, that’s just rude,” you said with mock-offense. He shook his head and you raised an eyebrow at him. 

“No, no, I mean,” he took a breath. “Are you able to leave?” 

You turned the thought over in your head. “Yes, I believe so. I’ve never heard of a case where someone couldn’t leave. Those skaters knew a lot.” 

“Have you tried leaving?” 

“Only a few blocks down, though. There isn’t much to do when you’re dead.” 

He was stunned into silence for a few moments, and then, “How did you know my name?” He knew how you knew his name; it’s on his door, it’s all over this office, spoken or written. You knew what he really wanted to ask. 

“It’s everywhere,” you said quietly. “Including on your door.” 

“Why are you talking to me?” 

“Because you’re the leader of this team.” 

“Once again, why are you talking to me?” He wasn’t annoyed or harsh with his words, but he was straight to the point; he was kindly demanding answers. 

You sighed, taking a seat across from him. He watched you move. “Because I think my unfinished business has something to do with a case you’ve worked.” 

“Unfinished business?” he said, raising an eyebrow. 

“Like,” you sighed. “Like, why I’m here. Why I’m a ghost. Something that happened or didn’t happen in my life that I need to solve.” 

“Oh,” he said, turning in his chair and opening a drawer. “Which case?” 

You hesitated, just for a moment. “I don’t know. I worked a lot of them.” He froze, his eyes meeting yours. “I was a detective. In Boston.” 

“Wait—” 

“I was killed by an officer under duress during the Reaper case.”  

“The Boston Reaper,” he repeated, looking down at his hands, and you nodded. He met your eyes again, and shook his head. “That case was closed.” 

Your eyes widened. “The Reaper was caught?” 

He’s too quiet. 

“I killed the Reaper.” 

A beat. 

“Who was it?” 

Another beat. 

“George Foyet.” 

“The first survivor.” 

Two beats. 

“Yes.” 

You hummed. “It’s always the ones you least suspect.” 

“Amen to that,” he muttered. He shook his head. “But Foyet is dead.” 

“You killed him,” you said, tilting your head. He nodded. 

“He killed my wife. Ex-wife, that is.” He met your eyes, and you almost shook your head. “Did you know her? Is she in your world, the Between or whatever you called it?” 

The hope in his voice broke your heart. “What was her name?” 

“Haley. Haley Hotchner. Or, or Haley Brooks.” 

“You’re kidding,” you mumbled, your eyes widening. “Haley Brooks?” He nodded, his eyes lighting up. “I knew her. Not in the In Between, before I died.”

“You knew her when she was alive? How?” 

“It was a long time ago. She was a friend of a friend and needed a place to stay for the weekend. She and her son… your son. They stayed with me for a weekend. She was… she was nice. She and I kept in contact until I died. It was actually around a year later when I died.” When you finished, he just nodded. 

“If I have the timeline correct, she probably died around a year after you did,” he said. He looked up at you. “Can other people see you?” 

“So far, just you,” you said, crossing your arms and leaning back in your seat. “I tried talking to that boy in the sweater vest, but he couldn’t see me. And neither could the blonde girl, JJ, I think?” You hummed, lifting the corner of your lips. “That pretty one, Morgan, I think. He couldn’t see me either. Shame.” 

Aaron grumbled at that, but you pretended not to notice. “Well, you can’t stay here. You’ll die of boredom.” You raised an eyebrow, and he added, “Again.” 

“Where would you suggest I go, then?” you said, and his eyes flicked to yours. 

“Well, I mean. I have an apartment that you could. I dunno. Do you sleep?” 

“I mean, it’s not exactly necessary, but I do get tired, so yes. I’ve been sleeping in Garcia’s office. Are you offering to let me stay with you? What about your son?” You glanced at the picture of the boy on his desk. 

“He may not be able to see you.” 

You turned the offer over in your head. “I mean, I suppose until I find out what my unfinished business is, following you around wouldn’t be too bad.” 

“Then it’s settled,” he said. Then he looked back down at his watch. “It’s really late. Er, early.” 

“Let’s get going, then.”

taglist; let me know if you wanna be added or removed! 

@quillvine @winterscaptain @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @andreasworlsboring101 @roses-and-grasses @averyhotchner

[maraudersandlily20]

heyy! saw you were looking for some promts? well i thought if i could maybe suggest something about Reg and Sirius? maybe one of them wants to talk with the other after Sirius has ran away? something like that. only if you like the idea though!

The room was empty and cold and unlived in. It had been years since a living human had stepped into the room. There was a feeling in the air, like the past of the owner loomed in every direction.

Sirius was just... staring. He could feel himself staring, hardly breathing, trying to convince himself to take a step forward. And when he did that, he had to convince himself to flick on the light. And then he seemed to stop breathing all together. 

The room looked very much the same as it always did. The bed was neatly made. There were no photographs on the walls, simply a Slytherin banner that their mother had given him hung above his drawers. The closet held numerous white, grey, and black clothing, as if he had never worn one color in his life. Even the shoes were paired and tucked away. If there had been someone living there, you wouldn’t know it from looking at the room. It was a ghost’s habitat. A place that had a memory of living that could never be pinned down. 

Kreacher had told him that he had been caring for “master Regulus’” room after his disappearance. He never let the dust gather, he kept everything exactly how master liked it. It was a stagnant piece of history, unnoticed and untouched even as years moved on.

Sirius felt like the past was holding his hand, gripping tightly, forcing him to remember times spent in this room. Times spent with his...

His brother.

The titled smarted at a wound that Sirius held deep down, one that he couldn’t explain. James was his real brother, not Regulus. Regulus had picked his side. He had decided against Sirius.

And yet.

Sirius would never deny the presence of an ache in his soul when he remembered Regulus. He had felt his absence in his life the moment he had left his brother behind. No amount of begging would convince Regulus to join Sirius and leave their abusive house behind them. He was just as stubborn as Sirius was, but he lacked the courage to leave.

During their school years, Sirius had noticed evidence of their parents’ cruel treatment of his younger brother, but he never seemed to complain. In fact, Sirius often wondered if Regulus knew how to feel emotion. He seemed so cold and stone like. Remus had compared him to a statue on numerous occasions. Sirius couldn’t help but agree.

The room Sirius stood before belonged to a human that Sirius had known but maybe hadn’t fully understood. Remus told him of his mysterious disappearance and later the declaration of his death. It weighed on Sirius more than he would admit. And now, he was standing in the doorway of Regulus’ room, looking as dark and as cold as Regulus had been himself.

“I don’t suppose there is anyone in here?” He said, a sarcastic note in his voice. “Regulus would never lower himself to becoming a ghost and haunting this house. It’s haunted enough.” He wandered into the room, settling into the desk chair, swiveling it to face the bed. 

“It weird, how different we were. My rooms were always covered in portraits and posters. Whereas his is just... plain. Even in the place where he was supposed to feel most safe, he never left any evidence of himself.” Sirius leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I always wondered if Regulus ever wanted to live a life outside of this,” there was a hint of pain as he spoke. “I guess I’ll never know.”

He looked at the room again, assessing the cold atmosphere and felt a deep longing inside him to just ask Regulus what he thought about his own room, why he had left it so bare. And, beyond that, why he hadn’t left. Why he refused to change, why he never let emotion overwhelm him, like any ordinary kid would have. He had so many questions for his brother that he felt would never be answered. 

With a tired sigh, Sirius turned the chair back toward the desk and gently pulled the drawers open. The first drawer was incredibly tidy, quills bound together on one side, notebooks and scrolls layered on the other side. The second drawer had a bit more interesting things. There was a painting, slashes of grey, black, and red, signed by someone named Everett. There was a locket with the words “and on” inscribed inside. There were photographs of people, Slytherins in their common room; some laughing, some hugging or scowling. Other pictures of trees swaying, grass blowing in the wind, water rushing over stones. Then he found the camera, and wondered where Regulus had learned to shoot magical portraits. And wondered too if he had enjoyed it. It seemed like he had. They were beautiful, for lack of a better word.

Sirius replaced the camera and opened the small draw across the top of the desk. There was nothing inside of it but a small folded up parchment. And on top of this parchment was a name.

His name.

It was addressed to him. 

With trembling hands, Sirius pulled the letter out, tracing over the swirls of Regulus’ writing of his name. He steeled himself and pulled the page apart.

He had written him a letter.

Regulus had written a letter to Sirius. Before he died. 

The letter was short. Sirius couldn’t help the tears as they came to his eyes as he read the words written in steady handwriting.  

“The star “Sirius” is considered the brightest star in the whole night sky. You couldn’t miss it, even if you tried. Just like you. You were always the bright one, the one that people stopped and took notice of. I always envied you for that.

On the other hand, the star “Regulus” is the brightest star in the lion constellation. By itself, it’s possible it wouldn’t be noticed at all. It requires the presence of others to truly be seen. It’s actually a collection of stars, but is visible only for a few months in its full glory, before disappearing. I may not have matched you in eternal glory, but at least I offered something.

I guess the first 17 years of my life would be considered the time I shone the brightest. And now, I am coming to the end of the light. The world is rotating, moving on... without me. 

I am sitting here, staring at this treacherous mark on my arm, watching the snake move against my skin, and I wonder how I could have done it. How I ever let someone tell me how to live my life, how to feel, who to be.

I am not what he wants me to be.

And, if there is anything I’ve learned in the few years I have been alive, it’s that the people who love you should allow you to be you. And not demand you to change for the sake of their gain and their image.

You never did that. You always just wanted me to be me. That’s why you shone brighter. You illuminated the work and love of everyone else. Like a lighthouse, showing the good and the bad of the treacherous sea. You were always like that. Even after you left.

In my wardrobe, there’s a small wooden box that holds photographs I’ve never shown anyone. I want you to have them. I hope one day you will read this letter and find those photographs, and maybe you will begin to understand. 

I think a part of me has always known it would come to this. Me, alone, in the house that seemed to hate us from our conceptions. You, off saving the world, with the people who love you so well, dreaming of a future I can’t even imagine. I think there has always been an understanding in my heart that I would never have that future, no matter how hard you tried to give it to me. That’s why I stayed, Sirius. I knew, if I went with you, you’d never let me be. You’d give all of your attention and energy to me, trying to make me into the person you hoped I could become. But I know better. Unfortunately, I will never be that person. It seems I have run out of time.

Other people need that love more than I do. I got to have it for so long, and I know how powerful it is. Other people need that. I hope you don’t hold back in giving it to them.

Can I tell you a secret? I never gave much thought to what I wanted to be when I grew up. I think a part of me always knew I would never get that far. And now, possibly at the end of my life, I know that I am not afraid to die. 

I only wish I could tell you, Sirius, how badly I don’t want to leave you. Leaving you, as I have had to do over and over again, is like the story of the man in hell, who pushes a boulder up a hill, having to watch it fall to the bottom after every try. That pain and anguish I feel, leaving you, it doesn’t go away. It just starts over, again and again.

I promise this is the last time I’ll do it. 

I hope you get to grow up and become the things that you’ve always wanted. I hope that where my life stops, at the edge of all this potential, your life will dive in and grow and flourish. That alone gives me the strength to let this be the end. 

I wonder what you’ll be when you grow up. I wonder how your obnoxious and loving light will save people. It saved me. You may not believe it, considering where we are, but it did. And if my life is to end now, I hope the years I had left will be transferred to you. 

You made me the lion’s heart. And now, I’m going to prove to you that you did not believe in me in vain. 

Yours, faithfully, 

Regulus”

And Sirius didn’t know why, but he felt like his heart stuttered to a stop. And it did not resume it’s beating for several moments. When he felt himself come to life again, he stood and wandered to the wardrobe, where he found the small wooden box that Regulus had left for him. He slid the lid off and pulled out a hefty stack of pictures. Some were enchanted, others were not. But it was clear who the star of them was.

