#lots of startled screaming ensues

[baura-bear]

At least once Jack has tried to crawl through David’s window and ended up falling onto Mayer’s and Esther’s bed (wrong window)

[burninlovebutler]

Just an Intern // Part 3

pairing: austin x makeup artist!reader | word count: 8.7k-ish

warnings: angst, smut, FLUFF???, confusing arrogant asshole!austin, one bed, alcohol, hot tub 👀, fingering, play fighting, lots of dialogue, fries lore lol, truth or dare, name calling, physical altercation, yelling, screaming, crying, i am so sorry (but not really), 18+ MDNI

summary: while the set of Bikeriders remains buried under snow, you're imprisoned at the nearest ski lodge, in the last vacancy with none other than your arch nemesis. as the novelty of a packed resort wears off quickly, you find yourself on a drunken adventure led by an unexpected partner in crime... literally.

PART 1 | PART 2 | see my masterlist for all other fics ♡

vibes: just an intern spotify playlist ⛓️

Let's cause a little trouble Oh, you make me feel so weak I bet you kiss your knuckles Right before they touch my cheek

But I've got my mind, made up this time 'Cause there's a menace in my bed

Can you see his silhouette?

A glaring white morning light lulled you from your slumber. You were so warm and comfortable…. too warm and comfortable. Your eyes shot open and your body stilled completely the minute you sensed a heavy arm that was wrapped around your waist and a body pressed against your backside.

What the fuck

Last night’s events raced through your mind, remembering your transgressions with the actor vividly, but the end was quite fuzzy. All you remembered was going to shower then coming out to a completely dark room with Austin sleeping at the far edge of the twin sized bed, facing away from you. Then you slipped into bed, turned the opposite direction and fell asleep.

How the fuck did you end up being little spoon to the man that told you he’d rather rot in hell than sleep next to you. You stared at the wooden wall, following each swirl as if it would give you the answer to get out from this death trap of impending doom. You decided to take the plunge and try to slip from his grasp. A slight sleepy groan rumbled behind you made your eyes squeeze shut, like you were expecting a bomb to go off.

You knew exactly the song and dance it would ensue – some furious accusation and an insult.

Much to your surprise you felt him freeze just as you did then try to escape quietly. The realization hit that he perhaps didn’t know you were awake either. I mean realistically what would he reprimand you for? He was wrapped around you, what was he going to claim? That you forced him to play big spoon?

You chose to keep your place, taking advantage of the predisposition that you were still asleep. Besides it would give you just a sliver of peace before you had to go back to his ‘Intern’. There was a slight tug of sheets, then a cold emptiness when he pulled from the mattress.

He let out another hushed grunt then, “Fuck.” He mumbled to himself silently. You curiously opened one eye to observe him. He rounded the bed going to the dresser, tapping his fingertips across the top like he was looking for something. His hand landed on a pair of black rimmed glasses you hadn’t noticed when you went to bed in the dark. You couldn’t help but prop up a subtle brow.

Wanting to savor this little secret you stumbled upon, you decided to ‘wake up’ giving a performative stretch before cocooning yourself in the duvet. “Glasses huh?” You held back a ‘caught ya’ smirk, then a stifled giggle when you noticed him jump a tiny bit at the surprise.

He turned at the startle and instantly rolled his eyes. He hadn’t been awake not even 5 minutes and he was already annoyed with you. “Yes, I wear glasses, big whoop.”

“Well, I just didn’t know.” You tugged your bottom lip in trying not to laugh at his obviously embarrassed reaction.

“There’s lots of things you don’t know about me, Intern.” He spat back, turning to the phone ringing – to the tune of… Burnin Love? by Elvis? You were learning more about this man than you cared to know. He snatched his phone so fast, before it even got to the ‘hunka hunka’. Another thing he was clearly embarrassed about.

“What’s up?” While he spoke into the phone you found yourself distracted by the muscular lines of his bare back, just then noticing he was shirtless. His skin was golden and was toned like a swimmer. You followed the curvatures of his body down to were they met small dimples in his lower back then disappeared into blue stripped pajama pants.

His evidently aggravated groan snapped you out of your expedition down his body.

“Fucking great.” Bringing his hand to both temples. “We’re still fucking snowed in. We’re stuck here until tomorrow at least.”

Fuck

“I take it there are no other rooms available?”

“No Intern, obviously not, the roads are closed. Nobody can fucking leave.”

You both went your separate ways and you couldn’t have been happier, finally getting a moment to breathe and relax. There was a tiny café within the resort that you hid in most of the day taking time to catch up on the book you had been neglecting. The snow outside continued to pile up with no end in sight. Your odds of escaping Austin weren’t looking very promising. While it was what you wanted, there was a part of you – the machoistic part of you – that didn’t want it to end, just yet.

Before you knew it, it was evening and you were trying to avoid the hotel room at all costs, not wanting to risk running into Austin. So, you found yourself at the same bar from the Landon incident yesterday. You pressed your palms against the bar ledge that was littered with your coworkers, including Landon out of the corner of your eye. He sent a chill up your spine, but he seemed distracted by some giggly extra.

“Vodka soda please.” You ordered from the rather attractive bar tender. Maybe you could end up in someone else’s bed that night, maybe it would stave off the remnants Austin’s touch left on you. Regardless you had a mission - getting fucking wasted. How else were you supposed to deal with the confusion clouding in your head?

About 2 vodka sodas in, an aggravated sigh came from your left, “You would be here.” Said the exact voice you were trying to elude.

“What the fuck does that mean?” You rolled your eyes turning to him. He wore a plain black shirt that hugged his toned arms, tight dark denim jeans and leather boots.

He shrugged, “You just would.” Evading the question. “I guess I don’t blame you, there’s nothing else open in here at night.”

“Exactly.” You agreed taking a sip of your third drink, sending a warmth through your veins, then down to your core at the sight of his skilled fingers wrapped around a half-drank bourbon on the rocks.

“Last call!” Boomed from the tattooed bar tender.

“What?” You questioned, surprised. You tapped your phone screen to wake the time, “What, it’s only 12?”

“Bar closes at 12 on Sundays.” The worker informed, beginning his closing duties by wiping down the counter.

“Augh.” Austin groaned easily downing the remainder of his drink and harshly landed it on the bar. Without another word he was already out the door, likely at one of the cast’s room parties that had been going on.

You were in no rush to be alone in a hotel room but after a stroll through an uneventful empty lobby you decided to call it a night.

Opening the door to your room you noticed something that had been hiding behind a curtain, a wide open door. Being under the impression that the actor would be in some room party, you hesitantly tiptoed across the room. Your mind ping-ponged between the possibilities.

Maybe a resident had found the wrong room

Maybe you found the wrong room

Maybe the door hadn’t been locked and was swung open by the vicious snowy winds

Maybe it was a ghost

Finally at the door you peered through it from the edge to find… a hot tub? The jetted pool sat on a wooden platform covered by the room above’s balcony. And there sat the asshole right in the middle with another full drink in his grasp.

“Where have you been!” The blonde called out in a playful tune, the alcohol evidently taken over his body. “Did you know we have a hot tub?” His voice almost excited.

“Uh…” The entire scene threw you completely off, you’d never so much as seen this man smile and now, he was lightly playing in the water. “Am I hallucinating or are you actually having a good time?”

“C’mon get in here.” He gestured to join him hurriedly, ignoring your question.

“Austin it’s fucking freezing, you’re insane.” You thought he was even crazier when you realized that he was shirtless, because what else would you wear in a jacuzzi. “I’m not getting in there.” Shaking your head vehemently.

“It’s warm in here c’mon.” His gestures even more exaggerated through the steam that brewed above the water.

You shifted from one foot to another and chewed on your lip weighing your options. What else were you going to do? And who were you to turn down a hot tub?

“Augh fine.” You huffed, peeling your shirt over your head and unzipping then dropping your jeans. A blast of cold wind hit your bare body, covered only in a bra and panties. Your arms immediately wrapped around yourself shivering as you shuffled across the wood slats and up the short stairs.

You let out a relieved sigh once your shoulders were below the warm water across from him. “You’re fucking crazy.”

He gave you his signature eye roll, “Loosen up will ya? You’re always so stiff.”

You couldn’t help but let out loud scoff, “Me? Nah, that’s all you Actor.”

He let a chuckle as he lulled his head back, his arms resting on the edge of the tub. “Yeah, I guess I could stand to loosen up a little.”

“That’s a fucking understatement.” The edges of your lips tied into a smile.

“Hey,” He furrowed his thick brows at you, his face only illuminated by the blue tone of the pool. “That’s not very nice.” A light flick of water propelled at you from his fingertips.

“Hey!” You dodged the attack, “That wasn’t very nice.” Splashing warm water back at him.

“Oh, I don’t think you wanna play this game, Intern.” He brows propped up throwing another wave of water at you.

“Oh, I think I do Actor.” Swimming diagonal from him giving you a new angle to battle him with a rush of water.

He feigned surprise, “You’re goin’ down.” Mimicking your actions, getting you good that time, soaking you completely.

A giggle left your mouth as you attempted to swim in the opposite direction splashing him back once more. You heard another foreign laugh from him matching yours. “No, you’re goin’ down buddy.”

In some miscalculation you ended up near him and mid splashing war you felt familiar sizable hands take hold of your waist pulling you into his lap.

What kinda twilight zone were you in when this menace was play fighting and giggling with you?

After the initial stun of the move, you caught your breath your eyes meeting his. The ebbing waves from the tub reflected into his aqua eyes, the ripples of the water seemed to swim in them.

Silence fell between you both as the laughter had dissipated and the only communication was in your stare. You tried to place his thoughts by analyzing his eyes. At that point you had gotten fairly good at reading him though this sight was new, and you had no clue at what was behind it.

His eyes flickered between yours and your lips, the proximity of him now very apparent. The scent of bourbon laid thick on his breath. Your own air lodged in your throat as you took in the sight of him. Under the glow of the moon, he looked so soft, a lens you’d never seen him through before. He was so exquisite like that - flushed rosy cheeks, drunken glossy eyes and all.

Your entire body froze when his lips met yours, his arms wrapping around your torso. Whether it was the alcohol, the moon or your genuine desire, something let yourself melt into it fully. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you deepened the kiss. You expected him to escalate it with his tongue the way he did before, but he didn’t, his lips just took yours in completely.

You decided to take the plunge and slide your tongue against his bottom lip asking for entrance and he complied. His hands slid up your sides pulling you closer and your hands tangled into the little curls at the nape of his neck. The entire experience was different than any other time you’d hooked up with him, it mirrored his current demeanor – soft, gentle. He wasn’t groping and squeezing like he normally did, he just held you as your tongues danced together.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and found a not surprising prominent bulge beneath you. A groan rumbled in his chest when you pressed your panty-covered warmth against his boxer-covered erection.

As you grinded against him, the feeling of his tip nudging your bundle made you so desperate to relieve the rampant buzzing in your core. It was making you weak and was distracting you from the kiss. You reluctantly pulled from his soft lips and fell onto his shoulder letting out tiny whimpers as he rocked his hips against you.

He pressed full kisses in the curvature of your neck causing a churning in your tummy that wasn’t arousal, but something different. Something familiar but you couldn’t quite place. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.” He mumbled into your shoulder, his voice deep and dripping in liquor.

A short breathy whimper involuntarily escaped you, “You think so?” Your inner voice taking no time in reprimanding you for seeking validation from such a douchebag. His names for you weren’t normally so kind, nevertheless a compliment.

“Mhm,” He hummed against your shoulder, his hand tangling in your hair as he peppered kisses across your skin. “The prettiest.” He whispered below your ear, unleashing a kaleidoscope of butterflies throughout your chest, your ribcage locking them in. You knew it was the alcohol talking but you clung to every word.

You were so needy for him that only small moans left your mouth, “Please Austin, I need your cock.” You breathed out, your heart beating so hard you thought it might pop out. Your hips rutted against his length the wet material of your panties allowing your lips to part around his shaft, teasing him with your entrance. “Please?” Exaggerating your whine.

He groaned at your actions, fingers harshly digging into your thighs. “No.” He said simply, his touch now gliding up your thighs, “Let me take care of you.”

His response took you by surprise, “W-what?” You stuttered but didn’t pull from him. A hand drew up your inner thigh, scorching the skin it passed, then fingers up your panties.

“Let me take care of you baby.” He repeated, his fingertips easily pulling your panties to the side and rolled the pads of his fingers around your clit. A gasp left your lips at the sudden pleasure.

“Fuck.” You faintly muttered against his neck and leaned into his touch. “Please. I need you.” Your right hand tugging at his hair and the left curling into his shoulder.

“I wanna try something, do you trust me?” He asked, the question throwing you off, both at what he could possibly be thinking and whether you knew the answer. It occurred to you that it was the second time he’d asked you that impossible question, the first time in the saloon on set. You wondered on what planet he was living on where he had given you any reason to trust him. If anything, he should be the last person on earth to trust. And yet, you lied, “Hm- Yes.” Curious to find out his idea.

He purred against your shoulder and gently lifted your hips off of him then placed you across his lap. With one hand he slid your panties down your legs and draped it over the edge of the pool. You held onto him by an arm around his neck as his hand slid up your thighs again and spread them wide.

The pads of his fingers once again found your core, rounding your swollen nub then down dipping into your entrance. “Fuck.” You breathed out as his digits curled into your sweet spot. You let him float you to the edge of the tub, it was unclear to you why until you felt the strong stream of water from one of the jets. A sharp gasp fell from your lips at the immediate pressure.

“Oh my god,” Your chest was heaving, and your nails dug into his back. While the jet took care of your clit, his fingers were taking care of your core, fucking you in a way you never thought fingers could. It was rhythmic like a choreographed dance, every pump into your pussy landed in a curl into your g-spot and you never knew you could feel so much pleasure from so many areas at once. Your heart was thumping in your throat with a tight knot in your stomach threatening you to unravel already. “Oh my god Austin.”

“I know baby, I know.” He continued his plight on your neck, trailing passionate kisses all over it. “Feels good doesn’t it?” He asked.

“Y-Yeah- Fuck.” You could barely hear him over the pounding in your ears. His little experiment with you was overriding every nerve, waves of tingling pleasure washing through you, even causing your toes to curl. “Fuck Aus, I’m close I’m so fucking close.” You whined, squeezing your eyes shut barely holding on to your sanity. The bliss was practically numbing your brain, every thought was him, only him. His eyes that could make you wet with just one look, his plump lips that stamped kisses all over you, his skilled tongue against your own and even better on your clit, the curve of his neck and collar bone where you’d place your own kisses, his agile hips that allowed him to drill his perfect fucking cock into you. Right then you could’ve sworn he was some Greek god from the insurmountable euphoria that possessed your body.

His mouth pulled your skin into a suck while his tongue swirled over the darkening spot. “Let it out baby c’mon, cum for me.” His deep voice rumbled against your neck. That and a perfectly synchronized hit of the jet stream on your throbbing bundle and his fingers curved into you, set off your climax. The height of your orgasm ripped through you so violently that your moans were completely silent – which you we’re grateful for because you knew your coworkers were just above you. Your nails dug into his shoulder and your thighs clamped around his hand and you heard him let out a sort of entertained chuckle. If you weren’t underwater your juices most definitely would’ve soaked his thigh completely.

Once fully spent, you fell limp on his chest, heavy breaths flowing into his neck, “Fuck.” You murmured. His arm curled around your waist, pulling you closer against him. The act was so intimate compared to… well any other interaction you’d had with him. He was always so cold and rigid, now he was tender and warm. You blinked up at him, his focus on the stars above you. Even his moonlit features were soft compared to his normal sharp edges. “You sure like to use water fixtures as sex toys huh.” You tugged a lip between your teeth hoping the joke would land.

He took a moment to respond, his brows scrunching together before looking down at you, “Huh?”

You let out a tiny giggle, “Because the faucet on set-“

“Oh oh, yeah!” He boomed a drunken laugh straight from deep in his chest, “Yeah, I guess I do.” Looking down at you, for a moment you couldn’t tell the difference between the stary midnight sky behind him and the twinkling navy in his eyes. “Did you not like it? Because it seemed like you did-“ His voice sounded almost insecure, as if he was worried about disappointing you. The hint of insecurity echoed the one from earlier in the hotel room, about his glasses.

“No, no I definitely do.” You laughed, pulling yourself up to wrap both arms around his neck, straddling him once again. “I’ve just never been with someone so… innovative.” Your lips pressed together to stifle a chuckle.

The joke earned you another hearty laugh from the glowing blonde, which made you realize you’d barely heard him laugh before, nonetheless smile. And right now, he was a grinning mess, and he hadn’t even cum. From the lack of stiffness beneath you it seemed that the alcohol had taken its toll. Under any other circumstances, if there was a more competitive game at play, you would’ve tried your hardest to return the favor. But he was giggly and touchy and the nicest you’d ever seen him, you didn’t want to cut it short, so you laid against his shoulder again just taking in his breathing.

“You’re pretty funny.” He said once he caught his breath from laughing.

“Yeah?” You blushed and a giant grin pulled at your lip’s edges, for some reason you felt embarrassed and hid further into his neck. “I’m glad you think so.” You whispered beneath his ear and molded your body further around his, taking advantage of his warmth. He reciprocated, wrapping you up in his arms.

Silence fell for what felt like an eternity and you thought for sure the moment was about to end, and this unicorn version of asshole actor would disappear. But he surprised you yet again.

“I’m hungry.” He stated simply, “I want fries.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, “What?”

“I want fries!” He repeated, matter-of-factly. “We should go get fries.”

“Austin, where the fuck are we gonna get fries? The kitchens are closed and it’s not like we can DoorDash in a snowstorm.” You stated the obvious, sitting up in his lap.

You watched the gears churning in his head as if it was a difficult equation before the most mischievous playful smirk spread across his face. Immediately you knew it couldn’t mean anything good. “Austin,” You warned, propping up a cautious eyebrow, “What are you thinking.”

He practically threw you off of him, landing you to be floating alone in what now seemed like a giant empty ocean without him in it. He scrambled quickly into the hotel room, dripping water across the carpet, only in some plaid boxers. Once the blur of the action caught up to you, you followed suit, nearly flying out of the tub into the freezing cold air. “What are you doing!” You called after him as he hastily dried off with a towel and changed into sweats and a hoodie faster than you’d ever seen anyone move.

The mischievous smile never left his face in his hurried actions and stayed focused on his mission. In that moment you realized you were now babysitting a drunken toddler. Like any good caretaker, you matched his speed but soon remembered your limited wardrobe choices. He was already halfway out the door and the only reasonably warm and accessible choices were another hoodie and pair of sweats from his duffle.

“Austin!” You first shouted loudly after him, stumbling out the door trying to slide fully into your sneakers. Then in a more hushed yell, not wanting to wake the entire lodge at 2 am. “Where are you going!”

“Fries!” He threw over his shoulder as he booked it down the stairs.

“Hey! Slow down!” Taking a moment to catch your breath before following him down the two flights of mahogany stairs. “You couldn’t have taken the elevator at least?”

Finally, you caught up to him, standing in front of the restaurant that hosted the rotating buffet during the day. You leaned over attempting to catch your breath gripping your chest, reminding you that maybe a weekly gym day wouldn’t hurt. “They’re clearly closed Aus.” You huffed out, gesturing your arm at the darkened restaurant. The way it was laid out was that the floor was open so the buffet serving areas and seating were open, but the kitchen was locked. He was bent over eyeing the lock. “You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you?”

“Hmmm.” He hummed and stood up to face you, he held his tongue between his lips as he seemed to analyze you, then reached into your damp hair and plucked out a bobby pin you had forgotten was in there. He went back to his crouched position, unfolding the metal accessory in his sizable hands.

“No no no.” You whispered, “Austin you’re gonna get us in trouble what are you doing!”

“I’m opening a door that we found, already open y/n, obviously.” He slid the pin into the keyhole and wiggled it around.

“Oh god you’re really doing this aren’t you.” You brought a hand to your temple.

It didn’t take long for the doorknob to click open, probably because the hotel didn’t think patrons would be breaking in. “Aha!” He proclaimed, flinging the door open and turning on the blinding overhead lights. Relief washed over you when you didn’t hear immediate alarms blaring.

“I fucking can’t believe you’re doing this.” You exasperated, dropping your arms at your sides, “You know there aren’t going to be just magically fresh fries right?”

“Relax Intern,” His mission stayed focused on pillaging the stainless-steel industrial kitchen for his desired snack. “I know what I’m doing.” Waving you off.

“Oh,” You placed both hands on your hips, “You break into kitchens often?”

He shot you an unimpressed look, “No, if you must know,” He somehow miraculously found the frozen fries. “I used to work in a kitchen, I know how to make some pretty fuckin’ dope fries.” He inspected the knobs of the deep fryer and clicked it to a high setting.

“Oh, you mean before you were just an actor?” You sassed, crossing your arms across your chest and popping out a hip.

He rolled his eyes at you, “Believe it or not I was once a struggling actor.” The fries sizzled in the oil when he dunked an obscene amount of into the appliance.

“Ah, I see the humbleness didn’t stick around.” You teased back, walking over to the wall and flipped off 3/4ths of the blinding fluorescent lights, leaving only the one’s above the counters.

He shot you another glare, “Keep talkin’ like that and ya aren’t gonna get any fries.”

You contemplated continuing your defiance but ultimately decided the midnight snack was more important. They were already in the fryer after all, might as well follow through.

He drew the fries from the oil, threw them into a giant silver bowl, and salted them like a pro, tossing them in the air and everything.

You ended up on the floor of the dark kitchen, sat across from him binging on the perfectly golden fries and a random wine bottle you’d found. For someone who was evidently wasted, they were beyond impressive. “Damn, you weren’t lying, these are so fucking good.” You complimented then shoved a handful of salty fries into your mouth. On a first date, you’d never eat like that in front of anyone, but this wasn’t a first date, this was a drunken adventure with an asshole.

“I told you.” He went for another fistful of salted potatoes. “I was the best damn line cook that surf and turf place had ever seen.” He sassed, waving a fry for extra attitude.

Your eyes rolled involuntarily, “You so would work at a surf and turf restaurant.”

He feigned insult with a dropped jaw, “What is that supposed to mean!”

You giggled and shrugged, taking a sip from the wine bottle. “You just give that typa vibe.” You teased, covering your mouth to hide the chuckle that threatened to erupt.

“Well, that’s not very nice.” He picked up a fry and tossing it at you. He shot a smirk at you then stole the wine bottle, taking a long swig. His plump lips molded around the bottle opening, his adam’s apple bobbed with his swallow.

You gasped, “You’re not very nice.” You plucked a fry from the heap and hurled it back at him. His gaze turned to a playful one, moving slowly to the bowl scooping a bundle of fries and heaving them at you.

“You’re a fucking child you know that?” Your tone serious but gasping an equal bit of fries while he was focused on your expression, throwing it right back at him. First the water fight and now this? Who the fuck abducted Actor and who was sitting across from you?

“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that.” He sat up on his knees, taking a fistful of your improvised dinner and aimed a bit too close to your face. Your hands immediately covered your eyes, “Ow!” You whined, sitting back on your legs, “You hit my eye!”

Instantly you heard him move the bowl and wine out of the way to cross the gap between you. “Oh my god I’m so sorry.” The hands that normally had been so rough on you, now delicately holding onto your wrists.

“It really hurts.” You whimpered, not moving your hands from your face.

“I didn’t mean to y/n, I swear.” He said softly then gently tugging at your hands. “C’mon let me see, we can wash out your eyes or something.”

