#might want to take care of that pillow Maria

[gingeredmink]

doodle based on a thing I saw on twitter.

Pathetic man "enjoying" his vacation in Silent Hill with woman he can't tell apart from his late wife.

[woso-story]

Through The Toughest Times

Ingrid Engen x Mapi Leon

It was an unusually quiet morning at FC Barcelona's training ground when Mapi felt the sharp pain in her knee. She had been pushing herself hard, as always, but something wasn’t right. The next few days were filled with medical appointments, scans, and the crushing news: a torn meniscus. The surgery was inevitable.

For Mapi, the news hit harder than any tackle she had faced on the pitch. Not only was her season in jeopardy, but the timing was terrible. Barcelona had so many crucial games ahead — the Champions League, Copa de la Reina, Supercopa and the ongoing league matches. Her team needed her, and now, she would be sidelined, another injured player in a defensive line that had already been stretched thin.

"I’m letting the team down," Mapi thought, her heart heavy. "They need me."

Ingrid, Mapi's best friend and partner, could see the storm brewing inside Mapi. She knew exactly how hard this was for her. Ingrid was the first to reach out, pulling her into a quiet corner of the locker room after the diagnosis was confirmed.

"Maria, it's not your fault," Ingrid said softly, placing a gentle hand on Mapi's arm. "Injuries happen. But you can’t change it now. What matters is that you focus on getting better. We're all here for you."

Mapi met Ingrid's gaze, searching for the comfort she needed but hadn’t known she was seeking. Ingrid’s calm presence was the balm Mapi needed. Ingrid had always been her rock, and now, more than ever, she needed to hold onto that.

The day of the surgery, Mapi felt nervous as she was wheeled into the operating room. But just before the anesthesia took over, she heard Ingrid’s voice, soft and steady, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

When Mapi finally stirred awake, the first thing she felt was a weight on her shoulder. She blinked, adjusting to the light, and turned her head. Ingrid was sitting next to her, her head resting on Mapi’s shoulder, sound asleep. Ingrid’s hand was lightly resting on Mapi’s arm, a symbol of her unwavering support.

A smile tugged at the corners of Mapi's lips. “You kept your promise,” she whispered to herself.

Ingrid had stayed, missing training to be by Mapi's side, just as she had promised. Mapi knew she was lucky to have someone like Ingrid, someone who would drop everything for her without a second thought.

Days later, after Mapi was released from the hospital, Ingrid took care of everything. The apartment was ready for Mapi’s recovery. The living room had been rearranged to accommodate Mapi’s need for comfort, with pillows set up on the couch for her knee. A small table nearby was stacked with books, crossword puzzles, and Mapi’s laptop.

“I thought you might get bored,” Ingrid explained with a grin, as Mapi looked around in awe. “You’ll be spending most of your time here, so I wanted to make it nice for you. I also brought you some of your favorite things.”

Mapi felt a surge of gratitude. Ingrid had thought of everything.

The first days were the hardest for Mapi. Crutches were awkward, and the pain in her knee made even the simplest tasks a challenge. Ingrid did everything for her. She brought meals to the couch, helped Mapi get into bed at night, and even assisted with the shower, always there to lend a hand, no matter how personal or difficult the task was.

But there were moments when Mapi felt like a burden. She hated needing help, hated being so dependent on someone else. She could see the toll it was taking on Ingrid. Yet, Ingrid never once complained. To her, Mapi was everything. There was no place she’d rather be than by her side.

However, Ingrid had to leave for a few days to join the Norwegian national team. Mapi understood the importance of Ingrid’s career, but the thought of being alone filled her with dread.

“I don’t want you to go,” Mapi admitted, her voice thick with emotion.

Ingrid looked torn, her hand hesitating as it rested on Mapi’s knee. “I can cancel. I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“No,” Mapi insisted, shaking her head. “You have to go. I’ll be fine. My parents will come to visit me. You can’t cancel this.”

Ingrid sighed, knowing Mapi was right. “Okay,” she said softly. “But I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

As Ingrid was away, Mapi’s parents arrived. They were grateful for Ingrid’s love and care, seeing firsthand how much she meant to their daughter. Mapi’s recovery was slow, but every day was a step forward. With each session of physiotherapy, the pain lessened, and Mapi began to feel more like herself again.

Through it all, Ingrid’s support never wavered. Whether it was sending Mapi text messages after training, or calling her late at night, Ingrid was always there. When Ingrid returned, Mapi felt stronger, both physically and emotionally. The hard days were still there, but they seemed more bearable with Ingrid beside her.

Meanwhile, Ingrid had also stepped up in Barcelona, now taking on the role of center-back. It was a position she wasn’t used to, and it felt like a challenge, but Mapi was always there to offer advice and little tips that made a huge difference. It was a team effort in every sense of the word, even if Mapi couldn’t physically be on the pitch.

“I’m so proud of you,” Mapi told Ingrid one evening after a tough match. “You’re amazing.”

Ingrid smiled, brushing a lock of hair from Mapi’s forehead. “I couldn’t do it without you. You’ve helped me more than you know.”

Weeks passed, and Mapi’s knee grew stronger. Slowly, she regained her mobility, and though she knew it would take time to return to full fitness, she could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Through every grueling session and every frustrating moment, Mapi had felt the constant presence of Ingrid, her partner, her rock. Ingrid had taken care of everything: the laundry, the cooking, the cleaning, the shopping. She had shouldered the weight of their life together, and did so with a love that left Mapi in awe.

As the season wore on, Barcelona won the Supercopa, Copa de la Reina, the league and most thrilling of all, the Champions League. Mapi wasn’t on the pitch for those victories, but she knew, deep in her heart, that she had played a part in those triumphs.

But the true victory was even more personal.

In the end, Mapi didn’t need another trophy to feel fulfilled. She had already won the greatest prize of all: Ingrid Syrstad Engen, the one person who had been with her every step of the way, and who had proven time and time again that love, in its truest form, can heal even the deepest wounds.

[pixeldistractions]

warnings: adult activities and conversation, pictures should be Tumblr-safe (we’ll see…), spice level 3/5 🌶️🌶️🌶️ 😇

He promised she wouldn’t hate this, so sometimes that meant he carried four jugs of water to fill the tank so she could have a luxurious hot shower. She appreciated that, and she would take care of him in return. She massaged his tired muscles, kneading all that tension, the powerful shoulders and hard-working back, and turned him into putty. Then when he was melted to her satisfaction and dozing off to sleep—she wasn’t quite done with him yet—she traced the shapes of his tattoo, spanning shoulder or shoulder.

“Did it hurt?”

“Heh, yeah. It took forever.”

“Does it still?”

“Not anymore.”

“Wait, though, it’s a compass,” she said. “But what good is a compass that you can’t see?”

He chuckled. “Didn’t think of that. Maybe it’s not for me.”

“Who’s it for then?”

“You’re the only one who sees it, so I guess it’s for you.”

“Are you saying I’m lost?”

“No. Not anymore. You have a compass now.”

She could see the corners of his lips, grinning into the pillow.

“Hmm, that’s very suave, mister.”

“We’re gonna pretend I planned it that way.”

She tugged on his body until he rolled over, so she could straddle his front instead, then she leaned down to kiss him.

The close confines of their camper called for some romantic experimentation, but that wasn’t a bad thing. Jordan thrived on variety and the millions of ways and places he could cherish her body. He spoiled her with it. In the cab of the camper, window covers on, lean the seats way way back. A blanket under the stars, rolled up together into a frenzy. Save the moans for outside, though you might scare the wildlife. That could be fun, too. In the deep woods with only the nocturnal creatures as their witness. Don’t be shy of the owls and raccoons. They don’t care, they’re naked, too. A campfire crackling. Shirts kept on, or loosened, or scrunched up in a tangle. A wool blanket draped over her back and slowly falling off with each rock and sway. November brought a harsh chill to the nights, but they were always too hot together to ever feel the cold.

Or, just as often, inside, in their bed. So they devised some tricks, battery powered fans for noise, a makeshift wall made of pallet scrap, a haphazard door cut and fit from more scraps. It closed and locked; that was all that mattered. A carefully placed toy that would rattle when little feet crept out of bed. Keep it slow and rhythmic, so so sweet. Hush now, only whispers and sighs, muffled passions, bit lips, covered moans. Don’t rock the camper.

Another experiment, one that caused some mixed anxieties but was just as exciting, they’d been talking about skin to skin. Maria had been on her new birth control for a full cycle now. She was sure it was the right one this time. Double, triple checked.

“I want to feel you,” she said, “not a rubber bag.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, very sure,” she said, sliding herself over him, up and down and around him, just waiting for the go-ahead to push him deep inside.

“I’m just saying, the last time I did this, someone got knocked up with twins.”

“I won’t get pregnant. Not tonight, anyway.”

“Wow. Okay. Yes.”

And that was all she needed.

“Fuuuuck,” he moaned.

“I’m gonna need you to last more than two minutes.”

He was already far beyond words, so she got straight to work. She moved herself on him purposefully, hitting all her right spots while keeping it slow and steady, watching his face melt with pleasure, slowing him down and trying her best to beat him to the finish line because this was going to be a race. She would win, but it might be close.

The camper rocked, for sure.

— “boxes and squares #5.1: live the fairytale” (7/10)

previously: Jordan is super careful and Maria is irresponsible

notes: this isn’t just frivolous smut, by the way. (Not that I would ever be above writing such a thing!) We are heading into some important character development in the next piece. Also not meant to be foreboding. She really did double-triple check her birth control this time! It’s like 99% effective or something…

Next -> // 5.1 start // index

[shivunin]

Yayyy you’re doing prompts again! What about 14 for Maria?

Hehe yeah, it's been a bit, hasn't it? Thank you for the prompt! c:

For "14. one muse is sick and the other takes care of them:"

(Trope Prompts)

A Friend in Need

(Maria Hawke/Fenris | 1,376 Words | Hurt/comfort | No warnings)

The water in the bathtub was pleasantly hot, but Fenris was not sitting in it. He was leaning over the edge instead, breathing in the steam and watching Hawke’s blurry reflection in the still water. 

“Is that any better?” she asked, frowning. She held a jar in one hand and a handful of leaves in the other. 

She’d only asked him if he wanted healing once, perhaps an hour ago. Then, as always, she’d abided by his answer. Fenris had expected as much by now, but he hadn’t expected her to turn up at his door half an hour later with a basket of jars and a pot of tea. Fenris suspected she would leave if he asked her too—and he’d nearly asked several times. The truth of the matter was that he felt miserable enough to dislike the idea of languishing in such obvious vulnerability while he recovered. For this reason and this reason alone, Hawke remained. 

But—as it turned out, she was skilled in healing even when it involved no magic at all. The steam was heavily scented with something that reminded him of Tevinter, sharp and green. He’d hardly been able to breathe through his nose for days, but he found he could manage it well enough now. Even his headache had eased, to his astonishment. 

“Yes,” Fenris said, and slumped against the cool rim of the tub. “My thanks.”

“Of course,” she said cheerfully, screwing the lid on the jar and setting it aside. “They might be common enough, but these summer agues are miserable. I’m sorry this one hit you, too. Anders says the clinic is full to bursting with it.”

“Hmm,” Fenris said, still not terribly up for conversation, and leaned closer to the steam. He was close enough that his hair dipped into the water. He was likely to regret being damp later, but at the moment he hardly cared. 

“Would you like me to tie it up?” Hawke asked, and her reflection leaned closer. “Your hair, I mean. If you’ve trouble with your stomach again, it would be best to keep it out of the way.”

Fenris considered it for a moment, watching her in the water. Her fingers tapped out a steady rhythm on the edge of the tub—a waltz, he thought—and one of the leaves floated past, obscuring his view. 

“Yes,” he said at last. The hair clung to his neck and temples with sweat. Loath as he was to be touched, he did not think he could stand the sensation of his own hair against his skin much longer. Hawke rose and rounded the bathtub, drawing something from her pocket. 

“I’ve a comb here,” she said, and showed it to him. “If I pull too hard, tell me right away and I’ll stop.”

Fenris acknowledged this with a halfhearted nod, the back of his neck prickling when she crouched behind him, but he did not move away when she lifted the comb to his hair and began. 

The motion of the comb was so smooth and consistent, beginning at the tips of his hair and rising gradually to the roots, that he began to doze. Under any other circumstances, he supposed he would never have allowed it. They’d known each other for three years now. He trusted her, much as he could trust anyone, but the two of them were not friends in the same way that she was friends with the others. 

This is only because she cannot heal me, Fenris reminded himself absently, head pillowed on his forearm. Hawke's fingers brushed against the skin of his forehead. They felt cool for once, which was likely not a good sign for his fever, but which felt extremely pleasant. He sighed despite himself and she drew back, tugging softly on his hair as she bound it up. 

“Sorry,” she murmured, and Fenris made an indistinct sound in response. 

Hawke was careful, but fast, tying off the end of his hair with a slight tug and moving away again. For a time, he rested there, listening to her move around his bedroom. If he’d tried—if it had been necessary—he probably could have risen and dragged himself to bed. It was easier to stay where he was, listening to her hum quietly and unpack things from her basket. 

“Fenris?” she said some time later. Fenris jolted, unaware that he’d fallen asleep, and Hawke crouched where he could see her, palms out. 

“Everything is alright,” she told him. “I wanted to see if you’d like help back to bed before I go. I supposed you wouldn’t want company all day, but I’ve set up the tea and soup in reach of the bed for when you get hungry. I can come back in the evening, if you like.”

Fenris was shivering again, skin chilled despite the heat rising from the water and the hearth. Her forehead creased between the brows, and the sight of it almost pushed him to tell her to go. He did not want her concern, and he had little interest in her hovering.

But…

“Stay,” he said instead, his voice hoarse and thick. 

Hawke blinked.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. Unless—” he was interrupted by his cough, which burned his throat and lungs. Fenris shuddered when it finally eased again, but when he opened his eyes she was holding a cup of tea out to him. She’d only filled it halfway; none of it spilled onto his hands when he took it from her, shivering, and the warmth and sweetness of the tea soothed the burn in his throat. He handed back the empty cup and slumped against the side of the tub. 

It would be wisest to ask her to heal him. He knew that. It was only…that it felt wrong when it was not an emergency. 

“If you’d like,” he finished at last. Hawke set a careful hand on his back, her fingers brushing over his bare spine for only a moment before shifting to the side. 

“Come on, then,” she said. “Let’s get you to bed. You’ll feel better once you sleep, I guarantee it.”

Fenris groaned when she helped lever him to his feet. He was certain he would not feel better once he’d slept; it certainly hadn’t helped him these past few nights. He allowed her to help him into the bed anyways, and did not protest when she drew the blankets over him and pulled a chair closer. 

“I’ll read aloud, if you don’t mind,” she told him, swinging one boot over her knee. “I used to read to the twins when they were sick. Stop me if it bothers you, alright?”

“Yes,” Fenris said, shifting slightly until the lumps in the mattress rested in a more favorable position. 

Hawke opened a book bound in red leather and brushed a lock of dark hair back from her face. Her eyes scanned the page for a moment, and at last she began to read. Her voice followed him into the shadows of sleep, calm and steady through the fever-gripped and restless dreams. 

When Fenris woke several hours later, she was still there, though she’d stopped reading. Her eyes were focused on the window instead, her expression distant and troubled. The book rested open in her lap, one hand pressed to the pages. He wondered how long she had been sitting like that, quiet and remote in his bedroom. He wondered what she was thinking of with that troubled look on her face. 

When he shifted in the bed, her expression cleared at once and she sat forward. 

“Any better?” she asked. 

Fenris lifted a hand to brush his hair from his forehead and found it neatly plaited back instead. When his hand brushed against his skin, he found it comfortably warm to the touch. 

“Better,” he told her, his voice still ragged. He was surprised to realize that it was even true: his fever had certainly broken, and some of the haziness in his vision had faded. He was not cured, but he was certainly less miserable. It was better than he’d hoped.

“Good,” she said, and smiled at him. 

It wasn’t until much, much later that Fenris recognized the lurch in his chest as something other than lingering sickness.

[freementallyillkid]

Care

e.Williams

Should be gender neutral and pic friendly pls tell me if it’s not and I’ll fix it!

Word count: 1.8k

Cw: probably inaccurate depiction of depression, non-sexual nudity, not proof read

You were laying in your bed face buried in the mound of pillows you had created. Judging from the light that had been streaming through the curtains for the past few hours, forcing you to flip over as it hurt your eyes, it was probably around midday, but you couldn’t find the energy to get up, it's not like you had anything to do today anyway.

What you didn’t realize was that you did have plans today.

You had promised Ellie, your girlfriend, that you would go out riding today and have a little picnic since it was getting warmer and both Jesses and Maria said you could go. Ellie who was on her way to your little house right now to see why you hadn’t met her at the horses.

You were still in bed trying and failing to find the energy to get up, you could get some food, maybe take a shower or brush your teeth you thought distantly. Your daydreaming was interrupted by a set of loud knocks on your door. Groaning you slowly slid out of bed taking a moment to find your fluffy slippers and wander over to your door; opening it.

You were surprised to be met with Ellies face scrunched up in worry and a little flush, she probably ran to get here. Wordlessly you stepped back to let her in, as she did she looked you over she could tell you were tired and that you had clearly just gotten out of bed from your disheveled state. She moved towards you taking your hand with one of hers and the other one cupping your face as she looked at you, “Is everything okay baby?”

Now it was your turn to scrunch up. “Why wouldn't I be okay?” You asked, your voice barley louder than a whisper dripping with exhaustion despite all you did today was sleep and lay in bed.

She looked down and removed her hands, but kept her closeness shyness and a little embarrassment seeping into her body language as she fiddled with her pinky. “We were gonna go out and hang out today...” She mumbled blush dusting her cheeks, “but when you didn’t show up I got worried. Thought something might have happened.” Your eyes widen remembering the plans you had both made a month or so prior. You had been in a manic period, over scheduling yourself and not thinking ahead, yet again.

Idiot.

Taking a step forward you step forward and take her hand again resting your forehead on her shoulder, “ ‘M sorry Ellie I didn't mean to forget I just…” your trail off trying to explain who you wouldn’t have been able to drag yourself out of bed to go out if your house was on fire. Ever patient Ellie waits for you to gather your thoughts, squeezing your hand and tilting her head to face you more to let you know she was listening. It made your eyes sting as tears built up. When you didn’t say anything more she turned to fully face you gently lifting your face from her shoulder.

Seeing the worry in her eyes only made the tears build up faster. You were worrying her for no reason again. “I-I’m sorry Ellie,” you whimpered as tears started to make their paths down your face, “I don’t want to be like this. I didn’t mean to-” Your build up of emotions pushing forward against you will.

She quickly shushed you, hugging you tight to her body, rubbing your back. “It’s okay baby I got you.” She mumbled into your temple, peppering it with kisses as best she could without moving too much “You didn’t do anything wrong.” You try and protest, shaking your head no, but she wasn’t having any of it. Carefully she adjusted her grips and picked you up bridal style with your face still buried in her neck.

She carried you down the hall and back to your room taking care to not step on discarded clothes and trash. Too busy internally yelling at yourself for getting so worked up you hadn't realized she set you back down in your bed until you felt her craw in bed beside you. Tossing one of the many soft blankets over both of you and hulling you over till you were comfortably curled up beside her, head on her chest.

Another sob racked through your chest making it hard to breathe. “Hey hey hey calm down I've got you. Breathe with me.” She instructed, breathing in and out slowly waiting for you to copy. You did though your breath came out weird and jumpy sense you hadn’t fully calmed down yet. While you tried to breathe normally again you unintentionally breathed in some of Ellie's scent. She smelled nice like fresh soap, the forest and springtime you breathed it in deeply, washing you over with a sense of comfort.

You stayed there curled into her side for an unknown amount of time as you calmed down and Ellie whispered soft words of comfort to you. You looked up at her trying to blink the crust out of your eyes, you had to look terrible, bleary eyes and puffy eyes, a runny snot filled nose from all the crying and yet Ellie looked at you like you were a supermodel or something, she traced random designs on your back. “ I’m sorry for forgetting-” you started, but Ellie quickly cut you off.

“Don't worry about it. I’m serious babe it’s not that big a deal.” The earnestness in her eyes and voice made you believe her, but that didn’t stop the guilt pooling in your gut. You just nodded and let your head drop down onto her chest again.

