#on a side note i found the shitty book after like an hour of searching. and after searching for the keyword 'seasoning'

[continuousmeowing]

is there a seasoning that best attracts vampires?

hmmm. I'm inclined to say salt (since salt helps w/ iron deficiency & probably makes blood more tasty.) but salt is used to ward off vampires in a lot of folklore so.....unsure if it would actually attract them or if it would just make them flee.

If not salt, i think herbs would be pretty effective. I think a human is probably like a warm roasted potato. and rosemary and thyme and all that stuff pair well with potatoes.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Fan Fiction: Part One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: Not only did Chuck write books about your lives, but a damn musical theater is putting a play on about your goddamn lives. You try to let them handle this one on their own but they're not letting you go, and it's time to bring insurance to make sure you never leave them.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

Dean sits outside the motel room working on his car. The hood is up, he's elbow-deep in the engine, and Sam is nowhere to be found. You're standing off to the side with your gun trained in front of you. Your target is a tree that's fifty yards from you, something stationary. You wish you had a moving target but you don't think Dean and Sam would appreciate being put in the line of fire.

You pull the trigger three times, hitting the exact same spot on the tree, scaring some squirrels into fleeing their home.

"Would you quit it?" You look at Dean who pops his head from over the hood. He's a bit sweaty, has a grease smear on his forehead, and his arms look extra thick in his thin t-shirt. You don't have romantic feelings for him anymore, but damn he'd be a good fuck. "We're not the only people out here."

"I'm bored without a real target. Unless you'd like to be mine."

You smirk when he flips you off. The motel door opens and Sam walks out in search of you and his brother. You put your gun away and approach the brothers because Sam has his professional face on.

"Hey, how long have you two been up?"

"I never slept," you say.

"Long enough to find us a case," Dean replies right after you.

"I take it that means you're feeling back to normal?"

"Yeah, whatever normal is in our world. Right here." Dean takes a break from working on his car to hand Sam the newspaper. "A teacher in an all-girls school went missing in Flint, Michigan. She was heading to her car, disappeared, and nobody's seen her since."

"Dean, there's nothing here that even remotely suggests there is a case."

"There is nothing that even remotely suggests there isn't a case."

"Come on, man," Sam sighs.

"Sam! Being out there and hunting is the only normal I know." He closes the hood of the car and moves to the open trunk. He messes around with his weapons before shutting the trunk. "We got work to do."

"I'll tag along. It's not like I have anything better to do."

"Like you had a choice," Dean mutters to himself, but you hear.

It's a seven-hour drive from where you are, and those hours go by quickly. Sam gets the police department on the phone as soon as you enter the state of Michigan to ask about the details of the case. By the time Dean pulls into the school's parking lot, Sam is just about done with his conversation.

"I certainly appreciate it. ... You got it. Thanks, officer." He hangs up just as you three get out of the car. "So, the last place Ms. Chandler was seen by anyone was in the auditorium. Turns out she's the drama teacher."

"Theater kids. Great," Dean scoffs.

"What? I was a theater kid."

"Barely. You did Our Town, which was cool, but then you did that shitty musical."

"Oklahoma? Hugh Jackman got cast off of Oklahoma."

"You ran tech, Wolverine."

"Shut up," Sam, grumbles.

The principal already knows you're coming but she has a bunch of meetings to go to, so she allows you to find the auditorium on your own. There are young kids hanging a banner in front of the building for the musical they are about to do. You hate fucking musicals. You hope there isn't a case here ad you can go back to the Bunker and waste your life away on tanning and reading shitty magazines.

You walk into the auditorium to see students already working on their production of whatever musical they are doing. Before you have a chance to think, you hear a word you never thought you'd hear again.

"You idjits!" You snap your head to the right to see a young girl dressed exactly like your dad, beard and all. "You, idjits. You three are idjits."

"Hey, ass-butt!" You look to the left and see another young woman dressed just like Cas with angel wings on her back. "Hey! Ass-butt!"