A mischievous smirk spread across your lips beneath your hands, taking the fries that landed on you and smushing them into his chest. “Ha! I gotcha!”

Utter shock softened his face once he realized he’d been played. “That’s not fucking funny, I thought I- that I had-“ He struggled to find his words amidst the swirl of competitiveness and deception. It seemed as though his thoughts had halted as he watched your expression. The silence bounding around the industrial kitchen was haunting, unsure as to whether he was actually upset or if he would counter your move.

While you were attempting to decipher his motives, he abruptly took your cheeks into his large hands and pulled you into a kiss. The way his lips felt pressed against yours sent flutters down into your tummy, but they were different than the usual flurries of desire he gave you, these almost made you sick.

It took no time for your own hands to find a home tangled his hair. He inched forward indicating that he wanted you to lay back and you obeyed the silent request, slowly leaning back to land flat against the thankfully freshly mopped floor.

The kiss was tender, not hungry or ravenous, not even pushing to enter your mouth. In that moment, he wasn’t looking for anything more than that.

Your lips stayed locked for what seemed like a lifetime. A part of you almost grew uncomfortable at the intimacy, reflexively wanting to deepen the kiss. That’s all he’d ever wanted before after all, wasn’t it? You’d never had just a kiss before, with no ulterior motives. Why would he?

So, you wanted to fast forward to the part you knew was coming, not wanting to linger in a meaningless moment longer than necessary. You couldn’t afford to hold onto a fantasy, nor did you want to. But every muscle in your body ceased to function. His hands held your face and drew the pads of his thumbs across your cheekbones gently while your fingers traveled through his hair like a maze.

He was the exactly that - a maze, a human embodiment of one. You followed each path of his thinking you figured the way out, only to find you had no idea what you were doing or where you were going. You were trapped within an impossible labyrinth you never meant to enter.

His lips struggled to demagnetize from yours and hovered above your face. His navy eyes swirled reluctance, seemingly lost in some maze of his own. “I uh-“ He sat back on his legs, scratching the back of his head and eyes diverting from you. “We should probably head back to the room.”

And just like that, you reached another dead end in his labyrinth.

When you woke the next morning, the bed was empty. At first it took you by surprise, then a pit formed in your stomach. It was naïve of you to think that your drunken adventures with a rare Austin would change anything, foolish to think that version of him would stick around in the sober daylight. You wanted so badly to believe that wasn’t the truth, but you knew it was.

It dawned on you, why did that pit even form? This was the shithead that tormented you at work, treated you like shit and called you insufferable. In what twisted reality should you be sad that the illusion of a decent human fueled by alcohol didn’t stay for breakfast. At what point did you decide you wanted that version of him to stay? That’s not really what you want, was it? Of course not.

You brought your palms and pressed them into your eyes in a feeble attempt to clear out the thoughts swirling in your head. In a swift fling of the thick bedding, you unglued yourself from the bed, shuffling over to the window to check on the snow status. Thick snow still coated every surface, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as before, which meant that you’d probably be freed from this prison in the next day or two.

“Thank fucking god.” You mumbled to yourself, instinctively tucking your arms into your sides when you felt a chill. It was only then that you realized that you were still wearing his clothes. For whatever reason, you did a quick scan of the room as if someone would see you pulling up the collar of the hoodie taking an inhale. It smelled like him mingled with his cologne, a woodsy musk. You mentally scolded yourself when the tinge of longing filled your chest. Why the fuck would you miss him?

Then the memory of you sitting with him on the kitchen floor flashed across your mind pulling a giddy grin across your lips. “Fucking stop it.” Smacking your palm into your forehead. You shook your head trying to shake out whatever fucked up disease had taken over your mind, that was the only explanation for what you were feeling. The best way you could think of trying to remedy this ailment of yours was to take a long, hot shower. Maybe it’d wash it all away.

Once in the bathroom you let out a groan when you noticed all the towels were used and thrown about. “Fucking men.”

You headed down to the lobby and got the attention of a clerk. “Hi sorry to bother you but could I possibly get some more towels?”

“Sure of course! It’s no bother sweetie.” The middle-aged attendant sweetly smiled before heading into the back office.

She returned with a tower of fresh white towels. “There you go hon.” Placing them on the granite counter in front of you, “Your boyfriend use ‘em all?” She questioned in a joking tone.

You reflexively scoffed, “He’s definitely not my boyfriend.”

“Hm.” She pressed her lips together as if she had more to say but didn’t want to divulge.

“What?” You asked curiously, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Well it’s just- well I remembered you both from the night the snowstorm first hit so-“ She seemed to be trying to piece together some pieces of a puzzle in her head.

“…Mhm?” You urged on curious as to where this could possibly be going.

“So, when we had a vacancy open up yesterday, we called and asked him if he wanted to take it.” You knitted your brows together as you now tried to piece together the puzzle. “And well… he declined. So, I just assumed…”

“He turned down a room to himself?” You repeated for clarification, which was met with a timid nod, obviously feeling guilty for sharing personal information. “I uh, I have to go.” You stated shortly, snatching the tower of towels, “Thank you so much!” You thanked while you quickly made it back to the room.

After your much needed long, hot shower you decided to roam the all-inclusive resort. The only perk of being there was that there was decent amount of things to do during the day. From bars to in house casinos, arcades, spas, even a bowling alley. While you told yourself it was because you were bored, in the pit of your tummy there was a part of you that hoped you’d bump into your…enemy?

You wandered around the wooden halls of the resort with a pamphlet of all your options. Each corridor, room and lobby were decorated in typical lodge décor, animal heads on the wall, buffalo print everything, luxurious fireplaces. Everything except the deer heads was stunning, if you visited under different circumstances the mini vacation would’ve been a tranquil little getaway.

Since Austin supposedly hated you, Landon was a creep and Tom had his own friend group, you were alone. There was a door at the very end of the hallway that intrigued you. Once you peered in you saw a much cozier den-style bar, a huge square sectional couch facing a stone fireplace. On the opposite a very quaint bar. As you scanned the room for possible acquaintances you landed on a group of familiar faces.

“Y/N!” Called Tom, “You’re just in time. We’re just about to play truth or dare!”

What we were in 6th grade?

You locked eyes with your resident tormentor, because of course he’d be there. There was a split second where you thought things would be different after last night but when he gave you a warning look to decline the game offer, you knew it was a pipe dream. That gentle, playful man from the hot tub and the kitchen was gone, just like that. Then, the hatred you’d always felt before piped back into you, like a coffee pot filling with molten hot caffeine. Keeping eye contact with him the edges of your lips curled into a cocky smile, “Sounds great.” You sauntered over to the place next to Tom that faced opposite of Austin.

A few rounds of the game ensued, nothing too juicy at first but the game soon heated up when the group had downed a fair number of drinks. It was a stagehand’s turn to dare Austin. The brunette male, who had been working near many of your interactions together, gave him a playful smirk, “I dare you…” His eyes landed on you, “To make out with y/n.”

How fucking juvenile

You weren’t sure why the absolute jarring panic settled into your stomach, but Austin’s expression of immediate disgust didn’t help.

“I’m not doing that.” He said sternly, his tone oddly irritated.

“Oh, c’mon dude, it’s just a kiss.” The stagehand, Ryan, prodded jokingly.

“No. I’m not fucking doing it, give me a truth.” His brows low and knitted, eyes dark and mean.

“Fine.” Ryan, clearly annoyed and drunk, matched his unnecessarily angry tone, “Have you fucked the intern?” The question hushed every person around the fireplace, an uneasy tension filled in the air.

Blood rushed to Austin’s face and a vein pulsed in his forehead. He was trying to restrain his anger, squeezing his fists to stave it off. Your own steaming coffee pot was on the verge of overflowing.

Whether it was the tequila or something else that fueled you was unclear but you balled up your own fists, and before you could stop yourself, the words flew out, “I’m not a fucking intern!” You boomed out louder than intended and shooting you straight up on your feet.

Austin rolled his eyes, sharply pushing off from the couch, “I’m fuckin’ outta here.” He scoffed, headed for the doorway.

“Answer the question you fuckin’ pussy!” Called a way too far gone Ryan. “We already know the answer.” He added in a cocky snide.

Any sinister look you’d ever seen on Austin didn’t compare to the one that bore into Ryan. You were surprised his fist wasn’t bashed into his face already, if there weren’t so many witnesses he probably would’ve been pummeled to a mush.

 “Let’s get this fucking straight.” He hissed, his eyes locked on Ryan, never once glancing at you, like you weren’t even in the room. “I have never and will never put my hands on such a low budget, low level, filthy whore nobody of an Intern.”

Your jaw nearly hit the floor at his words, a consequential dagger speared right through your intestines. You knew he hated you, he called you insufferable. You knew he hated you, you knew it even after last night, but you never expected him to say such vile words about you. A lump formed in your throat and tears welled in your eyes, but you couldn’t cry there – not in front of all your coworkers, not after being completely and utterly humiliated. Every ounce of alcohol in your bloodstream fueled your stomp over to him and didn’t even realize what you had done until you felt your palm stinging like a bitch from landing on his face. His hand instantly reaching to cover his newly red cheek from your slap, his eyes wide in disbelief, then narrowed with furious realization.

“Fuck you,” You attempted to hide the quiver in your voice, “You fucking rotten, disgusting, repulsive human being.” Your teeth clenched, you knew your little outburst could very well get you fired but there was too much rage and liquor in your body to care.

He did nothing, not a brow raise, not a twist in his face, nothing. Perhaps he’d never had someone talk back to him like that. Without further explanation he just pushed past you, knocking your shoulder back with his weight. The gravity of what just happened settled into your chest, having such a cruel intimate moment in front of all your colleagues was probably the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you. Something you’d never be able to forget, something you could never forgive. Blood rushed to your cheeks as you felt all eyes on you and your heart began to race feeling the purest form of ‘flight’ mode you’d ever had in your life.

When you escaped there was no sign of Austin in sight. You knew he had to have gone back to the room, hopefully to pack his shit and leave. And if he wasn’t then you would, even if you had to beg to stay in someone’s room. All the way up the elevator your heart thumped against your rib cage, shaking out your hands and taking deep breaths mentally preparing yourself for confrontation.

You unlocked the door and found him standing there, looking like he got there just before you did. The anxiety of the confrontation dissipated the moment you laid eyes on his hardened face. “Get out.” You stated harshly, brushing past him yourself mimicking his actions from before.

“Intern there’s nowhere for me to fucking go.” His voice already raised and ready for battle, “I’m not fucking happy about it either but-“

Your brows scrunched together downwards, steam practically pouring from your ears. “You’re a liar! A filthy fucking liar! Get. Out.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not lying-“ He began but his incessant voice was driving you more livid by the minute.

“I know about the fucking vacant room Austin.” You growled, using his name and not Actor to let him know how serious you were. Just from how he opened his mouth to speak you could tell he was about to lie again so you beat him to it. “The front desk lady told me. Tell me Austin, if you hate me so goddamn much then why didn’t you just take the room? To fuck with me? To take me on some stupid drunken adventure to trick me into thinking you actually have a heart?”

He stayed silent, which only made you angrier. You just called him out on his bullshit, and he couldn’t even react. “Actually no, you know what? I’m the fucking liar. Because out there I called you a human being, but you’re too fucked up to be a human, you’re a fucking cockroach – I try to stomp you out but you keep fucking coming back.” When the words left there was an immediate sense of release, everything that had built up in your system spilled out.

“Oh, I’m a cockroach? If I’m such a cockroach, then why do you keep coming back for more huh?” He hissed, his arrogant scrunched face pissed you off even more. He had no right to talk to you like that after what he did. “I didn’t hear you complaining when I was making you cum.” Purposely using jarring sexual defenses to hurt you.

You thought lava was about to start seeping through your skin, what made it worse was that you didn’t have an answer. “Augh!” You grunted, pacing in a short lap, your fingers curling around air. “You are so fucking infuriatingly heartless it’s nauseating!”

He scoffed, “Well, I may be heartless, but you’re fucking naïve.” He snarled. “Naïve to think I would ever actually enjoy your company outside of your body.”

Your jaw dropped, tears pricked your eyes again realizing how senseless you were to have thought he was anything else but the arrogant, cruel man you met that first day on set. The building rage turned your tears into a terrifying laugh, “Oh, my body huh? That’s funny because out there you said you’d never touch me, when in there” Pointing to the back door leading to the hot tub, “You touched me with nothing in return for you. You were the one who wanted to ‘take care of me’, you held me, you called me pretty!” The ending sounding so pathetic, instantly regretting the vulnerability knowing it would be used as ammo.

He cackled, “Oh c’mon Intern you can’t be serious, nobody ever taught you not to believe the things men say when they’re drunk? It didn’t mean anything, I was drunk, I lied.”

The words sliced like blades and every ounce of restraint drained from your body. “You are by far the worst person I’ve ever had the disgrace of knowing. I wish I never fucking met you. If I could go back in time, I would turn down my apprenticeship. My apprenticeship, because I’m not and have never been a fucking intern!” Your voice raised into a yell, “I would throw away my entire career if it meant I could avoid ever crossing paths with you.”

A few moments passed and he was still there, silent and blank. You couldn’t read him at all, if he was angry or sad or insulted. He could’ve easily turned it on you, but he didn’t. He just stared at you.

Everything from the first day on set to the day of the snowstorm, yesterday and everything in between, compounded in your mind. Every insult, every backhanded comment, every accusation replayed in your head. No one had ever made you feel as low and as shitty as he did. The lump from before reclaimed its place in your throat and tears began to pool in your eyes, finally needing real answers. “Why do you treat me like this huh? Why do you say the horrible things you say to me? Call me all the vile names you do? What did I ever fucking do to you?” While you were holding back tears your voice remained furious and combative. “Why do you fucking hate me!”

His brows furrowed and his sharp jaw noticeably clenched, “You’re just fucking infuriating and annoying and it- it just drives me fucking insane!”

“What does! What the fuck do I do that bothers you so fucking much!” You nearly screamed out.

“You- just-“ He was grasping at straws, “No matter how much I try to hate you I fucking can’t!” His words darted from his tongue faster than he had time to process. His widened eyes gave away how much he regretted his slip up.

“W-What?” You stuttered out confused, that being the last thing you expected him to say. The rapid thumping of your heart accelerated, allowing only short breaths and you even felt a little lightheaded. You were overloaded, angry, confused, hurt, heartbroken, embarrassed. The small bit of control you had left was gone and the tears made their full appearance.

The minute he noticed the tears streaming down your face, Austin’s twisted face softened right before your eyes, even softer than the night before. “I-“ He stepped towards you but you immediately winced and recoiled from him.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You cried out wiping the tears from your face in an attempt to halt them.

In true Austin fashion, he didn’t listen, and his hands found your own on your cheeks. In an even stranger turn of events, he leaned down and placed a long kiss on your lips. Then he gently pulled your hands from your face, you looked up at him with watery puzzled eyes. You instinctively smacked his arm to push him away, but his strong arm didn’t budge.

He cupped your cheeks in his hands and placed a tender kiss under each stream of tears. “I’m sorry.” He said quietly after each kiss. Every single action he did was like a twisted turn on rickety rollercoaster ride. He returned to your lips, pressed another kiss followed with, “I’m sorry.” He whispered, an extra pillowy light kiss, “I’m sorry.” He repeated, another kiss, another apology. He trailed his lips down to just below your ear, stamping additional kiss there, “I’m sorry.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as he pressed another sloppy kiss below your ear, “I’m sorry.” No matter how furious you were didn’t stop the butterflies in your tummy. A longer, sloppier kiss further down your neck with a raspy, “I’m sorry.” Sent a buzzing through your chest and directly to your hips.

Maybe it was the same for you, no matter what horrible things he did or said to you, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself you hated him, you couldn’t. Maybe you were just as fucked up as he was.

“I’m sorry, let me show you how much.” He muttered against your skin, his fingers delicately smoothing down your sides like he was plucking a harp.

The shift from abhorrent to sweet gave you whiplash, not knowing which one was genuine. You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing any tears out, the salty liquid dripping off your chin. “Austin, I can’t.” You breathed out, the panic attack-like heaving never left. “Austin, you literally just humiliated me in front of everyone. You called me a filthy whore nobody, in front of everyone.” Reluctantly pulling from his grasp. His once venomous eyes now soft and apologetic, but that’s exactly what he did wasn’t it? He’d wrap you back in his hold like prey, constrict you until you were blue in the face, still hypnotizing you with snake eyes. You were a rat and he a cobra trapped in a 10 gallon tank, and he was still convincing you that he wasn’t trying to consume you whole. “I just can’t. I just- I respect myself too much. And I need you to go. I need to be alone.”

He stepped towards you once more, his fingertips ran down the back of your arms reaching your hands, taking them tenderly into his. “I’m so sorry y/n. I won’t do it again. I promise.” He bargained in a tone so quiet you’d think he was paranoid of people hearing him from behind the walls. “I’ll never talk like that ever, ever again.”

“Austin, I don’t know what you want from me.” You slipped from his hands, “But there won’t be another ‘again’. You were right the other day on set, this shouldn’t have happened.” Your voice cracked, “I need you to leave. Now.”  

His look faltered, a look you’d only ever seen on the faces of defeated Olympians. “Okay.” He said lowly, stepping forward and cupping your face then pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. His misty blue eyes looked down at you, “If you ever wanna cash in that apology, you know where to find me.”

Without another word he gathered his things and left to find the other room. The minute he was out the door, every emotion you had suppressed from the event took over. You doubled over gripping onto your stomach as you heaved, rivers of tears pouring from your eyes. Tight twists and knots wrapped around your abdomen, constricting you like the snake he was.

You stumbled to the bed and fell in it, wrapping the sheets around you and like a 15-year-old with their first heartbreak, you wailed into the pillow. You never felt so worthless, so pathetic, so stupid. You were so fucking stupid for letting him slither his way into you the way he did. How could anyone talk about someone like that? Someone who just last night was so sweet and gentle with you. Someone who said they didn’t mean any of it but then wanted to apologize so tenderly?

It made you sick to think how you let such evil into your body. You weren’t even able to say that you missed the red flags, you didn’t, you saw them clearly and raced past them. He showed you exactly who he was, and still let yourself believe he was something he wasn’t.

Yeah, your house was now haunted, but you were the one who invited the demon in.

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author notes:

thank you all SO much for all the love and support on this story, it has truly been overwhelming. i know my numbers aren't as big as others but they're big to me - appreciate EVERY comment, message, ask, etc. i love you guys so much - i never expected this fic to get that much attention so again, thank you xx

if you enjoyed this story/my writing pls consider giving my main fic, Forever Winter, a read - if you like angsty sad smutty you’ll probably like it lol

also pls consider giving this a like, comment or reblog ♡

[worstghost]

No rush but I can wait see reader suffer from ghost teasing. I feel he type to literally walk to quietly and like say boo them and scream murder.

Or better training session this happen and reader holy shit your strong put me down you bully.

https://twitter.com/issamanga5/status/1589775707877801985?t=9BWyflaqwOySIFfVqpb_Pw&s=19

I have returned and I love ghost I love ghost I'm going insane rn. I went kinda crazy with this one and it's not really what the ask wanted but uhh yeah. I'm not gonna deny inspiration when it comes

You're new-to them at least, not new to this dynamic. Your entire career in the military has been spent around men. Men who avoid your gaze, men who pretend like you don't exist, or even worse, are obsessed with you. Men who follow you around and dote on you and act like you're made of glass. You've dealt with your fair share of big, intimidating men who pretend to be small, to be kind and like they're looking out for you.

Hell, even Soap shrinks down when he talks to you. Gets to your eye level as if it's not fucking insulting to be treated like that. You deserved to be here just as much as them, maybe even more so with how hard you've had to work.

That's why Ghost is such a breath of fresh air. He doesn't dote, he doesn't take it easy on you. He expects you to keep up with them, and you do.

It's created this awful need in you to please him, to prove to him that you are what he thinks you are. As much as you try to hide it, you search for his eyes, his approval, when you're training.

And he is always there, always watching you. He looks like an apex predator, head leaned back against the wall, arms crossed so that his biceps squeeze against the sleeves of his shirt. His face doesn't move ever, but his eyes look down through thick blonde lashes, following your every movement as you spar, as you stretch out after a particularly hard session with Soap.

Soap makes snide little comments, asking if he was too rough, if he pushed you too far. It's all in good fun but your blood absolutely boils. You bite your tongue and turn away, stretching your arms above your head and counting to ten, feeling the tension in your muscles release.

Soap finally fucks off, slapping Ghost on the shoulder as he leaves.

"Warmed her up for you, Lt."

Ghost exhales, barely noticeable. Irritated.

You're still on the mat, rolling your ankles and pretending like you're not really fucking sore. You can feel him watching and turn away, squatting down to stretch your hamstrings.

Silently, a shadow falls over you and you startle slightly. How is someone so big, so quiet.

"You could have done better." It's short and gruff, a fact.

You lean your head back, squinting up at him. God he's big. Sitting on the floor barely brings you to his knees.

"Just wanted it to be over I guess." You shrug it off and roll your neck side to side, wincing at the tightness in your shoulders.

His chest rises with a deep inhale, shadow growing as he moves even closer. "If he gets under your skin so much, why not show him?"

"I'm afraid I'd do permanent damage."

Ghost huffs out a laugh and your heart swells, your head cheers, 'You made him laugh, good job!'

It's so stupid, you're embarrassed at your own thoughts.

"Take it out on me then."

That stops your little self aware moment and your eyes jump to his. He's still standing over you, already watching your face, waiting for a falter in your expression.

"I can handle a lot more than him. Show me how mad he makes you." It's a challenge, a little teasing.

You swallow hard. You haven't had the chance to spar with Ghost yet. He's much too big, you know you wouldn't recover easily. And your little crush makes it impossible to be that close to him. But what were you going to do, say no? Worst case is he beats your ass and you can use the ensuing embarrassment to get over him.

You nod and stand up, shaking out the anxiety in your limbs.

"Just don't kill me please, I've still got a lot of life to live." You try to lighten the mood, taking your place at the other side of the mat.

He looks like he's thinking about it, the wrinkles around his eyes a little tighter. A smile maybe?

When you start, you circle with him, trying in vain to determine where he's going with his. With the mask you can't see anything and his eyes never move from yours, no intention of giving anything away. You decide that he won't make the first move, so you do, using your size difference to get under his arm and behind him. You've no doubt that he let you do that.

You exchange shoves, he let's you get in a few punches, but it's mostly a dance. He never makes the first move, he waits for you to come to him every time.

You're wearing yourself out now, and he's not showing an ounce of exhaustion. You're ready to give up, tired and even more frustrated than before you started.

One last fuck it move and you wrap yourself around his side, kicking his knee out from under him. He falls, and for a brief moment you're reveling in your success, but it's cut short when he snatches your arm as he goes, rolling on to his back and pulling you with him.

Ghost has you flat against him, back to his chest, one arm wrapped around your middle and the other threatening your throat.

There's no getting out of this is there?

You dig your fingers in to his forearm and feel him tighten, like a boa. Fuck. You inhale and frantically decide to at least try to struggle, pretend like you didn't give up 20 minutes ago.

You wriggle back and forth, kicking your legs, trying to loosen his grip even slightly. He's way too heavy for you to try to turn him over and his arm pushes your chin up even higher, you can feel his breath on your cheek through the mask, it's heavy and quick.

Is he really winded or is he simply pretending to help your ego.