__________________________

After another Long moment Ellie shifted so she was sitting up. Patting your thigh she murmured, “Come on, you gotta get up and running.” You make a noise of disagreement and she sighs. “Don’t make me drag your ass out.” she warns before her voice softens again, “Just to take a quick shower and eat something?”

You groan again, it’s the least you could do considering you ruined your date. For the second time you slid out of bed while Ellie walked around your room in search of clean clothes and a towel.

Holding hands you made your way to the bathroom. Ellie flicked on the lights bathing the whole room in the terrible fluorescent lighting and set down the clothes on the sink counter. Twisting to face the other side of the small bathroom to turn on the faucet to the shower making it spray out ice cold water. While she fiddled with the knobs to get the old thing to warm up you slowly undressed.

Once she got it to an acceptable temperature she turned back to face you, her eyes darting over your body quickly before meeting your eyes. “You look nice.” She teased with flushed cheeks and a small smirk on her lips. You couldn’t help yourself snorting, shoulders shaking slightly with laughter. Still laughing quietly, you step in the shower, Ellie following shortly after.

The warm water felt nice on your skin warming your chilly body up from the cold bathroom. You let out a dramatic sigh as your body slowly relaxed. Behind you Ellie was shuffling around and grabbed a bottle of shampoo, pumped some in her hand and started massaging it in your hair making you relax further.

Ellie lathered up a washcloth with soap and continued to help you wash yourself pepering light kisses on your soapy shoulder or temple occasionally or whispering sweet words in your ear as she gently detangles your knocked hair. By the time you finish the room feels thick with steam the small mirror completely fogged up and still after you're done the both of you stay in the shower for another ten minutes swaying back and forth while you buried your face in her shoulder.

Gently patting your hips where hands had been resting Ellie mumbled into your hair “Come on let's get you dried.” Reluctantly you detached from her and let her reach around you to turn off the spray of water and pulled back the curtain to grab a towel. Thanks to the extended amount of time you guys spent in the shower the room itself was still nice and warm.

Grabbing the towel Ellie took her time drying you off despite your protest that you could do it yourself. The soft towel gilded across your body soaking up the water that was dripping from your hair and body before to make you cold, then helping you put on your even softer pajamas and gently brushing through your still damp hair for the last time. You had to admit it even if you had protested that you could do these things yourself. It felt amazing to have someone else take care of you, especially when you lied about being able to do it yourself, at least for the moment, and couldn’t find the energy to do it yourself.

With some push back you were able to get her to let you do the same for her kissing any for her many scares when you could. Giggling and exchanging giddy glances everyone and a while as you finished up in the bathroom.

After you were done in the bathroom Ellie once again dragged you to a different area of the house this time the dining/kitchen room where Ellie sat you down as she rummaged through your fracking pathetically empty fridge somehow managing to find a few eggs and some fruits. Moving to the stove she cooked the eggs just the way you liked and cut up the fruit and placed them in front of you along with a glass of water and sat down next to you.

She watched as you ate, making sure you actually ate it instead of just pushing it around on your plate. Upon your questioning she also told you about her day, right now she was telling you about how Jesse had nearly face planted into a mud puddle showing off some of the kids. Who were completely unimpressed which had thrown Ellie and Dina, who had watched it all go down from afar, into a laughing fit.

“Well at least he made the both of you laugh.” Smiling slightly at the amusement your girlfriend took in one of her closest friends getting embarrassed.

She merely shrugged, “I guess you're right, as always.” Standing up to take your plate and quickly wash it off in the sink and refill your water. “Let's get back in bed and we can do our picnic tomorrow if you're feeling up to it, yeah?’

You nodded following behind her the wonderful feeling of contentment washing over you as you both crawled into bed and were soon enveloped in Ellie’s warmth and familiar smell as you relaxed into her, grateful that you had someone in your life to help you when you were struggling. You snuggled into each other as you slipped into peaceful sleep.

——————————————

Hope y’all liked it, sorry the ending was kind rushed I just really wanted to get this out. 🫶🏻

[8bitscarlet]

Witchcraft

Summary: You've found yourself falling deeper into a certain witch's spell. But no matter how strong the magic is, it seems that the two of you just keep missing each other.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Angst/Fluff (minor cussing)

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: This is a fic for @marvelxreaderfanfictionfest writing exchange. This one is for @mrsromanoff and the prompt: "I can't keep kissing strangers and thinking they're you." Hope you like it!

*please do not repost or translate my material or claim as yours.*

________________

You never thought your three month assignment with the Avengers would've extended as long as it has. Missions went by with minimal injuries and maximum wins. You found yourself settling well into the chaos of the compound; the echoing boasts of Thor, the competitive edge of Danvers and the snark between Romanoff and Stark. When your three months were up, it wasn't a surprise to anyone that you immediately signed the contract from Stark, an official placement on the team.

Despite all of the alien blasters, Hydra experiments and Tony's benefit parties, nothing could've prepared you for a single person to rock your world. It started innocently enough; stolen glances at meals and ensuring you two were on the same mission team. As time continued, things turned less innocent; sneaking off during charity balls to suck face in the broom closet, you could recall a few times you were nearly caught in the back of the Quinjet. There was something about this woman. The way her fingers slithered through your hair, how those green eyes made your heart say yes, she stripped you bare.

You had convinced yourself it was witchcraft. It had to be.

Sitting with your cheek pressed against your fist, you find yourself doodling as Steve drones on in the background. Someone nudges you and as you turn, Wanda raises her brows when your eyes connect. With a groan, you raise the pen in your hand. Steve notices, stopping his spiel to look at you with a clenched jaw.

"With all due respect, Cap, we all got in at four this morning. Do we need a recap of the mission right now?"

Steve sighs, glancing at everyone and seeing them agreeing with you. You all had barely had time to unpack, let alone write your after action reports.

"Alright, Y/N. We'll go over how your pants tore mid-fight on Monday."

You point your pen at him, warning him as you watch his stupid smile fill his face. Bucky slaps your shoulders in gratitude, picking up Alpine onto his shoulders as he strides out to find Sam. Wanda's fingers gently brush yours as you walk side by side, sending an electric charge through your body.

"You know, when someone says 'with all due respect,' they really mean, 'kiss my ass'." Wanda glances at you with a sly smile.

Walking backwards towards the couch, you outstretch your arms with a grin, "Because that's what I meant, darling."

Chuckling, you roll over the back of the couch and plop down onto the cushions, your head landing perfectly on a pillow. Wanda lets out a scoff, knowing how many times it's taken you to actually land on the cushion and not the floor.

Flipping through the pages of her book, you watch her through half-closed eyes. A year ago you'd be asking what she was reading. A year ago, she'd curl up with you and explain it all. A year ago, you didn't have guilt eating at you.

Things a year ago were more than good between you. There might have even been a chance beyond friends with benefits. You knew you wanted that. Every time you looked at her, you couldn't stop your pounding heart or the warmth that grew in your stomach.

But you were stupid.

Chickening out every chance you had to ask her on an actual date rather than sneaking around to make her moan. You both had set ground rules, no strings attached. If it got too messy, you both had to call it quits. So, you convinced yourself it was better to quietly love her and keep her, than to tell the truth and lose her.

That was before the year long mission with Carol and Bucky. Before you realized how big of a mistake it was two months in. Before every day texts and video chats diminished to every other week, then every other month. Before you got back to the compound and saw her kissing up on some random benefactor at the Welcome Home Party. It was definitely before she started dating that walking toaster, Vision.

Luckily, he hadn't been around much the past month so watching them kiss and stare into each other's eyes was doable, mostly because you turned whenever you saw that stupid spark plug.

Four months since coming home, you've tried to fill the void the witch had created in your body, your soul. You went out with Carol and Bucky, prowling the town and the bar. Matching shot for shot some nights, waking up in random apartments other nights. Eventually Bucky did what you never did.

He asked Sam on a date and that left you and Carol. Until she started hooking up with Maria and dragged her along so you wouldn't be hitting the bars alone. You had made yourself a pity case.

"Do you need something?" Wanda cocks a brow at you, making a face at your prolonged staring.

You clear your throat, feeling the heat rush through your face, "You look a little sunburnt."

With a shrug and a chuckle, Wanda bookmarks her page as she places it down on the coffee table. Standing, she sits down on the couch, your body automatically scooting over to accommodate her. Holding out her red and glowing hand, you watch her pull off her rings, displaying the radiating tan lines running up and down her fingers. A laugh escapes you as you feel her hand slap against your chest.

"I didn't have anyone to put sunscreen on me!" She groans, "It burns!"

You guide your finger gently down her exposed arm, pressing in slightly to her warm skin. As you lift, you see the true color of her skin before it's bombarded with the glowing red of her burn. Glancing up, her green eyes watch you carefully, both of you not acknowledging the weight of her hand still on your chest.

"An aloe vera massage would do wonders," You whisper, "And I'm all out."

With a roll of her eyes, she leans back into your legs, "You really are a pain in my ass, y'know? When I tell people about you, that's the first thing I say."

Watching her float the remote to her awaiting hand, you grin, "Oho, so you're telling people about me, huh?"

"Please, check the ego there."

For the next moment, the two of you sit peacefully in each other's silence. Wanda was one who clung to those she trusted. When you came back, it was like she had superglued herself to you any time you walked into the room. It didn't help that you were still madly in love and she was taken.

Right now though, you watch her delicate fingers play with yours. Her eyes squinting with laughter as she watches her sitcoms, glancing to see if you're laughing as well.

A commercial echoes through the living room and Wanda lets out a sigh for attention, patting your thigh as she drops your hand. You don't move it as it lands atop her thigh, only gently stroke your thumb against the silky skin you wish could press against yours. Letting out a noise that you're both awake and paying attention to her, she glances over at you.

"Since you got Captain America to actually give us a free weekend, what's your plan tonight, casanova?"

You shrug, "I have early training with Bucky and-."

Wanda moves her whole body to face you, your hand slipping from her thigh as confusion spreads across her face. She lets out an unbelieving scoff,

"You're joking. You used to show up half drunk to training and still kick ass."

She's watching you carefully and you try to keep a neutral look on your face, she knows all of your quirks. Glancing up at her with a small grin, you pull your legs into you. Shifting yourself, you sit properly on the couch and run your hands through your hair.

"Just don't want to go out tonight. It's boring." You chuckle, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

Wanda rolls her eyes, "Why, no one catches your eye anymore?"

Another playful nudge and you sigh. All this playful teasing, these light touches. She has to know what she's doing.

Trying to keep a steady and nonchalant shrug, you shake your head,

"No one out there."

And you might've gotten away with it. Instead, you fell into the magnetic pull of those green eyes that cause you so much trouble. As your eyes land on hers, you can see the dilation within her pupils. Then the realization across her face. Her playful grin falls as she stares at you, blinking slowly.

"Y/N," She says slowly, "If you're doing what I think-."

You stand up quickly, your feet taking you to the other end of the coffee table. In two days you'll be gone and you'll be back in the place you hate being in right now. Placing your hands on your waist, you look up from your tapping foot.

"Wanda, I can't keep kissing strangers and thinking they're you."

Silence meets your face. You watch her as she slowly nods at you, "That's exactly what you're doing."

Groaning, she slides her fingers through her hair, pinning it from her face. Wanda lets out a careful breath before looking up at you, "What happened to no strings?"

Slapping your hands against your thighs in frustration, you let out a scornful chuckle, "Come on, Wanda. You know those rules were bullshit! No strings means not going on exclusive trips to museums and restaurants!" You watch her eyes flicker around the room, trying to find a way to disprove what you're saying. "It means not staying up all night when the other is sick!"

Wanda stands up quickly and you can see the look on her face, she knows what you're getting to. Waving her hand to get you to shut up, she tries to get to the stairs but your words blurt from your mouth,

"It means not falling in love!"

Her feet stop carrying her towards the stairs, her body frozen in the middle of the compound. Carefully, you step towards her, leaning ever so slightly to try and catch her eyes. They're glazed over from your confession, trying to understand the implications.

"I left. I..." You suck in a shaky breath, "I thought it would be easier if I wasn't here. You were so adamant about no strings, Wands. I broke the only rule, why would I stay?"

Her head jerks back at your words, her brows furrowing deeply down her face. Without another second to keep talking, Wanda's feet pivot as she shoots a finger into your face. You jerk away from her advance, seeing the growing mist within her eyes as she shouts,

"That's why you left?"

The crack in her voice sends one through your heart.

She turns quickly, her hands violently wiping at the tears that have broken free. You clench your brows. She's angry at you? You're the one who's had to watch her prance around with Vision, you just a memory of romance. Just before she can grab her bag and leave, you call out,

"Well, you seem to have fared better than me!"

As the words leave your lips, you bite down hard and shut your eyes. A surprised choke exits Wanda's throat as she throws her purse back onto the side table, knocking over the decorative bowl of rocks. They scatter across the ground but she doesn't notice, all of her rage is pointing at you. Her fingers run violently through her auburn hair, looking like she wants to rip it out.

"You are infuriating!" She jabs a fingers at you, "Why think that?! Because I'm dating Vision? He's filling a void, dumbass!"

Her words stab into you as her stomps draw nearer, you can feel the heat of her anger. She's not done, she's not letting you off easy.

"Every time he touches me, every time he kisses me. God, Y/N! All I can see is your dumb face."

Wanda's heavy breath washes over you as she finally stops her assault, so close you can see the blue in her green eyes. Her body radiates out to you and you have to force your hands into your pocket to not grab her and kiss her. Your eyes dip to her lips but you see sadness that has quickly replaced the facade of anger. Making a small fist, she slams it into your chest as her head bows. Her arm slides down your body, hanging limply at her side as she looks to you.

"Why didn't you talk to me?"

Wanda's fingers twitch forward, wanting to grab onto you. You sigh, taking your hands from your pockets and resting them on your waist. Your confession was supposed to be more romantic than this. Instead, you brought up issues you both were trying to ignore. You were angry now at yourself, taking it all out on the person you loved. You'd spent too long with all of this pent up emotion though, and it was all pouring out in waves.

"I have to finish my requisition forms. Get my gear ready."

You don't have to look up to know what face Wanda is making at you. It's the same face she had when you left the first time. The way her brows clenched together in disbelief, the pain behind her reddened eyes that threatened to spill more tears, how her chin trembled as she tried to breathe.

Her voice barely passes a whisper but standing so close, you hear every broken syllable, "You're leaving again."

You sigh, rubbing your throbbing temples as you feel your nose stuff up.

"You drop all of that on me and you're just going to turn around and leave?"

Shaking your head, you want this conversation to end. It's obvious where she is and it's not next to you.

"Don't you have a date or something?" You ask.

Wanda's been around you too long to not see exactly what you're doing. She lets out a chuckle, a lethal look in her eyes.

"No, you're right. And that date seems a hell of a lot better than this." Without another word, she snatches her purse from the table and starts to climb the stairs, leaving your feet frozen. Just as she reaches the middle of the staircase, she stops. You can feel her stare burning into you and as you look her way, you wish you hadn't.

"You're a coward."

Those words burn into your brain, rising through your ears and torture you for the rest of the day. The only thing you could think to do was slam your fists into the closest thing. The punching bags. People came and went, eyeing you try and punch away your frustrations to no avail. When the sun finally had sunk below the horizon, one Avenger had enough of your pity party.

"You know she's right." A voice comes from behind you.

You don't respond to them, just dodge the swaying bag. They walk into the room, stopping just inside of your peripheral.

"You're an idiot, you know."

With a chuckle, you sidestep the bag, "You need to be a little more specific."

"You're losing her again."

Another punch, "Uh huh."

Carol sighs next to you, "And you sent her away on her date."

"Yup."

She steps in front of the bag, stopping its movement and stares at you with determination in her eyes, "And you're not going after her?"

Avoiding her stare, you start to unwrap your hands, wiping at the sweat that pours down your face. Stopping, you can feel the cramp in your side and the throbbing of your knuckles. Chucking the wrap, you let out a shrug,

"Is there a point?"

Carol shoves the bag into you, grabbing your attention, "I am not going on another mission with you while you sulk. Do you know you talk in your sleep? Yeah. Guess what name I heard that whole year?"

You shake you head, licking your chapped lips as you search for water, "She didn't say it back."

You hear an exasperated chuckle from Carol, "Y'know Y/N, I'm going to go on a limb and say she wasn't expecting all of that to be thrown in her face."

Shooting her a glare, she keeps talking, "I'm saying this once. If you think this is going to be some cheesy Rom-Com where she bursts through those doors and confesses her love, you're more of an idiot than I thought." A finger jabs hard into your chest as you grimace, "You need to fix this."

Carol leaves you there with your head filled with more thoughts than before. Wanda was happy with Vision wasn't she? She hadn't talked about him much but you knew she had to be. Who were you to go and screw that up?

Night turned into morning and after staring up at your ceiling, you knew you weren't getting any sleep.

Sneaking down the stairs, you see everyone is still asleep. You take the opportunity to sit in more silence and wait for the coffee machine to finish steaming. The sun was just beginning to shine its red hues into the kitchen as you stood at the counter, twirling your empty mug. Lost in thought, you failed to hear the padding of feet coming down the stairs.

"I thought you had early training."

With a quiet chuckle, you lean into the counter, "You caught me."

In silence, you watch the witch pour in her coffee. The same amount of creamer and sugar every time, the same motions every morning since you've noticed her. Turning, she sees your mindless fingers twisting and turning your empty mug. Wanda raises her brows and holds out her hand,

"Refill?"

You hand over the mug and watch her work her magic on the black liquid, turning it into the caramel drink you love. Breathing in deeply, you watch the bubbles swirl around the liquid. You furrow your brows,

"I can never make mine taste-."

"We broke up."

Her words slam into you, your breath catching inside of your throat. Looking up, Wanda stands there in the middle of the kitchen, unsure if she had truly spoken or not. She looks up at you, her mouth closing as she realizes she doesn't know what she's doing.

"What? Wands, are you okay?" You start to stand to go and comfort her, you know they had a date yesterday. Did the son of a microwave hurt her?

Wanda's hand rises, stopping you in your tracks before she takes a quiet breath, "We broke up almost a month ago, Y/N."

Nodding at your obliviousness, you knock your knuckles against the counter as you press your lips into a thin line, "We're both liars then."

"Tell me you lied about the mission," She whispers, leaning into the counter. Her fingers laying gently across yours.

Your chest constricts as you sigh, "I didn't."

You watch her sullen nod, curling hair falling out of her messy bun as you gently graze your thumb across her knuckles. She quietly chuckles,

"We just missed each other."

Stopping your thumb, you clench your jaw. This isn't going to happen again.

"Wanda," You whisper, listening to the sad hum she gives you as she glances up with bloodshot eyes, "I'm sorry. I was scared and... I was an idiot."

Wanda pats your hand with a loud sniff, "I appreciate it, but-."

She doesn't continue. She doesn't want to believe that you're leaving. The love you feel wouldn't be strong enough to survive that time apart again. There's broken support beams and one thing will send it falling down. A far away mission isn't the nurturing this budding feeling needs.

Wanda tries her best to flash you a grin, "Let me teach you how to make coffee."

Before she can turn, you grab her hand quickly, "I'd prefer if you made it."

As you walk around the counter, you gently rest a hand on her waist, watching her carefully. Her handgrips your arm tightly, words stuttering from her lips as she tries to remind you that she's not going. You're leaving her again.

Without hesitation, you press your lips against hers, feeling her breath wash over you in a sigh. You pull her in tighter, leaning your head back to speak,

"Sam's going stir crazy. He can have it."

A smile tugs at your lips as you see her furrowed brows on her face, you place a kiss at the center of the wrinkles, pulling back to see the scrunching of her nose. A scrunch just for you.

"Wanda Maximoff. I love you. And I'm not losing you twice."

Without warning, her lips smash against your as she wraps her arms around your shoulders as you hoist her up. Wanda's legs wrap around you as both of you are smiling so wide that you can't kiss properly. Feeling her cold hands press gently against your face, you look into those green eyes that complete you life.

"I love you." Wanda whispers as her witchcraft wraps around you once more.

[thingstrumperssay]

I actually want to talk about this in detail since it's actually super ironic.

Major spoilers for a 20+ year old game. (/Like, a week old?) I always tell people not to look anything up about the game since it's still probably one of the best plot twists in video game history.

(TL;DR at the bottom)

People trying to hypersexualize a CSA victim from Silent Hill 2 of all things is ironic because the plot twist of the game is that James murdered his wife because she wasn't attractive enough for him anymore, both emotionally and physically.