Suddenly, someone plays a few notes on the piano on stage and a bunch of young girls begin their musical number. The song is about Sam and Dean's life. How John and Mary had two sons when a demon came into their room and killed Mary, and how the demon took a liking to Sam. The song transitions into your life with your mom starting at the age when she died. They sing about how the demon chased you through the house and killed your mom down the stairs. Sam and Dean are horrified to hear this but you're grinning from ear to ear.

"Cut!"

A young woman sitting in the audience and her friend run up the stage stairs to address the woman who is singing. You slap both brothers' shoulders with the same grin on your face.

"This is the best day ever."

"What in the h-holy..."

"If there is a case, it probably has something to do with all of this," Sam cuts his brother off.

"You think?"

The younger of the two girls grabs the arm of the director and points to you three at the back of the auditorium. Both girls immediately run off stage and over to you as if she knows who you three are.

"Hi! Oh, my gosh, are you guys from the publisher? I'm Marie, writer/director. This is Maeve, my stage manager. I was just--"

She stops talking when she sees Sam's FBI badge. He looks to the stage and sees the women playing Sam and Dean with their own FBI badges. He quickly puts his away and slaps Dean's hand which is holding his own badge. Dean can't even get his out fast enough because he is so shocked.

"I'm Special Agent Smith. These are my partners, Special Agents--"

"Smith," you answer.

"Yeah, no relation." Marie narrows her eyes in suspicion but Sam quickly changes topic. "We're here to look into the disappearance--"

"There is no singing in Supernatural!" Dean blurts out.

You snicker at his outburst to which he glares at you.

"What? Come on, this is funny!" you giggle.

"Well, this is Marie's interpretation," Maeve says.

"I mean, if there was singing, you know... and that's a big if! If there was singing, it would be classic rock. Not this Andrew Floyd Webber shit--"

"Andrew Lloyd Webber," Sam whispers to his brother.

"What?"

"You know, we do sing a cover of Carry On Wayward Son, in the second act," Marie says proudly.

"Really?" Sam asks in judgment.

"It's a classic!" Dean and Marie speak at the same time.

You roll your eyes, already bored of this.

"Right. Anyways. We're here to talk about the disappearance of Ms. Chandler. Any chance you two saw her before she vanished?"

"Yeah. She left around nine-thirty."

"Any idea where she would be headed at that time of night?"

"A bar? A liquor store? Both?" Maeve answers.

"She had a nasty divorce, last year. Most of the time, she's sipping on her 'grown-up juice', or passed out. Usually, in that order."

"Yeah, I don't blame her. I'm gonna need fifty jello shots and a hose-down to get this stink off of me," Dean scoffs.

"Maeve, right?" Sam jumps in. "You're the stage manager?"

"I understudy Jody Mills, too."

"What?" Dean asks in shock.

"That's great! Jody Mills, that's great," Sam says to his brother before turning to her. "So, how about you give me a behind-the-scenes tour, while your director shows my partners Ms. Chandler's office? Deal?" Both girls nod. "Great. Give us a moment, please."

Marie and Maeve leave you three alone, and you let out a loud cackle that causes Maeve to turn around and glare.

"I'm gonna throw up," Dean shudders.

"This is either going to go horribly wrong or horrible right, and I'm here for it," you giggle. Dean gives you a bitch-face look, and you slap his chest as you pass by him. "Lighten up, buddy."

You and Dean follow Marie backstage while Maeve goes off with Sam in the opposite direction. There is a table of props used for the musical, all labeled and in place. You grab one of the guns and inspect it, not impressed that it's all fake.

"Where did you get all this stuff?"

"Some parts are homemade and some parts are repurposed. All of it, awesome--" She looks over at you to see you touching one of the guns and grabs it from you. "Please don't touch them."

"These aren't even real. How are you going to hurt someone with these?"

"Don't mind her," Dean chuckles nervously. "She's having a bad day." Dean looks across the stage where the imposter Impala sits. Leaning against it are the two women who play Sam and Dean. They're standing a bit too close for Dean's liking. "What are they doing?"

"They're rehearsing the B.M. scene."

"The Bowel Movement scene?" you ask.