Swallowing as best you can, you pause and lower your legs between his, feeling his heart pound against your back. Maybe now would be the time to tap out but it doesn't cross your mind. You're overwhelmed with the sensation of his arm squeezing your chest, right under the band of your sports bra, the way he slides the other across your throat until just his fingers touch you, hand covering your entire neck.

You're light-headed, your ears are only filled with the sound of two heartbeats, pounding together in a quick rhythm.

Fuck.

Ghosts knees frame your legs, trying so desperately not to fall completely against him, scared that if you do you'll feel something you're not supposed to. Something you really want to.

His arms relax abruptly and you suck in a breath you didn't know you were holding. He releases you, not subtle in the way his fingers run across your skin.

You roll away and gather yourself on your knees next to him, you're on fire, all you can think about is his hands, his breath, his arms squeezing you to him.

This didn't decompress you like he had wanted. It actually did the opposite. You're so worked up now, head swimming, you don't even stand when he does.

Ghost offers you a hand and you take it, hot and calloused. When he stands you up on shaky legs you stumble, just a little, and he catches you against his side.

"You'll continue to train with me for now. Go clean up. " His voice has something unrecognizable in it, a gruffness to his command.

You don't argue and let him go, making your way out and to the shower in your room.

[south-of-heaven]

LOVED your Dakota x Bayley x reader could you do another

Bayley and Dakota can hear reader shouting in her room next to them and start to get worried, they go to her room and see a woman stood in the door and it’s one of readers old really bad friend that left reader with some trauma,Bayley and Dakota get the woman to leave and then comfort reader in any way possible

You're safe here || Bayley x Reader x Dakota Kai

Summary: A person from your past shows up again and stirs up a lot of emotions. Good for you Bayley and Dakota are there to pick up the pieces.

You're on tour, traveling from city to city for WWE events. It's been an exhilarating experience, but your emotions take a sudden turn when an unwelcome figure from your past resurfaces.

Late one evening, as you're settling into your hotel room, a knock on the door startles you. You open it, only to find an old friend you'd rather forget about. This person had treated you badly in the past, leaving you traumatized and hurt. You never expected to see them again, especially not on tour.

"How did you even find my room number?" you ask, your voice shaky with a mix of fear and anger.

They smirk, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "I have my ways," they say dismissively, attempting to barge into your room.

You push them back, your heart pounding in your chest. "You need to leave," you assert firmly, the memories of their hurtful actions flooding back.

But they refuse to back down, and a heated confrontation ensues. Your voice rises, and emotions spill over as you confront the pain they caused you in the past. The screaming match draws the attention of Bayley and Dakota, who are rooming across the hall.

Hearing the commotion, they immediately rush to your aid. They see the intruder in your doorway and understand that this is not a welcome guest.

"Hey, what's going on?" Bayley demands, her voice firm as she steps between you and your old friend.

Dakota stands beside her, ready to support you. "You need to leave now," she says sternly, making it clear that there's no room for negotiation.

Your old friend finally retreats, but the damage is already done. You're a mess of emotions and tears, the confrontation stirring up old trauma that you thought you had left behind.

Bayley and Dakota lead you back into their room, giving you a safe space to recover. They sit with you, offering comfort and understanding without prying. They know that you need time to process everything that just happened.

"You're safe here," Bayley reassures, wrapping her arms around you in a protective embrace.

Dakota places a gentle hand on your back, letting you know that they're there for you, no matter what.

You finally open up, telling them about the pain and hurt your old friend had caused you. They listen without judgment, offering empathy and support. It's the first time you've shared this part of your past with anyone, and it feels both terrifying and freeing.

"You don't have to face this alone," Dakota says softly. "We're here for you, always."

Bayley nods, her eyes filled with compassion. "We won't let anyone hurt you again," she promises.

Feeling their love and support, you feel a sense of relief wash over you. You're not alone anymore – you have Bayley and Dakota by your side, ready to shield you from harm and provide the comfort you need.

That night, you choose to stay in their room, finding comfort in their presence. As you drift off to sleep, wrapped in the safety of their arms, you feel a glimmer of hope – a hope that with Bayley and Dakota's love and support, you can heal from the wounds of the past and face the future with strength and resilience.

[closingwaters]

PARTIES: @ironcladrhett @closingwaters

TIMING: Current

SUMMARY: Teagan is spending time in Darkling Lake when Rhett senses something to kill. Springing to action, Teagan leads him away from the lake and a fight ensues. Who'll win?

WARNINGS: Gun use, lots of injuries

Dead rabbit and rifle slung over his shoulder, Rhett traipsed through the woodlands without any sort of caution, feeling prepared for just about anything that could come crashing through those trees at him. And if he wasn’t prepared, well, so be it. There were worse ways to go. 

The forest began to thin, making way for the great expanse of freshwater that was Darkling Lake. Rhett paused, taking in the scenery for a moment, when—ah, shit. That little fucking bell was going off. It was faint, but it was there. The warden dropped the rabbit into the grass and slipped the rifle off of his back, taking aim at the surface of the water. The feeling got stronger as the minutes passed, and with the man standing stock-still, it was easy enough to determine the direction after a while. Nymph. Never felt this bad unless it was a nymph. He bit back a growl, cursing his blackened vision as he watched the surface for ripples. 

Stronger now. Stronger. Like a scream in his head. Taking aim, not really caring what he hit if it wasn’t the fae, Rhett shot twice into the water. It was more an attempt to draw the thing out, where he would more easily be able to dispatch it with his iron blade. 

Oh, the collection of death was coming together nicely at the bottom of the lake. All who dwelled in it congregated at the center, taking pleasure at the community that they’d built together. Teagan giggled as she swam around them, caressing each one she passed lovingly. 

Vala in particular was filled with glee, dancing with her latest kill. She was a mighty kelpie, and a rare one at that. Teagan was completely taken by the equestrian fae, and so was she in return. None of the other kelpies cared about community, and that was fine. The nix was more than honored to have won over Vala. Anything else would be confetti. 

“Oi, Vala!” The kelpie winnied, nodding repeatedly in reply. “Should really start taking pointers from you. The way you tricked that fella was such a marvel. I can’t wait to—” ZIIIING!! ZIIIING!! Objects zipped past Teagan, startling her into silence. She whipped her head back and forth, trying to find the source. “Everyone, hide!” She commanded, still watching. After a few moments, she locked onto the way the water at top was disturbed, still rippling. Teagan’s eyes narrowed with anger, and she swam up toward a bank where a group of rocks could give her cover. 

Breaching the surface, Teagan snuck herself behind a large boulder, scanning the area carefully. Anger burned in her chest as she caught sight of a man with a rifle. Her body began to tremble as the fire was stoked, and it was all that she could do to not attack without a plan. Teagan didn’t have to gather more intel to know what she was looking at. The man was a hunter, and she needed to get him away from the lake. Taking a deep breath, she set out to do just that, and she burst into a sprint toward a trap-filled wood, hoping she could get to the neighboring river in time. 

The sound of rapid movement to his left caught his attention—his fully blind side. Whipping his head around, he nearly missed the creature as it disappeared into the trees, hissing out a curse and throwing the rifle over his shoulder again. This time, Rhett pulled his cutlass out of its scabbard as he took chase, knowing that trying to shoot a moving target in the dappled light of the woods wouldn’t go well…. rabbit notwithstanding. That little fella had been sitting quite still, happily munching on some plants before his brains had painted the bush beside him.

He could see the thing bobbing this way and that, leaping over fallen logs and other hurdles that he didn’t see—not until it was too late, of course. The tripwire arrived with a swiftness, sending the warden lurching forward. He’d not caught his foot on it, not quite, but the speed at which he was running didn’t leave much room for finesse. Still, he was a warden, and the need to be nimble to best his prey was coded in his DNA.So he didn’t fall, not quite, catching himself after a few worryingly unsteady strides, only to rise up again and—

Now the man hit the ground, landing on his back hard enough to force all the air from his lungs. His clavicle burned where the thin wire had cut into it, and he supposed it was probably meant to get him in the throat, but his height had prevented that.

Still clutching the sword, Rhett fought to suck in a breath, but he dared not squint his eyes against the pain, in case that thing came back. Whatever kind of nymph it was, which he knew from the screaming alarm bells in his chest and skull, it’d probably be headed for another body of water. The water ones were shit fighters on land, and it hadn’t been the only one down there… there was a good chance it would try to eliminate him. 

Good, he thought with a pained grin, sitting up and taking a moment to get his bearings. Knowing the direction it had fled in, the warden got to his feet and continued his pursuit, albeit with a bit more caution this go around. He could hear the babbling of rushing water in the distance, and figured that must be where it was headed. Typical.

A vicious smile curled on the nix’s face as she heard the dull thud of a body hitting the ground. What a stupid hunter, Teagan thought to herself. As if she’d force a chase without a few precautions in place. She’d been on her own for years, learning how to keep the hunters from doing their so-called job. Teagan was disgusted at the thought, but her mind soon grew greedy with the opportunity that presented itself. 

Turning on her heel and hiding behind a bit of brush, the fae retrieved one of her blades, cocking her arm back and taking aim. “See how you like this, ya fuckin’ oaf.” Teagan whispered to herself, releasing the blade with unrelenting force. She knew it’d find purchase in his body, but she also knew better than to stay in one place like a deer in the headlights.

Teagan continued her sprint toward the river, stopping just short of reaching it to climb up a tree. The warden would be able to sense her presence, but she’d still have some sort of element of surprise. To prepare, she hid behind leafy branches and secured her fighting blade in her hand. Now to wait. Her skin was bristling.

Rhett had, for most of his life, been a vivacious and brutal killer of supernatural beings, even by hunter standards. They truly repulsed him, and the mere fact that an inhuman thing was not one that he was designed to kill with ease would never stop him from trying. 

And until that incident with the family of hesperides, he’d been fucking good at it. 

This one, he was meant to destroy. Born for it. Given away to people who could raise him for it. Trained, brainwashed, and sent on his way to act as a weapon of their greater design. A world without fae, without monsters. And he would. He would. But damn it if his blasted eyes hadn’t made the whole thing infinitely harder, now that they refused to work right. So he didn’t see it coming, didn’t have the time to react quickly enough to get out of the way of the blade that was whistling through the air, right at him. It buried itself in his abdomen and he groaned, looking down at the hilt that stuck out of him in surprise. 

Rhett grabbed the blade and pulled it free, glaring in the direction it’d come from. Well, at least the thing had given up its position. Taking after it like a predator in pursuit of his dinner, Rhett ignored the red stain that bloomed on his grey shirt beneath his open jacket. Let it bleed. Let it remind him why he always needed to be better. 

He came to the river and slowed, feeling that thrum in his head and chest amplify. Sword at his side, his good eye—a term he had to use lightly, because it hardly worked any better than the one that’d gone dark—scanned the area. More than that, he was listening. Waiting. The creature would attack again, he knew. They were territorial like stupid animals and would throw themselves on a hunter’s weapon just to defend what they mistakenly thought was theirs. 

“Come out, come out, wherever y’are…” 

The groan in the air was like music. Showed the true colors of the man not unlike the one that spilled from him. He was vicious, but he was slow. If he could bleed, he could die. Teagan, as arrogant as it might be, was going to use this. Fights left little to no room for deeper thought. Lucky for the nix, even if she was wrong in her assumption of slow, she was always good at the art of improvisation. 

When the hunter showed up, Teagan’s claws nearly dug into the trunk of the tree she perched herself in. She needed to remain calm. Be patient. Don’t be stupid like he believes. The grip on her blade tightened and Teagan took a quiet, grounding breath to relieve her of her impulses. She knew he could sense her, that he was making a plan of his own. It would be foolish to react so brazenly and get herself killed in the process. She wasn’t done yet. There was still much to do. So many hunters to kill. 

But coc oen. That sing-song taunt nearly got to her. 

Fae were people. They all have a place in the world. No matter what the detestable hunter thought of them, Teagan couldn’t change it. She reminded herself of that repeatedly to keep herself calm. Strategy was always best and she didn’t want to falsely prove whatever bullshit theory the hunter had. It was all wrong. And that line of thinking was going to end one way or another. Likely through death. Teagan wanted it to be by her hand, as selfish as that was. But really. Who else was around to try right then?

Wasting no more time, Teagan aimed her body, projecting how much force it’d take to land herself onto the warden. Finding her answer, she took to tossing a stone she had stored into a neighboring bush. She didn’t hesitate to leap after, cascading down and letting gravity’s force push her onto the man with a meaty thud. 

It was quiet. Far too quiet for a woodland in transition from spring to summer. There were no birds chirping, no squirrels scampering about in the underbrush—it was dead silent. Everywhere Rhett went was dead silent, and if it wasn’t? Oftentimes he was there to make it so. 

The choice to remove his jacket was a calculated one, done with a swiftness and a lack of break in concentration that could only be achieved by practice. The iron in his blood diffused to his skin, making him toxic to the touch, and he wanted as much skin exposed as was immediately available. Stripping in the heat of battle (or in the anticipation of one to come) had become a very peculiar skill of his. 

Turned out to be a good idea, too, as a sound to his right made his head whip in that direction, only to have the fucking creature come crashing down on top of him instead. Still, as he was knocked to the forest floor, he managed to tuck in a leg and twist his body, earning them both a place among the leaves and ferns. He shoved one bare, tattooed arm against the nymph’s neck and shoulders, kicking with the knee that was pinned between them and attempting to roll over on top of it, the other hand raising the iron sword into the air, ready to drill it down through the fae’s skull. 

The prickly brush left small scratches, but that was very little to worry about. Teagan hated to say it, but the hunter was creative. Her skin burned after the impact, leaving her face expressing a hint of pain. She didn’t want to give the hunter the satisfaction he wanted. She wouldn’t show how it ached. Instead, Teagan’d be just as tricky, letting her skin coat itself with mucus. The warden’s attempt at a grip would prove futile, forcing him to slip on his damn face. 

Unfortunately, the drop made the sword fall too, its aim still toward Teagan’s head. She only had enough time and room to move slightly sideways. She bit her cheek, not allowing a yelp of pain to escape when the sword sliced into her shoulder as it stabbed the earth. In turn, she swiped her owned blade, only landing a laceration or two before she kicked the warden away from her. 

Well. The mucus was… unexpected. Losing his grip and at the mercy of gravity, the warden kept his blade’s tip aimed at the forest floor, hoping to land a strike even if he wasn’t able to see it happen. And, as luck would have it, he did. The creature responded to the injury by delivering a few of its own, slicing through the thin shirt he wore with ease and splotching it with red. Damn. He liked this shirt, it was soft.

With a grunt, Rhett was kicked away and shoved a few feet from the nymph, his sword still stuck in the soft earth where it’d cut through their shoulder. Popping back up to his feet, he quickly ducked his head beneath the rifle’s strap, stepping back another pace or two as he took a hurried aim and fired. 

The gun was raised, and Teagan was sure she was done for. What a fucking cheat, she thought, moving to attack. She was stopped short by the bullet grazing her arm, and she covered the wound quickly with her hand for only a moment. Finding her resolve, Teagan rushed forward again, that time making impact. Her claws found purchase when the two of them landed on the ground, but she was quickly overpowered. Fear began to crawl into her chest, tightening it enough to cause her to pause and allowing the warden to find himself above her.

How stupid!

A knife gleamed in the spotty sunlight. It was as vicious as the smile on the hunter’s face. The look terrified Teagan, and despite her best efforts, she let it show with a whimper and tears coating her eyes. She’d never lost before, and the realization that may change was dawning on her. She whimpered again, a knife digging into her shoulder. No, Teagan’s mind screamed. This is not how it ends! 

“Diawl bach!” Claws dug in and dragged down, only making it a quarter of an inch when the knife plunged into Teagan’s belly. The adrenaline in her system was enough to give her strength for one last kick, sending the warden into the river behind him. She sat up quickly, all but leaping toward the water, begging for the current to roar stronger. Please. Please! 

As much as she fought it, Teagan could no longer fight the black at the edges of her vision, and she collapsed fully, the world fading.

Three weapons. Three fucking weapons on one nymph, gone. And he didn’t even know if it was fucking dead, the damned thing. One minute, he was driving his dagger into its gut, and the next, he was in the rapids. Fighting to stay afloat, the warden scrabbled for the shallows of the riverbank, but he was swept well down the way before he finally managed to pull himself out, and he’d taken a few blows from the rocks in the river along the way.

Collapsing on the ground, Rhett slipped into unconsciousness as his body fought to repair the damage, and it was already dark by the time he woke. Cold and shivering, the warden picked himself up out of the mud and cursed, beginning the walk back upstream to go retrieve his fucking weapons. He would go after it again tonight, he still felt like shit, but the lake was god damn marked, now. He’d get his revenge, one way or another.

[bluntblade]

WIP Whenever

Thanks to @tjerra14

Excerpt from The Ghosts of Jakku, with Rey remembering the hardest parts of her scavenger past. Some Rey/Kaydel in the background, spoilered for injury detail:

  She had her own grim memories of injuries meted out by the wrecks. When she was fourteen, a misjudged boost up a climbing route had sent her swinging around from a new hold, straight into a bulkhead. An outstretched hand had saved her from stunning herself, but it cost her two broken fingers and a knuckle. The abseil back down had been torturous, all the more so for the smallness of the injury.

  Then there had been a grueling crawl through vents after falling debris left her half-concussed and with a cut scalp, trickling into one eye and mixing with dust on her face. In surroundings which were already gloomy, she had struggled to find her way and suffered horribly from the heat. She'd emerged rank from the ordeal, and spent precious water showering ahead of schedule.

  Most of all, she remembered a gantry, high up in Star Destroyer Tagge's Scorn, giving way beneath her. She remembered trying to scream, too startled to take a breath, and the sharp edge which caught her side and ripped upwards with all the pitiless strength of gravity. Then the screams had come. After that, the memories were shards, laced together with pain. Howling as she hauled herself back up, painting the metal as she went, trying desperately to staunch the bleeding.

  Ironically, having injured herself in such a hard-to-reach spot, its isolation was what saved her. In her feverish scouring of the deck, as she began to feel weightless and moving forward became an unimaginable trial, she found an intact medpack. It had almost been beyond her failing strength to break it open, but she managed it. She emptied most of a bacta spray canister into the gash in her side, then dressed it, bolted some rations she found and collapsed, sobbing and whimpering. It had taken another day there, more rations and the rest of the bacta, before she had the strength able to escape. She emerged clad in menial's clothes. She'd taken them from a locker to replace her own, now torn and stiff with blood.

  Rey didn't tell that story often, but it had become unavoidable once she was going to bed with Kaydel. After all, the scar was quite impossible to miss. She remembered Kaydel's gentle hand on her ribs, her recoiling from the twist of scar tissue, and the tremor beneath the ensuing question. Kaydel had wept a little at the story, and that hurt Rey more than reliving it herself.

  At least her younger self made it out of the Tagge's Scorn with more than just scavenged tech - she retrieved a month's worth of Imperial rations, and went back as often as she dared try without drawing attention. The resulting stockpile did a lot to keep her going when injury hindered her, or the pickings were slim.

  Had her parents known these tricks? Had their academy training taken in survival practices, enough to keep them going, or had the Empire's insistence that it would always crush its enemies caused them to neglect such lessons? In her father's injury, the Force might have shown her a man abruptly pushed beyond the point of no return.

  Right then, she really could've done with Kaydel being there, to trace the ragged line of the scar up her ribs with soft fingertips, and press even softer lips to it.

If you see this and feel like sharing your WIP, please consider yourself tagged!

[suna-reversed]

“The bargain”

Sukuna x Reader// hcs

loads of crack and fluff. putting makeup on the grumpy curse🥺

this is a side drabble to “and when he walks in, I am loved. I am loved.”  (not necessary to have read it as these are independent headcanons)

- you’ve been Yuji’s best friend since forever, and also one of the rare “outsiders” to know about the centuries old curse that lives within him.

- and you have spent enough time with Yuji for him to be assured about your safety if he was to ever shift suddenly.

- and even though Sukuna has grown to “tolerate you”, there is nothing more he loves than to annoy you every chance he gets.

- which leads to a lot of bickering. like a lot! Yuji wants to rip his hair out every time it starts.

- said bickering eventually leads to the curse regretting it’s existence in the whole wide world on one unfortunate day.

- you were dragging Yuji across the arcade to the alien ship shooting game for the 50th time in that week alone.

- you were startled by the sudden voice of the curse, who further made you yelp as you realised it wasn’t just his mouth that had spoken. it was him.

- had you driven Yuji to such an edge that he thought shifting was a better option?

- “Why are your stupid antics even more annoying than any other day brat?”

- this statement from him paved the way to your usual round of bickering.

- said bickering leading to a bargain being made as Sukuna didn’t wish to be annoyed by the menacing sounds of the guns in the game you had dragged him up to,

- “you have been trying to win the facile task for longer than the span of my life-“

-“well why don’t you give it a try then since you’re so sure about it being easy?”

- and when has the curse ever stepped away from a challenge ?

- pfftt this wasn’t even a challenge, this was a mere stupid simulation made for the entertainment of humans (if only he could shoot actual people with those guns)

- and that’s how a bargain was made.

- sukuna claiming that he’ll win the game in less than a blink of your eye, and then you’d never drag them back into this wretched place again.

- “but if you lose” the curse raised an eyebrow as if daring you to speak,

- “...I get to do your makeup”

- his eyes narrowed at that but he brushed you off, since he knew that there was no way you’d actually win,

- “deal”

——————

- “Ah no! This box is an absolute piece of trash.”

- “hey stop kicking the game !” You said trying to shush down the curse as you got strange looks from the people around.

- You had never been more grateful for Yuji’s uniform covering the marks on his face.

- “Anyways, you’ve lost the bargain about 3 times by now. Time for me to get my due” You said with a grin slowly making it’s way up your face (I imagine it as the same look Hange gets when she sees titans)

- He’d never admit it but Sukuna had never felt this terrified of a teenage girl who was half his size before.

————

- and that’s how he found himself sitting down on the corner of your bed, you hovering over him with a dozen different products and tools.

- “hmm would you look better in bronze eyeshadow or plum...” you asked no one in particular.

- “Let’s just go with both!” you exclaimed while pulling out even more stuff from the small bag that seemed to contain the entirety of the universe.

- The worst part about the whole thing was that Sukuna knew you weren’t doing this to mock him. He could feel it in your tone that you were genuinely excited to adorn him with these products.

- He scowled as you held his face up, trying to pull away at first, but then sighing and stilling as you gave him a pointed look that said “you brought this upon yourself”

- soon enough, he found his eyes fluttering closed as you rubbed some lavender scented cream into his skin.

- the curse had never really gotten any kind of affection you know...?

- so these new sensations were an absolute treat to him as he tried not to purr when you massaged that one spot on his jaw

- “what am I doing?” He thought to himself. He’d barely even have to lift a finger to crush you to pieces.

- And suddenly, he regretted that thought coming into his mind as he realised that it truly unsettled him.

- he hadn’t particularly considered how human you were before. anyone could easily make your breath stop in the span of less than a second.

- at that moment, he convinced himself that this part that felt protectiveness over you wasn’t even him. That it was just the feelings of his vessel being projected onto him.

-Nonetheless, it didn’t stop him from clenching his fists and inwardly thinking of all the ways he’d destroy anyone who even dared to think of hurting you.

- “tsk tsk, stop clenching your eyes so hard, I don’t wanna end up blinding you.”

- relaxing his eyes at your voice, it was only now that he realised how close you had gotten to him.

- and was that your...knee placed in between his spread legs? (ensue mental screaming)

- however out of everything, this was the most foreign feeling,

- your hand holding the side of his face so tenderly. so gently. as if he was fragile one here.