She was sick and dying from an "unknown disease" and she was becoming unattractive to James. So he took one of her pillows and suffocated her to death with it. The disease was convenient for him. The doctors determined that it was the disease that killed her and he was able to repress what he just did because of that.

But he still had deep-rooted guilt that manifested into monsters in Silent Hill. Some of the monsters are sexual or sexualized. One of them is just two legs and two vaginas fused together. (Called "mannequin.") The nurses have their faces twisted but their bodies are, again, hypersexualized.

There are more monsters who looks like they're constantly struggling, and one spits acid in James' face because Mary kept verbally abusing him since she was dying and she believe that he didn't really care. (And she might have been right.)

It's highly implied that there was at least one nurse that James either did cheat on Mary with, or wanted to cheat on her with. He was able to see all of these healthy women take care of his dying wife who's body was becoming "unattractive" to him.

Maria is a manifestation of what he wished his wife was. She dresses in a way where more skin is shown. She flirts with James despite her knowing that he's married. She is constantly teasing him. But she's also killed by Pyramid Head over and over again because she represents the wife he killed, and Pyramid Head represents James as the guilty murderer.

Pyramid Head is a representation of the guilt James feel. The second time he encounters the monster he's raping a mannequin to death. Then he throws the body aside to attack James with the large sword he drags around. (Again as a representation of guilt.)

After James looks at a tape of him killing his wife the large knife is ditched for a much lighter spear since James isn't repressing his memory anymore.

There's also a second Pyramid Head. People seem to believe that it's because he kills Eddie, but that was out of self defense so I doubt it. I think he's there because James' guilt is stronger after he's no longer in denial of his murder but I'm not that sure. (You can also take the knife. Using it on the final battle is one of the things that could get you the "in water" ending.)

By the way, Angela was originally supposed to be seventeen. (Maybe she is in the remake. I dunno.) They changed it to nineteen because of how dark her backstory is. (This way it's not outright confirmed that she killed her rapist father as a minor.)

TL;DR: James kills his wife after she becomes less attractive to him both verbally and emotionally. His guilt manifested into a version of his wife that is a lot more sexualized than she is, but she's killed over and over again to represent that deep rooted guilt he feels.

Basically the message is that it's bad to want to hypersexualize women for your own gain. The games are saying that the people doing that to Angela are the bad guys. And that's what people trying to hypersexualize a child rape victim from this game ironic.

Do you think the incels who complained about the CSA victim in the Silent Hill 2 remake not being fappable enough for them found out the big reveal by now? I wonder how they'd feel? (I wonder if they'd even understand the message?)

[the-cult-of-russo]

headcanon for when billy realizes he’s in love with reader? i’m such a sucker for romantic and soft billy😫

I love this. I'm going to go a little beyond just when he first realises too. You'll see. It's turned into more of a 'when Billy's in love with you' headcanon.

I'll break it down into sections once again. It's just easier that way 😌

-

When he first realises he loves you:

Oh man. Billy doesn't realise he's in love until he's so far gone he's drowning in it lmao

He has no idea why he gets crazy ass butterflies in his stomach every time he just thinks about you. No idea why his heart beats all funny when he looks at you or why his chest feels all warm. He doesn't know why everytime he's away from you his chest hurts and it feels like someone's punched a gaping hole right through it. The boy has no clue.

But then one day, he's out drinking with Frank, having a good time. And Frank's been going on and on about Maria, absolutely gushing about her. Billy being the good best friend he is, teases him of course. Sends him an offhand remark with a smirk. And Frank replies with...

"Yeah well. That's what happens when you're in love."

The words feel like a smack to the face. Suddenly, Billy feels like he's free falling, plummeting at record speed towards the concrete from a 50 story building. Because he relates. All the sickening gushing Frank had been doing, Billy got it. He does it himself about you. And Frank's words make everything click into place, Billy's world is suddenly tilting on its axis. Because what if you don't feel the same? Why would you when own his mother couldn't muster up any love for him?

He freaks out. His mind is going to dark places as his heart feels ready to give out. Frank sees him looking a second away from collapsing in a heap on the floor and takes him outside. After some brotherly advice and tough love, he feels a little better.

He still won't tell you though. Of course not, that's just fucking stupid. The fear of rejection runs far too deep in Billy to admit such a thing and he doesn't know how he'd cope if you broke his heart. If he lost the only person he's ever been in love with. So he resolves to keep it to himself. Its kind of nice though, to finally know just what it is that he's been feeling. It was obvious really. People write love songs about this bullshit. The same songs Billy's been listening to like a love sick fool because he gets it. He relates to the words.

-

How he tells you:

Billy won't outright tell you he loves you first. At least not on purpose. There are three likely scenarios that happen.

The first is you telling him you love him first. This is his best case scenario. He blinks warily at you for a moment, dark eyes rapidly scanning your face as he tries to find even the slightest hint of deception. It's not that he doesn't trust you, but he finds it almost impossible to believe anyone would ever be in love with him.

But when he realises you're telling the truth, he's dumbstruck. He's stunned but overwhelmingly happy and he tells you he loves you too. It feels like a weights been lifted, to finally tell you, to know you haven't turned him away. That you actually love him too.

The second way it might happen is him blurting it out randomly. This might happen during or after some amazing sex. Maybe you're both snuggled on the sofa and laughing about something stupid. He just looks at your wide and radiant smile and it strikes him how absolutely hopelessly in love with you he is. How lucky he is to be with you. And his mouth takes on a life of its own. The words tumble from his lips without his consent and he panics.

Total blind fear claws at his chest when he realises what he's said. He fears the worst. That you'll say you don't feel the same, maybe even laugh at him. Yet you don't do those things. You tell him you love him too. He reacts the same as the other scenario. Wary at first until he sees you mean it. And then he's overjoyed and shocked and confused but ridiculously happy.

The last scenario is similar to the other one in that it gets blurted out. Only this time it's during a heated discussion or argument. I made a whole headcanon post about arguing with Billy and another on the kind of things you might argue about.

This isn't a huge fight but most likely caused by something you did that he saw as reckless. Something like you walking home from work in the dark instead of getting a cab or calling him. Is he being overdramatic? Definitely. He knows this. But he's so terrified something might happen to you and it frustrates him that you don't see that. That you have no idea how much it would kill him if you got hurt. And in the middle of all the anger and the blind fear and intensity in the moment, after a biting remark from you, the words get ripped from his chest.

"Because I fuckin' love you, alright?! I'd die if somethin' happened to you! So you don't get to stand there and tell me it's no big deal!"

He's full of barely restrained rage at the mere thought of someone hurting you and he's sad and upset that you don't seem to care much about your own wellbeing.

But now it's a tense silence because he just blurted those words and worst of all, he yelled them at you. It was all going wrong and he hates it. But his panic was kept at bay by his anger, his only outwards reactions being the clenched jaw, the narrowed eyes and the roll of his shoulder. He's steeling himself for the inevitable. The searing pain of rejection.

But then you're yelling right back that you love him too and calling him an asshole and he's never been happier in his damn life. And with emotions still running high from the fight, he tosses you over his shoulder and takes you to the bedroom so he can show you just how much he loves you.

-

Ways he shows you he loves you:

Any of these that don't involve the words 'I love you' he's already been doing a while. But he continues to do so after that hurdle of first telling you passes and he gets comfortable with telling you verbally at every chance he gets.

He loves taking care of you. If he's off work he loves making you breakfast in bed. He loves cooking for you, he's actually quite good at it. He draws you relaxing baths, sometimes joining you and not even for sex. If you've had a hard day at work, he'll put your feet in his lap as you sit on the sofa with him and rub your sore feet.

He often buys you your favorite flowers, always accompanied by a sweet note. When you're both at work, he stops by your work for lunch because he can't stand a whole day away from you.

Since he wakes before you, he often just lays there and watches you. With the sun rising and bathing you in its glow, he watches in awe of how he managed to get someone as amazing as you. He doesn't dwell on these moments for too long though. His treacherous brain has a habit of poisoning anything good. If he lays there too long, his thoughts turn sour as the voice in the back of his head tells him he's not good enough for you. He doesn't deserve you, deserve your love. You'll leave him one day, realise you deserve way better than someone like him. He was an unloved and unwanted child, and that little boy is still there inside of him, hiding behind his bravado and his fancy ass suits. It's a downward spiral he finds it hard to come back from and he learned his lesson long ago. So instead, he allows himself a moment to admire you, appreciate you, and then he gets up for the day.

He doesn't wake you, you look so sweet and peaceful and he doesn't have the heart to. You don't need to get up as early as he does. Sometimes, if he's feeling particularly sappy, he leaves a note for you on his pillow. Letting you know how much he loves you and that he'll miss you while at work.

Gifts are abundant with Billy. It doesn't matter what it is, if you want it then it's yours. If it's expensive, it's yours. Cheap, it's yours. Weird and rare and very hard to get, he finds a way and it's yours. He's also a sucker for sentimental gifts. Jewellery that means something, maybe the date you met engraved on it. Some kind of photo gift with a picture of the two of you.

Billy has a lot of affection to give you. I've talked about this in other posts but he's a tactile person. He always needs to be touching you, reassuring himself you're real, you're safe and you're there with him. He often puts his hand on your neck, slender fingers feeling your pulse under them. It soothes him to do so. There's plenty of kisses on your head, temples, shoulders, neck, cheeks. He can't help it. He also loves stroking your hair. His hand are always attached to you like there's a gravitational pull towards you he can't resist. There's at least one hand on you at all times if you're near.

-

Billy doesn't fall for people easily. It's never happened before you. But when he falls, he falls hard. It's an all consuming kind of love that takes over his whole being.

[spencers-renaissance]

this heavy humanness

Summary: Spencer leaves the oven on overnight, and Derek - whose pent-up emotions get the best of him - loses it, exposing secrets neither of them expected to be spilled, for two very different reasons. They get there in the end.

or; Spencer's suffered far too much abuse in his life and Derek knew about none of it. He shouldn't have found out like this.

Tags: est. rel., past abuse, arguing & making up, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, angst with a happy ending, hurt spencer TW: implied/referenced - child abuse, abuse & csa. trauma response that could be perceived as dissociation. misplaced frustration at neurodivergence. nothing graphic but message me for more info if needed.

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 3.9k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

This fills the "Domestic Violence" square of my Bad Things Happen Bingo. It's a heavy one folks so please heed the tags, but fear not, as always we have a happy ending ahead of us! <3 Title by Rainer Maria Rilke.

Spencer knows it’s ridiculous. Derek will not hurt him: this much he knows for certain. Derek is safe, he is home, he is his person. Derek would die before laying a hand on him.

This objective knowledge does not stop the fear from building in his chest, fizzling through his veins until his whole body is alight with it, simmering under the surface of his cold skin as Derek shouts, his face contorted in anger. Spencer might know that Derek won’t hurt him, but that doesn’t mean he can forget what’s happened in the past when he’s put that same expression on crueller people’s faces.

“How could you be so irresponsible, Spencer?”

He doesn’t know. The sinking feeling of failure, of disappointing someone he loves so much settles deep in his stomach as he watches Derek pace up and down the living room while he stays firmly planted on the sofa, pressed as far into the corner as he can.

He didn’t mean to leave the oven on overnight. Again. It’s just that sometimes he gets so lost in his head, in the studies he reads just before bed that getting ready for bed happens on auto-pilot, and small things like turning the oven off slip through the cracks. Derek’s never got this angry over it before, but that’s probably because he’s never said “yes” when Derek’s sleepily asked him if he remembered to turn it off, not when he actually didn’t.

He answered on auto-pilot. He didn’t mean to lie, but that doesn’t seem to matter that much to Derek as he wears down the living room carpet with his pacing, visibly seething. He tracks him with his eyes. He can’t afford to not see the blow coming.

The blow isn’t coming, he tries to tell himself. It’s not all that convincing when Derek stops mid-pace, turning to look at him dead in the eye.

“We could’ve died, Spencer! Does that mean nothing to you?”

Spencer doesn’t reply. He wants to, he really does, but the words are stuck in his throat, choked by fear and confusion and emotion and regret, God why didn’t I turn off the oven, I should’ve been better, it’s all my fault—

“Do you seriously not have anything to say?”

Spencer stares. He has so much to say. All of it is trapped in his throat, tangled in a mess of please don’t leave me and please god don’t hit me.

“You know, I can’t deal with this right now,” Derek mutters, throwing his hands up in the air, “this is unbelievable.” Spencer watches as he shrugs a coat over his shoulders, pulls on his shoes, pauses only to grab his wallet and keys, and walks out the door without looking back.

The door slams behind him and Spencer jumps at the loud noise, jolting out of his fear-ridden stupor, wincing as he’s forced out of his head and thrust back into reality. It’s only ten past ten in the morning; a nice, sunny Saturday in late Spring, and maybe in a different universe, Spencer and Derek are packing a wicker basket with a picnic, heading off to their favourite park to feed each other strawberries and enjoy jam-filled sandwiches.

In this universe, though, Spencer drags his heavy bones to the bathroom, and peels off his clothes. He feels weighed down, tied to some point of gravity far below his feet as he avoids the mirror at all costs and lets his pajamas lay where they fall instead of gathering them into a ball and throwing them into the hamper like he usually does. He turns the water on and steps under the spray, allowing himself to revel in the warm rivulets of water caressing his cold skin.

Shampoo bottles stand untouched in the caddy to his left. He’s not there to get clean, he’s there to forget and to think all at the same time. Slowly, he sinks to the floor, leaning against the wall as the water cascades down his front, but not before he turns the heat up. It’s a small comfort: the water just on the right side of too hot running down his face and his torso and his legs, pooling at his feet momentarily before sliding down the drain, never to be seen by him again.

Today shouldn’t have started like this, and it’s a hard pill to swallow that if he hadn’t left the oven on, it wouldn’t have. Derek would have smiled when Spencer stepped into the kitchen, pulled him into his arms and kissed him gently before making them pancakes while Spencer sat on the counter-top and told him everything running through his head. Derek would listen, enthralled, whether to the sound of Spencer’s voice or the words he’s saying, and he wouldn’t shut him up, not even when they sat down to eat.

They’d finally get ready for the day late in the morning, they’d decide what they would do that day, and they’d make a point to steal as many kisses as they could; making up for the affection lost during long cases.

Spencer knows this because it’s happened so many times before. They may have only been dating for just over six months, but they already live together, having fallen hard and fast; Emily teases them for it, calls them her favourite lesbian couple, and they don’t care because they’re in love.

Despite that, though, Spencer still hasn’t told Derek.

There are nights he lies awake pondering how unfair that is. He’s held Derek as he sobbed over memories of Buford, as he spilled every awful detail of the abuse he endured; he’s comforted him after he’d tried and failed to bottom, falling into a flashback every time, no matter how much he wanted to try it.

But Spencer stays silent. He doesn’t tell him about his dad beating him, or his mom getting confused off her meds and smacking him, shoving him, even punching him that one time. He doesn’t tell him about Matthew, his first real boyfriend, trapping him in an abusive relationship that took him months to get the courage to leave. About how when a third person hurt him, he began to wonder whether it really was his fault. Whether that was the only kind of love Spencer Reid deserved.

He stays silent now, staring at the shower wall. The fear has left him now the threat has too, and a cold type of numbness replaces it, and even once the water runs cold, he doesn’t leave. He traces the same four tiles with his eyes, drawing the same pattern with his gaze over and over again as his thoughts turn to an endless cycle of he’ll leave me, he’ll stay, he’ll hit me, he won’t, until he’s not really sure what he believes.

Derek is a good man, but Spencer knows how he can be. He messes up, he forgets things, he doesn’t read situations right, he doesn’t behave the way people think he should, he doesn’t think like a neuro-typical person does. And a good man can only put up with that for so long.

The proof is in the pudding, after all. Derek has always been understanding of things like this in the past. He’s given him a hug and told him not to worry about it, that mistakes happen, and no one can be expected to remember small things like this all the time. But this morning, he was furious. Spencer’s not sure he’s ever seen him so angry in all his years of knowing him, and it was directed at him. All because of an oven left on.

Eventually, a sound from the upstairs apartment drags him from his head again, and he’s suddenly aware of the cold water, of the way his body is trembling and his fingers are pruning. He pulls himself out of the shower, turning the water off, but he stands in the middle of the bathroom, aimlessly, for a long time. By the time he finally has the sense to wrap a towel around his body, he’s basically dripped dry. His hair is soaking wet and the dripping water is freezing, but he doesn’t have the energy to find a towel for his head, too, so he leaves it.

He walks towards the bedroom and climbs into bed, pulling the fluffy duvet over his damp skin and laying his wet hair on the pillow. It feels awful, being wet and damp under the dry bedding, but he doesn’t have the energy to move, so he stays there, towel still wrapped around his legs, hair still soaking the pillow, and he stares at the wall.

He doesn’t know what time it is, and he doesn’t know when Derek will come back home. If he ever will.

⭐️

Derek slams the door behind him as he storms out of the apartment, rage consuming his every move, his every thought. The force of it rattles the door frame, echoing down the empty corridor, but he can’t find it in him to care as he marches towards the elevator. The buttons are pressed with perhaps a little more aggression than socially acceptable, but the woman already on board takes one look at his face and has the sense to stay quiet.

He gets in his car and steps on the gas, the squeal of his tyres against the floor of the garage as he speeds out satisfying him more than it probably should. His jaw is locked and tight as he drives through the streets of DC, his thoughts going a million miles an hour, quieted only when he turns the radio up loud, a blasting soundtrack to his ferocious getaway.

Adrenaline pumps through his veins as he speeds down the highway, heading out of the city towards Baltimore. He doesn’t have a destination in mind: he’s just driving straight. Straight away from the apartment. Away from Spencer.

It’s after more than an hour of driving that his jaw finally loosens and the anger that had simmered in his blood so fiercely fades into reluctant rationality. He’s somewhere in the middle of Baltimore, and the traffic — the tangled road system he actually has to focus on — drags him from the absent headspace the highway had allowed him to slip into.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and turns off the road he’s on, onto a quieter one. As soon as he’s able to pull over, he does, and he hits the steering wheel angrily. “Fuck!” He leans forward, pulling off his sunglasses and burying his head in his hands. It’s not the same kind of anger he’d felt earlier, no. This time it’s directed purely at himself, fuelled by dismal regret.

Before he can stop it, his brain replays the fight with Spencer over and over, the wall he’d put up to block it out crumbling down as images of his boyfriend flood his mind. He hadn’t registered it in the moment, but looking back, God. There was something on Spencer’s face, something so broken, so scared and he feels nauseous at the realisation that he put that there.

Over something as fucking stupid as an oven.

Truthfully, he wasn’t really angry at Spencer. Waking up to see the oven left on again, even after Spencer promised he’d turned it off, was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.

He’d fought with both his mom and Penelope yesterday, and he went to bed feeling like an utter failure, made even worse when Spencer had declined to join him, deciding instead to keep reading the series of papers he’d started earlier that evening. He woke up in a foul mood, and not even the sight of his peacefully sleeping boyfriend could make him feel better.

It’s his own fault. He should have communicated with Spencer: he should’ve told him about letting his mom down and saying the worst thing he possibly could have in his conversation with Penelope, but he didn’t. He silently stewed, and felt irrationally angry that Spencer wasn’t reading his mind. He knows for an absolute fact that if he’d asked Spencer to join him in bed last night, he would’ve dropped his studies immediately, and cuddled him until he felt better.

But he didn’t. And then he’d screamed at Spencer, in a way he never has before, over something he simply forgot to do. Derek swore to himself that he would never shout at or put Spencer down for his neurodivergent traits. Not in the way he’s seen so many people — regrettably, far too many of them on their own team — do before.

He’s always been understanding in the past, kissed Spencer’s hair and promised that it wasn’t a big deal, and he has always meant it. Because as dramatic as he’d been this morning, leaving the oven on wasn’t really the end of the world. He remembers ranting about the electricity bill, about how they were going to afford the house they were going to buy if he kept this up, about lying to him — even though he knew that was clearly an auto-pilot thing — about how dangerous it was. It’s a fan oven. They were never really in any danger.

What a god-awful way to let off the steam he’d built up and chosen not to let go.

As if he’s not already feeling shitty enough, though, his mind won’t stop circling back to the fear on Spencer’s face. The way he shouted back, but instead crammed himself into the corner of the sofa, never taking his eyes off him as he paced angrily back and forth.

He feels sick.

He digs his phone from the pocket in his sweatpants. He’s still in the clothes he sleepily pulled on in the dark this morning, and he hadn’t thought to bring his phone out with him, but luckily he’d picked it up off the kitchen counter that morning.