It was Sirius. 

Sirius with his friends, in the great hall, walking between classes, cheering at quidditch matches. There were a few of him dozing beneath a tree or swimming in the great lake. Pictures of him smiling and laughing, holding Remus’ had or stealing a kiss.

It was all Sirius. 

And for the first time in his life, Sirius understood that Regulus had been there for all of it. He hadn’t been ignoring Sirius. He hadn’t left Sirius, as Sirius had always thought. Regulus had watched him, every moment of him, had understood him. He had captured who he loved and how he loved them. He captured him in quiet moments, and loud.

Regulus had never left him at all.

At the bottom of the pile of photos was a portrait of Regulus himself. He was setting the camera up on a bookshelf, and he was smiling. He must have been about sixteen. He was in... He was in Sirius’ room, wearing one of his old muggle band shirts. He looked more like a kid than Sirius had ever seen him, an aura of innocence about him. The picture came to life, showing Regulus laugh as he balanced the camera before moving backwards. He didn’t do anything but smile, but it was the most beautiful picture that Sirius had ever seen.

It was like Regulus had left his soul in that picture. He had left it, as proof for Sirius, that he had lived. And, more importantly, that he had loved him. 

He held the picture to his chest and collapsed to the ground, not even noticing the sun set behind him. And, feeling more heartbroken then ever, Sirius cried more than he had since James and Lily had died. 

[ruewrites]

Thrones are Built on Lies Chapter 6: Poison

AO3

Ship: Solomon/Asmo

Word Count: 3792

Warnings: None

A/N: Hey guys! I know this one isn't as scheduled as WBT, but thank you for sticking with me so far! I hope you're still enjoying it! I'm also hoping to eventually have some oneshot requests posted for you!

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"More tea?"

"I'm good, thank you."

Azazel's study was impressive. Ancient tomes and floating lights filled the small room. Maps and notes covered what otherwise would be bare walls. There were maps of Arcadia, maps of other countries, maps of the world. Different markers pierced the parchment and some were connected by thin pieces of thread. Solomon wanted time to explore it all.

Azazel shuffled through Solomon's notes, eyes quickly darting across the page, "I see you've done your research! Truly, all of these notes from the book I gave you?"

Solomon couldn't help the pride that swelled in his chest. It would be a lie if Solomon said that he didn't like having his ego stroked, especially when it came to his studies and intelligence. That's what he wanted to be known for after all wasn't it? He wanted to be a wise king, an all knowing king! He would be someone people would look back on and remember for all the amazing achievements he reached and all of the wonderful things he would do for his land.

Because this would be his now wouldn't it?

"You know, I wasn't fond of the first marriage that involved my nephews, but you might actually hold some positive influence," Azazel set down the notes and started to reprep his tea, "It'll be refreshing to have a capable man enter into the family."

"You're not fond of Diavolo?" Solomon asked, "He seems like a nice man."

The teacup in Azazel's hand faltered.

"Nice? Yes. However the question isn't whether I think he's nice or not, it's if I think he was a suitable match for my nephew," he leaned back in his chair and glanced up at Solomon. Solomon recognized the look in his eyes, it was similar to when he had talked about Asmodeus as Lilith. Distaste. Disdain. "He wasn't supposed to marry Lucifer, yet he backed my brother up into a corner and wouldn't agree to anything unless he could marry our crown prince. I told my brother that he should just forget it, but Diavolo was someone my brother wanted to be a part of our empire. I can't imagine why."

He took a long slow sip of his tea, "Did you know that the man couldn't even dress himself the first week he was here? Ridiculous. He should have been able to figure that out."

Solomon could only picture what it must have been like for the king going back and forth with Diavolo. Honestly he could picture himself paying money to see it, especially with how his few encounters with that large puppy of a man had been.

"Isn't resilience a good thing? I mean I would think you'd be happy if he was as steadfast in his decisions as you're saying he is." Wasn't it supposed to be a good thing?

"If you want to watch another overgrown child, I suppose it could be," he huffed, "But to answer your question, not necessarily. It can make or break a kingdom and I honestly doubt how ready Diavolo is in ruling alongside Lucifer."

Azazel stood and walked to the bookshelf, "In fact, I'm actually concerned over the influence he may have over Lucifer. You were once a crown prince yourself, I'm sure you're well aware of the responsibilities and standards one had to grow up with."

Solomon nodded, "Of course I do." He hadn't really been allowed to be a child, he couldn't play with other kids, he had to be an adult from a young age. It wasn't any surprise that Lucifer would have had a similar upbringing as himself. Was it odd to think about? Yes. But was he shocked? No.

"I fear that Diavolo may be undoing some of his training. Not only that, but it would seem that my job as his advisor has been taken by his husband. I worry that Diavolo's influence may cause Lucifer to make some unwise decisions," Azazel continued, "And unwise decisions can have dire consequences, but I don't need to explain that to you."

As kind and good of a man Diavolo seemed to be, Azazel was right. Sometimes you couldn't make kind decisions as a ruler. You had to think of the future and what would be best in the grand scheme of things. Foresight could lead people into a future of prosperity or a destiny of despair and tragedy. Either one would also stick with your name centuries after you were gone. While Solomon didn't agree with everything Azazel spoke about, he knew he was right when it came to this.

In fact, speaking with him over notes and studies of magic had made Solomon see things from his perspective. It was hard not to feel for him. After all, he'd been put in charge to make sure all of the princes were prepared to run the empire under Lucifer. From what Solomon had heard, it hadn't been (and still wasn't) an easy task. The brothers had always had a hard time getting along and tensions had only gotten worse following Lilith's death. Lucifer, of course, had been asking for his siblings to have more chances and more time. But time was something he was running out of especially when Lucifer’s coronation was around the corner.

It was getting harder for the eldest to make excuses, even if he wanted to.

"Lucifer will be the King of Arcadia, meaning that his word is final, Diavolo gave up that power when he agreed to marry the crown prince," Azazel closed his eyes, and after a few moments he opened them again and a smile lit up his face, "Although, as of now, there really is only one king in Arcadia until the coronation, and that is you."

Azazel turned back to him.

Oh.

Solomon had never thought of that before.

"And Asmo himself is not a crown prince. At least here in Arcadia, that means that you hold any power there," Azazel pushed another book towards him, "Of course once Lucifer is crowned, decisions will go back to him, but unlike Diavolo who only really has some control over his own land, you have control over a little more than that."

Solomon stared down at this new book for a few moments before pulling it towards him and skimming through the pages. This seemed to be more about how things worked in Arcadia.

It wasn't like Solomon hadn't tried to find information before. Anything regarding Arcadia had been hard to come by and anything he had found wasn't much help.

"I also see that you've taken interest in the Heart, I'll be sure to talk with you more about that next time," with a twirl of his finger the cups put themselves away, "For now, I must meet with the prince about his coronation. Does this time work for you?"

Distrust for Azazel, still swirled within the back of his mind, but he was also the only other family member that seemed to be putting in an effort with Solomon. Even after Asmo had come forward about who he was, nothing really changed besides Asmo being a bit more demanding. It wasn't much, but if he had seen or heard of Lucifer and Diavolo doing anything he wanted it too.

High energy would be an understatement when describing him.

Azazel also provided some assurance that perhaps he could make progress with the rest of the family along with his research.

"It does. I'll suppose I'll see you back here?"

"Of course. This is my private study, I could think of no where better."

A handshake was all it took to bring the two scholars to an agreement.

***

"Your fiance has been looking for you," Simeon had tracked him down in the halls.

Luke was plodding behind him not looking all too happy, "He cornered and interrogated us! You know if you weren't so hard to find we could have actually done stuff."

"Like baking with Diavolo's butler?" Solomon laughed at how Luke's cheeks puffed out and ruffled his hair, "Hello to you too Luke. "

Solomon hadn't gotten a lot of time to see his friends while adjusting. Honestly he had anticipated maybe being busy, but not like this. Of course his research took up time, but then there was Asmodeus chasing him down when he wasn't supposed to. Most of the time, Beel seemed to be the one sent to retrieve him and take him back to whatever he was supposed to be doing. On an average of about twice a day, Solomon would feel his arms wrap around him from behind and that lilting voice whisper something in his ear. Also on an average of twice a day would he witness Asmo being hoisted over Beel's shoulder and carried off to whatever task he was supposed to be focusing on.

He was an interesting study all on his own.

"How are you going to manage with him?" Simeon asked, "Solomon, the incredible king who isn't really a people person and his incredibly clingy and energetic husband Asmodeus."

"At least I don't have to worry about him not liking me," Solomon said, "Him being smitten works in my favor, even if he causes me to knock over my ink onto my notes and I then have to rewrite them."

Solomon was seriously considering getting bells now. Or maybe he would have a conversation with Asmo that he wouldn't be able to marry him if he had a heart attack and died.

"What did he want?"

"He wanted you to go watch him fence, he seems awfully keen on showing off for you."

"He wants to impress me?"

"It would certainly seem so."

"It's gross," Luke interjected.

"I'll remember that for when you're all grown up."

But watching his fiance fence didn't seem like a bad option. Besides, he'd probably end up being hunted down by him if he didn't show up. He also couldn't help but wonder how good Asmo was with weapons.

Outside was a small arena. It wasn't incredibly large and Solomon imagined it was only really used for practice. A few mannequins stood upright with targets on their heads and torsos.

Levi was sitting not too far away on the outskirts. His fingers tapped rapidly against his knee and his lip was curled upwards. Asmodeus himself was standing in the arena, arms crossed and sword in one hand. He was shooting a rather dirty look towards his brother.

"Can't you just get it over with Asmo? You're holding up the guard from practicing!" Levi huffed from his spot on the ground, "Just practice and get it over with already!"

Asmo jabbed his sword into the earth and stamped his foot, "No. I can't. I'm sorry but you'll just have to wait to watch your precious Henry to

A spar. I'm not leaving this spot until my Solomon shows up to watch me!"

Levi's cheeks lit up bright red as he went to stand, "Gah! Shut up Asmo!"

"What? Afraid he might hear me? Afraid that he'll hear how much my big brother wants to smooch his handsome f-mph!"

Levi had marched over and quickly smacked his hand over Asmo's mouth. Solomon was amazed that they'd gone completely unnoticed as the two grappled with each other in the arena.

"Shut up shut up shut up! Ew! Did you just lick me?"

"Yes, and it was disgusting. I may have to cut out my own tongue now."

"You've had more disgusting things in your mouth."

"Yes. And your hand surpasses them."

Oh if only he'd been allowed to be this feisty at the dinner table. Solomon would have loved nothing more than to sit back and enjoy the show. And watching the two siblings grapple with each other was certainly what he called entertainment. They kicked up the dirt around them, sending quick snips back and forth towards each other.

"How long do you think it will take for them to notice us?" Simeon asked, leaning into Solomon's shoulder.

Solomon tapped his chin in mock thought, "Hmmm, it depends. Does his obsession with me outweigh his Cain and Abel instincts?"

The answer to that question was a solid maybe. It seemed to take a little more sibling squabbling before the three spectators had been noticed. At which point, Asmodeus' eyes widened and he shoved his brother out of the way. "Ah Solomon! I was wondering when you'd show up! I've been waiting just to show you how skilled I can be with weaponry."

Levi shoved him back, sending Asmo stumbling a bit before going to take his seat, "Yeah, and holding up the royal guard while you were at it."

Asmo was about to retort when Solomon stepped in, "Well then, we should get a move on shouldn't we? I'd hate to keep the guard any longer than they need to be kept."

Asmo frowned but went to retrieve his sword from where it was stuck in the ground. Solomon and his companions took a seat next to Levi. He had tensed a bit when they sat down and Solomon caught the discomfort in his glance. The third son of the late king hadn't been incredibly social. The most Solomon had seen of him was at dinner or him quickly slinking back down into the underground tunnels under what he assumed to be his window. He also seemed to be the most vocal when fighting with Mammon.

