#man. like the;;; not to be too sad but the ending life attempts he detered me from....a powerful boy

[dockaspbrak]

I am so sad;

[helliontherapscallion]

pspspsp can I just request an immortal reader who's life is just dull/sad as hell since they've seen their loved ones leave or die in front of them so many times

but when they meet SBI or anyone, their life just suddenly brightens up? (Platonic and it can be any type of fic!)

(A/N): I got waaaayy too carried away with this. Star god reader my beloved (also, I’d imagine that your cloak looks like this guy’s but on the inside with the outsides being any color of your choice (credit goes to original artist))

If you want more god!reader content with the dream smp, @wooloo-inc has a really good series about a male!nature god!reader (aka, the god of dilf collection)

In the beginning when DreamXD created you (which if you think about it, that makes him your father, but I digress) from stardust and meteorite shards, you were a ball of fun loving sunshine (well, starshine?)

You loved watching over all of humankind, admiring their determination and bonds with other humans (both romantic and platonic)

Your older brother, the god of the moon, told you about how they viewed you and you were amazed

“Oberon?” You ran up to your older brother and tugged on his cloak making him hum in question, not looking up from his parchment scroll. “What- what do the humans think of me?”

He scoffed and glanced at you with his lily white irises, “why are you on about them again? They are lowly creatures compared to us, filled with greed and misfortune.”

“They worship us and that’s how you speak of them?”

“(Y/n) believe me, you have not seen the brutality they are capable of. War, famine, greed, plague, genocide, it’s all something you have not witnessed before. You have only seen the good in those things.” 

“But Oberon, I wanna-” he lightly smacked the side of your head, “use proper English. We are gods and you will behave as such.”

You huffed, “I want to know about how they view us! I do not care about the bad things they have done! Plleeeaaassseeeeeee Beri?” You willed the stars that constantly gleamed in your eyes to shine brighter as you fluttered your eyelashes at him. He may seem like he hated everyone and everything (especially his siblings), but he had a soft spot for his youngest sibling. He just stared at you for a bit before he sighed and shifted in the massive throne so that you could hop up onto his lap. With a wave of a slender pale hand, he conjured up various images of humans with stardust gazing at the stars and the moon with carefree swipes of his hand. 

“They view us as… poetic of sorts. They compare us to romance,” an image of two human males kissing then gazing into the stars laying down on a cliff came into view, “fortune tellers,” an image of the Aquarius and the Capricorn constellations popped up making you squeal in happiness. He chucked and changed the picture to a mother and son standing over a grave looking up in amazement at a shooting star, “and most importantly, as a sign of hope. 

“They see us as complementary, the moon and the stars cannot be as beautiful without the other. We hold the power of the night and everything it touches, (y/n). This is our kingdom, do not forget that,” the image changed to the moon surrounded by stars and swirling blues and purples of nebulas.

You looked at the images with awe, absorbing every word that fell from his mouth. “Beri?” He once again hummed, his deep baritone voice sending vibrations along your back. “Will we be together forever?”

His lanky arms wrapped around your much smaller frame, “for all of eternity. The moon is nothing without the night sky and all of the stars it holds.”

Centuries passed and your fascination with humans only grew from there

When you eventually asked if you could meet a human Oberon reacted angrily and forbade you from speaking of humans again in your shared palace, worried for your safety

When he caught you attempting to sneak out, he locked you in your room for months on end

Humans wondered why the stars hardly appeared in the night sky anymore, forming the theory that they had somehow angered you

They prayed to you more and more, begging and groveling for forgiveness

They left more offerings at shrines

You heard their every word, feeling your heartbreak with sorrow and guilt for your lovely humans

You snuck out of the palace that night determined to make it up to the humans

You quietly snuck past the main room where you and Oberon used to sit on your thrones together and control the night. The large doors were cracked open showing your older brother watching the night with boredom. As you passed, his voice startled you, “I just cannot stop you can I?”

He appeared in the doorframe looking at you emotionlessly, his eyes glinting with hidden pain. “Do you realize how cruel of a place that world is? How cruel humans are?”

“I do not care, brother! They are in anguish because they think I am angry with them! Because you locked me in here!”

“I have told you time and time again, they are ruthless creatures. Humans are constantly clashing with their own kind for the slightest bit of power, they’re greedy creatures! Have you forgotten what happened to Arachnia?”

A shiver went down your spine at the mention of your fellow deity. She wanted to be with humans but they stripped her of her grace and virtuosity, torturing her when the moon would rise. That is the reason spiders attack humans in the night when the moon and stars show themselves and are dormant in the daytime. However, that did not deter you. 

“I have not forgotten what happened to Arachnia, her tale fills me with grief. But not all humans are like that! They are compassionate, loving, and sweet creatures deep down, each and every single one of them!”

“They were not showing compassion or love when they tore Arachnia limb from limb! When they languish in riches while millions die around them! What part of that is compassionate?”

“Sure they do bad things sometimes, but have you forgotten the love they hold for each other? The determination and hope shining from within them when they pray to us? Have you forgotten that?”

“THEIR ACTIONS ARE NOT JUSTIFIED IN ANY WAY!”

“AND OURS ARE? YOU ARE BLIND, OBERON. HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN THE CRUELTY THE GODS HAVE SUBJECTED HUMANS TO? WHEN OUR FATHER TOOK YEARS AWAY FROM THEIR LIFESPANS SOLELY BECAUSE THEY STOPPED WORSHIPPING HIM AS OFTEN AS THEY USED TO? WHAT PART OF THAT IS JUSTIFIED?” 

He just stared at you with angry irises and his chest heaving before he ran a hand through his long ivory hair and turned around, the flowing white cape flowing wildly behind him with unseen air. He walked back into the observation room and back to his throne. Without a second glance to you, he worked on the transition of power between the sun and moon. You could imagine your sister Aelia grinning brightly as she rose the sun for the day.

“You are to never return here if you step foot out that door. You will still have control of your duties of the night. However you will never return. Do not come back groveling for forgiveness when I have given you constant warnings of their cruelty. If I see your face show up here, I will make sure father smites you down. Now get out of my sight.”

You huffed and whipped around to the front entrance, the stars that constantly twinkled and the nebulas that constantly swirled in the inside of your cloak illuminating the white floors below you as you ran. You left the palace without a second thought, leaving your old life behind in favor of spending it with the humans.

When you came crashing to the Earth in a shooting star, you were amazed by the beauty of it up close and in person

It was everything you expected and then some

You heard the humans cheering and thanking you in their prayers when the stars returned brighter than usual

You being completely enamoured by all of the humans, even if they recognized you or not you loved them all unconditionally

You set up a little cottage in the tundra where you could see the night sky clearly with the occasional aurora borealis 

From the roof, you controlled the stars

The tales of you defecting from the heavens was a popular one, and you became somewhat of a symbol of the hope that humanity should hold for themselves and compassion

Occasionally sending shooting stars over humans you knew were stargazing

You have met many lovers, friends, and even your own adopted kids over the next millenia, all of them accepting your immortality and everlasting duties

But it’s all the same in the end: they come, they leave, and they die

With each death of your loved ones, you could feel your will to keep going dissipate

The stars grew dimmer gradually in the night sky

The humans gradually stopped worshipping you as you disappeared from the night skies

You became a distant memory for elders to tell children 

Disappearing from the face of the Earth for a few centuries when you could not take the constant deaths any longer

Nobody knew where your cabin laid so you were undisturbed for centuries on end, left to your grief

That was until a knock sounded at your door

The knock startled you out of the comfort of your bed. Reluctantly, you left the warmth of the multitude of blankets and donned your cloak to hide your unkempt appearance. When you passed the mirror hanging in the hallway, you could see that your face was shrouded by darkness with the exception of a single glint where your eyes were caused by the lone star that was a constant reminder of your position. Before you fell into a deep depression, the stars would illuminate your entire face if you put your hood up. 

You opened the front door without a care in the world. If the beings on the other side were humans that would take you away and torture you, you didn’t care. You’re long past the point of caring for your own well being.

On the other side was a man of average height and long shaggy blond hair pulled into a slick ponytail. He was dressed entirely in green with a green and white striped bucket hat placed on his head. Past you would’ve been cooing at the object, but now you dully looked at the man in front of you. You glanced behind him and your eyes widened at the huge black wings sprouting from his back. You know who he was the second your eye caught the black feathers; he was the Angel of Death.

“Hello, Angel of Death.”

He tried to peer into your shrouded features, only seeing two pinpricks of light where your eyes should be. He gave you a friendly smile, brushing off the snow that gathered on his shoulders. “(Y/n), the God of the Stars and the Night Sky. Giver of compassion to the human race, it’s an honor to meet you.”

“Why are you here? Last time I checked, my last lover died centuries ago.”

“Yes, my condolences. They were lovely when I guided their soul to the afterlife.”

“You still have not answered my question, Angel of Death. Why are you here?” You grit out the last sentence through a clenched jaw. He has no right to talk about them when he assisted in taking them away from you. Him and your cousin, the Goddess of Death Kristin. They took everybody you loved away from you. You knew that their deaths were unavoidable since they were human and you were immortal, but you still couldn’t help but resent them.

“The Goddess of Death sent me. The God of the Moon and the Goddess of the Sun sent her a request to send me to check on you.”

You stared at him for a few moments before you saw him shivering slightly and sighed. You always had a soft spot for humans, even if the being in front of you was not a human in the slightest. He reminded you of an old friend. You stepped aside and gestured lazily inside the house, “come in.”

He started to visit more and more over the next century

He eventually befriended you about half a century into the visits

It was extremely difficult to do because of how guarded you were, but he managed to break you out of your shell

You realizing how kind he was and how much he cared for you

You quickly came to the realization that he was immortal as well after reading up on the Angel of Death

After another fifty years, he became your best friend

You both opened up and comforted each other about everybody you both lost over the years

When he adopted Technoblade and then Wilbur not long after Techno, you were extremely hesitant to get close to them

Even going as far as telling Philza that you thought that it was an extremely bad idea

Mortals always end up leaving in the end anyways, it’s best to avoid the endless cycle of hurt that came with having mortals around

You told him about your own adopted children that have died over the years

You refuse to meet them, cutting off all communication with Philza for a year or two

Eventually meeting his three adopted kids when you reluctantly accept a dinner invitation one day

You attempted to appear cold and uncaring, but your love for humans (especially baby humans) shone through when an infant Tommy started to play with your cape

It seemed that the stars and the moving nebulas within the fabric entranced him

From then on whenever you visited Philza, you always held Tommy until he was too old for you to do so

Becoming very attached to the blond with your strong innate parental instincts

You introduce Techno to mythology, sharing stories of your personal interactions with certain gods and entities throughout the years

You teach Techno how to cope with the voices as you constantly hear multiple prayers to you from humans at the same time

You arrange a meeting for Wilbur with the Goddess of Music when he asks you about her

Arranging for her to start giving him lessons in exchange of a favor that will be cashed at a later date

You help raise all three of them, often taking them off Philza’s hands for a night or two 

Their favorite activity with you is watching you raise the stars and turn the sky dark

They always loved to watch you move the stars and summon shooting stars for them

The stars gradually returned to your eyes and a constant ecstatic smile slowly became synonymous with your face again

Humans started to worship you again when the stars in the sky became brighter

You became your old self again after centuries of feeling lost 

To repay them for everything they’ve done for you, you decided to rearrange the stars for one night 

One night of having a different star pattern couldn’t hurt 

Sure, it’d make a few theories pop up among the humans, but those are fun to overhear sometimes

The young boys and Philza behind you watched in awe as your eyes started to glow brightly and you slowly moved your hands gracefully raising the stars with the moon, your cloak starting to flow with nonexistent winds. They’ve seen you raise the stars thousands of times, but it never ceases to amaze them. It was just so… entrancing. 

You broke into a slight sweat and started to move the stars from their original positions in the sky. Shaking slightly, you pushed back against the strain and slight pain that it brought you. You’ve never done this before, so you really didn’t know what you were expecting. You felt someone put a hand on your shoulder.

“What’re you doin, mate?”

“Uh Dad?”

“Not now Techno. Mate, are you alright?”

“Dad, look up. They’re rearranging the stars,” Wilbur breathed out.

You could hear Philza gasp slightly as he watched star after star move until they locked into place. There in the twinkling night sky was each of their names gleaming brightly in small lettering. When you were done, you fell into a kneel onto the ground and rubbed at your aching head panting lightly. 

You could hear the boys around you panic slightly as you regained your breath. As you heard them approach you you looked up at them and smiled, the stars gleaming brightly in your irises. “Do you like it?”

“Y-yes but gods, (y/n) are you alright?”

“I am fine, but stars, I have never done that before. Are you four ready for stargazing?”

“That was so pog, (y/n)! How’d you do that?”

“I hold the power of the stars and the night sky in my hands. My brother once told me that the night is our kingdom.” You laid down onto the grass and took off your cloak to cover up a shivering Tommy and Wilbur next to you. You sighed as you thought about your siblings; you wondered how they were doing. 

“I will gladly move the stars themselves for you four. You are my family.” There was a stretched out moment of comfortable silence as you five watched shooting stars blaze by. Eventually, you saw an aurora borealis materialize above you. Furrowing your brow, you looked at it in question. They don’t appear this time of year, so why-

“Aelia,” you breathed out as you watched the greens flow above you. She must’ve sent a gust of solar wind your way. 

“Isn’t Aelia the Goddess of the Sun?” Wilbur asked you.

“Yes, she is my oldest sister. She must have redirected the solar winds over here.” 

“Damn, what’s with the gods changing everything tonight? You guys need to fuckin chill.”

“Tommy!” Philza scolded and was about to continue before he heard you start to laugh. They’ve only heard you genuinely laugh only a couple of times, so the sound that left your mouth immediately brightened the mood. 

“Yes Tommy, I suppose we do need to ‘fucking chill’.”

“You swore! Fuckin pog,” Tommy cheered to himself as the others looked at you in slight shock at your words. If you’re being completely honest in all of the years you spent alive (which is since basically the beginning of time), you’ve never sworn once. You were raised differently than that. When you realized that the others were staring at you, you smirked at them. The stars twinkling and giving your eyes even more of a mischievous glint, “what? Have you never heard a god swear before?”

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[kiridarling]

𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.

request | Can I have royalty au (soon to be king bakugou) (and soon to be queen reader) , katsuki and reader are supposed to be getting married (not to eachother) but they end up sneaking around and doing IT with eachother so top!kats , exhibition , begging , dumbification and spanking THANK YOU💞💞

this lovely request was submitted for the kissing booth event (the rest of the drabbles come out soon, ahem :)) so, if this was your request, um...hAHA whoops.

katsuki bakugou | f!reader, royalty!au, infidelity, nondescript!fiancés, angst (gasp), fingering, exhibitionism, dumbification + more! minors dni!

— 3.7k words

“C'mon, princess...can I make you feel good once last time?

You're getting married.

No more ignorance is bliss, no more I didn't know any better—this is when you put all your childish antics to the side and fucking woman up, now in charge of the safety of your kingdom and its inhabitants and whatnot. So yes, you must snuff all your adolescent tendencies, and that includes sleeping with the Crowned Prince of the neighboring kingdom behind your fiancé's backs.

But, boys are stubborn. And stupid.

Ding ding ding!

"Excuse me, Everyone!" Your fiancé announces to the crowd in your dining room as he stumbles to his feet, spoon clinking against his glass. He nearly trips, but no one sees except yourself. "I would like to make a toast."

You frown. This wasn't a part of the rehearsal dinner.

"First of all, I would like to thank you all for being able to be with us tonight," he says, shoving the glass higher in the air. As red wine splashes over the rim, you think to remind him that isn't a toast, it's the beginning of a speech, but your comments have rarely deterred the man in the past. "As you’re all aware, this marriage is vital. Not only for our kingdom, but for the neighboring kingdom as well."

Your fiancé regards the Bakugou’s with a lift of his chalice. In the coming weeks, two arranged marriages will melt the four most influential kingdoms into two, and your fiancé and his family had the genius to throw a massive Gala to celebrate it. You wouldn’t be surprised if they got off to the idea of stretching themselves so thin their hair falls out at age thirty; they won’t even allow you to choose the type of dress for your wedding.

"I would also like to thank my lovely, lovely wife, for just being so... lovely.” Your fiancé chuckles, accompanied by an uncomfortable massage to your shoulder. The guests find amusement in how whipped he is as he gazes your way expectantly, conceivably wishing to see you swoon at the compliment. All you give him is a blank face. His elation falters.

"You know, when I first met this woman, I knew she was going to be the love of my life," your fiancé shakes your glare off. You purposely block out the rest of his story in favor of folding and unfolding your napkin again, puffing under your breath at the cheesy comment.

"Sap," you grunt to yourself, obviously. You don't expect anyone to hear, but there's a snort to your right. Your eyes lift from your lap—and straight into Katsuki's smug blood red ones. He winks at you from across the table and your eyes roll at that, though there's a small smile playing on your face that's impossible to hide.

"Isn't that right [Y/N]!...[Y/N]?"

You blink yourself back to life, eyes reluctantly leaving Katuski's hypnotic ones for the pair that make you nauseous, "Oh—u-um, yep!"

The place bursts in laughter and there's even a little smile dancing on Katsuki's face. He catches you staring so your eyes divert to your lap, but his remain a physical force against you for the rest of the night.

*selene — the greek goddess of the moon

The balcony is much nicer than the ballroom.

For one, it's the farthest place you could have gone from the commotion, all the way on the opposite side of the castle. It's a solid five-minute walk when you aren't in heels and a heavy petticoat, but it provides a lovely view of your front yard, subjecting you to watch the early-sleepers leave in their carriages to call it a night. Meanwhile, *Selene watches you from her telescope the moon with a sigh and a sad smile, because she's the only one who knows how completely and utterly alone you will be.

You glare at her—the goddess doesn't waver.

Bitch.

It's no secret that Gala’s like these get overwhelming—especially when you're the center of attention. You see Lord Shinsou (Earl) stuff the eager Lord Kaminari (Baron) into his silver-plated carriage before looking around to ensure no one saw, and blanche upon seeing your figure stood on the balcony. You salute so he knows his secret is safe with you, and relief washes over his face before he too hops into the carriage. What a scandal, you giggle.

Plenty of couples resign home after that; it makes you uneasy. You're unsure as to why, but you have the ever-increasing urge to nip at your fingernails until you don't have them anymore, and jamming the sharpest point of your heel into the concrete seems like the only proper way to release enough kinetic energy before you explode.

"He loves me."

He does, embarrassingly so—so what's the issue?

There isn't an issue; there shouldn't be. He reminds you how pretty you are and you compliment his influence. Neither of you are marrying down. You look good together. The kingdom's future power couple if you will, where you two supposedly mold the great future in your peculiarly young hands. There isn't an issue. You're the one for him, and he's the one for you.

The balcony door whines open. You don't turn around, praying whoever it is will see that it's occupied and turn the other cheek. Yet, the stomp of whoever's boots only grow louder until you’re adjacent to a shadow of a being, his chin lifted towards the stars. You catch a glimpse of blond hair, though dyed a pale white by the silver moon, and you two stand in a strangely comfortable silence, watching carriages roll out of your driveway.

The silence doesn’t last for long, though. It never does.

"D’ya always go disappearing like that?"

You frown. "What?"

"I don't fuckin' know," Katsuki grumbles—he has yet to look at you. Seems like Selene captures more than one person's attention tonight. "Blinked and you were gone."

Your frown only deepens, and you return your attention to the courtyard. "I didn't know you were paying attention."

The ash-blond presses his forearms against the railing for support. "I wasn't. He was."

Oh.

"Said he wants you to come back, so," Katsuki clicks his tongue, carmine red eyes finally flicking your way through the darkness. You don’t dare look at him. “You run off often, or what?"

"Tell him I'll come back in a second," you sigh, balancing your face in your hand. Katsuki says nothing, but he doesn't leave, and you hate that you don't mind.

Until he points towards a couple crossing the lawn and says, "Oi, that's the Duke from my fiancé's kingdom. Fucker tried to poison my dad for the throne—straightened him out real quick.”

"Why are you talking to me?" You snap like a cornered animal. Katsuki lifts an eyebrow.

"What? I can't have a goddamn conversation?"

"I—" your chest rises and falls with a reason to why he can't, but you can only come up with one—and you don't want to think about it.

"Listen. I don't like these things either, alright?" He huffs defensively, so defensively that you have to take a step back. "If I have the opportunity to get some fresh air, I'm gonna fuckin' take it."

You shrug, supposing it makes you one and the same. The wind blows, not harsh, but harsh enough to ruffle your gown, and make the gold jewelry decorating Katsuki's tunic jingle.

“So. I guess this is it, ain’t it?”

You sigh, “Katsuki, you know we—“

"Yeah yeah, that's all you fuckin' say," he growls bitterly, and you blink in a poor attempt to find where the animosity came from. His face twists in an ugly way as he sits his hands on his hips, nose scrunched to mockingly pitch his voice that doesn't sound like yours at all. "We can't, we shouldn't—"

"Because we shouldn't!" You nearly shout, and Katsuki jumps from how quickly you raise your voice. "Because—because if we get caught, we're fucked. And I can't go to sleep terrified that I'll wake up to an exposé tomorrow morning and get beheaded by the afternoon. So...please. Just stop."

Katsuki clicks his tongue.

"You don't love that asshole."

Your throat feels tight—much too tight to be comfortable, and your chest rises and falls with disbelief as you search for the words before you can talk again, eyes never dropping from the stars. You've had this conversation, fuck, you have it too often; often enough to know that he would say those exact words, and enough to know precisely what you'll say in response.

"I love him, Katsuki."

"No, no you fuckin' don't," the ash-blond chucks a laugh and it's nothing short of acrid, his words eating away at your skin more than you'd like them to. You sigh, resting your forearms on the railing too.

"I'm not having this conversation with you."

"Always gotta be so goddamn emotionally unavailable, huh?" He growls, glare set on the mountains presented in front of you. You feel his suit jacket hit your freezing shoulders, unaware of the cool temperatures until you feel the cloth brush against goosebumps. It’s your turn to laugh bitterly.

“Careful. People might think we’re getting married to each other.”

“One day you’ll let me fuckin’ live,” he grunts, and your eyes meet for the first time. His usual red is dyed a deep purple by the moonlight, their usual hardness traded for something much softer. “Can’t even give you a jacket when you’re shivering like a goddamn leaf in the wind.”

You give him a look of utter exhaustion because you’re tired—tired of all this running around and hiding, the secrecy. It eats at your insides like a caterpillar does a leaf, knowing that you go to sleep every night to a man who’ll barely touch you, but at the same time, feeling guilty that you don’t need nor want him to.

“Why are you here?”

Katsuki clicks his tongue. His warm body settles behind yours, close enough to feel the warmth but not close enough to feel him. “You looked lonely.”

“I thought my fiancé told you to get me?” You ask, raising a suspicious eyebrow. Katsuki rolls his eyes, his arms settling on both sides of yours.

“He did. But I didn’t refuse the damn request either.”

“You saw my loneliness all the way from the ballroom. What an eyesight,” you scoff. Katsuki’s eyes narrow, but it’s clear he’s fighting a grin because you’re a little shit who loves giving him a hard time. The ash-blond’s chest rises and falls, and he bites the inside of his cheek.

“You know what I mean.”

You snort, tilting your head to the right. You suppose you do.

“And I’m marrying a bitch,” he adds to his list of grievances, his hands finding yours to gently play with your fingers. You nod in agreement. A bitch she is.

“And...I’m really going to fuckin’ miss you.”

It might as well pass for nothing but a breath, eyes trained on your held hands. His chest suspends like he has more to say, but his teeth tear at the inside of his cheek before he can. “I—fuck, I get it, okay? I’m a selfish asshole—“

“This doesn’t have to do wit—“

“And I really, really need to get my fuckin’ priorities straight. I mean, they are, just not in the way they should be.”

“Hey,” you chastise, shaking his hands for his attention. “You can’t control who you love, okay?"

Katsuki grumbles at that but you refuse, turning around to look him in the eyes.

"And neither can I.”

You let go of his hands in favor of pulling him down via his cheeks and giving him a big fat kiss on the lips. It’s peckish and brief, but it’s sweet and gets your point across. It's comfortable.

“The hell was that for?” Katsuki asks once you pull away. Though you see him struggle to hide a grin, eyes squinting more than they should.

“Easy,” you say, stepping forwards (as if there’s any space for that), “You looked lonely.”

Katsuki snorts, dropping his head, “Bastard.”

“And I’m being married off to an asshole,” you lament, pulling his face so close to the point you’re sure the strain on his back has got to be anything but sexy. He accommodates anyways—Katsuki always has; and night seems to suspend along with his baited breath as he waits for the next line, eyes shining with a painful hope you’re about to confirm.

“And I’m really, really going to miss you,” you say, shaking your head at how utterly true that statement is. Fuck.

The vulnerability slowly fades from his eyes at that, and Katsuki hums, clammy hands finding their rightful place around your hips.

“You shouldn’t call him an asshole, you know,” he says, face inching so close you can smell the champagne on his breath. “He means well.”

“I didn’t know you cared,” you quip back, raising an eyebrow. Katsuki shrugs, and you don’t realize he’s backing you up until your back kisses the cool railing.

“Well. I can’t help but feel a little bad,” he says cheekily as he inches closer, “‘Cause I make you feel so good, don’t I, Princess? Last time I checked, better than he ever could.”

You scoff at his audacity though it’s all good-natured, eyes preferring the moon over his heated gaze as he turns you around to face the courtyard.

“Ah, ah,” he tuts, redirecting your attention using a finger on your jaw, “Eyes on me, Princess. You look really fuckin’ pretty under the stars, y’know.”

You snort at the compliment, rolling your eyes.

“‘M serious. A fuckin’ goddess,” he growls, leaving wet kisses up the column of your neck. Your breath hitches as he reaches your sweet spot and sucks, and you’re swatting him away before he can leave a mark.

“I sai—“

“One last time, Princess,” he bargains lowly as his hot hands slide their way from your waist to your breasts, taking their sweet time. Katsuki hooks his chin on your shoulder. “Lemme—Can I make you feel good one last time?”

You’re nodding with a whimper before you can berate yourself for being so fucking easy, the thought of not being able to indulge yourself with this, with him, any longer tosses any and all resistance out the window.

“Good,” Katsuki hums, tweaking your nipples through the bodice. “‘M gonna pay you back for being so good to me, yeah? For puttin' up with all my shit."

You scoff, mouth dropping to tell him you weren't putting up with his shit, but then a warm hand lands on your thigh—somehow, he's found a way under your dress. The hand slides up inner thigh and you feel Katsuki's chest shudder against your back as he finally reaches where you need him most.

"K-Kats—"

"Shhh, you don't want them to hear us, do you?" He grunts, pulling your panties to the side. You shiver from the change in temperature, watching another Duke and Duchess of half-drunkenly stumble into their carriages for the night, before there's a crack of a whip and hooves beat towards the exit. It's only a reminder of how painfully exposed you two are—one glance towards the balcony and any onlooker would know exactly what's happening. You hate it.

You hate that you don't.

"Atta girl," Katsuki purrs, groaning as he inserts a finger. You shiver, the weight of his being practically trapping you against the railing. "Always so fuckin' tight. I swear that asshole never fucks you right."

Katsuki's never been an impatient man and fills you with a second finger awfully fast, chuckling when you bite into the meat of your palm to hold back a whimper. His hips start to grind against the puff of your dress and he groans as quietly as he can, carelessly shoving down the sleeve of his suit jacket to bite into your shoulder.

You let out a broken moan much too loud for this time of night and it prompts Katsuki's free hand to stuff an equal amount of fingers into your mouth. "Y'know, something tells me you wanna get caught. You want the whole world to know how much you fuckin' hate that bastard, huh?"

You choke as Katsuki slides in a third digit next to the second, the slap of his palm against your pussy becoming nothing but obscene as your slick accentuates the sound. His hips speed up against your ass and that's enough friction to have the ash-blond groaning, along with the spit that drips down his forearm.

"So dirty for me, Princess," his hips stutter when you push back, tongue laving over the bite mark you'll probably have to conceal in the morning. Asshole. "You wanna cum like this, don't you? You're gonna cum all over my fingers in front of the entire royal court. Dumb little girl, can't even keep her mouth shut to keep us from gettin' caught."

You jam your heel into the balcony concrete so hard you positive it cracks before you're coming all over Katsuki's fingers, nearly choking on the ones in your mouth as you release the loudest broken moan you have that night. Katsuki's hips stutter against you and you're positive he's filling his boxers from the airy moan that follows, and his hand goes limp in your mouth before it slides out completely.

Your chests balloon in unison, his body draped over yours, and as you two catch your breath under the moonlight, you can’t help but think how much you’re going to miss this.

"Run away with me."

"I—" he does this. He always does this. He makes you feel on top of the world, acting like everything's fine, and then he pulls this shit on you. You look everywhere but him, nearly scoffing in disbelief. "Katsuki—"

"C'mon, Princess," Katsuki scrambles to flip you by the waist until your back is flush against the railing again and he’s cradling both your hands in his semi-damp ones. There’s a look in his eyes you don’t like, and it makes your chest burn. "Across the sea, people are movin’ over there and I—I know someone there, okay? Someone we could stay with, maybe help us get back on our feet an-and I found a fuckin’ ferry guy to take us across, and I can even pay him a little extra, o-or you, or—"

"Katsuki," you give him a sad smile, squeezing his hands tight. There's hope, too much hope in his eyes and it's fucking blinding. "Running away? I—this is—we have an obligation, we can't jus—"

"It'll be fine," he insists, stepping forwards and squeezing you back twice as hard. You sigh."I—the two kingdoms can merge or whatever the fuck they wanna do and then we'll be—"

"Katsuki."

"I—fuck Princess, I don't beg but goddammit, I'll do whatever you fuckin' want, get on my knees, I ca—"

"You really want to know what I want?"

Katsuki freezes. It's the first time you've ever seen some semblance of emotion in him that isn't anger or lust, with carmine red irises swimming in unshed tears—and fuck, you hate the sight. You want to shoot yourself in the fucking foot for what you’re about to do, but it’s for the best. It always is.

"Love her."

Katsuki looks at you, and his face drops, chest shuddering.

"I can't."

You drop his hands in favor of holding his face, thumbing at the hot tears running as they fall. God, Katsuki’s pretty—too pretty for his own good and he doesn’t even know it. His unsteady hands find themselves massaging your ribs and your foreheads knock together. "You need to try. Love her as much as you love me, yeah?"

"'S fuckin' impossible," Katsuki says with a wet snort, shaking his head with eyebrows raised. You giggle, throat impossibly tight.

"Almost, then? For me."

Katsuki’s red eyes stare at you through the darkness. You have half a mind to look the other way, but you figure you owe him this if nothing else, and as he lovingly absorbs your being under the moonlight for the last time, you really wish you could take your words back.