He clicks on Spencer’s name, listens to it ringing out as he desperately begs him to pick up. “Come on, baby, please,” he whispers, ignoring the tears burning behind his eyes. “Pick up, please.” He tries three more times before throwing it angrily on the seat next to him, allowing one more second of feeling the blind panic and the fury at himself before forcing himself to calm down.

Reaching over to his phone with one hand to turn the ringer up, he turns the ignition on and pulls back onto the road, heading back towards DC.

The traffic infuriates him, cursing as it takes thirty minutes to get back on the highway, but finally he’s back on the open road. It takes everything in him not to speed past the other cars, knowing that getting pulled over would only slow him down in the long run. He doesn’t turn the radio on. He just replays the fight again and again, each time remembering something new: something he said or something Spencer did.

He doesn’t wipe the tears away as they fall, lets them slide uncomfortably down his neck, under his collar, lets them drip into his lap, lets his nose run. It’s the only punishment he can afford himself right now.

Finally, finally, he pulls into their apartment building’s garage, finding their spot and parking roughly, abandoning the car as quickly as possible in favour of sprinting towards the elevator. He curses at the slow moving carriage, but it eventually spits him out on his floor, and he’s walking down the very corridor he stormed down just a few hours prior.

He pushes open the door to their apartment, closing it behind him softly. Suddenly, the nausea swimming in his gut isn’t just borne from regret, now fuelled by nerves and dreaded anticipation.

“Spence?” he calls softly.

He doesn’t know what to expect: he doesn’t know whether Spencer will be sad or angry, whether he’ll be screaming or crying. The kitchen and living room are empty, and the bathroom door is wide open, so he ventures into their bedroom.

Whatever he was expecting, it isn’t this.

Spencer’s tucked up in bed, duvet pulled up to his neck, facing away from the door. He doesn’t move so Derek thinks he might be sleeping, but when he circles the bed to check, he finds his eyes wide open, staring vacantly at a fixed point on the wall. They don’t flicker or blink or move when he steps into his field of vision, and Derek’s heart sinks, panic beginning to grip his chest.

“Spencer? Baby?”

When he still doesn’t move, Derek crawls onto the bed, and the movement or the sound or something must finally catch his attention, because all of a sudden his eyes are widening — in shock, surprise, fear, Derek doesn’t know — and he’s shifting under the covers.

“You’re back,” he says, and it’s so uneasy that Derek wants to cry.

“Yeah, baby, I’m back,” he says gently, “and I’m so sorry about earlier, I—”

He cuts himself off, because when he reaches to tangle his fingers in Spencer’s damp hair, he flinches. His hand freezes, but his stomach twists, because this is the confirmation he was both expecting and dreading. This is the confirmation of everything he prayed he had wrong, everything he wished he’d misinterpreted the whole drive home.

“Spence,” he whispers brokenly, withdrawing his hand, “I would never— never do… I’d never hurt you, God, I—”

A choked sob cuts him off this time, and another follows when he sees a tear sliding down Spencer’s face. A previously blank, emotionless canvas, his face is now full of sadness, tinged with the fear and guilt Derek hates himself for even suggesting was warranted in the first place.

“Derek,” he says softly, and his voice is so mangled with emotions he couldn’t even begin to decipher, it breaks his heart a little. He doesn’t say anything more though, eyes sliding shut instead as tears continue to stream down his face.

“What do you need, baby?” he asks, because it’s the only thing he can think to say. “Anything, I— anything you need, you can have, Spence, I’d give you the world, you know that.”

Spencer’s quiet for a long time, and Derek sits there on the bed anxiously awaiting a response while trying to summon all the patience he doesn’t have as he stares at Spencer’s crying face.

“A hug,” he decides eventually, and Derek almost collapses in relief because, God, he can do that.

He crosses the small space between them, and carefully folds Spencer into a hug, sighing in relief as he melts into Derek’s side, placing his head on his chest and cuddling into him. Their legs tangle together and Derek holds him as gently and as closely as he can, carding his fingers through Spencer’s damp curls while his other hand rests on his waist, his thumb caressing the bare skin there.

He’s still in his towel, he thinks sadly. He didn’t have the energy to properly dry himself before crawling into bed. As if Derek could possibly feel shittier.

They lay like that quietly for a while before Spencer finally speaks. Derek wishes he hadn’t. The words “I’m sorry”, uttered so brokenly, so miserably, have no business leaving Spencer’s mouth.

“Baby, you have nothing to apologise for,” he says fiercely. “This is all on me. I’m sorry. Sorrier than I’ve ever been, Spencer, because this is completely my fault. I wasn’t actually angry at you, that’s the first thing you need to know, and I know that makes what I did so shitty, because you hadn’t even done anything wrong, but I was so pent up and frustrated with myself and I didn’t communicate that with you and— fuck, I’m doing such a bad job of explaining, I just. I need you to know, Spencer, that I’m not angry, okay? And I’m so sorry for losing it like I did, that never should have happened.”

He pauses and takes a breath in, burying his face in Spencer’s hair as he holds him even tighter, trying to keep his grip as gentle as possible.

“I never told you,” Spencer whispers after a couple beats pass.

Derek’s heart seizes tightly and he swallows. Prepares himself. “Never told me what, sweetheart?”

“My dad, he… he wasn’t a good man and he… you know, he hurt me a lot. And then my mom, when he left and she stopped taking her meds completely, she’d get so confused,” Spencer admits, voice so quiet as he murmurs into Derek’s chest that he has to strain to hear him. “She didn’t mean to, but she’d… And then my last boyfriend, he—”

He cuts himself off as a heaving sob that seems to come out of nowhere strangles his words and it’s all Derek can do to hold him tightly as Spencer cries, whispering every reassurance he can think of through his own tears. It shouldn’t be like this, he thinks. I shouldn’t know this just because of an argument we had; just because I lost control. Spencer should’ve been able to tell me on his own terms, in his own time.

He tries to cry as silently as possible, but it’s not easy when the grief of knowing the pain Spencer’s suffered in his life is weighing heavy on his chest, and the acidic taste of guilt abounds.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into Spencer’s hair. “I’m so sorry, baby.” He’s sorry for so many things he’s not sure he could list them all out, neatly and coherently, if he tried.

Spencer fists his hands in the soft cotton of Derek’s t-shirt. “I’m sorry I never told you.”

Derek balks at the guilt in his tone, as if he actually believes he has anything to apologise for. “Baby, you could’ve waited until we were old and grey to tell me and I wouldn’t be mad, okay? Trauma like this… it comes out in it’s own way in it’s own time. I’m not sure how or when I would’ve told you about Buford if everyone hadn’t found out the way they did. And if I’d waited to tell you, you wouldn’t be mad at me, would you?”

Spencer shakes his head.

“I’m so sorry that I triggered you the way I did, Spencer,” Derek says seriously, gently twirling a loose curl around his fingers. “It was inexcusable, and it was a problem of my own making. I know you didn’t mean to leave the oven on and I know you were operating on auto-pilot when you told me you turned it off last night, and nothing I said was true. I was mad about stuff that happened yesterday and I failed to communicate that. It’s all on me. Nothing about this is your fault, you hear me?”

“Really?”

The way Spencer cranes his neck to look up at him, the trusting innocence in his eyes both breaking and warming Derek’s heart. “Really.”

“I want to tell you, Der, it’s just—” He sighs. “I’ve never talked about it with anyone, and it’s hard. I don’t… I don’t know where to start.”

“We have all the time in the world for you to tell me, baby. You can tell me everything all at once, or drop tiny pieces of information when you feel like it, or never tell me anything else ever again, and any of that is perfectly okay. I just need you to know that what happened this morning will never happen again, okay? I promise you.”

Spencer shifts, moving from his position curled around Derek to prop himself up with one arm, facing his boyfriend properly. “Thank you,” he says earnestly, before leaning down to kiss him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby. More than anything.” He kisses him again before moving the duvet and making to get up. “Now, how about I order us some pizza for lunch and we spend the afternoon in bed. You can read or we can watch some documentaries or a movie, whatever you want.”

A small smile crosses Spencer’s face, and nothing’s ever felt more like a win.

“I think that sounds like a plan.”

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @moreidtrash @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @enbyspencer @im-autistic @thataveragenerd @anxious-enby

[pixeldistractions]

Maria tucked Johanna into her bunk, and Jordan put a couple of fresh logs in the wood stove. They settled onto the couch together. The camper was warm and cozy since he’d installed the wood stove. Too warm, sometimes. He found some scrapped pallets to make a wall for their bedroom and a discarded door that closed and locked. What more did they need? Well, the electricity was still hit or miss.

Maria found it comforting to return to this space after their days of adventure, somewhere familiar when her whole life had been engulfed by a whirlwind of unknown. Exciting unknown, sometimes scary unknown. So if she wanted to make this camper homey, it felt like a fair enough exchange. “Is this blanket new?” he asked.

Maria shrugged. “Maybe.”

“You shouldn’t spend all your money on this rust bucket,” he said. “It’s not fair. I’m going to fix it up. You can’t have much saved from that kitchen job.”

He was touchy about money, so it was hard to have that conversation about how much money she had, her cushion, her safety net. He wanted to take care of them, and it was sweet.

“I just wanted to make it cozy.”

Unspoken compromise—she would try to limit the pillows and candles, rugs from the thrift store, throw blankets and fake flowers, dishware and storage bins… and maybe he might pretend not to notice when new ones appeared.

“You make it cozy by being here.” He pulled her in for a kiss.

She was still thinking about the bugs and laughed in his mouth.

“Are you still mad about the bugs?”

“No, I’m not mad. I wasn’t mad earlier. But I can’t stop thinking about them being in your mouth.”

“I brushed my teeth.”

“Brush them again,” she said. “And floss.” She was joking, but also not. He went to the sink to brush again.

Putting Johanna to bed each night was a sweet relief. She was a fun child, and they were all having a blast together. But there was no job to go to here, no babysitters, no grandparents or a trusty aunt Lou, and being with that three-foot-tall spitfire, day-in and day-out, was a really big change. Maybe even bigger a change than uprooting their whole life to live in a camper.

But Maria wasn’t mad about the bugs, because he took Johanna searching for treasures while she sat by the campfire in peace for an hour, and that was the true treasure of it all. She’d never had a partner in this before. It was nice.

But they both craved and cherished this quiet time together in the evenings. They wore their little spitfire out all day and she always slept beautifully for the first few hours of the night.

Jordan came back to the couch with a grin. “Brushed and flossed.”

Maria managed to offer a chaste lip kiss before she laughed again.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said. “Okay, I’m ready. Try again.”

“I can do better,” he said.

He kissed her better, starting at her collarbone, trailing up her neck, fingers in her hair, teasing that spot at the nape of her neck that made her melt. His kisses reached her jaw, her cheekbone, one on her nose for good measure, and then finally her lips. A light tongue traced each lip, top, bottom, then slipped between her teeth and met her own. Hello.

“Did it work?”

“Shh, more.”

More, more, more.

But not right here, because their bedroom had a door on it now, and they intended to make use of that blessed lock.

— from “boxes and squares #5.1: live the fairytale” (2/10)

Next -> // 5.1 start // index

[astridthevalkyrie]

summer rain: chapter 2

Your days in the Training Corp aren’t too out of the ordinary. You make friends, you train hard, and you eat dinner every day.

Oh, and you’re also hellbent on getting revenge against Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.

Chapter 1, Chapter 3

Okay, okay, so, you’d prided yourself on your plan. Getting the lieutenant himself to train you personally so you could learn his weaknesses and use his own tricks to one day take him down and humiliate him in front of everyone - it’s convoluted, but it’s a good idea. It’ll take a while, but it’ll work if you stay dedicated. Right? Right.

But you hadn’t actually expected him to agree. And so easily at that. He’d given you a quick look over as though he was scanning for some potential scheme, and then he’d readily said he would train you, which not only shocked you, it shocked both Captain Erwin and the woman who you learned was Lieutenant Hange Zoe. If his friends were surprised, then this must be out of character of him. You can’t imagine why he possibly would willingly take you under his wing.

Maybe...maybe the harsh treatment was some twisted way of looking out for you. A small bit of guilt blooms in your chest at the thought, but you quickly squash it down. There are other ways to prepare someone for their future than by publicly embarrassing and physically harassing them. A simple hey, focus up, cadet would have sufficed. Not that you’d have listened, but he doesn’t know that.

Yeah, he’s just a dick. He probably has his own messed up reasons to be doing this. You have to mentally prepare yourself for whatever cruel and unusual punishment he’ll be inflicting upon you.

His instructions ring through your head as you go to bed that night.

“Be at the grounds at 4 AM, sharp. Don’t be late.”

However, that’s absolutely ridiculous. It’s bad enough that you have to adjust your sleep schedule to wake up at 8 AM instead of 11 AM since they don’t allow for beauty sleep at the Training Corp (how are you supposed to maintain your flawless skin?), but now he expects you to be up and out of bed four whole hours than everyone else? No one is expected to be up at that time. Not even him. People are sleeping at 4 AM. No, you’re absolutely not going to be getting up just to train with a grouchy, perverted midget, thanks very much. If he was serious when he gave you those instructions, he’s going to have to deal with someone who values their shut-eye time. Sorry not sorry, Lieutenant. Your dreams are pleasant that night, letting you visit the market on the edge of Stohess which always smelled of fresh fruits and exotic perfume.

You’re content with your decision until a fucking wave crashes on you and brutally brings you back to the world of the living.

With a heaving gasp, you sit up straight in a coughing frenzy, spitting up water. Your hair is soaked, along with your nightgown. Fat droplets run down your face and bite into your cheeks. It’s cold.

“Be quiet,” Lieutenant Levi mutters casually, as though he didn’t just dump a bucket of water on you, “you’ll wake up the others.”

You gape at him incredulously, bringing your hands up to frantically wipe water off your face. For a second, you forget all formalities and you forget he ranks far higher than you, or perhaps you just don’t care, and you splutter out what you’ve been wondering since the moment you met him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

For someone who seems to enjoy teaching you discipline, he never actually tells you off for these comments. Instead of chiding you for being rude, he says in a snippy tone, “I’ve been waiting for ten minutes. Get up, or I’ll refill the bucket.”

You don’t need any further encouragement. You throw off the thin and wet blanket and stand up, now fully awake. He rolls his eyes when he sees how silky your nightgown is - yeah, he damn well should feel bad for soaking such an expensive piece of fabric, the asshole. It’s worth more than that stupid tacky cravat he’s always sporting, that’s for sure.

Fortunately, no one else has woken up. Thank Maria, you’re not sure you could stomach someone seeing Lieutenant Levi demeaning you yet again. You shakily grab your clothes and uniform, and then turn to him. He raises a brow.

“Some privacy would be appreciated, sir.” You cross your arms over your chest protectively.

He scoffs pointedly, as though to tell you he’d have to be absolutely obtuse to want to see you naked, to which you only take a little offense. He gives you orders to hurry the fuck up and then leaves the barracks. You’re tempted to take your sweet time changing, but you really, really don’t want to risk getting soaked again. You just wish that you had time to dry your hair - the morning air outside is bound to be freezing. Sighing, you tie it up tightly, mourning the days you could let your precious tresses fly freely. Stupid military, stupid titans, stupid lieutenant. You dislike all of them greatly. In that order.

When you join him outside, he’s leaning against a tree, looking at you dully.

“Managed to have a tea party before you got down here, (L/N)? Or have you always walked at the speed of a snail?”

Holy hells help you, this is going to be a long day.

You salute, and he lets out a small tch, walking up to you and sizing you up. You tense up immediately, you wouldn’t put it past him to knock you down again for the heinous crime of making him wait.

“This is how this is going to work, Cadet.” He stands right in front of you and you force yourself not to look in his eyes, choosing to look at the pretty leaves on the birch tree behind him. “Every morning, from 4 AM to 6 AM, you’re here, and you’re doing whatever the hell I tell you to.” Probably allowing him to punch you in the face repeatedly. “Then you go back, get two more hours of sleep so that you don’t look like shit at breakfast.” It’ll take more than the likes of him to get you to look like shit, but sure, he can flatter himself. “If I’m on an expedition or not here for some other reason, you do a basic routine regardless.” Right, like he’ll know if you skip out. Nice try. “I might have you do other bits of training at another part of the day sometimes, but for the most part, we’ll be doing the brunt of it in the morning so it doesn’t interfere with your classes and shit.” Okay, that’s fair, and you can’t find a complaint with it no matter how hard you try. “Questions?”

You open your mouth, but he doesn’t give you a chance to actually ask anything before barking out an order. “Twenty-four laps around the grounds, now.”

Twenty-four? Okay, okay, you can do this, you knew what you were signing up for. He’s going to be harsh. He’s going to wear you out. You’re not going to break. Even if it’s the crack of dawn and he’s certifiably insane.

When you start running, his eyes follow you. You briefly wonder how he’s going to keep himself entertained throughout this, but then you remember that he’s cruel and terrible, and he’ll be entertained plenty watching you suffer. Besides, you have other things to focus on besides how much fun he’s having.

The maximum amount of laps Grumman has had you run so far is twelve, and that was with everyone else, so all the cadets could feed off each other’s energy and boost morale. Right now, there’s no one with you, no one to complain to, no one to hide behind so you can spend a few seconds walking instead of running. Oh, and it’s way too early. Have you mentioned that it’s way too early?

Half way through the fifteenth lap, you drop down on your knees and start panting. You’re tired. You want to go back to sleep. Screw your plan. Screw getting revenge.

“Oi!” The lieutenant calls out from his cozy spot under the birch tree. “I didn’t say you could take a nap!”

Most all all, screw him.

You hear him approaching, but you can’t bring yourself to get up. The grass is damp against your fingers, looking like a nice and cool spot to just lie down and rest your head for a few seconds. Sure, not as nice as a regular feathery pillow, but -

He kicks you on the side. It’s not that hard, but you still hiss in pain.

You hate him, you hate him, you hate him -

“Get up,” he snaps, impatient. “You’ve got nine more to go.”

Everything about him is grating, from his voice to his polished shoes to his gorgeous grey eyes. How you wish you could shut him up.

Clearly not someone who enjoys waiting, he yanks you up by your arm, letting out another tch at your murderous expression. He applies just the slightest pressure against your skin, before speaking in a tone that makes it clear he’s getting fed up.

“You’re the one who wanted to be trained. If you can’t handle a few laps, then forget about getting into the top ten.”

“I don’t want to get into the top ten,” you huff, writhing in an attempt to break free of his grasp to no avail. Why does everyone and their mother assume you’re some tryhard goody two shoes? “And even if I did, running these laps isn’t gonna get me there. So can we just leave it at fifteen?”

Lieutenant Levi pulls you in closer, until you’re nearly nose to nose with him. Your eyes widen as he tightens his hold on you, and you despise that your heart beats faster for whatever godforsaken reason. Unwillingly, you think about what it would actually feel like to be wrapped up in his arms, to have his hands on your waist, to have his lips on your -

Fuck fuck fuck. Wrong and fucked up line of thought. Focus.

“You seem to think we’re collaborating here, (L/N). Let me make it clear,” he drawls lazily, “we’re not. You’ll do what I say, no questions asked.”

“I’m going to ask questions, sir. Blind obedience isn’t good for anyone.”

“I think it’s less to do with blind obedience, and more with you wanting to be a pain in the ass.”

“Very astute of you,” you say without thinking, and his shoulders move in what might have been a laugh, but it happens so quickly you’re not sure if you imagined it or not.

“Finish the laps,” he orders, letting go of you and jerking his head, telling you to hop to it.

You glare petulantly, but start running anyways. What he doesn’t realize is he just let you have a break, no matter how short it might have been, and that’s exactly what you needed. Not so clever, this one. You take the small win and feel triumphant, even though you still have to run nine more laps and your hair is still wet and it’s still a forbidden hour for anyone to be awake at.

Once the laps are done, Lieutenant Levi allows no further time for relaxation before ordering you into thirty push-ups, which is just thirty more than your preferred amount of push-ups. The amount of fucking delight he takes in putting his foot on your back, making it just a bit harder for you to get up each time, is unbelievable. He’s a damn sadist, who thrills in your pain.

After the push-ups are finished, you have to do squats. Once the squats are finished, you move on to crunches. Then around five million side kicks, or at least that’s what it feels like. Then forward lunges. Then tricep extensions against the tree. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

How fucking long is an hour anyway?