However his mind started to wander towards the subject that had sparked the little squabble between him and Asmo. "So, Henry?"

Levi's face lit up, "Oh! Oh you uh, you heard that."

"I did. Is he someone you know?"

"No! No he's not uh, uh…" Levi's head sunk lower and he refused to make eye contact with him, not that he was really making all that much to begin with, "He's just the captain of the guard. And uh, stuff…" He shifted a bit and his fingers went back to twitching, "Why do you ask?"

Solomon reached into his pocket and pulled out the small handkerchief he'd found earlier. Levi's head snapped to attention as soon as he caught the smallest glint of it. "I thought this might belong to him. I figured he might like it back," he said.

"Where did you-?" Levi snatched it out of his hands and inspected it before clutching it to his chest, "It's … It's mine. I thought Mammon had- …. Thank you." He carefully folded it before tucking it into a pocket on his shirt.

Such sentiment over something so small was odd ro Solomon. He could understand why he supposed, but it was still something that caught him off guard.

He was going to question Levi about it, until an annoyed cough brought his attention back to the ring. Asmo was staring daggers at him. "Excuse me. You're supposed to be paying attention to me," he huffed.

Solomon sat up a little straighter head cocked to one side, "I apologize. It's been a while since I've just sat back and watched. Usually I'm participating in one way or another."

He didn't have time to sit and watch. Either he was solving some issue within his kingdom or he was in his study. If he was out, it was for his own health.

And because Simeon made him.

"I see," Asmo's words were short. He promptly turned back towards a rack and before Solomon knew it a hilt was being shoved in his face, "Well, if you can't pay attention to me on my own, maybe a little participation will help."

Solomon could hear an edge in his sweet silky voice. Perhaps he was getting himself in over his head. But then his mind wandered back to the night Asmo had admitted he wasn't Lilith, specifically to those puppy dog eyes. He couldn't let him get used to getting his way. He couldn't keep letting him get away with using those big doe eyes to make Solomon cave. No. Solomon had to display that he had some power here, and this was an opportunity to do just that.

So he took the blade.

"I may be a little rusty," Solomon warned. Looking the blade over, he noticed the dulled tip. Good. So his fiance wasn't going to slice him to ribbons.

"Oh that's perfectly fine dear! Because I'm not!" Asmo chirped, as they began to circle each other, "I have been itching to get out. I thought I wouldn't be able to come out for months! Tell me, have you ever crossed swords with another man before?"

Strike up.

The sound of clashing metal rang out as they met.

Oh no. Solomon wasn't about to let his little innuendos catch him off guard, and he certainly wasn't about to reward this one with a response.

"A few times. It's good exercise you know. Besides, Simeon says I need to get more sunlight."

Left.

He started to push him back with each strike and Solomon allowed it, stepping back as each clash came. His movements reminded Solomon of a scorpion. Quick and precise.

"Well, that won't do. If you're going to be with me," he slashed down, Solomon wondered if Asmo even noticed that he hadn't made a move to advance, "You're not going to have bad skin."

"I hate to inform you that Simeon has been trying to fix my habits for years. But you can certainly try."

Oh. That thrust almost got him. He nearly missed it. The other thing about scorpions: they were more likely to strike when agitated.

How interesting it was that this little bunny could turn into a scorpion so quickly.

If Solomon hadn't been able to sense Asmo's agitation from his movements alone, he certainly saw it when they were chest to chest, swords pressed between them. Asmodeus was certainly a lot stronger than his lithe form allowed people to think.

"You're being arrogant."

"And you're not? You seem awfully entitled to my attention, it's like you want to take all of it up."

"Because I deserve it," Asmo hissed.

"That sounds awfully arrogant to me."

Asmo nearly shoved him over. Well, so much for that sweet little facade.

"I'll make you bow to me when I win. That'll teach you something."

"Your arrogance is showing again."

Oh that seemed to do it.

Asmodeus was coming at him with a new found fury. His blows came hard and swift and Solomon started to worry about whether or not he could keep up with him.

But the more Solomon tried to study his technique the more it bewildered him.

"So you normally use a sword?"

"I normally use arrows," Asmo huffed, hitting his blade once more, "But it's good to be versatile."

"Ah. So this is just for fun."

"I suppose so."

"No wonder your technique is sloppy."

"Wh-?"

With one quick motion, Solomon twisted the saber out of his fiance's hands and grabbed him from behind. He heard a yelp from Asmo and loosened his grip slightly.

Maybe he'd gotten carried away.

Maybe he'd gone too far.

He let go of his arm and instead grabbed his waist, using his free hand to tilt up his chin.

But he was still cautious.

Even if a scorpion's stinger was gone, it could still use it's claws.

"Do I win?" he asked.

Asmodeus immediately tried to stop on his foot, so Solomon pulled him closer.

No.

Nope.

Don't look in his eyes.

Don't give in.

He didn't want to make bad decisions. He wanted to be a good leader. He didn't want to do terrible things for his land.

Asmo buckled before kneeling beneath him.

"How?" Asmodeus asked softly.

"I watched you, just like you wanted me to."

Solomon dared to glance down, Asmo's cheeks were flushed.

He let go and stepped back.

"Well, this was fun. Perhaps we can practice again some other time. We'll work on your technique. What you have isn't bad. We'll just work on it."

Asmodeus just stared at him.

"I suppose I'll see you at dinner then." With that he rushed off. But Simeon and Luke weren't too far behind.

Luke was the first to pipe up, "Wow Solomon! You really showed him! He was comin at you and you blocked everything! And then you sent his sword flying!"

"Do you think you were a little harsh on him?" Simeon asked, "He seemed worked up."

Solomon didn't respond. What he did do when got to his room was grab the amulet. Oh did it give him a headache. It didn't seem like Asmo even really knew how to feel. He wasn't nervous, that was for sure, but oh was he a whirlwind. Solomon nearly dropped his amulet back onto the table.

He fell onto his bed with a sigh.

Asmodeus was high energy.

Asmodeus made him feel exhausted.

Asmodeus was a mystery all on his own.

Slowly he turned his head towards his books. At least through the confusion, he could try to focus on something he was familiar with. He could try to ground himself. Books were easier to figure out than fiances.

Writing helped him calm himself.

It was easier to sort out what you were concerned about when it was on paper.

He wasn't scared. He was simply confused.

He wasn't scared.

He wasn't.

***

The crowned royal of the family makes the decisions over the land, but that doesn't mean they cannot council with or defer to another family memeber for a decision if needed. The head family member does have final decisions involving the Heart. This cannot be deffered. The only time the decision of a family member may be passed over is if they marry someone of higher rank than themselves. If this is so their decision will become that of their spouse. They may try to sway a decision, but the decision of their spouse will be the one sent to the crown. However, succession follows blood. So if something were to happen to the crown, it would be passed down to the next sibling unless they are seen as unfit. The exception to this is if the crown has a child that is of age. In this case the crown will be passed down to the eldest child. The sibling may serve as a temporary crown/advisor if the child is too young or permanently if they are unfit.

Asmo seems to have talents with many things. His swordsmanship is sloppy, but with practice (and dedication) he might be able to become decent. I have yet to hear him sing or use a bow. He's high energy. But I feel as if he will calm after his infatuation with me dies down. It will eventually.

[magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics]

Summer Loving - Request

Requested by @amberautumn: I wondered if you could write a Ron Weasley smut where the reader visits him at the Burrow during the summer, and they stay up late after most everyone in the house has gone to bed

Word Count: 2.509

Pairing: Ron x Reader

Warnings: Smut (unprotected, consensual, semi-public), Virgin!Ron x Experienced!Reader

A/N: I made Ron a Virgin, fight me. 

The Burrow during the summer was a whole show of beauty and magic - literally.

Molly Weasley wouldn’t spend a single day without yelling to one of her children in utter desperation, either because Fred and George charmed the family clock to mark them in prison, or Ron getting in trouble along Harry, and Ginny being living-sass every time every day… Or any other shenanigans either of them managed to do right under her nose.

“I need some holiday…” She said one morning, “I deserve some holiday, Arthur.”

Arthur Weasley, who was absolutely in love with his wife, didn’t even hesitate. He knew that, if he refused, she’d explode in a million pieces and return as a ghost solely to haunt him for the rest of his days, and after she’d spend their eternity in a state of anger that would haunt his death as well.

“We’re only leaving for the weekend,” Arthur explained to his kids and Harry, “just to let her breathe.”

“When we return, I better find this house in perfect state,” Molly threatened. “I love you all, don’t take this personal, but you’re just… so many kids.”

“We know, don’t worry,” the twins replied with honest smiles. “We’ll behave better than ever.”

“I’m scared already…” Molly whispered but shook the thought out of her head. If her kids made a mistake, she’d find a way to fix it back after her return. “I love you, you know where to find us.”

Arthur said goodbye to them as well and they both disappeared in the middle of the front yard, with bags and all.

“Where are they going?” Harry asked.

“Charlie managed to get a room for them in Romania, it’s a quirky place but she’ll like it because the whole staff is mute,” Ron explained as he walked to the kitchen, shoving three cookies in his mouth right after finishing his sentence.

“Someone’s nervous,” the twins observed with a mocking smile on each of their faces.

“What did mum say about (Y/N) coming over?” Ginny inquired.

“Oh, she’s happy, she planned on receiving her with pumpkin pie and a scarf,” Ron mumbled, with his mouth full.

“How is she doing that if (Y/N) arrives…” Ginny stopped suddenly, and her mouth fell into an elongated O. “She doesn’t know (Y/N) arrives today, does she?” Ron didn’t answer, “YOU SNEAKY BASTARD!”

“What? Harry’s here during the whole summer and we don’t mind!” Ron exclaimed.

“It’s not about that and you know it!” Ginny grinned.

“Unless of course you also like to smooch Harry before going to bed,” Fred mocked him and started doing kissing noises.

“Not that we’d judge you, Ronnie,” George added, “Harry is quite a catch, but honestly…”

“That would actually explain why Ron offered me to stay at Charlie’s room this time,” Harry realised.

“Get lost!” Ron fumed and left to his room.

(Y/N)’s arrival was as awkward for Ron as one would imagine. The twins had offered to make dinner - which resulted in them only serving sweets - and the whole time they searched for Ron’s face to glance and offer him naughty giggles. (Y/N) remained unaware the whole evening.

At night, they decided to play a Quidditch match before going to bed. Fred, George and Ginny were going against Harry, Ron and (Y/N).

The game started. Ginny and (Y/N) were rather brilliant players who were both playing as Chasers, while Harry and Fred were the Seekers, and Ron along George were the Keepers. The rings were replaced with a pair of magical hoops that Charlie had left for them during his last visit, the hoops glowed and floated. 

There were no Beaters for two reasons: 1. There weren’t enough players. 2. Nobody had the energy to deal with the Bludger.

In the end, Fred, George and Ginny won. Harry had caught the Snitch (which had been hard considering it was the middle of the night and there was a New Moon) but Ginny had scored 150 points just by herself - the last ten points were scored at the same time Harry caught the Snitch.

After their irrefutable Victory, the twins and Ginny punished the Losers by making them pick up the balls, brooms and hoops, while they went to bed. 

Since Harry had caught the Snitch, he was able to put it in its box right away. The Quaffle, however, was lost somewhere in the great backyard.

“You go look for the Quaffle,” Harry commanded Ron, “we would’ve won if you hadn’t been distracted by your girlfriend.”

“I wasn’t distracted by her,” Ron refuted, “I got distracted by the looks you were all giving me.”

Harry chuckled. “Look, mate, I’ll go put these their place, and I’ll try to cover you for as long as I can.”

“Thanks, mate.”