"I'll...fuck. Fine. I'll try." Katsuki resigns with a shrug, shaking his head. You two sniffle in unison and you suppress the strange urge to pinch him. "'M not gonna try to get over you, though. Sorry, not sorry."

You roll your eyes at that but it's all good-natured, followed by a choke you struggle to hide as his arms coil around your waist, "Then I won't either."

A genuine grin spreads across his face, and it’s borderline giddy—and a stark contrast against the waterworks. "She finally fuckin' admits it."

"Figured it was about time," you give him a wobbly smile before your eyes flicker to his, red blurring from being so close. Selene looks upon both of you with a reminiscent sigh.

"I love you, Katsuki Bakugou."

Katsuki sniffs before he laughs; it's wet, and near bitter, and he pulls you so close your face nearly shoves into his chest. "Fuck. Fuck, you're an asshole, you know that?"

"This is when you say it back," you bargain, squishing his cheeks. Katsuki presses his forehead deeper into yours.

"I love you too, Asshole."

He speaks with a softness you've never heard and it's like a gunshot to the heart, and as his lips inch closer to yours as your hands slide to thumb at his ears. One last kiss wouldn't hurt, would it?

Until there's a whistle and the click of footsteps. You and Katsuki jump a mile apart.

"Oh, [Y/N]! You're still out here in the cold?" Your fiancé asks with a raised eyebrow, but it seems like that's only an afterthought as he turns to Katsuki to say, "Your wife’s found the alcohol."

"Great," the ash-blond groans, understanding the translation—your fiancé is piss drunk in the ballroom.

"I do recommend you take her home. She's making quite a mess of the eclairs. And her face."

Katsuki heads inside without giving you a second glance, and your fiancé gives him a solid pat on the way in before turning to you halfway through the doorway, "Are you coming inside, Darling?"

"In a moment," you say with a smile. Your hand never leaves the railing. "Just getting some fresh air."

"Alrighty, then. I'll be in the bedroom. Waiting~" he winks, and with that, he's spinning on his heel, and you're alone with the moon again.

You watch Katsuki guide his inebriated fiancé into the carriage lovingly, with a smile on his face that isn't quite the one he wears with you but close enough, whispering whatever pleases her at the time with a chaste kiss on the cheek. You feel comfort in knowing that he has someone to love and someone to be loved by. He doesn't look your way—not once.

It's not until they drive away that you realize you still have his suit jacket draped over your shoulders. You don't doubt he did that on purpose, either.

Asshole.

[oitommothetease]

Invisible String (13/15)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female reader (Modern AU)

Word Count: 2.2k words

Warning : angst, violence, sad reader, sad Bucky, shitty Rumlow, maybe Steve isn’t that bad, the doughnuts are back from chapter 11, did I mention angst?, angst, more angst

Everything was dark, you noticed. When you slowly returned to consciousness, you half expected to be in your bed with Bucky tangled beside you, just like in your dreams. He fit so perfectly in your bed — your life and you, as if he was a part of you, and you weren't sure where he ended and where you began. 

But when you moved to stretch your aching limbs, they moved a few inches before halting by some sort of restriction. Instantly, the bubble of your dreams burst, and everything came to your mind, and you abruptly looked around to find him. Bucky was still unconscious — tied to a chair, but instead of rope like yours, he was tied down with manacles. He had restraints on his wrists and ankles. You were sort of offended that they didn’t think you were strong enough to be captured like him. Not that you wanted those manacles anywhere near your body, but you preferred not to be treated as if you were meek.

What could be worse than getting kidnapped? It's definitely getting rekidnapped with the person who came to rescue you. Clint lied, he was working with Rumlow. His source was nothing but an ambush for Bucky. There were more than 4 of Rumlow’s men in the warehouse. Clint lied so that Bucky would come under prepared and he fell right into the trap.  

Earlier, it was just you in a room alone, but now it was you and Bucky in a dingy cell-like room with a closed door. He was still knocked out when the man known as Rumlow walked in. You recalled him from the time he came to the club, and you wanted nothing more than to run towards the safe embrace of your lover. 

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Rumlow’s steps halted when he was near your tied form. His hand came for your cheek and naturally, you recoiled away. Your rejection didn’t deter him, it only fueled his fury more as he held your chin tightly in his other hand and made you look at him. You attempted to get out of his grasp, which only angered him more, and he struck his hand to your face. It ached so much and it was so loud that it jolted Bucky up. 

“Will you look at that,” Rumlow mocked, pushing your face away from his hold. “Lover boy can feel her pain.”

It took a second for Bucky to drink in the sight and commemorate everything. Once everything came back to him, he looked at you deplorably, his eyes filled with concern and guilt as he saw the blood dripping down your face.

“Get away from her, Rumlow!” Bucky seethed when his gaze was back at the man who hurt you. Despite the warning, Rumlow moved more towards you. One hand running his knuckles on your face in an attempt to be soothing, while the other held your chin in a painful grip.

“Why do you get to keep such a pretty thing all to yourself?” Rumlow asked rhetorically. “I should get a taste too.”

Before Bucky could try to do something, a knock on the door attracted everyone’s attention. Clint came in with a look of victory on his face.

“You betraying son of a bitch,” you hissed. Unlike Bucky, you didn’t have much self-restraint or any wise escape plan cooking in your head. “Why the fuck did you do it?”

“You’re new, sweetheart,” Clint pointed out, his tone condescending. “You don't know how it works.” 

“What I know is that your wife is friends with Wanda's girlfriend,” you retorted back immediately. You were tired of being seen as weak. ”How will she feel when she finds out that you betrayed Bucky?”

A look of uncertainty came over Clint's face and you continued, “I might be new, sweetheart, but I’m not dumb.”

When Clint was astounded, Rumlow spoke up,” Ah, the power of pillow talk. You are one feisty little bitch. What else did he tell you? Did he tell you that his work is not illegal and he sells weapons to the government?”

You looked at Bucky, hoping that the man you knew and loved was nothing like this monster who assaulted you. Rumlow continued, “Barnes, Rogers and I started this whole a business together. They enjoyed the money that was brought in with our illegal escapade. He enjoyed girls like you every day. Until one day, the childhood buddies decided it was time to go clean. And they just left us in pursuit of some dream life.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you just looked over at Bucky who was staring at the floor as if waiting for it to open and swallow him whole. Was he ashamed of his past? Did he think that his past would make you love him any less? If he did, then he was highly mistaken because now you didn't see James as your arrogant boss. Now you saw a young boy who made some questionable choices and, to make a better life for himself and his family, he changed his direction. Now you saw a reckless boy who did stupid shit in his past like everyone in the world and instead of letting it define him, he made a better life for himself. Now you saw a hardworking boy who worked his ass off to build an empire for himself and his loved ones. All of these versions of him existed before you, but you only saw one — the one that mattered to you at least, you just saw the love of your life, your Bucky.

The universe might have listened to your pleas because Rumlow’s phone rang and both he and Clint exited the room. You didn’t know how to start a conversation with Bucky. He didn't want to, that you were sure of. What were you supposed to say? That his hardship and past made him look hotter in your eyes? You wanted to avoid romanticizing his struggles, so you resorted to the only thing you do when you are tense.

“This is not the lunch date I had in mind,” you teased, forcefully huffing to make the situation seem less intense. When Bucky did not respond or even looked at you, you retorted to another antic. “I remember that song name, you know — Invisible String. Taylor Swift, of course. It would make an excellent bakery name. We can -”

“We can what?” Bucky finally snapped, “You want me to fire my friends and convert the most profitable club into a fucking bakery, huh?” 

“Is that what you want? A life with a man who got you involved in this shit?” you flinched at his harsh words. You knew this wasn’t your Bucky — your Bucky was all about sweet touches, teasing words and passionate kisses. No, this was the Bucky that Rumlow recognized. 

“You don’t mean that,” you whispered, your tone gentle. “I’m sorry you're stuck here because of me, but -”

He cut you off. “Doll,” he exhaled, his voice devoid of all the venom present a moment ago, It was filled with the adoration towards you that you were used to; Nonetheless, it still made you feel dizzy all the time. His face softened before saying, “This isn’t your fault. It’s mine. I got you into this mess. I should have stayed away from you.”

You opened your mouth to object. You wanted to tell him that he was being stupid — that you would get through this together, but he sustained.

“I will stay away from you,” he pondered, his eyes avoiding yours again. 

No, you wouldn't let that happen. You finally had him, and you wouldn't let Rumlow get into Bucky's head. “We’ll talk about this later, okay?”

“There is nothing to talk about,” he concluded, “When we are out of here. I will maintain my distance.”

You tried to ask him to stop saying that, but he kept ignoring your words and looked at the wall behind you for almost an hour. When it got to your nerves, and you were starting to get pissed he started whistling a song you weren’t quite familiar with. “Seriously? How old are you? Five?”

He didn’t respond. “So what? You're just gonna ignore me while we’re tied here?”

 “Hey, let's play a game,” you tried again.

Before you could lose all your patience and start yelling at him, you heard grunting sounds from behind the door. You shuddered, swallowing the lump in your throat. You didn’t want to see Rumlow again, in fact, you never wanted to see Rumlow.

Sensing your discomfort made Bucky finally speak up. “Y/N, look at me,” his voice sweet as ever, as if he hadn't been ignoring you for the past hour. You looked at him, and he held your gaze, assuring you, “I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak anything. Both of you held your breath, waiting for someone to walk in and hurt you more, but it never came. All that came was a blond man with a gun in his hand, whom you recognized instantly — Steve. You didn't like that man one bit because he clearly disliked you, but at that moment, he was your angel who came to your rescue.

Immediately, Steve ran towards his pal who nodded his head towards you, indicating his friend to let you out of the restraint first. Again, he had manacles around his wrists and limbs, and he wanted you to be free of the rope that was around you. Steve took his friend’s request and freed you of your restriction before doing the same for Bucky.

When you stood up, the world stood up with you, and you realized that you hadn’t eaten anything in more than 24 hours. You almost collapsed on the floor when two strong hands came to your relief and held you. You didn’t need to keep your eyes open to see who it was. Likewise, you knew it was Bucky — you could recognize his touch anywhere, and just liked that you passed out.

The next time you gained awareness, you were moving swiftly. It took you a few seconds to acknowledge that you were in a car. You craned your neck upward to find your head situated on a hard and firm chest, Bucky looked down at you and engulfed you tighter to his side, your legs resting on his lap while his free hand was settled on the back of your thigh, holding you closer to him. 

“Doll,” his voice was barely audible, and you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't so close to him or if he didn't whisper it in your ear. “You gotta eat something.”

Tiredly, you nodded and Bucky nudged you softly, encouraging you to straighten up a little before eating something. You straightened your back and somebody passed a box from the passenger seat. Steve, you recognized him and the person in the driver's seat — Sam. Both of them looked at you sympathetically, and you smiled at them, or at least tried to. You were so exhausted.

Bucky opened the box and took out a doughnut, which you brought for him that morning, or was it the previous morning? How long had it been since you were kidnapped?

Two doughnuts and one bottle of water later, you were back at your apartment. Bucky’s hand rested on the small of your back as Steve and Sam followed both of you. You hesitated before unlocking the door, and Bucky ran his hand on your back reassuringly as he ensured you, “I’ve got you, doll.”

Bucky said something to Sam and Steve, but you were too exhausted to listen. Once they were gone, Bucky strode towards you, cupping your face in his hands as he scanned your face for all the wounds. “How about you clean up, and I’ll get the first aid kit. Okay, doll?”

Just like the whole night or day or whatever time it was, you didn't remember most of the bath. You remembered going into the shower — you remembered water running down your body — you remembered seeing red water (probably from your bruises) seeping in the drain — you remembered seeing someone in the mirror you didn't recognize — you remembered falling to the floor and crying and most importantly you remembered calling for Bucky.

As if standing outside the door, Bucky was crouched over you instantly . He wrapped a towel around your naked form and held you on the bathroom floor while you cried and finally acknowledged the trauma that you had encountered.

Bucky held you as you continued to cry in muffled sobs against his chest. When you fell asleep, he placed you and tucked you in your bed comfortably before getting in himself. You wrapped your arms around him in your sleep and held him like the anchor he was to you. Bucky pressed a kiss in your hair and whispered his love and apologies to you for pulling you into his messed up life. You couldn't fathom a word he confessed before sleep finally engulfed you.

TAGS : @bananapipedreams​ @akkinda10​ @rivers-rambles21​ @emmabarnes​ @valsworldofcreativity​ @boofy1998 @marvel-3407​ @mybuck​ @priii​ @coffeebooksandfandom​ @ladydmalfoy​ @shaking-a-jar-of-bees @elizamalfoyy​ @maladaptivexxdaydreaming​ @sabrinathesimp

A/N - Hey, I finally made a Taglist .This was a very intense (please don’t hate me) I love you bye. Take care!

[somewhatgreatexpectations]

Just My Imagination (Wanda Maximoff/ Reader)

Hello! We’ve entered the 70s and part 3! The songs used in this chapter are “Just My Imagination (Running Away With Me)” by The Temptations (1971) and “Lovin’ You” By Minnie Riperton (1975).

Summary: Y/n and Wanda experience life (and pregnancy) in the 70s as Wanda tries to keep everything under control. 

Hope you enjoy! :)

“Alright, krasivaya, what decade are we living in today?” Wanda asked in an overly upbeat tone as she took a space beside you on the bed. She hoped that the tradition would be enough to lift your spirts.

You turned to face her with devastated eyes and it took everything within Wanda to not burst into tears at the sight. That wasn’t what you needed right now.

“They don’t want me here, Wanda.” You mumbled dejectedly, brushing over her attempt at making you feel better. Seeing you so downtrodden was such a stark contrast to your usually carefree nature. It was heartbreaking for Wanda to see.

Scooting closer, Wanda wrapped a comforting arm around you. You immediately turned to bury your head in her shoulder, desperately seeking comfort in her arms. “Moya lyubov, that’s not true. You know how Stark is.” She rubbed your arm soothingly. “If it makes you feel better, I may have thrown him through the wall when you left.” A weak chuckle shook your body at her admission.

The smile that formed on Wanda’s lips was instantaneous when the sound she adored filled the quiet room.

The moment didn’t last long though. “He said I was dangerous.” You faintly whispered, hurt lacing your words.

Wanda sighed. “Y/n. Look at me.” You pulled your head up to meet her loving gaze. “You and I both know that’s far from the truth. Your emotions got the best of you once. That’s all.”

You shamefully ducked your head. “I just-… I could have hurt someone. I couldn’t help but think of her when we were there. That’s why I lost control and the building collapsed.” It took Wanda a moment, but she finally understood what this was about. “It was like I was back there, not able to protect her…” you couldn’t find it in yourself to continue as tears welled in your eyes.

Immediately her hold on you tightened as she pressed her lips firmly against your hairline. “Shh… I have you. It’s okay. Let it out.” Wanda whispered as she felt your tears flow steadily against her neck.

You bunched your hands into the front of her sweater as you tried to take deep breathes. “I miss her, Wanda… So much. Anna didn’t deserve what happened. It should have been me-”

If anyone understood your pain it was Wanda, but she couldn’t allow your thoughts to spiral like that. She knew all too well what could come from that.

“Stop.” She interrupted firmly. “The world needs you here. My world needs you here. You did everything you could for her. You loved her so much, Y/n. Don’t carry that burden of blame when it was all Hydra.”

Her eyes offered you comfort and the depths contained nothing but love that enveloped your entire being. You felt lighter. “Thank you.” You finally murmured. “For being here, for knowing what I need. For being you... Every time I think I couldn’t be more in love...” You thought out loud to yourself with a faint smile.

Wanda’s breath hitched as her eyes filled with even more emotion. “There’s no need to thank me. You do the same for me. Constantly. I’ll always be here. I won’t let go of you.” She repeated the words you once told her back at you. Your heart thrummed. “I love you. Endlessly.”

“I love you, too.” You mumbled against her lips, losing yourself in the feeling for a moment before you pulled away.

Wanda dazedly shook her head, regaining her focus. “So?” She placed another tender kiss to your temple as her smile became playful. “What decade are we using to escape from this one?” She questioned again, once again offering you the fictitious escape of reality that you’d both grown to find comfort in.

You shook your head but gave in either way. “The 70s.” you eventually replied with a small smile, settling on your favorite.

You covered your face in mock mortification when Wanda immediately threw up a peace sign with her free hand. “Far out.” She retorted coolly. The outdated saying fell easily from her lips as she settled into her character. You shook your head again. “I’ll get the shows ready, you get the music?”

The smile that grew on your face from her antics was inevitable. “Sounds… groovy, babe.” You responded, playing along. Despite the exasperation that you feigned, you appreciated everything she was doing.

“Oh, god…” You groaned as you watched Wanda disco out of the room to go gather what you two would need.

You were so unfathomably in love with this woman.  

For a moment you wished that the world was able to see this side of Wanda, the side that was reserved for you and you alone. The playful side. The side that showed that she was more than just tragedy.

Wanda knew that playing make-believe wouldn’t fix your problems or heal your pain, but it would be enough to ease your mind even if it was just temporary. If this tradition was something that could bring the light back into your eyes, she was more than willing to provide it.

She knows that you’ve done the same for her numerous times before and would do so for as long as she needed it. 

When she wandered back in the room she held up two different options. “Okay, I couldn’t decide between-”

“You pick.” You interrupted her. She quirked an eyebrow.

With a shrug, she tossed the items on the bed and took both of your hands, pulling you up from your seated position. “We’ll get to that later then. Where’s the 70s music?”

Taking one of your hands back, you queued the playlist that had the music you were searching for. “There.” You said with a half-hearted smirk, still feeling a little down. Wanda immediately noticed.

The song that filled the room was upbeat and bouncy as Wanda began pulling your hands back and forth to the rhythm of the music. The amused twinkle in her eye not going unnoticed. When she noticed you began moving on your own, Wanda began dancing in an exaggerated 70s fashion, singing along to the lyrics of the song. With a laugh, you easily joined her, feeling the weight lift from your shoulders ever so slightly.

For the remainder of the song you both danced around the room using your best 70s moves as you continued to loudly belt out the lyrics. When the song ended, you both fell to the floor, out of breath and smiling contentedly.

Leaning against each other both literally and metaphorically.

Moments of escape from the heavy lives you lead were few and far between so when they came around they were special. These moments with Wanda… they were special. They were escapes that had transitioned into traditions. Traditions that were forged with great care in the flames of your love.

Without warning, Wanda leaned over and cupped your cheek. She wasted no time before passionately connecting your lips. There was no hesitation as you returned her embrace. The music around you transitioned into something much softer as you both got lost in one another.

“Soon we'll be married and raise a family, a cozy little home out in the country with two children, maybe three. I tell you I can visualize it all, this couldn't be a dream for too real it all seems, but it was just my imagination runnin' way with me…”

The words that drifted from the radio caught your attention, easily pulling your focus from the task at hand. Flashes of moments you didn’t recognize flooded your mind. Despite the upbeat tempo of the song, the lyrics seemed sad… hopeless even. The emotion that the song radiated seemed to fill your body. 

An odd sense of longing blossomed in your chest as the song played on. The abrupt sound of someone speaking and a gentle squeeze of your wife’s hand in yours grounded you as you focused on the moment happening before you. 

The feeling of longing and hopelessness that filled you faded away and was replaced with excitement as Dr. Nielson began speaking. 

Wanda pretended not to notice the way you jumped slightly.

“Definitely pregnant!” The doctor confirmed cheerfully with a broad smile as he pulled the stethoscope from his ears. 

A short laugh fell from Wanda’s lips as you shook your head at the doctor’s obvious statement. “Well, that much we figured.” Wanda retorted flatly. 

You shifted to face the man fully. Squeezing Wanda’s hand in your own once more. “It’s just taken us a bit by surprise. It was kind of suddenly... Quite suddenly, wasn’t it? Practically overnight.” 

A sharp grip on your knee stopped your words as your eyes fell to Wanda, who subtly shook her head. “What my wife means is, we’re just tickled pink… or blue!” Wanda quickly supplied as she stood up from the couch. 

The doctor merely nodded, dismissing the comments as he stood up as well. “You’re at about 4 months now, is that right?” He questioned which you immediately shook your head at until you saw Wanda nodding enthusiastically and looking at you pointedly. 

You began nodding slowly with an unsure smile. “That sounds about right.” You responded hesitantly. The words practically a question.

“It’s easiest for ladies such as yourself to keep tabs on growing babies with fruit. It makes it simple.” You bristled slightly at the sexist remark as the doctor continued listing the size of the baby in comparison to various fruits. 

Disregarding his words, you interrupted him. “How big would the baby be at say… Twelve hours?” You attempted to ask nonchalantly. 

“Twelve hours?” Dr. Nielson eyed you skeptically.

Wanda rushed over to the man and began pulling him in the direction of the door. “I think this line of questioning is fruitless!” She joked with a nervous chuckle as the disembodied voices laughed along.

Not being deterred, you followed after them. “Hypothetically speaking, should we be concerned? Or concerned that even though we may have engaged in… “ You coughed awkwardly. “Activities that typically produce children, we both lack the necessary, erm-… equipment for impregnating. Hypothetically speaking of course.” 

Wanda choked at your words. “Sweetheart.” She sputtered abruptly, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment. 

The man lightly tapped your shoulder and ignored your words. “Hypothetically speaking, every new parent gets nervous.”

As you opened your mouth to reply, Wanda quickly cut you off. “Y/n. Why don’t you see the doctor out?”

You shrugged, deciding the doctor was no help anyway. “Good idea.” You made your way over to the doctor as you began leading him out. 

Before exiting, you glanced back to see Wanda looking down at her stomach with a soft smile. Your heart swelled at the sight. Any questions you may have had vanished if it meant she would keep smiling like that. 

When you reached the front yard, Dr. Nielson turned towards you. “You actually caught me just in time. I’m taking the wife on vacation this afternoon.”

“Oh, have a nice holiday. Hey, Herb!” You called out politely as you waved to the neighbor. He greeted you back as he continued to trim his hedges. “Listen, doctor, do you mind keeping the news of Wanda’s… you know, just between us? Everything is happening so quickly, I think we’d like it just between us for now.”

The man mimed zipping his lips. “Mums the word.” He replied easily. “I’m off. Bermuda baby!” He cheered as he walked off.

Just as you were about to turn back inside a sharp screeching sound caught your attention. You turned rapidly, only to see Herb’s hedge trimmer cutting into the brick of the wall. “Hey, Herb,” you called out hesitantly. “I think you may have taken the hedge trimming a little too far, pal.”

Herb looked up at you with an unnerving smile as he continued cutting into the brick. “So, I have. Thanks, buddy.”

“Yeah… don’t mention it.” You mumbled uncertainly. You turned and rushed into the house, eager to get away from the odd behavior. “Darling, the strangest thing just happened outside with Herb…” 

Wanda turned to face you. The sight of her stomach appearing even further along in the pregnancy than it was just moments before shocking you. “Woah! Have you gotten bigger?” you shouted with wide eyes.

The woman in question merely shrugged. “Have I? I can’t tell from this angle.” 

You wandered over and placed a hand softly over her stomach. “It’s either that or I need glasses.” The disembodied voices laughed. “With how fast you’re developing I think it might be in our best interest to prepare the nursery now.”

“That’s a great idea!” Wanda exclaimed excitedly. “I’ll help you as soon as I satisfy this craving.”

With a chuckle and a nod, you began moving the boxes into the room that would eventually become the nursery. After you had built the rocking chair, a book about pregnancy caught your eye. Taking a seat on the rocking chair, you began reading in hopes of preparing yourself for the pregnancy with all the necessary knowledge. You were deeply engrossed in the book when you noticed objects begin floating around the room. 

“Nesting. The overwhelming urge during pregnancy to clean, organize and prepare the home for the new baby.” You read out loud curiously as you took notice of Wanda using her powers to set up the room. 

Wanda waved her hand towards a box and a mobile began floating over to hang just above the crib. “See? You’re an expert already. You’ve got nothing to worry about.” Wanda replied distractedly through bites of the fruit she was eating. 

Absently you flipped through the book. “Well, nothing to worry about besides morning sickness, mood swings, aching back and fe-feet.” you stuttered out as you glanced over at your pregnant wife who was, in fact, on her feet. You closed the book and put it to the side as you stood up. “Darling, you should probably sit down.” 

With a dismissive wave of her hand, Wanda continued moving objects around the room. “Don’t be silly. All I feel is excitement, happiness, and oh!” she exclaimed as she glanced down at her stomach.

“Kicking? Already?” You asked disbelievingly as you placed your hand lightly over her stomach. “Wow…” you breathed out when you felt a gentle nudge against your fingertips.

Wanda smiled brightly, her eyes twinkling with joy. “It’s such a strange sensation. It’s kind of fluttery.” She explained with a cute scrunch of her nose. 

As soon as the word fluttery left her lips the plastic butterflies that were previously hanging on the mobile became animated and fluttered over to you.  “Oh, did I do that? I didn’t mean to.” She said in surprise as a butterfly landed on your nose. 

She turned to you and placed her finger out for the butterfly to crawl onto, her beautiful smile growing even more. You beamed brightly back at the sight of her as she let them out the bedroom window. You opened your book up again. 

“If that was the first kick that puts you at about… six months.” Your eyes widened as you flipped through the book. “Six months? That was so… fast! I can’t keep up!” You exclaimed.

Realizing how that may sound, you hurriedly kneeled down in front of Wanda and nuzzled your nose into her stomach. “Please don’t misinterpret, I can’t wait to meet you little Charlie!” You pressed a light kiss to her stomach before standing again.

“Charlie?” Wanda questioned curiously. “I was thinking Billy, just a nice, classic, all-American name.”

You tilted your head in mock thought. “Charming. But then there’s Charlie… named after the great Charles Dickens. “Life is made of so many partings welded together”” You recited to her with an excited smile. 

Despite herself, Wanda couldn’t help but smirk in amusement. “Nerd. I guess there’s only one solution for this debate… hope for a girl.” 

As you watched Wanda begin painting a stork on the wall with her powers, you began thinking. “I figure we should probably decide on a name soon though. Based on your rapid progression paired with the time elapsed…” You trailed off in thought. 

Absentmindedly you spun the wedding ring on your finger as you attempted to figure out the timeline of the pregnancy.

After a few moments of silence, Wanda snapped her fingers in front of your face. “He’s going to be here before you figure it out.” She teased lightly.

“Well, I’m not a robot, dear.” You quipped back distractedly as you attempted to correlate the growth with the timeframe. 

“And thank goodness for that.” Wanda countered easily, thoroughly enjoying watching you attempt to figure out the timeline. 

Suddenly, you focused your attention back to her. “If I’m thinking this through properly and don’t hold me to this… But… I believe it’s due Friday afternoon.”

Wanda’s eyes widened at the information. “In three days?” She choked out. “Maybe I should sit down.” 

“I need to practice!” You shouted unexpectedly as the information settled with you as well. Quickly, you grabbed a toy doll out of one of the boxes, a couple loose diapers and ran out of the room. Wanda shook her head at your antics but followed you out nonetheless.

After several practice rounds, you picked up the baby and stared it down seriously. The sound of laughter floated around you. “I think we have an understanding.” You told the inanimate object determinedly. “Start the clock!” You called to Wanda who immediately began the timer.

Fumbling only slightly, you were able to get the diaper on the baby with ease. “Time!” You shouted triumphantly.

“Your personal best.” Wanda called from the kitchen with a smile.

You pumped your fist in the air in celebration. “Yes! We are nothing if not prepared!” 

“Oh!” Wanda breathed out, her face scrunched in discomfort.

At the sound, your head snapped over to Wanda. “Darling?” you questioned in concern.

Once again, Wanda scrunched her face. “Did the book talk about this? It’s not a painful, but a strange…”

Vaguely you recalled reading about the feeling she was describing. You quickly began flipping through the book. Stopping shortly after when you found the information you were searching for. “Tightening sensation?” you offered helpfully. 

Wanda nodded, still cringing ever so slightly. “Yup. That’s it.”

You quickly skimmed over the page. “Braxton Hick’s contractions.” You informed her as you read on. “Also known as false labor. Usually begins in the third trimester. Named after John Braxton Hicks in 1875-”

“Honey.” Wanda interrupted, gesturing for you to get to the point.

“Right!” You skimmed further. “This could give us a chance to work on our breathing exercises.” You suggested as you made your way over to her and rubbed her back in soothing circles. 

Wanda nodded in agreement as you demonstrated the recommended breathing technique, which she replicated. “Yeah, it’s not working. I can still feel it.” She said with a frown.

You pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” 

Before you could get another word out, Wanda let out a short yell as everything in the kitchen went into a fritz. 

“Let’s abandon the kitchen!” you shouted as you protectively took Wanda by the hand and led her out. Wanda’s screams remained steady from the discomfort the entire way, much to your eardrums displeasure.  

A sudden, bright flash of light startled you as you both naturally fell into a defensive stance. Standing back-to-back, you both lifted your hands in preparation to fight if necessary. 

Almost as soon as you were in position, the house returned to normal. “It stopped.” Wanda said apprehensively as her hands remained in their defensive position.

“I’ll go check outside.” You said and rushed out the door, returning shortly after with the information. “It looks like the whole block is out.” 

Wanda wandered over to the couch and took a precarious seat. “And that was just a fake contraction. Who knows what will happen when the real thing starts.” Her brows creased together in worry. “Do you think they know it’s my fault?” 

You began making your way over to your wife. “Our neighbors?”

“Well, yes. With all the close calls we’ve been having it seems the people of Westview are always on the verge of discovering our secret.” She admitted worriedly.

Thoughtfully you ponded her question and all the odd occurrences that had happened around you since you arrived in Westview. “I know what you mean.” You began somberly as you took a seat next to Wanda. “But it’s more than that, isn’t it? Mr. Hart and Ellie, dinner, my dream, outside with Herb…” 

Wanda’s eyes glimmered with concern as she watched you anxiously. 

“I think something is wrong here, Wanda.” You finished softly. She searched your eyes as the pain in her eyes became more prominent...

“Do you think they know it’s my fault?”

You began making your way over to your wife and took a seat next to her. You gently took her hand in yours. “Yes, I know what you mean. The truth is we are in uncharted waters and you know what? I’m anxious too.” You admitted to her reassuringly. The voices cooed.

A soft smile formed on Wanda’s lips as she stared at you adoringly. “We just don’t know what to expect.” You nodded your head slightly in agreement as Wanda continued. “Will the baby have powers? Will it be my powers? Or your powers? A bit of both? No powers?” 

The twinkle in her eyes caused your stomach to flip. “If he’s anything like his mother, Charlie will be perfect.”

Wanda smirked. “You mean Billy.” You were about to respond when Wanda gasped loudly, startling you out of your seat. 

“Darling, are you alright?” you questioned fearfully as you scrambled back to your feet.

Wanda braced herself slightly. “This is a real one.” She gritted out.