By the time the lieutenant finally tosses you a flask of water - he throws it so quickly it almost hits your face - you’re winded, out of breath, and dizzy. Nothing hurts per se, but your body is desperately begging for you to stop, to take a break, to just sit down for a single second. You know that any second now, you’ll be back in bed, and the only obstacle to that destination besides the fear that you might collapse halfway there is this asshole of a midget in front of you. You technically can’t leave until he dismisses you, a rule that you despise with all your being.

You think that dismissal is coming when he takes the flask back and then gives you another demand.

“Ten calf raises. Just a test run. I’ll see if I can put it into your routine.”

You look at him disbelievingly for two reasons - one, because he’s actually continuing this torture and two, he’s assuming you know what the hell calf raises are.

He sighs exasperatedly and then demonstrates. It seems simple enough, it’s just standing on your tippy toes, spreading your feet out, repeating the action, spreading them out even more, and then doing it again. Three angles, just a bit of balance for a few seconds.

At this point, you’ll do whatever it takes to go back to bed.

So you start. You do three (there’s three angles, so technically nine, but who’s counting? certainly not you) and everything’s fine.

The fourth set leaves you a bit sore, but whatever.

The fifth set hurts.

The sixth set stings like a bitch.

After the seventh, you cry out in pain. It’s quiet, but mortifying.

Great, just great. The whole point of this was to pick up on his weaknesses, and here you’ve accidentally exposed your own. You freeze completely, eyes on the ground, waiting for the lieutenant to say something about how weak you’re acting.

But he doesn’t say anything, and you’re too nervous to look at him in case he catches the embarrassment playing out on your face.

Eight. Your calves are killing you, but you’re not going to cry out again. Ever.

Nine. Holy shit. Are you on fire? You think you’re on fire.

One more. You can do this. You’ve done all the others.

“Hey,” a sharp voice cuts through the air, but you pay him no mind.

You clench your fists, muster up all your strength, and push yourself up as hard as you can.

And immediately regret it.

Your legs buckle under you, and you stumble with a yelp. You didn’t mean to. It just hurt so bad, but now you’re going to be on your knees again -

Up until now, you’d seen how fast Lieutenant Levi could move because he was constantly throwing you around like a child would throw around its favorite toy. When you feel a breeze against your skin, your mind is thrown into an alarmed state for a fraction of a second. He’s coming at you, to what? Push you? You’re already falling down, so nice try, jerk, but -

It takes you a few seconds to realize he’s caught you.

With his arms hooked under yours, he lets you put your weight on him, ignoring your astonished expression. Even the blunt pain is pushed aside as you take in the fact that he stopped you from falling. Apparently you can only be knocked down when he decides you can. For the life of you, you truly cannot figure out just what this man’s deal is.

“Well, then,” Levi murmurs against your ear, “we’ll leave that one out from now on.”

____________________

Millie informs you that you look like shit over breakfast, and you tell her to kindly fuck off.

____________________

These lovely morning meetings become routine. Since you’re waking up earlier, you try your best to go to sleep earlier too, but you’re a night owl who can’t be caged, so the operation isn’t really successful there.

Instead, you try to rest any second you can during the day. While Millie, Stephen and Ricky are reading over their notes under the same birch tree that you and Lieutenant Levi meet at, you’re lying on the grass with an arm thrown over your eyes. It’s not like you need to study that hard - one doesn’t need whole hours to learn that titans are dangerous.

Besides, your arms are sore from your push-ups this morning. You usually don’t do the same thing twice in a row, apparently the lieutenant likes to switch things up. Which is just fine with you, of course, you’ve never been a fan of the same old thing every day; you joined the military to get away from the feeling that all your days were stationary and felt the same. And the whole dead dad thing, but that’s kinda secondary.

“Try putting ice on it,” Stephen offers helpfully, the only one of the three to take your complaining in stride.

“Try putting a gag in your mouth,” Millie adds.

“Try taking the stick out of your ass,” you tell her pointedly before offering a grateful smile to Stephen.

“Have you considered asking yourself if this is worth it?” Ricky tosses his notes aside and nudges your head with his knee. “Your super duper revenge plan -”

“It’s a mega super duper revenge plan.”

“Yeah, that. Is it worth exhausting yourself like this?”

Surprisingly, Stephen is the one who speaks up. “I don’t think it’s right for a superior to disrespect his subordinate and get away with it without any repercussions.”

“Look, what he did was...sketchy,” Ricky concedes, “but he’s him, y’know? Some people are good enough to act like that and get away with it.”

“No one’s good enough to act like that. Do you know how hard he runs me into the ground every single day? He’s never satisfied, not until I’m fucking collapsing. The only reason he’s stopped dumping water on me is because he says it’s a waste of resources.” You blow out a puff of air, frustrated. Why does no one understand how not okay the lieutenant’s actions are? “And he never does anything himself. I haven’t picked up any weaknesses. I have to keep going until I find one.”

“That’ll take you your entire time here.”

“So be it,” you say dramatically, before finally sitting up.

You’ll stick to it for however long it takes. There are boundaries that should never be crossed, and Lieutenant Levi’s managed to cross every single one of them.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a familiar figure. It’s him, of course it’s him. It’s not enough that he disturbs your sleep, no, he has to make his presence known during the day too. Sure, maybe he’s just going about his day and not actively trying to aggravate you, but he’s still in your line of sight and he has such a punchable face.

Maybe Lieutenant Levi senses that he’s being watched, because his head turns and he catches your gaze.

You wave with a sugary smile, acting like you weren’t just fantasizing about punching his face.

Without so much as an acknowledgement, he looks away and keeps walking.

You scoff. Rude fucking midget.

____________________

The best parts of your days are undeniably after hours. Or more specifically, that small period before dinner and bedtime, when there’s nothing required of you, and you can slip away. You like leaving a bit earlier than everyone else, just to enjoy the cool night outside. It’s funny, how there are so many rules and restrictions here at the military, but a girl can still just get up and wander outside at night and no one will look at her strangely. It’s a wonderful feeling, freedom.

You’re just about to begin what’s sure to be a leisurely walk around the grounds when there’s suddenly a vice-like grip on your arm. You gasp, the first instinct to defend yourself. You raise your fist and immediately launch it, only for it to be caught rather easily.

The lieutenant rolls his eyes at your attempt to defend yourself. “I sincerely hope you never get mugged.”

If he followed you out here, that’s frankly quite creepy and he should feel ashamed of himself.

“I hope someone steals your cravat,” you mutter, and the corners of his lips twitch in amusement. “Can you let go? Sir,” you add quickly - it was becoming easier to forget that you had to refer to him properly. “I have a walk to take that doesn’t involve doing push-ups or crunches.”

His eyes are alight with cruel intentions. You hate that you still find them fascinating. “I have a training exercise for you.”

“You’re a few hours early, Lieutenant.” You give him a condescending smile. “See, 4 AM actually isn’t until much much later. It’s okay, I know telling time can be tough.”

His lips purse in displeasure, and you mentally do a small, victorious dance.

“Be that as it may, I recall telling you that your training can take place at any time that I see fit.”

“But,” you protest, stomping your foot childishly, “you also said you didn’t want to interfere with my regular training!”

He makes a point of looking to the right and then to the left and then finally back at you. “I don’t see any drills going on around here. Do you?”

If you say you do, will he let you off? Probably not, he’ll just cart you off to the infirmary and declare you mental.

“Fine,” you mutter with gritted teeth, “what is it now?”

Without answering, he turns and beckons you to follow. Like a good little obedient soldier. You fume silently, walking behind with clenched fists. First he cuts into your rightful nap time, and now into your wonderful walking time. Is there no limit to the amount of serene, private moments he plans to intrude on?

For some reason, the two of you head indoors, towards the rooms and offices. You may just be a dumb cadet, but even you’re pretty certain that none of the exercises are done in here. Is he taking you to his room? Why would he -

Wait.

Your mouth falls open, but your steps don’t falter. This is highly inappropriate. You don’t know what kind of woman Lieutenant Levi takes you to be, but you did not sign up for this. So you ask him to train you and call him sir a few times, and the man thinks you’re all good and willing, does he? That since he’s Humanity’s Strongest, he can have whoever he wants? What an insult to the name of courting. Where he finds the nerve to keep pulling stunts like these, you’ll never know.

Training your ass. This is an indecent night call. And you would never, ever -

Well.

Maybe. In a hot, scandalous kind of way that you would only ever tell Millie about. Not that you’d enjoy it, not with him. It’s more the forbidden aspect that’s attractive. It’s certainly not about the lieutenant, even with his nimble fingers and cold eyes and sharp tongue that you’re sure he could work wonders with - okay so maybe it is about him a little bit.

But it would also be delightful to turn him down. To watch the light leave his eyes (not that it was there in the first place) as you proudly tell him you respect yourself too much to sleep with a man who’s so arrogant and callous. Yeah, that’ll show him.

His fingers, though.

You’re so caught up in your little debate that you almost crash into him when he stops in front of a door. Ah, a private area. The barracks? How many members of his squad does he share a room with? You twitch uncomfortably.

“Here we are.” Even his voice sounds sultry. Or maybe it always sounds like that. Who knows.

“Why are we here, sir?” Your throat feels dry.

He turns and gives you a look that is decidedly not sexy. Rather, it seems like he thinks you’re the most idiotic person he’s ever had the unfortunate pleasure of laying his eyes on.

“You’re going to clean up in here, did you not hear me the first time?”

What?

You’re not sure what feels the most embarrassing. The fact that he’s apparently decided you’re the official Training Corp maid, or that you had actually been so comfortably considering sleeping with him that you tuned out what he was saying.

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you frown. “Sir, I mean no offense -” He raises a brow, clearly ready to get offended - “but your, er, sanitary habits are pretty much known to everyone here. I doubt that I’ll be able to make your room sparkle more than it already does.”

Lieutenant Levi scoffs. “Then it’s a good thing this isn’t my room.”

He opens the door and your mouth falls open in horror.

“This is Lieutenant Hange’s lab,” he explains as he steps in, “and before you ask, I’ve already secured her permission for you to clean up.” Producing a broom out of thin air, he shoves it in your waiting hands.

“Lieutenant, I...this is…”

“Disgusting. Yeah. So better not waste any time. You need to get some sleep if you want to survive your morning drills tomorrow.”

“Lieutenant, I’m from Stohess.” Too late do you realize that you’re pleading. “I’ve never even seen a pig’s den that is as messy as this.”

Countless exercises at the crack of dawn, and this is what’s broken you. The room is horrifying. It’s straight out of any neat freak’s nightmares. You don’t know how the lieutenant even stomachs looking at it.

“Never cleaned your own room, huh? Not surprised,” he muses, and you shoot him a dirty look.

This isn’t the spoiled brat in you talking, no, this is the sane human who knows that this room is basically hell incarnate.

“How does this count as training? You just need someone to do the Survey Corps’ dirty work!”

“Is there anything you don’t complain about?” he demands, but oho, you are ready.

“Exercising I can understand. Your random bursts of physical violence - harsh, but whatever.” Not like you’re trying to get vengeance for them, but he doesn’t have to know that. “This is just work, and I want to be paid if you’re making me do work.”

This makes him snort, shaking his head at you like he’s your teacher and you’re not understanding the most basic of concepts. “You’re not a merchant, (L/N), you’re a soldier.”

“A soldier, not a servant!”

“I am ordering you to do this,” he says softly, “are you disobeying an order, Cadet?”

Well, when he puts it like that, you’d rather not get kicked out of the military before you even complete your training. And certainly not before you make the lieutenant pay with everything you have. Oh, revenge will be sweet.

Begrudgingly, you step into the lab, swallowing your nervous inhibitions. This place is a dump, you wonder how Lieutenant Hange even gets any work done in here.

Goddammit, you are never going to clean this place up, no matter how hard you try!

“Like I said, we still need you to sleep,” the he-devil murmurs behind you, “so this better be done in an hour. I’ll come check on you then.”

Oh, fuck him. You wait until he leaves, and then get to work.

____________________

His royal highness comes back an hour later just like he said he would. When he opens the door, he finds you sprawled on the floor against the wall, tired but with your chest puffed up proudly, eyes zeroed in on him to see his reaction.

The room is spotless and distinctly organized. Papers that were strewn everywhere are now in one pile next to a stack of Lieutenant Hange’s many, many journals. Vials and flasks have been placed on top of one another by the sink, where they can be quickly washed and ready for use. The tops of the desks are spotless and dust-free. The floor is not only clean, but shiny.

There’s a brief flash of surprise on Lieutenant Levi’s face as he looks back at you. You allow yourself to smirk. Sure, your arms hurt even worse than they already did and you still feel like a maid because you’ve done more cleaning in the last hour than you have in your entire life (not because you’re spoiled, just because no rooms back home are ever this messy), but it’s worth it to see that he’s impressed by you, no matter how he tries to hide it.

You don’t know why you want him to be impressed in the first place, but you decide not to question it right now.

“Not bad,” he finally relents, walking up to you. “You plan to sleep here, or are you gonna get up?”

You snort. Such a charmer, this one. Well, you’re too lazy to stand on your own, so you hold your hand up expectantly. It’s really the least he can do after being no help at all.

After giving you a long look, he takes your hand and pulls you up to your feet. Your legs feel a little wobbly, and you wryly think about how you’d figured you’d be leaving the base with wobbly legs anyway. What a ridiculous fantasy. You hate him, and he probably hates you too. You would never do anything of any sort with him.

“Go to bed,” he orders quietly, taking note of how tired you look.

“So, 5 AM tomorrow, right?”

Again, he looks dryly amused like he always does when you say things like this, as though you’re just the funniest fucking person he’s ever met. “Nice try, (L/N).”

“When do you even sleep?” you question, brows furrowed in curiosity. You’ve wondered for a while.

Lieutenant Levi shrugs. “Usually from 1 to 3.”

You blink in disbelief, shaking your head. “Sorry, what?”

“Got a problem with that?” He’s clearly not fond of where the conversation’s headed, since he grabs you by the back of your collar and pushes you forward, out of the room. You comply, but you’re not done with this line of questioning. No one can just get two hours of sleep daily and continue to function normally.

“Is this why you’re so grouchy all the time?”

“You have no respect at all,” he quips, still shoving you ahead. The base is for the most part, bare and empty, since nearly everyone’s gone to bed by now. There’s only a few people still around, and they pay the two of you no mind.

“Have you always been an insomniac?”

“Fail to see why it’s any of your business.”

“Are you trying to make me an insomniac?”

The lieutenant sucks in an exasperated breath. “No, then I’d be punishing all insomniacs.”

“Rude.”

“You’re one to talk.”

You don’t know why it’s so easy to engage in banter with him. He never discourages you, as much as he points out how unruly you are. In fact, he seems to enjoy it almost as much as you do.

And you do enjoy it, as much as you don’t want to.

“Lieutenant,” you begin hesitantly, not sure why you’re saying this, “I hear chamomile helps people go to sleep.”

“So it does,” he mutters dryly, “thanks for the observation.”

Fuck him, you were trying to be helpful.

“Are you going to walk me all the way back?” You hum thoughtfully, craftily. “People might get the wrong idea.”

At this, his footsteps stop, and you wince. God, your mouth really just runs a mile ahead of your brain at all times, doesn’t it? It won’t be satisfied until you’ve dug yourself into a hole that you just can’t get out of. Implying to Lieutenant Levi that people would think the two of you had sex is just the icing on top of the snarky cake you’ve been baking him since you got here. When you turn around, he’s looking at you with an appraising expression.

“What wrong idea will they get, Cadet?” he asks softly, grey eyes piercing through you.

Your mouth is dry. Surely he knows, does he need you to say it? Of course he does, he wants to make you uncomfortable. You can’t even blame him, this one’s all on you.

Screw it, you might as well be blunt.

“They might think we slept together.”

If he’s taken aback, he doesn’t show it. “I see. And what would you do if these rumors spread?”

You take a deep breath. “Gouge my eyes out, sir.”

This time, you can’t chalk it up to your imagination or a trick of the light. He scoffs, but he’s laughing, normally cruel lips twisted in a humorous smile. You’re surprised by how pleasant the sight is, like looking at a lily in a field of roses. Out of place, yet so very beautiful, a sight you can’t take your eyes off of. Just how does one man manage to be so fascinating? It takes a lot to make you want to swoon, especially for someone who you harbor such negative feelings for. How does he manage it so easily?

“Can’t have that.” His expression is still lit up in mirth. “You better go the rest of the way yourself.”

You salute, and turn around. Even as you walk, the image of him laughing - laughing at something you said - is burned into your mind, and it makes something in your chest clench in an all too unfamiliar way.

Maybe he watches you go, but you’re too proud to look back and check.

____________________

The air is abuzz with excitement. Everyone’s been waiting for this day. If you didn’t know better, you’d say that everyone joined the military simply so that they could do this.

This being using the ODM gear, of course. Everyone has mastered the basics by now, or they’ve dropped out. The one who stayed have perfected balancing and not falling flat on their faces, they’ve watched senior veterans use the gear, and they’ve gotten a brief example of what it feels like to be shot forward through the air. Utilizing the blades properly will eventually be taught too, but for now, they get to practice flying. Actual flying. How amazing is that?

While people usually pair off on their own, Grumman sees fit to assign pairs himself today, much to everyone’s chagrin. By some shitty luck, you’re not paired with Millie, Ricky, or Stephen. You’re not even paired with Nifa or Jack, who you’re friendly enough with.

No, you’re paired with Petra fucking Ral.

You probably wouldn’t even know or care about who Petra was if not for Millie’s incessant complaining about her. Petra is one of the few people who balanced in the gear belts perfectly on her first try (you were also in that group, but Millie’s not gonna complain about you to you), Petra is all their teachers’ favorite because of how easily she retains information, Petra doesn’t have a hair out of place even when she fights. Petra this, Petra that.

Petra is Millie’s main competition for the number one position.

Frankly, you think your best friend is projecting.

“Do you feel a bit ridiculous too?” she asks after the two of you have put your gear on.

“Just a little.” You face her and strike a pose. “Do you think the titans would appreciate some more flair?”

Petra laughs, nodding. “Some eye candy would go a long way, I’m sure.”

The two of you exchange grins, straightening to attention when the instructor passes in front of you. He looks between you and murmurs something to himself before shouting out loud for just about everybody to hear. “(L/N) and Ral will go first! All the rest of you little shits, pay attention!”

Apparently being paired with golden girl Petra Ral means that you’re supposed to be a role model or something now. You groan inwardly - it seems everyone is convinced you want to be a model cadet. When will they get it through their thick skulls that you’re not that boring?

You and your partner step apart until there’s a safe distance between you two. In front of you is a forest, a forest that is the perfect place to practice with the ODM gear. You grip the handles firmly, knees crouching a little. Excitement bubbles inside you as you tense in anticipation. This is it! This is the first step to you becoming a full-fledged soldier. You’re one step closer to everything you’ve worked for.

“On my mark! Ready, set…”

You toss your shoulders back and push your chest forward and out of the corner of your eye you see Petra do the same.

“Go.”

Whizzing sounds are heard as the two of you fire your cables at the same time. You gasp as you’re shot forward, hurtling through the air at an electrifying speed. The trees rush past you in a blur of green and brown as you go up, up, up into the sky. You let out a breathless laugh as the hooks come free. This feeling, this feeling of your stomach jumping, this nerve-wracking feeling of doing something so dangerous and so thrilling at the same time - you’ve been craving it all your life. And here you are. You’re doing it, you’re actually up in the air and you’re flying. It’s incredible. You could stay up here forever.

So enthralled are you by this experience that you forget to hook to the next target, and with an unceremonious shriek you tumble through the branches and fall on the dirt below. Some gets in your mouth, unfortunately, and you hear loud chortles behind you. You spit out the rancid soil, shooting a glare behind you when you hear another whiz.

Up above you, Petra is still in the air. She’s slowly lowering herself down, though, concern dancing in her eyes as she stumbles to a stop a few feet away from you and rushes to help you up.

“Are you okay?” She looks genuine.

You sigh. Fucking Millie, she couldn’t share your distaste for Lieutenant Levi but she found it in her to hate this girl?

“I’m alright.” You take her hand and stand up, dusting dirt off your clothes. “Just got carried away.”

Petra giggles. “You were saying something about flair, right?”

You smile wryly, beckoning for her to come closer as an idea pops into your head. “We’ve got about two minutes before Grumman sends in the next pair. I bet I can get deeper into the forest than you can.”

Her eyes shine competitively, and she nods.