"What? No! The Boy Melodrama scene! You know, the scene where the boys get together, and they're driving, leaning against Baby, and drinking a beer, sharing their feelings. The two of them. Alone but together. Bonded. United. The power of the brotherly--"

"Why are they standing so close together?"

"Reasons," Marie shrugs.

Dean understands what Marie is hinting at, and you snicker at the thought of Sam and Dean getting together sexually.

"You know they're brothers, right?"

"Duh! It's subtext."

"You know he and Y/N are married and have kids, right?"

"What? No. I mean, I know she got pregnant but she had Cas get rid of the baby. Man, Dean was so pissed at her for doing that."

"Best decision I ever made," you grin and lock eyes with Dean. "I should have gotten rid of the other two."

Hurt flashes across his eyes but he'd rather not get into that right now. Marie looks at you two in confusion but moves on. She takes you away from the auditorium into a long white hallway where Ms. Chandler's office is. She walks ahead of you to open the door, and you look at Dean.

"She's right. You and Sam would make such a cute couple."

"I'm gonna smack you."

"Don't tease a good time," you smirk.

You three enter the office where there are empty bottles upon empty bottles of alcohol everywhere. Dean takes a sweep of the room with his eyes before settling them on a robot head near the bookshelf.

"Is that hers?"

"No, that's a prop from act two! I've been looking for that, actually."

"There's no space in Supernatural."

"Not canonically, no, but this is transformative fiction."

"You mean fanfiction?"

"Call it whatever you like, but it's inspired by Carver Edlund's books with a few embellishments. As you know, Chuck stopped writing after Swan Song--"

"Yeah, that douche," you scoff and Dean slaps your arm to get you to stop talking.

"I couldn't leave it the way that it was! I mean, with Dean leaving Y/N and living with Lisa? Her being on her own after the breakup? Sam in Hell? I wrote my own ending."

"You want to know what happened after that?" you step closer to her. "Y/N fucks Sam over and over again to get over her sad excuse of an ex."

"Okay, stop talking," Dean pulls you back.

"Try this one on for size. How about Dean and Y/N have a baby while he's still fucking Lisa?"

"Go wait outside!"

"No, she needs to know these things! What about them going to purgatory where she ends up pregnant because Dean can't keep it in his pants?" Dean is already shoving you to the door. "Bobby dies, Sam undergoes angel trials, and Dean becomes a demon!"

Dean shoves you out of the office and slams the door in your face. You roll your eyes and make your way back to the prop table where you mess the props up like a fucking child. You see Sam and Maeve in the sound booth chatting, so you make your way over to them to bother them. Sam looks up from the control board when you enter.

"Special Agent Smith kicked me out so I'm hanging out with you," you grin and sit in between them.

You reach over and touch the control board to see what different buttons do, but Maeve slaps your hand away. You stare at her and Sam waits with held breath to see what you're going to do. Luckily for her, you let it go and lean back in your chair.

"Now, have you noticed anything strange during the production? I mean, any odd noises or--"

"You mean something like this?" Maeve pushes a button on the control panel and a scream sounds. "Or perhaps, this?" She presses another button and a ghostly moan sounds. "Maybe this?"

"Okay, I get it. You know, back when I did tech in school, we had two CD decks--"

"Someone speaks to Maeve over the headset, and she cuts Sam off mid-sentence.

"She's not interested in your nerd talk," you say to Sam.

"I'm sorry, I have to go sign the delivery. Please, don't touch anything."

Maeve scurries off leaving you and Sam alone. Sam doesn't like to be alone with you because he's the butt of your very harsh jokes, so he makes a half-hearted excuse and leaves you alone in the sound booth. Dean and Meave come back from Ms. Chandler's office and meet up with Sam. Marie joins her friend's side as they both sign for the delivery. You reach up and begin playing with the controls, messing with the lights and sounds. Everyone on stage looks at you like you're the outsider in a group of best friends. Sam and Dean look like they're ready to kill you, so you press a button and speak into the mic.

"I'm bored. Can we go? I'd rather pull my own hair out than be stuck in here with a bunch of bratty kids."