“What?” you shouted as you began floating away from the ground.

Wanda glared at you from her position on the couch. “I thought you said Friday!”

“I told you I wasn’t a robot!” you defended anxiously as you continued floating higher, losing your ability to control the action.

Through the chaos in your mind you could hear Wanda begin her breathing exercises as she gestured for you to follow along. You nervously began following along, drifting back down to the floor a few seconds later. Wanda stood up and made her way over to you, soothingly taking your hand in hers. For a moment you both stood in place as you matched one another’s breathing. Slowly but surely regaining your composure. 

“Better?” Wanda questioned teasingly after a moment.

You took another deep breath. “Yes, darling, thank you.” You replied sheepishly.

Not even a moment later, water began falling steadily over the entirety of the house, drenching you both in a seemingly never-ending downpour. 

“Y/n?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I think my water just broke.”

“Yes, dear…” 

In a bid to seek shelter you ushered Wanda to the dining room table as you crawled under after her. Your nerves were on high alert as even the downpour couldn’t pull your worries away from the fact that your wife was going into labor. Your eyes remained anxiously transfixed on the woman next to you who was pouting in displeasure at the water ruining the room. Much to your relief, the downpour finally slowed and then stopped altogether. 

You quickly crawled out from under the space. “Let me help you up, dear.” You quickly offered Wanda, not wanting her to strain herself in anyway. As you gently helped her to her feet, her eyes seemed most focused on the room around you.

A small frown tugged at the corner of her lips as she surveyed the room. “What a mess!” Before you could react, she waved her hands and a powerful gust of wind blew in through the door, nearly knocking you off your feet. “That’s better.”

Her contentment was short lived as another groan of discomfort fell from her lips. “Darling, do you think it’s time to-”

“Call the doctor? Yes, I do, dear.” You responded quickly without letting her finish as you sprinted over to the phone only to hear the dial tone fill your ears. “Damn! The phones are down. I better run. Let’s hope he didn’t already leave for vacation.”

Wanda gasp as she rubbed her stomach anxiously. “At a time like this?” she cried.

Attempting to sooth her, you brushed a hand along her cheek lightly. A nervous smile on your lips. “Well, in all fairness darling, the baby is about nine months early. I’ll be back as fast as I can. Will you be alright here?”

A hesitant nod was Wanda’s only response. You pressed a short kiss to her lips and frantically raced out the door.

As Wanda attempted to calm herself through her breathing exercise, the sound of rustling in the nursery caught her attention. Just as she began making her way towards the sound, the doorbell sounded, causing her to jump. 

“Oh shoot!” She exclaimed, knowing that company meant she would have to explain her unexplainable pregnancy. Thinking quickly, she waved a hand and a coat floated out of the closest and covered her.

“Wanda! What’s up?” Geraldine began as soon as Wanda opened the door. Her brows furrowed when she noticed the coat the other woman was wearing. “It’s 75 degrees out, you making a fashion statement?” She questioned lightly as she walked into the home. 

A forced smile formed on Wanda’s face as she attempted to speak through the contractions as they came and went. “Hi Geraldine, you know, now isn’t really a good time.” She informed the other woman politely. 

Geraldine turned to face Wanda. “No, no, no, it’s foxy. You’ll have to let me borrow it sometime.” She replied, misinterpreting the meaning of Wanda’s words. “But first, I have to borrow a bucket. Not to wear, to use. Somehow all the pipes in my ceiling burst at once and I have to bail myself out.” 

“Alright, sure! Just stay right there, I think I may have a bucket in the kitchen!” Wanda shouted when she noticed Geraldine turn. She quickly ran passed Geraldine and into the kitchen, keeping her coat wrapped tightly around her abdominal area. “I think it’s just here under the s-sINK!” She cried as another painful contraction overcame her.

“Are you alright in there?” Geraldine called out in concern. 

Another contraction came as Wanda attempted to control her tone through this one. “Y-yes, I’m just looking-ow!” She stuttered out as her coat magically transformed into a fur coat. Despite the situation she couldn’t help but admire the quality. 

“I’ll come help.” Geraldine announced as Wanda quickly took off the coat and threw it to the side. 

“No! I mean, no thank you!” she quickly corrected herself. 

Her words fell on deaf ears as Geraldine wandered over to the closet in the kitchen, her back to Wanda. “Found it!” As she turned, Wanda grabbed a bowl of fruit to hide her stomach now that the coat wasn’t an option. “Would you look at that?” Wanda tensed. “Fruit! Wanda, thank you!” Geraldine said cheerfully as she took an apple. Wanda’s shoulder slouched with relief.

“Good luck with the leak.” Wanda breathed out as she began to follow Geraldine out. She was glad to have avoided any incident. 

Geraldine continued speaking despite having the item she came for. Even though she knew it wasn’t neighborly, Wanda couldn’t help but tune out Geraldine as she spoke. If she wasn’t in the middle of giving birth she knew she would care more about being a good hostess, but that just wasn’t a priority to her at the moment.

That is until a stork appeared behind the couch Geraldine was currently rising from.  “Wait, no! Tell me about the temp job!” She urged desperately, sighing in relief when Geraldine smiled and sat back down. The woman excitedly began recounting her story. 

Seeing how thrilled her friend was, Wanda did her best to listen half-heartedly as the stork continued to wander around in the background despite numerous attempts to make it go away. Much to Wanda’s relief, Geraldine was oblivious to the chaos occurring around her as she engrossed in the story she was telling. Wanda was able to get away with just making small comments here and there.

As one disaster was averted, Geraldine began making her way into the nursery where the stork had just gone into. “Wait!” Wanda cried as she rushed after her, grabbing a vase to cover her stomach along the way. 

“Is that what I think it is?” Geraldine asked, her tone serious as she looked in the direction of where the stork was perched against the painting on the wall. 

A nervous chuckle escaped Wanda’s lips. “Oh, a stork. Yes. I can explain.” 

Excitedly, Geraldine turned to face Wanda. “No! The crib.” She gestured to the object in question. 

Not a moment after Geraldine began admiring the nursery, another contraction overtook Wanda, the force of it causing her to drop the vase. The object shattered at her feet. “Oh, it’s coming! The baby is coming!” She cried out through heavy breaths. 

“You’re pregnant?” Geraldine questioned, eyes wide in bewilderment. Instead of answering another scream fell from Wanda’s lips as she placed her hands over her stomach. 

Geraldine cautiously led Wanda out of the nursery. “Let’s get you comfortable.” She rushed over to the couch and began gathering the pillows.

Several items in the house began moving on their own as the radio stirred to life at a loud volume. 

“Lovin' you is more than just a dream come true and everything that I do is out of lovin' you…”

Wanda began lowering herself to the floor, practically having to shout over the music. “I think I’m going to lay down right here. Y/n ran to get the doctor, she’ll be back soon.” She gritted out as she carelessly fell back against the floor.

Hurriedly, Geraldine shoved a pillow under Wanda’s head before it could make contact with the floor. “There’s not enough time for that. Relax, relax.” She frantically said as she rushed around the area, gathering different items. “You know your breathing, right?”

The radio began playing even louder as Wanda ground her teeth together, attempting to breathe in the rhythmical pattern she had practiced earlier. Rather than the rhythmic breathes, muffled screams slipped passed Wanda’s lips instead.

Geraldine gasped loudly as a chandelier fell near her and the music began playing even louder. “I may be late to the party, but I imagine there’s a logical explanation for this.” She told Wanda in a calming tone as she set down all the items she grabbed.

“It’s all perfectly natural!” Wanda managed in between screams as the volume of the radio continued to rise with her screams.

With wide eyes Geraldine took hold of Wanda’s knee to attempt to ground her. “Hey, hey, you’re doing great. Let’s start by turning off the music.” Geraldine shouted over the radio. Wanda faintly heard her and weakly waved a hand, effectively stopping the music, but the paintings continued spinning on the wall. “Look at me. Look at me.” Geraldine said calmly and began replicating the breathing Wanda had worked on with you earlier. 

With terrified eyes, Wanda kept her gaze locked on Geraldine, desperately wishing you were there to comfort her through this. “I can’t.” she cried out, shaking her head as tears slowly fell down her cheeks.

“Yes, you can. You can do this.” Geraldine countered unflinchingly. Wanda continued shaking her head frantically. “Yes, you can!” she shouted at her. 

The tears fell more steadily down Wanda’s cheeks as the fear set in. “I can’t.” She repeated tearfully. “I need Y/n. I need Y/n.” She begged, desperately seeking her one source of comfort. 

Leaning down, Geraldine checked how far along Wanda was. “It’s time to start pushing.” She said excitedly with a smile. Wanda continued shaking her head. “You’re ready! Push! Push, Wanda!” She encouraged supportively. 

With a scream, Wanda began pushing. All of the objects in the house began moving on their own until they suddenly stopped when Wanda’s screaming stopped. The soft coos coming from the baby filled the quiet room. “It’s a boy.” Geraldine announced with a smile. The smile that lit up Wanda’s face was incomparable to the happiness she felt in her heart. Geraldine wrapped him up handed her the baby. 

The baby who was a piece of herself and you… the person she loved most in the world. “Hi... Hi.” She whispered to the baby as she traced a finger delicately along his cheek. “Oh, he’s perfect.” 

Almost as soon as the words left her lips, you rushed into the home with Dr. Nielson on your back. “Oh no, I missed it.” You whispered sadly. The frown on your face faded when Wanda looked up at you with a smile that stopped your world. The way her eyes shone took your breath away. The world around you both faded as you stared at one another in an awestruck haze of love.

Indistinctly you could see Geraldine pull a shaky Dr. Nielson out of the room as you dazedly made your way over to your wife, kneeling at her side. “Every time I think I couldn’t be more in love...” You breathed out as your eyes fell on the bundle in her arms. Wanda’s breath hitched slightly as emotion flooded her eyes.

“Y/n, would you like to meet your son?” Wanda asked softly.

As gently as you could, you took the baby into your arms. The smile on your face growing even more when he looked up at you. Wanda’s heart fluttered at the sight. “Hello, little Billy.” You cooed as he took hold of your finger. . 

Wanda tilted her head in surprise, unable to hold back her smile at your words. “Billy?”

With a nod, you lovingly looked back at her. “Yes. Billy.” Making sure Billy was secure in your arms, you leaned down to kiss Wanda. Just as your lips were about to connect, she began screaming. 

Unsure of what was going on, you began yelling as well. “What?” you shouted in bewilderment. When you glanced down you realized what was happening. “Oh! There’s another baby coming!”

“Charlie!” Wanda shouted through the contraction. 

“Wanda, push! Push!” You encouraged lovingly, all the while making sure Billy was safe in your arms. With you by her side, the fear that Wanda felt earlier vanished. 

With you by her side she knew she could do anything. 

When all was said and done, Dr. Nielson did one final glance over the twins. “Twenty fingers and twenty toes. You have one healthy baby boy and one healthy baby girl on your hands.” He declared cheerfully as he handed the baby in his arms back to Wanda. 

Wanda eagerly took the baby back in her arms as you gently rocked the other. “Thank you, doctor.” She responded with a smile.

He turned and pointed at Geraldine. “And thank you for all your assistance, young lady. I think you might have what it takes to be a nurse.” Both Geraldine and Wanda shared amused looks with one another at the comment. 

“Allow me to walk you out, doctor.” You offered as you gently placed the baby down in the crib.

Dr. Nielson nervously shifted. “As long as we’re actually walking this time.” He replied skeptically as he followed you out the door.  

“Well, Dr. Nielson, I hope you’re still able to make your trip.” You said polietly with a smile when you both reached the front yard.

Again, Dr. Nielson shifted in place. “Yes, my trip. I don’t think we’ll make it after all. Small towns, you know, so hard to… escape.” He murmured cryptically before walking off. 

For a moment you stared after him, wondering what he meant. Shaking it off, you turned to head back inside only to see Agnes and Ellie whispering amongst themselves by one of the walls that you shared with the house next door. “Hello, neighbors!” You called politely.

“Hey!” They replied suspiciously in unison before going back to whispering amongst themselves. 

Unable to help yourself, you wandered over. “Remarkable day we’re having. Did you lose power too?” You asked in a friendly tone, noting the way their postures changed when you were near.

“Sure did, but Ralph looks better in the dark so I’m not complaining.” Agnes joked. 

Ellie nodded along. “I barely even noticed it... I’m very resourceful.” She added with a wink.

You chuckled uncomfortably as they joined in with their own laughter. “Well. I better get back to Wanda.” You mumbled awkwardly, turning back towards the house. 

“Y/n.” Ellie called after you, causing you to turn around. “Is Geraldine inside with Wanda?”

With furrowed brows you stepped closer to them, feeling unnerved by their behavior. “Yes, why?”

Ellie hesitated, almost as if she was unsure if she wanted to tell you. “She’s new to town. Brand new.”

“No family, no husband.” Agnes added, her expression portraying how odd she found the situation.

You shrugged indifferently. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with that.” You countered with a confused smile.

Agnes made a short noise of disagreement and Ellie pursed her lips. “No home.” Agnes eventually supplied.

“What?” you questioned disbelievingly. “What do you mean she has no home?”

Ellie shifted uncomfortably. “She came here because-… She came here because we’re all-… You are-…” 

“She came here because we’re all what? I’m what? What are you trying to tell me?” You replied, feeling your patience wearing thin. 

Shaking her head, Ellie continued. “She came here because you need to-”

“Stop it.” Agnes cut her off sharply as she turned to face her head on. You noticed the way she shook her head. 

Almost as though someone flipped a switch, they both became upbeat again. “Well, we better get going.” Agnes rang the bell on her bike with a wink.

Ellie nodded along. “Those papers aren’t going to write themselves.” She said cheerfully as they both walked off leaving you thoroughly confused as you made your way back to your wife. ____________ “You’re such a strong lady.” Geraldine complimented Wanda who waved her hand bashfully in response. “Can you believe it? Twins!” She leaned forward to get a better look at the babies nestled safely in their cribs.

The smile on Wanda’s face was bright with all the love she felt in the moment. She stared at the two babies in the crib with Geraldine, her smile becoming somber. “I’m a twin.” She confessed. Her eyes glimmered with memories as she looked over at Geraldine. “I had a brother, his name was… Pietro. Y/n had a sister too. Anna. One in memory of each.” She whispered out softly her eyes falling to the babies again.

Lost in her memories, Wanda began singing a sokovian lullaby that would forever be nestled into her heart. The memory both painful and beautiful as she continued to sing to her children. 

“He was killed by Ultron, wasn’t he?” Geraldine questioned suddenly, her expression grave. “And Y/n’s sister. Hydra murdered her to torture Y/n, didn’t they?”

The song died on Wanda’s lips with Geraldine’s words. Her brows furrowed as she processed what she had just heard. Her shoulders tensed. “What did you say?” A tear fell down her cheek. When Geraldine didn’t reply, Wanda turned towards her. “What did you say?” She repeated, her eyes cold.

A forced smile overcame Geraldine’s features. “I said, Wanda, you’re such a strong lady.” She moved to hover by the couch. “Should I say it again for good measure?”

“No.” Wanda said sharply. “What did you say about Pietro and Anna?” 

Geraldine seemed to think for a moment, feigning confusion. “Pietro? Anna?” Wanda tilted her head. The babies began crying. “Hey, I’ll take a shift rocking the babies.” She offered as she began heading back over to the cribs.

Wanda stepped protectively in front of them. “No. I think you should leave.” She told her, her tone dark.

“Oh, Wanda, don’t be like that.” Geraldine retorted tensely. 

For the first time, Wanda noticed the necklace around Geraldine’s neck. “What is that?” She insisted, pointing shakily to piece of jewelry. “That symbol.”

“I-uh…” Geraldine stuttered as she took hold of the necklace.

“Who are you?” Wanda demanded. The threat in her eyes sent a chill down Geraldine’s spine. 

Geraldine faintly shook her head, her eyes troubled. “I don’t-”

“Who are you?” Wanda repeated sharply. The calm that overtook Wanda was unsettling as she slowly moved forward. Geraldine stepped back fearfully.  

The front door burst open as you rushed inside. “Wanda, where’s Geraldine?” You questioned as you looked around the house.

“Oh, she left, honey. She had to rush home.” Wanda replied easily with her back towards you as she watched the babies sleep peacefully. . . . . “If no one is going to say it, I will. That episode was adorable.” Darcy emphasized as she watched both you and Wanda settle on the couch with a baby in each of your arms. Wanda leaned over and lovingly pressed a kiss to your lips as the credits rolled. “Aww… I mean, c’mon. Look at them, they’re so precious. And now they started a family.” Darcy cooed as she watched the screen fade to black.

There was silence for a moment. “The babies are cute.” Steve admitted quietly. The sound of a soft thud filled the room as Natasha once again hit the back of Steve’s head. “What? They are!”

Natasha shook her head. “They are, but the issue here is we’re being given a filtered broadcast. Someone is controlling what we’re allowed to see. And even worse, we don’t know what happened to Monica.” 

“Natasha is right.” Fury interjected. “Darcy, you’ll be going to S.W.O.R.D. so you can gain some intel about what they’re planning.”

Darcy’s head snapped up in shock. “I’m just the astrophysicist here, not the Russian spy.” Natasha smirked at the comment.

“Even more of a reason they won’t suspect you.” Fury countered easily. “You can find Hayward’s plan… and find out if they’re the reason agent Fletcher is now a part of this.”

Steve crossed his arms. “Amelia was Y/n’s partner the entire time she was away from the Avengers. I have on good authority that they were close. I can’t imagine she’s there to harm her.”

“That was before the blip.” Natasha said calculatingly. “We can’t assume anything. She’s playing her part a little too well.”

As Steve was about to respond, Fury’s phone went off. They all watched with bated breath as he took the call. When he hung up, he turned to face them a pensive expression on his face. “It seems as though Monica has been found. Blasted through the hex.”

“You called it the hex!” Darcy exclaimed as they all turned to look at her in exasperation. “Sorry, not the time.”

This part may just be the longest piece I’ve ever written because there was so much I wanted to fit in. Also! If anyone wants to know what song I imagined Wanda and Y/n dancing around to in the beginning just let me know because I imagined a specific song in that scene, but didn’t feel it was important to include lol. Sorry for writing out Tommy, creating a different twin for Billy felt important to the story to properly express Wanda’s emotions.

 As always, I hope you all enjoyed!

Thoughts and comments always welcome! I love hearing from you all! :)

[xbunnybunz]

Daybreak (7/?) [Wolf Keum x Reader x Alex Go]

Summary: The day brings to you Alex Go, and in the night, Wolf Keum. Your past is inescapable. They build you up and tear you back down, but this is what you need to survive.

Genre: Romance, Angst, Drama

——

There were three messages from Alex on your phone for you when you got back home.

One concerned for your wellbeing, one worried for whether you got home, and another apologizing for being brash.

You skimmed all of them and opened none.

Night turned into day, and that day into another night, until eventually a week had gone past.

He hadn't messaged you again. Even though you weren't expecting anything, you still waited for something, anything, to happen.

You knew you had to be the one to reach out again, but whenever you opened your messages and stared at his name, a stone would sit itself in your gut and weigh you down, heavy, burdensome and unrelenting until you put the phone down.

The thought that perhaps allowing yourself to become close to Alex Go wasn't such a good idea, the thought that maybe someone like you, so stuck and still hurting in the past would only serve to anchor him down, ran through your mind.

You tried everything to distract yourself.

Within the week you had been thrust back into loneliness, you were a fish out of water. You tried to grasp at anything to occupy the space in your mind, jogs in the morning, after school, in the middle of the night. It tired you out, but never enough to placate your mind.

Between the bouts of exercise, you tried to understand the situation. You think about Alex Go and his friend Ben in middle school, and you thought about Alex Go and you in the present. You think about the broken the stoplight, and how it connected to the night everything changed.

He had been the one to destroy the traffic light.

You had many days and nights to ponder about this, alone in your room. He was the reason that on that fateful night, on that sad, dim street corner, the light flashed erratically between "go" and "stop."  He was the reason it was brandished forever in your mind, your mourning heart, and on blood stained hands.

Your chest ached with regret, so deep and harrowing that you wished you could tear it out. It was curious how reckless life was with passion, sincerity and good will. It stung especially painfully seeing indifference and injustice can convene so sharply right before your eyes. One second there, the next gone.

When you closed your eyes, you could still see your hand, bleached with moonlight and stilled, reaching out to him. A whisper on your lips, dying on your breath to fall upon deafened ears.

All bitter memories.

Dampening your eyes and shaking your core, but no matter where you looked, how many reasons you turned over, you could find no spite for Alex Go. The same Alex Go who, when smiling, parted the clouds and called off the rain. Alex Go, who could never wish harm on anyone, not intentionally.

In a desperate attempt to salvage peace of mind, you had picked up the pen again despite knowing what would happen.

You'd just write whatever was on your mind. It wasn't a story, or a continuation to a novel, it was just pages and pages of nonsense with no exact order. And though it was indubitably the voice of your mind, you felt nothing while writing it and it frustrated you to no end. It couldn't be helped, these words had been bouncing around your head so long they had made refuge in your skin, your fingers, controlling your life long before they were on paper. But you didn't need to see your thoughts to understand them. You needed solace. Needed peace. Needed someone to tell you that you would be okay.

But you didn't have these things, so you kept pressing on, like pouring out these words could help you find the ones you wanted to send Alex when the basin was empty. Poised and pen in hand, for as long as you could, like endurance training, until your wrists burned and your body ached.

It never lasted long, those bouts of writing. So when you could no longer run, or think, or write, you would toss in turn in bed, skimming the brink of sleep and consciousness. There would be moments of clarity, and they always hit you hard and fast. Made you grab for your phone, adrenaline roaring through your veins when you typed out a response to him, something, anything.

Sometimes it was an apology or a simple hello, but other times the sensation would give you an intense high.

You'd remember his laugh, the fierceness to which he defended you from the bitter taste of blame, and it was then that your heart reached out to him, a cacophony of white noise and static that would always die at your fingertips when you hit backspace, remembering the hurt on his face, the pain because of you.

Then you'd think of Wolf. Somehow, at the end of every restless night you spent rolling in bed, hazel eyes flashed in your vision, watching you inscrutably. Hot like fire, icy like a tundra. Almost close enough to touch and feel the burn, the chill.

Tonight as you lay in bed, you ponder the weekend ahead of you. Wonder how many nights you spent alone in your room. Think about your classmates making more memories while you keep reliving your own in a nightmarish daze.

You think about these things until you exhaust yourself, but even then, sleep refuses to claim you.

So you pick yourself up, dust yourself off. Pull on some clothes, comb through your hair. Then you're out the door again, in search of something to make you feel alive.

When you arrive in front of the bar, the moon is strung high and the stars hang far below it, dipping into the darker crevices of Yeongduengpo. It's later than you'd normally show up and catching Wolf at this hour would be nothing short of a miracle, but you were willing to take your chances.

And then like magic he's right in front of you, before you even open the door, before you even enter the bar.

He's with his friends, the same ones that had seen you the first night and a couple more.

One of his hands is braced on the door, and for a second you think that perhaps he's taken by surprise as much as you are. There's a glimmer in his eye, a quirk of his lip. Then the bell chimes above your heads and pulls you back to reality, suddenly feeling quite small and vulnerable in front of so many prying eyes.

Your fingers tingle so you reach up to tug at your top, the chill of the night air biting into your flesh and raising gooseskin.

Your eyes dart from Wolf to the men behind him, wondering if you should address him, if being associated with you in public was damaging to him.

Before you can think too much, Wolf gives a feral grin. "I'll catch up later. Don't wait up."

It only occurs that he isn't speaking to you when the intimidating crowd moves past him without further question, muttering about which internet café was open 24/7 and who had enough money to pay.

They give passing glances as they saunter past you, though none of them seem to suspect you were the reason for Wolf's sudden change of plans, or even recognize you as the wayward drunk from the weeks prior.

You turn and watch them make their way down the block, spitting and cussing and scaring people into crossing the street. Only when they're specks in the distance to you turn back to Wolf Keum, who's lavender hair gleamed nearly silver in the moonlight.

He's still propping the door open, more leaning on it now than anything else.

"Well?"

You swallow thickly, still a bit stunned from the parade of delinquents he showcased just now.

Just who was Wolf Keum?

The men who you had seen just were no doubt untame, with their school uniforms unbuttoned, hair dyed and tongues lashing obscenities. Yet still with all these pugnacious men in one place, Wolf had managed to command them without even turning to address them directly.

You wondered what about this man could be so powerful, so strong that he could instill his rule as absolute with even such fearsome crowds.

His lips curve into a salacious smirk at your gaping, and only then do you realize he's waiting for you to come in.

You slip from the crisp autumn air into the thrumming atmosphere of the bar with a murmur of an apology, Wolf following not too far behind you.

"You an alcoholic or something?" It's a jest, but the tone of his voice is buttery and dark and makes it much less funny and more nerve-wracking.

"Worry about yourself." You bite, and it comes out curter that anticipated so you chew your lip, trying hard not to look too ashamed.

Wolf isn't deterred, falling in stride beside you and not missing a beat. "It was a business meeting, can't drink through that, as much as those fuckasses make me want to."

You want to respond to his quips, but your mind is preoccupied with the hordes of people swarming the premises.

There's a larger crowd than you're used to, much more mature individuals, faces lined with wrinkles, exacerbated by the yellow lighting, palming at their temples. The usual low hum of conversation is replaced with occasional shouts and crashing glass, though no one seems to think this is unusual but yourself. You push onwards until you see that there's a tired looking businessman in your usual seat.

Wolf senses your hesitation and follows your gaze, catching wind of the situation. He leans over a bit, hands in his pockets, breath hot on your ear.

"You seen the billiards room downstairs before?"

You shake your head no and you can feel him chuckle, exhaling air through his nose. He takes one step forward then another, ambling through the mass of people without another word. For the brief moment he leaves your side, time slows down. You watch Wolf's retreating back and feel almost alone. The bar, usually your place of comfort, had turned unfamiliar and foreign, leaving a cold sensation in your chest.

Your heartbeat comes slow and heavy in your ears, like a beating drum. You wonder why you're even here, what you have to prove to yourself, or anyone else. Fingers clutch at your bag, feeling the outline of your phone, cool and solid in your grasp. You wonder if you had any new messages.

"You coming?"

Wolf calls to you over his shoulder, waiting in the middle of the crowd that seems to part for him naturally.

He extends a hand to you, fingers still, gaze unwavering. His dark eyes dance in the lights, lips pulled into a curve echoing a crescent moon. A man of the night, shining amongst the stars, brightest in the darkest hours.

"Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking."

You reach out and your fingers graze his hand, a gossamer touch, his skin calloused and soft to the touch. A blush works its way across your cheeks and you're glad he doesn't catch it, already turned away to make his way to the crowd. He wraps his hand around your fingers and tugs you along, guiding both of your bodies through the restless throng, past the bar, past the tables and to a staircase shrouded in darkness, illuminated by a single golden lightbulb.

[jaskiersvalley]

I absolutely love your writing!! It's so very enjoyable and your au's are absolutely delightful. I just thought you should know.

Thank you so much, Nonnie! AUs are something I really enjoy and to hear that others find them fun makes me so very happy. As a little thank you, here’s another AU feat Kaer Morhen Radio and a Jaskier driving an 18 wheeler.

Life was a lonely one on the road. There were many acquaintances and other drivers Jaskier had a passing friendship with, Valdo Marx had the annoying habit of having similar routes to him - they did say mimicry was the highest form of compliment. Alas, nobody was a steady presence in Jaskier’s life. Well, nobody who was aware of him. Though there was the Kaer Morhen Radio family. They were the closest Jaskier had to everyday friends, as sad as that sounded.

“Good morning fuckheads.” Such a declaration could only mean it was 6am and Lambert had taken over. Instinctively, Jaskier was smiling as he sat up with a yawn. Most radio stations liked to gently rouse listeners with swelling music that got more up beat as the day went on. Not Kaer Morhen Radio. They had Lambert as their morning DJ, there to wake sensitive ears in more and more creative ways. He had become known for his unique way to wake listeners up; from bringing in pots to bang to trying to imitate the mating call of a moose at full volume. The only thing listeners loved more than Lambert being a general prick was his flirtation with Aiden who did weather and traffic announcements.

“And, in those four famous words: and now, the weather,” Lambert announced gleefully. After a long moment of silence, he snickered. “We shall have to give Aiden a moment to climb out from under the desk and rinse his mouth. In the mean time, here’s a banger.”

The banger, Jaskier was surprised to find, was quite literally a recording of someone (possibly Lambert) attempting to play drums (badly) on some kitchen pots. By the time the piece reached its rather boisterous end, it seemed that Aiden was no longer preoccupied.

“The weather today-” Jaskier tuned Aiden’s words out in favour of figuring out whether he was messing around or whether he really did sound so husky and gravelly thanks to having his throat fucked. It was quite the conundrum and Jaskier spent the start of his morning drive wondering how many complaints Lambert and Aiden will get now. Their record was 36 for the game of “identify that noise” wherein they stuck their fingers in various containers and made them squelch. To that day, nobody knew whether the last one really was, in Lambert’s words, “Aiden’s well used hole and my come”.

Afternoons were much more peaceful. Eskel took over at 2pm and he was laid back, played soothing music and gave the impression of being a very calm and reliable member of society. Jaskier always maintained it was an impression because, among all the chat, Eskel would sometimes drop a strange little fact that made him do a double take or two.

“This next song,” Eskel had once said, “was written while under the influence of cocaine.” It was a reasonable enough fact to share, Jaskier had been listening while stuck in a traffic jam along a motorway. “How they managed to write it though, I have no idea. Cocaine is terrible for your focus, I could barely scratch an itch before being distracted by something else. So kudos to the writers for creating a whole song while off their face.”

Which was something Jaskier had never thought Eskel would know anything about. He always seemed to demure, the solid rock of Kaer Morhen Radio. He balanced out Yennefer’s news updates perfectly. It was probably why Jaskier liked him so much, now that he thought of it. The surface innocence mixed in with hints of a very colourful life lived beneath the steady exterior. Well, hints other than the incident where Eskel somehow managed to not turn his microphone off and had a conversation about going to a rave with someone who worked at the radio station. Nobody knew the man’s name and his answers were half muffled but listeners swore they heard him suggest something along the lines of a collar and leash - which Eskel had hummed in agreement to, sounding all too happy. When questioned, Eskel resolutely refused to name the mystery man but conceded that there had been a rave. Jury was out whether Eskel had grumbled about being ‘in ecstasy’ or ‘on ecstasy’ for it. And there was definitely a picture of floating around the internet of him in a collar at what definitely looked like an underground rave.