And without a beat, you two are up in the air again. You’re not a natural like she is, but you sincerely doubt that she or anyone else appreciates the wind whipping through their face quite like you do. You belong up here. You can feel it. For the first time in your life, you know instantly that you’re creating a memory that you will cherish for however little time you might have left.

____________________

Your heart beats with excitement as you bounce on the heels of your feet, looking behind your shoulder nervously. “Hurry up, Ricky!”

“I’m hurrying, now be quiet, someone’s gonna hear you.”

You don’t see how. No one is wandering around the kitchens right now. The cooks who prepare the food left their stations ages ago, and no one else in the base would have any reason to be wandering down here. Normally, you wouldn’t have any reason either, but today is a bit of a special day. Or more accurately, it’s a precursor to a special day. The day after tomorrow will mark the Survey Corps’ next expedition and as always, the cooks are preparing something special for the heroes and fools. An energizer for some, and a last meal for others. While you know that the lowly cadets haven’t done anything heroic - yet - you and Ricky agreed that some pastries would surely make everyone happy. Just a few measly sweet tarts, the Scouts wouldn’t miss them. You didn’t lay a hand on the meat, knowing fully well that most of the people going out in two days would savor it much more than you would.

Ricky is quickly shoving the tarts into a pouch, taking his sweet time counting so that everyone got the same amount. Fucking outer city peasant, concerned with fairness. You sigh impatiently, bouncing on your feet. You’re hungry. The bread at dinner seemed even more stale than usual today.

“Hey, what are you two doing?”

Your eyes widen at the same time as Ricky’s - why in the holy hells is the head chef still here? Does he sleep here? Before you can consider the disturbing implications of that possibility, you’re grabbing Ricky’s arm and running for all you’re worth. You’re counting on the fact that it’s dark in the kitchens, so hopefully he didn’t see your face. Unfortunately, the chef seems intent on finding out who broke into his precious kitchen, because he clambers on out after you.

After running for two minutes, he shows no sign of stopping.

“S-split up,” Ricky pants, wheezing as you two flee.

“Fine,” you huff, a bit proud of the fact that you’ve got more tolerance than he does, “but I want leverage.”

Without waiting for him to respond, you snatch a pastry from the top of the bag and skid to the hallway on the right while Ricky keeps running forward. The chef chooses to chase him, and you cackle maniacally at your friend’s terrible luck. You’re home free, and you have your dessert as a trophy too.

You turn your head to double check, turn back, and then crash face first into someone’s chest.

Rough hands grip your wrists to catch and steady you, and when your eyes adjust to the darkness, you want to scream.

Why is he everywhere?

Lieutenant Levi’s gaze goes from the tart in your hand to your panicked expression, and he understands what’s going on without any need for an explanation from you. He takes a step closer to you, tugging you firmly so you can’t move back. You swallow nervously, stuttering out apologies for crashing into him and for being up past curfew. He listens to you ramble, but doesn’t let go. His eyes flicker to the pastry again.

“Those are for the Scouts,” he murmurs lowly. Is it your stupid imagination again or does his voice sound more husky than usual? “Not for fucking brats, (L/N).”

Normally you’d answer with some witty comeback, but you’re feeling a bit dizzy with how close he is and how hungrily his stormy eyes are watching you. The most you can do is open and close your mouth like a fish out of water. You’re in deep shit now, you know that much.

Without removing his piercing gaze from your face, he lowers his head a bit, and takes a bite out of the tart in your hand.

You could swear your heart stops beating for a second. His grip on your wrists suddenly feels like it’s hard enough to make them bruise, even though you can tell he’s not holding on that tight. You watch him chew, swallow, and then lick his lips, all without looking away for even a second. It’s mesmerizing. Before you can tell what you’re doing, you raise the tart a bit, and let him take another bite. As though you’re fucking feeding him, like a good fucking girl. The lieutenant’s lips curl into a small smirk, and you think you’re going to drop on the spot when he takes a third bite, finishing the pastry, the tip of his tongue just brushing against your index finger.

You wonder if he can hear just how erratically your heart is pounding.

Levi’s close, too close. You don’t know what to do, how to break his scrutiny of your face, or if you even want to. He leans in, just a little. Your breath gets caught in your throat. When did you forget how to breathe? It should be easy. Suck in air, let it out, repeat.

He tilts his head a millimeter.

You sigh in anticipation, lean forward, and…

He turns away at the last second, and your lips meet his cheek.

Fuck.

You gasp against his skin, not moving. From his amused expression, he can tell that your face is burning up. Somehow, he’s managed to embarrass you again, even if this instance isn’t public and doesn’t end with you in pain. This feels worse than all the other times, though. Before, you were simply thrown around, his way of calling you weak. Physically weak. Not strong enough, a rookie. But this, this is him telling you that he knows he lords some power over you, something that transcends his rank. Something personal.

“Thanks for the snack,” he says, stepping back only a little (see: not enough) to cup your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Now hurry to bed before I decide I want more.”

Heat pools from your stomach right down to your core. If possible, your cheeks grow even hotter.

The lieutenant lets go and turns around, leaving you standing there with a wide-eyed expression, feeling strangely empty as you watch him go.

You’re never going to let him catch you breaking curfew again.

If you’ve never done calf raises before, I do not recommend, they genuinely will leave you sore for a bit if you’re not used to them. But otherwise, yay for exercise I guess.

Reader is very cocky but we love her for it.

We don’t have Petra slander here, folks. I adore her. Millie doesn’t, though. Rip.

Let me know what you think!

[pastelwitchling]

Malex Happily Ever After chapter 114 sequel

Part One.

“Yeah,” Alex said into his phone, rubbing his eyes with his other hand. It was noon, but he hadn’t slept all night, consumed instead with his work at the base, his work in dismantling Project Shepherd, his breakup with Forrest, and his desire to talk to Michael about it all.

He had no idea why. It wasn’t like Michael was usually the epitome of comfort, but . . . Alex always thought, stupidly, that once Michael and Maria had ended things, and he and Forrest ended things, and they were both single again, that they would find their way back to each other. But Michael was keeping distance between them and smirking at Alex’s words every now and then, and it just felt a lot like being back where they started.

He plopped down on his couch and hung his head back to stare at the ceiling as Liz kept talking in his ear. She was saying a lot about the lab and bloodwork and finally finding Mr. Jones. Alex was tired, but he kept up fine. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the duffel bag lying halfway under the couch. The duffel bag he’d packed so many months ago when leaving and never coming back had felt like running away. He’d thrown in a few more things over the past year, and constantly found himself looking to it, just barely having forgotten that it was there.

He stopped listening to Liz, thinking about taking that duffel bag now, throwing it in his car, and just driving. It didn’t feel like running away anymore. He’d tried as hard as he could to be with Michael, and now he found himself along again, feeling worse than ever. Because now he knew Michael had loved somebody else. He knew Michael had tried, but not for him.

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose as Liz went on, ending with the question, “So you think you can come by and check it out?”

Alex shook his head. “Er – sorry, come where?”

“Michael’s bunker,” she said. “That’s where we’re testing the serum. No one’s studied the Project Shepherd reports like you have, I’m thinking if anyone can look at the side-effects of the serum and tell us whether or not they match what was done to the prisoners, then –”

“Right,” Alex shut his eyes, not wanting to hear any more about Project Shepherd and the horrible things they’d done. All the things that Michael was still punishing him for by keeping a distance. “I’m on my way.”

Alex did not move for several long minutes, staring instead at the duffel bag. He probably should’ve taken it and left, but hope was annoying that way, and even though a part of him still clung to the idea that he and Michael would end up together, the bigger part growled that if it was going to take this long, and force Alex to endure seeing Michael with anybody else for even a second, then maybe eventually ending up together just wasn’t worth it.

When he finally got to Michael’s bunker, he couldn’t help but remember when Michael had locked that door behind Alex the last time they’d argued in there. Michael never chased after him, and he was just so sick of waiting for him to do it.

He groaned inwardly and rubbed his eyes. Seriously, he thought. What was wrong with him today? He should just be glad the airstream was back in the junkyard. It had gotten really difficult avoiding the Wild Pony for a while.

He made it down the ladder easily enough, and tossed his backpack on the table next to where Michael was working. Michael looked up at him through his glasses and tilted his chin up in silent greeting. Alex was too tired to pretend like that was remotely satisfying, and without responding turned to Liz.

“Hey,” Liz said happily.

“Hi,” Alex crossed his arms. “What’d you want me to take a look at?”

“Well,” Liz handed him some reports, “we wrote down all of the results of the serum.”

“On whom, may I ask?” Alex raised his brow as he took them. “Who was your test subject this time? Max again?”

Instead of answering, Liz’s eyes traveled over to Michael who, until Alex turned to look at him, had been staring at Alex with a pinch in his brows. Alex’s shoulders sagged.

“Tell me you didn’t.”

He shrugged, his smirk humorless. His mask was up again. “We had to get results quick and I was already here.”

“I told you I didn’t want you being experimented on,” Alex argued.

“Mom did it,” he said. “Guess I wanted to see what the big deal was.”

Alex tensed, and Michael’s smirk fell away.

“Yeah, okay.” He took the last of the files and turned to leave.

“Alex, w-wait –”

“Do whatever you want, Guerin,” Alex said. “I’m done trying to talk you down.”

“Alex, come on!” But it was too late. Alex had made it up the ladder and patted his clothes down, heading over to his car. His jaw was clenched and his eyes burned and a suffocating weight sat on his chest, but he walked ahead.

Of course. Of course, Michael would ignore his concerns, of course he’d want to show Alex just how little value his words carried. You’re not her, so I don’t care what you ask me to do. You don’t matter as much as she did, so I don’t care if you worry. You’re not worth trying for, why would you be worth listening to?

“Stop, Private!” Michael caught his arm and turned him around. He still had his glasses on, but he was panting. Eager to ease his guilt, Alex knew, nothing more. When he saw Alex’s face, his own fell. “Are you – are you crying?”

“No,” Alex turned away, wiping his face furiously. Michael stood there, eyes wide, like he never expected to see Alex cry. Oh screw it. “Yes!” Another tear fell, and he didn’t bother wiping it away. “Okay? Yes, I’m crying.”

“B-Because I took a needle?”

“Oh, Guerin, no, it’s not just because of that!” He paced to the end of the airstream and back, then again. He looked up at Michael’s house, and couldn’t help but remember the way it sat so close to the Wild Pony. Because Michael just had to be close to Maria. Alex couldn’t remember Michael ever so much as following him two feet, but he followed Maria?

He came back to stand in front of Michael, his breaths short and painful. “I’ve had a bag ready since I found your damn airstream at the Wild Pony parking lot. I was going to go, and I wasn’t going to come back. I’ve had it ready since you started dating Maria, since Forrest and I broke up, and I still can’t bring myself to just take it and go. I was terrified something would happen to you if you put that damn crap in your veins, and I didn’t want you to end up like the prisoners in Caulfield. You ignored the one thing I asked you to do with a smile on your face like you think it’s funny that I’m scared, and I still can’t just pick up that stupid bag. It’s unfair, Guerin!”

His lower lip trembled, and he looked away, covering his eyes with his hand. “You can move on and love someone else so freaking easily, and I can’t, and it’s so unfair.”

They stood there for a long time, nothing but the wind whistling in their ears and Alex’s quiet cries. Liz seemed to have the good sense to stay in the bunker. Then Michael suddenly came up behind Alex, and wrapped his arms around him tightly.

“Baby,” Michael breathed against the shell of his ear. “I – I didn’t know, Alex,” he whispered, his voice full of pain. “I thought you didn’t care, I thought you wanted me to stay away. I – I was just holding onto easy, no one ever came close to you. I swear, I thought you didn’t want me anymore . . .”

Alex tried to process all of that. Michael sounded sincere, though maybe that was only because Maria had been the one to end things. That’s right, a bitter voice sounded. She ended things. Not him. After he told her he loved her. Then she ended it.

It occurred to Alex then that maybe Michael was holding onto him for a completely different reason.

A disbelieving, miserable chuckle left his lips, and Michael faltered. Alex brought Michael’s hands down. “Just stop it, Guerin,” he said hoarsely, his throat raw. “I already gave you my word that I’d help, I’m not going to stop just because I’m frustrated.” He shook his head, already walking back to his car. He had to get out of here. “You don’t have to pretend to care about me anymore. You’ll still get what you want.”

Before Alex could take in Michael’s shattered expression or read into it, he got in his car, turned it on, and drove away, needing to put as much distance between the man he loved and himself.

 Alex woke slowly to the sun just rising. He was surprised he’d made it up so late, but after working through the files last night, he’d passed out just at sunset. He supposed misery, anguish, and a couple of nights of no sleep in a row really put a person out.

He spotted the files on his desk and laid sideways on his bed for a while. He didn’t think he could get back into the nightmares of his family’s past before a good cup of coffee. He stuffed half his face into his pillow and thought of his conversation yesterday with Michael, how unwilling he’d been to eat or drink or do much of anything besides get to work and be useful afterwards. The memory robbed him of even his comfort in bed.

He forced himself up, and when he was washing up in the bathroom, he thought he heard a rustling somewhere outside, but when he turned the faucet off and listened, he didn’t hear anything. Deciding his exhaustion might be making him imagine things that weren’t there, Alex finished up, grabbed his crutches, and made himself a steaming cup of coffee.

He sat down on his couch and rested back, staring at the ceiling. Once again, his eyes fell to the duffel bag halfway hidden. He imagined, yet again, grabbing it now, getting in his car, and driving away without ever coming back. The thought did not make any part of him any happier than he felt now.

There was nothing but the tree branches rustling in the wind, the birds chirping to one another at the morning sun, wheels on gravel in his backyard –

Alex faltered in his thoughts and picked his head up, his brows pinched. He listened closely, and this time, there was no mistaking it; there was someone in his backyard.

“What the hell?” he murmured and set his coffee cup down before grabbing his crutches. He stepped into his backyard, not knowing what he would find (after all, Roswell was a small town, and people were usually good about not bothering military around here), and stopped.

There, behind his circular tables and chairs, was Michael’s airstream. Michael stepped out, wiping his hands on a towel, and smiled at Alex.

He came to stand a foot away from him, his hands twitching at his sides as if eager to reach out and touch. “Can I kiss you good morning?”

Instead of answering, Alex asked, “Guerin, what is this?”

Michael’s smile widened, and he took that as the permission he needed before he closed the distance between them, taking Alex’s face in his hands and kissing his lips both deeply and softly at the same time. He pulled away with a deep sigh, pressing their foreheads together, his eyes closed, as if he could finally breathe.

“I love you,” he whispered, letting his hands fall down Alex’s neck, his shoulders, his arms, and staying on his waist, gripping tightly. “I missed you so much.”

Alex’s eyes started to flutter, but before he could fall into whatever wonderland being around Michael pulled him into, he swallowed and took a step back.

“Why’s your trailer here?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

Michael looked like he hated the distance between them just as much as Alex did, the mask of humor and indifference he usually wore completely gone.

“After Forrest,” he said, “I thought . . . I thought you were better off without me. I thought you wouldn’t want me when you’d already had someone . . . better.” He came closer to Alex, pleading with him to understand. “Alex, I thought you wanted me to stay away. And I was so terrified that I would get too close, and you would hate me, and tell me to leave and not come back. So I stayed a safe distance, and I hated every second of it.”

Alex shook his head. “Why?” he said, his voice breaking despite himself. “Why’d you try so hard for her?”

“It wasn’t for her,” Michael urged. “It was for me. I needed . . . easy. I needed not that bad. I had no idea what I was doing, I acted like Max, I . . .” he shook his head. “Private, I don’t even know who that person was. The only time I felt like myself, like I could actually be myself and still be loved was when I was with you.”

Michael huffed a shaky chuckle, and roughly wiped his face with one hand. “Besides,” he said, “I left that parking lot the next day.” He looked over his shoulder at his airstream as it sat beside Alex’s things, and smiled with such sincerity that Alex hadn’t seen on his face in too long. He looked back at Alex with bright eyes. “But I think this looks good here. Don’t you?”

Alex looked from the airstream to Michael, and he huffed a chuckle. A tear rolled down his cheek, and he sniffed and wiped it away. “I just needed you to show up at my front door.”

Michael laughed, pulling Alex in against him and hugging him tightly. As he buried his face in the crook of Alex’s neck, Alex took his chance to press his face to Michael’s shoulder and inhale his scent.

“I want to do more than show up,” Michael said against his skin. “I want to stay, Alex. I want to stay, please let me stay.”

Alex hugged Michael so closely that nothing could’ve fit between their bodies. He felt Michael’s heart race, Michael’s lips against his neck, Michael whimpering under his breath as he desperately pulled them closer and closer together.

Alex whispered, “Stay, Guerin. I want you to stay.”

***

If you enjoyed reading, even just a little bit, please comment and share/reblog, it always makes the world of a difference ❤

[mizelophsun11]

Mizeloph's Tale Chapter 9

Pairing - This story is still at the point of General Kirigan x OC Sun Summoner, but we are slowly getting closer to Kaz Brekker x OC Sun Summoner

Summary - Anna is making sure that she is not a force to be pushed over. She and Zoya go head to head with an outcome that no one was really expecting. When Anna needs it most there is comfort, but the challenge is thinking which one impacted her the most?

Word Count - 2314

-

Anna had wanted to do a little bit of exploring, she hadn’t seen much of the Little Palace since she had arrived. However, she always seemed to have a couple of guards following her wherever she went and stopping her from leaving. As Anna went to try again and go outside they blocked her from going out, as she finally decided to say something two Grisha girls came up behind her and wrapped their arms around one of hers.

“Anna! There you are” Nadia said

“We’ve been looking for you, but you always seem to be one step ahead of us” Marie smiled while holding onto Anna’s arm “I am Marie and this is Nadia” she introduced

Anna nodded looking between the two girls “do you know why they won’t let me outside? I just want to explore a little” she felt like a well kept captive, she hadn’t been outside on the Little Palace grounds since she had arrived

“You’re supposed to be training right now, Are you really a mapmaker?” Marie asked

“Were you really attacked by Fjerdans?” Nadia followed asking after her friend

“How many Fjerdans did you kill” Marie wanted to know any details

“You have it all wrong, I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t even get much of a chance when I was dragged out of the carriage and almost killed..” Anna hated that she couldn’t even hold herself in a fight against the Drüskelle, Anna didn’t really think throwing a punch against the axe wielding Drüskelle would have given her much of a fighting chance “I have fought before in the past, but it was nothing like what happened..”

“If that is so, then I am glad we intervened” Marie smiled

“Welcome to the first part of your new daily schedule” Nadia looked at all of the Grisha who were working

Both Nadia and Marie sighed “Combat training” they said at the same time then let go of Anna’s arms

Anna watched as Grisha around her worked on combat training, some of it looked familiar from what she had done a few years ago. She might not have continued professionally because her drawing skills outshined how she fought, but she still tried to practice. In the moment when the Drüskelle had attacked she had the skills to defend herself, but with a combination of shock from her life changing and just a moment of panic she didn’t.

Botkin walked up to them “Sun Summoner, all of Raven's foes want to kill you before you can destroy the Fold, it’s a great honor to have so many enemies” he brought his attention over to a Grisha who was next to him

“Well, what a warm welcome, is this normal?” Anna said under her breath

Nadia nodded “unfortunately yes”

Botkin looked back over to Anna once he was done talking with the other Grisha “do you know how to fight?”

“I’ve had a few years of training but nothing much” her training had started in Ketterdam when she was on her own. A child fighting every day in order to make it through, but it was not anything formal. It did allow her to learn a natural way of being more light on her feet and quick to react to anything thrown at her in a fist fight. When she crossed the Fold and got older, Mal was able to introduce her to more formal training. Anna carried both experiences with her in any fight, but when her drawing skills were picked up by officials she became a map maker. She never complained about the change, but she definitely had to make more time so then she did not lose when life had taught her

“Alright, if you have some experience then show me, pick an opponent” he said stepping back

Anna looked at a few Grisha and nodded her head to Zoya “her”

“Zoya Nazyalensky, I’ve been training her since she was 10” Botkin stepped back allowing the two girls to face each other

“Care to back down?” Zoya smirked a little

“No, you might be surprised by what I can do” Anna knew that Zoya had more training, but Anna had the life experience to pack up her training

Anna set herself up, with her thumbs protected by her first, Zoya stood and watched her. When both girls decided to not charge in at once Anna decided to bait Zoya in “come on, I was expecting something more, after all I should be an easy target but you are just standing there like a clueless girl” Zoya was already angry at Anna for being the center of attention surrounding General Kirigan so in blind rage she went up to Anna and threw a punch at her face. Anna dodged then punched Zoya and while she was taken aback by the punch Anna spun around angling her foot so she would kick Zoya in her calf, which caused Zoya to fall. Zoya held her leg when she landed on the ground, she had completely underestimated Anna and now she was paying the price.