- he could hear your heartbeat in his ears as you dragged something over the lid of his eye. why was it racing?

- why were you being so careful with him? was this a ploy? because at that moment, he’d have given up his own sanity just to feel you hold him like that every day.

- he almost wanted to whine at the loss of your warmth as you pulled away.

- “there you go” you said while pulling out a small mirror and placing it in his hand.

- he could barely get a look at his reflection before he felt your hands come back on his cheeks and....squish them?

- “you’re so pretty” you squealed with a smile brighter than the sun itself

- even though he scowled and let out a small growl in response, he found himself leaning more into your touch anyway.

- you were surprised at how easy it was to make him look at the camera while you snapped a thousand pictures, ready to show them to nobara the next time you went shopping with her.

- the curse could not care less about its own vanity, but as it stared at itself in the bathroom mirror, he couldn’t deny that the liner on his eyes and highlighter on his cheekbones accentuated his face a lot

- you had somehow managed to make him look more,,,intimidating? (ah the raw fear of gender envy!)

- he didn’t even bother to wash it off his face, walking out the bathroom only to see you passed out on the bed, one of your legs hanging off the end of it

- putting your leg back up, he pulled a blanket over you, stopping by to run his finger over the adorable scrunch between your brow.

- his hand stilled as your eyes slightly opened,

- “you’re pretty” you mumbled, grabbing the hand he had pulled an inch away from you, too deep in your slumber to be ashamed about having clutched it to yourself while you went back to sleep.

- Sukuna held his breath for the longest time waiting for you to realise who he was. what he was. but you held onto his finger with the same softness that you now held his heart with.

- he leaned down, holding his chin up on his other hand while he gazed at your serene face. He had never been more glad to have lost a bargain.

[littlefirefly42]

Glass

Pairing: CG!Natasha/Little!Wanda

Summary: While Natasha is out getting groceries, Wanda breaks a glass and slips, and chaos ensues until mama nat comes home to comfort her baby.