The real reason Jaskier listened to Kaer Morhen Radio was the late night DJ. 10pm on the dot, Eskel would flick the switch and a prerecorded intro played, announcing that it was Late Late Nights with Geralt. Between 10pm and 6am, Geralt manned the station. The only reason Jaskier knew his name was because of the intro. Otherwise the man was silent other than a few hums between songs. Sometimes, presumably when he knocked something over, there would be a growled “fuck” that listeners lived for.

As little as Geralt said, Jaskier was in love. The music was eclectic and death metal could be followed up by electro swing or grime. There was to way to predict just what Geralt would play next, he didn’t take requests, didn’t talk to his listeners. But, somehow, he still drew them in. Jaskier had made the mistake of looking Geralt up online and swooned a little at the few pictures available. It seemed Geralt was an elusive man, somehow managing to turn away from cameras with an uncanny ability. Though a few pictures did exist of Lambert and Eskel on either side of him, quite literally holding him down for a photo.

Truthfully, Geralt was one of the main reasons Jaskier chose to do overnight hauls. Not only did they pay better, he also had Geralt’s nonverbal grunts and hmms to look forward to. He was well aware that it was an infatuation and nothing more. He’d never met Geralt before, Geralt wasn’t even aware of his existence. So, really, Jaskier could daydream all he wanted but had no intention of doing anything more.

Except, Jaskier couldn’t help but wonder. Geralt had such range in his musical taste, maybe he would like what Jaskier wrote. It was a rare night off and Jaskier was well into the bottle with Valdo when they got talking, egging each other on about who was the better musician. It ended with Jaskier drunkenly posting a CD of his music to Kaer Morhen Radio, addressed for Geralt. When he woke up in the morning, on the floor next to his couch which was occupied by Valdo, Jaskier groaned.

Thankfully, there was never a mention or even a single note of his music in the next week. Slowly, Jaskier relaxed, only a little disappointed that his music hadn’t even been acknowledged by Geralt. He almost had a heart attack when eight days later, Lambert came on air with a mad cackle.

“Morning fuckheads!” Lambert sounded more cheery than ever before. “You’ll never guess what I found. Geralt has been hoarding new music. Good music. Said it was for him. Well, I have decided he cannot hold this back from us. If you’re listening, Jaskier, your note was hilarious. I hope your hangover was worth it. Thanks for the CD!”

There was a growl that sounded like Geralt storming into the booth but the microphone was cut and Jaskier’s song started playing. Jaskier almost crashed his truck in shock. Especially when Lambert declared it so good, they would play it again and, sure enough, the song went back to the beginning to play twice in a row.

If it had just been Lambert, Jaskier would have quietly died of shame, accepting that he was being mocked. But Eskel got in on it too. That afternoon he introduced Jaskier’s song with the promise that management were looking into getting in touch with him about the music. Even worse, a listener even requested the song later that evening. Jaskier was both in heaven and hell at the same time. That night, Geralt didn’t play his song and Jaskier was only a little disappointed.

His phone rang the next day.

“Good afternoon, my name is Vesemir, I’m calling from Kaer Morhen Radio. May I speak to Jaskier?”

Jaskier promptly choked. He got an invitation to the studio. It was a good seven days of driving away and Jaskier searched for a contract that would take him across the continent. While he drove, he got a bit braver and started e-mailing the radio station on his breaks.

His written request for songs were acknowledged by a hum and the song coming on next. When he asked Geralt for a shout out, he got obnoxious pop music playing instead. So Jaskier asked for two hums if Geralt wanted to meet and three if he didn’t. Thus, there was a “fuck” on air and the Beauty and the Beast theme song started playing. It was safe to say Jaskier didn’t understand it but he wasn’t deterred.

By the time Jaskier got into town and made his delivery, it was almost 6am. There was no time he had been specifically invited for and he ended up approaching the building at the same time Lambert showed up with Aiden and three large cups of coffee in hand.

“Excuse me,” he called out, “I’m here to see Vesemir.”

“Bit early for that.”

“He never gave me a time so I figured an early start would be appreciated.” It wasn’t exactly a lie but Jaskier kind of wanted to meet Geralt who would be finishing up soon.

For some bizarre reason, Jaskier was led into the radio studio, no questions asked. Surely it was a security issue but then again, Jaskier checked out Lambert and Aiden, they would no doubt be able to handle any issues. Then there was Geralt, stepping out of the booth, Lambert’s intro queued up. He froze when he spotted Jaskier and, curiously, glanced away, seemingly all shy. The curious response was explained away all too soon. There, on the wall, was Jaskier’s CD and a polaroid of him and Valdo, helpfully labeled “The Talent” with an arrow to Jaskier and “The Fake” pointing at Valdo.

“You here for Vesemir?” Geralt asked eventually, sipping at one of the cups Lambert had brought.

“Amongst other things,” Jaskier replied.

“He won’t be here until 10. Why don’t we go grab breakfast while you wait?”

Aiden wolf whistled at that and Lambert whooped, arms in the air.

“My dear fuckheads,” he purred into the microphone, “we have a date between our local cryptid and our mystery siren. Please wish them luck.”

It turned out that, in person, Geralt was a bit more talkative than on air. And Jaskier helped fill any silence without any problems. He ended up being later than planned to meet Vesemir and Tissaia who had a very handsome cheque for him for playing his music and also his phone number with the promise of passing it on to some connections who had expressed an interest in his music.

Never before had Jaskier thought he would thank Valdo Marx for anything. But, one drinking session with him had landed Jaskier with not only a contract with a record label but also a boyfriend. With his first pay, Jaskier send Valdo the biggest bouquet of flowers humanly possible.

[ransomedrogue]

Tales of Woe - Scenes from S1

well... this was taking forever so just gonna leave it here and say it’s done? as always, it ended up longer than intended, then I wasn’t going to include all the scenes then I thought well it’s all written anyhow so, may as well...

1.18

It seemed like ages until the scene was secure and documented; there was so much to deal with between the dead art thief and his house full of stolen treasures.

As usual, Weller was running the show so Jane had little to do except keep an eye on the irritating criminal who had gotten them all involved in the unlikely scheme. Which was enough of a task in itself, as Rich had started jabbering again, once he'd gotten over the shock of seeing the damaged painting.

"That was a pretty slick move you guys pulled off back there, even if it did almost destroy a priceless piece of art," he commented.

"All that silent communication, interpreting body language, talking with the eyes stuff, if you will. That is 100% my jam."

"Especially in the heat of the moment, with lives on the line. You two must have worked together a long time to read each other that well."

Jane flashed Rich the fiercest glare she could manage, while simultaneously checking around to see if Allie was within earshot. Although she knew he was just trying to rile them all up by getting underneath their skin, it was hard not to feel tense whenever he opened his mouth.

Even when she kind of liked what he was saying.

Jane shook her head mentally as she felt her stomach swim with conflicted emotions. She wanted what was best for Kurt, and Allie seemed to be a perfect fit. No matter how much it hurt to see another woman in his life, she knew it couldn't be her place. Not with everything she was hiding from him; all that she really was.

And yet she hadn't entirely hated Rich's commentary, said just loudly enough that she and Allie could overhear him at the doorway.

Tell me again why you're with Allie? When Jane's the one you look to first whenever anything goes wrong, or goes right for that matter?

Weller hadn't even denied it, and that was another thing altogether.

"You realize you do it too, right?"

Jane snapped out of her reverie and turned her head back towards Rich, doing her best to appear uninterested in whatever he was about to say.

"You're always watching him, checking in. Like he's your responsibility."

"I mean, I get it. You're like partners and all. That intense bond between cops, that's actually one of my fetishes, unlikely as it might seem…"

"Shut up, Rich," Jane growled, unwilling to let him go any further into his thought.

Of course she didn't bother to tell him that they weren't partners in any sense of the word and had not been working together for long at all. Especially not when they'd first encountered the mouthy criminal, when they'd supposedly had so much chemistry.

It was true though. No matter how much she'd tried to shrug it off, she'd felt it. The way he touched her; even back then. It had seemed so easy, and right. Just like how they did look to each other first, whenever something happened.

She'd never even questioned it, the way in which she and Weller worked so perfectly in sync. It had just always been the way between them, even way back at the start when he'd trusted in her abilities more than she did.

"Okay, okay, sorry, I just thought it'd be a good chance to put it out there, seeing as how you're definitely not pining over Stubbles, and we have some chemistry too. I mean not like the way it is between you two of course. But if he's not willing to see what he has, then…"

"Rich!"

Allie was walking by and gave him a solid death stare before closing her eyes tiredly and striding away. Jane exhaled irritably in Rich's ear, hoping it would at least keep him quiet until the Marshal was out of earshot again.

"She looks like she has a headache," Rich mused. "She should probably get that checked out; you should see the studies on concussions coming out these days. I mean I'd be pretty worried if my girlfriend got knocked out like that."

Jane frowned, both in concern at Allie's head and at Rich's implication. Weller had checked on Allie right away, as soon as he could. But then she thought about the conversation that had followed, where Allie had said she was seeing two of him.

At the time Jane had just assumed it was mostly a joke, a way to shrug off the injury. It was something she would do herself, in an attempt to throw off Weller's overprotectiveness.

But then Kurt had taken Allie at her word and had gotten right back to work. He hadn't even demanded that she get checked out by a doctor, or tried to tell her to rest while he dealt with the scene.

Jane couldn't help but remember all the times she'd been forced into the medical room by him, after taking much smaller hits than the one that had left Allie unconscious. Maybe Weller just felt he couldn't tell Allie what to do because she worked for another agency and wasn't under his command. And yet she knew that wasn't it.

"I'm sure Allie's fine," Jane said, scowling in an attempt to deter any more comments.

Rich nodded sagely, as if agreeing with her. But of course he still didn't shut up.

"I'm sure she is," he mused. "I mean, Weller's her man and he doesn't seem worried at all."

Of course both Weller and Allie came within hearing range at that moment, making Jane close her eyes in dismay. No matter what she did, Rich's non-stop commentary wouldn't stop.

"I'm sure he'd be just the same if you were showing obvious signs of brain trauma."

Jane groaned inwardly as Kurt stepped closer and frowned at Rich's words, before turning towards her and looking into her eyes carefully.

"Did you take a hit I didn't see?" he asked.

"No, I'm fine," Jane sighed. "He's just going on about nothing again."

But of course Rich nudged her with his elbow and raised his eyebrows suggestively as Allie stepped up beside them. And still Kurt's eyes remained on Jane for a long pause before finally accepting that she really was okay.

"Let's get back to the NYO," Weller finally said, sounding annoyed at the situation in general.

"We need to figure out what to do about the damaged painting"

Jane exhaled in relief, glad to get away from the irritation of babysitting Rich. He seemed determined to screw with their heads, and their hearts. And, despite the little twinge of joy she got from hearing the mouthy criminal go on about how she and Kurt should be together, Jane knew that it was wrong. She hated the idea of breaking up Weller's relationship, especially because Oscar had tasked her with just that. Kurt deserved to have someone that was as great as Allie seemed to be; someone who could make him happy.

She had to find a way to tell him.

Even if it ended up being as awkward as it played out in her head.

###

Allie Knight walked out of the conference room at the NYO, fuming on so many levels. Getting played by Rich Dotcom after agreeing to his wild scheme and dealing with his 'insightful' comments all day was already making her a little crazy. And then there was Kurt.

He'd been pissing her off since that morning. The worst part was he was completely oblivious to it; had no idea he'd done anything wrong.

Which in turn made her even more mad. And maybe a little bit sad.

It had been going so well, or so she had thought. He'd even invited her to meet his dad, an unbelievable occurrence in more than one way.

But you knew, Allie told herself. You asked and he answered.

What's the deal between you and Jane?

That is not what this is about.

But obviously it was, even if he somehow couldn't see it.

She couldn't even be pissed off at Jane, who seemed to be doing everything she could to stay out of their relationship. Surprisingly, Allie actually kind of liked the other woman, despite her obvious effect on Kurt.

But the way he looked at her and acted around her. That wasn't the Kurt Weller Allie knew. That was some other man, full of emotion and a softness she didn't recognize at all.

Their relationship was still mostly based on mental and physical release; which was why the invitation to family dinner had seemed like a big step. But even though she'd come over and met his dad, Allie had always had the sense that she'd never really know all of him. Weller would always be that guy with her; good-hearted and fun but emotionally guarded. Yet it was obvious that he wasn't like that with Jane.

She could feel him walking out of the room just behind her and knew it was time to make a choice. He'd shown his hand, with far too many tells.

When she'd walked in on them that morning, it wasn't so much that Jane was hugging him. It was that Kurt had let himself be so emotionally vulnerable in front of her; crying while letting himself be held. And it had been pretty clear that they would have been there for awhile if she hadn't interrupted.

If she'd hugged him, of course he would have accepted it too. But a little stiffly and definitely with dry eyes; as if trying not to take too much comfort from it. He would have been her Kurt, so desperate to remain in control of his feelings that he buried them deep and pretended they weren't there.

Allie sighed, knowing what she had to do and yet still a little reluctant to let go. It had already been a shit day, right from that awkward moment in the locker room onwards. Goddamned Rich and his stupid escapades and his never-ending spiel of comments.

She was pissed at herself for letting him win, both in his plot and in his head games. But Allie had to admit he'd really only vocalized what had been itching at her the entire time. Kurt did look to Jane first, and worry about her more than anyone else. It was impossible not to see when around them.

"All right, so we gonna wash the day away with some nice scotch?" Weller asked.

Allie turned and swallowed back the last of her regret.

"I think I'm gonna pass," she replied.

"Why?" Kurt asked, reaching out for her.

"Hang on."

Allie sighed internally as she stopped and faced him. He really had no idea.

"Because of what Rich said on the roof?" Weller asked.

"He was just trying to throw us all off balance."

"It's not about what he said, all right. It's about what I saw," Allie retorted, feeling all of her annoyance ball up in her throat.

"And what'd you see?"

Did he really not understand how it looked from the outside? Especially to the people who knew him the best. Or even to the criminal who'd only met them twice.

"That there's something between you and Jane, okay?" Allie stated.

"I don't know what it is, and I don't know if you know what it is. But don't make me feel crazy by pretending it's not there."

To his credit, Weller didn't try and argue. Just stood there dumbstruck as Allie declared that she needed some space and strode off before the sadness kicked in.

Walking away, she felt both lighter and heavier all at once.

Even if he didn't know it, she'd confirmed that day what she'd always suspected - that she'd never have all of his heart. It was entirely possible he was lying to himself about how he felt; she knew those Kurt Weller walls and his ability to burrow behind them. But she couldn't lie to herself anymore.

So she wasn't going to let him hide behind her anymore, use her as a way to avoid the truth that they all could see. He was in love with Jane and couldn't keep his eyes off of her. Even if he couldn't admit it to himself.

It stung a little but not as much as Allie thought. Every step forward in their relationship had been a struggle, and now she understood why. Seeing him with Jane was like being around a different man.

Now it was just time for both of them to accept it and move on.

###

"I don't know what it is, and I don't know if you know what it is. But don't make me feel crazy by pretending it's not there."

He hadn't denied it because she was right of course. Well, and also because he'd been a bit stunned; somehow hadn't seen it coming at all. Even after dealing Rich's comments all day, Weller thought Allie's skin would have been thicker. But then her words sank in and he forced himself to actually look at his behaviour.

What Kurt realized was he'd been doing his best to pretend that none of it existed. All the ways Jane made him feel, every time he looked to her first. After he'd declared her off limits in his own mind, he'd tried so hard to treat her the same as everyone else. And obviously failed miserably at it, as pointed out by the annoyingly observant Rich Dotcom.

So Weller hadn't examined what it was, or put words to it. But, then again, it wasn't like he didn't know. Jane made him feel things that were entirely new, all the time. The emotions he'd gone through in the relatively short while that she'd been in his life were so intense, sometimes he was completely overwhelmed by them.

Kurt watched Allie walk away, feeling bad about the situation in various ways. He thought he'd been successfully avoiding the mistakes of the past with her. But he knew she was right too. He wasn't being honest with himself or with her.

Weller walked down the hall in a daze, angry and sad and everything in between. They'd gotten played by a smart-mouthed crook and then he'd gotten dumped. Oh, and his dad was dying.

He really needed that scotch.

"Hey, are you okay?"

His neck tingled at the sound of her voice and his head snapped up to meet concerned eyes.

"Fine," Weller deflected, feeling his heart rate start to amp up. She'd caused him so much stress that day and yet none of it was her fault at all.

"Um, I'm sorry about today," Jane said, a bit timidly. "I wish he would have just shut up."

He shook his head, having had the same thought the entire mission. He would have given anything to close the whole thing down and send the mouthy criminal back to maximum security. But he also couldn't get Rich's words out of his head.

"Tell me again why you're not with Jane?"

"Some would say it means that you're more worried/excited about her."

"Life's too short, Jane. Follow your heart. Tell Weller how you feel."

Now though, the irritation at having a criminal comment far too astutely on his love life had mostly seeped out. But that meant Kurt was just left standing there with the obvious truth in Rich's words still ringing in his mind; all while Jane was standing in front of him looking too worried for his liking.

How did she feel?

And why did his heart thump even harder just at the thought?

"He was just trying to mess with us," Weller said. "Don't worry about it."

"None of this is your fault."

Jane's expression lost a little of that guilty edge, and she offered him a small smile, as if she was trying her best to believe him.

He wanted to deflect her attention from that line of thought, trying to put it out of his own head too. Searching for another topic to focus on, his mind traitorously turned back to that morning, where he'd broken down in front of her and found himself crying in her arms.

The comfort he'd found within them had been immediate and somehow familiar; even though he normally felt awkward accepting hugs. Even now he was somehow okay with how much emotion he'd shown her and how soothing it had felt to be held by her.

He wanted that comfort right now too, for her to hold him and tell him everything was going to be okay. Of course he didn't give in to that inclination but it gave him an inspiration; a way to distract both of them from the day they'd just had.

"Hey, I'm about to head to the hospital to see my dad. Do you want to come?"

Jane's eyes lit up at the idea, like she was so happy to be able to do something for him. And Weller couldn't deny how it felt in his chest, seeing a shy hopeful grin tug at her lips as she nodded eagerly.

He hated that Rich was right. He did look to her first.

And it seemed like the entire world already knew why.

###

The entire day had been so incredibly awkward. Yet slipping her hand into his and tucking their fingers together felt so normal and comforting. And when Weller returned her tentative squeeze with a more forceful one, Jane finally remembered to breathe.

For a long moment they just stood there silently, and Jane could see that Kurt was doing his best to contain his emotions but they continued to spill out. He'd been so thankful to her for visiting his dad, which felt good in a way. But then there was the lie.

She felt so guilty. And yet, the little lie had made him so happy. The look on his face when she said she'd remembered. It broke her heart.

So there she was, standing there with his hand in hers, wishing she never had to let go. That he could be hers.

Tell Weller how you feel.

There was so much she wanted to tell him that she couldn't. Especially now, when he was with Allie and his dad was dying. What would she tell him anyways? That she had plotted all this, planted herself in his life and had known it for weeks now but not told him. Oh and I'm in love with you, that too.

She'd tried to tell him just the opposite, in the most awkward way she could come up with. She still cringed thinking about it.

So Jane just stayed silent until Kurt let go and started to set up an emotional wall.

"I should take you home," he said, staring at his feet.

"You can stay, I can make my own way back," she said, sensing he was on the verge of something he didn't want to share.

"No, I don't want…" he stammered.

"It's hard to be here alone and he's going to be out for awhile now."

She wanted to reach for him again but held back. He wasn't hers, she had to remember that.

"Okay, let's go then," Jane said.

Weller was distant, a little lost looking on the way back to the car. She wondered what he was thinking about, if he wanted to talk about it.

He isn't yours she reminded herself again. He had someone to talk to if he needed to.

And yet when they sat in the car and he was still so quiet, it was all she could do not to physically reach for him. He kept glancing over but didn't say anything, and she couldn't think of anything that didn't sound trite.

When they got to her safe house, he insisted on seeing her in even though she told him it wasn't necessary. At the door, she turned and he was giving her an undefinable look.

"Are you going to be okay?"

Weller turned his head quickly, wearing that same sad frown that made him look so vulnerable. But then he reshaped his features, attempting a small smile but not quite succeeding.

"Yeah, it's just been a long day, and not a very good one," he muttered.

"I know… I'm sorry," she started, feeling the need to apologize for everything going so wrong at the penthouse party.

"No, you did everything you could," he said. "We should have never let him set any of this up."

He shook his head and looked so weary.

"It's just been hard. I messed it all up. I should… I need… "

Weller sputtered a bit, losing his words again. And just the same as that morning, Jane instinctively reached for him, wrapping her arms around him.

He was shuddering a little and she pulled him close, wishing she really could tell him how she felt. Instead, she was just offering him some comfort, for whatever his unspoken need might be.

After awhile she realized he was crying into her shoulder, at about the same time he came to that realization as well.

"Shit, I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean to…"

"Shhh, it's okay," she soothed. "You can let it out, I won't tell anyone."

He laughed against her, then cried some more. And Jane had to admit she wanted nothing else than to keep on holding him, telling him everything was alright.

So for that moment at least, she did.

I love you Kurt Weller, she thought. And I want to hold onto you forever.

That's what Rich would want me to say.

[rainydaymiddleearthimagines]

What about Aragorn x witch reader? The night of Helms Deep battle she helps Aragorn put on his armor and get ready and she tells Aragorn she will keep him safe and assure him that they will survive? Aragorn was everyone's emotional support that night the man needs someone to do the same for him🥺

This request is so cool! Let’s do this!

You were a bit of an odd case amongst the court of Théoden. The man had been ill, years prior to everything that was going on now. You had saved his life with an unconventional remedy and the man started asking you for more assistance. Or at least this was the story everyone was told. Your days amongst his court were typically very pleasant though. This however was one of the worst days of your life. The man that you had spent multiple years helping had betrayed you and stuck you in the dungeons. 

You paced when you were bored and when your legs were too tired you sat. Éowyn was the only thing keeping you alive, you being too frail now to even function. Fucking Grima allowed Saruman to seep into Théoden’s mind, poisoning his boy and soul. 

You laid on the floor, clinging to the only crack of sunlight you could find, unaware that Gandalf was there now with the future heroes of Middle Earth. You coughed, sick from the lack of basic human needs and struggling to remain alive. In one last poor attempt to fight you said “help”. You weren’t expecting an answer.

Gandalf turned, looking around. “Is there something wrong Gandalf?” Legolas asked. “Do you have a wizard in your court?” Gandalf asked Théoden who was now well and alive. Théoden’s eyes widened and Éowyn took off in the direction of the dungeons. The group all followed her, finding you barely breathing. “My gods.” Théoden gaped at the sight of you chained to the wall, eyes tired, skin pale. “Get this woman some water!” Gandalf demanded. A guard ran over with a pitcher of water. “It’s Grima he let--” “We know...” “Saruman has betrayed us all” “We know.” Éowyn soothed, you leaning against her. “I’m so sorry Lady Y/n.” Théoden said. “I should apologize to you my king... I let you fall into the hands of Grima, I should have been more vigilant.” You muttered. Aragorn looked in your eyes, you meeting his gaze. You seemed exhausted just by the mere act of standing. 

“Sir Aragorn can you take her to the-” Aragorn needed no further instruction, lifting you up. He walked to the healers, you still in his arms. “I’ve seen you before.” you muttered, groggily. “I do not recall when we have met.” Aragorn said. “It was not a meeting... It was a vision.” You muttered. Aragorn tensed. “You are Isildur’s-” “No. You’re mistaken, my lady.” He halted. 

Hours passed before you joined everyone in the main hall again. “Lady Y/n, it is good to see you recovered.” Théoden said as you walked. Aragorn was shocked at the sight of you. No longer were you frail, no longer were you pale and close to death, you were beautiful. Your hair was pulled back but you were a dress similar to Éowyn but it was blue, reminding Aragorn of Arwen. You stood up straight, bowing to the king. “Now for a proper introduction. This is Lady Y/n L/n of Rohan. She is our court mage.” Theoden introduced. “I do not deserve such a warm welcome your majesty.” you said softly. “Nonsense. She’s more of a daughter to me than an assistant.” Théoden said. “You speak more kindly than I deserve.” You muttered. “Y/n, where is this coming from?” Eowyn asked. “I should’ve done more than what I did to keep Grima away from the both of you.” you muttered. Aragorn noticed your eyes, sad as they looked forward. “My dear girl, an army couldn’t have swayed my way once Saruman took control.” He said. 

You still seemed remorseful, looking down. “Lady Y/n, it is an honor to finally meet the lady of the lake.” Gandalf said, Legolas gaping. You turned. “You are the Lady of the Lake?” Legolas asked. “What has earned you that title I wonder?” Gimli asked. Aragorn was equally as confused as the dwarf on the title. “You know not of the lady of the lake--” “Shh!” You hushed. Footsteps came from behind the door before it opened, two terrified looking children stepping into the hall. “These two children rode in from a village in the west.” A guard said. You frowned. “Then we are in need of evacuation.” you said. You kept a stern face, Aragorn raising a brow until you looked the little girl in the eyes and kneeled to her level. 

“What is your name?” You asked, your voice soft and expression softening. “Freda- my name is Freda.” She whimpered. You brushed the hair from her face. “The children will remain with Lady Éowyn, my lord I request that we-” “We will send our citizens to Helm’s Deep.” Théoden said. You nodded. “You will help the citizens--” “No my lord.”  you halted. He rose a brow, as did Aragorn and Legolas. “I charge with the men, you need protection outside of a sword.” you stated. He sighed. “I cannot ask this of you. It is like letting my own child go out there.” He said. “Nor can I ask you to lead towards death, for it is like sending my father to his doom.” you said simply. He sighed, Aragorn looking at you. “Then you charge with us.” He said. You nodded, turning on your heel.

The next time Aragorn saw you, you were in armor, your hair pulled back out of your face. You seemed quiet, watching the new addition to the group in silence. You rode next to Aragorn, not speaking as you listened to Gimli’s rather odd tales of home. “So your title.” Aragorn started. You looked over, nodding. “You’re referring to this ‘lady of the lake’ business I suppose.” you shrugged. “What did earn you that name?” Gimli asked. You chuckled, looking ahead at Théoden as he rode. You glanced at your wrists for a moment, them being covered by your vambraces. 

“I was almost dead. Goblins had stormed my village and nearly took my life. They left me for dead in a lake not far from it.” You muttered. Theoden looked at you with a sad look. “Something in me wanted to keep fighting. It wanted to stay alive.” Aragorn noticed that look in your eyes, it being far off and pained. “So when they least expected it, when they were removing the sword from my brother’s corpse all they saw was a woman with glowing white eyes emerge from the waters before they were struck down and killed with my powers.” You explained. Aragorn looked at the sword on your side. “Was that your brother’s then?” He asked. “Yes.” you nodded. “How did you end up with Lord Theoden?” Gimli asked. You smiled kindly to the dwarf. “I went unconscious after using my abilities. He found me, asking if I wished to stay with his niece. I said no after first but not long after he found me he fell ill. My mother taught me the ways of medicine and I nursed him back to health. After helping him his villagers started coming to me. After two years, I agreed to help him.” You answered. “You seem happy here.” Aragorn said. You looked at Éowyn who was smiling at something a villager said. “I am.” you answered. 

Aragorn liked that smile. It was beautiful, it reminded him of home. “I know of an elven woman who is skilled with water magic.” Aragorn said. “I stayed with the woman you are speaking of.” You said. He blinked. “Arwen Undomiel is the woman you are speaking of, correct?” you asked. He nodded slowly, raising a brow. “Before I lived in the village I stayed with the elves. I spent most of my time in Lothlorien but I also spent some of my time in Rivendell, learning the art of healing from Elrond.” You said. “Why not stay with your family?” Gimli asked. “Power without control is a dangerous thing sir Gimli.” you said. “You trained with us?” Legolas asked. “Yes. I have indeed met your father. Great man. Stern. But great.” you said. Legolas seemed to tense up at the mention of his father. “There are many strange things about you Y/n.” Aragorn stated. “I know. But strange and mysterious is more fun that way, don’t you think?” You asked, clearly amused by the man’s confusion. He gave you a small smile, your heart doing a small backflip as you looked at him.

“Are you close with Lady Arwen?” you asked. “She is practically my sister.” He admitted. You looked over confused. “Elrond raised me.” he said. You rose a brow. “Then how have we never crossed paths if you were in the same places that I was.” you asked. “I am much older than I appear, my lady.” He said. You looked at the man confused. “I am 87.” He said, you blinking with surprise. “You have seen many winters my lord when I have only seen 25.” you said. “You are wise for a woman who is so young.” He said, smiling. Again your heart pounded in your ears. “I have seen many things in this world that provided me with wisdom.” you told him, smiling at him. He felt this strange feeling in his chest. 

You noticed a bird in the sky, sticking your arm out so it would perch. It landed, you looking at it as you fed it a cracker from your pack. “There are enemies nearby.” you said. Aragorn rose a brow. “You’ve kept a sentinel?” He asked. “Yes I have.” You answered before lifting your arm, the hawk flying away. You drew your sword, Theoden riding off to the side instructing the men to protect and fight as best as they could. You all rode away from the group, deterring the enemy away from the refugees. 

Aragorn immediately noticed you abandoning the horse you rode in on, sending it back to the group before you swung your sword, cutting down an orc. You fought hard, Aragorn noticing your skill. But the large thing he noticed was your habit of keeping close to Théoden. By no means was the man unskilled for battle, he was fighting very well. You though, had this raw energy of fighting that seemed untouchable. 

You stabbed an enemy close to you, noticing a warg hurdling towards Aragorn before you stuck out your hand, an invisible force knocking it back out of the way of him. It seemed annoyed by your intervention, standing back up. “Shit.” you breathed as it prepared to charge. It sprinted forward, readying your blade before someone blocked for you, attacking the warg before it could hit you. You looked at him, nodding as a thank you before another warg bit your arm, dragging you as it ran. Aragorn frowned, about to stab it before he realized that his boot had latched itself to the saddle that an orc rode on. “CUT IT FREE!” you yelled, smacking the warg to make it let go. It was in vain as Aragorn made one last attempt to do as he was told before the warg launched itself off of the cliff. 

You managed to get free, cutting the loose leather strap of the boot away, pulling Aragorn close. “What are you-” “Trust me” was the last thing Aragorn heard. 

Your bodies collided with the waters, it feeling like concrete when you landed. You both washed up on shore, you being a bit more lucid than Aragorn who was still unconscious. “Spirits -o nature hear nin plea. Help nin help nin núr. Help nin help hon núr (spirits of nature, hear my plea, please help me help my people. Help me help him)” You whispered, your voice traveling on the wind before you closed your eyes. You felt something hanging over you, you looking up at a horse… the horse you sent back to the group. You pulled yourself up by the reins, lifting Aragorn up. He groggily climbed onto the horse, you doing the same before it rode on. 