A Healer went to Zoya but she brushed them off “I’m fine” she gets up and is ready for another fight

Anna got ready again “are you sure Zoya?”

“Just come at me already!” Zoya was not having it and wanted to prove she was still one of the better fighters

Anna got close and swung with her left hand first knowing that Zoya would doge then quickly punched her square in the nose with her right hand. She then used her foot to trip Zoya as she stumbled back, Zoya landed on her back. Zoya had not been expecting to be completely humiliated by Anna on the first day. Anna was also not expecting to do as well as she did, she thought at most she might land one punch. Anna walked over to Zoya and held her hand out for Zoya to take, Zoya surprisingly took Anna's hand and she pulled her up.

“I might be Ketterdam trash, but you will always be second place” Anna pulled away from Zoya

Zoya was beyond angry, it was true that Anna had kicked her ass, she could tell now that Anna would not be standing for any bullshit. She could feel this anger that was building in her chest, first it was the attention of General Kirigan, and now Anna was showing she was the better fighter from today. In the moment she did not care about what Botkin was saying as she summoned a gust of wind and threw it at Anna.

Anna gasped when she landed in the hay, she heard Maria yell her name “Anna!” her two new friends helped her up

“Please tell me you are ok” Nadia said

“Are you ok?” Maria asked, they both helped brush hay out of Anna’s hair

“Yeah I’m fine, but that was a cheap shot on her end” Anna knew that she had slightly antagonized Zoya, but she could not stand what she had said to her after the demonstration and this was her getting even

“She’s just jealous, can’t bear the idea of anyone else being favored by General Kirigan” Maria said taking another piece of hay out of Anna's hair

“I don’t know why she waste her time pining over him when she could have me” Nadia said, Anna smiled at her

“Oh I am sure she is kicking herself now” Anna watched as Botkin scolded Zoya in front of everyone

“What were you thinking Zoya?! Against the Sun Summoner? Have you lost your mind? You lost the fight fair and square, that was completely uncalled for. She’s not the enemy any more than I am! Go!” he shoved Zoya off, she looked over at Anna for a second then began to walk away to get checked on by a Healer

“Are you hurt? Should we take you in to get checked?” Maria asked

“I think I’m fine, she never really landed anything on me when we were fighting, maybe if I go lay down in my room I will feel a bit better” Anna walked off to her room

She walked through the halls, taking a bit longer to get back to her room, it was nice to see a bit more of the palace. Anna wished that she could see more beyond the walls, but right now she knew that laying down would be the best option. Once she got to her room and walked over to her bed she saw a book on her pillow, specifically a sketchbook. She walked over to it and picked it up, Anna ran her fingers over the embroidered golden sun. Anna opened the cover and a letter fell out, she picked it up and read it.

Anna,

Genya told me that you had asked her about a sketchbook, so I thought I would give you this one as a memento for beginning your new life. I am sorry I could not give this to you in person like I had planned, but you were being called to training and I did not want to disturb you.

I hope you enjoy this sketchbook.

Sincerely,

General Kirigan

Anna smiled at the note and set it down on her bedside table, she didn’t realize how much she needed this. She flipped through the book looking at all of the blank pages that she could now fill with drawings of the Little Palace and more. Something she had been thinking about was the Stag that had been in her dreams lately. Anna thought that would be a nice first drawing for her new sketchbook, the stag was a creature that always gave her more questions than answers. However, no matter where she went that dream seemed to appear when she was feeling lost. It was as if the stag was guiding her to where she needed to be. As she finished the sketch of the stag she realized that there was someone she was thinking about, it was Kazie. The one who had always been at her side when she was young, sketching him was something she had thought about. As she began to sketch him how she remembered, it was as if a memory had been unlocked.

-

Anna was sitting with a piece of paper she had stolen and a chunk of coal that she had been using as a tool to draw. Her inspiration was the little boy that was sitting across from her, he hadn’t known she was drawing him until he moved slightly.

“Hey!” A young Anna said “you messed up the drawing..” she had gotten a good sketch down, but was about to start the details.

“How did I mess up the drawing? You didn’t even tell me you were doing it, maybe tell me next time” Kaz said

Anna pouted a little “cause I wanted it to be a surprise…”

Kaz sighed “I’m sorry Anna” he walked over to her and pulled her into a hug

Anna hugged back “it’s ok, I can always try to draw you again” she showed Kaz what she had so far and he was impressed

“Wow this is great” Kaz smiled and continued to look at the drawing

They continued to look at the drawing Anna had made, it was a bit rough because it was just a sketch and not the completed drawing. As Anna examined her work it make her think of something that she never really thought of.

“Kazie?” Anna looked up at the boy

“Yes Anna?” Kaz looked down at her “what is it?”

“I was just wondering.. If we break our promise to stay together and we meet as adults, how will we know.. You know..”

Kaz thought about what she was asking, he never wanted to be away from her, but in the worst case scenario.. “Your hair of course, you know it’s my favorite”

Anna smiled and touched a strand of her hair then looked at Kaz facial features “well, for me it would be your eyes, if I could recognize anything it would be your eyes”

Kaz nodded “but you know we will never break our promise right? We will always be by each other's side”

“I know, but I guess in the worst case scenario, but we will definitely always be together” Anna said

Anna got up and grabbed one of the blankets they had stashed, she laid down and laid the blanket over them. Kaz pulled her close wrapping his arms around her, he always enjoyed being this close and could never imagine not liking this. It was their thing to do and neither of them ever wanted to stop, there were times when they fell asleep like this. For both of them, it was when they were at their most vulnerable and asleep they relied on each other to protect one another from any danger.

-

Anna loved that memory with Kaz, it fueled her to draw the young boy she remembered from Ketterdam. When she had been brought to the orphanage it was difficult for her to make friends not only because she had hair like snow, but also because none of the children were Kaz. Mal and Alina were there for her and so it eventually became easier, however in the beginning she was struggling. Once she slowed down on her sketch of the young Kaz she remembered Anna looked at the eyes she had drawn. Those eyes would be the key to identifying Kaz if she ever saw him again. She closed her sketchbook and looked out the window seeing the sun was beginning to set. Anna got herself ready to go to bed, she changed into the new nightgown she had been given and laid down. She closed her eyes and for one night she was able to have a dreamless rest.

-

Author Note - Thank you for everyones comments about the flashback in the previous chapter! I added another one because I thought this would be a good spot for it to set up for later events. I appreciate everyone who is leaving comments and I love replying to everyone! To everyone who is reading my story I would love to read your comments! Also, if anyone would like to be added to the tag list please let me know and I will happily add you! If there are problems with the tag I will pm you to make sure that you are informed.

Tag List - @rika90 @itsemy01 @hotleaf-juice @teatimeforusreaders @benbarnes-supremacy @graciefullygracie @aleksanderwh0r3 @klaudosh @herbatkazmilosica

[chubbyreaderchan]

I Don't Like Cats | Frank Castle x chubby!Reader

Tw: Blood, cat hate, female reader

Frank glanced around her apartment.

She was the only person he could think of as he escaped the war scene he had just left.

(Y/n) was special. Very special.

Frank knew where she lived a long time ago but this was the first time he's ever been inside. And here he was bleeding all over the carpet.

Instead of being pissed, she made a joke about how she wasn't expecting to see her deposit back anyways. Then off she went to help clean him up.

Strange how he went from almost hitting her with his van to being one of the few people he could trust.

He froze when he heard a soft mewing from beside him. A gray cat was at his boots and meowed again to gain his attention before trotting to the kitchen. The cat stood in front of a pink and white bowl, meowing again. This time it was a long and drawn out one.

"Wisp, Frank isn't going to feed you," she said softly scratching the cat's ear.

Without a word she gently grabbed Frank's hand pulling him further into her kitchen. He winced as the pain in his very bruised knuckles throbbed but he ignored it, enjoying her warm skin on his.

"Do you have a place to stay tonight?" She asked gently, helping as best as she could to clean the blood off of open wounds before stitching them shut.

The stitches were quite even, at least for someone who doesn't stitch skin often. It must be due to the crafts that he noticed here and there around the apartment. "No, not anymore." He grumbled.

Her eyes looked him over, thoughts of kissing Frank flooded her mind but she knew that wasn't something that would be okay.

He was thinking the same thing.

"You can stay here. If you don't mind my cats"

"Cats?" He glanced up. "I only saw the one."

"Willow is a bit scared of strangers. She is probably under my bed," (Y/n) smiled. Without a thought she tugged on his black shirt, he lifted his arms in response wincing as the blood made his shirt stick slightly in a disgusting way. A large gash ran down his left side from under his arm and down towards his ab. It wasn't as deep as the ones on his arms. The stitches took a bit of time still and they sat in silence as she worked.

"I'm not a big fan of cats... I prefer dogs," Frank said, the cat was now staring him down. "You should get a dog. Especially in a city like this one."

Her eyes looked up into his dark ones, damn was she beautiful. Frank wanted to kiss her but something told him it might hurt Maria. Or hurt her memory.

Would Maria want him to move on?

Could he move on?

"Unlike most people. I actually like most animals... Cats. Dogs. Mice. It doesn't matter," she admitted cleaning the wound one last time. "So a dog could be in the future if I can find one who likes cats."

Goddamn it.

Damn it all. It wouldn't be safe to be with her but he was falling, descending down like a bomb on her life.

He couldn't escape the war. Inside or outside always at war. If it wasn't Maria, it was the lifestyle. He couldn't watch another person he cared for get hurt. Then a voice told him in his head that he already has her at risk by just knowing him. Curses flew through his mind rapidly.

"I have some clothes..."

"Boyfriend?" He asked, suddenly feeling a heart pull.

"No, it was from an shipping mix up. I got the refund and they said to just keep the clothes..." She shrugged. "Go ahead and shower. I'll get the towel and clothes for you."

Frank couldn't help but smile as he watched her full figure disappear down the hallway and into a bed room. The marine stood up, following her.

"Oh! The bathroom is at the end of the hall!" She called through the door.

"Thanks," he responded stepping heavily.

Frank stepped into the bathroom closing the door before stripping his clothing. The shower curtain made a soft noise as it was open and Frank almost went into Punisher mode when he saw a black cat laying in the tub. Her eyes were wide upon seeing him, she darted past him like a jet clawing at the door for freedom.

He laughed. Cats. Frank opened the door just enough for her to make her escape. He turned his attention back to the shower. The water came out in a typical weak fashion for an older apartment, but he couldn't complain. His muscles relaxed under the heat, letting the blood run off.

The air got slightly cooler as (Y/n) opened the bathroom door. She placed the clothes down, trying her best to not take a peak at the shadow against the curtain. It was a fight with her perverted interest and respect for the man. "I uh... Also brought a loofa if you need to scrub the blood off..."

"Yeah, uh can you hand it to me?" His deep voice vibrated off the bathroom walls. Her hand poked in on the other side of the curtain, keeping her vision at her feet. Then he noticed the grey cat poking his head in the shower at the same time. "Thanks."

Their fingers brushed slightly as she passed it off.

"Come on Wisp. Let's get you fed," her voice was so gentle.

Then she was gone again, Frank was left with the battle in his head. She was so good. He couldn't be so selfish.

His large beat up hands gripped a purple bottle of shampoo and he took a whiff. It was sweet yet floral with no real scent he could name except for (Y/n). His lungs inflated again, despite his ribs aching from the fight earlier as he washed himself in her smell.

It was so good.

Frank stepped out, dried off and pulled in the soft clothing on. A black shirt that wouldn't fit her and a pair of grey sweats. Warm. Comfortable. Clean.

He found her sitting on the couch, watching some YouTube Unsolved show. Talking about some Peter Quill missing and aliens. He gently sat next to her, the black cat was on her lap asleep. Then the grey one, no, Wisp follow Frank's movements and plopped down in his lap.

"You can sleep in my bed," she held up a blue bowl filled with popcorn to him. "I'll sleep on the couch,"

"Call me old fashioned, but I'll sleep on the couch," he took the popcorn. It almost felt...normal. He remembered nights like this.

"The bed would be more comfortable for your injuries," (Y/n) looked at him, noticing his free hand absently petting the cat in his lap.

"I don't want to put you out more, (Y/n)"

The plump woman turned more, stirring her cat awake. This time she didn't run. "Frank I wouldn't have let you in my apartment if I felt that way,"

She bit her bottom lip and sighed. "I care about you and I don't want you feeling uncomfortable,"

"I'm not going to argue this. I'll sleep on the couch," he was firm. "If someone came through that door for me, I'd be the first one they'd see."

He sighed. "It's safer."

The look on her face was heart breaking. The urge to kiss her was to strong. He placed his hands on her lightly plump cheeks and pressed his lips to hers. Coffee, blood, and him flooded her senses. There was no stopping him on either side, save for the air that they were running out of.

"I can't..." He paused. "I can't lose you. I can't handle that,"

She sighed. "Fine. One night. Then we'll share my bed, okay?"

She was inviting him to stay longer? Really?

The night went on without incident until she began to fall asleep on his arm after setting up sheets and pillows for him. He helped her to bed before laying down himself.

The sleep was dreamless. A rare occurrence for him. A full right hours of sleep, only to be stirred by morning coffee.

His eyes opened slowly, noticing two weights on his body. Both cats were fast asleep on his chest, purring.

(Y/n) came in with coffee for them both, a smile on her beautiful face.

"You know cats lay on their family members who are sick or injured and purr to help heal them." She sat in a kitchen chair not to far away.

"Yeah, well I still don't like cats."

"Well, they sure like you."

What the hell did Frank start?

[claralaclarividente-fics]

Rosegarden Week- Day 1: Cuddles

Hello friends!! First day of Rosegarden Week, let’s keep this sweet week going!

______________________

“Don’t worry lil sis, you’ll be able to come when you grow up big and strong like me!” Yang yelled from the door, one arm wrapped around Blake’s shoulder and the other wrapped around Weiss.

“Yeah, Ruby. Don’t worry, you’ll get there soon.” Enthused Weiss, continuing to tease Ruby.

The girl in question only shot daggers at her friends and burrowed deeper in her cocoon of blankets.

Blake regarded her leader with a look of sympathy but decided against saying anything. She herself had been at that age that she wanted to be more independent, do grown up things, but then landed herself in Adam’s clutches. Rookie mistake of burning stages when time is your best ally.

Checking her scroll, Blake announced the time, and tugged on the blonde’s arm lightly. Burn as she might have been, Blake decided that being in Yang’s clutches was way better.

“Kay, Rubes! We´re leaving!” Weiss nudged Yang’s side and pulled, rolling her eyes.

No answer.

Ruby wrapped herself in a blanket, grumbling at her sister’s farewell from the door, too engrossed in her musings to truly care for a goodbye. The door closed mutedly, a gust of wind shuddered the windowpanes, and still Ruby fumed silently.

It had finally happened. Ruby’s most embarrassing moment of her life, one that no one would let her live down.

Even after all this time of fighting Grimm and being promoted to Huntress status, Ruby still got thrown out of a nightclub, planting her butt on a bank of snow, because she was 17 and thus, still considered a minor.

Twice.

‘It’s just so unfair!’, Ruby thought after brooding a bit more in furious quiet. ‘I risk my butt out there every day, and I can’t have fun!’. While very true, it was the middle of winter, and her coming of age birthday would not come for another year.

A few minutes passed before her mood lifted a bit. She had been putting off exploring the Atlas Academy kitchens, as well as their rec room. She was free to do as she pleased. Sighing softly, she shook the remaining grumpiness from her shoulders and rolled out of bed. She still had on the clubbing clothes Weiss had chosen for her: red shimmery top and black leather coupled with soggy tights after being pushed down a snowbank twice.

Peeling off her street wear, Ruby clad herself in her favorite long-sleeved pajama set, and wrapped a gray fleece blanket around her shoulders as she walked out the door.

She was gonna have some fun tonight, even if it were by her lonesome.

__________________________________________

Oscar hummed as he worked on incorporating the eggs into the sugary butter mixture in his bowl. He was in such a good mood, even after all his friends had gone out to party like hooligans. He was sure that the coming tales from the partying teens would make his breakfast much more interesting.

The academy kitchens were at his full disposition and Oscar was too much of a homebody to care that he was alone. He had dressed in his Nora-Issued Pumpkin Pete patterned pajama set (all members of team JNPR just had to match!) and a fluffy brown robe loosely tied to his waist. His shoulders were relaxed and with ease he found himself whisking away in his own world of warmth and coziness. He had forgone the bandages for the night, as his teammates would be long before they come back to their dorm and had applied some scarring salve to his neck.

He felt at ease, with his neck scars uncovered and airing out. They itched like they normally did after so long under bandages, but he avoided touching his itchy neck while he was cooking.

He threw in a handful of chocolate chips to the mixture as he fell back to his thoughts.

Nora and Yang would for sure bring the funniest anecdotes of the night, seconded only with Jaune’s string of guys and girls that would surely go after his “earnest and boyish allure”, as one of the Mantle moms had put it. Oscar chuckled at the thought of Jaune not understanding how he got a fanclub in the first place as he measured the cup of flour.

Slowly, so as to not overwhelm the cookie dough with the Atlesian flour (he preferred the one that his neighbors manufactured at their mill), he spooned a bit of the flour as he felt relaxing again. He imagined that each spoonful was one individual problem or obstacle of his day, and as he released it into the bowl, he felt letting go of his daily troubles. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils like Maria had taught him and was about to release slowly through his mouth.

Except.

“Whatcha doing, Oscar?”, an inquisitive voice startled him into a surprised gasp as a cloud of flour filled his field of vision. Both teens spluttered and coughed as flour got into their airways.

“M-milk!” groaned Oscar, his eyes stinging as his throat constricted painfully. Through the massive hacking, Ruby found the milk and uncapped it fast, and delivered it with a slap to Oscar’s chest.

Oscar took one gulp of milk and slammed the carton on the counter, his coughing fit reduced but not contained. Ruby took the carton then and had a swig herself before slamming it back on the counter, Oscar taking it then, and so on and so forth.

After the milk had been drank, the two teens slumped on the counter as evil (in the form of non glutinous Atlesian flour) had tried to take them to an early grave.

Winded out and cheeks planted on the cold countertop, they looked at each other and gave a giggly sigh.

“So…what were you doing before almost dying at age fourteen?”, Ruby asked as she booped him on the cheek.

He blushed lightly and sat back up as he slid the bowl of cookie dough to Ruby.

“Chocolate chip cookies.” He answered simply as he watched the black-haired girl taste a spoonful of dough. She wiggled in her seat.

“Man, this is good!” She said enthusiastically before a deadpan Oscar plopped a whole cup of flour into the bowl Ruby was digging her spoon back in. She pouted as he resumed his whisking around.

Oscar worked in silence, as Ruby watched his every move. He made baking look like a meditative process and looked so in the zone that she dared not to speak.

It was only as he planted the last of the dough using an ice cream scoop that he spoke up again.

“And I’m fifteen, by the way.”

The way that Ruby screeched her surprise made him stumble a bit, as he looked bewildered at her.

__________________________________________

Ruby paced back and forth in front of Oscar as he held a jar of freshly baked cookies in his lap. This particular rec room they were in had been loaned specifically for their group, seeing as General Ironwood in true Atlesian fashion, liked to play favourites and offered a ‘special housing arrangement for such a special group’.

The girl finished the last bite of her cookie, and as she gulped down, she turned to look at Oscar.

“March. The. Twentieth.” He shrank slightly as he passed another cookie to the fuming teen in front of him.

“Yep.”

“We are in APRIL! THE! TWENTIETH!”

“Mhm.”

“A whole month passed!” He just looked at her as she inhaled the cookie in her hand. She turned back to him and shook his shoulders slightly, “Why didn’t you tell us!?”, he just shrugged.

“I lost track of time; I swear! We were all just so busy training, and going to missions, and stuff…”

“But you didn’t go to any missions you just trained with the General!”

Oscar just rubbed his arm, looking at a cookie as he seemingly inspected it for imperfections. He sat silently as he willed his face to not heat up under such strong scrutiny.

Ruby bit her lip as she realized that he had not gone to any missions, but she and the rest did.