“Got the rings!” (Y/N) exclaimed, as she approached the pair of friends with the hoops in hand. “What’s with the smug faces?”

“We’re… Planning a joke on Fred and George to get back at them for being annoying dickheads.” Ron lied.

“I’ll have these, thank you.” Harry took the hoops from (Y/N)’s hands and juggled them among the brooms.

“Let me help you,” she said.

“NO!” Harry and Ron replied in unison.

“It’s part of the joke,” Harry said. “I need to… um… keep these myself so they won’t suspect anything while you two go get the Quaffle… and then we can proceed with the joke.”

“Right…”

“Yeah, only one person can go in the house or else they will wake up… Harry is an expert in sneaking in so…” Ron started to explain and Harry noticed how his friend ran out of words.

“Alright, bye!” Harry hurried and ran back to the house, cursing every time something fell off his hands.

(Y/N) and Ron lit their wands and went on looking for the missing Quaffle. Truth was, Ron had spotted it near the house, but he didn’t tell as an attempt to get (Y/N) as far from his siblings as possible.

“It’s a shame Hermione couldn’t come,” (Y/N) murmured, “We always have a great time together.”

“Yeah, but I guess Austria is more interesting than this place,” Ron replied. “She is coming though, she’ll arrive the last week of summer and we’ll all go together back to school.”

“That’s lovely.” They continued to walk until they reached upon a moon dark moor. “You’re not pulling a joke on your brothers, are you?”

“No,” Ron confessed.

“And you do know the Quaffle is under the lemon tree your mother has in the yard?” (Y/N) asked with a grin.

“Yes…” Ron answered, “Wait a second, you know too!”

“I’m not dumb, Ron,” she stated. “I know we talked about… that.”

“Yeah, that,” Ron cleared his throat.

“I do want that, Ron. It’s just…”

“What?”

“You haven’t even kissed me yet.”

“Oh, yeah, that…” Ron blushed. “I haven’t because my brothers would mock me and you and that is something I do not want.” He explained in a robotic manner.

“Your brothers aren’t here,” She whispered.

Ron looked down shyly, although he had a nice smile on his face. The girl took a step forward and kissed him gently.

It wasn’t the first time they kissed. No, they had kissed quite often in the hallways after class, under the biggest tree from Hogsmead, at the upper floor in the Three Brooms, on the train back home… That was only their first kiss from that day, but it felt like they hadn’t kissed in ages.

“Are we really going to do that here?” Ron asked in a whisper.

“Nobody said anything about doing that,” she replied and Ron’s face fell into a dumbfounded expression that made (Y/N) burst in laughter.

“I’m just joking,” she said, “I’m up for it if you are.”

“I am.”

Now that was their first time. They were both scared to death but also incredibly excited about what would happen.

They laid on the grass just the way they had done many times before in the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. It was wet with summer dew but warm nonetheless due to the weather. They could hear crickets, frogs, toads, and even owls somewhere not far from there.

Ron was shaking. His kisses became shy around the corners of her mouth. She was patient, and soft, with him. It wasn’t her first time with a boy, just her first time with Ron, and though it was always scary to make love to someone new, she decided to play her part as the experienced one.

She didn’t force him to touch her, or to kiss her, or anything. No, she allowed him to go as he felt comfortable and, though Ron didn’t openly say it, he was grateful for that.

His kisses became deeper and slower as he balanced his weight between his knees and his elbows until he found a comfortable position, carrying his weight with one arm and his two knees. Then, with his free hand, he started touching her breasts over her shirt. He barely knew how they worked or what made them feel good, but they felt amazing under his touch and so he spent a good time squeezing them until he felt her hips move under his.

Ron pressed his hips to hers and lifted her shirt just enough to reveal her uncovered breasts. Gravity made them look and feel slightly different than when she was standing up, yet Ron thought of them as two pieces of the finest art.

“May I?” He asked timidly.

“Be my guest,” She replied with a smirk.

Ron leaned closer to her chest. He licked one of her nipples as he pinched the other with the free hand. She let out a breathy hum, which made Ron understand she was liking that, so he continued until he couldn’t contain himself anymore.

He unzipped his trousers while she unzipped hers. He pulled his own down to his thighs, and she simply took them off completely. 

Ron grabbed her hips with his free hand and carried her to align her core to his. But it was dark and, when he tried to thrust in, he found himself pressing against her groin. 

“Not there,” she giggled.

Ron blushed and tried again, failing once more. “I can’t find… it” he huffed.

(Y/N) decided to help him. She used one of her hands to guide him to her entrance. That was all he needed.

He thrusted her slowly, taking his time to allow her to adjust to him. It was a painless process, she was as wet as she could be and he was hard as a rock.

They made love at a slow pace. 

“Wait, there are branches poking at my arse.”

They moved clumsily trying to get rid of any branch or rock or anything that could poke her at any given moment. 

“Why don’t we try standing up?” Ron asked, feeling daring.

(Y/N) gave her a knowing look but agreed just to let him experiment. They stood up, and she managed to use a tree as a support to carry some of her weight. He stood up behind her, holding her hip with one hand and guiding his length with the other.

He thrusted in slowly, finally holding her with both hands. Her back was arched, and her hair was falling over one side of her face, leaving the other side free for Ron to kiss. He wrapped one hand around her waist and another one around her chest, to help her carry her weight as he sped up. (Y/N) was no longer holding back her moans.

She arched her back a bit more so her head could rest on Ron’s shoulder. “Touch me,” she whispered, and held the hand closest to her core and guided it towards her clit, teaching Ron how to touch her.

Ron obeyed, pressing her clit in a circular motion as he continued to thrust as deeply as he could. He was moaning as well, panting over her neck, sweating and feeling every inch of his half naked body covered in sweat. 

“More,” she managed to say. Ron obliged and she scratched the tree while she came all over his throbbing cock.

“You’re dripping,” Ron whispered, amused. 

“That’s how you got me…” She replied before turning her head back to kiss him. 

“D’you want more?”  Ron inquired, innocently.

“Yes,” she answered. 

In a newly achieved confidence, Ron pulled out and turned her around. He took off all of her clothes as well as his own, almost ripping them apart, and pinned her back to the tree. Both of her hands above her head, being held by one of Ron’s hands, and his other lifting one of her legs just enough to give him access to her entrance.

He pushed in and exhaled a groaned. “You feel tighter this way,” he commented and slowed down his pace, rolling his hips slightly every time he thrusted it. She couldn’t say a word, Ron’s pelvis hit her clit every time he thrusted in, and the idea of being pinned to a tree by no other than Ron Weasley in the middle of the night somewhere inside the woods next to his house was thrilling.

Ron kept thrusting in, making sure to not over extend her legs so she wouldn’t get hurt. He had maintained a careful pace - not too fast nor too slow - and also kept the eye contact in such a way that (Y/N) felt like she could die of pleasure.

Ron pushed deeper, hitting her cervix with his tip. (Y/N) shuddered, which worked for Ron as a sign that she had liked it and, therefore, continued to hit it until she reached her high once more, trembling in his arms as she dripped. 

Ron didn’t stop moving, not even when she was having her orgasm. No, he continued moving, searching for his own high but also enjoying every second inside her wet cunt. 

Out of a sudden, his whole body was controlled by a wave of heat. His legs trembled and his head went blank for a second. He managed to pull out right on time, spurting his cum away from (Y/N), into the ground. He was breathing heavily, and (Y/N) was just looking at him, aroused by the picture of him cumming.

“Did you cum?” Ron asked, once his feet were back on the ground.

“Yeah,” She said.

“I can finish you off in any other way…” He suggested before they started hearing voices nearby.

“RON! (Y/N)! WHERE ARE YOU?” Ginny, Fred, George, and even Harry, were looking for them.

“You can finish me off any other time, we’ve got to get dressed now, though.” She winked at him and started to get dressed as fast as she can, Ron did the same. 

Finally, they drifted back home; holding hands, with a big smile on their face and no excuse to cover what they had just done.

-------

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[pogueshomecoming]

you’ll always have a place here x john b routledge

requested? yes: Can I make a request pls? Perhaps something along the lines of John B meeting your family for the first time, you guys are pogues but slightly richer than the typical 'pogue' and when they ask him about his family even though its a touchy subject he opens up to them which then your family make it their mission to include him as much as possible and make him feel loved and part of the family as much as they can? (hello anon! this is such a cute idea, and i had fun writing it. thank you for sending it in.)

description: after meeting your boyfriend once, your parents make sure john b always feels welcome in their home

fill out this survey to join my taglist(s), here’s my masterlist, and requests are open

Warnings: i don’t think this is angst or fluff so,,,, there’s that.

word count: 1.6k

so if anyone would want it, i might make another part or two of john b actually spending time w the family? Idk, i feel like i didn’t fully answer the request

++

You hadn’t been dating John B for long when your parents requested you bring him over for dinner one night. They had always been protective of you, considering you’re their only child, but this put you and John B on edge. 

Not because your parents were bad people, but because sometimes they were too much. Overenthusiastic, as you liked to tell everyone on your front porch before they entered your house for the first time. 

Both John B and your parents had been given pep talks beforehand. John B had been warned not to get your dad started on anything political, and to compliment your mom on her vintage dishes she’d most likely pull out for the special occasion. She’d been collecting them for years. 

However, your parents were a little tougher. You were painfully aware of the way they liked to dig into your friend’s lives, whether they meant to or not. Honestly, they just wanted to know the background of their daughter’s friends, but for John B, you told them that wasn’t an option. Given John B’s family situation and everything he’d been through in the last year, you warned them to be careful. 

So when you hear the doorbell ring, you immediately jump up, beating your parents to the door by a split second. “Shoo, let me open the door in peace. Trust me, you have all night with him, and that’s plenty.”

After they’ve disappeared from behind you, you take a breath and have a moment to yourself. It’s going to be a good night. Everything will go smoothly. There’s no way this can be messed up. Well, there absolutely is a way, lots of ways actually, but maybe drilling the boundaries into their heads was effective this time. 

John B greets you with a hug and a kiss, trying to hold on to you for as long as he can. He’s nervous, you can already tell. With parent figures being absent in his life, this was a big deal. It felt like a make it or break it situation for him.

The first half of dinner was fine. You thought that things couldn’t have gone any better. When John B complimented your mother’s matching dishes, she talked about them for a whole twenty minutes, and it moved things along quite quickly. Things started spiraling when your dad said, “So, what’s your family like?”

You felt your breath catch in your throat, immediately shooting daggers with your eyes at your father. This was on the list of things he couldn’t ask about under any circumstance. John B notices you tense and squeezes your hand. 

“Don’t answer that if you don’t want to.” You lean over, intending for it to be a whisper, but when there are only two other people in the room, it’s hard to keep anything a secret.

John B clears his throat and shakes his head, throwing a side glance at you to let you know it’s okay. 

“I didn’t mean to overstep. If it’s an uncomfortable topic, we can find something else to talk about.” Your dad tries to make amends, more so for your sake, because John B doesn’t seem too bothered. You’re the only one at the table who knows that your boyfriend is very good at keeping his composure when he wants to. 

“No, sir, it’s fine. I want Y/N to be in my life for as long as possible, so it’s only fair that you know about me, right?” John B offers a small smile, turning towards you for just a second. You refrain from rolling your eyes at the fact that he could sweet-talk his way in or out of absolutely anything. 

It’s silent for just a beat before John B spills his life’s details. His mom leaving when he was young, and his dad spending a lot of time researching until it eventually leads to his death. Can’t forget the deadbeat uncle who left his nephew to the sharks that are also known as DCS. 

The shock on your parents’ faces as John B ends his spiel with, “So, pretty much I’m an orphan.” is evident. They’re not even trying to hide it. Your mom looks like she’s about to cry, and your dad just looks hugely uncomfortable. John B shifts in his chair, looking down at his plate like he’s ashamed. 