Dean glares holes through the glass at you and motions with one finger to come to the stage. 

x

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[darkomoth]

Insomniacs

Chapter 2: Birthday Dinner

Aaron Hotchner x reader

Summary: Pending a full evaluation, you're stuck at home while you heal from your injuries. Hotch is worried and Reid's birthday is around the corner.

Notes: This is sort of a slow burn I guess. Slightly shorter chapter, hope you enjoy! :)

Also uploaded on Ao3 under the same title

Word count: 6.7K

Ch. 1 Ch.3

You were cleared to fly back home but had to spend a little over a week in the hospital while you recovered. They told you that you had a mild concussion, three bruised ribs, and a broken nose. So, ultimately, not as bad as it could have been. 

Still, it didn’t feel awesome. Of course, the doctor recommended that you stay in the hospital for observation for at least 3 weeks, but the sheer thought of being bed-ridden for that long made you pick at your nails. The monotonous hum of the machines and the low volume of the tv combined with the chilly hospital air put you severely on edge. Honestly, they were lucky you made it as long as you did. 

Everyone came to visit you at one point or another, which made you very happy. Penelope had gathered a basket-full of goodies for you which consisted of a teddy bear, many chocolates/candies, a coloring book that was obviously made for children, and three balloons which said, “It’s a Girl!” in pretty pink cursive. 

“They didn’t have any “I’m sorry you were kidnapped and tortured” balloons at CVS...” Garcia had said with a pout. They were appreciated, you assured her.

Spencer had reserved time to read to you, stating that he always felt better when his mom did the same for him as a kid. You’d drift off to the sound of the young doctor's voice who recited line after line from “The Wizard of Oz,” which he knew you loved. 

Derek came by a couple times to drop off food and watch a few episodes of whatever shitty soap opera happened to be on at the time. Somehow, they seemed better quality when he was there. His easy conversation made you relax in the stiff hospital bed and often you found yourself laughing a little too hard, straining your sides and reminding yourself of why you were here to begin with. 

JJ and Emily often visited together, since they were carpooling. They brought personal hygiene items from your apartment and flowers, talked about work and how the team was. “Oh, we’re falling apart without you, for sure.” JJ stated once. It made you smile, though you knew everyone was getting on just fine. 

Rossi wasn’t super talkative, but you were used to that. His company was welcome in the late hours when the ticking clock made you want to rip your hair out. He cooked some really good pasta, but you suspected it may have been take-out. Rossi denied it completely. 

Hotch was there more than anyone else, however. You could hear him pacing outside your door some nights, like he was debating on whether to come in. He always did after knocking gently on your door, which you eagerly answered.  

He’d sit by your side and ask how you were feeling, and you would answer the same way every time with a smile, “Like a million bucks.” It made him scoff and shake his head a little, though you knew he found it a little funny. After several minutes of small talk, his hand would search for yours and you would accept it with a small smile. Hotch wasn’t accustomed to doing nothing either, so he’d fidget. He’d check on your vitals, request an extra blanket, crack open the window for fresh air, or pace whenever you did succumb to sleep. 

Your request to go home was granted, but not to return to work. That would take at least another two weeks. Hotch thought even that was pushing it, though.  

“I’m seriously fine, Hotch. See, look,” You said, crumbling some trash into a ball so that you could toss it into a nearby trash can. You got it in one shot. “Look at that coordination,” You laughed, nudging his side softly. 

Hotch only stared at you, seemingly unamused. “That is not a good measurement of capability.”  

The two of you were walking out of the hospital, and you felt a heaviness lift off your shoulders as you passed though the automatic sliding doors. Finally, you were back to the real world. JJ and Emily brought you your own clothes which made you feel like yourself again and not some lab rat. The sun was warm on your skin, and you took a deep breath the moment you were outside. It made you forget about how you must’ve looked still, with a black eye and purple bruises littered across your cheek and neck.

The team had another case already, but Hotch stated he would be catching up with everyone as soon as he made sure that you got home safe. That set off a feeling of butterflies in your stomach which you tried to push away. That was genuinely the last thing you should be thinking about right now.  

“Well, what is a good measurement?” You ask, turning towards him and looking up into his eyes. They were already trained on you, stoic and resolute as always. 