You chose to rest while riding, Aragorn slowly waking up. He was leaning against something. He leaned back, his vision slowly returning before seeing you, slightly hunched over as you slept. He was grateful for you. You had saved his life taking most of that fall and he had been much appreciative of that. He noticed that peaceful look on your face, your eyes closed, hair damp from the waters of the river and cheeks slightly rosy from the cold. He held you closer, providing his body heat to keep you warm and you tensed up at first. 

It wasn’t until dusk that you actually woke up, Aragorn holding the reins to the horse. You leaned up after realizing that you had fallen asleep against him. “You’re awake.” He noticed. “Yes….” you muttered before noticing something. You leaned forward, looking at the horizon and frowning. You took the reins from Aragorn, making the horse ride faster. “Y/n, What are you doing?” He asked. “There are forces coming from the west, we don’t have much time before they reach Helm’s Deep!” you said.

So you rode, clearly worried. Aragorn couldn’t stop looking at you, something was different about you. Maybe it was the fact that you were no longer a frail woman who needed assistance to even do so much as walk. Maybe it was the fact that you were so determined to save your people from a potentially hopeless battle. Aragorn found himself admiring you. 

You rode through the lands, encouraging your horse to go as fast as it could before arriving at the gates. Éowyn was overwhelmed when she saw you, her hugging you on sight. “You’re alive! I knew it!” She said. “Where is Lord Théoden?” you asked. “He is in the hall, Y/n I don’t think he--” “Forces are coming and fast. We must fight, we do not have a choice.” you said before walking past her. You shoved the doors open, walking into the hold. “Lady Y/n!” Théoden gasped, hugging you. “The people are in danger my lord, we must fight. We have no choice” You said. “We do not have the men-” “Then we must call for aid my lord, we have to do something!” you said, urging him to fight. “Y/n, you act as if we have resources to do so.” he said. “We do, we can ask for Gondor’s aid!” you said. “Gondor!?” “Yes my lord! If we call for aid-” “Calling Gondor would be useless.They will do nothing!” He said. “My lord if we fight with only our men we risk leaving them all to die.” You said. He let out a frustrated sigh. “If you do not wish to call for aid then I could-” “No.” He halted you. You frowned. “Sire, our people need protection, if you would just let me-” “I will not allow you to do that Y/n, do not press this any further.” Théoden halted. “Sire-” “I REFUSE Y/N, NOW STOP!” He yelled. You swallowed hard, Aragorn looking at you as you pushed past him and walked out. 

You started taking off your arm braces, Aragorn walking after you. “Y/n, there may yet be hope.” He said. You shook your head. “So long as it is only our men that charge, there is no hope for survival sir Aragorn.” You breathed, braiding your hair. He frowned, putting a hand on your shoulder. “There is still hope Y/n, if you would trust me.” He said. You looked in his eyes, before looking down. “There is one last thing that we can do my lord…” you said with a sigh. You looked at your wrists, the markings of chains embedded on your skin. “What is that?” He asked. You looked at him and shook your head. “I am… Not what you believe me to be.” You told him. “What is it that you mean?” He asked. “My lord I am not in Théoden’s court as a healer or a sorceress.” you said. He raised a brow. “Then what are you there for?” He asked. “I am a weapon.” you answered. 

He looked at you. “I am not to use my abilities unless it is life or death for it may kill me.” You admitted. Aragorn frowned. “Then no, we will not use that.” He said. “We have no choice, if it is my life for hundreds then so be it.” you said. “I cannot lose you!” He said. “Why? Because you care for me!? I care too much for my people than to sacrifice their winning chance because you decided to feel something for me.” you snapped. He sighed, closing his eyes. “If we lose you, who’s to say that sacrifice would not be in vain?” He asked. You sighed. “I must try Aragorn. Even if it does kill me.” you said softly. He closed his eyes and you put a hand to his cheek.

“Im am sorrui an what cin lothron lose Aragorn. But know i whatever does happen. Im ceri- care an cin. (I am sorry for what you may lose Aragorn. But know that whatever does happen... I do care for you.)” You said softly. He opened his eyes, looking at you. “I should find the armory.” you said, clearing your throat and leaving.

Hours had past, the sun was falling on the horizon and war was creeping closer. You had remained in the armory, watching children who shouldn’t be prepping to die, prepare for death. You looked over, Aragorn putting on his armor in silence. You walked over, tightening a strap he couldn’t reach. He cleared his throat. “Are you really… going out there?” he asked. “Unless a miracle happens then I will make whatever sacrifice I have to.” you muttered. Aragorn looked down, clearly saddened by this. First he lost a woman who was practically his sister by sailing away to the Undying Lands. Now he was losing someone all over again. 

You heard a loud horn, looking up confused. “That is no orc horn.” Legolas noticed. You rushed off with Aragorn, walking out to see elves. You paused, looking at the sight in front of you. “Who… called for aid?” You asked, looking at the elven general. “I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell. An alliance once existed between elves and men. Long ago we fought and died together.” Haldir said. Aragorn smiled. “We come to honor that allegiance.” Haldir added. “Mae govannen, Haldir. (Welcome, Haldir)” Aragorn greeted. He hugged the man, earning a small smile from you. “You are most welcome!” Aragorn said clearly relieved by the man’s presence alone. 

Morale boosted greatly as you continued to prepare for war. Théoden found you putting on your breastplate. “Y/n… a word.” He said. You turned around. “Yes, my lord?” you asked. “I apologize for yelling at you earlier, it was wrong of me.” He said. He noticed you didn’t put on your vambraces. “Are you planning on using your abilities?” he asked. You swallowed. “...I saw those forces Théoden… There’s too many… We will lose.” you muttered. “...Do what you think is best.” He said after a long silence. You looked up. “Sire-” “you have always done what was best for our people. You’ve fought strongly and bravely and when I said you were like my daughter, I meant it.” Théoden said. “Sire… Do you think I should use my abilities?” you asked. “I think you should only use them in a moment you think it’s truly needed.” He said. You nodded before he walked out. 

You walked to the wall, standing next to Aragorn. “You seem a bit more confident.” you muttered, looking at the man as he adjusted his boot. “Indeed. We have more aid.” he said. “Aragorn I..” you sighed and shook your head, him raising a brow. “Y/n if you wish to say something I’d advise you to say it before we possibly die.” he said. You rolled your eyes. "Great job on boosting the morale sir Aragorn." You muttered. "Speak now or forever hold your peace." He said sarcastically. You sighed. "... You've been pleasant to be around. And I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier. I want you to know that whatever happens out there… I'm glad that I am fighting next to you. And I'm glad that I knew you." You said to him. Aragorn rose, looking at you. You faced the battlefield, trying to ignore the gaze of the man. 

Course that became more difficult to ignore when Aragorn pulled you into a kiss. You sunk into it, your heart beating in your ears as you nearly collapsed into the man's arms. "I am glad to have you with me." He said softly. You nodded slowly before he walked off to investigate the other groups on the walls. 

Rain poured around you as twilight finally set and you could see the forces approaching. Aragorn soon came back to a place on the wall, looking at you as you stared at the forces gathering and then the chain tattoo on your wrists. Aragorn looked at you before taking your hand. You looked at him and then turned back to the battlefield. You had a dagger in your freehand, you looking at your wrist and then the battlefield again. "....Aragorn?" You muttered. He looked over. "Hmm?" He asked. "Thank you for being here." You said softly. He smiled and you looked back at the battlefield. You slid the dagger back into your holster, looking at the orcish army before you.

Perhaps you would live to see another day.

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

Into My Body, You Just Fold

Floyd Talbert x Reader

Warnings: FLUFF, optional!smut (poorly written dirty talk, lite name calling/degradation), OOC Tabbykins, mutual pining, drunken love confessions, Reader has an unfaithful husband (but OMC isn’t the worst), period-typical restrictions of women’s rights, not vv good writing tbh, and no-no words (per usual)

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As terrible a person it made you to admit as much- you didn’t think you could imagine life without Floyd Talbert.

 You’d promised yourself at a young age that you’d never be one of those women who needed a man to complete them, far too disenchanted by the sight of your friends losing their fire and spark upon marrying their husbands. Your father had raised you with the same permissive encouragement as he had your brothers, something that horrified your mother so much that she eventually stopped inviting you to her happy home with her new husband altogether.

Now that you were older you realized that marrying Frederick had been your desperate attempt to win back your mother’s love and approval, much more than your marriage had been for any sort of actual love towards your husband. 

 You’d tried, though. 

Frederick was funny and charming and could get along with anyone. He was driven and supportive, and he always made sure that you knew how much you meant to him. You should’ve been able to love him easily and completely.

But you didn’t- You couldn’t when, more often than not, he came home smelling of liquor and another woman. 

Sometimes several other women.

It became abundantly clear to you that, as much as you meant to him, you clearly weren’t enough to keep him from straying.

 Which is why you found your love for someone like Floyd so….unexpected.

 Upon first meeting him you’d hated him, obviously. He was just like Fred, no- he was worse than Fred because at least Frederick made some effort to hide his infidelities from the world. 

If anything, Tab flaunted his conquests like a badge of honor. It made your skin crawl.

Not that your dislike for him did anything to deter him, of course. 

 On the contrary, he seemed to take it as a challenge.

 It also didn’t seem to matter much that you were married. The ring you wore on the same chain as your dog tags seemed to deter any other potential suitors- and if for some reason that didn’t dissuade any overly-confident troopers, your marksmanship and reputation nipped any nonsense in the bud. 

Not Floyd Talbert, though. 

It didn’t matter where you two were- Tab made it his personal mission to win you over. He flirted with you on the boat ride to England, in the plane as it soared towards Normandy, in the middle of a gunfight on the way to Eindhoven. Hell, he’d even tried to charm you while recovering from a stab to his gut.

 The boy was shameless.

 If you had to narrow it down on a timeline, things had become more sincere and less childish in Eindhoven- when you’d gotten mobbed by a group of drunk and curious men who’d wanted to see more of the lone woman sniper of the 506th.

Floyd had appeared from nowhere and helped you wrestle your gun away from one of the idiots who’d attempted to divest you of it. He’d wasted no time in taking his own helmet from his head and placing it onto your own upon realizing that yours had been taken, wrapping a strong arm around your waist and guiding you from the throngs of people while you shook from leftover adrenaline.

 He’d kissed you that day after he had been unable to get you to refocus on him and stop you from hyperventilating. 

You’d stood stock still for a few seconds, mind scrambling to process the gentle feeling of his lips on yours as well as the fact that you were no longer tossing in the sea of people you’d been lost in moments ago.

When he’d pulled back, you could only gape at him like an idiot.

 “W-why did you—?”

Floyd’s rough hands had come up to hold your face, taking a deep breath of his own before replying.

“I, uh…” he had stammered for a moment before shaking his head quickly and clearing his throat. “I was trying to get you to snap out of...just trying to get you back.”

 After that, things had progressed pretty quickly.

 He’d stopped seeking out any female company other than yours- not that you’d noticed at the time- spending the few nights of freedom he was afforded with you while you would ritually take apart and clean your rifle, talking with you about anything and everything. He had a knack for making you laugh harder than anyone ever had before.

Sometimes you’d talk about serious things, like your families or past loves or the foolish hopes you both had had before the war.

 Every so often, he’d ask you about Frederick.

 Thinking about Fred made you uncomfortable. Unhappy. 

 But because Floyd had been so honest with you, you tried to be honest with him as well.

No matter how innocently the questions began, they always ended with Floyd furrowing his brows and saying your name softly enough that you couldn’t help but hesitantly meet his imploring gaze. He’d always ask some variation of the same question:

“Why did you marry him?”

 Most nights you didn’t answer. Some nights you were able to deflect the question well enough that eventually you both fell into a different conversation altogether. One night you’d been in a bad mood and snappily asked him an uncomfortable question of your own.

“Why do you have such a hard time keeping it in your pants whenever a pretty girl is around?” 

That always shut him up. And, despite the fact that you could feel the upset rolling from Tab in waves, he never left. 

 That night, you had taken his fist between your hands and uncurled his fingers. You had felt his eyes on you as you purposefully dug your thumbs into his palm to ease the tension you found, eventually turning his hand over so you could carefully trace your fingertips over his war-calloused knuckles.

“That was unkind,” you had whispered, guilt churning your stomach when at the hurt you knew you had caused. His grey-blue eyes were curious as you hesitantly looked up at him, and once you had met his gaze you’d almost lost your train of thought.  “I’m sorry, Tab.”

 You hadn’t been expecting him to kiss you again, but even as he had you didn’t immediately stop him. 

It was only when he had started to pull you closer that you quickly pulled away. Your breathing had become heavy, and while you didn’t let go of his hand you still said his name admonishingly under your breath. 

“You shouldn’t do that,” you’d whispered, unable to look at him and electing to look at your feet as you brought your hand up to press your fingertips against your still-tingling lips. “You- you know I’m….you know why I can’t—”

“I know,” Floyd’s voice was low, and despite the fact that you weren’t looking at him you’d been able to see the grimace on his face. “I just….I know. I’m sorry, Y/N”

You’d cleared your throat, pulling your hand away from his and giving him a tight smile. 

“No need to apologize. Let’s just forget about it, yeah?”

Without waiting for his response, you’d gone back to the table where you had been working on your gun, desperate for a distraction.

“So, uh, what was it that you were saying about your brother? He’s graduating high school soon?”

 Despite Floyd’s willingness to play along, you had been unable to stop thinking about the feeling of his lips on yours. You wondered if this was what happened to Frederick- if this rush of adrenaline after doing something you shouldn’t was what he was chasing each time he went home with someone else.

You’d never known guilt could be so heady. In that moment, you’d started to realize just how dangerous this friendship with Tab could be.

But even then, you’d also had a sinking feeling that you weren’t going to be able to give him up, That you were no better than Frederick.

Taking your oiled rag back into your hands, you’d scrubbed the metal o-ring of your piston and tried not to think too hard about what this revelation said about you.

~

It had been during a 48-hour pass that he’d asked the question about Fred for the very last time, after you’d each finished a bottle of sweet French wine while sitting on the floor between two beds of the hotel room.

That night, you’d given him a sad smile and gestured half-heartedly with your canteen as you brought it to your lips.

 “Because I thought it was what I was supposed to do. Because…. I didn't think I was allowed to say no.”

He’d stared at you sadly, clenching his jaw a few times before clearing his throat and letting his head loll back to rest against the side of the bed. 

 “Ask me again.”

 You’d frowned at him, confused as to what he was asking you to say. Your silence must’ve given away your lack of understanding, because he laughed humorlessly before closing his eyes.

“

Ask me why I can’t keep it in my pants….'round pretty girls….”

“Oh-kay…?” you’d said slowly, leaning back and stretching your legs out in front of you. “Why can’t you keep it in your pants?”

 With a bit more effort than it probably should’ve taken, Tab twisted his body so the back of his head was resting in your lap, the strands of his hair ticking the skin of your thighs where your sleep shorts had bunched up.

 “Same fuckin’ reasons.”

 In the dim light of the hotel room, you’d been the one to kiss him, your lips trembling with heartbreak on his behalf and complex (if not unbidden) emotion. Floyd sat up so you weren’t having to hunch your body over to reach him, carefully wrapping an arm around your waist as he shifted your bodies so neither of you had to strain to reach the other. Despite Floyd being Floyd- he didn’t kiss you greedily, the plush of his mouth soft as it followed your gentle rhythm without any sign of wanting more than you were willing to give. 

 Once he’d realized that you had begun to cry, Tab broke the kiss carefully, and he had reached a gentle hand up to brush your tears away, a sad smile crossing his face.

“Now, isn’t that a sight?” he’d whispered. “Never had a girl cry for me before. Don’t think I like it much…’specially when that girl’s you.”

 He’d allowed you to cry for him, allowed you to cry for yourself and all of the hurt and pain you’d been holding inside of your chest for what felt like decades. You didn’t remember falling asleep, but when you had woken up the next morning you felt his fingers combing through your clean hair as you both lay sprawled out together on the floor. At some point, one or both of you had pulled the bedding from the bed’s mattresses and tangled yourselves in the soft fabric.

 “Is it bad that I wish I’d met you first?” Floyd had asked, his voice a warm rumble as you rested your head on his chest.

“Yeah,” you’d admitted, scratching your nails lightly across his shirt-covered stomach. “But I’m much worse for agreeing with you.”

 As he turned his body so he was leaning over you, his hand came up to rest on your collarbone while his eyes danced across your face.

 “You’re beautiful….too beautiful to be ruined by someone like me, I think.”

You’d frowned, bringing one of your hands up to trace his mouth with your fingertips.

“Oh, Floyd- you can’t ruin what was already spoiled.”

 Tab then lowered himself so his nose brushed against yours, his lips brushing yours as he spoke.

“Can’t I?”

~

Even thinking about it now broke your heart.

Now, nearly two years after the war had ended.

Now, living in the house you’d once shared with Frederick.

Now, as you lay in bed and watched Floyd brush his teeth in the bathroom of the home you shared.

 Fred had last written to you five months ago, telling you that he was probably going to be in Japan for at least another six months before he could even apply to come back to the states. 

Despite the fact that he claimed his senior ranking in the Navy and his responsibilities to oversee prisoner exchanges were the ‘sole reason for his prolonged absence, you knew that it was probably more a case of him not wanting to return to a life of expected monogamy that kept him away.

Not that you minded one bit.

Not when you had Floyd.

 You hadn’t expected him to want to stay with you, in the literal sense or in the more metaphorical sense of commitment, yet he’d barely let you finish your offer before he agreed emphatically.

If you were truly being honest with yourself, you hadn’t imagined that he’d even want to stay after you’d slept with him the first time, shortly after returning to the states. 

 But he had. He had stayed.

 You’re ripped from your thoughts when you realize that the sound of Floyd brushing his teeth has stopped, and when you shook yourself from your trance you realized that he had caught you staring at him. Judging by the smug look on his face, he’d finished getting ready for bed a while ago, and when you begin to blush he crosses his arms across his chest and leans against the doorframe.

 “You know, ma’am,” he smirks as you clear your throat and pick at your nails embarrassedly. “It’s not wise to stare at a man like that unless you’re willing to face the consequences….”

You snort a laugh despite yourself, furrowing your brows and looking back to him with a dumb grin on your face. “Oh yeah? And what consequences would those be, Sir?” 

His eyes darken with a flash, having made it very clear long ago how much he liked it when you called him that. You cannot help but smirk at his clear shift in arousal.

 He pinches his bottom lip as he considers you- something that you couldn’t deny made your heart race with dark promise. Wetting your own lips, you lean back onto your elbows and watch him watch you.

Quirking his brow, he tilts his head and pushes himself from the doorframe to stalk to the foot of the bed and brace his arms against the mattress so he’s nearly leering at you.

 “Oh Lovely, I think I’m gonna have to show rather than tell.”

~Smut interlude, doodiLEEdedoo~

You shook your head in amusement, a smile breaking across your lips as he crawled his way up your body- his softening hands smoothing your silky nightgown up your thighs and stomach as he did so. A low, pleased curse rumbled low in his throat at your lack of underwear, smiling against your skin as he ducked down to kiss your hips and soft stomach while completing his journey.

 “I knew it was only a matter of time before I convinced you to stop wearing underwear to bed,” he says warmly, encouraging your thighs over his own while he kneels between your legs.

You can’t help but scoff at the wording of his observation.

“Yeah, if that’s what you’re calling ruining all of my expensive undergarments with your impatience, then yes Floyd, you’ve thoroughly convinced me to forgo underwear.”

 With an easy familiarity, Tab slips his hands under your nightdress and ghosts his blunt fingernails over the swell of your breasts, smirking at the goosebumps his touch elicits across your bare skin.

You lift your shoulders off of the bed enough to bring the bunched-up nightdress up and over your head before tossing it somewhere on the floor beside you, allowing your eyes to drift shut as he bows his head to kiss at your nipples in near-reverence. His hands map the rest of your body in a cycle that only he can predict, the sound of his skin brushing against yours paired with the warmth of his palms and mouth relaxing you in a way that no hot bath or soft bed ever could.

Floyd groans as you rake your fingers through his hair, allowing you to guide his face up to yours for a slow, imploring kiss before one of his hands slips in between your legs and massages at the lips of your sex.

 “Was I taking too long, Sweetheart?” he asks against your lips, his voice growing rough with need. “How long have you been this wet?”

 You don’t answer, choosing rather to roll your hips into his touch. Your breath catches in your throat at the first swirl of his middle finger over your clit, something that he does again with a smug hum against your lips.

 “Don’t worry, Y/N,” he reassures you as he wets his cock with your arousal. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll make it all better.”

 Whoever said that slow sex couldn’t also be filthy had clearly never met Floyd Talbert.

 By the time he’s flipping you onto your stomach, you’ve been brought to the teetering precipice of release three times- his mouth and fingers and cock working you up while he kissed the sweetest admonishments into your skin. Tab called you needy, cockhungry, and wicked- all while kissing across your skin with such a sweet contrast to his words that it made your head spin.

When he finally, finally pulls your hips up and begins to piston into you, you’re already so delirious for him that you are pleading for him to let you cum- something that only serves to make him grip your hips harder and groan in anticipation. 

 “Dirty girl,” he grits out as he bends enough that his forehead can rest between your bunched shoulder blades, the line between admonishment and praise blurring headily as you feel that familiar flutter building in your lower belly. “Are you going to come for me? Can feel you shaking for me like a good little whore….”

You barely have to ask for more before he grips your sex possessively with one of his hands, your orgasm tearing through you and stealing your breath as well as your capabilities for speech.

 Floyd, whose curse is drowned out by the rush of blood to your ears, follows you quickly over the edge- grinding out as much of his own release as he can in between your legs before collapsing atop you. 

Almost as an afterthought, Tab slips himself from your body, rolling to lay beside you as you both come down from your highs.

 “So good,” you’re barely aware of him panting out. “You’re so fucking good, Y/N….”

You blindly reach out to drape your arm across his waist, incapable of returning the praise just yet.

He knows, though. You know he does by the way he sighs happily beside you.

~End of smut interlude, doodiLEEdedoo~

~

“Y/N?”

You look down your body to where Floyd's head rests in the valley between your ribs, your fingers having been lazily combing through his overgrown hair for the past twenty minutes. 

“Hm?” you reply, your other hand snapping out to grab one of the pillows near the top of the bed and folding it beneath your head so you can watch him.

Turning his head to press a kiss on your skin, he looks up at you lazily. When you smile down at him, he returns with a content grin of his own.

 “Can I ask you something?”

Raising an eyebrow, you narrow your eyes teasingly. “I don’t know, Floyd….can you?”

You nearly shriek when his fingers dig into your sides, rolling your lips together in an attempt to quiet your laughter as Floyd bestows biting kisses up your sternum while you wriggle beneath him. 

“You’re such a brat sometimes,” he grumbles as he takes your face in his hands, unable to keep the smirk from his lips. “Lucky for you that you’re a good lay….”

Rolling your eyes, you nod your chin at him.

 “Just ask me already, you jerk.”

 His wicked expression softens, eyes scanning your face as you look up at him. The beginnings of a knot start to twist in your stomach, feeling the first drops of anxiety begin to stain your blood.

 “Floyd…..what’s wrong?” you ask, not liking the way he suddenly electing to look at your mouth rather than into your eyes. “Is everything—?”

“Would you ever marry me?”

 Your eyes widen at that. That had certainly not been what you were expecting him to ask you.

 Taking in a deep breath, you consider his words for a bit before answering immediately.

It wasn’t that you didn’t love him, because you did. No, what gave you pause was all that marrying him would entail- the greatest obstacle being that you were already married, and unless more things had changed in post-war America than you realized, polyandry was still illegal. Not to mention the fact that, upon marrying Fred, anything you had once been able to call your own was now- at least legally speaking- his.

 You didn’t even have any right to the house you and Floyd had been living in. It, along with everything inside of it including you, was Frederick’s in both name and law.

And that was what scared you the most- the idea that, should you divorce Fred, you’d be penniless. Homeless. Destitute. You would have nothing.

But, as you looked into the blue eyes of the man you loved more than anything in this world, you realized that you wouldn’t mind any of that at all.

 Because you’d have Floyd Talbert.

 With a heavy sigh, you sit up so he doesn’t have to lean over you any more- taking his face in your hands and giving him a smile.

“I’d have nothing to offer you, you know.” You grin a little wider at the confusion on his face, brushing your fingertips over his bottom lip as you continued. “No savings or car or house for you to come home to at the end of a long day?”

 As the wrinkle in his brow smooths, you know that he knows what you’re really asking him. Bringing his own hand up to mess with the ends of your loose hair, he pouts for a moment.

 “Hmm, that’s a tough call, Y/N,” he says with a faux seriousness, tilting his head consideringly and narrowing his eyes at you. “I really like this bed frame—”

You nod, biting the insides of your cheeks to keep from laughing. “It’s a nice bed frame-”

“And the mattress? Best thing I’ve ever slept on.”

“I’m sure. All that built-in lumbar support cost a pretty penny, too.”

 Smirking openly now, Tab brushes his nose against yours. “Still not the best thing in the house, though. I’ve gotta say, the pretty girl who lives in it takes the cake in that regard.”

Cupping your hands around the back of his neck, you pull him in for a deep kiss, the both of you almost clicking your teeth together several times because of the stupid smiles on your faces. When you pull back, you peck a quick kiss on the tip of his nose before sitting back enough to look him full in the face.

“If I could, I’d have married you already.”

 The smile he gives you is nothing short of breathtaking.

“Yeah?” he presses, biting his bottom lip like an excited kid.

“Yeah, Floyd. I really would.”

“Good,” he says simply, carefully slipping from your grip enough to shift back down so he’s resting his head on your stomach. “Maybe I’ll ask you one of these days.”

 Looking down at him fondly, you let yourself lay back so you can grin up at the ceiling.

 “Who knows, Floyd Talbert,” you say quietly, heart feeling so full it could burst. “Maybe I’ll even say yes.”

 “Good.” he grumbles.

“Good.” you agree.

~ ~ ~

(HELLO YIKES AND SORRY MY DUDES I’M PMSING AND DEEP IN MY FEELS BUT THANKS FOR SOLDIERING THROUGH THIS PILE OF YUCK!)

Taglist: @mrseasycompany @itswormtrain @mrsalwayswrite​ @happyveday​ @sunsetmando​ @ricksmorty​ @liebgotttme​

[el-michoacano]

I Saw the Dead, Small and Great

It’s finally posting day for the @tltbb and I couldn’t possibly be more excited! What a great time this has been! Shout out to the event hosts, and also to @queensabriel and @melli4uhbees, who have been the best artists a girl could ask for! 

Summary: Once upon a time, many, many years ago, Harrowhark's great-great-grandmother, who had herself lived an unnaturally long life, told her that their family was descended from that one wicked snake that haunted the Garden of Eden, that the family Nonigesimus were more serpent than man. At the time, Harrow had thought she was joking, just a senile old woman weaving mindless tales. She knows better now.

Trigger warnings: Suicidal thoughts, lots of talk of death.

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1 Is your soul prepared?

Harrow isn't sure how the sign got onto her property. It's been there for years and years, the nails rusting, the white paint chipping, the wood rotting beneath it. The sign is as tall as she is, and double as wide as she can stretch her arms. It's sinking into the mud, though, like everything else in this damned place, standing crooked enough that it might just topple over in a strong breeze.

Is your soul prepared?

The words were wrought in bright, angry red once, but they're an ugly brown now, the color of old blood. It's oddly fitting.

Hooligans, Harrow thinks, but she can't be sure. The sign is large, and its post is set deep into the soft earth. Would just any rowdy local boys be able to do such a thing? Would they have any inclination to pass on such a message? She'd been the target of their little pranks before, but such an effort from boys who hadn't the cleverness to not wet the front of their trousers when they took a piss? It seems unlikely. They’ve always been more the type to leave dead animals hanging on the gates. The sign is too civil.

It was the church that planted the sign, she's sure. The Ascension Parish Southern Baptist Church had been after her for years, all the way up until it had caught fire and burned to the ground in 1912. Fingers had pointed at her for that, too, and even now, she occasionally wakes to find God is watching or Repent now! or Open your heart to God! painted across the front gates.

Removing the paint gives her something to do, she supposes. Is it really so bad?

Is your soul prepared?

Harrow has considered removing the sign more times than she can count, but it's not as though any other living soul sees it. Why bother? It's not as if her family's sinking home is the only site of such signs. There are others like it scattered all over the bayou, ones of this seemingly standard size, smaller ones tacked to chain link fences, even huge billboards. God sees all, they proclaim. Jesus saves. Hell is real.

Of course Hell is real, Harrow thinks with a roll of her eyes. She lives there, after all.

Hell's End is the name of this area, a name given by her great-great-grandmother when the family had first arrived in the States all the way from New Zealand. It was to be the end of their long and dangerous journey west, the start of their Heaven on Earth. How wrong she had been. How wrong they had all been.

Harrow is one of the very few who dare to come near this part of the swamp now. The brackish waters part around her feet, and the heels of her elegant boots leave no prints in the mud. The gators go scurrying away at her approach, and high in the moss-draped trees, the cicadas fall silent.

The snakes, though, make no move to flee. They watch her with their bright, slitted eyes, and they bow as best as they can. She is one of them. She offered an apple to Gideon, and another to Alecto, apples of forbidden, carnal knowledge. She is the snake in the Garden of Eden given human form, and she is the mistress of this particular bayou.

Once upon a time, her great-great-grandmother, who had herself lived an unnaturally long life, had told Harrow that their family was descended from that one wicked snake, that they were more serpent than man. At the time, Harrow had thought she was joking, just a senile old woman weaving mindless tales.

She knows better now.

This wickedness is in her blood. Her parents had tried to fight it, but Harrow has long since given in. There's no use in trying to deny who she is.

The wickedness is as much a part of who she is as the swamp is.

The Nonagesimus family have always been the masters of this bayou, back since the 1750s when the house and its great iron gate had sprung seemingly overnight from the mud. That was centuries ago. Harrow isn't sure of the year anymore, but she is certain that it's high summer now. The children should be catching fireflies and the old biddies should be sipping sweet tea on the porch while their husbands talk about the weather, but Harrow is the only Nonagesiumus left in all the world, and the sinking mansion sits quietly in its watery grave, waiting to claim her as it has all the others.

Her family is long gone.

Harrow, with her twisted magic and her unnatural tastes, is all that remains of her once-great, once-powerful family.

The irony of it is enough to choke her, to send her hundreds of dead relations a-spinning in their graves. Or spinning in their coffins, at least. There are no graves here.

2

Though the closest towns are lively and New Orleans isn't terribly far away, there is no music in Hell's End.

There was, once upon a time, a lovely harpsichord in the parlor, but Harrow used it as firewood ages ago. Her mother had been an accomplished player, and she had taught Harrow to play, too, but Harrow couldn't bear the sound. Even in dreams, it breaks her heart.