Warnings: Panic attack; blood; impure regression

~~~

Wanda knew she was going to slip soon. But she also knew she and Natasha had to eat, so Nat was going to have to make a grocery run, meaning she'd be home alone without her caregiver for the next half hour.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with me?" Nat asked, putting her phone and keys in her hoodie pocket. Wanda nodded.

"Yeah, I have to do the dishes anyway. I'll be alright." It was a lie, and they both knew it. Wanda was slightly swaying back and forth, which she only did right before she slipped. Still, they couldn't not eat dinner. Against her better judgment, Natasha sighed an "okay."

"But baby, if you feel little, even just a tiny bit, please call me okay? I'll come straight back home."

Shit. The nicknames were not helping Wanda stay big. Since she didn't trust herself to speak, she just nodded and smiled reassuringly. Then Natasha was out the door, and Wanda took a few breaths, trying to ground herself. There weren't a lot of dishes in the sink, and she decided that if she got through them quickly she could watch a scary movie or something and hopefully keep herself from regressing tonight. That turned out to be a very bad idea she realized, while trying to dry a glass. A firetruck siren startled her, and the glass slipped from her grasp, shattering on the tile. Wanda immediately slipped and began to cry, both the noise and the mess terrifying her. She kneeled down to pick up the pieces, only to yelp in pain as little bits of glass cut into her knees and shins. She sobbed harder, scrambling to her feet and trying to brush the glass off. Mama will be so mad. Wanda began to hyperventilate. Everything was too loud and bright. Her legs stung. The thought of her mama coming home to the mess and the still-dirty dishes deepened her panic, and she frantically started picking up the biggest shards and shoving them in the trash. She cut her palm on one, and it started to bleed. A lot. Wanda screamed, really screamed, and backed into a corner, where she fell to the ground, curled in a ball, rocked back and forth, and sobbed into her knees. That's how Natasha found her ten minutes later, when she returned with the groceries.

"Wanda, oh my gods!" Natasha dropped her grocery bags and kneeled in front of her baby. "Hey, hey, hey. It's alright. Mama's here."

Wanda lifted her head and let loose another sob. "Sor-ry." she managed.

Natasha glanced at the broken glass. "It's okay baby, It's okay, I'm not mad. Can you take a deep breath for me?"

Wanda continued to hyperventilate, trying her best to breathe in. Eventually she managed a shaky inhale.

"You're doing such a good job sweetie, keep breathing for mommy okay?"

Wanda nodded and took another breath, this one a little steadier than the last.

"We need to get you cleaned up sweetie pie. Do you want to walk to the bathroom or do you want me to carry you?"

Wanda whimpered and made grabby hands at Natasha, who picked her up and carried her to the bathroom, placing her on the covered toilet and turning the water on to fill the tub.

"Do you want bubbles angel?"

Wanda sniffled and nodded. Natasha smiled at her baby and put bubbles in the bath water. Then she helped Wanda undress and get in.

"I'm going to go clean up, okay sweetie? I'll be right back." The glass didn't take long to clean up. Natasha put a pot of water to boil on the stove so she could make dinner, then returned to the bathroom, where Wanda was fully invested in the bubbles. Natasha scrubbed her gently with soap and managed to get her to wet her hair so it could be washed, something little Wanda despised and was particularly fussy about tonight. Natasha let it slide this once, because her baby was having a rough night.

"Are you ready to get out angel?" Natasha asked when she finished Wanda's hair.

"Mhm!" Wanda let her mama wrap her in a towel and sit her back on the toilet. Natasha examined all of her cuts and made sure there was no glass still in them, then dressed them in seasme street bandaids because, well, seasme street. Then, once Wanda was dry and clothed, Natasha brought her to the kitchen and sat her down on a chair while she finished making dinner. While she was stirring edemame beans into the pot of pasta, Wanda climbed away silently and returned with a hairbrush and her stuffed pig, Puzzle. Wanda had named him after the brown spot on his back, commenting that it looked like a puzzle piece. She nudged her mama to get her attention and held up the hairbrush.

"Brush?" She asked hopefully. Natasha smiled. Wanda hated having her hair washed, but she loved having it brushed. It was never tangled enough to hurt her, and Nat was very gentle.

"Sure bug. Go wait for me in the living room okay?" She scooped some mac and cheese into a bowl and filled a sippy with apple juice, then joined Wanda on the couch and handed her the food.

"Tank you mama!" Wanda exclaimed, swinging her legs happily.

"Of course baby. You want to watch Seasme Street?"

"Yeah!"

Natasha put on the show, then began gently brushing Wanda's damp hair.

"I 'uv you mama." Wanda whispered.

"I love you too, angel."

[shameonpretzel]

Reva 4 Ever - a Star Wars Obi-Wan Kenobi Fanfic

LaShonna kicked the rocks away from her feet as she walked to school.

She huffed and sighed at the weight of the heavy textbooks jostling about in her backpack.

And the hot sun did her no favors.  It was only early morning, but the heat of the day had her vintage Star Wars t-shirt soaked through with sweat.

She had missed the bus.

She dreaded the ensuing walk, but she hated even more what awaited her at her destination.

---

 "You're late, Miss Walker," the first period teacher said reproachfully as LaShonna trudged into class.

"Yeah, I know," LaShonna said as she sat down at her desk.

Some of the other students snickered, but the teacher merely sighed and turned her attention back to the lesson.

LaShonna tried to be as quiet as possible as she took out her notebook and pencil case.

She opened to a blank page in the notebook.

At first she was paying attention, but eventually LaShonna's mind began to wander and she started doodling on the paper.

She drew a smiling chibi version of herself, holding a lightsaber, with her afro-textured hair styled similar to that of Princess Leia’s.

Then she drew a chibi Han Solo and Chewbacca at each of her sides.

Though she didn’t enjoy her classes, there was one thing she looked forward to: Star Wars club.

The group met every Thursday after school to talk all things Star Wars. It was here that LaShonna truly felt like she belonged.

When she moved and had to change school districts, she was elated to have discovered the club, especially since she was having a difficult time fitting in with the other students.

Nor only that…but she had a crush on Andrew, the leader of the club. He was a tall and brooding junior , with sandy blonde hair hair that made him resemble a young Anakin Skywalker. She even affectionately referred to him as Annie (though never to his face).

She was adding some extra details to the fur for Chewie when suddenly there was a loud BAM! noise.

LaShonna brought her hands to her ears and screamed, startling the rest of the class.  Even the teacher went silent.

"Sorry," said a teenaged boy sitting just a few rows behind LaShonna. "I dropped my phone."

"Well, you shouldn't even have it out in the first place!" chided the teacher, annoyed. She then looked at LaShonna with concern. "Would you like to be excused?"

"Yes, please " replied LaShonna, standing up and hastily retreating from the classroom.

"She's so weird..." she heard someone mutter as she walked past.

"Shh..." whispered another girl. "You can't say that. She's been through a lot..."

--

"So, have you been sleeping well?" asked the school therapist.

LaShonna sat across from the therapist, and nodded. "Yes," she replied.

"Any nightmares?"

LaShonna looked down at her hands. "Occasionally. Not as often as before."

"Is it the same recurring nightmare?"

LaShonna nodded. The therapist scribbled something in her notebook.

"I heard you had a bit of an episode the other day," the therapist said.

"It wasn't an episode," countered LaShonna. "I just heard a loud noise and sorta...freaked out."

"So...an episode?" repeated the therapist.

LaShonna leaned back I'm her chair, annoyed. "Sure, whatever."

"You've got to give yourself some grace, LaShonna. What you experienced was trauma, and that's not something you can wipe out of your memory overnight."

"I know," LaShonna said.

“Try to take your pain and funnel into something else. Use that creative energy day. Do you have any interests or hobbies where you can do that?

In her mind’s eye, LaShonna imagined herself and her Annie, both as Jedi knights, using lightsaber in tandem to escape a precarious situation.

How she wished she could lightsaber her way out of this session.

"Have you been using the meditation and journaling strategies I gave to you?"

---

LaShonna left the therapist office feeling more anxious than when she arrived. No matter. The best part of her day was coming soon enough...

She turned the corner and bumped into a group of popular girls from her grade, causing her to scatter the items she was holding all over the floor.

"Sorry," she said, and got on her hands and knees to collect her things.

One of the popular girls picked up her spiral bound notebook and read the name on the front.

"LaShonna Skywalker...isn't that from Star Trek?"

LaShonna snatched the book away, embarrassed. "It's Star WARS."

She then stood up and stomped away. As she did, she could hear the girls talking about her.

"I hear she's really into that nerdy stuff..."

"Strange, she'd not what I'd envision when I think of a Star Wars geek."

---

Finally, it was Thursday. LaShonna's favourite part of the week was here. Every Thursday after school, a group of students got together for a STAR WARS club.

LaShonna volunteered a lot to organize watch parties and Star Wars themed events around the school.

She love planning geeky events with the other members of the club. She especially loved hearing Andrew go over  the weekly announcements.

And Andrew was the only other member she had shown her Star Wars fanfiction. As a fellow Darth Vader fan, she knew he would appreciate it. He would even offer constructive feedback on her writing.

LaShonna was practically skipping to club, but had a bit of a shock when she reached the music room.

The only other members that arrived were Andrew and Amy, the newest member. 

Amy was a petite transfer student from Las Vegas with with a brunette pixie cut and several piercings around the outer rim of her ears. Ironically, she happened to be wearing same shirt with a STAR WARS design, but as a crop top. Just below the top, on Amy’s bare skin, LaShonna spied a navel piercing.

Amy was leaning over suggestively against a music stand. Andrew was sitting at a desk, but he too seemed to be leaning in to match her body language. They were fully engrossed in their conversation.

LaShonna had a sinking feeling, but then quickly shook her head to rid her mind of such thoughts.

Andrew and Amy? No way. Given how she looks like a manic pixie punk version of Leia, their coupling would be almost incestuous…

 LaShonna cleared her throat. Both teens looked up.

“Oh hey, ‘Shon,” Andrew said. “Sorry, we didn’t see you there.”

 LaShonna sat down at an empty chair across the room. “Don’t mind me- just killing time until everyone shows up.”

 Andrew and Amy resumed their conversation, which looked as though it was growing increasingly flirtatious. LaShonna opted to ignore them both as she continued to work on her fanfiction.

 ---

Once other people started trickling into the room and the club started, LaShonna prayed it would be like their regular meetings. Perhaps she would ask Andrew for some pointers on how to make her latest fanfic better.

But things took a bit of a turn.

Everyone put their name on a list as well as the character they were going to dress up as for the convention. As LaShonna was packing up, she heard Amy yell "Who's Reva Skywalker?"

 "Okay, remember that the convention is in 3 weeks," said Andrew, the president of the club. "Be sure to have your costumes all planned out so we don't have overlap. Multiple Stormtroopers are fine, but I don't want to see 2 Han Solos like last year."

LaShonna raised her hand. "That's me. It's my OC."

Amy scrunched up her button nose. "OK...so what are you supposed to be then?"

LaShonna blinked. "I'm going as Anakin's long-lost daughter."

A couple of the members snickered. "Adopted daughter, maybe..."

LaShonna turned to look at the member who made the remark, a male teen with curly read hair, freckles and glasses. "Excuse me?"

The member adjusted his glasses and smirked. "I mean, yeah, that makes more sense, doesn't it? Anakin is...and you're...ya know..."

"Are you saying because I'm Black I can't play as Anakin's daughter?!"

The member put his hands up in defense. "Whoa, whoa...easy! That's not what I was saying at all!"

"Well it sure sounds like you were implying that!"

"Hey, calm down, both of you," warned Andrew. "LaShonna...usually for these things we like to stick with canon characters. Maybe you came dress as an imperial guard or even a genderbent Mace Windu or Lando Calrissian. You still have time to change your costume, okay?"

---

When LaShonna opened her eyes, she was watching her eight-year-old self back in the third grade.

No, she thought. Not again...

"Okay class, everyone pull out your art supplies," said the teacher.

Eight-year-old LaShonna spotted a younger version of herself sitting at the corner of one of the tables. Instead of doing art, she was playing with a Millennium Falcon necklace.

"LaShonna, it's time for art now, not playtime," said the teacher. Please put that away."

LaShonna put the necklace under her shirt and grabbed a box of crayons.

On a sheet of white paper, she used a black crayon to draw herself smiling, dressed as a Jedi.

Next she drew Darth Vader standing next to her. In between the two of them, she drew a heart with red crayon.

Teen LaShonna winced. She knew what was coming next.

There was the sounds of screams and gunfire.

The door to the classroom burst open. A masked man in military fatigues entered, brandishing several weapons.

Young LaShonna stood up, petrified. Her legs refused to move from their spot.

The gunman pulled out a handgun from one of his holsters and aimed it right at LaShonna's chest.

LaShonna felt pressure hit her chest and she fell down, stunned.

The next thing she heard was the sound of her teacher and classmates getting mowed mercilessly down by automatic rifles.

--

LaShonna woke up in a cold sweat.

She took deep, calming breaths, trying to utilize the meditation techniques she was given by her therapist.

When her heart rate returned back to normal, she placed a hand on the indent in her chest.

LaShonna was exceptionally fortunate. On the day of the horrific shooting, she was the sole survivor of her class.

What saved her was the Millennium Falcon necklace that acted as a shield between the bullet and her heart.

---

The day of the convention arrived. 

Her mom had helped her with her hair, braiding it into an elaborate crown that connected into a fishtail braid at the nape of her neck.

As she marched with confidence into the convention centre, all eyes were on her as she made her way to the booth, cape flowing behind her, to sign up for the cosplay masquerade.

"Whoa," said the person at the booth. "Cool costume. What fandom?"

"Star Wars," she declared.

--

LaShonna breathed in and out. Deeply and slowly. The sound of screams were emanating in her head.

She decided to go solo, and to dress as her original character. As such, she designed an all-black getup worthy of someone with rank within the Empire.

When she opened her opened her eyes, the screams persisted in her waking world.

But they were mixed with cheers and applause.

LaShonna was backstage, a heavy black curtain the one thing separating her from the excited crowd on the other sign.

"What a great show, huh, folks?" said the announcer. "And now, what you’ve all been waiting for! Here is your first-winner of the journeyman cosplay category! An OC no less – come on out here!”

LaShonna strode onstage, confident, unafraid, impervious. She made a flourishing gesture to the audience while brandishing a red lightsaber prop.

"I am Reva Sevander. Third Sister and member of the Inquisitors. And I am going to avenge my fallen brethren by destroying Anakin Skywalker."

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Care and Keeping of Idiots

Prompts: Hi I love your fic's so much and I was wondering if you could do DRLAMP (platonic creative twins) hurt/comfort with the light sides just having a lot of unhealthy habits and the dark sides helping them <3 - anon

Prompt if you want one: Roman gets sick from overworking himself but tries to hide it. Virgil finds out and chases him around the mindscape trying to get him to rest eventually him and all the others get him to bed and fluff ensues. That or Roman is sick and everyone fights to take care of him cause I think that would be funny and cute. Hurt/comfort please your honour and lamp is good but mainly prinxiety, roceit and some creative twins would be awesome! A scene for the first idea that lives rent free in my head is Roman hanging onto the door of the imagination while Virgil and Janus hold his legs and then remus jumps from above to knock him out and then they take him upstairs bridal style. I literally adore your writing so much so if you choose to write this thank you so much 💜💜💜💜 Ps: sorry if this is too much detail lol just do what you feel comfortable with - sunflowerblondeuwu

hi! if you're taking prompts, would you be interested in doing some moceit hurt/comfort? - anon

I'd like to request something Logan-centric. Maybe with some protective sides looking after Logan? If you can, if not don't worry about it. - geminimoon14

I've been experimenting with microficlets and short form and thought these were great practice!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: nothing explicit

Pairings: DLAMPR, DLAMP, LAMP, it can be platonic or romantic i don't care anymore

Word Count: 2035

The Dark Sides have their work cut out for them.

“Patton.”

Patton starts in surprise, turning around to see Janus standing there with his arms crossed. He raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, goodness, you startled me!”

“Really, I had no idea.” Janus walks forward, holding out a hand.

“What’s that for, kiddo?”

Janus just holds his hand out further.

“I don’t know what you want,” Patton tries, edging a little further into the kitchen.

Janus sighs. “By all means, continue trying to lie to me.”

Patton stops. Janus takes another step closer, still holding out his hand.

“It’s fine, Janus, don’t worry!”

“Every time you lie,” Janus says, “I’m going to take a step closer.”

“But it’s fine!” And sure enough, he takes a step closer. “I can do it! Wait, that’s not a lie. Stop it!”

“Stop lying, Patton, and I won’t have to.”

Patton does not whine, but he does exhale a little louder than normal. Janus waits patiently, his hand outstretched. Patton sighs and puts the notebook in Janus’s hand. Janus hums and tucks it into his cloak and holds out his hand again.

“…now I really don’t know what you want,” Patton says wearily.

Janus just waggles his fingers.

“Janus, I—“

“Come here, Patton,” Janus murmurs, holding his hand out.

Patton takes his hand and tries not to squeak in surprise as he’s yanked forward into a cuddle. Janus chuckles as he flails slightly, wrapping one arm around his waist to keep him still and ruffling his hair with the other.

“Good.”

“What—what’re you doing?”

“Oh, just remedying this error that I’ve discovered.”

“You—what? Janus—“

“Be still,” Janus chides gently, giving his hair a tug, “you’re alright. Just let me hug you.”

Patton won’t turn down a hug from one of his kiddos, but he’s very confused, thank you very much, and he would like to be less confused.

“I thought we talked about that notebook,” comes Janus’s voice a moment later, “and why you should stop using it.”

“But it helps me remember when I have to do things,” he mumbles into the cloak.

The cloak shifts. “Not in a way that is helpful to you, sweetie.”

“It helps me remember!”

“It helps you feel guilty.”

“…no…”

Janus sighs. “I can’t actually take a step closer while I’m hugging you, but I did it in spirit.”

Patton grumbles. Janus cards his hand through his hair again and uses two more arms to guide Patton’s around his neck.

“I’m going to pick you up now.”

“Where are we—oh!—where are we going?”

“Virgil and Remus have a new version of UNO they want to try and they’re insisting they need four people.” Janus rolls his eyes. “I think they just want an excuse to team up, but we’ll see.”

Patton shifts in Janus’s arms as they make their way to the other living room. He looks up and Janus catches his gaze.

“What, sweetie?”

“…thanks.”

Janus smiles and taps Patton’s cheek. “I’ll drag you kicking and screaming into caring about yourself if I have to.”

—————————

“Virgil.”

“Nope.” Virgil yawns, sprawling a little further across Logan’s desk. “Sorry, L, no work for you.”

“Virgil, where did you even put everything?”

“Your computer’s where it always is when it isn’t on your desk, your notes are filed away with Roman’s help, and your notebook is with Janus.”

Logan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And why have you taken precautions to ensure I don’t have access to my work?”

Virgil indicates the schedule they drew up on the corkboard. “Because it’s your day off and you gave us permission to make you take that day.”

Logan sighs. Again. It’s his favorite way of expressing exasperation with Virgil. Virgil grins, hooking his feet around the arms of the chair and pulling it out of Logan’s reach. He pulls out his phone and starts mindlessly scrolling.

“Virgil.”

“Hmm?”

“Can I just have one notebook?”

“Depends.” He glances up at Logan. “You gonna work?”

Logan opens his mouth and Janus strides out of the shadows. Virgil muffles a snort and shakes his head.

“Okay, that answers that question.”

“Virgil.”

“Logan.”

Janus just flops down onto Logan’s bed and curls his arms around a pillow, hissing from the warmth.

“I just want my notebook,” Logan says, “can I have my notebook back?”

“No work, Logan, you made the rules.”

“I said no work, not no notebook!”

“Yeah, but for you, notebook equals work.”

Logan looks back at Janus. “Can I please have my notebook back?”

“It’s adorable how you think asking me will get you a different answer than asking Virgil.”

Logan is quiet for a moment. Virgil looks up at him over his phone and his brow furrows at the way Logan starts to fiddle with the end of his tie.

“…can I please have it back?”

“Why do you think asking over and over will get you a different result, L?”

“Because perhaps you’ll understand that I need it back,” Logan snaps, clutching the end of his tie.

“Whoa,” Virgil soothes, holding his hand up, “time out. Okay. You want it back?”

“For the forty-seventh time, yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s mine.”

Virgil frowns. Then he gets up and nods to Janus. Janus takes Logan’s notebook out and passes it to Virgil, who holds it out for Logan to take. Logan takes it and wraps his arms around it protectively, tucking it under his chin.

“What’s the matter, L,” Virgil says quietly, “why’re you so on edge today?”

Logan sniffs. Oh. Oh, fuck. Janus sits up as Virgil nudges Logan to sit on the bed. Logan sits, still curled around the notebook.

“Talk to us, L,” Virgil murmurs, “did we fuck up? We’re sorry if we did, but you gotta tell us.”

“N-no, it’s—it’s fine, I asked you to do this, I just—“ he shakes himself— “it’s fine.”

Janus hisses lightly.

“Come on, L.”

Logan slumps, his fingertips starting to turn red from pressing against the spirals. Virgil reaches out to gentle them away.

“I suppose I’m still getting used to the idea that I am important to you outside of my work,” comes the whispered confession.

“Oh, sweetie…”

“Can we hug you, L? I think you need it.”

Logan nods, but he doesn’t move the notebook. Virgil taps it.

“Let go, come on.”

Logan lets him pry it out of his hands and toss it onto the desk as Janus wraps an arm around him. Virgil comes back to haul Logan further onto the bed, tucking his head under his chin.

“You’re important to us because you’re Logan, not because you’re Logic.” Janus hums in agreement. “Now, we’re gonna sit here for a moment and then we’re gonna go see how much of a mess Remus has made in the living room.”

Logan huffs. “We did leave him alone, didn’t we?”

“Mm.” Janus tucks his head against Logan’s shoulder. “I’d certainly love to go see whatever mess there is instead of staying here.”

Virgil chuckles. “We can stay here for longer, Logan needs it.”

—————————

“Fuck, where is he?”

“He went into the Imagination!”

“Shit, how’d he get past Patton?”

“I don’t know, but we gotta hurry before he gets lost in there.”

“Hey—hey! There he is! Get back here!”

“Roman! Roman!”

“Shit, he’s getting away!”

“How the fuck is he so fast—“

“Aren’t you fight or flight? Move!”

“I got him—I got him!”

“Hey, hey! Virgil, let me go!”

“No, Roman, you know you’re not supposed to be here, come on—“

Well, if Roman is going to insist they drag him out of here, they will.

“Roman, let go of the door.”

“How are you still holding on, there’s two of us—“

“Shut up, J, and pull!”

“You’ll never take me alive!”

“Stop being so dramatic for one goddamn second—“

“Remus, now!”

Even Roman isn’t so determined that a Morningstar to the head won’t make him go unconscious. Remus ignores the slightly disapproving looks from Virgil and Janus and promptly scoops his brother into his arms and marches out of the Imagination, down to the living room where Logan and Patton are waiting, blankets and pillows set up. Logan raises an eyebrow when he sees Roman’s limp form in Remus’s arms.

“Was knocking him out really necessary? He’s already sick.”

“He’s fine,” Remus defends, “he’ll wake up in like…two seconds.”

“One, two—“

“Hey!”

“Well, what do you know, it was two seconds,” Logan mutters as Janus immediately wraps his arms around a squirming Roman.

“Let me go, I’m fine, I just—“ Roman freezes when he realizes where he is— “oh.”

“Yes, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, “oh. Now hush and let us take care of you.”

“But—“

“We already had to fight to be the ones to come get you,” Virgil interrupts, plopping down with his head in Roman’s lap, “don’t make us do it again.”

“But—“

“Ro,” Remus whines, “just let us take care of you!”

Roman freezes. His mouth snaps shut and he starts to toy with an edge of one of the blankets. His shoulders hunch and Remus counts him heroically stopping three coughs.

“Ro,” he says, softer this time, “you know we want to take care of you, right?”

Roman pointedly does not look at any of them.

“…you said you had to fight over who came to—“ he stifles a sneeze— “to come get me.”

“We fought over who got to come get you.” Remus nudges his shoulder. “I won because I’m your brother and I get dibs.”

“I won because I’m fight or flight.”

“Even though you were so slow.”

“Shut up, Remus.”

“I didn’t win,” Janus says, examining his gloves, “ I just went anyway.”

Roman doesn’t laugh. Instead, he tugs the blanket again. Remus shuffles closer and bonks their heads together.

“You’re not a burden, Roro, we want to take care of you.”

“…why?”

Patton stifles a hurt noise as he takes Roman’s hand in his. Logan scoots loser and curls his hands around Roman’s collar, trying to loosen it a little.

“Fuck, Princey, of course we wanna take care of you.” Virgil ruffles his hair. “You’re sick. Now lie down.”

“B-but—“

“Oh, shh, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, wiping a stray tear, “now, now, you know better than to cry when your head is already sore. I know it’s not your fault sweetie, just shh.”

Remus wraps Roman’s arms around him and curls into his chest. Roman sniffles.

“Now, that’s not fair,” Logan says quietly, “you three already got to go and get him, you don’t get to hog taking care of him as well.”

“Yeah, let us have a turn!”

Roman giggles as Logan tries to tug him away from Remus, which—good luck.

But Roman is happy so Remus will share.

For now.

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If you want to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know!

[loveofafangirl]

The Right Thing

[Baron Zemo Masterlist] [Marvel Masterlist] 

Pairing: Baron Zemo x Reader (no gender, race, body type given)

Synopsis: As Zemo is sneaking away from his abode in Latvia in search of freedom, he is pulled back when he notices the fight in his home above has become dangerous for those in the streets. *Fluff:Comfort/Care*

Word Count: <1,500

Author’s Note: This is my first time writing Zemo. I don’t know what happened but he is living (and dancing) in my head rent-free so I hope you enjoy this little fic. I typically write third person; second person/reader is not really my area of comfort, so please excuse any mistakes. Not betad. A/N2: This reader becomes “Reader A” on my masterlist. Most fics can be read as this reader with their relationship with Zemo developing (even though they are all mostly one shots)

TW: non-graphic mentions of blood and injuries

He averted his gaze, pulling the collar of his coat up, attempting to blend in with the crowd forming in the street as he slipped out of his Latvian home. He could hear the clash of Vibranium echoing on the floor above. Children gathered in the street below, looking up curiously at the unusual sounds. He wanted to warn them. He knew the threats of fallout that followed from being too near those so-called heroes better than anyone. However, he feared the delay would cost him his freedom and what he must do. He quickened his pace away from them.

The shattering of a large window sounded behind him as the building took a beating from those fighting. He turned at the noise, too late to do anything more than observe the shards of colorful glass rain down on those below. 

He watched in horror as the debris struck a few people. You caught his attention when you protected a young boy, which caused you to suffer the most. He admired your resolve. You did what he wasn’t strong enough to do. He turned back the way he was heading, trying to forget the damage he saw.

You were curious about the cacophony of sounds coming from the building. You had heard that some of the Avengers were in town. You had secretly hoped to catch a glimpse of them. Not because you were a fan, more because you wanted to see them—to size them up. You had always been a good judge of character, and you wanted to determine for yourself whether they were essentially good or not; although, you already knew the world was far grayer than most people gave it credit. 

The noise above grew louder, and you could tell a battle was ensuing. You watched the number of people growing beside you, more specifically, the number of children enchanted by the unusual sounds. For a moment, fear flashes on your face, remembering Sokovia and the damage left in the wake of the last Avengers fight in the area. 

Before you have time to warn them, screams fill the air as glass and bricks begin to fall. You turn quickly, covering a small boy standing beside you, shielding him from the brunt of the crumbling debris. You cry as the glass pierces your skin; you feel blood begin to drip from some of the larger wounds. 

“Are you okay?” You ask the boy whose body trembles in your arms.

He nods, his lips quivering. He runs off down the street, following the crowd away from the scene without a word to you. 

You drag yourself away, too, hoping to find a quiet spot to nurse your injuries. You’re grateful they’re not worse since you can’t afford to go to the doctor. You turn a corner and sit on an old crate in the quiet alleyway. 

You peel off your shirt and turn to pull the first piece of glass from your back. You cry at the pain but continue on, gritting your teeth.

“Let me?” His voice was soft as he held his hands out in front of him, gesturing toward your wounds. 

Weary of the new stranger, you pull back defensively.

“Please.” He remained where he stood, not moving on you, giving you space. “I can help. You saved that child. Let me help you now. You won’t be able to reach them all on your own.”

Reluctantly, you nod, allowing him closer.

He slowly moves beside you, keeping his hands up, showing you he meant you no harm. 

His touch is softer than you imagined. You don’t even feel his careful fingers removing the glass. Eventually, you work up the nerve to ask, “Are you a doctor?”

“No,” he replies simply and continues his work. “Unfortunately, I have seen more destruction and loss than I would like.”

You sit in silence until he is done. He takes a minute to carefully inspect you, making sure to have removed all of the pieces to prevent infection. 

He wipes the soft fabric of his trench coat over your skin, collecting the blood that had spilled. 

His movements were so tender and warm that you can’t help but relax at his touch. The pain in your back seems to disappear under his care.

“There. All better.”

“Thank you, truly.”

His lip curls up in the corner. “You were a hero today. Many only delude themselves to be that. Few actually prove themselves to be so on occasion.”

You search his face for more. There is pain there that cut deeper than any shard of glass could. The two of you shift closer. There’s something in his eyes that lets you know his thoughts had drifted away from you. You know that look‚ the look of loss—of longing. It was all too common in the recent months and years. 

Before you can step back and thank him once more, his lips brush over yours, slowly. It feels like a dream, and for a moment, you’re afraid to breathe, as it feels like the wind whispering quietly on your lips. His eyes seem brighter at that moment like something had changed. As you decide to give yourself over to it, he pulls away, startled.