“Uhm,” Your mother clears her throat, gathering her plate in his hands, “We’re going to go get the dessert from the kitchen, alright?”

She gives your father a side glance, and he follows her into the kitchen. It’s your turn to let your jaw fall. First, your dad blatantly asks about something you told him not to, and then they just leave the room. What had gotten into them? 

John B is already looking at you when you finally look over to him. Your cheeks feel hot with embarrassment. “I am so sorry. That was ridiculous, and I’m embarrassed. I told them not to cross the boundaries. I don’t know why they’re so rude. Like, are you kidding me? I’m going in there to talk to them.”

As you angrily ramble, you start to get up, but John B pulls you back down. “Hey, it’s fine, Y/N. Maybe they didn’t know how to respond. I’m a little uncomfortable, but they probably are too. I get it.”

You know that John B can pretty much see the steam coming from your ears, but before you can ask if he’s saying that for your sake, your parents come back. The apple pie your mother slaved over gets put in the middle of the table. A pin falling to the floor could be heard with how silent it is. 

Thankfully, your dad breaks the silence. If he’d waited for a second longer, you would’ve exploded with anger.

“John B, we apologize for walking out like that. It was just a little bit of a surprise is all, we aren’t here to judge you or think any less of you because of what you’ve been through. I’m sorry if I overstepped by asking.” Your dad slightly bows his head as a way to solidify his apology. 

“No, sir, there’s nothing to apologize for.” JB places his hand back on your thigh under the table, and you put one of yours over the top of it. 

“We also want you to know that we want you to feel like this is a second home to you. Anything you need, we’ll do what we can to help you. We’ve got an extra bedroom, even. It’s not an empty offer, either, so don’t be afraid to ask.” Your mom is already an emotional person, so by the time she’s done speaking, the tears have welled up so far in her eyes that you’re sure she can’t see anything. 

John B smiles, and so do you. It’s the last thing you would’ve expected them to say based on their previous reactions, but it makes your heart swell. They like John B enough to welcome him into the family already. Of course, you never had any doubts that they’d like him, but you hadn’t ever thought of this outcome. 

“I appreciate it. I really do. Thank you both for being so kind. This pie looks delicious, should we cut into it?” He switches the subject causing your father to laugh. 

“How about you cut the first slice?” He passes the knife over to John B, and you let out the breath you’d been holding. 

It was fine. Everything was okay. Maybe it wasn’t how you imagined the night to go, but as you watched John B joke with your dad while eating apple pie, you weren’t concerned anymore. Laughter from all four of you filled the room when John B accidentally dropped a piece of pie off the server. 

“That one can be mine.” John B shrugged, scooping it onto his plate before he placed a new slice onto yours. He sends you a wink, leaning over to place a soft kiss to your cheek. 

It’s not long before it’s time for John B has to leave. He promised JJ they’d go night fishing and you weren’t going to let him miss it. For a minute there, you thought you were going to have to drag him from the dining table yourself. JB stands up, reaching to shake your dad’s hand but is surprised when he pulls him in for a hug instead. Your mom is next. 

“Please, come back any time, John B. We loved having your company.” She kisses his cheek as she pulls away, and you groan. 

“Okay, mother, he’s going now. John B can’t be late.” You pull on his hand, and he lets his weight fall in your direction before he takes steps to follow you. 

“Thank you so much for having me!”

The two of you step outside onto your front porch. The yellow light by the front door casting a glow over both your faces. He takes a step down, so you’re closer to the same height.

“That went well, right?” John B asks, pulling you by the waist into his arms. 

“Better than I could’ve imagined, but I thought it was going to take a wrong turn there for a second.” You press your forehead to his and smile. 

“Do you think it’s too early to ask them to check in with Peterkin every now and then, so DCS isn’t on my case?” John B laughs, only a little bit joking. 

“I think we can make that happen.” You bring your chin forward, meeting his lips with yours. 

Suddenly the door opens, ruining the one moment you had alone with John B tonight. Your parents stick their heads out as you both turn to look at them. They’d probably been eavesdropping through the screen door, and you suspicions are confirmed when your mother says,

“You’ll always have a place here, John B.”

++

thanks for reading! don’t forget to reblog or send me feedback :)

john b taglist: john b taglist: @pogue-h , @shawnssongs , @hopelesswritingxd , @millie-753 , @thatsonobx , @jjtheangel , @ohbx , @babysbestlife , @psychicforest , @fanficscuziranout , @maebanks , @diverdown06, @thelocalpogue , @maybe-maybanks , @extratragic , @alexandracheers , @a-brooding-bird , @ughitslizz , @damonsalvawhore27 , @beth-winchester21 , @sunwardsss , @outerbanksbro , @collecting-stories , @yelyahryan ,

[notgonnarememberthis]

find your way (back to me) - chapter three

Not quite sure how I feel about this chapter but it is just a bit of a turning point for the next 2 chapters coming so I promise y’all that the next 2 will be better than this. Initially I had a scene going into this but I had to split the chapter when it just got too long and my brain was like “nah”. Ended up working for the better and I’m super excited about the next. Hope y’all are staying safe and enjoy this update

The morning comes with a pit of dread in Gil’s stomach. He was awoken by an early call, dragged out of the restless slumber of accidentally fallen asleep on a stack of case files. There was the body of a man discovered in a park this morning by a jogger. He didn’t match the M.O. at all other than the location of disposal. Still as he pulls up he can feel the tension pulling at him.

Something isn’t right.

He can make out Malcolm’s pacing form as he approaches. He lingers close to Edrisa who’s examining the still form on the bench. The corpse was dressed for the snow that accumulated overnight, eyes closed and arms crossed over the chest.

“Cause of death is a single gunshot wound to the back of the head.” Edrisa states, he assumes they proceeded without him when Colette arrived on the scene. That’s good, the less time they waste the better. He can have Malcolm fill him in on the extra details later.

“That doesn’t make sense. None of this matches the M.O. This screams remorse. Our killer isn’t remorseful, he’s cold and calculated. He’s accounted for every possibility. He targeted my mother in the middle of the day and stole an ambulance. He doesn’t do remorseful.” Malcolm rubs his hands over his eyes and Gil wonders for a moment if he even sat down in the past 12 hours. The boy already looks drawn thin, exhaustion battling with the caffeine in his system.

“I don’t think this is our guy.” Agent Swanson speaks up moving from her spot to the victim. “The only thing that matches up is the location. It was convenient to pawn it off onto a serial killer and get away with the crime.”

“What’s convenient about cops patrolling parks all over the city?”

“Bright.” Gil’s tone is a warning. He doubts it’s by Colette’s choice that he’s here rather than stopping him from doing so anyways. The last thing any of them need is to be at each other’s throats, but he is right. With cop cars patrolling all over the likelihood of getting by without being spotted is small.

It’s clear the scolding only makes him more agitated, Malcolm rocking back on his feet with a frustrated huff. He pulls him aside placing a supportive hand on his shoulder. This is hard on all of them but Malcolm, especially. He’s seen first hand what this killer does to his victims, hell he doesn’t blame the kid for feeling irritated by the slow proceedings. It doesn’t help that Dani lingers behind his every step.

He quietly notes to himself to get something nice for JT and Dani both. With watching Ainsley and Malcolm both they’re going to be on the end of more snide comments and snappings than either of them deserve.

“You don’t have to be here. Go back with Ainsley and work the press. This is not going to get easier.”

“I can’t. You know that.” His eyes fall on the body again. “It doesn’t make sense but I know this is our killer.”

“I believe you.” He offers Malcolm a sad smile. “Go back to the precinct, and gather all the connections you can. Swanson is going to be a hard sell. You gotta make this one believable.”

“I need help.” Gil frowns, understanding settling into him. “I have to go see him.” He immediately defends upon seeing his expression.

“Swanson won’t allow it.” He glances over Malcolm’s shoulder and the woman watching them with narrowed eyes. “It was her condition of you staying on this case, that you stay far away from Martin.”

“If I can shake Dani for 20 minutes.”

“It won’t work Bright. She’s got 3 other cops watching you.” Malcolm nods with a humorless smile. He can practically see the boy unraveling in front of his eyes. Hell, he feels it a bit himself. “I’ll go.”

Concern and panic flashes over Malcolm’s face. “You can’t.” He protests. He’s not visited Martin since Malcolm was taken but he feels the same panicked pull. If he can help them find Jessica in some way, any way he’ll do it.

“I’m the only one that can.” Malcolm tips his head back again, shaking it. Hesitation radiates from him, and he understands why. Part of Malcolm wants to protect anyone he’s close to from Martin. The other half knows that he might be crucial to the case.

“I’ll go back with Dani and Edrisa. There might be something we missed in the previous autopsies that can connect this victim to them.” He turns to walk away but stops himself. “Be careful.” 

Gil pulls him in giving a short hug. “We’ll find her, I promise.” He feels Malcolm hold tighter and his heart breaks a little. He remembers carrying him into his home after he’d fallen asleep on his couch. Just before he passed Malcolm to Jess he gripped onto him a little tighter, refusing to leave his side. When he finally untangled himself from the 12 year old’s grip he took to wrapping himself around Jessica instead. The look on her face had him smiling for a week.

He has to find her, for Malcolm.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jessica’s throat feels raw from screaming when she wakes again. Her head cranes, searching for the sound that woke her. She spies someone lurking in the shadows and she almost relaxes.

“Can I have some water?” She gauges carefully. The shadow stops moving but he doesn’t speak. The radio doesn’t turn on either, so she continues. “What’s your name?”

“Shut up.” Just like she suspected, he sounds young. If she had to guess, he was no older than in his early 20s. “He’ll be back soon.”

“Why did you kill him?” She presses. He freezes again, she waits holding her breath for the answer.

“I was following orders.” Jessica takes a breath trying to quell the panic building in her. She tries to remember all of Malcolm’s talks about killers and the psychology that he often rambled about when he found a topic that particularly interested him. Right now it feels like all of it is escaping her, replaced with a voice screaming to run.

“Where did you take him?” She bites her bottom lip when he turns towards her slowly. The mask obscures all but his eyes and even the darkness of the room prevents her from entirely making out those.

“Where he could be found.” He almost sounds sad. She straightens up leaning forwards. Her head still aches but it’s no longer the piercing pain it was before.

“Who are you?” She asks again. “What do you want from me? Anything, ask for anything and I will get it to you. Money, a plane ticket, I could get you out if you help me.”

“He doesn’t want anything from you.” Her eyebrows furrow.

“What do you want?” He stops again. She thinks he might answer when the sliding of metal cuts them off.

“Why the hell didn’t you pick up?” She recognizes the voice from the radio. Anxiety grips her when she hears another, this one muffled. Her worst fear comes to fruition when the man drops another person into the chair across from her.

This one is older, salt and pepper hair falling in front of his eyes. His mouth is duct taped, one of their kidnappers leans over ripping it off harshly once his wrists are secured. “Please, where is Michael? I just want to know he’s ok.” He begs.

“Shut up!” The older one shouts.

“Where is he, please. I’ll give you anything just tell me where he is. I need to know he’s safe.” The sound of the slap resonates off the walls. She winces in sympathy as tears stream down the man’s face.

“Andrew Rankin,” The older man circles around him. “Father, husband, and cheater.” The man, Andrew, bows his head, his shoulders shaking with his cries.

“You don’t understand.” He sounds strained. “Where is Michael, please, tell me where my grandson is.”

“Jessica, I think you can sympathize with his poor wife. Afterall, isn’t that what you thought your husband was doing for months?” A lump forms in her throat. How the hell did he know that? Those videos were never released to the press. Not even Malcolm knew until just last year.

“We fixed things. Our marriage is stronger than it’s ever been, please.” The man begs.