There was an old gramophone once, too, but it met a similar fate. One too many times, it had come alive in the night, likely by Pelleamena's hand, and Harrow had thrown it from the top gallery. She still steps on its splinters from time to time.

The closest thing Harrow can bear to a song now is Ortus's low humming, though she's not sure it's a hum at all. It's a purr, almost, like that of a cat, a soft, comforting sound. It's the sound of his aura, she thinks, gentler than ever in death.

On occasion, she joins in on the hum, letting it rattle its way up her throat and down through her chest. It's a tender, deep sound, and she worries sometimes that it will shake her apart if she lets it.

Sometimes she thinks she wouldn't mind shaking apart. She could sift her way down through the warped floorboards, down into the manor's sunken foundation and even lower, drifting down, down, down.

Maybe she'll sink all the way into Hell. Maybe Alecto will be waiting for her there, her dark, dark eyes full of longing and anger. Gideon won't be there, though, Harrow knows. Hell is the last place Gideon belongs.

Harrow, though, belongs there. A witch, a homosexual, a murderer. Where else would she belong?

3

The wicker chairs set out behind the house are sinking and rotten, but the ghosts don't favor the back, and so Harrow often finds herself sitting there in the low evening light. Her legs are crossed at the ankle, her wide-brimmed hat pulled low, a book resting open in her lap, though it's too dark to read it now.

The mosquitos are a choking cloud this time of year, buzzing thick in the air, carrying diseases on the wind. They have taken too many of Harrow's kind already. She swats at them with her lace-gloved hands, but they're never deterred. Stubborn things, she thinks. They're the only swamp creatures that don't seem to fear her.

It has to do with her blood, she's sure. There was wicked magic in her veins from the day she was born, and they can smell it, even now, long after she's been bled dry. Though they hover around her like a plague, there's nothing left in her for them to drink. She used it all up trying to bring back her parents, her family name, her old life, her dead lovers.

But they're all gone now, and her magic can't bring them back. Not in any way that matters.

Her parents are gone, interred in the grand white marble mausoleum out behind the house. It's sinking into the swamp, like everything else is, a few centimeters every year. The doors can barely be opened now. When Harrow dies, there will be no way for her to join them in the tomb. Maybe that's for the best. Maybe she doesn't deserve to be with them. They certainly wouldn't welcome her, not after all her disastrous attempts to bring them back.

She doesn't deserve to be with Gideon in death, either, though no one to this day seems to know exactly what became of her. For all Harrow knows, Gideon is in some gator's belly. Had been, anyway. No one has seen her in decades. No one is even looking anymore. Not even Aiglamene is looking anymore. Gideon was murdered, Harrow is certain, likely by the church itself. The worst things always happen to the best people.

And then there was Alecto. A predator, yes, but Harrow's predator. There isn't a day Harrow doesn't regret drowning her, but there was nothing else to be done about her. She was mad. She was inhuman. She was everything Gideon wasn't, and Harrow had taken comfort in that for a while. But Alecto had ripped poor, sweet Ortus limb from limb in a fit of rage, and her drowning was a far easier death than she had deserved.

Alecto sits on the fence at the edge of the property most days, her dark, empty eyes staring off into the distance.

On particularly gloomy days, Ortus joins her. Even dead, he can't bear to be alone. He's more a great mass of shadow than a true figure, weak even in death, but Harrow would know him anywhere. Her heart aches when she sees him. The sad, tremulous smile he gives her makes her want to die.

But after all she's been through, is there anything that doesn't make her want to die?

Is there anything in the great, wide world that makes her want to live?

If there is, she hasn't found it.

At this point, she doubts it exists at all.

She doesn't live now, anyway. She just survives.

4

Slowly but surely, the Nonagesimus house is sinking into the mud.

It's been sinking for years, of course. It started the day Harrow's parents died.

Died.

It's too gentle a term. They didn't pass away in their beds, old as the hills, their souls well-prepared, as parents should. They didn't go peacefully. They didn't just die.

Pelleamena and Priamhark hung themselves from the high branches of the cypress tree that had been growing just inside the gates since before the gates had even been erected. Harrow had been the one to find the bodies, the one to cut them down, the one to lay them to rest in the family mausoleum.

Her being the one to read their note was by far the worst of it.

You bring shame on us, it had said. It had been scrawled in her mother's elegant handwriting, and her father hadn't even bothered to sign it. Harrow often finds herself wondering if he even read it, or if he had found Pelleamena's body before Harrow had and followed his wife to the grave of his own volition.

It was Harrow's fault either way, and to this day, after all these decades, she carries the weight of it on her back. It weighs so much that she can barely stand upright, hunched like an old woman in her wanderings. She would be an old woman, were it not for her magic. This eternal life is her punishment, and she deserves every single second alone.

Her parents were ashamed of her, and probably had been for most of her life. Even as a child, there was something wrong about her. They had tried and tried for more children, but alas, she was the only one to make it to birth. Their only daughter, they whispered, the blood witch. Their only daughter, the necrophiliac. Their only daughter, the homosexual. Their shame had driven them into the arms of Death, and their precious child had played witness to it.

She should have seen it coming from a country mile away, but she hadn't. She had been too busy trying to resurrect Gideon and kill Alecto to notice their downcast eyes and trembling mouths. She hadn't noticed how they had wasted away until she was cutting them down from their twin nooses.

Harrow supposes it doesn't matter. Even dead, her parents are with her now.

They stand silent most days, pacing the sinking house's top gallery, staring out over the swamp with their dark, sunken eyes and their sewn-shut mouths. Dead men, after all, tell no tales. She's made certain of that.

Though they can't reply, not in words, she does talk to them sometimes.

Today, though, she's more focused on the foxfire darting through the trees. This is no swamp gas, she's sure. She's intimately familiar with that particular sight. Instead of the usual blue, this light is violet, and it moves slowly, ambling through the trees without a care in the world.

There's someone down there, Harrow realizes.

The question is, is this person living or dead?

5

It isn't alive.

Harrow isn't sure if it's human, but certainly is not alive.

She meets it outside the iron gate, her hand resting against the metal, as if its narrow bars can somehow protect her from this strange half-dead girl.

"Hello," it says. Its smile is sharp and fanged, its voice a rasping whine, like dead tree branches scraping a window during a storm. It takes Harrow's hand in its golden right one, presses its soft, bluing mouth to her knuckles, and Harrow can feel the coolness of it through the lace of her gloves. It's prettier than it has any right to be, despite its wasted appearance and its pallid skin and the deep, dark shadows beneath its eyes. "Have you been waiting long?" it asks, catching her eyes with its own.

Waiting? Harrow doesn't wait. She takes. The only thing she's waiting for is death. Perhaps, she thinks, this is Death. "Who are you?" she asks, slowly, stupidly. Her voice is rough from lack of use, the croak of a frog more than the voice of a witch. It's oddly fitting.

The other woman, tall and pale as a ghost, laughs at her, and the sound is the knell of church bells ringing on a foggy morning. They're funeral bells.

Hear the tolling of the bells -- Iron bells! Harrow thinks. She pulls her hand away, wraps her arms around herself. What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!

It asks, its voice low and seductive, "Who do you want me to be, Harrowhark?"

Harrow bristles. No one has called her by her name in years. She doubts anyone even knows her name anymore. Only old Aiglamene would remember, if she even remembers anything. This time, Harrow asks, "What are you?"

The eyes roll. They're a ludicrous shade of purple, striped with blue and brown, deep-set and heavy-lidded. They're inhuman. "I'm no one," it says, then approaches her, reaching a hand toward her face. Harrow doesn't flinch, even when the soft fingertips and sharp claws brush her cheek. "And yet everyone knows me." It moves closer, and Harrow can smell it: Musty, powdery, with something sweet underneath. Something terribly, deathly sweet. "Everyone faces me."

It's the smell of rot, Harrow realizes. "You really are Death."

It leans closer, brushes its mouth against hers. It agrees in a voice like shattering ice, "I really am."

6

"I've been waiting for you for years." Harrow feels strange saying it, but she can't take it back now. She feels stranger still letting this creature into her home, but she can't take that back, either. Why would she want to? Death is the first physical guest she's had for decades. It's been all ghosts and vermin for far too long. "Where have you been?"

"Around," Death says, its eyes roving as it steps into the manor, stepping gingerly through the puddles in the foyer, its feet bare. It's dressed all in white, its long skirt trailing on the floor, the hem damp and muddy. It wears only a camisole on top, the straps thin and hanging off its bony shoulders, short enough that it leaves a few inches of its midriff enticingly bare. Harrow startles at that: She hasn't been enticed in decades. She startles again when she realizes how utterly human it is to feel enticed. Perhaps she's still human after all. "I keep a very busy schedule."

Harrow has the distinct feeling that that isn't true, but she doesn't dare say so.

Death itself has come to her.

It's hard not to feel special in the wake of it, and she swallows down a wave of pride. Pride. She hasn't felt that in ages, either.

"You really live like this?" Death asks as it steps into the parlor, the damp rug squelching obscenely under its bare feet.

This room had once been grand, but now, it's little more than a shadow of its former self. A ghost of itself, like its mistress. The walls are lined in ceiling-high shelves full of moldering books and pretty little treasures, the Persian rug unwinding at its edges, the lovely chaise discolored and misshapen from years of sweat and sitting. All the furniture in the house is in such a state. Harrow can't find it in herself to be embarrassed by it anymore.

Death takes a seat on the chaise, kicking its bare feet up onto the far end, its delicate ankles crossed one over the other. Its skin is so pale that the worn navy velvet makes its veins all but glow.

It's otherworldly, and Harrow comes to sit in front of it on the warped wood of the floor. She arranges her skirts carefully, keeping her tattered slippers hidden under her equally tattered hem. Had she known Death was finally coming for her, she would have dressed better. "Why are you only here now?" she asks, an unfamiliar desperation in her voice. Of course she's desperate, she thinks. She's been waiting since before the turn of the century. She's been waiting longer than most people get to live.

"I told you," Death says, picking at a loose string on the arm of the chaise. A bit of the piping comes off with it. "I've been busy." It glances up with its ludicrous eyes, meets Harrow's gaze, holds it fast. Harrow feels caught in their depths, like a fly in a glass of sweet tea. Sweet it is, though. "And I thought you would have come to me on your own by now."

7

The following morning, Harrow wakes alone, still dressed and still exhausted.

She's disappointed, but she can't bring herself to be surprised. She's poison, after all. Even Death itself can't bear to be around her. She can't say she blames it.

She's still on the floor in the parlor, the chaise empty, but it still has that smell clinging to it: Musty and cloyingly sweet. Like violets, Harrow thinks again. Death has eyes like violets. Who would have guessed? Certainly not her.

She had always imagined Death as a skeleton wrapped in a black robe, a scythe at its side, its eyes empty black pits in its skeleton face. Death didn't look like a girl, but an ancient being, rotting away from the inside. She had had a nightmare, once, that Death had come to her in the guise of her long-dead aunt, Glaurica. In the dream, Harrow had very nearly taken its hand.

She had never feared Death. Even now, having met it in person, she doesn't fear it.

Death was the first real companionship she had felt in ages.

She thinks this even as her mother crosses the room. Pelleamena is dressed in the same long, trailing black dress she wore on the eve of her death, her long black hair pulled into a braid that hangs heavy down her back. It looks eerily like a rope. She's reaching for a book on the ceiling-high shelf, but her hand goes right through the spine, and she pulls back, staring through her transparent fingers as if it hasn't happened a thousand times over.

Harrow watches her, silent as a stone.

Even in death, they barely acknowledge each other.

Priamhark, as much as the ghostly thing that wanders the house is Priamhark, is less dead. When Harrow watches him, he watches her right back.

"Father," Harrow says to him as he paces the gallery.

He doesn't speak, Harrow has made certain of that with her postmortem sewing, but he looks at her, and his dark, dark eyes are gentle.

They stand together, his lighter-than-air hand over hers on the gallery's splintered railing, and this night, the swamp is dark.

8

When her parents killed themselves, Harrow called the police.

Hours passed.

No one came.

Pigs, Harrow had thought.

She's been alone ever since, save Death and the ghosts. Even Aiglamene has stopped visiting.

Harrow doesn't mind being alone most of the time. It's the peaceful nights that get her.

In the quiet, under the singing of crickets and the rumbling of the gators, she can hear Gideon's voice. Gideon, asking, You really gonna wear that? Gideon, calling her baby. Gideon, begging for her touch.

From time to time, it's Alecto's voice in her head, whispering songs and poetry and utter nonsense. Too much of her voice, and Harrow is certain she'll go mad. For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams of the beautiful Annabel Lee, Alecto sings in her whispery, water-logged voice, and the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

Now, though, it's Gideon's voice nor Alecto's she hears.

The air is hot around her, humid, and Harrow loses herself in the fantasy, her black eyes slipping closed. Her chewed-down nails rake against her skin, and she imagines a golden hand in their place. She imagines bluing lips at her neck, too-sharp white teeth sinking into her neck. She imagines the cool, meager weight of Death above her. It's Death's voice she hears, and in its creaking hanging-tree voice, it whispers, Come.

Harrow does.

9

You bring shame on us.

Though her mother hasn't spoken in half a century, Harrow can still hear the words in her voice. She had a lovely voice, Harrow's mother. It was elegant and soft, almost musical. Her words always came slowly, carefully selected before they passed her lips. The note was probably exceptionally well selected. Short and sweet.

The note is tucked into the neckline of Harrow's gown, the paper tucked against her heart and tinged yellow from years of sweat and tears.

Harrow can't bear to be without it.

It's her cross to bear, and she must bear it alone.

10

It's a full week before Death shows itself again. Harrow finds it in her room, stretched out on the molding canopy bed. The canopy is less lace now than Spanish moss, the covers mildewed and practically falling apart. Death doesn't seem to mind. It looks perfectly at ease, its hands joined behind its head, its right leg bent, the other tossed over its knee. It was humming to itself, its pale foot bouncing along to the rhythm.

Harrow can hardly believe that it's back.

Death's voice is an undignified whine when it asks, "Did you forget about me, Harrowhark?"

How could I? Harrow doesn't say. She does say, "I tried to." It's not entirely true. "I thought you'd abandoned me again."

"Abandoned you?" Death looks almost offended, its golden hand coming to its chest, clutching invisible pearls, but its laughter is high and sweet, bouncing off the crumbling walls like birdsong. Harrow represses a pleasant shiver at the sound of it. "Harry, my love," Death says, smiling with blue lips and too-sharp animal teeth, "I have been beside you since the day you were born."

My love? Harrow's cheeks go warm, but she ignores it, asking, "Since I was born?" It seems impossible. It also seems impossible that Death exists as a person at all. She's been surrounded by impossibility for as long as she can remember. This shouldn't be so surprising. "How could you possibly have time for that?"

"There are half a million Deaths," says Death with a wave of its hand. It wears lacy, threadbare gloves, and its cuticles are bluish, its nails chewed short. "This is just the area I chose to cover," it's saying, though it doesn't sound at all interested. Harrow wonders if it's even capable of interest. "There are fewer people here, less work. I can just hover most of the time."

The dark cloud of Death follows us, Harrow's grandmother had once told her. It seems she was right. Harrow can't quite believe it, even now. It's a curse, her grandmother had told her, and we deserve it. "Why me?" she asks.

"Why not?" Death shoots back. It holds out its arms, and against her better judgment, Harrow climbs into bed beside it, letting it enfold her. The gold of its skeletal right arm is chilly through the worn lace of her dress. "You Nonagesimus types are my favorite. You always come to me so willingly."

Harrow props herself up on her elbow, meeting Death's eyes with her own. "You know my family?"

"All the dead ones," Death says with a shrug that sends the strap of its camisole slipping off its shoulder. The veins just beneath its icy-pale skin are especially visible there, and Harrow lifts a hand to trace them. They have a green tint to them, and she wonders if there's blood in them at all, or if this iteration of Death has algae and swamp moss in its veins. "I gave the kiss of death to your father, and to your mother, and to Glaurica, and to sweet Ortus." Death ticks off each name off on its spidery fingers. Then it looks down at Harrow, one colorless brow lifting. "And then there was Alecto." Harrow feels the blood drain from her face, the breath fleeing her lungs in a single second. "She wasn't one of you, was she?"

"She could have been," Harrow says, softly, "eventually."

"You sent her to me gift-wrapped, didn't you?" Death doesn't sound at all bothered, and it slips its fingers beneath Harrow's chin, forcing her to look it in the eye. "It had been so long since I received a sacrifice like that. Your people don't offer tribute like they used to."

"Our magic isn't what it used to be," Harrow says.

"I wonder why," Death says. Its smile fades, though, when it asks, "You're how old? I'd say your magic is working just fine."

Harrow's lips threaten to smile, but it never comes. She says, "It's impolite to ask a lady's age."

Death itself laughs at her, songbird-sweet. "All you want is to die," it says, sounding bemused, one brow lifted in a match to the corner of its mouth, "and yet you'll live forever."

"For far too long, anyway," Harrow agrees, shivering when Death's golden hand slides into her hair, carding carefully through choppy black locks.

The silence that falls then isn't silence at all. Outside, the wind is in the trees and in the water. The cicadas are singing. Birds call to one another. Harrow's heart is beating a mile a minute, pounding in her ears. Death's heart isn't beating at all.

Softly, its voice almost a purr, Death says, "Did you know you've been dying your whole life?"

Harrow scoffed. "Isn't everyone?"

11

"Where did you go?" Harrow's voice is soft and plaintive, and she hates it. She's straddling Death's waist on her bed, its pointy hip bones pressing into the backs of her thighs. It feels like too much too soon, and it's far too intimate, but she has no intention of pulling away. She could stay like this forever.

Death presses its fingertips, both the flesh ones and the golden ones, into Harrow's hips. "Someone needed transporting," it said with a shrug of its narrow shoulders.

"You do that?" Harrow asks. Her hands are resting against the flat plane of Death's stomach, her fingertips tucked just beneath the hem of its camisole. "Transport people?"

"I transport souls," Death says. Its eyes are on Harrow's, searching for something in her black gaze. "This one was the last one in the area, save you."

Harrow's unkempt eyebrows draw together, her eyes flittering off to one side. As far as she knows, she's the only person still living in the area. She asks, "Who was it?"

Death, strangely, hesitates. "An old woman called Aiglamene," it says, and there's a strange weight in its voice, as if it knows how much Aiglamene meant to Harrow once upon a time. "Must have been a hundred and twenty years old." Its hands slide down to Harrow's thighs, its thumbs coming to rest in the creases of her knees. "Maybe even older than you."

"By a bit," Harrow agrees, doing her best to keep the sudden numbness out of her voice. "I didn't know she was still here."

"Keeping an eye on you," Death says, "from what I can gather."

And now she's gone, Harrow doesn't say, but the words fill her chest. It hurts.

"You should have seen her automobile," Death is saying, sounding almost mystified. Its hands are joined behind its head now, its eyes distant. "Such an incredible machine!"

More to herself than to Death, Harrow says, faintly, "I've never seen an automobile." Gideon had one that she was immensely fond of, but she hadn't trusted it on the marshy roads of the swamp. Alecto, old-fashioned thing that she was, chose to simply walk. It had made her disappearance so much easier.

"You're so behind the times, Harry," Death chides, though there's amusement clear in its voice. "You should come to town with me." It gives her a sly grin, looking very much like the fox that managed to break into the chicken coop. They're both foxes, Harrow realizes. "The things I could show you..."

"No." Harrow says it far too quickly, and her eyes dart off to the side, embarrassed. "No, I belong here. My magic ends here. I would age fifty years if I ever left the swamp."

"Shame, that." Death doesn't sound particularly bothered. Instead, its hands come to Harrow's thighs again, pushing the fabric of her skirt immodestly high, up past the tops of her stockings. It takes everything Harrow has to keep from pushing her hips into the touch. "But there are so many things I can show you right here."

12

The next time Harrow wakes, she isn't alone.

She's on the great bed in her room, Death's arms wound tight around her and holding her close. Her chest is pressed to Death's side, its skin bare and cool to the touch, devoid of breath or a heartbeat. It's eerily still. It's not Harrow's first time in such close contact with a corpse.

Outside, through the thin curtains over the balcony doors and the windows, the light is thin and greyish, either dusk or dawn, but certainly overcast. There's a storm coming. Harrow wonders if Death will simply sleep through it.

Death, unsurprisingly, sleeps like the dead. All through the night, it didn't move even once.

Was it only all night? It could have been years, for all Harrow knows.

As she lays quiet in Death's arms, she's surprised to find that she doesn't mind that idea. Let her dream her life away in the arms of Death. There are worse fates.

13

Just inside the door of the sinking manor is an antique dark wood table. On top of it is a crystal vase filled with flame-orange roses.

They were a gift of Aiglamene, given shortly after Gideon vanished in a rare gesture of comfort.

They are the single thing in the house that isn't rotting.

Harrow stands before them, staring, willing life through them.

Death stands beside her, watching quietly, its arms crossed over its chest, its head tipped curiously to the side. "I can feel their age," it says, its voice soft and thoughtful. "How long have you had these?"

"Decades," Harrow says. She plucks one from the crystal vase and tucks it behind Death's ear. Immediately, the life leaves the petals, and even when Harrow touches the petals, she can't revive it.

Death says, softly, "Are you afraid, Harrowhark?"

"No," Harrow says, and is surprised to realize that she means it.

"Good." Death steps behind her, wrapping its arms around Harrow's waist, resting its pointed chin on her shoulder. Its skin is soft and chilled. "With old Aiglamene gone, my attention is all yours."

The smell of violets mingles with the scent of roses, and Harrow realizes there's nothing she wants more.

14

"How do you do it?" There's something like awe in Death's voice, its head tipped to the side, a chipped tumbler half-full of decades-old scotch in its golden hand. "I'd lose my mind if I had to stay here all the time."

There's no derision in its tone, and Harrow says, "Maybe I have."

"Suppose you wouldn't know if you had," Death says, taking a long sip. "You could be dead right now, couldn't you? Would you even know the difference?"

She isn't dead. She may be dead inside, but she still feels. Harrow feels the chair she's sitting on, threadbare and creaky as it is, feels the warped wood beneath her bare feet, feels the coolness of Death sitting beside her. She would know, she tells herself.

She doesn't quite believe it.

15

Death goes out sometimes, wandering through the swamp and into the towns.

Harrow watches it leave from the iron gate, Ortus at her right, Alecto at her left. Her parents keep close, too, sewn-lipped and sullen.

Even with the ghosts, Harrow is alone, waiting.

Her life has become a waiting game, and she finds she doesn't mind, because she knows she'll never be alone for long.

Death always returns to her, sometimes with a man to sacrifice or a woman to seduce, sometimes with a butchered gator or a pot of jambalaya it found God-knows-where. It rarely comes to the manor empty-handed.

Death is courting her, Harrow realizes, and for the first time in decades, she smiles.

16

The courting is gentle. Death often is, isn't it?

It comes softly, like sleep, darkening the edges of the world and drawing it all in close.

Death steals the very breath from Harrow's lungs, pinning her flat against the wall. Its blue lips are pressed to her nape, its golden hand resting lightly around her throat, its spidery flesh hand at her hip.

Its voice is soft when it says, "You were made for this."

Made to be used by Death itself? Made to cater to Death itself? Made to be a lover to Death itself? The answer is obvious. "I was," Harrow agrees, her voice nearly lost in her heavy breathing. "I am."

17

Harrow spends her time in the arms of Death itself, now. But is that any different from how she lived before?

At the end of a long day, she waits beside the rusting gate, waiting for her deathly love to return to her.

The branches of the too-familiar cypress shake above her, Spanish moss swaying in the breeze. She presses a hand to its rough bark and wills it to live. Like the roses, it must live. It's a monument now. This tree is her old friend, known all her life.

As is Death, approaching through evening fog, violet eyes shining in the dark.

Being in the company of Death is better than being alone, Harrow supposes as Death's arms wind around her, pulling her close. Death's lips are blue and chilled against hers, but she melts into the feeling of it, as she always does.

As they walk back toward the sinking manor, they pass the old sign. Is your soul prepared?

Death trails its golden, skeletal fingertips along the top of the sign as they pass, and the wood is immediately overtaken by mold and mushrooms, the paint flaking off in great chunks.

"Is my soul prepared?" Harrow asks as they walk in the dark.

"Oh, Harry," Death laughs. Its glowing eyes turn to her, hypnotic and bright as lightning bugs. "Your soul has been ready for me since you were born."

[blurglesmurfklaine]

Death Cannot Stop True Love

Summary: After being kidnapped from his kidnapper by the Dread Pirate Roberts, Blaine reminisces on the poor farmboy who once held his heart.

The Princess Bride AU, one shot, 1.7k words

A/N: did i work on ANY of my wips this weekend? no <3

BUT DID I WATCH THE PRINCESS BRIDE TWICE AND THEN SUBSEQUENTLY WRITE THIS? YOu BET YOUR ASS I DID

I've never really written anything like this??? But I surprisingly had a lot of fun with it, so let me know what you think! :D

Read on Ao3

*** 

Blaine’s hands land a bit too roughly against the grey granite for his taste, rather put off by the masked stanger’s manhandling.

He supposes being kidnapped by Willaim Schuester, then having the Dread Pirate Roberts kidnap him from his kidnapper wasn’t quite the delightful way he’d expected to end his evening ride, either.

“Rest, your Highness,” the man in black commands, the strands of tattered fabric that secure his mask tied behind his head billowing in the wind. Blaine refuses to shiver at the cool air of the highland whipping across his face, not wanting to show this man any signs of weakness. “You’re going to need it.”

“You’re the one who’s going to need rest,” Blaine spits, turning to face the man and take a proper seat on the stone. “My betrothed will come for me. Prince Smythe is an excellent tracker. He could track a falcon on a cloudy day, and he and his infantry will have me back in the castle and you in shackles by dusk.”

He should not make such bold claims at a time like this, and certainly not to someone as deadly as the Dread Pirate Roberts. Well, Blaine is only mostly sure he’s speaking to the infamous Pirate known for his murderous voyages on his ship, “Revenge”, but he’s certain enough.

“Ah, yes,” the man says bitterly back, fingers drumming ansty along the handle of his sheathed sword. “Prince Smythe. You have much faith in your most beloved, don’t you?”

Having his daily outing interrupted by that faux-philosopher Schuester from earlier and his two henchmen was unpleasant enough, but of all the things he’s heard come out of someone’s mouth this was the foulest. The law of the land gives Smythe the right to choose his spouse, and he chose Blaine. Despite this, Blaine knows he could never love Sebastian back. Now when he’s really known and lost his true love.

“I never said he was my most beloved,” Blaine snarls.

No. That title belongs to a name too precious to be uttered in front of the likes of a cheating, stealing, slaying pirate.

It’s been five long and lonely years since his dearest Kurt left him to venture out to sea, but Blaine can still feel Kurt’s hand in his sometimes, can still feel the residual warmth, as if it were yesterday. When he closes his eyes, it’s Kurt’s beautiful blue ones that are waiting for him when he falls asleep. Every round that his heart beats, it beats for the long dead Kurt Hummel.

Kurt had been Blaine’s family’s farm boy, and Blaine, in his infantile arrogance, loved nothing more than to boss him around. Whether it was “Farmboy, shine my saddle. I want to see my face shining in it by morning,” or “Farmboy, take these jugs down by the river to wash,” Kurt always responded with the same simple sentence that sent Blaine’s heart aflutter.

“As you wish.”

Blaine didn’t understand it at first—how could he, when he’d never been in love—the quickening of his pulse when he was near Kurt, how his knees seemed to careen and fail when hazel met piercing blue.

He didn’t understand why, when he’d asked Kurt to clean the stables, Kurt had looked at him with electricity in his eyes like a thunderstorm, and Blaine felt compelled to add a meek, “Please?” to the end of his request. He didn’t understand why when Kurt so softly answered him with those three little words— “As you wish” —Blaine would light like a lantern from the inside out.

He didn’t understand why he asked Kurt to fetch him a pitcher hanging right by his own head, just so he could be graced with having him in such close proximity, chest to chest.

“As you wish,” Kurt had said, and Blaine didn’t understand the magnetic force drawing them closer and closer.

And then Kurt’s lips were on his, and oh, how Blaine finally understood. He understood why wars were waged over Helen of Troy, and why lutists serenaded the public with foolish tunes of love that were actually the least foolish things in their nature.

He understood that every time Kurt said, “As you wish,” what he truly was saying was “I love you.”

He understood so clearly, and everything that wasn’t Kurt was reduced to complete and utter nonsense.

For a short year, they lived on borrowed time. Kurt’s family wasn’t from money, so he left the farm—and with it, Blaine—to seek wealth enough to ask for Blaine’s hand in marriage. It wasn’t long until the news came back to him that Kurt had encountered the Dread Pirate Roberts on the high seas.

There are three things Blaine knows to be true. Kurt Hummel was his one true love, death takes everyone and does not discriminate, and the Dread Pirate Roberts never takes prisoners.

Kurt never returned to him after that.

“No, I suppose he’s not your one true love,” the Dread Pirate responds, unimpressed. “I wonder whether a royal-to-be like yourself has ever truly loved.”

“I’ve loved and been loved deeper than you will ever know!” Blaine counters. “He was stolen from me, his blood on your sword. I know who you are. You’re the Dread Pirate Roberts, admit it.”

The Dread Pirate gives a little flourish, his night black outfit a stark contrast to the verdant grass of the highlands. “With pride.”

“You killed my love.”

“Quite possible. I’ve killed many of noble blood aboard my ship.”

“You know nothing,” Blaine says. “He was poor. Poor and perfect and with eyes like the sea after a storm. I received notice that he’d crossed your path on the high seas, and as we all know, you never take prisoners.”

Roberts shrugs, displaying such upsetting nonchalance at Kurt’s demise. “Can’t afford to make any exceptions. Once word leaks out that a pirate has gone soft, people begin to disobey you, and then it's nothing but work, work, work, all the time.”

Being held hostage by Schuester while the Dread Pirate fought off Michael Chang, one of the best swordsman ever to walk the earth, was nerve wracking. Hearing how he then proceeded to physically conquer who is probably the tallest man Blaine has ever seen, and then listening as he sat blindfolded to this man outwit William into drinking from a poisoned cup was a hellish enough adventure on its own, but it was not as dreadful as hearing his anguish ridiculed by this stranger.

“You mock my pain!”

“Life is pain, Highness.” The pirate gives Blaine a look that he would consider hurt, if he did not hate him so. “Anyone who says different is selling something… I think I remember this farmboy of yours. This would be about what, five years ago?”

Five years, three months, and sixteen days, Blaine refuses to say. His silence doesn’t deter Roberts from continuing.

“He died well, if it pleases you to hear that much.”

“With all due respect—which is little to none—nothing you can say will please me. Likewise, nothing you can say will harm me.”