“My apologies.” His tone is honest as he steps back. He almost sounds surprised that it had happened.

“It’s okay.” You aren’t in the habit of letting random men kiss you and get away with it, but there was something genuine about him. Your eyes widen, truly focusing on the man in front of you for the first time. His brown eyes are warm and kind. You could tell he had been through a lot, but he had still taken the time to assist you. “It wasn’t you. Well, at least not completely you. It’s been a long time since someone was that…tender to me.” You swallow hard at your confession, unsure of why you had told this stranger that. “Most men want more. Demand it when it is refused.”

His eyes fill with what you think is concern, but he’s hard to read. You wonder if you’re fooling yourself, and it’s a look of pity that you’re trying to rewrite. 

He looks around nervously as people rush past the entrance of the alleyway. “I should be going.”

Filled with courage you didn’t know you had, you take a step forward and brush a kiss on his cheek. Your fingers linger on him. “Thank you again.” 

“My pleasure.” 

His smile, as he begins to move away, left you wanting more—needing to better understand him. You watch him walk toward the busy street. “Wait.”

He turns toward you, his head tilted to the side, waiting for you to continue.

“Why did you help me?” 

“It was the right thing to do.” He stated plainly. 

You nod thoughtfully. Not many people would have helped you like that without wanting more. Not many people know what the right thing is anymore. You’re not even sure you know all the time. “Can I ask you something else?”

He looks around again as if waiting for someone to find him. He offers a curt nod. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but do you need a place to lay low for a day?”

His head tilts further to the side, “why would you ask that?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I guess, you just look like a man who’s running.”

“How very astute of you.” He marches closer again, studying your face more carefully now. 

“You can stay with me...just for the night,” you clarify quickly.

“You don’t know me. Why would you make such an offer?”

“It’s the right thing to do." You look down, bashful for a moment, before continuing. "Plus, you helped me; I owe you a debt.” Both were partly the truth, but the third reason you couldn’t bring yourself to admit to him was that you weren’t ready to let him go. 

He considers your offer, as he proceeds to attempt to understand you. "One night." 

"One night," you agree. You reach for your shirt, attempting to shake out the remaining bits of glass and put it back over you. 

"Here." He stops you, pulling his lavish coat off his shoulders, and wraps it around you in one fluid motion. 

The gesture catches you off guard, and you let a little noise of surprise slip from your lips. 

He doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he isn’t smug about it. He buttons the coat closed, shielding your body from the outside world. Stepping to the side, he extends his arm, a gentle smile on his lips. "After you."

You're not really sure what you're doing or why you made the offer you did, but you do know that for the first time in a long time, there's a smile on your face that you can't seem to wipe away. You touch your fingers to your lips, still mesmerized by the delicate kiss. You step forward, ready for whatever the future has for you. "Follow me." 

[Next Part: A Promise]

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[barnesandco]

Little Hands (II)

Series Masterlist

You, Bucky, and Anastasia pay Bruce Banner a visit. 

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo 2021. Word count: 1836. Square filled: “You don’t wanna know.”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: More Sad Child. Needles, fear of. So much overthinking.

A/N: Gosh, I’m so glad I got this chapter edited in time. I hope you like it and I’m sorry for skipping out on y’all last week! To make up for it, there’ll be two updates this weekend, so look out for the next chapter tomorrow! Lmk what you thinkkkk

The Avengers Compound is every bit as spectacular as you could have possibly hoped, and yet you’re unable to fully appreciate it because of the sheer absurdity of the situation. Your hand is in the vice-tight grip of the supposed daughter of your neighbor, who happens to be an Avenger.

Said neighbor is pacing back and forth in front of you as you sit in Bruce Banner’s laboratory, with Anastasia beside you while you wait for Bruce to arrive. Ana is remarkably calm, her young features – the round cheeks, still-wet eyes – made mature by her abnormal silence. Something about her makes you think she’s used to this kind of tension. Something about her screams war-child. Perhaps this grip she has on you is the first demand she has made in a long time, the only tantrum she has ever been allowed to throw.

While you aren’t particularly experienced with children, you think you want her to feel safe with you, because it seems she hasn’t been elsewhere. Ana’s eyes flit around the room in the only behavioral indication of her youth – a childlike curiosity, shining in the face of this fancy, new place that gleams like a toy store. Every now and then, her gaze jumps back from the alien appearance of the lab to her father (?) who seems intent on wearing a hole in the tiles with his pacing.

It is beginning to wear on you: both Bucky’s pacing and Ana’s steadily increasing anxiety. He hasn’t said a word to her since he opened the envelope, only asked that you accompany him to the Compound seeing as Ana won’t go alone with him (You would have gone with him even if that hadn’t been so. Though the nature of your relationship is ambiguous at times, the strength of your friendship is not. You’ll figure this out. You won’t leave him alone). Clearly, there is some unspoken memory that has him convinced the claim in the letter is plausible. Neither of you would be here if it wasn’t.

Bucky doesn’t talk too much about his past. He has offered a few of the shattered shards of his past reflection to you in the few night-caped moments you have hammered on his door upon hearing shouts across the hall. Between that, and what you know thanks to Black Widow’s file dump, the big Avengers’ in-fight in Europe last summer, the consequent resolution to the Accords, and Bucky’s publicized pardon, you can guess at the traumas that lurk in the depths of him.

They’re traumas that are closer to the surface of his eyes now, pulled forth by this new life, this little soul that has no business with such dark things, and the implication that this holds. Ana, innocent as she may be, is an insinuation of what else might have been unwillingly torn from Bucky.

You don’t want to think about it, because it hurts to do so, because you care for him, in many, many ways. It seems that Anastasia is also starting to tire of it. With every step Bucky takes, her hand tightens on yours. Fortunately, soon, the door to your left opens, and Bruce Banner enters his lab.

He's appropriately disheveled for this hour in the morning. Under his pristine lab coat, one of his shirt buttons is done into the wrong buttonhole, but his eyes are alert, frantic even, though you get the feeling that this is a man always on the edge of escape.

Bucky lets out a breath he seems to have been holding at the same time as his shoulders tense. “Thanks for coming so early, Doctor Banner. I wouldn’t have called if—”

“You never call, so I know it must have been important. But it looks like I’ve kept you waiting anyways,” Banner says, his eyes widening as they move from Bucky, to you, to the little girl at your side. “What’s the matter? You know I’m not a medical doctor, right?” He asks, putting a work bench between himself and his visitors.

Bucky clears his throat, and doesn’t quite know how to say what he needs to. After a few more seconds of hesitation, in which Banner waits patiently, Bucky extracts the envelope containing the fateful letter from his pocket, and hands it over.

The furrows in Doctor Banner’s brow multiply spontaneously, and when he looks up, Bucky gestures with a subtle nod of his head to Ana. He has yet to explain your presence, but you think Doctor Banner is a smart man. It won’t take more than Anastasia’s tight hold on you for him to put two and two together. Sometimes, a scared child is just that, no matter how unusual.

Most of their ensuing conversation is held at a lowered volume, set by Bucky, probably out of courtesy for Ana. You can hear snatches and phrases, most of them confirmations of things you had expected and some, not so much. Lobby security cam footage… fingerprints… paternity test… serum… blood sample…

By the end of it, some facsimile of a plan seems to have evolved between the two men, because Doctor Banner turns away with a smile and you, taking it as a welcome, stand and approach him. He rounds his desk and shakes your hand, exchange introductions though he hardly needs one, and then, he crouches, the way Bucky had, and offers Ana his hand.

“Hi, I’m Bruce.”

“Ana.”

Bucky steps forward. “Anastasia—” the name is clumsy on his tongue, because he’s scared. You can see it, and you hope he knows you are, too, but you’ll stand with him regardless, “—Bruce is going to check that you aren’t sick.”

“I’m okay.”

“We need to be sure.”

“Okay.”

Banner pulls out a chair, and you’re about to sit Ana down on it, when she pushes you gently into it, and sits on your lap. You can do nothing but wrap your arms gently around her, so she doesn’t fall. The apology in Bucky’s eyes is melted with a sympathetic smile. It’s alright. A child developing an inexplicable affection for you is not the worst thing to ever happen to you.

Ana is warm and a comfortable weight on you, and you hold her as loosely as you can, feel the movement of her chest against your arms with each breath. Her hair is a mix of wool-thick and silk-soft against your chin, smelling faintly of the sugar-sweet strawberry scent found in children’s shampoos. Someone took care of her.

Someone she isn’t asking for. What kind of child doesn’t ask for their mother, past the initial, momentary heartbreak? How has she come to terms with the apparent change in custody, when the new custodian hasn’t?

Whether Bucky is to be the new guardian has yet to be determined. You can see Bruce pulling out a syringe and preparing a vial. You wonder if she’s scared of needles. Bucky flinches at the sight of them, even now. He’s said that his disdain for the cold clinicism of medicine dates back to long before Hydra. Medical equipment reminds him of worrying that his best friend was going to die. It’s the fear he has harbored longest, longer than his fear of war, of gunshots in the dark, of blood on his hands.

Ana shares it. When she sees the needle, she screams, and Bucky lunges forward to help you hold her in place. She’s so, so much stronger than you thought and while you can hold her limbs, her head thrashes about, and so does her torso, making it impossible for Bruce to get to the inside of her elbow.

In the chaos, your eye lands on a trinket on a nearby desk, sitting there like a peace offering, literally beckoning to you. “Hey, Ana,” you whisper-yell, trying not to get hit in the jaw by her head. “Do you like animals? Cats? I have a friend who has lots and lots of cats, and I could take you to see them.” It’s working. You’re out of breath, but she’s quieting. Most little kids love cats. You love cats. “I think Bruce has a toy cat. See, over there?” You dare to lift an arm to point at the maneki-neko on the table. Ana stills. Her eyes follow the hypnotic movement, and the syringe at Ana’s elbow does its job.

When the bandage is put on, you and Bucky let go with twin nervous chuckles of relief and disbelief, and Bruce puts the vial in a machine. Ana hops off to approach the desk, and bats at the paw waving at her like a mirror of it.

“We should have the results soon. I think the others are starting to wake up, if you want to say hi,” Bruce says, taking off his glasses and wiping them on the corner of his lab coat.

“Maybe later,” you say, seeing that Bucky is hardly in any position to converse casually with his teammates right now. Not to mention, it’d be a lot of work to explain Ana, especially before having any sort of confirmation of who she is.

Bucky pulls out a chair next to you while Bruce opens a laptop a few counters away, and an x-ray machine lifts its head behind Ana, who has moved on from the lucky cat, and is stroking the leaves of a flowering plant.

“Peace lily,” Bucky says, startling you. You look at him, the bags under his eyes, the way he almost looks his age right now, and fight the urge to hold his hand. “It’s the first flower I bought for my apartment. I put it in a community garden after a nightmare about the war. Didn’t feel right for me to have it.”

He's talking about the Second World War. The war always refers to his first war. You think he’s talking about peace, and not the lily, after what he’s done. After what he was forced to do.

“It’s not your fault,” is an automatic response, and never enough, especially for the war, because at least he was in his own senses, even if he was drafted. It always elicits a self-deprecating laugh, but right now, he’s too tired for even that.

Right now, he can only watch as the x-ray camera follows Ana around the room, from the peace lilies, to an Amazon elephant’s ear, to a strange sculpture made from Coca-Cola cans glued together by what looks like spider-webs.

Too soon, Bruce calls you over to his work station. You follow Bucky, one eye on Ana.

“She’s yours,” Bruce says, and Bucky inhales sharply. Now, you do take his hand, stroke the metal ridges with your calloused thumb. “But she has disproportionately more of your DNA than her mother’s.”

“What does that mean?”

Bruce wrings his hands. “She’s not a complete clone, but nearly a genetic copy. 80% of a clone, if you will.”

Bucky is growing increasingly uncomfortable, shifting next to you. “How’s that possible?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

[disgruntledspacedad]

The Rules of Engagement (5/5)

part of the The Better Love Series 

pairing: Javier Peña x fem reader/ofc (Ears)

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do.

words: 5.7k

warnings: 18+ - drugs, violence, language, alcohol, smut.

a/n: many many notes at the end. unbeta’d as always.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Javi clicks off the radio as soon as the car starts, and you spend the first half of the ride in silence. For a while, he seems to be focused intently on driving, but you know him well enough to see the wheels turning in his head. Sunglasses hide his eyes, but still, there’s something about that little frown that suggests that his thoughts are far from lunchtime traffic. 

It doesn’t bother you - your mind really isn’t on the road, either. 

“I can’t figure it out.” You’re startled to find that it’s your voice breaking the silence. 

“Can’t figure out what?” Javi takes a deep drag from his cigarette. He’s still not looking at you.

“Who did this, and why.” You swallow past the emotion that wells in your throat, firmly redirecting your thoughts to facts and evidence. “It wasn’t an accident, Peña, I’m ruling that out now. Somebody planted a bomb in Emilio’s store.” 

Javi purses his lips tightly. 

“And call me crazy, but I can’t help but think that it has something to do with Escobar.” Your voice is rising now as you warm to the argument. “Like, this is his MO, right? Bombing civilian small business, terrorism, chaos…” you trail off, furrowing your brow as you rest your forehead against the cool window. “Just… why here? Why Bogotá?”

Why Emilio? 

Javi’s face freezes. He’s quiet for a long time. You watch him warily from the corner of your eye. To the casual observer, he’s all calm stoicism, snuffing his cigarette and reaching both hands to finger the steering wheel. But you know better - you read the subtle stiffness in his shoulders, the carefully shuttered expression, the white knuckle grip that suggests that he’s far more stressed than he’s letting on.

Something wild throbs in your chest and you have a sudden, irrational suspicion that he might know more than he’s saying. The moment stretches, and just as you’re ready to panic, Javi huffs a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know,” he admits in a low voice, and the bubble of uncertainty shatters. “But I’m going to find out.”

There’s something cold in his tone, a controlled, a calculated malice that threatens vengeance, and you rest your forehead against the window, wondering at the profound sense of reassurance you draw from his words.

Out of nowhere, a truck swerves in front of you, and Javi leans hard on the horn, cursing and flipping off the driver out the window as you weave past him.

You can’t help a small smile at that - Javier Peña, taking out his worries on the unassuming drivers of Bogotá.   

Again, silence stretches between you.

“I think it’s time you told me about your morning.” Javi’s voice is soft, but still, you know it’s not a request. 

“There’s not much to tell,” you confess. Again, not entirely true, but you haven’t even begun to process it all, and the details are overwhelming to contemplate. “I volunteered to stay over at headquarters. They wouldn’t put me in the air two nights in a row, but still, I wanted to know what was happening.”

His lips twitch at this. 

“It was quiet. I left around seven, I think. I’m not entirely sure. Figured somebody would call me with news. And then…” You pause, swallowing hard. “I was almost home. At the corner of 70.” 

You remember waving to Emilio, the way his eyes had lit up when he’d spotted you, his toothy grin. He’d been so proud, introducing you to that guaro.You blink, bracing yourself against the yawning pit of grief that threatens to open in your chest. Not now. Please.

“Then the store exploded.”

You and Javi draw a deep breath at the same time. The ensuing silence is stifling. 

“Then what?” he prompts you gently.

You glance up, noticing that he’s parked the car. Neither of you move.

“I stumbled back,” you continue haltingly. You just want this conversation to be over. “It’s all kind of a blur, from there. It was really weird, like… like being in a time warp, or something.”

He nods grimly, like he understands.

“I decided to go to your place…” you’re nervous, confessing this part to him. As tense as he is, as awkward as things have been, any reference of your previous liaisons feels like stirring hot shit with a stick. “I just, I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You didn’t wait for the police to arrive?”

Desperation and indignation rise in you. “Javi, I’d just witnessed my fucking apartment go up in flames, okay? Excuse me if I didn’t perform to your exacting standards!”

He presses his lips together in a firm line, and oh, fuck. You realize that you’ve just called him by his name again - something you’ve made a point not to do since that horrible morning in the shower.

Ugh.

You drop bonelessly against the passenger seat, all of the fight leaking from you. This fucking day… god, just, fuck this day.

“I’m sorry.” Javi’s voice is so whisper-quiet that it almost doesn’t register. 

You take three deep breaths, in and out, in and out, in and out.

“It’s fine,” you say, once you’re grounded again. “But I’m - I’m just done talking, okay?”

“Yeah.” Javi opens his door with a deep sigh. “Okay.”

♠

Javi lets you in, and you go straight for the sofa, settling awkwardly with your hands in your lap.  

God, now what? You’re right back where you started - no home, no job to do, and no answers. Exhaustion and helpless resignation swallow you whole, and you sit like that for a long moment, staring into the middle distance and fighting the urge to rest your head in your hands. 

After a while - you’re not sure how long - you notice the absolute silence permeating the apartment. Javi hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken. You’d totally forgotten he was there.

You glance up.

He’s draped against the front door with his arms folded defensively across his chest, frowning fiercely at nothing. 

“Hey.” You aren’t aware that you’ve moved until you’re standing in front of him.

His eyes flutter shut and he exhales, long and slow, tilting his head back against the door so that he’s facing the ceiling, and okay, now you’re seriously freaked out. 

“Javi?”

“I can’t do this anymore,” he whispers.

“Can’t do what?”

He grimaces like the sound of your voice is painful. “Please don’t make me.”

You take a half step closer, alarm bells screaming in your head. You have never, ever heard this man beg, not once in all the time you’ve spent together. “Don’t make you… Javi, what?”

His gaze flicks to yours, and you suck a sharp breath. 

Javi looks absolutely wrecked. His eyes are wide and dark, brow furrowed deep, and he’s staring at you with so much longing in his expression that little sparks of electricity go zipping across your skin. 

“God, Ears, baby, I was there,” he rasps. He takes one quick little step forward, as if to reach for you. “I went to your place as soon as I heard, as soon as the plane landed…”

You brain skitters to a stop. 

Oh, Christ. He hadn’t told you that. You don’t even have time to wonder about it, though, because Javi is still speaking, words pouring out of him as if revisiting the memory has cracked him wide open. 

“And it, it was a fucking crater, okay? And nobody had seen you, nobody had heard anything, and they had the fucking - the fucking body bags -” His voice cracks, and he presses his fists to his eyes, as if to hide his face while he gathers himself. 

Horror floods you. You’re starting to put it all together now. You’d been so distracted by your own terrible day that you’d not once thought to ask about Javi’s. You imagine him at the bomb site, picking his way through ash and rubble, flashing his badge at firemen and emergency responders, firing off questions, watching them load up body bags…

Oh, fuck.

Javi shakes his head sharply, as if dispersing the memories, and when he looks up, his eyes are red-rimmed and wet. “Querida,” he breathes, pinning you with an expression of open desperation. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Oh. 

It takes a lot to scare Javier Peña. You know this. He’s a fearless man. He has to be.

But this morning, Javi had been terrified. You recall his voice over the phone, tense and clipped, the blustered sigh of profound relief, the clattering footsteps as he’d raced up the steps, his eyes, not quick and efficient, but frantic as he’d taken you in, alive and healthy and wearing his clothes.

“I’m right here,” you whisper, unable to articulate just how profoundly you mean that. You’re still reeling from the implications of it all.

“I know,” Javi chokes. He blinks hard, almost like he’s baffled by it. “You’ve been right here the whole time.” He hitches a breath. “And goddammit, baby, I can’t sit here and listen to you say my name without wondering what the hell else I’m losing.”

Reality shifts and realigns in an instant. Fear and disbelief give way to fierce longing, and your voice comes out as a choked whisper. “Come here.”

Javi does, haltingly at first, as if wondering if you really mean it. You fall into his arms, and he pulls you close, reverently, as if you are the most precious thing in the world. He presses his forehead carefully to yours, catching your jawline with his palms and threading his fingers through your hair. 

“God, baby,” he rasps. “When I saw you… When I heard your voice…”

“I’m okay,” you remind him, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “I’m okay.” 

He sighs deeply, and a bubble of tension you weren’t even aware of bursts at the sound. You melt into him, and he holds you tightly for a long, long time, swaying your bodies gently back and forth, your head tucked against his chest. 

You tilt your face to him, pressing your lips to his skin, and he huffs brokenly, his body still wrapped around yours like he’s reluctant to create any space between you. He’s shaking as he takes your face in his hands, pausing just long enough to fix you with a wild-eyed, pleading glance.

“Okay?” he breathes. 

“God, yes,” you gasp. “Yes.”

And just like that, Javi’s kissing you like a man without air, awkward and starving, catching the back of your neck with one hand, the other roaming beneath your shirt to stroke at your ribcage.

There’s nothing gentle about it. A month’s worth of desperation has been building in both of you, and now, Javi’s frantically mapping your body with his lips and tongue, peppering little licks and kisses and soft nips down your jaw and neck while you scramble awkwardly for the buttons of his shirt. You struggle to keep your fingers under control as one gigantic hand finds your ass and squeezes. You gasp, inadvertently popping his last button. 

Damn, you liked that shirt. 

Undeterred, you push it aside, finally free to explore his chest and back and belly for the first time in far too long. Javi’s skin is warm beneath your fingertips, his body smooth muscle and soft heat as he leans into you. His hands are snaking beneath your shirt now, one brushing the bare skin of your torso as it wanders up to grasp at your bra, the other gripping at the hollow of your hips. You arch into his touch, groaning low into his mouth, and he bucks in response, cock straining at his jeans, denim deliciously rough against your palm.

“What do you want, baby?” he gasps into the hollow of your throat. Those gorgeous hands have migrated back to your ass now, clutching with a greediness that leaves you panting. 

“Just…” God, you can’t even think, your brain flickering in and out, overloaded with pleasure and pent up emotion and Javier Peña. “Just you, Javi. Now. Please.”

He whimpers, his erection digging rock-hard into your belly, and the sound nearly brings you to your knees - cool, collected, suave Javier Peña, keening for you. 

Javi hikes you up so quickly that you yelp, hips pinning you as he drives you into the wall. You brace yourself for impact, but he’s already anticipated that - one hand cups the back of your head, cradling you protectively, the other reaching past your thighs to clench at your pussy.

You moan, rocking into him, bracing your elbows against the wall to grant him access. You shimmy your hips, and he hitches your skirt up with a fist, dragging your soaking panties to the side as he buries his fingers inside you.

“Oh,” you gasp.

Javi’s fingers pulse deep into your core, once, and then again, that come-hither curl of them driving you wild as he pumps through your juices. You scramble back, opening yourself as best you can with your limited mobility as he presses his knee beneath your leg to hold you in place. 

God fucking damn, there’s something about being pinned to the wall by this man that leaves you trembling and leaking.

Groaning, Javi sinks his mouth onto yours, and you arch up to meet him, sucking sloppily on his lips, his stubbled jaw, whatever you can get to. You tug his hair hard, mostly for leverage, and he gasps, throwing his head back in a way that allows you access to his neck. You love Javi’s neck - it’s delicious, all fascinating gentle dips between tight tendons, and you relish the opportunity to explore each of its arcs and hollows with your tongue.

He shudders as you nip and suck and bite at him, grinding your body against his as you clench your legs around his waist. 

You’re both panting at this point, skin slick with sweat. It’s hard to know where you end and Javi begins, but it’s so, so good, feral and desperate and heated, and somehow, he’s still managing to pulse his thumb at your clit.  The motion sets a fucking fire in you, slow, deep waves of hot pressure building in your core.

“More, Javi,” you beg against his clavicle, shimmying your hips against his hand. Any other day, you’d be content to stay here, caught between him and the wall as he wrings your orgasm from you with the pads of his fingers. But there’s something else building in you, a desperation that has both nothing and everything to do with physical release, and you just need him closer. “I- I need -”

Javi growls, gently dropping you to the floor as he shucks out of his jeans. You help him along with trembling fingers, giggling incoherently as your heads brush clumsily in your haste. You take the opportunity to shrug out of your shirt and bra, and then Javi’s pinning you with a gaze that’s almost predatory, dark enough to send shivers of anticipation curling down your spine. 

You back against the wall and raise a brow, daring him to come get you.

He does, hoisting you up easily - he really is stronger than he looks. One knee hikes beneath your thigh, his opposite hand clenched behind your ass, thumb digging deep into the hollow of your hip. You absently notice that he’s once again braced his opposite hand between your head and the wall, threading his fingers through your loosened braid, but you don’t have time to consider it, because he’s thrusting into you, quick, shallow pumps that leave you gasping for air.

It’s mind-blowingly amazing, and a wild, wanton part of you wonders why the hell you haven’t done this before - just kick off your clothes and go at it like animals in the hallway. You sink deeper onto him, angling your hips just-so, and oh fucking christ, he’s rubbing right against your clit, hard and fast and sloppy in the very best way.

You throw your head back, spasming around him, scrabbling at his shoulders for purchase. He’s still wearing his fucking shirt, and you cling to its open edges with enough force to rip. Javi hisses, rhythm faltering as he slips from you. For a moment, you pause like that, him holding you with shaking thighs, your lungs and skin burning, heaving breaths mingling hot on each other’s faces, but then he’s realigning himself, shifting his angle a little. You shimmy up the wall, desperate to accommodate. 

The second round is even more brutal than the first, choppy and shallow. Your abs are burning; it’s a difficult position to maintain, but that familiar fullness is building achingly delicious in your core, so you hold out, gasping. Javi’s breathing raggedly, sweat dripping from his forehead as he presses it against yours, eyes wide and unfocused as he thrusts into you. 

He’s trembling with exertion.

“Fuck!” He’s slipped again. You sink to the floor, reaching for his wrist.  He looks at you, face twisted in a resentful snarl. 

“Javi,” you gasp, kissing him before he can react. What you’re doing is hot as fuck, but it’s not working right now. You’re both too tired, too desperate and shaky, and you need release. “Take me to bed.”

“Hmm,” he moans into your mouth. It must be agreement, because pulls back - you shudder at the loss of contact - and then hoists you over his shoulder in a move that makes your head spin. You giggle a little, breathless and giddy and almost incoherent with need.

Javi carries you through the apartment like that, you clinging to him like a koala bear with your legs locked around his waist and your head draped over his shoulder. He drops you lopsided on his unmade bed. Automatically, you flop over onto your stomach and gather your knees to your chest, remembering how he loves to take you from behind. 

“No,” his voice is strained. A hand, surprisingly gentle, tugs at your shoulder, and you go with it, twisting so that you’re on your back again, sideways in the bed. “I need…” Javi’s panting, dark eyes burning a hole in you. “I need to see you, baby.” His voice breaks, his expression vulnerable, almost apologetic. 

A rush of affection overtakes you, and you reach for him, pulling him close for another deep kiss. Javi straddles you, palming himself in preparation, and you have the foresight to shove a pillow under your ass - if you’re going to be doing this face to face, then you want him as deep as possible.

When you glance up, he’s watching you open-mouthed, absently tugging at his leaking cock like he just can’t help it.

God, he’s beautiful. 

He sucks a startled breath, looking at you in wide-eyed wonder, and oh fuck. You’d said that out loud. 

“Javi,” you whine, yanking him closer. You don’t have time to feel awkward, goddammit. You just need him. For real. Inside you. Right now.

You both shudder as he sinks deep into you. He stays still for a moment, and you clench against him desperately, urging him to move, dammit, but he’s holding off. 

“Baby,” he rasps, glancing down at you, red-faced. “I’m not - I’m not going to last.”

That confession alone makes something swell tightly in you, and you buck your hips in response. “It’s okay,” you rasp, trying hard be good, to hold still, to not overwhelm him.  “I won’t, either.”

He rocks against you, a tiny pulse, just enough to fucking tease, but it must be an unconscious thing, because he’s still looking you in the eye like he’s afraid you’ll reject him, or condemn him.

“Javi, please,” you keen, patience thoroughly spent. You reach up, digging your fingers into his shoulder blades and tugging hard. “I don’t care. I just need you. All of you.”

That gets him moving.

Javi rocks against you, setting up an achingly slow, almost careful rhythm, his left hand still cradled around the back of your neck to brace your head as he draws himself to the hilt, then nearly all the way out again. It’s gentle and sweet, but dammit, you want more. You pull your knees to his elbows to encourage him deeper, digging your heels into his back. Javi gets the message, because he twitches and groans, curling around your body and bracing himself against your shoulders, abruptly driving into you with a force that punches the air from your lungs - hard, fast, and deliciously brutal.

It’s exactly what you need.

You curl up against his chest, abs burning as you glance past your breasts to the place where your bodies are connected. The edges of his open shirt skim the sensitive skin of your ribcage, framing the view and drowning you in more sensation. Heat is pooling in you, tension building and sparking and curling your toes. There’s something surreal and wonderful about watching yourselves work in tandem, his hips and yours, pulsing and perfect.