“What’s your choice? His life or yours?” Andrew’s head snaps to her, panic in his eyes. She knows his fear, the fear of dying not knowing where your loved one is. When the junkyard killer took Malcolm she would’ve burnt the world down to find him. She swallows heavily, turning her head towards the older man.

“Tell him where his grandson is.” She demands.

The laugh booms off the walls sending ice down her spine. “You are in no place to be making demands Ms. Whitly. The sound of a gun cocking makes her straighten.

“Tell him where and I’ll make my choice.” Her voice doesn’t waver, it’s more confident than she feels. She can see the cheshire grin even through the mask. The gunshot is less expected, pain blossoming in her side where she was shot. The shout of pain is drowned out by the younger kidnapper’s protests. Her head spins, adrenaline making her heart race.

“I’m going to ask you one more time, his life or yours.” The gun cocks again.

“Kill me.” She relents. If anything, this man should have the chance to see his grandson again. She allows herself a moment of peace to imagine what a life like that would be like.

A little granddaughter with Ainsley’s blond curls and a grandson with Malcolm’s piercing eyes. The sound of small feet warming her home again, filling up the corners with rapturous laughter rather than the hollow silence of 23 killed.

Another shot breaks her fantasy.

A sob leaves her throat as the man in front of her goes limp. Her side aches with the movement. She can’t hear the two men arguing over the blood roaring in her ears. All she can see is the man in front of her, only wishing to know if his grandson was alive. He died without peace. He died without knowing.

She bows her head crying for yet another family she doesn’t even know. Her side screams with every shake but the tears don’t stop coming. She can’t seem to get enough air in her lungs, each breath shorter than the last. Even when the metal door slams shut again and the room is silent apart from her, they don’t stop.

She cries for the man, who died scared and alone. She cries for his children, losing their father in a violent and abrupt way for no good reason other than he was in the wrong place. She cries for the grandchild, she hopes against everything in her screaming otherwise that he was found and taken to the police. Simply lost in a park, not somewhere taken by these men.

The shaking only gets more violent as she thinks of her own family. Of Ainsley, with her normally perfectly groomed hair frayed and messy from late nights. Of Malcolm’s eyes hollow from lack of sleep. Of Gil, hunched over his desk searching for answers that aren’t there.

It’s not until she has no tears left, her eyes puffy and sore. A grim anger settles over her as she makes her decision. She’s going to get out of here and back to her family. No matter what she has to do.

[alpineglowx]

I'll Do The Same {Din Djarin x OC} Chapter Thirteen: Inclinations

pairing: din djarin x female oc

warnings: lots of fluff!!

* * * *

When he squeezed her palm, Thell nearly burst into tears, too overwhelmed with joy to say anything. His hand was more secure and warm than she had ever imagined, cradling hers like a perfect fit. His other hand was holding one of those purple flowers she loved so much, like the one he had left on her pillow. He moved slowly, surely, like the bounty hunter he was, moving to tuck her hair behind her ear and put the flower in its place.

That’s when the tears came, because all her dreams of the past two, nearly three months were coming true. The dreams she had had all her life, to have someone to see her.

The music was soft even for it being so close by, and he slowly tugged her closer. Thell’s feet could hardly move until he squeezed her palm, and she focused back on his helmet.

Din had always been large, even the first night they met. It intimidated her at first, but slowly she had just come to admire it. He was a good foot taller than her, and could probably squeeze her to death if they hugged too tight.

But she wasn’t scared, because his hold on her hand was gentle, and she knew how kind he was underneath. He was silent for a long time, just looking down at her and squeezing her hand every now and then, as if to remind himself that she was actually still there. Finally, he spoke, and tilted his head down to Thell’s.

“I’m sorry I rejected your hand the other night. I was... nervous of what I felt.”

Thell blinked rapidly as more tears came, and shook her head.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, squeezing his hand reassuringly “I understand completely.”

“I... I don’t really dance, Thell,” Din said, somewhat shakily. “I’m good with a blaster but hell with moving my feet on rhythm. I’d look like a womp-rat on sticks.”

Thell laughed, louder than she had intended, and slapped her free hand over her mouth. She listened for a long moment to the musicians, but they had not ceased playing. Satisfied for the moment, she looked back up at Din.

“Well, that’s alright,” she said, smiling. “I’m okay with just holding your hand, too.”

“Can I be honest?” He asked quietly, having to tilt her head to look up at him.

“Of course.”

But the Mandalorian paused, and his vision was somewhere over Thell’s head. Trepidation crept up her spine as her eyebrows creased, and suddenly the grip on her hand went loose.

“Din?” She whispered.

“Get the kid,” was his only reply, and Thell did without hesitation. She slid back beside Din, going to touch his arm.

“What’s going on?” She asked urgently. All seemed still in the garden, like it had been, even with the music playing. But Din had retrieved his weapons and jet pack, even holding his blaster in his hand as he stood tensely.

“There's someone coming,” he said. “Get behind me.”

She did, cautiously peering past his arm raised with the blaster. She wrapped the kid under her cloak, rubbing his ear when he murmured softly.

But to her greatest relief, the only person that showed themselves were two young kids. They looked like royalty, dressed in gleaming satin robes and frizzy hair done up properly. At the first sight of them, the Mandalorian dropped his blaster, and Thell exhaled, feeling her heart calm.

As they rounded the corner, their eyes widened as they caught sight of the three. They couldn’t have been older than seven or eight, one girl and a boy with matching eyes and hair. Grogu made a small noise at their arrival, perking his ears. Din was still tense, Thell noticed, so she squeezed his arm.

“It’s okay,” she said quietly. “They’re just kids.”

It seemed to calm him some, but he didn’t put his blaster away until the kids had started laughing uncontrollably and ran down the corridor in the opposite direction. That’s when she heard the Mandalorian breathe, saw the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get back to the ship.”

When he extended his hand for a second time, Thell’s heart still caught in her throat, but she took it without hesitation. He didn’t let go of her hand until they made it back to the Razor Crest and dropped off their supplies, and moved back to the firepit Din had made to eat dinner.

Grogu sat in the open space of Thell’s legs, crunching on pieces of fruit she handed to him that Din had bought in the city. He seemed happy, munching away on the food while throwing side glances at Din. She wondered if he knew what was going on between them, or had seen the way the Mandalorian had kept her extra close as they wandered back to the ship. Even now, he only left a few feet between them as he sat back against a rock, crossing his ankles near the fire.

Thell ate her own food, happy to sit in the silence as the moon rose overhead. The wind was whistling through the grass, blowing sparks from the fire into the air. Despite nearly dying the other day, this planet had become her favorite. That, and the tender memories associated with it. She would miss Naboo dearly, and it tugged at her heart to know they were leaving in the morning.

“You’re quiet.”

Thell swallowed down a bite of food before cocking her head at the Mandalorian.

“Oh. I didn’t realize.”

“You okay?”

Thell nodded. “Yeah, I’m just thinking. I’m gonna miss this place... Din?”

He turned his head in her direction, crossing his arms over his chest.

Thell chewed on the inside of her cheek, suddenly flustered. “When we were in the garden... you were going to say something.” When he remained silent, Thell added, “You asked me if you could be honest with me, and I said yes.”

“Oh,” he breathed softly. “I was just going to say... I would like to know how to dance.”

Heat rushed to her face, and not just because they sat so close to the fire. Thell nearly choked on her food, having to clear her throat so she didn’t embarrass herself further. She hadn’t expected Din to be so forward with what he was feeling.

“Okay.”

She knew it was now or never. They could be dead tomorrow, and she was tired of waiting.

Thell sprung to her feet, leaving Grogu to sit and munch away on his own dinner, before she stood in front of the Mandalorian and extended her hands. He seemed taken aback for just a moment, pausing as he looked at her hands before taking both of them. She helped him to his feet with a loud huff, nearly tripping into the fire trying to catch her balance.

“Watch yourself, kar’ta,” he laughed in her ear, one hand secure on her arm.

That word again. Thell knew it was Mando’a; it had that same ring and tone as the other words he had taught her. But he never told her that one or what it meant. He had just whispered it to her the night he had told her his true name, the day she had saved him on Pasaana.

“What’s that one mean?” She asked.

He tilted his helmet down to look at her. “Ask me again some other time.”

Thell scoffed and rolled her eyes. He would truly be the death of her.

She didn’t know many dances, had only watched other people do it, but Thell attempted to start. She took both of his hands, rocking on her feet and motioning him to do the same.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have taken your hand. You’re more difficult this way,” she teased, hoping he saw the glitter in her eyes.

He did.

“Don’t tempt me, Thell,” he said lowly, a chuckle hidden under his breath. “You haven’t seen all my sides yet... ask Grogu. He can tell you all about it.”

“Oh, yeah?” She asked, halfway between a smirk and a laugh. She attempted to spin him, but it only tangled their arms and had Thell giggling to herself once he had figured out what had happened. When he finally faced her again, Thell took one of his hands and let the other rest on his arm.

“Yeah,” he said, and Thell swore he was smiling under the mask. “He’s seen me grumpy.”

She was dancing on the tip of her heels, trying to encourage the Mandalorian to do the same but he seemed to be enjoying himself by teasing her.

She cocked a brow. “I thought you were just... grumpy all the time?”

He stilled. “I thought you knew me better than that.”

Thell smirked, shrugging and remaining still as she thrived in his playful behavior. She suddenly jabbed a finger into his side, causing the Mandalorian to flinch while she laughed to herself.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

“Nah, I think you’re just grumpy. I just tried tickling you and you’re not doing anything. Not too playful or anythi-!”

She shrieked when the Mandalorian grabbed her, spinning her around so her back hit the cold Beskar chest plates. She whined, laughing while attempting to pry his arms off from around her. She knew he was strong, but being completely held by him was a different story.

“Din!” She laughed, leaning her head back. “Let me go!”

But he only chuckled heartily in her ears as she struggled against him, clawing at the Beskar vambraces. He seemed to be enjoying it immensely, even going so far as to wrestle her to the side and jab his fingers into her side.

“Din!” She shrieked, wriggling in his arms. “Stop!”

She knew she was ticklish, but this hadn’t happened since she was a kid, playing with her mother. With Din, this man she had come to care for so greatly, it was different. She had never expected him to be this way, and it was only making her fall faster for him.

She laughed until the breath hurt in her lungs, and she finally wrestled away from him and into the grass. The initial heartache of leaving the planet and having to be on the run again all but dissipated when she was laying in the grass, holding her stomach from laughing so much. When it had all but gone away, and she was only looking up at the stars and smiling widely, Din leaned over her. The moonlight shone on his Beskar like starlight, and even though she had never seen his face, she thought he looked beautiful.

“And you said I wasn’t playful,” he said, cocking his head.

Scared he was going to attack her again, Thell shook her head and pulled her arms to her chest. “Me? Whoever said that, it wasn’t me... Din Djarin? Playful? More probable than some may think.”

He chuckled at her comment, bending down to help her to her feet, picking grass out of her hair while she brushed off her tunic. They returned to the fire pit, with Grogu playing with that silver orb from the Razor Crest. Thell snuggled him for a moment, kissing along his head before putting him back down again. Din sat beside her, calmer than she had seen him in a long time, if ever, really. When all went quiet again, and the laughter had subsided completely, Thell peeked at him through her hair.

“You’re different.”

He tilted his head, almost like a kid. “How so?”

“Well...” Thell started, rubbing her hands over her knees. “That first night we met, I was absolutely terrified. I was scared of you and I was scared of what was going to happen to me if I stayed there. I guess I was just... afraid to actually be someone. To decide what I wanted out of life when it had always been decided for me.” She paused, chewing her lip. “But it's all changed now. I’m not so afraid anymore. I feel like... Like I have some purpose in life now, you know?”

He nodded. “That’s good.”