“He made no attempts at either bribery or blubbering. He simply said Please. I need to live. It was the please that caught my attention. I need to live for him.” The pirate’s eyes grow misty and distant and so painfully reminiscent of his love’s that Blaine is forced to look away for a moment. “He spoke of a boy so lovely, and of enduring faithfulness. Sad to see he died for nothing. Tell me, Highness, when you heard news of his death, did you immediately become engaged, or did you wait a week out of respect for the dead?”

“Had I a choice in this matter I would join him among the realm of the dead!” Blaine yells back, surprised to see a bit of shock in the thief’s eyes. “You mocked my pain once, do not do it again. I died that day!”

The unmistakable sound of hooves pounding into the ground of the hillside opposite them causes Blaine to sigh in relief. He never thought he would be so elated to see his fiance. Still... elated may be too strong of a word.

The Dread Pirate turns to scout the incoming commotion, and Blaine acts before he has time to second guess himself.

“And you can die, too, for all I care,” he grits out, and shoves hard on the Dread Pirate’s back, sending the murderer tumbling down the hillside.

Blaine’s expecting to hear shouts of terror coming from the pirate, but what he hears next makes his stomach pool with dread.

“Aaaaaas yoooouuuuu wiiiiiiish!” echoes through the hillside, coming from the Dread Pirate Roberts and Blaine’s jaw drops.

“Kurt,” he gasps. “Oh God, what have I done?”

“Over there!” he hears Sebastian’s familiar and grating voice call out from just beyond the hillside. One glance behind his shoulder and Blaine knows they will come for him, and when they do, he will never see Kurt again.

So he jumps forward and follows Kurt rolling down along the slope of the hill.

Small rocks and flowers swirl past him in a blur, dirt kicked up every time his boots collide with the ground, and after falling for what feels like ages, his body finally comes to a halt, right next to Kurt’s warm one.

Blaine shifts to see Kurt better, body bruised from the fall, but soul absolutely jubilant.

Kurt scrambles over to him, black mask having been knocked off in the tumble. “Are you alright? Can you stand?”

Blaine laughs and reaches out to grab Kurt’s— Kurt’s —hand on top of his chest. as if to keep them physically tethered this time. “Stand? You’re alive. If you want, I could fly.” He buries his head deep into Kurt’s shoulder, inhaling the scent of him mixed with the grass and the dirt and the absolute joy of him being alive.

Kurt holds him back just as tight. “I told you I’d always come for you.”

“I thought you were dead.”

“My sweet Blaine,” Kurt murmurs, hand warm against Blaine’s cheek. “Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.”

Blaine barely has time to smile before Kurt’s lips are on his again, back in their rightful place.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Long & Lost

Pairing: Leone Abbacchio x Reader

Warnings: yandere-ish Abbacchio, obsession, stalking, mentions of violence, allusion to kidnapping and forced marriage.

Words: 5445.

Summary: You needed to call him, you told yourself firmly and grabbed the phone, trying to stay determined. You needed to at least figure out if Abbacchio were alive and well. In the end, nobody forced you to tell him he had a son in that very moment, right? You'd tell him if he proved he deserved to know.

_______________________

Holding a crumpled piece of paper with Libeccio's number on it in your hand, you looked at the phone in front of you and sighed, unsure what to do. You'd heard Abbacchio was seen in that restaurant multiple times, so there really was a chance of you finally finding him, but you didn't know if you needed it that desperately. You knew what he had been through, and you doubted there was anything left of the man you loved once. But then you glanced at the photo of you little son on your desk and thought that your child deserved to have a chance to know his father - that is, if Leone would be willing to see his own child. Otherwise you'd have to come up with some sad story of your lovely boyfriend dying before he could get to know his son just like your mother advised you multiple times.

You little boy Dante was two years old now, and despite all the hardships related to raising him on your own, Dante still was your joy and pride. You realized you were pregnant almost right after Leone broke up with you: that time you were just a student with little to no means of support, and it hit you hard but you decided to keep your child, nevertheless. You couldn't bring yourself to get rid of him, and now you were thankful to that innocent young girl for the decision she made. Dante was your world.

But the older he got, the more you thought what would happen when one day he would ask you where's his dad. All children have a dad, haven't they? Then he should have one, too. You feared that moment, knowing you barely could tell your son the truth: your father doesn't even know about your existence.

By the time you decided to keep your child, Abbacchio already got himself in troubles, getting mixed up with some street thugs. You heard his partner even died because Leone couldn't pull the trigger, afraid those thugs gonna report him to police. Was it all true? You wanted to know it so desperately you went to see him in a detention facility, but Abbacchio you met weren't his old self. He was just a shadow of a man he'd been once, and despite all your efforts he remained broken, silently awaiting for the court to give him the punishment he deserved. You realized you were going to raise your child all alone, but it didn't deter you. In fact, when Leone finally got out, you even tried contacting him again and sending him some money until he figured things out. Of course, when you found out he spent all those money on cheap wine, you stopped doing it - your baby needed you more than him. After that you dropped all your attempts to keep in contact with the father of your child, and he had never learnt about Dante. It's for the best, your mother were telling you over and over again. A child doesn't need a dad who can't take care of himself, less of his family. Besides, was Abbacchio even as good as you imagined him to be? He was as corrupted as all those cops he hated so much while being in a police academy, your mother reminded you. Maybe she was right.

Dropping out of school to provide for your son, you had been through six kinds of hell in the last three years. There wasn't a job you hadn't done: scrubbing floors, delivering pizza, running errands for wealthy families, selling flowers and cheap makeup... and on top of it you had to take care of your child having no knowledge how to do it properly. Thankfully, your mother was there to give you a hand, and you were grateful for her help even if she had been scolding all the time for ruining your life so early. Did you know how hard it would be for you to get married, she asked you all the time while you were getting home late at night, tired to death. Do you realize people are calling you rotten behind your back because your son has no father, she kept saying over and over again trying to make you guilty, but you learnt not to listen. What's done is done. Who cares what people say if they will find a reason to humiliate you one way or the other?

You kept working, changing jobs and slowly getting a better salary, finding yourself a better place: you were now working as a manager in a candy store, its owners a nice married couple old enough to be your grandparents. You earned enough to live decently, and now you could afford buying your son new clothes instead of asking your friends and acquaintances for something their own kids and brothers wore once. Signora Russo, the one who was in charge of the store, treated you kindly, ready to give you some time off if Dante needed to be taken to doctor or somewhere else important. You also worked close to home, and if anything happened you could always storm off, telling the store clerk you'd be gone for a half an hour or so.

Life was good to you, you thought, your baby's bright smile making you feel much better in an instant. Dante had Leone's eyes, his hair of the very same shade.

You needed to call him, you told yourself firmly and grabbed the phone, trying to stay determined. You needed to at least figure out if Abbacchio were alive and well. In the end, nobody forced you to tell him he had a son in that very moment, right? You'd tell him if he proved he deserved to know.

"I'm looking for Leone Abbacchio." You said to the man on the other end of that phone, shivering from the thought you might really hear him the next minute. Shit, you really hoped he wasn't there.

"What is your name, Signora?" The stranger asked politely, and you were ready to drop the phone and run to the other room where your son was already laying asleep in his tiny bed,

Clenching your teeth, you told the man your name. Was Abbacchio really there? You ended up chewing phone's wire, that's how nervous you were, thinking what you were going to say and how he might react. Was he still bitter? Did he finally sort things out for himself? Did he stopped drinking? Was he going to accuse of not supporting him during his worst years?

"He is coming, Signora." The stranger told you calmly, and you felt your heart dropping somewhere to your stomach. Dio Mio, Leone was there. Those rumors were true, he was really there!

But before you mentally prepared yourself, you heard his low voice on the other side of the phone, his tone icy cold as if he wanted to never hear from you again. "Abbacchio."

You slowly got down on your chair with your palm rubbing your forehead tiredly. It seemed he was that very same Abbacchio who walked out the prison a couple of years ago, just a bit more sober this time. Funny, you thought things had changed for him, didn't you? You believed in people too much, that's what both your mother and Signora Russo would say, exchanging glances.

"Hi." You told him quietly, your eyes on the framed photo of your smiling son. "Haven't heard from you for a long time, Leone."

He let out a sound of irritation you knew a little too well, and you're very much aware he thought you're a traitor who left him behind when it had been him who broke up with you years ago. That was his problem, thinking people around had always owned him something, easily forgetting all the good things that were done for him once. You realized you were thinking about the same prior to a break up, wondering if your relationships were going to last if Abbacchio was going to behave the same way.

"What do you want? I don't have much time for you." He snorted, and despite you being so far from him during all that time, it still hurt so bad you clenched the phone in your hand, your eyes almost swelling with tears at his words. Did he felt better hurting you? You bet he did, having his revenge over someone who had nothing to do with him choosing his path. "Bucciarati's waiting for me, so be quick."

Bucciarati. He was referring to the man who had been seen with him, but you hoped it was just a rumor, too. You were well aware who Bucciarati was: all delivery guys and girls knew him and many other men with whom you shouldn't get mixed up. Passione was a power to reckon with even if you were talking about some low profile gangster who just got into a gang.

So, all those rumors were true. Abbacchio changed his side completely and joined mafia just like many other broken men before him. The next moment you realized how futile were your attempts to unite what you called a family in your dreams: were you really trying to let your child meet his father, a damn criminal who was probably murdering other people? Selling drugs? Beating the shit out of Passione's debtors? That was the man you wanted to entrust your beloved child?

"Sorry for bother." You said calmly, letting out a phone's wire you were getting close to torn into pieces. "I just wanted to know how you were."

"I'm good. Thanks for your concern." The man said before hanging up, and you staid frozen in your chair, listening to a dial tone. You were both sad and relieved at the same time, thinking how you had just saved your boy from so many troubles that would definitely arise if Leone knew he had a son. No, Dante didn't deserve a father like this. It wasn't his fault Abbacchio was long gone, and you weren't gonna spoil your child's life even if people would continue whispering your son was someone's bastard.

__________________

You didn't know the man got suspicious after your call, thinking you were up to something: he thought as low of you as of anyone he met prior to his encounter with Bucciarati. In Abbacchio's mind you all had betrayed him when he needed you the most, quickly disregarding your attempts to help him stay afloat with little money you had been sending him. Being extremely bitter, he felt the urge to dig up something about you, hoping you were in such deep shit you needed a help of a man like him. He was sure you were well-aware of his change of occupation, and it brought him a twisted satisfaction thinking of you whoring to him for his help. The only thing he found odd was that you didn't voice your plea. Did you get so scared of him you decided not to ask him for a favor? Abbacchio desperately wanted to know.

Finding out where you worked was an easy thing, and soon Abbacchio knew who you were now and how much you earned. It surprised him that you worked in a candy store: Leone remembered you were preparing to become a teacher. Did you drop out of university? He discovered you did. It was odd to him, remembering how eager you were to study. Why?

He found out the reason when he saw you walking with your baby boy during the weekend, Dante's tiny arm in yours as he was hurrying to the toy store window, then pressing his palms to the glace and watching a beautiful red toy train moving behind the window. The boy had his hair and his eyes. It wasn't hard to realize whose son that cheerful little boy was.

Abbacchio admitted with shame he wasn't prepared to it, quickly getting away as far as he could as if he couldn't look at the face of his own child. He had never thought something like that was possible: him? Being a father? Sure, Abbacchio wasn't a virgin, but the thought of someone having his child had never crossed his mind. At first he even tried thinking the child couldn't be his: how old the boy was? Wasn't he too young to be his son? By the time he was born Abbacchio had already been imprisoned.

"Doesn't mean she couldn't get pregnant while we still dated." He thought with shame, finding out Dante's birth date and realizing it was very much the reality.

Besides, his boy looked so much like him it was silly to pretend Dante wasn't Abbacchio's son. A part of him instantly got enraged with your decision to raise the boy on your own, not even letting his father know about his existence, but the man quickly cooled down, perfectly understanding why a drunkard he was then wouldn't make a good parent. You did nothing wrong. You even sent him money while you needed them much more than him.

Abbacchio still couldn't understand why you didn't abort an illegitimate child you weren't ready to bring up on your own - he wouldn't judge you if you did. You had been so young, almost a child yourself, barely able to take care of your own life while you had to provide for your son now. Your family wasn't rich, and he could imagine how much you struggled to stay afloat. Still, you kept your baby, your little boy you had been taking such a good care of: Abbacchio spied on you, stalking you while you walked with Dante or played outside, watching through your windows how you cooked and read him fairytales and tucked him to sleep. You were a good mother.

When Leone thought the only reason you called him was to let him know he had a son, he was ready to bang his head against a concrete wall. He knew why you ended up keeping quiet: he failed the test, talking to you as if he hated you to death and then mentioning Bucciarati's name. Bruno had been well-known in your area, and now you knew Abbacchio became a gangster. No mother would entrust her child to someone like him, and it had been his fault all alone, he realized that.

But he just couldn't leave you and his child without even acknowledging he knew he had a son. Even if Abbacchio wouldn't be the best father, he could still try his best: after Giorno became the next Don, he made Bucciarati's gang his own Unità Speciale, and Abbacchio was now a respected member of Passione with a fat wallet. With his help you could afford much more, moving to a more comfortable place, having better food and clothes, getting Dante to a better school once he grew up a bit. In the end, Leone could protect the both of you much better than you, just a simple woman who had to raise her son in a city full of criminals. He wasn't a drunkard with no goal but to drown out his day anymore.

That's why one day he showed up near the building where you lived, watching your mother taking her grandson and leading him to the apartment where you all lived while you hurried to the store to buy some food. He barely stopped himself from calling your mother, eager to take his boy in his hands, see his smile and chubby cheeks, ruffle his light grey hair and hear him laughing. No, Leone had to talk to you first, and it wasn't going to be easy.

Once you came back, a grocery bag in your hand, your face tired, he was waiting for you near a bench, and you flinched upon seeing him, your eyes getting wide. You surely didn't expect him to be there, least to give you something that almost looked like a smile.

Oh, you had a bad feeling about all that. Your hateful ex wouldn't just show up for no reason, you knew.

"Hello." He said surprisingly politely, and you started nervously chewing your lips. What did he want?

"Hello, Leone." You tried to keep your tone neutral to appear calm. "Good to see you looking well. Sorry, I'm in a rush, let's talk some other time."

Continuing to walk, you did your best passing him to hide in the hall of the building where you lived, but no one could brush off Abbacchio easily.

"I know." He said loudly as if he were afraid you would disappear before talking to him, almost ready to grab your arm but staying on his place when you stopped. "I know about him. About my son."

"He is my son." You roared like a lion, your hands clenched into fists when you turned your head to your former lover, but instead of getting intimidated or irritated the man felt proud: you were the best mother for his child Abbacchio could wish for.

"Of course."

There was no threat in his voice, and you relaxed a little, taking a deep breath and coming closer to the man still waiting for you near the bench. You didn't want to start a war, not with a man of Passione, unless Leone was going to take Dante away from you. You had to figure out what Abbacchio wanted.

"I haven't come here to steal the boy from you." He said, and you exhaled loudly, your palms shaking lightly. "I know you're a good mother."

You wanted to feel relieved, but something on the back of your mind told you Abbacchio wasn't there to compliment you and go away. He wanted something. What? Even if he knew you gave birth to his child, he had little to do with him now.

"I am." You admitted, unwilling to pretend to be polite anymore and hoping you'd get things sorted out before your mother started worrying about you. "Leone, what do you want?"

Your voice sounded harsh, and the man straigthen his back, getting closer to you: Abbacchio knew it wasn't going to be easy, but it wasn't your fault you wanted your child to be safe, thinking his father was a threat to him. It was up to Abbacchio to prove you he wasn't, eager to keep his boy safe and sound.

"Please, let me see him." He asked you, and you heard a plea in his voice. You couldn't remember when was the last time it happened. "I know what you think of me, and you're right about many things, but I want my child to know me."

"And what is he going to do with this knowledge?" You narrowed your eyes at your ex-boyfriend, rage boiling deep inside your chest. "What's it to Dante?"

"I will take care of him. And you."

Smirking, you shook your head, unable to believe him. Look, that son of a bitch was being so sweet to you now, pretending like meddling with his son's life wasn't a question of his enormous ego, that's what you thought. Did he really imagine you'd let him get close to Dante after you found out who he became?

"We don't need your help, thank you very much." You snorted, your fists clenched so tight it hurt you, nails digging into the skin.

"Then why did you call?"

Your eyes were getting wet as you chewed your lips to pieces, eating your lipstick and trying not to show the man your crying face. Abbacchio didn't deserve to see you like this. Of course, you shouldn't have called him. You desire to make things right only brought you more problems, as usual. It was even worse since now it concerned not only you but your baby, too. Dio Mio, why did you do it? Why did you try to talk to Abbacchio before finding out what he was doing now?

"To see if you got better." You said sarcastically, shaking your head in disbelief. "I thought I might tell you that you have a son, you know, if you sorted things out for yourself."

"I did." His voice sounded louder again when the man was getting emotional, both desperation and anger on his face. "I don't have an issue with drinking anymore. I don't even remember the last time I got drunk."

Taking a step back when he was dangerously close to you, you snorted, "Yeah, you just kill people now. Being a mafia's guard dog is so much better than being an alcoholic."

You could see Abbacchio getting furious, but you couldn't back down now when he was obviously determined to meet Dante despite all your warnings. Had he thought what it meant to be a son of a gangster? Did he imagine what his boy would have to go through just because his father belonged with Passione? You didn't care about his money or what Leone could give you, you were able to provide for Dante yourself. You couldn't, however, protect him against criminals who would come after him and you to have their revenge against Abbacchio. You'd have to watch your back all the time, but they would find a way to get to you, you were sure of it. Why didn't Abbacchio think about that? Was he so full of himself he thought he could protect your son at all costs?

Of course, it was his enormous ego again.

"I'm not gonna pretend my job has nothing to do with murder, but I'm not some Passione soldato anymore. I work directly for the new Don, and nobody gonna touch you and Dante once people know."

"Leone, please stop. I watched two delivery guys getting shot by men of Passione." You could barely hold your tears. "Don't you tell me my boy will grow up knowing that's what his dad is doing for life. Leave him alone for his own good! Let me give him a story about his policeman father getting fatally shot while on duty, and he will know his father was a hero."

Watching your eyes swelling with tears, the man in front of let out a sigh: he still couldn't watch you cry despite spending years apart. He fought the urge to come closer and touch your cheek, offering you some comfort, but he realized you would brush him off, not wanting the long lost intimacy. You weren't his beloved. Funny enough, he broke up with you himself, although now Abbacchio couldn't even remember why.

"He can have a true father instead of some fake legend." The man whispered, watching tears finally streaming down your cheeks.

"Give him a privilege to stay far away from this filth." Even though you kept wiping your face with the back of your palm, tears didn't stop falling, leaving dark spots on your pretty blue blouse. "Please, Leone. We both pay our experiences on our skin, but he isn't at fault just because he was born to us. Please... give him a chance to become a good man."

Abbacchio realized he wasn't able to get his way with you after what you had said. He just couldn't, knowing you were right. His son didn't deserve this.

_____________________

From that day he left you alone just as he had promised. Sometimes you got gifts with no notes, but you didn't need them, knowing where they came from: Abbacchio sent Dante expensive toys, the first one being that very same red train your boy wanted so much; then there were clothes, pretty little shoes, once you even got a new bed for him. Some stuff was for you, like that box of chocolate you loved once or a pair of golden earrings you had never worn. You wished he didn't send you anything at all, but receiving gifts from time to time was still better than having Leone at your door, willing to take your son away from you. Anyway, it wasn't Abbacchio himself delivering those things. No one was gonna make a hustle over something so inconsiderable, that's what you thought.

Silly you, thinking his enemies were stupid enough they couldn't trace those little gifts Leone had been sending someone over and over again. It was so much out of his character it was obvious the person had been important to him, and once they found out it was a young woman with a child who looked so much like him, it wasn't a secret anymore.

As the days passed, nothing changing in your life drastically, you had finally relaxed, thinking of taking a vacation and leaving the town for a week or two; your mother would certainly appreciated it after all this time. You were walking down the street with Dante's hand in yours when it all happened, a large white van stopping near you, a man getting out of it so quickly you had no time to react, looking at the gun he was covering with a newspaper.

"Get in there." The stranger growled, his eyes darting towards your baby boy. "Him too."

Freezing at your spot, you grabbed Dante's hand so hard he was going to cry, watching you and some man he didn't recognize staring at each other intensely. You wanted to shout, yell loudly so the whole street would hear you, but you were staring at the black gun's muzzle, and everything inside you got cold from the thought that man would shoot without a second thought, throwing your child inside the van once he'd be done with you. You certainly weren't immortal to withstand a few bullets from such distance.

You got inside without a word, holding Dante in your hands and trying to see in the darkness: the van had no windows on the back, and everything there was pitch black. It didn't matter, though, as once you turned up inside somebody had injected a syringe deep into your neck, and the world turned black in a couple of seconds, your baby's scream ringing in your ears.

Your poor little boy. You knew one day it would happen to him even if Abbacchio stayed away from the two of you.

By the time you woke up in some unknown place on a large, comfortable bed, it had already been late night, the moon shining bright in the night sky. You tried getting up immediately, but the dull headache made you groan and almost fell down the floor before somebody's strong arms caught you, carefully placing you back on the bed. You saw Abbacchio's worried face inches from yours, his brows furrowed as he watched you, afraid you might be in pain.

"Are you alright?" He managed to say, but you didn't bother answering him, your hand grabbing his as you tried getting up again only to be pressed into bed.

"Where's Dante?" Your voice sounded hoarse. "Where's he?!"

You remembered what had happened even despite that headache: a street, a van, the man with a gun wrapped in a newspaper, the lack of light on the backseat. Somebody had kidnapped your son and you, and nothing was making you go more mad than the absence of your baby, probably brought God knew where by the criminals. Shit, what had they done to him?!

"Calm down." Abbacchio's voice was both caring and strict as he clenched your wrists, pinning you to bed. "You will wake him up if you scream."

"Is he here? Is he here?" You kept asking, your body shaking from the thought Dante could be severely injured.

"Yes, he's safe. Nobody touched one hair on his head." Carefully helping you sit on the bed, Abbacchio pulled you to him, letting you rest your head on his half-naked chest, his skin becoming damp from tears streaming down your face: you were in deep shock, shivering, unable to pull yourself together, but nobody could blame you. "Narancia's with him now in the room next to ours. He's perfectly alright."

You couldn't utter a word, crying so hard and wrapping your arms around Leone as if you were drowning in the sea, and he was your lifeline. You needed him so desperately you couldn't let him go for a couple of minutes, weeping quietly against his chest. When was the last time it happened? Abbacchio couldn't remember, but the feeling of you needing him awoken something in the man, something he had long forgotten. Leaving a soft kiss on your forehead, he snuggled you closer to him, whispering words of comfort into your ear as if you were a little girl, and then started gently stroking your back.

He missed it. He missed somebody's warmth as much as you missed it, too, but you had your dear boy, and Abbacchio had no one. Of course, he would die for Bucciarati, and the gang became like a family to him, but a having a family with you was something much, much different. Waking up next to you, snoring lightly in your sleep as you hug your pillow, and nuzzling against your soft, warm body until your boy wakes up the two of you, and you hurry to feed him while Abbacchio is helping him dress. He would let Dante sit on his shoulders while all of you walk, and you'd laugh, watching the man nag when the baby was going to grab his hair too tightly.

He'd see his boy growing up, always there to give him a hand when he needed it the most, and help you to take all that weight from your shoulders you had been carrying for years. You didn't deserve living like this, struggling to raise Dante on your own just because you happened to get pregnant from a useless man like Abbacchio. He wouldn't make you go through all this alone when he was perfectly capable of taking care of both you and his son.

Especially now when you had been attacked so suddenly, and if he wouldn't be close, stalking you like he always did week after week, Leone was afraid to think what would happen.

"You're safe, principessa." He muttered, leaving on more kiss on the top your head, and you smiled weakly: you still remembered him calling you like that when you two still dated. "And Dante's too. I will ask Narancia to bring him to you if you promise to be quiet. It's very hard to make your baby sleep, you know that?"

You chuckled at his attempt to humor you, trying to wipe the tears away. "That's because he has your genes, and you're stubborn like a mule."

"Very much so." Abbacchio chuckled, too, and carefully stood up, motioning you to keep quiet as you stared at him nervously.

When he returned with Narancia gently cradling your boy in his arms, you covered your mouth with your palm, instantly getting of the bed and watching your baby sleep soundly - the guy holding him looked like a baby, too, but you admitted how careful he was with Dante, humming something quietly to keep the boy asleep. Although you wanted to take Dante in your arms, you knew you risked waking him up, and he certainly didn't need more stress after today's events. Nodding to Narancia and mouthing him thank you, you returned to sit on the bed, waiting for Abbacchio. He came back right after closing the door after the guy carrying Dante.

"Thank you." You mumbled, your eyes puffy from crying and rubbing them, your eyes looking down. "Thank you so much for saving him."

"What are you saying?' The man landed next to you and enveloped you in a hug, letting your head rest on his shoulder. "You are my family. I won't ever abandon you."

No, he wouldn't. Soon enough he'd convince you that living on your own was no longer an option, and after you'd move in he would find a way to convince you to marry him, giving both you and his son the family you deserved. He was sure neither Giorno nor Bruno would be against it as both of them were going to get married, too, and they could understand what it meant to take care of their loved ones. Abbacchio would keep you safe, ready to provide you with everything you needed so you wouldn't have to worry about working or spending your time elsewhere but home.

Abbacchio would give his son a chance to become a good man, but he didn't need to become a shadow from his son's past. He had a family to take care of, the ones who needed him much more than anyone else ever did.

[iotona]

Love

Hey again, I wrote something! And don’t ask why I keep coming up with ideas that include pets bc idk either. It’s Arthur x reader, 1500+ words, and fluff/romance? You won’t cry that’s all I know, I think? Thanks for giving it a look!

Love; a word that Arthur had almost forgotten. A one syllable sound that warmed the hearts of many and for others, indescribable pain. Long were the nights Arthur spent at the pub, downing as much alcohol as his body would allow, and entertaining any pretty skirt that so much as flashed him a darling smile. If he wasn’t out on the streets, then he would recluse to his room at the mansion living off of only bitter coffee and the sting in his back that reminded him of all the guilt and shame he carried over the years.

Recently, Arthur tossed in bed for entirely different reasons, obsessing over the tingling in his belly every time he thought of you. When you walked through the door, love came with. It certainly didn’t make itself prevalent right away, oh no. He didn’t feel it when he had the privilege of meeting you, and he surely didn’t see it when he tried to scare you off. But a slow burning feeling that first took his heart by surprise when you had flashed him a smile. It was a small grin like any other pretty lady he took to bed, why would this be any different? Maybe it was the context of his joke, maybe it was the dim lighting of the mansion at night, or the smell of the food you made just for him after his days of writing in solitude. Arthur couldn’t put his finger on why his chest suddenly felt lukewarm and his stomach tingled, nor did he really try, but soon found himself finding love everywhere he went. 

Affection oozed out of every cup of coffee you brought him, seeped into the smell of his clothes that you left folded on his bed, and blinded him with every outburst of laughter you blessed him after each cheeky jest. Time spent in his room became less with each day, the dark demons of his past quickly suppressing under the weight of his newfound feelings. Chasing this high, Arthur spent endless nights awake in bed rethinking every interaction between you two. He often planned his days to conveniently intercept yours and you gladly obliged to have his company. And when you agreed to be his little assistant in your free time, ohh did his heart do a million flips. 

Arthur’s interest in you soon became adoration. Reverence ruled his thoughts when he watched you work. Your intelligence to solve puzzles, your empathy to communicate and relate, your drive, persistence, your intuition to know what was fishy and what was not impressed him. With all his playfulness, some days Arthur wasn’t sure he’d get through a case without your point of view, but he’d never tell you that. In fact, the one instance you made a small comment about the look of frustration on his brow, he fixed himself with a handsome smile and teased about something or another to deter your focus.

Eventually, your own fondness began to show. Small blushes at Arthur’s praises and nicknames. The way you leaned into even the smallest of touches. How you went out of your way to ensure Arthur had hot coffee and a fresh snack while he wrote. Lending an ear to his stories and giving ample feedback. 

Arthur was positive this couldn’t last forever, nothing good and pure ever does. So when the darkness latched onto his legs and held him there, he was sure you wouldn’t come calling, even as it enveloped him once again. He no longer made an effort to leave his room, to eat, to drink, to socialize, or to find you, the precious woman from the future. He was confident that was it, you’d return to through the door soon and he would continue the torturous life he was meant to endure. 

Little did the sad man sitting on his overly worn writing chair realize how stubborn you actually were. He had underestimated you, entirely, until the day you came knocking his door down. It was sudden, he didn’t have an ounce of mental energy to understand the earful you were giving him over his astonishment. Something about how cold his coffee must be, and how he couldn’t possibly feel any better in a room so dark. You threw open his curtains and glared at him with a look that had him ashamed and shaking in his Oxford’s simultaneously. And very much like a lost puppy, Arthur agreed to accompany you to the town for bread, something so simple yet so domestic. You swore his wide bewildered eyes never left you that day and ever since then you constantly use that ammunition to your own device.

Then you did something so beyond his comprehension that even now, as he sits in the parlor of the mansion playing a game of chess with Theo, his mind keeps wandering to the night before instead of the bet that lay before him. Like many times before you had accompanied Arthur and Theo to the pub. The night was full of laughs and jokes, drinks to go around, as was per usual. You thought your heart would explode when Arthur suggested a dance and without waiting for your response, tugging on your hand. The music was upbeat, jovial and one too many spins mixed with liquor had you melting into his form when he pulled you close for a slow careen back and forth. You thought, in your inebriated state, how your legs would have probably given out if it wasn’t for Arthur’s hold on your waist and the other holding your hand close to his heart. Buzzing with not only drink but by how captivated you were with the man standing in front of you, you giggled and babbled about how his nose tickled you from brushing so close to your ear. You were so tipsy that when Arthur looked at you with a faint blush and the intent to apologize that you rose to your tip toes and pulled on the lapels of his jacket into a sweet kiss. A kiss that didn’t last long, but enough to deepen the red on his cheeks when you finally pulled away. The rest of the night muddled together, and you hadn’t seen each other since retiring to bed for the night. 

Arthur wasn’t afraid of what lay before him now, but his anxiety was evident by the way he bounced his leg up and down during the match, eyebrows furrowed in thought, and eyes boring into the table. Theo thought maybe it was due to the way he was severely losing this game, but when did Arthur ever lose? That itself was incredibly strange, but Theo being the man to not pry did not ask. And thus they continued moving the pieces until Arthur’s inevitable loss. 