“Ah.” She said, suddenly feeling quite lame as she wrapped herself tighter in her blanket. Ruby watched as Oscar nibbled on a cookie, collecting his thoughts. She sat down on the couch with him shoulder to shoulder, her bravado gone.

They sat in silence munching on cookies for a bit, before Ruby jumped up and dashed away in a flurry of red petals, leaving Oscar mulling the past minutes over and over again.

Sitting there alone he thought about how silly it became to him that he halfheartedly hoped for Ruby to come back. Just as he was dusting himself off, Ruby reappeared in front of him carrying bulks of blankets under both arms.

“Meet me in my dorm in like ten, kay?” she said hurriedly as she tucked the sofa cushion under her chin and bolted back to her dorm.

Oscar felt a flurry of nervousness, and giddiness at the pit of his stomach, which he tried to stomp with yet another cookie.

Deciding to get the rest of the cookies, he walked back to the kitchen and prepared a basket with whatever he could find.

__________________________________________

“Woah.” Oscar had been caught unaware and surprised many times over since he joined the ragtag group of hunstmen rookies, he had seen horrors beyond his imagination, and his fate revealed cruelly in front of his very eyes. He had also seen bouts of astounding magic and impossible things. He had done impossible things.

But he had never been surprised silly by the simplest of things. Like this. Oscar felt a special type of warmth in his heart as he watched as Ruby applied the last touches to the most spectacular pillow fort he had seen in his life.

Somehow, she had found fairy lights and attached them to a canopy of blankets over the nest of pillows and sofa cushions that lay arranged in a very cozy manner on the floor. It looked comfy as hell and knowing Atlas’ penchant for luxurious materials for the tiniest of things, he had no doubt that the pillows were heavenly soft and plush.

He swept his gaze to Ruby as she set her scroll on top of some books, the camera facing a wall and in projector mode as it displayed a frozen still from a movie (or something). He sniffled a bit, touched by the barest of details, and his eyes pricked ever so lightly.

Hearing the quiet sniffle, Ruby whirled around and caught him misty eyed. In a panic, she rushed to him and squished his cheeks as she shushed him.

“Not! No crying today, Oscar. We´re gonna watch comedies and gorge ourselves in food till we enter a food coma.” Oscar nodded, his cheeks and ears heating up as Ruby continued to press her palms to his face.

Oscar had felt the rush of blood to his veins before, but it was always under perilious circumstances. Never before had a friend (definitely not a crush!) done something so touching and…homey. Like this.

“Mm mwot gwon cwa, boh plis rewt me gwo.” Ruby blinked at the unintelligible string of sounds that left Oscar’s pinched lips. Realizing she had squeezed his cheeks for too long, she let go immediately.

“Oh! He-hee. Oops, my bad.” She stammered, suddenly embarrassed.

“It’s ok. I got some of the fancy stuff that Winter keeps sending Weiss but that she doesn’t actually like.” He said, lifting the basket up for Ruby to inspect.

After accepting his offer of cold meat cuts and fancy-difficult- to-pronounce cheeses, Oscar and Ruby settled on the nest of soft blankets and plush pillows on the floor.

“Kay,” Ruby began as she went over tonight’s movie selection, “I got The Yuletide, about a girl living in a cottage in Mistral and another lady in a mansion in Atlas who swap homes for the holiday. I also got Huntsman Trap, about two estranged huntress trainees who get into the same Academy, discover they are twins and set up their big-name Huntsmen parents who got divorced. Or! The Pink Manticore, a crazy detective from Vacuo joins forces with experts to find the fabled Pink Manticore, a huge pink diamond that is rumoured to be possessed.”

Oscar scratched his chin deep in thought as he hugged a pillow to his chest.

“Mhm… How about the twin movie?”

Ruby grinned. She had already selected the movie.

_________________________________________

After watching two of Ruby’s movie selections and eating sweet and savory foods until they could no longer accept one more crumb, both teens plopped down the pillows and burrowed in the fluffy blankets contentedly.

Ruby had turned off the fairy lights, and her scroll was projecting on their canopy of blankets overhead the pinpricks of the night sky.

Oscar was looking at the soft flecks of lights, flickering like they would under the winter night. His hands rested lazily on his full stomach, his left hand every so often pointing at the makeshift heavens.

“What’s that… smoky section of the sky?” Ruby asked, her right hand pointing at the general direction of the splattering of spots above.

Oscar narrowed his eyes a bit, pulling a memory not his own, but soon to become, out of the recesses of his soul.

“That’s the Seafoam River, we can’t really see it because of pollution, but many years ago it was brighter than the Moon.” He explained.

Ruby ‘aah-ed’ and looked at the stripe of stars and nebulae. She turned her body slightly to look at him, her palm under her chin.

“I have a question.” She said simply, her stare was hot platinum, intense and burning into his very soul.

Oscar turned his body to mirror hers and noticed her steadfast gaze. Feeling blood rush to his neck, he realized with a jolt that his scars were visible and had been for the entirety of the night. His hand flew fast to the side of his neck, shielding as much as he could the reminder of his childhood trauma.

“I… This is from the day my parents died.” He confessed. Ruby made a sound at the back of her throat, confused. “Can’t remember well, but a Grimm-“

“That wasn’t it!” Ruby interrupted as she grabbed his hand in hers, shaking Oscar out of his memories. “Just wanted to ask what type of farm you had, that’s all!” Oscar let a soft ‘oh?’, surprised. “But if you feel ready to tell me about it, I am here.”

Oscar shook his head.

“Sorry! I just thought… I didn’t want to scare you off with this.” He pointed at the cris-crossed scarred pattern in his neck.

Ruby giggled softly as she squeezed his hand.

“Oscar, my sister lost her arm and Weiss and Blake all have scars. We all do. We just gotta… accept them for the gift of a second chance that they are.”

Slowly, Oscar laid back down on his back. His long mile stare bore holes on the piece of fabric over their heads as he just laid there pensive.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to… I can put on another movie from our selection, its fine!” Ruby sat up quickly to select the Pink Manticore, the funny Vacuoan noir comedy, when she felt Oscar tug at their still joined hands. She squeezed his hand softly.

“Actually, I always dreamed about getting sheep so I could collect their wool and make dyed yarn and maybe sell it down by the town square.”

Smiling softly, Ruby settled back down and tuned to Oscar as he explained the process of shearing and dying wool.

Over time, the conversation petered out in between yawns and strenuous effort to keep awake. The last thing Ruby saw was Oscar’s eyelashes brushing his cheeks as he finally fell asleep, his face relaxed and content.

Looking at their held hands between their bodies, she felt happier than she had been in a very long time. She had finally gotten to learn more about her friend, and feeling particularly close and placid, she let sleep wash over her.

_________________________________________

“Aw man, look at this!” Whisper-yelled Yang from the doorway to their dorm before she got loudly shushed by a barely sober Weiss.

The white-haired huntress was standing impossibly slanted, forty-five degrees to her right as she tried (in vain) to regain her composure, while Yang looked on the scene before her from the door.

“They. Are. Sleeping!” Weiss complained to her blonde teammate, who shushed her back sarcastically.

Irritated, Weiss began shushing Yang as she mimicked the white-haired girl back, initiating an argument expressed in overly dramatic shushing.

Blake and Ren shared a long-time suffering look, peeking out close enough to the door but not too much, avoiding Nora who fell asleep in the middle of the hallway, standing straight up, holding on to a stop-sign she had nicked from Mantle.

Jaune looked at Ruby and Oscar, both looking impossibly cozy as they cuddled in their pillow nest. They hugged lightly in their sleep, snoring softly and unaware of their friends looking at their snuggle.

“Look at them!” Jaune exclaimed softly, blue eyes soft and fond as he regarded his younger teammates. “They are headbutting their foreheads together!”

Blake poked her head into the room to see better and hummed.

“I get what they are trying to say. Headbutting is a whole declaration.” She said sagely, her ears twitching over her head. Blinking, she turned to the hallway as she heard someone approaching. She cocked her head when she saw who it was.

“Hey, Penny.”

“Salutations my friends!” The red-haired android girl exclaimed happily.

Weiss stopped her shushing match with Yang and slowly turned to Penny.

“Penny! Hush! Look at them they are sleeping!” she slurred.

Penny engaged her lock-on optics to scan Weiss quickly.

“Oh! It seems that you have been inebriated!”

Weiss spluttered indignantly.

Deciding to leave the dorm for the time being, Jaune pushed his way out of the dorm and closed the door.

“Hey guys, maybe we should simmer down a little bit.” Jaune said, pointing at the closed door as he tried to her the group further down the corridor.

Yang chuckled.

“Yeah! Looks like Ruby and Oscar need to catch up on their sleep to grow big and strong.” A chorus of giggles echoed as the group tried to stifle their laughter while Penny looked on confused.

“Sleep? But if I came here to wait exactly forty-five minutes until your usual waking time?”

Weiss snapped out of it suddenly.

“Are you telling me its already five a.m.?!”

__________________________________________

Later that day Marrow noticed that the kids from Beacon all seemed lethargic and whiny, compared to their usual selves. Their reaction times were off and seemed confused. Frankly, it was like herding cats that day.

Marrow decided to take Ruby and Oscar, who were spry and looking fresh, on a stake out with him by the Solitas’ mines instead. During the entire mission, Oscar and Ruby seemed to have a new spring on their steps, and in Marrow’s opinion, he had once again stuck babysitting more lovesick fools.

———-

Hope you enjoyed this tiny drabble! Cross posted on AO3, you can find me as ClaraLaClarividente 😗

[dykeninthdoctor]

“ironhusbands, pre relationship, focusing on them in their first year of college and being like rhodey really realizing how young tony is” and “sweater sharing”

“Have you heard–“

“Did you see–“

“He went to Rob’s party–“

The whispers are carried to him on the wind, full of rumors, sometimes lies, sometimes truths.

Jim doesn’t care. He knows Tony Stark–the heir to the Stark empire, son of the legend, Howard Stark–is on campus, but he doesn’t care.

There’s no reason for him to.

The kid is 16, apparently, a prodigy for his age, which Jim could’ve guessed, and he gives zero shits about his education.

Jim hasn’t heard anything about the kid going to classes; only about parties, and girls, and sometimes, the whispers mention boys, too. They call Stark a charmer, a slut, a flirt, and worse.

Maybe Jim cares a little bit.

Stark is 16, and he already has a reputation, one that scares Jim.

“Oh my God, did you see how much he drank last night?” a girl says, eyes wide in a mockery of surprise.

“He never seems like he’s drunk, though,” her friend says.

Jim frowns.

“Maybe it runs in the family,” the first girl teases, and then they’re both laughing, walking in the other direction.

Jim frowns harder.

-

He goes to a party the next chance he gets.

Stark is there, in the center of it all, holding court like a prince standing on the backs of his adoring subjects. He’s sprawled across a sofa, legs draped across the lap of a girl whose hand is resting on the inside of his thigh, head in the lap of another girl whose lips are staining marks of red across his jaw.

Stark’s eyes are glazed, the smile he wears is taped on, and Jim realizes with a sinking feeling that it’s all a mask. A mask hastily built, a mask with cracks that Stark uses alcohol to fill, so that no one can see the emotions behind it.

Jim doesn’t know how, or why, but he can.

“A toast,” Stark slurs, raising the plastic cup in his hand, “To dear ol’ dad, who sent me to this lovely institution.”

A cheer goes up around the room.

Stark drinks.

Jim’s moving before he realizes, shoving his way past people, fighting to get to Stark, snapping sharply, “C’mon, Tony, let’s go.”

To his surprise, and fear, Stark gets up and takes his hand without second thought. Jim tries not to think about why.

When he takes Stark outside, the kid–because God, he’s just a kid–looks up at him with a raised brow and a smirk made of plaster. “We’re gonna do it outside? You’re into exhibitionist shit, huh?”

And then he’s on his knees in front of Jim, and Jim’s trying not to throw up.

“No–shit, no, please stand up, Stark–“

“What?”

It’s the confusion in his voice that finally does it, and Jim’s retching into the bushes that line the house behind them, coughing up bile.

He hears the clumsy motions of Stark getting to his feet, feels a small but calloused hand on his back, sees Stark’s face–eyes wide, lips parted in a small o, the face of a kid–and then throws up more bile onto the leaves.

“I’m sorry?” Stark offers quietly, and it’s so different from the brassy, loud, slurred voice of the prince Jim saw only minutes ago.

“How old are you?” Jim asks. It’s not what he meant to say, but as Stark’s eyes go a little wider, he knows he needs to know the answer, because it’s not 16.

“I’m almost 15.”

Jim tries not to throw up again.

-

He takes Stark back to his dorm, with its single bed and tiny cork board with pictures of Momma Robbie and Jeanie tacked up, with the single poster of a galaxy taped to his wall and the precarious stack of textbooks on his desk.

Stark drowns in his clothes, the knitted sweatshirt hanging off his shoulder, revealing a collarbone littered with hickeys, the sweatpants hanging low on his hips, showing bruises the shape of fingers pressed into tan skin.

“Why?”

The question rings out in the silent room.

“Why what?”

“Why are you being…like this?”

“Because you need this,” Jim says.

Stark just looks at him, his chest rising and falling with exaggerated slow breaths, his eyes blinking slowly, his hands clenched in fists at his sides.

“C’mon, get in bed.”

When Stark doesn’t move, Jim freezes.

“No, Stark–not like that. I’m not gonna do anything with you–to you. We’re not doing anything. You deserve a safe place to sleep. I’m gonna do homework, okay?”

“Okay,” Stark says quietly.

When he falls asleep, curled around the only pillow in Jim’s bed, he looks even younger.

Jim makes himself a promise.

A promise to protect Stark.

-

The next day, when he wakes up with his face pressed to the pages of his physics textbook, and his bed rumpled but empty, he realizes protection is not what Stark wants.

Too bad, Jim thinks. Too fucking bad.

-

It’s harder than he thinks to find Stark; even if the kid doesn’t attend classes, there aren’t parties during the day.

The whispers don’t tell him anything, and today, they’re about him.

“He went home with him, just like that–“

“Have you see him around before?”

“Stark just listened to him–“

Jim ignores them.

He goes to his classes, he takes notes, he tries to focus.

He also thinks about where Stark might be hiding.

-

He doesn’t have to think too hard; Stark’s sitting in his dorm when he gets back after his 5:00 lecture.

The door was locked, but Stark didn’t seem to have any difficulty with that.

“Hi,” Stark says.

“What the fuck,” Jim says back.

Stark shrugs. “You were nice to me. What do you want for it? Money? A reputation boost? We can pretend to fuck, if you don’t want to for real, just so that people think you got some.”

“What do I want for it?” Jim repeats.

“Yeah, payment.”

“I don’t want anything.”

“C’mon, everyone wants something,” Stark says, and the way his eyes avoid Jim’s, despite his casual pose and even more casual tone, tells Jim that he’s scared.

“I don’t want anything, Stark.”

It’s a lie; he wants to know who hurt Stark, he wants to give Stark a hug, he wants to protect Stark.

He also wants Stark to let him out of choice, rather than obligation.

“Okay,” Stark says.

Okay, Jim thinks.

What he says is, “You can stay while I do my homework, if you want.”

“I talk a lot,” Stark tells him. “I’ll bother you.”

“I have a little sister, you can’t be worse than her.”

“Oh.”

So Stark stays.

-

“What’s your name?”

“Jim.”

“Oh, that won’t do at all. What’s the rest of it?”

“James Rupert Rhodes?”

“Rupert?”

“Don’t start with me, Stark–“

“Tony. My name’s Tony.”

“And my name’s Jim.”

“Not anymore, it’s not. You’re Rhodey now.”

-

“What are you doing?”

“Physics.”

“No shit, Sherlock, I meant the equation. You calculated wrong.”

“I did not.”

“Put it in the calculator, it’s not 6.78, it’s 6.57.”

“You did that in your head?”

“I’m not just a pretty face.”

-

“How old’s your sister?”

“She’s 10, but she’s 7 in that picture.”

“That’s your mom?”

“Yeah, I took that picture of them at the lake near our house.”

“She…she looks nice.”

“She’d like you.”

-

“What’s your major?”

“Aerospace Engineering, so yeah, I’m a rocket scientist.”

“Damn, how’d you know what I was gonna say?”

“You’re predictable, Tones.”

“Tones?”

“Well, if you’re allowed to give me a nickname, shouldn’t the favor be returned?”

“I…yeah.”

-

So Jim becomes Rhodey, and Stark becomes Tony, and sometimes Tones.

-

Rhodey realizes a few months in that Tony doesn’t need protection.

Tony knows how to protect himself, with a sharp quip or an even sharper smile.

What Tony needs is love.

So Rhodey makes a new promise.

-

After Rhodey has to drag Tony out of another party, after slurred words become quiet apologies, after Tony falls asleep in his bed again, Rhodey calls his momma.

She tells him to bring Tony home for Christmas break.

-

In Rhodey’s eyes, Tony’s never looked more alive than when Momma Robbie convinced him to play Scrabble with her and Jeanie.

-

“That boy needs love, James,” Momma Robbie tells him, a mug of tea cradled in her hands.

“I know, momma.”

“You gonna make sure he gets it?”

“Pretty sure I already am.”

-

When the clock strikes twelve on New Years, Tony tries to kiss him.

They’re on the roof, the stars above them reflecting in Tony’s eyes, and Tony tries to kiss him.

“No, Tones,” Rhodey says softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I love you.”

“Just not like that?”

Tony’s voice is broken glass, slowly tearing Rhodey’s heart to pieces.

The lie is a knife to the chest.

“Just not like that.”

Tony nods quietly.

They don’t share a bed that night.

-

When they get back from break, after a silent car ride, Tony asks suddenly, “Wanna see my workshop?”

It would’ve been simpler to ask if Rhodey wanted to see his heart.

There’s no other to answer to give than yes.

-

It’s a beautiful mess of chaos, the only description befitting the place where Tony breathes life into wires and gears and lines of numbers.

Rhodey doesn’t know what to say other than, “Thank you, Tones.”

Tony hugs him for an hour, and then spends three more showing him each idea, and then uses another two to get lost in a new project.

Rhodey realizes that this is where Tony truly comes alive.

He’s a kid in a candy store, a bird taking flight, a genius at work.

And he’s beautiful.

The knife, the lie, digs harder into Rhodey’s chest.

-

Tony has bad weeks, and worse weeks, where Rhodey doesn’t see him for days, but it’s okay.

It’s okay, because Tony always comes back.

-

Rhodey learns about Howard during a bad week, and about Jarvis on a good one.

He learns about Maria on a good week, and about Ana on a bad one.

Tony brings him pieces, and Rhodey starts to build the puzzle.

Some pieces are missing, and will probably always be missing, but it’s okay.

Rhodey will love him no matter what.

And slowly, Tony is starting to believe that. Rhodey can see it in his eyes, in the way his mask comes off, in the way the cracks become windows for Rhodey to look through.

-

The summer is long. Tony calls him some weeks, emails other weeks, doesn’t talk at all for most of them.

The worst part is not knowing if he’s okay.

But Rhodey takes what he can get, and gives as much as Tony will take.

-

When they get back to school, there are fresh bruises on Tony’s arms. Rhodey gives him a new sweater from Momma Robbie and Tony wears it like its armor.

They get a dorm together, officially, and most nights, Tony ends up in Rhodey’s bed, in Rhodey’s arms.

Watching him wake up is the best part of Rhodey’s day.

It’s hard, to keep lying, but Tony’s still just a kid, and Rhodey won’t be another person to use him.

So he loves him in the ways he can, and it’s enough, because it has to be.

-

The whispers are constant, always talking about them, but this time, Rhodey truly doesn’t care.

He knows better than the lies they spread.

-

“Rhodey–Rhodey, wake up,” Tony whispers against his chest.

Rhodey grunts. “‘m sleeping.”

“It’s raining.”

“So?”

“I wanna go outside.”

It’s the look in his eyes that does it, the wonder. Rhodey’s on his feet before he even realizes it. “Okay, Tones.”

They dance in the rain on the roof, and Tony laughs, and Rhodey looks at him, and sees nothing but happiness, and feels nothing but love.

-

Rhodey kisses Tony on his 18th birthday.

Maybe it’s wrong, but the way Tony laughs against his lips and twines his arms around his neck is nothing but right.

“I thought–“

“I lied, genius, I had to,” Rhodey whispers, ready to let go, but Tony just holds him tighter.

“Thank you.”

“For lying?”

“For loving me the way I needed.”