Thell smiled, just the corner of her lip. “But it’s not just me. You were different than I thought. You are different. I thought you were just cold and calculating at first, that night we met at the house.”

Din huffed. “A real introduction if you ask me.”

“I guess,” Thell replied. “But even then you surprised me. I mean, Kriff, you let me on the Razor Crest after I only asked twice.”

“You basically begged me to.”

She slapped his arm playfully. “I know, you don’t have to remind me. But you did anyway... and you let me stay with you after Coruscant, and it’s almost been what, three months? All I’m saying is that I judged you before I even knew you. I definitely never expected you to have a kid.”

Her gaze drifted back to Grogu and she heard Din say, “Me too.”

Looking back at Din, she said, “You’re a good father to him... He loves you a lot, I can tell. I can’t imagine what his life was like before all of this. But you brought him out of that, and you’ve been taking care of each other... that’s what I meant when I said you’re different. You put others above yourself, every time, even if you don’t like saying it out loud. And you care deeply... you’re not just doing it out of responsibility or vanity. Like, you actually care. And I really appreciate that, because it’s made me care, too.”

He didn’t respond, but Thell’s soul was moved when he went to take her hand again, softer than it had been before. His eyes went back to the fire, but his hand was secure in her’s, his gloved thumb running in circles over the back of her palm.

They sat by the fire for hours, talking late into the night until Thell couldn’t force her eyes to stay open. Her heart was full, and she had never felt so happy in all her life. She wished so desperately she could tell her mother everything that had happened, all the things she had learned and how deeply she had fallen for this man. She had never even seen his face, barely a glimpse of his own skin, but she still cared for him all the same.

Maybe, wherever she was, her mother was proud of her. Her father, too. If all they had wanted in life was for Thell to be safe, then their wish had come true.

Because she slept sounder that night than she had ever before, slouched against the Mandalorian’s side, head resting on his shoulder as he leaned against the rocks. He must have removed the pauldron at one point so that her head lay comfortably on his shoulder, covered by a thick brown garment. Because she woke up at one point in the middle of the night to find Grogu sleeping in Din’s lap, his hand holding the Mandalorian’s thumb against his chest like he always did. And she didn’t wake them when she went to get water, even when she came back and snuggled right back up against him. Thell let her hand linger beside Grogu and Din’s, and sometime before she drifted off, she felt the Mandalorian intertwine their fingers, connecting it with the kid’s.

. . . .

Thell lingered at the edge of the field, staring off into the countless waterfalls, streams, and forest that surrounded them. Off in the distance, on top of a hill, she could spot the city they had gone into, and the memories replayed in her head. No matter what, she would always remember that night in the garden, and the tenderness that they had both shown to each other.

She was rubbing her fingers along her necklace when Din came up beside her.

“It’s time to go.”

Thell sighed. “Okay.”

“Are you ready?” He asked, turning to her.

But she shrugged. “Not really. This place has been amazing, you know, despite the squid thing that tried to kill me... I’m just going to miss it here. It was nice while it lasted.”

“Who said you were going anywhere?”

Thell blinked, twisting her head to look at him and dropping the necklace from her hand. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...” he started, and Thell noticed the awkward way he dug his boot into the ground. “You’re staying on, with us... aren’t you?”

“Of course I am,” Thell said, nodding. “I don’t really have anywhere else to go at this point. Why are you asking?”

Din crossed his arms over his chest, looking back out over the field. “I’ve been thinking... we could go back to Navarro. The armorer’s forge is there... we could restore your father’s vambraces, say hi to Greef and Cara while we’re there.”

Thell beamed. “Really?”

“Yeah... what do you say, kid?”

Grogu was in Din’s arms, and he whined, looking up at them both. Thell grinned, rubbing his ear with one hand.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Din practically perked up the next second, hand on his blaster. Concerned, Thell followed his eyeline to the sky, where she could spot two dark spots moving towards them quickly.

“Empire,” Din said, answering her thoughts. “Get back to the ship, now!”

Thell turned and sprinted, making sure the Mandalorian was right behind her. They sped up the drop ramp, securing the ship and dashing upwards into the cockpit. Din had passed the kid to Thell, making sure he was secure in his seat while he started the Razor Crest. Thell had only just strapped herself in when the ship lurched forward, and she braced herself against the seat. She could hear the fighters blasting at them from outside, the explosion of shots into the field where they had just been standing.

But Din was fast, and precise, like he always had been, and he had them shooting upwards into the clouds and plummeting through hyperspace before they had sustained any damage.

It had become so natural, Thell had only just noticed she was holding the Mandalorian’s hand. And for the first time, she felt him trembling, like his entire body was on fire.

[ejzah]

A/N: This chapter deals with the second part of Little Angels. I tried to trim it down to scenes where it could be from Deeks’ POV.

***

The Agent and the Lawyer, Part 13

“What did Callen say?” Kensi asked, glancing at Deeks briefly before she returned her eyes to the road.

“Andre Maragos has requested a lawyer,” he said dryly. “Do you think he’d accept me?” Kensi snorted at that, glancing at him again. Her eyes were appraising.

“Well, you certainly can look the part of a lawyer a guy like Maragos would hire.”

“Again, not sure if that’s a compliment,” he said with a frown. Instead of making another joke at his expense, she said,

“I really am glad you’re here today. You’re making this whole thing a lot less terrible.”

“Anytime.” He glanced behind them where the transport van was following. “So what do we do if Lucas doesn’t actually know or show us where the bodies are?”

Kensi’s eyes narrowed on the road, her expression deadly. Suddenly, Deeks was very glad that he wasn’t on the receiving end of her rage.

“Then you might have to stop me from shooting him.”

***

“I think this is one of the most horrific things I’ve ever seen,” Deeks muttered to no one in particular. And he’d been party to some pretty awful stuff.

Lucas Maragos had lead them directly to the edge of a small hill, radiating smugness the entire time. It wasn’t clear if he was enjoying bossing them around, or having the opportunity to finally show off his work.

Either way, Deeks was reconsidering his position on guns. He sighed as several forensic experts dug up the spots Maragos had pointed out.

“Mr. Deeks, Agent!” A woman dressed in protective gear said, motioning for them to come over. “We found something.” If her expression was anything to go by, it wasn’t pleasant. Then again, that’s what they were hoping for.

Kensi, who’d been talking with Maragos, hurried over. They both glanced in the small grave, where the skeleton of cat lay.

“Well, now we know he wasn’t lying about the cat part.” Deeks said, holding back a shudder.

“You should call Sam,” Kensi told him, a deep frown growing between her eyebrows. “I’m going to see if I can’t get anything else out of Maragos.”

“Sam, you need to get out here,” he said when the agent picked up.

“So far they’ve found the remains of five cats,” Kensi said once Callen and Sam had arrived. “Lucas isn’t being particularly helpful at the moment. He keeps repeating that his brother is responsible.”

Sam and Callen shared a dark look, something unspoken flowing between them. There was clearly something going on with Sam, but now was definitely not the time to ask about.

“Any other sites?” Sam demanded.

“You should ask my brother, these are his,” Lucas responded, apparently trying to appear genuine.

“You seem to be enjoying the attention. Give me the keys.” He directed the last part to Kensi, grabbing the keys to Lucas’ cuffs from her.

“Is that a good idea?” Deeks asked as Sam unlocked the handcuffs. Lucas’ legs were still bound, but Deeks didn’t trust the man not to make a run for it. Or try something more violent.

Kensi caught his eye, shaking her head as Sam dragged Maragos several feet away, ignoring the man’s protests. Sam seemed to just barely be holding himself back from inflicting physical damage. Callen watched it all with obvious concern, but didn’t attempt to intervene.

“Does Sam have a personal history with this guy or something?”

“No,” Callen answered shortly. Sam returned a few minutes with Lucas, who actually seemed a little frightened and was in a much more sharing mood

Deeks could only imagine what Sam had used to gain his cooperation and that worried him.

How strong could the team’s case be if they resorted to threats and potential violence?

***

“What do we now?” Deeks asked, as they drove to the mission.

They’d found the remains of the third girl who was originally buried, but not Amanda. Both Lucas and Andre had proven uncooperative, blaming the other for the murders.

Then Andre had made an ill-planned attempt to leave the country with his family. It was certainly suspicious behavior, but they’d taken a swab from Andre and it didn’t match any of the DNA on the remains.

They also had a signed statement from Andre’s mistress and a home video the two had made. Deeks could have happily lived without ever seeing Andre Maragos naked. To say that Sam had not been pleased when they interrupted his interrogation with Andre to tell him would be an understatement.

“We look at the evidence again. We look for what we missed before,” she said and then sighed deeply. “And we pray that we come up with something before Amanda runs out of time.”

As they watched the video of Amanda for the countless time, it was not lost on Deeks that they were grasping at straws.

“Hey, take a look at this,” Sam said suddenly, pointing to a bare finger that was just visible at the edge of the video. There was a note of something close to excitement in his voice. “When he picked up the camera, he took off his glove.”

“Different MO,” Callen said. “Makes sense, glove would have been shredded after all the digging.” Sam wasn’t about to be talked down from whatever idea he had. Kensi walked over as Deeks stood up, to get a better look at the screen.

“Hear me out on this, G. What does this guy do with his gloves afterwards?”

“Well, first thing you would, uh, burn ‘em, shred ‘em. It’s full of DNA.”

“What if he’s going fast, got careless?” Sam continued, sounding like he was telling a story. “Left a glove behind, like in a box or in the dirt in the hole.”

“The case is closed,” Deeks said immediately. “I mean, we catch him the second we find that glove.”

“But there is no glove,” Kensi said, echoing Deeks’ own thoughts.

“We don’t know that,” Sam said and Deeks heard warning bells going off in his head. “Maybe neither does the killer. He’s going fast, he’s scared, he tosses everything only to realize, he left a glove behind.”

“Right, but he didn’t,” Deeks said, not liking where this was going at all. What Sam was suggesting was sketchy at best.

“We could make him believe that he did,” Callen said, nodding in agreement with Sam.

“What if it doesn’t stand up in court though?” Deeks asked, thinking of how he’d tear apart “evidence” like that.

“We’ll do whatever it takes to make it stick,” Kensi said as Sam instructed Eric to modify the video. He turned them out for a minute, distracted by his concerns.

“You’ll need to sell it to Lucas Maragos, Deeks,” Sam said, drawing him out of his thoughts. “Make him believe that the glove is real. We’ll do the same with his brother.”

“Me?” Deeks repeated, startled by the suggestion, especially coming from Sam.

“You’ve already got a connection with him. It’ll be easier than if Callen or I do it. Kensi will back you up if you need it.”

***

“I do not like this,” Deeks muttered, his voice barely audible as they waited in the interview room again.

“You’ll be fine,” Kensi said. “And it’s for Amanda.” She flashed a warning look his way as the sound of guards drew closer and he pressed his lips together, holding back any further comments.

He pulled in a slow, shallow breath, trying to calm himself. This was no different that cross examining a difficult witness. He just had to play to his audience, frame the story they needed to hear, and pretend he believed every word he said.

Deeks snapped his eyes back open the second the guards were at the door, adopting a relaxed posture as they led Lucas in. Kensi said nothing as he opened the laptop on the table, started the DVD with Amanda’s video, and sat next to Lucas Maragos.

“See that little sucker right there? It’s a glove that got left in the dirt,” he told the man. Lucas’ eyes were laser focused to the screen, a change from his earlier careless attitude. “And it is filled with DNA.”

He didn’t glance at Kensi, putting all of his attention on Lucas. Deeks hoped he wasn’t playing it up too much. Maragos cleared his throat after a moment, now looking anywhere but at the laptop.

“I don’t know why you’re showing me this,” he said. Kensi leaned forward then.

“Because when we get a DNA match, we’ll be able to find your partner. And believe me, we’ll get him to turn on you,” she said, her matter of fact tone chilling.