Again the tiny statues were placed on small white and black squares, to their start. A pawn here, a knight there, Arthur’s gaze was caught by the flash of a bright green skirt out the nearby window. Abruptly standing up, he was completely enamored by the sight before him. Fresh, white, sparkling snow lazily fluttered through the air, remnants of this morning’s storm, adorning every surface outside. The serene and peaceful scene contrasted the way you were running through the mansion’s lower cut bushes and abruptly crouching behind one. If it wasn’t for the spirited look in your face as you peaked around the corner he would’ve thought you were in danger. But who exactly were you running from? Arthur received his answer when two furry four legged dogs came barreling around one side of the building and stopping to smell the air. 

Vic was the first to get a scent, and most importantly following your footsteps in the snow. You realized your failure in not being able to cover your tracks and slowly crouched behind another layer of bushes in hopes to throw off the pooch. The crunch of your boots over the fresh snow alerted the bi-colored dog, his small legs immediately running in the direction of the noise, tongue out and ears flapping in joy of the game, just like a certain owner. In an attempt to flee you stood to try and run back, only to find a yellow haired lab blocking your path, foiling your plans. Accepting defeat as both animals ran towards you in glee, you dropped to your knees to deliver many pets and kisses. Little did you know the amount of force King accumulated running towards you, he tried to stop but slipping across the fresh snow until his body collided with yours. If you had learned anything from Isaac’s Laws of Physics it was that a large dog using you as a cement block was not going to end well. You both tumbled into the white fluff, each dog wasting no time in pressing their little wet noses onto your face and neck. The sniffling and small licks had you elated, tickling your sensitive skin, and filling the air with your loud shrieks and giggles. 

“Oi, are you going to take your turn?” A particularly annoyed voice sounded from behind Arthur, to which he could only hum in response, give a smooth smile, and hustle out the door to you. 

Arthur knew then that any trace of doubt slowly dissolved. He was utterly, completely, and wholly infatuated with you. Every fiber, every bone, every time his heart beat, it was all vibrating with yearning for you. He finally knew and understood the meaning of love. All from you.

If you made it this far, thank you! Feedback is always welcome. :)

tagging: @kisara-16 (thank you for proof reading <3), @nad-zeta

[drxwsyni]

Yandere Eraserhead with an S/O that has a Cat quirk (Neko girl basically) but like he’s possessive and everything but she is super chill and go with the flow with life like the cat she is.

Mm yes cat quirks are my weakness, thank you for the request! This was gonna be just a headcanon thing but i couldn’t help myself, so here’s a oneshot! (oh god how do i always write more than i mean to)

_____

Yandere Aizawa/Eraserhead x f!Reader

(3435 words) ︱ title: Complaisant

It’s only natural that when people see a cute little animal they want to pet it. So when those around you, even strangers sometimes, approached you to pet the soft, fluffy cat ears atop your head so often, it became clear that it was easier to let them rather than fight it.

It was a recurring event that you were all too familiar with growing up. Almost absentmindedly, your friends and family would gently stroke the irresistible fur as they spoke. One would think that’d be irritating, but a side effect of your quirk, which you still hadn’t decided if it was unfortunate or not, was that the feeling of being on the receiving end of this affection left you in a relaxed, purr induced state―similar to an actual cat.

Slowly, you realized these experiences weren’t all too bad.

You resolved that putting up a fight was useless, as doing so never seemed to deter people from getting their way anyways.

Without you even realizing it, other traits of furry little felines had bled into your personality. You were quieter than most, and never shied away from affection. One thing your friends liked to tease you about was how easy it was to read your emotions. While your facial features didn’t give them away, the thumping of your soft tail when you were angry, or how it tucked in between your legs when you were frightened did. Other times your ears would fold back against your head when you were sad, or perk up when you paid attention to whatever had caught your eye.

Little adaptations like this were all too normal nowadays. Especially today, as you literally embodied that of a stray cat, having taken up residence on the rooftop of a random building.

It was nighttime, and you had originally come up here to stargaze. But the heavy sensation of your eyelids and the growing fatigue was becoming all too alluring towards a harmless cat nap. Curling up into a ball, you figured a bit of shut eye wouldn’t hurt for a few minutes. You drifted asleep, a welcoming sensation that you could never resist.

_____

Now, you were certain that before you fell asleep there were no other people on the rooftop, so how you ended up covered in a black jacket when you woke up was beyond you.

At least it was, until coming to your senses you made out a man leaning against the rooftop entrance to your right, arms crossed and eyes closed. He was wearing some sort of scarf, with yellow goggles hanging loose from his neck. Looking further up, you saw he had long black hair and a scar under his right eye.

He must’ve sensed your awoken state somehow, opening his eyes and lazily uncrossing his arms, instead shoving them in his pockets as he pushed away from the wall behind him.

“It’s about time you woke up. The hell were you thinking, falling asleep up here alone?” He tiredly sauntered over to where you were still stationed, now sitting up with what you presume to be his jacket falling slightly off your shoulders.

He didn’t let you respond. “You know what, it doesn’t matter.” The man outstretched a hand towards you before continuing. “C’mon, it’s too cold to stay out here and I need my jacket back. I’ll walk you home.”

It hadn’t been in your nature for a long time to argue with people. This situation was no different, the man seeming to be trustworthy enough after guarding your sleeping form for who knows how long.

You took his hand and were pulled swiftly to your feet before feeling him readjust the jacket onto your shoulders. He headed towards the rooftop entrance without looking back, assuming you’d follow suit.

Once on the street he let you lead the way, your tail swaying gently as you moved. For the most part the journey home was in silence. But as they say, curiosity killed the cat, and you spoke up.

“You a pro hero or something? Or do you just like watching people sleep?” Normally you weren’t this bold, but the situation was fitting for it you figured.

The man let out a huff. “Yes to the first question, but I also have a habit of taking in strays. Explains how I came across you.”

The two of you were nearing your destination, that being your old, run down apartment complex.

“I’m obligated to warn you not to repeat such reckless behaviour, but I get the feeling that won’t stop you.” You stopped outside the front entrance, turning to face him as he spoke.

“I appreciate the concern, thanks for walking me home.” You offered a slight smile as condolence as you returned the jacket, knowing you wouldn’t listen to him either.

He audibly sighed before responding. “Well, looks like I’ll just have to patrol the rooftops a little more often.” The man walked past you, continuing in the same direction past your apartment, giving a quiet “Stay safe,” before walking off into the night.

_____

Of course you resumed the apparently reckless behaviour, not being able to resist the calm of night in such a secluded place. So when you once again awoke to the same jacket draped over your form the next time, it didn’t come as a surprise.

If anything, the occurrence almost became a routine between the two of you. A few nights a week you’d return to the same rooftop, basking in the moonlight before dozing off, knowing you had a hero keeping you safe.

The walks back to your apartment were mostly quiet, neither of you speaking up until you’d almost arrived at your place. However, slowly a comfortableness settled, and you learned a few things about the mystery hero.

He called himself Eraserhead, his real name being Shouta Aizawa. He was a teacher during the day and hero at night. Generally speaking he was a quiet and collected man, but after gaining these details you decided to do a little research on your own. You’d found that he definitely didn’t let on to how strong he was. You saw clips of him expertly utilizing the capture weapon around his neck, mind you these videos were quite hard to come by, which you noted was likely because he seemed to prefer to stay out of the spotlight. Aside from that he was just the kind civil servant who watched your back, although you figured there were more important things the erasure hero could be doing with his time.

Regardless, you looked forward to the walks home with Shouta, and unbeknownst to you, it was always the highlight of the man’s night.

He’d never admit to it, at least not yet, but he’d grown quite attached to you, and thus was getting more and more invested in your wellbeing. Why you chose to put yourself in such precarious situations was beyond him, but he’d be damned if he let anything happen to you while you did.

So, every night he’d watch over the usual place you’d go to rest at the time you’d normally arrive, always from a distance, whether you showed up or not. If you did, he’d wait until you fell asleep before making his way over to the rooftop, routinely offering up his jacket.

Now, he’d be lying if he said having to resist the urge to run a hand over your velvety cat ears was almost painful. For the longest time he’d left well enough alone, fearing you’d wake up and be mortified.

But tonight, seeing you curled up in a little ball, ears twitching ever so slightly while you slept seemed to spark something uncontrollable in him.

Shouta resolved to sit down next to you, taking his chances and petting down the fur atop your head. Much to his surprise, and gratitude, a deep purring quietly resonated in your chest. More importantly, the sensation didn’t cause you to wake up. It was so easy to get lost in the action, being soothing for the both of you.

So naturally he did get lost in it, mind drifting off into thought while he continued to unconsciously caress your ears.

Before he knew it almost an hour had passed and he was still repeating the same action. Except now you were very much awake, unbeknownst to him, pretending to sleep while enjoying the affection. However, you knew he had hero duties to attend to, and thus it wasn’t fair to keep him longer than necessary.

“Y’know if you wanted to pet them that badly you could’ve just asked.”

He froze upon hearing you speak, but you only found it humorous. “It’s fine, really. Everyone ends up doing it sooner later and it’s not like I care so…” At this point you were sitting up, looking at the man waiting for a response.

You let anyone do that to you? Yeah, no… that’s not gonna fly.

Shouta lazily stood up, once again offering a hand for you to do the same. “It’s late, let’s get going.”

Like clockwork you took his hand, letting him pull you up from the floor of the rooftop.

Except this time he didn’t let go, dragging you behind him towards the rooftop entrance. And you made no objections, compliance was something you’d just grown used to. After all, there was no need to fight him. He’d only proven to be trustworthy, a subtle comfort in your life that was all too constant nowadays.

By now he had memorized the walk to your apartment, so you let him lead the way, opting to mindlessly observe the passing surroundings.

Before you knew it he’d stopped outside the complex, releasing his hold that had gradually become tighter as he had to pull you along.

“I know I’ve said this before, but your habits are dangerous.” You removed his jacket as he spoke, silently handing it off to him.

“It’s not dangerous if you’re keeping me safe.”

Shouta, like always, appeared to be tired with your careless response. Running a hand through his long, messy locks, he continued. “I can’t always be there to watch over you, not like this.”

He seemed uneasy at the prospect of leaving your safety up to chance. In an attempt to console him, you gave a small, warm smile. “Whatever happens, happens Shouta. If something or someone gets to me then it wouldn’t be your fault. That’s just how life works.”

You started in the direction of the front entrance doors before he had a chance to respond, turning back and waving goodbye before stepping inside.

_____

It’d seem what you said to the erasure hero that night didn’t sit well with him.

Since then he didn’t talk much on the way home, not that he ever really did in the first place. Now however, the few questions he did ask were… personal.

He’d ask about your family life, any close relationships, just things that only you would know―personal opinions. A few times you could tell he didn’t like your answers, the grip on your hand getting just a bit tighter.

However, like always you shrugged these things off. It was easier that way. You’d get to continue enjoying the company of the moonlight for a bit, and sometimes you’d wake up relaxed as Shouta occupied himself with running a hand over the top of your head.

Generally speaking, it was nice. Neither of you found it awkward in the slightest. So, you figured, the oddly intimate interrogations on the way home now and then were worth it.

He’d grown attached to the routine just as much as you. Therefore, naturally he was irked when you showed up late one night to your stargazing session.

By now he resolved to wait for you there, sitting in your usual spot with his jacket ready to serve as a makeshift blanket. The two of you would never talk until you’d woken up, but the delay in the unspoken schedule made him curious.

“Care to tell me what was keeping you?” Shouta was always blunt with his questions, something you didn’t really mind. Mostly it just caught you off guard.

“Nosy neighbour business. Kept trying to tell me they saw someone come out of my apartment from the balcony when I wasn’t there. Frankly, I always thought they were a bit strange so this doesn’t really come as a surprise.”

So much for going unnoticed.

You sat down, or rather laid down next to him. In an act of boldness you propped you head up on his thigh, using it as a pillow and got comfortable.

Shouta sighed at the development, acting like you were a nuisance when really he was living for your affection. “And you’re just going to ignore it? What if they were right and someone did break in?” He covered you with his jacket before placing a hand atop your head, gently petting the fur.

You shrugged in response. “It’s whatever I guess. Didn’t see anything out of place so what’s the big deal, right?”

The erasure hero didn’t respond to that, letting you continue with your absentminded ramble.

“What I should be worried about is this guy who won’t quit bothering me at work. Thinks I love him cause I offered to grab coffee for him on my lunch break once like a month ago.”

He couldn’t help himself when it came to you, the thought of some grimy old nobody coming onto you striking a nerve. “Need any help with that problem?”

You yawned audibly, stretching a bit before curling up. “Not really. It’s a bit tiresome but it’s what I’ve got to deal with. Thanks though.”

Shouta could tell that you didn’t have the energy for discussion right now, as you didn’t even bother to watch the stars above shine for a while like you did every other time you met up with him. So he let you drift asleep, head resting in his lap, concluding he’d have to make peace with his desires one way or another before this new threat could give you any real trouble.

_____

In truth, the erasure hero suspected that whatever he had in mind to deal with your reckless behaviour might not please you. And if you were initially upset, he was in too deep now to care.

It took longer than he hoped for, but his home was finally fit to bring back another stray.

The decision was drastic, that he was well aware of. 

Were there better ways to help you handle the everyday uncertainties of life? Yes. Would these ways leave you with little to no situational whiplash that may or may not severely affect the way you saw him? Also yes.

But he knew if he didn’t do something soon, people would take advantage of your irresponsibility one day. The thought of him not being there to protect you in these circumstances was more than enough to outweigh the question of his morals. So, he finished up with preparations and drove to your apartment complex.

_____

You noted regrettably how you weren’t able to visit Shouta tonight. It had been a little over three months since your first encounter with the hero, and by now you were closer to him than most people in your life.

It was late, work had kept you until these ungodly hours and you were more than thankful to finally be stepping through the threshold of your apartment door.

Like most nights like these, you worked through the fatigue to prepare some form of dinner. Tonight it was leftover soup coupled with some stale slices of baguettes, which you popped in the toaster oven in an attempt to improve the overall quality. You washed the meal down with a cup of herbal tea, not that you needed its calming effects to help you fall asleep, the accumulated exhaustion from the workday serving as more than enough assistance in that matter.

Yet as you got ready for bed, it seemed that whatever was in the blend of leaves and flowers ended up being the final nail in your coffin. Almost alarmingly so, you stumbled back to your bedroom, swiftly falling onto your mattress. You couldn’t even be bothered to get under the covers as sleep soon enveloped your body entirely that night.

_____

The rest from that slumber was practically blissful, making it quite the struggle to open your eyes when you drifted awake. The pillowy mattress and ever so soft comforter weighing against your frame threatened to pull you back into unconsciousness.

It almost did, until groggily you identified with the few alert senses you had that oh, this isn’t my bed…or my room for that matter.

You meant to sit up as fast as possible, but doing so proved to be difficult when your head was so nauseously dizzy. Not only that, but the anchoring you felt at the back of your neck kept your weakened state from moving much at all.

With fear bubbling in the pit of your stomach, you moved your hands up to your neck. They were met with a thick leather collar, and upon further inspection it was revealed that there was a thin but sturdy chain protruding from the back of it. You followed it, but it only disappeared beneath the edge of the mattress, sandwiched between that and the headboard of the large bed.

Giving the chain an experimental tug, and then a panicked pull proved that it was not going to budge anytime soon. Staring at it for a few seconds, you pondered how on earth you’d managed to get yourself in this situation. Sure, you were never one to be all that cautious in life, but this was a new low.

However, much to your appreciation for new information, the door to the bedroom swung open.

“It’s about time you woke up.”

Recalling to the first night you found yourself under the watch of Shouta, you finally comprehended just what you were doing here.

The erasure hero closed the door before stalking over to the side of the bed. You simply observed him, not knowing how to respond. You weren’t necessarily frightened anymore, seeing him being the one to put you in this predicament. Rather, it was a more complaisant confusion you felt.

“Always the silent type, huh.” Shouta set a glass of water down on the nightstand, looking back to you with arms crossed.

Not knowing what else to do, you returned his gaze.

“You’ve really got nothing to say? Not gonna ask why you’re here, or where here even is for that matter?”

It seemed he knew just as well how odd the events unfolding were. He’d somehow gone and brought you to who knows where, without your consent, even going as far as to chain you to a bed.

You wanted to be mad, you really did. Yet, the only constant in your life was to understand that some things just weren’t in your control. Did that mean this was a healthy display of concern? Maybe not, but you got the message nonetheless.

So you did what you do best, and accepted the outcome of your behaviour.

Shouta had always been kind to you, protecting you at your most vulnerable times. You could trust him, right?

“I get the feeling we both know there’s no need for questions.”

To that the erasure hero silently agreed. “Well if that’s the case then I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve sacrificed a lot of sleep to see that you weren’t robbed almost every night of the week for the past few months.” He passed you the glass of water before taking up the spot next to you in bed, laying back with his hands behind his head, closing his eyes. He was wearing casual clothing, but you could spot his capture weapon resting on the nightstand, of course out of reach to you.

Gingerly, you sipped the water, grateful for alleviation to your dry throat.

“You should know that I had no choice, maybe if you weren’t so irrational things wouldn’t have come to this.”

The remark almost made you laugh, but instead you placed the glass atop the nightstand on your side, only to scoot over to his position, resting your head against his chest.

“Yes it would’ve, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

And just like routine, you felt his hand drift to your head, his other arm moving around your waist pulling you closer.

“Go back to sleep, kitten. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

[lady-himbo]

In Your Shadow

sort of Javier Peña x reader, platonic!Steve Murphy x reader (she/her pronouns; no Y/N used)

Javi keeps getting the credit for work he didn’t do, and she’s pissed. Chaos ensues.

Word count: 2500+

Warnings: angst and frustration, lots of cursing, potentially horrid Spanish (I’m learning, I promise), smoking

A/N: This is based on the song Shadow by Unlike Pluto. You can find pieces of the lyrics in the dialogue. You can also find the translations of everything said in Spanish at the end! Feel free to correct me on anything; like I said, I’m learning Spanish, and I appreciate any advice. <3

“... and thank you again to Agente Peña for providing this invaluable intel.” As the meeting adjourned and several individuals voiced their praise, she charged out of the briefing room and into the office, seething, death-gripping her files to her chest. Hot on her heels, Steve attempted to pacify her.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean to steal your thunder, honey. He’s just-”

“What? He’s just what, Steve? A senior agent? Running the show? A man? Tell me, what exactly justifies him getting credit for the shit I’ve worked months on?!” The files were starting to crumple in her grasp.

“Well, I don-”

“This isn’t even the first time he’s done it! He’s gotten recognition for my informants, my intel, my translations, my briefings, my goddamn livelihood!” Her voice was starting to raise in pitch and volume as tears gathered in her eyes. Steve held his hands up, trying to silently reason with her. “I can’t win, Steven! I work my ass off day and night for this fuckin’ job, only to have the rug pulled out from under me because I’m ‘not working as hard’ as holier-than-thou Javier goddamn Peña and his massive ego! I have to live under it and, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, it casts giant shadows!”

Unfortunately, the source of her rage had picked an inopportune time to waltz in. With only a second to register Steve’s panicked look, Javi might as well have wandered into the middle of a firing squad. The execution probably wouldn’t have been half as painful.

“You motherfucker!” she yelled, slamming the now torn and wrinkled papers onto her desk with a clatter. “You lying, power-hungry, manipulative bastard! You fuck every other woman you get the chance to, but you’ve decided to fuck my life instead! I’ve worked for fucking months; hundreds of hours and sleepless nights on this information, and you’ve taken all the credit! Again!”

Javi, oblivious to the full impact of this outburst, opted for the worst possible response. “Come on, sweetheart, we’re working as a team. Plus, you asked me to hand it in to Noonan. If you wanted to take credit for it so badly, you should’ve just talked to her yourself!” Steve visibly cringed and gestured for him to cut it out. Too late.

She stalked forward and, though Javi tried to back up, she had him backed into a corner. “You pompous ass! ¡Más tonto y no naces!” She’d broken out her Spanish. Oh boy. “I can’t even talk to Noonan because she always tells me to run my ideas by your incompetant ass! You cast a shadow over everything I try to do; it’s not like I can get anything worthwhile done when your massive ego’s towering over my ambitions!” She jabbed a finger into his chest, punctuating her words. “Nothing I’ve ever done here has ever mattered to the agency, because I live in your shadow and you’ve taken all of it from me! When will you move out of my way and stop treating me like a fucking doormat?!”

Javi was starting to get defensive, which was never a good sign, especially when Spanish started to get sprinkled in. “¡Oh, lo siento mucho!” he shot back sarcastically. “I wasn’t aware that all the work you get authorized by me to do was proprietary!”

“Are you fuckin’ serious?” she spat. “All you had to do was say the report was from me! It’s not proprietary, Peña, it’s my goddamn right to present the information that I spent my own money, overtime, health, and physical fucking safety to acquire! I’m sorry that I have a genuine interest in making sure this case gets handled right instead of spending my every waking moment getting my dick wet in my informants!”

A small group was starting to gather near the office, waiting to hear if Peña finally got his ass handed to him. This didn’t seem to bother either agent as they glared each other down. With Peña’s pride now on the line, no holds were barred, and he was ready to bust out personal attacks.

“Any competent agent would’ve just handed their shit in themselves, but no, you’ve gotta rely on someone else to do it for you.” He was livid; his pride had been damaged while he was riding the high of gloat and achievement, like getting laid and immediately being punched in the balls. She wasn’t letting this one go, and it was obvious he wasn’t either. “God! You’re like a cloud every time you walk in here, bitching about how little sleep you’re getting or how your work is piling up; a fuckin’ rain on my parade!” He stepped forward, crowding her, his posture more and more assertive with every word. “¡Madura de una vez! You’re an adult, a government agent, taking down a drug cartel run by Pablo fuckin’ Escobar! No one’s getting sleep, and it certainly doesn’t help when you’re whining about it! Maybe if you stopped, you’d have time to turn in your own reports and get the credit you don’t deserve!”

Escobar himself could’ve walked through the office and no one would’ve noticed. Javi’s mouth slammed shut the moment the words left, but they seemed to echo in the eerily silent office. Her shoulders sagged, and she stumbled back a few steps, trying to steady herself.

“Fuck, I-” Javi choked on his words. Her eyes were red, her cheeks stained, but her face was frighteningly level.

“Yeah, tienes razón.” Her voice was hollow, tired. “It’s always stormy lately. I guess I’m just under too much pressure; it’s driving me insane. There’s only one way to relieve it.” She slipped off her gun holster and unclipped her badge, pressing them into his chest. “I quit.” Without a second glance, she stormed out of the office.

Two weeks later, her desk was cleared out, her files and informants were on a list to be redistributed to the rest of the unit, and the office was uncomfortably heavy. Javi was smoking way more than usual, everyone avoided him like the plague, Steve was bored, the case was at a standstill, and the quiet was palpable. She was no longer a colorful presence flitting around the tables, leaving a rainbow of Post-it Notes in her wake, charting cell signals, calling out for advice, chatting on the phone in Spanglish, humming quietly or bobbing her head to the radio, popping up to refill her coffee cup and offering to refill everyone else’s every couple hours, then rushing off to the bathroom when she’d had too much. She was a constant presence the unit soon realized they’d taken advantage of.

The phone on Steve’s desk rang mid-morning, and he stifled a yawn as he picked it up. “Murphy,” he grunted.

“Hey, Stevie,” came a familiar voice. “¿Qué pasa?”

He brightened. “Hey, hon.” He felt some of the tension leave him, but it was still there. “We’re fuckin’ stuck. Nothing’s happening, everyone’s lifeless, and Javi’s still moping. Eso es lo que pasa.” He could hear her breathy laugh; she was always proud when he practiced his conversational Spanish with her. She’d told him she felt it was an honor he was comfortable enough to try it out around her. “What’s up with you?”

“Ahí vamos; he estado mejor. I’m sorry you have to deal with-” she stopped and huffed, then her words became muffled. “Tengo una cita con la embajadora, huevón. ¡Estoy al teléfono!” She yelped. “¡Tócame otra vez y te rompo la nariz!” There was a brief commotion, then a thump, and suddenly, her voice became clear again. “Sorry, I’m waiting on Noonan. I’m supposed to meet with her today to finalize my paperwork.”

Steve sighed. “You’re really going through with this, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess I am.” Another voice called her name in the background, then spoke quietly for a moment. “What?! ¿Qué quiere decir ‘no está aquí’?” The voice spoke again, then there was a pause. “Okay… Si, todo bien… Está bien. Listo.” Then, back to Steve: “Noonan didn’t show. Some emergency meeting. Just great; I guess I’m rescheduling.”

“Maybe it’s fate!” Steve teased, only half joking. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Javi trudge across the office to the coffee pot, give it a long, forlorn look, then trudge back towards his desk. His eyes were heavy, his shirt rumpled, even his mustache looked sad. As he plopped down amongst towers of papers, Steve cleared his throat and made a show of nestling the handset under his chin. “Well, whatever the case, that gives me time to convince you to stay with us. Your desk looks stupid empty.” Though he was deliberately looking away, he could see Javi’s head and shoulders snap up like he’d heard a gunshot. On the other end of the line, she laughed.

“Don’t try to sweet talk me, Murphy. I’d welcome the company, though.”

“Of course!” he replied, making sure his smile was as cheesy as possible. “I’ll meet you outside in a little bit?” She agreed.

Steve busied himself with pretending to look busy for the next half hour, then announced he was going to talk to Carrillo. As soon as he turned the corner and was sure he was out of sight, he watched Javi scramble out of his seat and out the door.

Outside the building, she was sitting on a bench, her back turned. Lazy wisps of cigarette smoke danced in the wind in front of her figure, and Javi suddenly felt very insecure. He called her name, uncomfortable with the way his voice wavered. She jumped, then, after a beat, slowly turned towards him. “Come mierda, Javier.” He didn’t let her words deter him, approaching the side of the bench. She glared up at him. “No me joda. I’ll finish up in a second and leave.” He wrung his hands, feeling small under her stare.

“I’m going to sit with you,” he declared.

“Please go,” she said, softer this time. “I just wanna feel the wind one last time before I leave. Just wanna look at this shitty masterpiece of a city; really take it in.”

He ignored her plea and sat, far enough away that he didn’t feel like he was ganging up on her. They just sat, and she took long, deep drags of her cigarette. After she eventually ground the butt into the pavement, he took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry.” He left the declaration hanging in the wind for a moment, before plunging on. “I’m sorry for what I said, and what I’ve been doing to you. I’ve been a selfish asshole, and you were right to call me out on that. I’m not going to convince you to stay, because you don’t deserve to be dealing with my bullshit all the time. You’re talented and selfless and I never appreciated everything you sacrificed for us until it was gone. I just- fuck, I feel like such a piece of shit.”

“You are.” He blinked owlishly. “You’re a self-centered, impulsive manwhore with a weird mixture of self-hatred and a superiority complex. You’ve been a horrible coworker and I almost feel ashamed that I tried so hard to be your friend.” He ducked his head, trying to hide his mortification. “Almost.”

He peered back up at her, cocking his head in confusion. “That said, you’re a great agent, kind and sympathetic when you wanna be, passionate about the work we do, and, when you keep a level head, you’re fun to work with. I don’t know if I can forgive you right now for all the shit you did, but your apology goes a long way. I appreciate that.”

She took a deep breath, then stilled, staring out into the movement and noise of Medellín. He watched her for a few minutes, though it felt like hours. He watched the clenching and unclenching of her jaw, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the flutter of her eyelashes; all the details he’d been too busy to notice. “Penny for your thoughts?”

She looked over, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t know. I’m just thinkin’ about life. What I want to do.”

“I know it doesn’t amount to much, but I’d like you to stay.”

“I can’t- I mean, I can, it’s just that- fuck, I don’t even know,” she mumbled, furrowing her brows to try to stop a tear from slipping down her cheek. “It’s just that, by all official records, I’m pretty much worthless here, y’know? All my abilities go unnoticed and it’s like I’m not even there. I know you don’t mean to stand above me, but you are, and the shadow I live under is killing me. It’s taken my job, my self worth, my… being. I can’t live like that anymore, constantly working at the precipice of death, of destruction, of failure, and the one thing I can do to help isn’t even appreciated as my own. It’s just… cold.”

Javi nodded. “After you left, I went up to Noonan and explained what’d happened; that I didn’t deserve any of the credit I’d been given.”

“Well, that’s not true! The things that you did you deserve credit for. You’re incredibly talented, Javi, just not with my intel.”

“But… you do deserve the credit I get. You deserve so much more than you‘ve ever gotten. What I said was so selfish.”

She grabbed his hand. “Javi, selfishness aside, I know you’re in a dark place. We all are. After all, we’re government agents ‘taking down a drug cartel run by Pablo fuckin’ Escobar’ and we don’t get any sleep.” She smiled at her usage of the words he’d berated her with weeks earlier. “I should’ve taken more initiative to turn in my own work; it was silly of me to put that on you. I know you’ve got your own mess going on. Plus, I said a lot of awful things right back. Most of them I meant, some of them I didn’t, but I could’ve handled it all a lot better. I’m sorry we didn’t work this out earlier.”

Javi squeezed her hand, feeling a little warm tingle in his stomach. “Me too.” He sighed, raking his other hand through his hair. “I- er, we really do need your help. You’re priceless.” She exhaled sharply, tilting her head back and forth as if weighing her options.

“Fine. I’ll talk to Noonan.” Javi’s face lit up. “But on two conditions.” He nodded. “One: I get recognition for my past and future work, and two: you promise to work with me and call on me if we have any issues. We can’t have these communication errors any longer if we’re gonna catch these bastards.” She paused, then smiled lightly. “Also, you owe me a lot of coffee.”

Just as Javi agreed, Steve came out of the building. He stopped a few paces from them, looking back and forth from Javi’s pink cheeks and goofy grin, her teary eyes, and their interlaced hands. “I’m sorry, what did I miss?”

She laughed as they pulled their hands apart and she wiped the tears away. “I’m keeping my job.”

“That’s amazing! …Peña, what did you dose her with?” Javi let out the fakest laugh he could, but smiled along with it. She sighed softly, the breeze dancing across her skin.

“All I want is to cast my own shadow.”

Translations:

¡Más tonto y no naces! - If you were any dumber, you wouldn’t have been born!)

¡Oh, lo siento mucho! -> Oh, I’m so sorry!

¡Madura de una vez! -> Grow up!

tienes razón -> you’re right

¿Qué pasa? -> What’s up?

Eso es lo que pasa. -> That’s what’s up.

Ahí vamos; he estado mejor. -> Fine, I guess; I’ve been better.

Tengo una cita con la embajadora, huevón. ¡Estoy al teléfono! -> I have an appointment with the ambassador, asshole. I’m on the phone!

¡Tócame otra vez y te rompo la nariz! -> Touch me again and I’ll break your nose!

¿Qué quiere decir ‘no está aquí’? -> What do you mean ‘she’s not here’?

Si, todo bien… Está bien. Listo. -> Yeah, all good… all right. Okay.

Come mierda -> Eat shit

No me joda. -> Don’t fuck with me.