Javi shudders, and you drag your eyes back to his face, not daring to miss a moment. Fuck, he’s gorgeous, and that expression alone, that little purse-lipped grimace of pleasure, is enough to drive you to the edge. Controlled, careful, restrained Javier Peña coming undone for you, rattled for you, staring at you like it hurts to draw a fucking breath in your presence… goddamn, you twisted little shit, you’re really liking that.

His rhythm is faltering now, thighs clenching erratically, breath coming in ragged little pants. You know that he’s close. 

You reach up to stroke his cheek. “Javi,” you whisper. His eyes find yours, glossy and wild. His mouth is open, his brow furrowed. “It’s okay, baby,” you tell him. He trembles in response, a full body shudder, his eyes flickering shut.

“It’s okay. Let go.”

His breath hitches, and he bucks wildly, collapsing against your chest with a low, broken groan. The hot heaviness of him pulsing into you releases a shockwave of pleasure down you spine. You gasp as your core clenches, spreading his heat, but it’s not quite enough, you’re not quite ready, and you grit your teeth at the loss of friction as he softens inside you. 

You watch his face twitch, relief and ecstasy and something else, something fierce and sharp that you can’t possibly name.

You groan, reaching your fingers down to your core, battering against him. You tug at your clit, index finger tap-dancing in that perfect circular motion that sends you straight over the edge as Javi flops bonelessly beside you.

Desperate for contact, you sink into him, still working to salvage that orgasm, concentrating hard on the rapid rise and fall of his ribcage with each chugging breath, the heat of his body wrapped around you like a second skin. His eyes flutter open, and there’s a look of quiet desperation on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he babbles, reaching for you with wide eyes. “Babe, I -”

“Shh, shh, shh, shh,” you reassure him, batting his hand aside with your elbow before he can interfere. The waves are crescendoing now, almost painful in their intensity. You’re so fucking close, words and reason are beyond you. “S’okay, Jav, I’m close… I just need…  need you to…. “

“What do you need, baby? Anything.”

“Just - just be here.”

Javi inhales sharply, then gathers you closer to him. “Yeah,” he murmurs, resting his face in the crook of your neck, peppering you with the softest of kisses. One hand rests firmly on your head, its thumb working little circles on your uninjured temple, the other trailing down your body to splay at the sensitive underside of your belly. “I’m here, baby,” he whispers raggedly into your ear. “I’m here.”

Oh god, oh god. The pressure fucking hurts, burning in your toes, clenching in your core, and just when you think that you’re useless today, that sex is absolute bullshit and you can’t possibly take anymore, that -

“You’re so…  my god, baby, you’re fucking perfect.”

It’s not Javi’s tone, broken as is is. It’s the frankness of the confession, the rawness. Javier Peña is not a sweet talker, especially not in bed. He’s not pandering to you. It’s more like the words have been dragged from him at gunpoint, pulled from the very deepest recesses of his subconscious, and it’s that honesty, that awed, reverent authenticity, that drives you over the edge.

It all happens in an instant. The bubble of tension in your core bursts abruptly, and you come with a choked gasp, mind blinking in and out as you ride out wave after wave of sweet relief. Javi is with you the whole time, cradling you in his arms as you shatter. 

It’s not the longest orgasm you’ve had, or even the most intense, but there’s something about him holding you, about sharing the same skin and air and listening to him murmur sweetly in your ear, that transcends any release you've ever experienced. You ride the waves of your orgasm, swearing to the heavens that you’re breaking apart, and somehow, you’re taking Javi with you like you never have before, splintering and reconverging in a way that’s intimate and vulnerable and precious beyond words.

You come back to reality, breathless and trembling, and the first thing you notice is Javi staring at you with something like reverence in his expression. 

“Hey,” he breathes, running a gentle finger down your cheek. 

“Mmm,” you curl into his chest, just breathing him in, all warm, sticky skin and stale cigarette and perfect man. 

You stay that way for a long time.

“I missed you,” Javi whispers hoarsely, pressing soft lips against your ear. 

“I know,” you choke, because you do. That rush of clarity that had effused you in the front hallway is only more potent now. You and Javi had been dancing around each other for months, each of you too stubborn and too afraid to admit to the other that your feelings ran so much deeper than you let on. It’s so obvious now, how stupid you’d both been, and how much you’d missed by being stupid. 

You’re horrified to feel tears tracking down your cheeks. God, reality has caught up with you all at once, exhaustion and fear and horror and relief all snarled up with post-coital vulnerability, and you curl deeper into Javi, tucking your face down in an effort to hide.

He notices, though. He always notices. “Baby?” Javi tilts your face up, tracking over you with concerned, dark eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Exposure turns your tears to choked sobs, and it’s all you can do to speak. “I’m fine,” you gasp, and it’s both the truth and a lie. You’ve never felt safer than you feel now, or more connected to another human than you are to Javier Peña in this moment. 

And that’s the thing. There’s still so much left to say. So many emotions, so many worries, so much grief. It all wars for dominance in you, everything at once, and you’re not even sure what the fuck you’re crying about until all of the sudden, you’re choking on words.

“Emilio,” you gasp. “He - he -”

Javi draws a sharp breath of understanding, wrapping strong arms around you as you cry. 

“He was… he was gone… and there was nothing I could do!”

“Oh, baby,” Javi murmurs into your ear, rubbing tiny circles into the bare skin of your back. “I know. I know. I’m so, so sorry.”

“And, and…” You’re sobbing so hard that your chest burns, and it’s all you can do to breathe, but the dam has burst, and it’s all coming out now, whether you want it to or not. “Oh, god, Javi, I missed you, too.”

He chuckles a little at that, peppering your forehead with gentle kisses and thumbing the tears from your cheeks. 

“Steve was right,” he confesses, tucking your head under his chin. “We’re both idiots.”

This startles a wet giggle from you. You imagine Murphy confronting Javi like he’d confronted you, red-faced and indignant and insisting that you both deserve one another. “Yeah,” you sniffle through your tears. “He was.”

“He’ll be insufferable about it, too.” Javi’s holding your hand now, the pad of his thumb rubbing back and forth, back and forth over your knuckles. You sigh breathily into his chest, crying until your sobs turn to shudders, and then finally, until you’re wrung raw and thoroughly exhausted. 

Javi holds you the whole time.

You exhale raggedly, noticing for the first time just how slimy you are. “Ugh, gross,” you mutter, covering your face with your hand as you draw away from Javi, horrified. 

Jesus Christ, if you’d just slung snot all over Javier Peña’s bare chest… god, you think you won’t survive the humiliation.

But Javi doesn’t seem bothered. He sits up, glancing around his bedroom for a tissue. Finding nothing, he shrugs out of his shirt, offering it to you silently.

You stare at it, then him. 

“What?” he asks, incredulous. He’s still holding out the shirt, eyebrow cocked as if to question why you won’t just take it. 

 “Nothing,” you say. And that’s a lie. There’s something so uniquely Javi about the gesture, wanting you to wipe your nose with the shirt off his back. But that’s just him - genuine, resourceful, efficient. It’s cute and perfect and ridiculous, and it makes your chest swell and ache.

But you can’t quite put all of that into words right now, and you know he wouldn’t understand even if you tried, so you take the shirt from him with a grateful smile and blow your nose in it like a goddamn heathen. 

Javi wads it in a tight ball when you’re finished, chunking it unceremoniously on the floor. 

You roll your eyes, and he smirks at you, squeezing your hand as he climbs out of bed. After his cigarettes, you think. “Pretty sure you dropped them on the kitchen floor,” you call after him. 

“Yup,” he verifies from the hallway.

You take the opportunity to duck into the bathroom and clean up, and by the time you’re done, Javi’s waiting for you, propped up against the headboard with his eyes shut, smoke curling from his mouth. He pats the bed beside him, not looking up, and you snuggle under his arm, sighing contentedly. 

This is new, the cuddling, sharing his bed, burrowing against his side as he smokes, and you savor every detail. His skin is still slick with cooling sweat, and you can hear his heartbeat beneath his ribs where your head rests, slow and steady. Neither of you need to speak, each just drawing comfort from the presence of the other.

Afterglow, you decide, is a very good word for it.

“Javi?” you ask after a long, long time.

“Yeah?” he whispers. You wonder if he thought you were asleep.

“What is this?” You wave your hand, indicating the tiny space between his chest and yours. You know what it looks like, and you know what it is for you, but you can’t stand the thought of leaving anything uncertain between you, not after all of this.

Javi takes a deep drag of his cigarette. He holds that breath for a long time, but the silence doesn’t scare you, not anymore. That’s just Javi’s thinking face, the one you know so well.

After a while, Javi turns to face you fully. “This is me,” he starts slowly, reaching for your hands and lifting them to his chest, “deciding that I’m not going to miss any more opportunities.”

Your breath catches. That sounds - well, coming from Javier Peña, it sounds an awful lot like a vow. 

“I’m all in, Ears.” Javi kisses each of your hands in turn. “If that’s okay with you.” He glances up almost hesitantly, the question burning in his eyes.

There’s something about the gravitas of the delivery that hints that his words are more than they seem. Javi’s gaze is pinned to yours, dark and serious, and a shiver runs down your spine. You might be lacking some context, but Javi’s resolve is impossible to miss. 

You consider it for only half a second. You’ve known for a long time now that there’s a lot more at stake in Colombia than just your career. Hell, you’d known that from the moment you let Javi walk away from your apartment for the first time. And he’s made his position pretty clear, too. You bite back a loopy grin as you remember him blowing past Martinez at headquarters. 

Yeah, there’s no salvaging this secret.

"All in," you say, gripping his hands tightly and wishing you could be half as eloquent and intense and awesome as he is. “I like the way that sounds.”

It’s the honest truth. 

Javi breaks out into a soft smile that shows off that single dimple, leaning down and pressing his lips to your forehead. “Looks like we’re on the same page, then.”

“Yeah,” you try to answer, just as you are interrupted by a huge yawn.

Javi snorts. “Go to sleep, Ears,” he says fondly, pointedly throwing back the bed covers. You shoot him a petulant frown, and he rolls his eyes, undeterred. “Seriously, baby. This is just getting stupid now.”

“Whole day is stupid,” you mutter darkly as you climb under the blankets - not because he told you to, but because you want to.

“Oh really?” Javi teases. “The whole day?”

“Well,” you pretend to contemplate. “Guess the sex was alright.” You grin wolfishly at him from beneath the covers. 

His response does not disappoint. “Alright?” He presses a hand to his chest, wounded. “Christ, baby, kick a man while he’s down.” He side-eyes you, frowning. “Guess I really do need to up my game, huh?”

“Your words, Jav,” you mumble. The full force of your exhaustion has hit you with a vengeance, and talking is hard. 

“I will make it up to you baby,” he growls in your ear, suddenly serious. “You know I will.”

“Mmhmm,” you sigh. Any other time, that voice would have gone straight to your core, but now, not so much. “I do.”

“Good.” He drops a kiss on your nose, then slips out of the bed. The loss of his body heat is enough to draw you out of your stupor, just for a moment. 

“Stay?” you call pathetically, just as the lamp flicks off. 

Oh. 

Javi settles back in beside you, wrapping his arms around your chest and nuzzling into the back of your neck with his nose. “Yeah, babe,” he whispers into your ear as you finally, finally drift off. “Not going anywhere.”

♠

Author notes/ confessions:

Whew, and that’s a wrap. Big, big notes here guys. I am incapable of being brief, apparently. 

First, I know a lot of you are chomping at the bits to know who the fuck bombed Ears’ apartment. I tried to place a few little clues here and there, but ROE takes place sometime between 2.06 and 2.07. To summarize, Los Pepes, the vigilante group targeting Escobar, is funded by the Cali cartel. In retaliation, Escobar starts bombing Cali cartel owned business - their drug stores in particular. This really heated up in Bogotá around December 1992, which is when ROE ends. 

Now, here’s the fun thing - Javi is absolutely already working with Los Pepes at this point - a relationship he initiated during the month that he and Ears were on the outs. Ears’ intuition in the car is correct - Javi does know, or suspect, more than he’s saying. This is a major plot point for a story that I have in the pipeline, but working that in here - god, guys, that’s too much, and ROE needed to end like 10k words ago, honestly. 

That being said, if anybody has interest in being a beta, or just letting me scream ideas at them, hit me up. This little “one shot” has turned into a full blown universe in my brain, and these ideas are dying to get out. 

The sex. Yeah, I know the sex isn’t great, but I wanted it that way. It was a strange choice on my part, both for Javi’s character and as a first foray into writing smut, but it just seemed appropriate. Sex is rarely ever as mind-blowing as depicted in fic, and besides, these two have had lots and lots of perfect sex. They’re a pretty equal match in that department, but this time is different. I wanted to put the emotions on display, rather than the physicality. It just makes sense that this time would be rushed, desperate, and messy. They are both emotionally and physically exhausted. Also, I really, really wanted to come full circle from the shower scene, where Ears never gets her completion, and also the scene on the sofa when Ears comforts Javi after a terrible day by saying, “I’m here.” There’s some sort of cathartic and earned about Ears bringing herself to completion while Javi just holds her. That being said, I know I owe Javi, and you guys, some smutty one-shots. I plan to deliver, I promise.

You’ll notice that I mention ears choking, coughing, sputtering, breathing, wheezing, feeling a tightness in the chest, aching… she’s got a small pulmonary contusion from being in such close proximity the blast zone. It’s a common injury in bombing survivors, and hers isn’t massive or life threatening, just inconvenient. Pulmonary contusion symptoms tend to develop hours or days after the injury, so she’ll steadily get worse, and when she does, the whole story of her experience with the explosion WILL come out. She’s still got a lot of trauma to process, both physically and emotionally, but Javi is gonna be there every step of the way (after he flips shit first, that is). I’ll let you guys imagine this one, though, because I have already dragged ROE out far longer than I really should have, and it’s mostly medical bs, anyway. 

Last of all, if you’re still here, thank you. From the bottom of my heart. I haven’t written in years, and this story pushed me far outside of my comfort zone. Your support, comments, likes, reblogs, reaction gifs - they all mean the world to me. 

@tiffdawg​, you are directly responsible for this dumpster fire. I hope you’re proud. :)

Much, much love, and a happy new year to each of you.

~ Jay

[randomtwistedlife]

Two Ghosts

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Female Reader

Summary: You are on a recon mission in Marley and run into Reiner. Little angsty. 

Note: I just finished the anime and the manga and there are a lot of feelings and hence, this one shot was born. One huge spoiler regarding Reiner. If you know what I’m talking about, you can read this. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, spoiler ahead. POV shifts between reader and Reiner. 

Based on Two Ghosts by Harry Styles

Feedback is appreciated.

We're not who we used to be

We're just two ghosts standing in the place of you and me

Trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat

You pulled the hood of your cape onto your head as you weaved across the sea of people. Glancing at the setting sun, you let out a curse. You were late. His letter, which was tightly clutched in your hands, had instructed you to meet him at the specified address tonight as soon as the sun set. Even though he hadn’t written a lot about himself, most likely afraid that the letter would fall into the wrong hands, you knew it was him from his handwriting and the way he wrote the words.

Jean was here. In Marley.

You had arrived in Marley a little over a month ago on a recon mission. The mission was simple — infiltrate Marley, specifically Liberio, because that’s where the Warrior program was, scout the high ranked officials, and understand the socio-political situation. It was the solitude and the feeling of otherness that was hard to deal with. Everyone on this side of the sea hated you. Well, not you specifically, but your kind. You just wanted to talk freely with someone. Though Eren was here as well, he wasn’t an option. He had been here almost as long as you, but visiting him at the hospital would raise too many eyebrows considering Eren’s secret identity was not supposed to have any family. And so you stayed away. But now Jean was here.

Your face hurt from smiling so much. It was hard to remember the last time you had been this happy. You would tell him all the information you had been able to gather till now and then, you would drink and eat and have fun with your friend. Just one night of fun - you deserved that after everything. You had already thought of all the questions you were going to throw at him. You wanted to know how everyone was doing back home — Armin, Mikasa, Connie, Sasha, Commander Hange, and Captain Levi. Thinking about your home and your friends left you with a sense of longing. Closing your eyes, you brushed aside the melancholic feeling. You will reunite soon. Walking a little faster, you looked up to locate the bar you were supposed to meet Jean at and that is when you bumped into him.

                                                            ~~~

Reiner sighed. He had just dropped an enthusiastic Gabi at her home, and all he wanted to do now was get drunk and fall asleep. Sometimes, being around Gabi was tiring for him. The girl was hell-bent on inheriting his Armoured Titan thinking that it was the biggest honour in the world. How could he tell her otherwise? He himself didn’t know what he believed. He did, however, know that he didn’t want his cousin to go through what he did. But how does he explain all the anger, and the sadness, and the guilt that is buried deep inside of him to a 12-year-old when he himself couldn’t make any sense of his feelings?

If he hadn’t been lost in his thoughts and was watching where he was going, he probably would have avoided the collision altogether. When he finally realised what was happening, it was too late. There she was, her face covered behind her cape and walking straight towards him. The moment she crashes into him, Reiner holds her shoulders to help balance her. As he does so, he notices the piece of paper she was holding fall down on the road.

She apologises, so does he. As she walks past him, he bends down to pick up the piece of paper and calls out to her.

“You dropped something.”

She turns, and the world around him fades away.

                                                            ~~~

You have been on enough battlefields to understand what people mean when they say, “Time moved slowly” but this was the first instance you fully understood what “Time stood still” meant. You don’t know how long you have been standing on the street. Jean’s letter left forgotten in his hands. He cannot have that letter; it could compromise the entire operation. But at this moment, you can’t seem to care. You should snatch the letter and run away, but you don’t. You just stand there staring into his hazel eyes.

Long gone is the young boy that you looked up to. His hair is longer and his sharp cheekbones are now slightly covered under his goatee. You had grown up in the last four years, but so had he. His eyes were wide and staring back into your own. You opened your mouth to say some something - anything - but words wouldn’t come out. You could hear a loud thudding - maybe it was your heart or maybe your head, you weren’t sure. Your mind was blank all because he was standing in front of you.

Reiner Braun. The boy you had fallen in love with. The boy who was responsible for the death of your family and friends. The boy - no, man - who could still make your heart flutter.

You had known that there was a high possibility of running into him, but you still volunteered to be a part of the infiltration. Maybe you wanted to run into him. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Move! Speak! Do something! You screamed internally, but you felt frozen to your spot.

“Y/N,” he spoke, his voice shaky.

Your heart skips.

“Y/N,” he calls out to you.

The sound of his voice accelerated the already rampant pounding of your heart, and it felt like it would burst any second.

He took a step towards you. You took a step back.

“No,” your voice soft but firm.

You couldn’t face him after everything he had done.

                                                              ~~~

The one thing Reiner had wanted more than anything in his life was to see you again. Of course, he never expected that to ever come true. Ever since his return from Paradis, he has spent a countless number of nights thinking about how if he ever met you again, he would tell you everything and you would forgive him. He never expected that to happen either, but isn’t that why they are called dreams? Late at night, he could hope to see you again. In his dreams, he could imagine spending a life with you.

And now here you were. Standing right in front of him.

The young girl he had fallen in love with was now a beautiful woman. Not that you weren’t beautiful before. Back when he was pretending to be a soldier of Paradis, he had seen you covered in blood, sweat and grime several times and you were still the most beautiful human to ever grace the planet in his eyes. Your hair, which looked much shorter than the last time he had seen you, was framing your face. Besides the guarded expression that you wore, your eyes were locked with his own.

“No,” you spoke as you stepped away from him.

His throat went dry. His palms moistened and he could hear the crinkle of the piece of paper he was holding as he clenched his hands. Reiner couldn't be certain that this wasn't a dream. His hands were itching to touch you, to feel the smoothness of your skin, and to confirm that you were indeed standing in front of him.

“I —” he spoke again, but stopped. What could he even say? That he was sorry? A simple ‘I’m sorry’ wasn’t enough. He knew he could never atone for all the violence he had ensued; for all the people that were dead because of him. The apology that was stuck in his throat was too little, too late.

You tilted your head slightly, and Reiner saw how your guarded expression slowly changed into something else. Your eyebrows narrowed and your face flushed a deep shade of red.

“Reiner,” you spat out his name.

Although he was expecting it, the venom in your voice startled him. The air between the two of you had shifted, becoming much more tense. His glance flickered from you to his surroundings. He could feel their watchful gaze on the two of you. Everybody in Liberio knew who he was. The people walking by seemed quite interested in what was happening between the Armoured Titan and the woman he was with. Looking back at you, he realised things could go south quickly. Hastily, he reached for your arm, without giving you a chance to fight him, and dragged you to the nearest alley, away from prying eyes.

“Back off, Braun.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“And you shouldn’t have been at my home, but things don’t always happen according to plan now, do they?” you retorted.

“I know this doesn’t count for anything, but I’m sorry. If I could go back in time, I would do things differently,” he admitted.

You looked away, breaking off the eye contact, “Well, you can’t.”

The slanting rays of the setting sun shone on your face, making you seem more alluring than ever. He was so screwed. 

                                    ��                        ~~~

His admission caught you off guard. Did he regret doing what he did? Was he genuinely sorry? He did apologise, but how could you trust what he said? You had trusted him once, with your life and your heart, and look what happened.

“Was any of it real?” you asked.

Your eyes were trained on the cat rummaging for scraps in the alley dumpster, but your ears were straining to hear his answer. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, specially if he confirmed he had merely used you for his mission.

“Yes. All of it. All of us,” he replied.

You turned your head and risked a peek in his direction.

“I — The mission was to break the wall, blend in, and bring the Founding Titan to Marley. You were never supposed to be a part of it.”

His eyes were focused on you.

“I tried really hard, you know. I tried not to fall in love with you. Annie and Bertolt realised what was happening as well and tried to keep me away from you, but we all know how that worked out,” he chuckled ruefully. “You were fierce when you protected and stood up for your friends. You were sweet and kind and understanding. You had been through so much —” his eyes cast downward “ — and yet you still could love and be kind.”

He looked back up at you. “By the time I realised what you meant to me, it was too late.”

You screwed your eyes shut. No, this couldn’t be happening. Four years. It had taken you four years to heal your heart and here he was breaking down your walls all over again.

“Stop,” you whispered.

“You deserve the truth, (Y/N)” he spoke softly.

You shook your head and opened your eyes. They burned with unshed tears.

“I never meant to hurt you, and I would spend the rest of my life making things right. I loved you.”

All this time you had been telling yourself that the bond you had shared with Reiner was nothing but a lie. He never cared about you. You were simply a means to an end for him. But the words spilling from his mouth were enough to turn your world upside down. You looked up as you felt the heat from his body. You could feel his breath on your face. Were you two standing this close before?

“I love you,” he whispered.

Your heart skipped a beat, your eyes jumping from his lips to his eyes. Reiner leaned in and you let him. You parted your lips and felt him washing over you like a wave of warmth. Your entire body tingled. The kiss started soft and slow with your arms locked with his. He took a step back when the two of you came back for air.

“I’m sorry, I needed to do that —” he started speaking, but you placed your hands behind his neck and pulled him in.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, holding your body close. He pulled you in, claiming your mouth once again, this time hungry and intense, until your knees gave in. His hands were on your hips and he lifted you up as if you weighed nothing. He moved the two of you so your back touched the wall. His body was pressing into yours and you inhale his scent. He still smelled like the boy who won you over years ago.

The two of you come back for air and he presses his forehead against yours.

There were a million thoughts running through your head. Reiner couldn’t know why you were in Marley, he couldn’t know about your friends being in Marley either, and oh shit, you were supposed to meet up with Jean. But right now, none of that mattered to you. All that mattered was that Reiner was here, with you, kissing you.

“I love you too, Reiner.”

                                                              ~~~

If an ex who killed your friends and family tries to walk back into your life, please run far, far away.

[amjustagirl]

Notes: Title stolen from Song Of The Soul XXII by Khalil Gibran.

Companion piece: In the absence of sound (she hears her heart break)

Wrote this indulgent piece angst and fluff to reset after the very angsty The Astrophile (which took a lot of my own heart). As always, comments are gladly appreciated <3

Summary: Yaku bursts into her life like a hurricane, even whilst Akaashi lingers on like the memory of a summer breeze.

Pairings: Yaku x reader, Akaashi x reader

She runs into Yaku at the New Year’s Party the Japanese embassy in Moscow throws for expatriates (a fancy term to describe birds who’ve flown the coop after finding it unbearably small). He’s in the middle of chattering with a bemused waiter in very broken Russian about the spread when he explodes into a delighted laugh, so loud that she startles and spills her drink all over his shoes.

Pandemonium ensues – the restaurant staff scatter to fetch napkins and she’s trying to pick up the pieces of her broken glass, stammering out apologies (because dear god, her boss is going to have her head for upsetting a guest – especially one so prominent as Yaku Morisuke, the only Japanese volleyball player who broke into the Russian professional league), when his laugh cuts through the noise.

‘This was my favourite pair of shoes’ he tells her when he stops laughing, and she’s about to launch into a litany of apologies when he grins at her cheekily – ‘But you can make it up to me by buying me dinner instead’.

‘Now?’ she gapes at him in shock. ‘I can’t, I’m working’.

‘Whenever’, he answers, stealing her phone from her hands. ‘Look – here’s my number. Call me when you can’.

She’s left in shock, watching him in silence as he bounces off to join another conversation.

She texts him that night (because a deal is a deal, and she always pays her debts) and they arrange to meet the next day at a dumpling place he recommends.

She’s there five minutes early, and he bursts into the restaurant five minutes late, apologizing whilst complaining about goddamned Russian traffic. He orders for the both of them in such an excruciatingly terrible Russian accent that she winces, but he must have been here before because the waiter takes their order without batting an eye. The owner, a wizened old lady with apples in her cheeks swings by to smack kisses on his cheeks noisily.

‘It’s a little strange, but it’s the closest thing I can find to home’, he tells her when the waiter presents them with their dumplings with a flourish. It is indeed strange – the dumpling skin is thicker and doughier than she’s used to with Japanese  gyozas, stuffed with varying fillings of beef and pork and cheese, but his eyes are bright when she takes her first bite and gives a hum of appreciation because it is as he says, strange but good.

There is indeed an echo of home in her heart but she clamps it down firmly.

‘It’s good right?’ he asks and she nods mutely, mouth full of dumplings. He talks her ear away, telling her about his time in the Russian league, how he’s just made the first team this week. She learns he can’t remember a time when he doesn’t know the feel of a volleyball in his hands, and how he broke his mother’s heart when he chose to train outside of Japan, six thousand, four hundred and forty-eight miles away from home.  

He asks her why she’s in Moscow. She tells him she’s studied Russian as a child – her father, a math professor, believed it necessary for her and her sister to learn Russian, and while she’s never quite had a head for numbers, she takes to languages like a fish to water – and since she was looking for a new adventure, Moscow seemed like a good fit.

(She does not tell him she’s actually on the run from her broken heart)

‘You can teach me Russian then’, his words presumptuous, but there’s mirth and warmth flickering in his eyes that makes her hesitate to tell him off.

‘Maybe’, she responds with a shrug, standing up to pay the bill. To her surprise he lets her pay without a fight - very unlike Akaashi, who had only agreed grudgingly to allow her to split the bill on their first date.

‘It’s my turn to pay when we go out next time’, he tells her when they stand outside the restaurant about to part.

‘Will there be a next time?’ she asks him archly, and he pouts at her with puppy-dog eyes. He texts her less than five minutes after he takes his leave, inviting her to an ice skating rink.

To neither of their surprise, there is indeed, a next time, and a next time after that.

Yaku has an extremely sweet tooth, unlike Akaashi who prefers the bitterness of black coffee.

She tells him to drop in on her apartment after training (only if he’s up to it of course, she’s learnt that lesson from Akaashi after all). He does so without complaint, and she’s removing the pie from the oven when he lets himself in with the key he sweet-talked out of her.

‘Tadaima’, he calls cheerily, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he drops his gloves on the kitchen table. ‘Is that for me?’ he asks, gaping bug-eyed at the steaming pie in her hands.    