“You can take him back,” Deeks called to the guards. “But let us know if he has decides to talk. Who knows, he might be able to escape a death sentence.”

It was only after they were outside again that he allowed himself to let out a shaking breath.

“You ok?” Kensi asked, eyeing him with concern.

“Yeah.” He was surprised to find it was true.

“Eric’s calling,” she said, putting her phone to her ear and had a rushed and confusing conversation. She shoved the phone in her pocket and started jogging towards the SUV. “Eric says we need to get to Angeles Forest now. Callen and Sam are following someone in one of Andre’s vehicles.”

***

“I can’t believe it was Andre’s kids,” Deeks said, shaking his head as Kensi returned from putting the younger boy in the back of an LAPD cruiser. He knew they were hardly the first to commit a heinous crime, but it was still shocking.

“I guess they learned a lot from their Uncle,” Kensi said darkly.

“What will happen to them?” Deeks had defended juvenile clients before, though never one charged with attempted murder. And in his own experience, the courts could be pretty brutal when it came to kids.

“Well, I’d guess their dad is going to higher them the best lawyers he can find,” Kensi started. “And then it depends on how they’re charged. I could see the FBI wanting to try them as adults, but I doubt it’ll go through.”

“I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed,” he said and Kensi rolled her eyes.

“C’mon, we’ve got lots of reports to file.

“Not me, I’m just a legal consultant.” Kensi made a rude noise at this.

“Nice try. You never get out of paperwork. And if you don’t do it, Hetty will hunt you down. And no one wants Hetty hunting them down.

***

“You know, you did really well today. I was surprised, but you did good,” Kensi told him as they walked out of the mission, taking their time.

It had been eye opening to watch Deeks question Lucas. She had expected him to hold back and certainly hadn’t considered that he would taunt Lucas. The images he’d produced had been horrifying, and affective during their first interview.

“I think you’ll find I’m full of surprises, sugar bear,” he said, grinning that annoying smirk of his. Kensi held up a hand, turning to face him so he was forced to stop in the middle of the hall.

“Woah, sugar bear? I don’t think so.”

“What, I think it’s very appropriate. You’re very sweet and-“

“And you are absolutely forbidden from calling me that anywhere another person might hear it,” she finished for Deeks, shaking her head. Of course, now she’d left herself wide open to being called “sugar bear” in private.

“What about “Princess”?” he asked, undaunted by her implied wrath. She started walking again before he could see her slight smile. Their shoulders brushed as they walked, an unnecessary physical reminder of Deeks’ presence. Technically, it violated the rules of their bet, but Deeks didn’t mention it.

“Definitely not.” Before he could suggest something even more ridiculous she said, “Be serious for a second. Ok? I know that defusing tension is a big thing for you, but I really need to know how you’re doing.”

He sighed and this time he was the one to stop. He tossed his head back for a second and it was amazing how suddenly his face transformed. She saw the weariness and a surprising amount of anger that he’d hidden for the majority of the case.

“I’m...good,” he decided after a pause. “Which I know is weird to say. I didn’t realize how much I needed to see someone like Lucas Maragos get what he deserves.”

“So we didn’t scare you off with our serial killers?” She was actually curious; he’d been obviously horrified, but not nearly as much as she’d expected. He’d dealt with the possibility of seeing girls buried alive better than many seasoned Agents would.

“I mean, the kids following in their uncle’s footsteps is pretty awful, but again, I’m glad they’re not out there hurting more people. I don’t see nearly enough of that as a lawyer. And it’s even worse if you’re a public defender or district attorney.”

“And here I thought you’d be running out of here after a couple days,” she said.

They were in the parking garage now, which was mostly deserted and had stopped walking again. Kensi found she was reluctant to go to her own vehicle.

“You’re not going to get rid of me that easily Kensi Marie Blye,” he said, then made a face that she recognized meant he was holding something back.

“What?”

“Nothing...just um,” He rubbed his chin before continuing, “How often do you threaten people or make up evidence to get results?” She nodded, knowing he was thinking of the way Sam had treated Maragos and the planted glove.

“Sometimes you do what you have to,” she said simply. “The important thing is that we found Amanda in the end.” He still looked serious, so she cleared her throat and added, “And now, I think you owe me some Mexican. I’m calling in my first special delivery. I expect it on my doorstep in an hour.” She did a smug little dance to accompany her victory.

Deeks rolled his eyes, chuckling under his breath.

“Yes, technically you did win,” he agreed. “Although I would point out that if this wasn’t such a tense case, you would have been all over me.”

“Those sound like the words of a loser,” Kensi teased, ignoring the thought of being “all over him”. Deeks scrunched his face at her.

“You are a very annoying winner.” Kensi grinned at him. His hair was more disheveled than normal after tramping around in the heat all day and his light blue shirt was now untucked. He looked anything but a high price lawyer. He also looked completely delectable.

“But as I am a man of my word-“ Kensi grasped the sides of his face, cutting him off mid-word as she kissed him roughly, pushing her tongue past his lips and letting out a sigh when his hands settled on her waist.

“Oops, I guess I lost,” Kensi gasped out several moments later. She stepped back from him, her skin feeling flushed and a deep need running though her body. His answering grin was breathtaking as he pulled her back to his chest.

[r6s-imagines]

Your writing is so good but the Spetznaz KIA ones have me in so much pain ;w; Can I request another set but with close calls instead?

thank you so much! i was honestly debating making it all a close call but i needed the a n g s t in my life so i couldn’t resist! i hope this satisfies you!!

spetsnaz preference >> close calls

•••

requested: yes! thank you for being the first request!

warnings: cursing, mild gore

•••

summary: how do the members of spetsnaz react to your near-death experience?

•••

kapkan

his initial first date idea was to go hunting with him

you’d been around too many gadgets and people, he’d say. you two needed some time alone not just discussing trapped entryways and peeking corners

“maxim!” you called. “i’ve got tracks, it looks big!”

he was proud of you, for learning under his guidance, he trusted you with his life and vice versa

the winter air whipped at his face, yet he never faltered

he knew the land, the struggles, the weather. he knew to act slow.

you didn’t.

you knew better than to assume things from being in the field of work you were in

but you happened to assume a flurry of thunderous steps were maxim’s

you turned around, gun holstered and ready to lead the russian

a frothing, wild pack of wolves presented themselves, poised and ready to strike

you remained still

unable to call out

the alpha lurched forward, snapping its grand jaws to your face

you shielded your neck as it took hold of your arm instead

biting to the bone, you screamed

another wolf snagged your leg, attempting to drag you to their hideout

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

the pain remaining but the pressure gone, you opened one eye

maxim was panting, staring at you with a grand concern

helicopters wouldn’t be able to land here, he thought. she’ll bleed out waiting.

he apologized profusely and swooped you around his shoulders, carrying you as a soldier would to your open-aired base camp

he packed just enough material to apply pressure and prevent immediate infection

you found immediate treatment and spent the next days in a hospital bed, maxim not once leaving your side

he’d joke about how cool he was during the ordeal

“you’re lucky i found you when i did, i don’t know how you got caught like that.”

“maxim, you looked like you passed away that moment you found me.”

he won’t admit it, but he has dreams of you dying from that event and wakes up in cold sweats

fuze

you ever have one of those moments where your dad yells at you for having the flashlight positioned wrong while he fixes a car?

that’s shuhrat

“the flathead, please. no, that’s the torx.”

he was determined to upgrade his cluster charges

“if i pinpoint the solution, these things will stick to any detection of life.”

you’d pester him with questions, inquiring about each part and function

“if you could please let me focus, y/n. you’re being no use to me right now.”

dick.

your pettiness caused you to retrieve the wrong tool again, setting off fuze’s frustration

he slammed his tools down, giving you a look

“if you’d just lis—“ he slammed the table with his fist

he hadn’t meant to threaten you

but there was no time to apologize

his fragile creation bursted to life, setting off a barrage of explosive chips

he was close enough for the launch to not affect him

but you bailed out of fear

and you ended up right in the line of fire

in miliseconds, you were on the ground, your right leg bent in ways neither of you have seen

you foot was pretty much absent

luckily for you, this mishap occurred on site

fuze immediately called for medical attention, sending everyone in a flurry

you were wheeled off to the medical offices

your leg was beyond saving

but you’d live

shuhrat refuses to forgive himself for nearly killing you

as he’s setting off his new charges during work, he can’t help but flash to the sight of you bleeding on his own workshop floor

twitch creates a multifunction prosthetic exclusively for you

shuhrat helps you through every physical therapy session

no amount of assistance could ever make him forgive himself, though.

tachanka

you can’t tell me his lmg isn’t a serious hazard to everyone around him

imagine the number of crossfire casualties if missions were treated the way they are in a casual match

you were a newer recruit, scoping out an already familiar objective point

you peeked a corner after pinging an attacker

unfortunately, so did alex

his few bullets penetrated your flesh, sending you to the ground

“what the FUCK, man!”

if you weren’t about to bleed out he’d probably make a joke about cockblocking or the like.

“hey, hey, look at me,” he’d say, dragging you by the waist to an unbreachable corner. “i’ve got you.”

he helped you up, and you immediately fell back down

so much for your first day going well

doc did what he could, applying bandaging and providing a long-lasting adrenaline boost

you refused to look the old man in the eye after that point

“what kind of loud, obnoxious russian shoots his coworker on her first day?”

just as you’re ranting to doc as he redressed your shoulder, a knock on his office door takes your attention

alex is standing there, stiff and uncomfortable, much to doctor kateb’s surprise

“is there something you need, senaviev?”

he’d uncomfortably gesture to you

doc nodded and left you two alone for a moment once securing the wound

“so much for a first impression, no?” he laughed awkwardly. you returned with a frustrated glare

“i must have been caught off guard by your beauty. i hope you can forgive me.”

huh?

“you say this to every woman?” you asked, unamused.

“only the ones i shoot.”

you two spend the next few days joking and bonding in your room

he tells stories and jokes to distract you from the pain

which causes you pain from laughing too hard

maybe he’s not so careless after all?

glaz

his signature weapon has some severe kick only a professional can handle

well, maybe not a professional

timur is the only one to really know the behavior of his sniper

so when he offers for you to try it in your spare time, he’s hesitant despite being the one to initiate the idea

he noticed how marveled you were at his patience and steadiness, you almost doubted it was his actual skill and just the gun instead

the two of you were in a shooting range with target about 90m away

“aim high, the bullet drops no matter what distance,” he’d explain, reaching around you and under your arm to tilt his gun up with a finger.

you rolled your shoulders and closed one eye

“and don’t forget that—“

BANG!

he wasn’t kidding when he said the recoil will knock anyone on their ass

because you were on your ass

with a very broken nose

and a bleeding head

you managed to launch yourself so far back, the back of your head cracked against a shelf

if timur didn’t step slightly to the side, you’d have a clean head

but he initially wanted to watch you misfire and jump back from the kick

but he couldn’t have predicted for it to send you that far

he helped you up and you were set on a chair, head leaning back

glaz didn’t know which spot to handle first, the severe nose pain or heavily bleeding skull

his hands moved frantically to check for additional issues

“keep your head forward,” he mumbled, knowing the impact gave you delicate senses

you followed his suggestion, watching the blood soak onto your lap

he produced a rag from his pocket, holding the back of your head with one hand and your nose with his other

you looked up at him, still facing downward, and smiled, blood staining your teeth

“i’m okay,” you said

you weren’t

once the bleeding scabbed over slightly, you were relocated to the medical wing

you had a severe concussion and needed an entire bag of blood

boy, does timur feel like a dumbass

his personal game could’ve taken your life

whenever you look in the mirror, you smiled at your crooked nose

“timur, remember when—“

“yes.”

he doesn’t want to talk about it

he gets embarrassed