‘I don’t see anyone else it could be for’, she teases, setting the pie down on the table, cutting him a slice. The fruit seller at the corner of her street had a sale on apples, and she remembers Yaku telling her that he used to buy apple pie on the way to school every week, but would always end up giving it up to Kenma as a bribe to train harder during practice and finish running his laps.

He takes a bite and moans loudly even though he burns his tongue – it’s so good, a flaky, buttery crust hiding a jammy filling of caramelized apple and browned butter. It tastes like home in the fall when the leaves turn golden and red, when his mother brings home apples on discount from the store and he and his little brothers fight over the apples pastries his grandmother makes.

‘I love you’, he declares firmly, as he reaches for a second helping, and he pretends not to notice when she shrinks back and does not respond.

Yaku revels in public displays of affection - unlike Akaashi, who used to shy away from it.

‘I like your hair. Have you always kept it short?’ He asks her one day when they’re feeding ducks in the park near his house.

She laughs at him as he quacks exaggeratedly back at a very greedy duck chasing the bread in his hand and answers without thinking - ‘no, I cut it before I left Japan because I hear it’s what break-ups make you do’. Then she freezes, because this is the first time she’s ever alluded to Keiji to him – it’s a part of her life that she’d very much like to bury in a deep, dark vault and throw the key away.

But the expression on his face is very much like a cat eyeing a rat it’d like very much to trap and she’s right, he’s relentless (she should’ve known that, could’ve seen that from just watching one of his matches). As he walks her home, she finds herself telling him about Keiji - how his lack of affection and inability to step away from his job created a silence so still she heard her heart break.

When she finishes what she self-deprecatingly terms her tale of woe, he pulls her to a stop, ignoring the indignant protests of the people walking behind them. ‘What on earth, Mori’, she squawks, but he ignores her too, choosing instead to wind his hands into the ends of her scarf and tug her face to face with him. She does not want to look at him, does not want to see pity in his eyes – but there is none of that, only a quiet tenderness that warms her to her core.

‘I love you’, he tells her softly, and it’s a wonder she can hear every inflection of his voice through the rush of blood to her ears. ‘I will continue saying it as many times as you need, as loudly as I can until your heart is no longer broken and the silence is gone’.

Then, without an ounce of shame, he kisses her right in the middle of the busy street, completely oblivious to the glares of the people who pass them by.

Yaku is quick to anger, whereas Akaashi is the calm before the storm.

She’s told him again and again not to send her flowers – she swears she’s developed an allergy to them, the memory of Keiji sending her flowers every Friday even after they broke up sends bile up her throat (pink camellias for longing, violets for devotion, forget-me-nots for obvious reasons) – but Yaku doesn’t listen and sends her a bouquet of red roses for her birthday (for love).

So she screams at him when he pops by her flat after training –  because why on earth doesn’t he just listen to her, he knows she hates flowers, what on earth would possess him to send her flowers for her birthday, and he screams back that he does, damn it - but he’s not Keiji, he’s spent their entire time together trying to prove that, why can’t she just trust him for once.

Finally, he storms out shouting that he’ll come back when she’s calmed down, when she’s finally ready to forgive him for whatever Keiji has done – even though for the last goddamned time, he’s not bloody Keiji and she sinks to the floor, wondering why she’s allowed the ghost of Keiji to continue haunting her, six thousand, four hundred and forty-eight miles away from home.  

He’s right - it isn’t fair to him for her to keep comparing him to Keiji, to keep watching and waiting for him to slip up, not when he’s poured all his love and affection into her – into them . He’s not Keiji, never has been and never will be, and she wonders if this is the point his patience and kindness and love finally runs out.

But she’s not going to let another man she loves walk out of her life without a fight.

So she throws on her coat and climbs down the stairs, determined to march to Yaku’s apartment just a couple of streets away when she slams into him head-first at the corner of her street. ‘I’m sorry’ they both chorus immediately, and despite themselves, they break into a laugh.

‘I’m sorry for not listening’, he says, but she shakes her head, determined to say her piece. ‘You're right, it's my fault for not letting Keiji go. I should have figured this out earlier, but I know you’re not Keiji, you never have been, and I trust you never will be’.

And to drive the point home, thanking her lucky stars he’s not tall, she pulls him close by his collar and presses her lips to his. ‘I love you’, she whispers, when they finally come up for air. He looks at her like she just hung the stars up in the sky.

The next day, she presents him with a literal bushel of red roses, and he laughs at that - loud and clear and bright.

(The sound makes her heart feel whole again)

‘Why don’t you move with me’, Yaku asks her matter of factly through a mouthful of rice, at the end of her tirade about her awful landlord who just tried to stiff her by doubling her rent in less than a year with a month’s notice.

She stills, hand frozen halfway to her mouth. He does not swallow for fear of choking the mix of uncertainty and hope rising in his throat - because sometimes even though he promises to wait for her as long as she needs, he wonders if she’ll ever forget that he’s not her bloody ex – until he senses her relaxing her tense shoulders, and decides to close in for the kill.

‘Come on’, he wheedles. ‘We could even adopt a kitten so you won’t be lonely when I’m away for work’, and he laughs fondly when her face lights up. There we go.

‘You drive a hard bargain, but alright’, she pretends to grouse, but she laughs along with him when he triumphantly presses his lips to her cheek, dodging her swats when she scolds him for leaving grains of rice on her face.

They adopt a black kitten from the shelter and they name him ‘Kuroo’.

Much like its namesake, their cat is a piece of shit and contrary as hell. He doubles over in laughter when he comes home one day to find her chasing Kuroo (the cat, not the middle blocker) around the house, furniture upended everywhere. He later understands through her huffs that she meant to give him a bath.

He sends endless pictures of Kuroo (again, the cat and not the middle blocker) to the Nekoma groupchat and they all fall head over heels in love. Kai sends him advice on how to grow catnip in an apartment. Fukunaga asks to video call the cat more than he texts him. Shibayama and Inouka ship a box of clothes for the cat because they’re worried it won’t survive the Russian winter. The worst offenders are Kenma who sets up social media accounts for it, and bloody international supermodel Lev who pours oil on flames by tagging the damn cat on his own posts. Yaku is alarmed to wake up one day and find that his cat is more popular than him.

Well, all of them save for its namesake, who threatens to retaliate by naming his dog ‘Yaku’.

He gets drafted onto the National Team, and he’s elated until he realizes that he’ll have to spend months away from her.

‘It’s fine’, she reassures him. ‘Kuroo will keep me company while you’re back home’. The little demon licks its ass and looks intolerably smug when he shoots a glare at it behind her back, because he knows damn well the cat is going to take advantage of his absence to take over his side of the bed.

He extracts a promise from her to call him every day (screw the time difference, seriously) and he in turn promises to send her tickets to watch him play. Then he packs his bags and flies back to Tokyo.

It’s nostalgic being back in his childhood home. The posters from his teenage years are still on his bedroom walls (gods – he was such a horny bastard back then), and his mother smothers him with his favourite foods and far too much attention. But he lays awake at night thinking of their little apartment filled with the smell of her baking and the sound of her singing and realizes he misses  Kuroo - again, the cat, not the middle blocker, who’d miss him - despite its despicable way of stalking him while he takes a shit and most of all - he misses  her.

He figures he has it bad when he starts turning down his grandmother’s apple pastries because they remind him too painfully of the apple pies she makes after either of them have had a hard day at work, and wonders when he started thinking of Moscow and the little apartment he shares with her as  home.

But he soldiers on because playing for Japan is his dream (and has been, ever since he first learnt the thrill of keeping the ball in flight with his hands), and gets by on video calls and texts and pictures of Kuroo and the promise of dumplings and apple pies when he comes home.

He makes the mistake of mentioning that he has a girlfriend in Miya Atsumu’s earshot after practice one day.

‘You have a girlfriend?’ the piss-haired setter asks in disbelief. ‘You? Mr bossy - under five foot five – libero-chan managed to land himself a girl that’s willing to tolerate him?’

‘Just because you have an issue keeping girls from running away from you doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t find girlfriends’, Sakusa interjects flatly, face firmly masked up, trusty bottle of sanitizer pointed in Atsumu’s direction.

Yaku is about to claw Atsumu’s eyes out when Hinata prances by and asks to see a picture of said girlfriend. Growling, he whips out his phone, and is mollified when the rest of the team crowds around and pronounces her to be very pretty. Everyone – except Atsumu, who sulks in a corner, sneering that he could do better (no he can’t - he really can’t get a girl to save his life), and Bokuto, who corners him later when he’s about to leave.

‘She used to date Akaashi, you know?’ Bokuto tells him solemnly, a marked departure from his usual jovial self. ‘They broke up on a pretty bad note’.

Yaku does not in fact know, because she’s never mentioned her ex-boyfriend’s last name, always opting to refer to him as ‘Keiji’, a fairly popular name for guys their age. ‘Oh?’ he replies, and tries his best to sound encouraging and not derisive or threatening or whatever it is that Atsumu has accused him of over the past few weeks of training.

‘Yeah. She’s a nice girl, I met her once or twice, but between you and me, I don’t think Akaashi is really over her’.

Too bad for him, he wants to say but doesn’t, because despite whatever Atsumu might say about him, he’s tactful, thank you very much, and knows it’s probably not the best idea to badmouth his teammate’s best friend to his face, especially a teammate he likes as much as Bokuto. Instead, he stuffs his shoes in his bag, shrugging and grunting noncommittally before heading off.

He doesn’t mention this to her during their nightly video calls. He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want them to have to talk about him being an old acquaintance with her idiot ex over a call, their time together is too precious to be tainted by any mention of him. But there’s a part of him that wonders if it’s because he’s afraid that she’ll bump into Akaashi when she’s back in Japan and he might convince her to let him sweep her away. Akaashi is tall, dark and handsome, and most definitely smarter and more educated after all - a better match for her than him, an idiot that chases balls for a living.

But then her laughter chimes through his phone’s speakers as he pouts when she carries Kuroo to the screen to ask if he misses his daddy (the traitorous hell spawn refuses to even look at him) and it banishes the shadow of his doubts away. It’s as clear as day that she loves him, ball chasing idiot Yaku Morisuke.

He falls asleep to the sound of her humming his favourite songs.

She flies to Japan with their cat in tow a week before the Olympics and even though he’s moved into the Olympic dorms by then, he sneaks out to meet her for dinner as often as he can. Atsumu catches him once and grumbles something about  ‘hypocritical bossy know-it-alls’  - but shuts up when Yaku turns up for practice the next day and is too busy grinning ear to ear to yell at him for flubbing an easy receive as he usually does.

When he finally steps onto the court for his first match, it’s easy to get carried away, because the light bearing down on the court is brighter than any game he’s played in before, and the roar of the home crowd is so loud he swears the tremors in his feet are from the floor - but he doesn’t. Because there’s a girl in the VIP stands shouting his name, and maybe it’s childish of him, but he has something to prove - he wants to make her proud.

And he does, because they win.

The entire team is in the locker room when he hears the clatter of familiar footsteps, then a shrieked ‘Mori’ before she tackles him into a bone-crushing hug. Atsumu barks at her ‘not to break our dear libero-chan’, but neither of them pay him any mind - she doesn’t even care that he’s literally dripping in sweat and snot and tears - because they won, they won, they won  -

Then he looks up and sees Akaashi staring at them. Ah. The idiot ex-boyfriend has to ruin their moment.

Just as he’s wondering whether his fist should meet Akaashi’s eye or nose first, Bokuto swings by at the moment to distract her. She’s so excited at seeing a familiar face that she disengages herself from their hug and throws her arms around Bokuto instead. Yaku thinks that Bokuto is probably a lot smarter than most people give him credit for as Akaashi approaches him, his hand outstretched.

‘Take care of her’, Akaashi says with a bittersweet smile on his lips. ‘You’re a lucky man’.

He pauses briefly to glance at her - and gods she’s radiant even as she’s chattering away to Bokuto, her eyes sparkling, the light shining softly on her hair -  fuck, Atsumu’s right, he’s whipped - and tries to imagine a world where she slips through his hands. Suddenly, the twisted knot of spite in his chest unravels, and he can only feel the dregs of pity pooling in his belly. He's not blind, he can recognise the look of wistful regret on the taller man’s face, and he's certainly not deaf - he suspects that if he listens hard enough, he can hear Akaashi’s heart break.

I know, I’m lucky to have her - he wants to say but does not because that would mean twisting a knife in an already broken man. Instead, he steps forward to take Akaashi’s hand.

‘Always’, he promises firmly. Akaashi inclines his head in thanks.

Her heart is safe in my hands.

She returns to Russia first, and he follows a few weeks later, after a whirlwind of awards and press interviews.

He breaks into a run when he sees her standing at the arrivals gate with a bouquet of red roses and a cheeky grin on her face. ‘You’re rubbing it in at this point’, he pretends to pout, but rather spoils its effect when he swings her into his arms.

She cooks dumplings for dinner and there’s an apple pie waiting for him in the oven. His jaw drops in surprise when the dumplings taste exactly like his mother’s cooking. ‘I learnt it from your mum while you were at training, in case you already miss home’, she teases.

‘But with you, I am home’, he responds, his voice earnest and low. She flushes pink and blushes bright red when he carries her off to bed.

She is his home now, she and their cat in their little flat in Moscow bursting at its seams with apple pies and dumplings and  love .

‘I want this to be my forever’, he tells her later, laying his head in her lap. His heart skips a beat, waiting for her response.

‘So do I’, she finally replies, running her hands through his hair. Her heart hums quietly, finally in safe hands.

[solalunar-eclipse]

Sonic Boom - S3E1

Episode title: Friendship 101

Word count: about 3000 words

Author’s Note: I’m trying a rather new format for this fic, since it’s based on a TV show with various songs and camera angles. If you have any comments about whether it works well or not, please let me know!

(Also, the theme song choice is all thanks to khinesthetic, who used it here and inspired me to put it in this fic.)

Next

[cue Mr. Blue Sky by ELO (0:00-3:45)]

[The show opens on a zoomed-out view of Hedgehog Village from above. Stone walls separate the village from the wilderness outside. There are large spaces at several points throughout the structure for entry and exit. A large patch of grass with benches scattered about sits at one end of the village, and a marketplace made up of wood-and-cloth stalls runs along one of the walls. Houses are grouped in seemingly random clusters throughout the town, and the (in)famous Meh Burger stand sits all on its own, with picnic tables spread across its wooden flooring. As the music progresses, the camera begins to zoom in on the village- then on one of the streets in particular- and rotates down to eye level to face…]

Sonic the Hedgehog walked through the streets of Hedgehog Village with a bounce in his step, occasionally dancing to the music playing through his earbuds. As he wandered throughout the town, he passed the usual people running their stores, arguing over botched orders at Meh Burger, and, at one point, Aqua the Rabbit absolutely freaking out over the loss of a single follower on Angstagram (the latest social media network for moody teens).

He did a 360-degree spin before winking and pointing finger guns at Amy Rose when he spotted her haggling with the local grocery store owner. She paused briefly to wave at him with a smile. “Hi, Sonic!” she called, completely ignoring the irritated fennec in the process.

Then, the music froze and changed to something extremely ominous as she turned around to face the shopkeeper once more. A dangerous gleam appeared in her eyes as she pulled out her signature hammer. “Now then, about those prices you’ve been setting lately…”

The song cut back in as the view switched back to Sonic, who was now moving away from the scene at a slightly faster pace.

Really, though, he was more than happy to see his other friends not long after. Knuckles and Sticks were currently busy rummaging through the town’s garbage together, excitedly chatting about the latest piece of interesting junk they’d found, while Tails was fixing someone’s broken rain gutter (and attempting to ‘improve’ it in the process, which meant that it could now measure the amount and intensity of rainfall in a storm- a very useful, though unfortunately unwanted improvement).

Surprisingly enough, as he continued on his way through Hedgehog Village, he managed to get people from a few different places to wave back at him when he said hello. Although perhaps it wasn’t quite so surprising when one considered that this was one of the most cliched opening sequences that could possibly happen in any movie or TV show. Ever.

And of course, the only logical outcome of this scene led to everyone beginning to stop their usual activities and gather in one of the few open spaces in the town, clearly prepared to break into a fantastic musical dance number straight out of Broadway. Incredibly, this was one of the few moments in which everyone in the village seemed to be able to get along…

...until Eggman’s latest giant robot slammed feet-first into the ground, sending everyone off-kilter and scrambling for cover. Shrieks of panic rose in place of the music as the villagers fled the scene to hide in their houses. The dramatic entrance didn’t just ruin the mood, it absolutely crushed it with the sheer force of its impact.

And that was, obviously, when the show really began.

[cue In Your Face by Shockwave Sound (0:00-1:04)] 

[Each of the five members of Team Sonic appears on a black screen with their name spelled out in their signature colors (blue, yellow, red, pink, and green) and does a couple of cool fighting moves, followed by snippets of scenes featuring them from previous episodes of the show for about eight seconds each. All five of them then appear together in their usual fighting stances, emphasizing their status as a team.

The Eggman logo then appears in an ominous, glowing red, backlighting the doctor himself and all his creations- before the lights flick on to reveal him alone in his evil lair with a green screen behind him, at which point he shrieks and covers the camera with a hand. Then, neon blue electronic lines begin to appear across the screen and the camera spirals to follow them, selecting one particular line to trace. Not long after, said line ends at a circle which, with a flash, turns into the words ‘Sonic Boom’. Beneath the title, it says ‘Ancient Secrets’ in neon blue.]

[Then the music ends, at which point the episode title- “Friendship 101”- appears for a few seconds in the same color before the show itself returns.]

Sonic scrambled to his feet and zipped over to Tails, pulling him up from where he’d fallen after the robot’s overdramatic arrival. Amy managed to do the same with both Knuckles and Sticks simultaneously, which let Sonic stare for a moment, startled, and then promptly resolve to remember not to get on her bad side anytime soon.

Soon enough, the team had scrambled into their usual positions, ready to fight. Amy and Sticks kicked the battle off by handling the various smaller robots that threatened to get too close to their team, never faltering (and in fact seeming a bit gleeful in the badger’s case) despite the sheer number of enemies. Knuckles, meanwhile, launched Sonic bodily into the air for Tails to catch, before picking up a boulder about the size of a house and lobbing it directly at the robot’s chest.

“Hey! Easy with the boulders- QuakeBot took a lot of effort to make, you know!” Eggman shrieked from above, hovering in the relative safety of his Eggmobile. 

(Relative, in this case, was of course in comparison to mixing absurdly volatile chemicals in a lab, bothering Shadow at any and/or all hours of the day, or being on Tails’s bad side when the fox had a glue gun. The doctor still remembered that situation all too well, and currently ranked it as far more terrifying than merely being punted into the stratosphere by kids under half his height and about a third his age.)

Sonic paused to stare at Eggman from where he was currently dangling in the air. A smirk began to spread slowly across his face. “…what did you just call it?”

“You heard me the first time!” the doctor roared, now incredibly embarrassed. “I named it that since it makes the ground shake when it moves, like an earthquake??”

General laughter came from the heroes assembled on the ground and in the sky.

“Argh! Nobody appreciates my genius around here! Now, QuakeBot, stop standing around and start attacking!”

“I suggested TerraBot, since it still has to do with earth and is a play on the word ‘terror’, but nobody ever listens to my ideas, now do they?” Orbot muttered irritably to himself, tucked inside the Eggmobile.

“I listen to all your ideas!” Cubot offered encouragingly.

Orbot’s mouth shifted into a small smile. “Thanks, Cubot.”

Meanwhile, Sonic had been pulled into a spin by Tails, who whirled the hedgehog around before letting him shoot downwards toward the robot in a spin dash- only for him to get caught and sent flying into the nearest house.

He shook off the surprise quickly (and apparently sustained absolutely zero damage despite having literally crashed through a house, because superpowered teenagers), darting back over to the group. “Well, uh, guess it’s time for Plan B then!”

Crickets chirped in the ensuing silence. Even the robot had stopped moving to hear what he had to say.

“And the plan is…?” Amy prompted.

Sonic folded his arms with a huff. “I dunno, I thought you guys would have one!?”

The pink hedgehog rolled her eyes at that. 

Tails piped up. “I have an idea! Sonic, you’re going to need to be curled up for this, okay?”

The hero promptly did just that, before emitting a muffled “mmhmm?” from inside his layers of quills.

“Alright then, Amy, I need you to hit Sonic with your hammer right at the side of this house.”

Sonic’s blood ran cold. “Whoa whoa whoa, wait a second can we maybe rethink thiaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAHHHHH!”

He ricocheted all over the palace like a pinball, slamming into several key points of the robot thanks to Tails’s rapid calculations. However, the robot was sadly unaffected by his screaming at a pitch that came dangerously close to shattering glass.

The robot was easily disabled and the attack overall quickly repelled after that. Thankfully, it took Sonic only a moment to recover from his impromptu stint as an out-of-control projectile and get back to fighting with the others…complete with a “Let’s do that AGAIN!” moment, which was met with a resounding no from both Amy and Tails. 

Their ears were both still rather sore from last time, after all.

After Eggman was punted all the way back to his island by a well-placed kick from Sticks, though, the crew was about to head over to Meh Burger for a post-battle meal when they discovered that they had an entirely different problem to take care of. The villagers, who were beginning to come out of hiding after the attack, were furious upon seeing the damage dealt to their homes and stores.

“How could you let this happen?” one shouted.

Before long, the villagers found themselves a more specific target when the owner of the house that Sonic had smashed into pointed her finger directly in his face. “This mess is awful!” she cried. “And it’s all his fault!”

Within seconds, a mob of people had descended upon the overtaxed teen.

“I’ve never known a hero so irresponsible.” one fumed.

“How dare you!” the fennec from earlier roared.

The elderly wolf of the village shook her cane at him. “Shame on you!”

Sonic could feel himself beginning to tense up as the villagers turned their ire on him. Whether or not he’d admit it to anyone, he needed two main things in order to be his usual heroic, cheerful self: open space and positive reinforcement. Right now, he was getting exactly the opposite of both of those.

And he was not feeling good about it.

He looked briefly over to his friends for help, but Sticks had already vanished, Knuckles and Tails looked more nervous than anything, and Amy was already walking towards him with that look in her eye…

“Sonic, next time you do need to work on making sure the robot doesn’t catch you, you know-”

A streak of blue shot out of the village, leaving nothing but a scorched trail of grass and the snap of a sonic boom behind.

Sonic didn’t slow down until he reached the mountains- which technically wasn’t very far from the town at all, so he ran quite a bit more after that until he ended up in the middle of the jungle. Then, he sat down with his back to a tree and his arms around his knees, feeling very unheroic and overall pretty lame.

The blue hedgehog frowned at the dirt. Honestly, some days it really did feel like nobody seemed to like him. The only person who ever even suggested he was important on a regular basis was Tails, and Sonic didn’t blame him at all for not jumping into the middle of that crowd. Tails was only thirteen to his seventeen and a half years old- not exactly an age when he should be expected to go toe-to-toe with a crowd of angry adults.

Still, though. When being a hero got him all risk (no matter how low) and no reward...it was difficult for him to keep hold of that core feeling of “I can make the world a better place to live in!”, which, despite all his other claims, was truly at the center of what had motivated him to start fighting against Eggman so long ago…

[The scene morphs in a manner which shows the lighting shifting so that the sun is overhead. A sound effect of birds chirping plays over the scene change. This implies that it’s been several hours since he first fled the village.]

Sonic was still lost in thought when the snap of a twig in the bushes made him jump to his feet in surprise. The surrounding vegetation rustled ominously for a moment...only to reveal the four members of his team in front of him. He watched them all cautiously, his expression tense. More than anything, he looked ready to run at a moment’s notice- something which only served to make his friends(?) seem a little more distressed. “Uh…hey, guys?” he began tentatively.

“Sonic, I…” Amy began forcefully, before stopping herself. At first, it looked like she was about to scold him again, but then suddenly her face fell. “Listen, Sonic, we’ve all been talking a lot about what happened back at the village…and there’s something I want to say.” She gave a slightly tired sigh. 

“I know we usually like to make jokes and witty commentary, but...sometimes, the world’s just a difficult place to be in.” she said. “...so we really do need to talk about serious stuff occasionally, even though I know it’s tough for you to even mention how you’re feeling. Unless, you know, it’s ‘great!’ or ‘cool!’ or something like that.”

Sonic cringed at the mere idea, looking more and more like he thought running away was the preferable option here.

“So what I wanted to say was that in a world where there are too many people trying to beat you down...what I was trying to do was tell you how to be more tolerant, because I thought that would help. I figured you can’t change how other people are going to be, just yourself, so I hoped that might make things better.

“But...I’m not actually a licensed therapist- yet, anyway. So I might have been wrong on how I went about that. Maybe...instead of telling you off for not being able to stop all those people...in the future I’ll pull out my hammer and tell them to knock it off already. Does that sound better to you?” she asked.

The blue hedgehog froze. “Ames…I...” he croaked, trying his best not to think about why exactly it felt like his throat was so tight all of a sudden.

Sticks folded her arms. “I like that plan! Those people are way too crazy sometimes…and you guys know I have a verrrrry high tolerance for crazy.”

“We can make the villagers quit bugging you together, just like how we fight Eggman!” Knuckles added encouragingly. “It’s always better that way, isn’t it?”

There was still one person who hadn’t spoken yet, though.

Suddenly, Tails crashed full-force into Sonic, squeezing him in a hug that for once he didn’t pretend to hate. “You know I’ve always, always, always got your back, right, Sonic? No matter what?” he asked, looking up at his older brother. “Even if I don’t always know how to do it right.”

The blue hedgehog simply nodded, not trusting his voice to help him maintain his ‘cool guy’ status.

“It’s okay if you don’t feel up to talking about it now, though.” the fox added understandingly, stepping back but still leaving a hand on his arm. 

“But!” Knuckles added. “We won’t tell anyone if you ever decide you do need to get some stress off your chest every once in a while!” He smacked his own chest with a fist for emphasis.

“Nobody needs to know.” Sticks growled, the camera suddenly showing a dramatic angle of her face as the lighting dropped noticeably.

“Uh…that’s kinda dark.” Sonic said, holding up a finger with a bit of a confused frown, which let the lighting and camera angle zip back to normal.

“Anyway!” The pink hedgehog clapped her hands together, turning to face the group as a whole. “What do you guys think about heading over to my house and watching some movies? I’ll even…” She sighed, her whole body slumping. “…make some messy, simple, unprofessional chili dogs. In my state-of-the art kitchen. I know Sonic probably could use a pick-me-up right now, after all.”

“Thanks, Ames! You’re the best!” the hedgehog in question said cheerfully, the promise of good food and great companionship boosting his mood significantly.

Then, his posture shifted once again into something a little more vulnerable. “And thanks to all you guys. For, y’know, everything.”

“Of course!” Amy chirped.

Tails smiled at him. “No problem, Sonic.”

Sticks folded her arms. “That’s what a team’s for, ain’t it?”

“Of course it is!” Knuckles said, in that rather confusing manner where nobody was actually sure if he understood anything about what had just happened.

The echidna actually walked over to Sonic after that particular declaration, though, placing a hand on his shoulder as his face became uncharacteristically serious for a second. “Really, Sonic, we can all help you out, alright? Nobody gets to yell at our leader without getting yelled at back!” he declared, punching a fist into his other hand.

The hedgehog blinked twice before looking up at his friend. “You…just called me the leader?”

“Well, duh! That’s why everyone calls it Team Sonic, right?” Knuckles asked with a smile, letting an awkward (but genuine) grin spread across Sonic’s face.

Within seconds, the hero found himself squeezed in a big hug from all sides by his friends- and then actually lifted off the floor through a joint effort from Knuckles and Amy. 

“Guys- come on! I can’t even move here!” he cried out, his legs flailing so quickly they made a vibrating noise in the air. “Guyyyyssss….” he whined, though nobody seemed to care much about his halfhearted complaints (judging by the happy expressions on their faces).

Then, the episode began to end, as evidenced by an iris out transition. The slowly shrinking circle paused for a moment on Sonic’s current expression, highlighting it against the otherwise black screen. He now sported a sheepish, if slightly pleased smile, complete with a faint pink blush on his face from all the positive attention. 

Clearly Sonic liked being, well, liked far more than he let on.

Then, the circle snapped closed with a pop, and the credits began to roll.

[Voice Actors: 

Roger Craig Smith

Colleen Villard

Travis Willingham

Cindy Robinson

Nika Futterman

Mike Pollock

Kirk Thornton

Wally Wingert

Bill Freiberger

Original creation by:

Evan Baily

Donna Friedman Meir 

Sandrine Nguyen

Bill Freiberger

Takashi Iizuka

Writer/editor:

Solalunar “Sol” Eclipse

Thank you for watching reading.]