“Your evaluation is scheduled in 12 days from now.” He says, impassively. 

You don’t try to stop the groan that escapes you, “That’s so long.” The two of you make it to Hotch’s car, he opens the passenger side door for you and holds onto your upper arm to help you inside, it sends a pleasant chill up your arm. You wince in pain as you change from an upright position to sitting, and Hotch notices. 

“Are you alright?” He hovers next to you as you reach for the seatbelt. Your ribs were actually on fire, but you nodded in response, not trusting your voice at the moment. Hotch looks at you skeptically for a second, hands twitching at his sides, before closing the door and making his way to the driver's seat. 

He looked good, you thought. Hotch was in his usual suit, but no jacket or tie, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and you tried not to let your eyes linger for too long. Halfway through the drive, he speaks again. “You should’ve stayed at the hospital.” 

You look over at him again, his eyes are fixed on the road and his face neutral, but his hand grips the steering wheel tightly. “I couldn’t take another minute of that place.” You say, a little bitterly. 

Hotch glances at you but turns his attention back to driving. “I know... still.” He sighs like he’s resigned to the fact that you’re very stubborn and almost always get your way in the end. “How’s the pain?” 

Over the past week, Hotch has checked in on your pain level. He’d ask where you were from 1-10; 1 meant almost no pain, 10 meant it was unbearable. Typically, you’d say 3/4, maybe 5 on a bad day, but if you were being honest, 4 meant 6 and 5 meant 9. If Hotch noticed that you were lying, he didn’t say anything. 

“Mm, 5.” You mumbled in response. 

He only nodded, making sure to keep his eyes forward. A few seconds pass, as if he’s debating if he should speak again. Eventually he does. “Are you sure?” His voice is tentative and soft now, “You’ve been controlling your breathing and clutching your side.”

You release your side in response and take a deep breath as if to prove a point, “I’m sure.”

Hotch doesn’t say anything for the rest of the drive. When he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment complex, he prevents you from opening your door. “Stop, I’ll get it.”

“Hotch, you really don’t need to-“ You were cut off by the sound of the driver side door shutting closed. When he makes his way around to the passenger side, you were looking at him disapprovingly. “I can open a door.” You mutter as he opens it and offers a hand.

“I’m certain you can.” Is all he says in response, not budging from his spot. With a small sigh and a suppressed smile, you take his hand and hop out of your seat.

You notice how close Hotch is to you, the way he’s put himself between you and the rest of the lot. It’s intimate in a strange way, his hand is still in yours even though you were fully stable now. Your heartbeat quickens in the way that it does when he’s near and you fidget.

Hotch probably noticed your behavior because he lets you go immediately, turning towards the trunk of the car that has your go-bag. He grabs it and starts walking with you to your door. You want to protest again, tell him that you were okay and capable of doing normal, everyday things like carrying your bag, but you decide against it. You know that nothing you say is going to change Hotch’s mind so you allow yourself the moment to enjoy his company. 

“I can handle it from here.” You say once you open your door and step inside. The apartment was fairly empty, save for the sparse furniture and fake plants that sat on your windowsills. As you move to grab your bag from Hotch, a sharp sting shoots up your right side and makes you still. “Ahhh,” You hiss in pain. 

“Y/N?” Hotch asks worriedly, holding his hands out for you to grab onto if you needed. “Are you alright?”

With your hands clutching onto him, you take a second to regain stability and test your breathing, “Mhm… sorry.” You let him go and decide to lean against the island counter in your kitchen instead, but he continues to hover. “It comes and goes.”

“Where’s the painkillers the hospital provided?” Hotch asks, setting down your bag on the counter next to you and rummaging through the side zippers. You don’t have a chance to respond before he finds them. “Here,” He says, as he drops two pills into his hand, “hold onto these, I���ll get some water.”

He hands them to you, and the warmth of his hand is comforting. You hold them and watch as he moves freely around your kitchen, searching for your glassware. It was strange, but not unpleasant, to see your boss inside your home moving around like he’s been here a hundred times. Almost domestic. You shook the thought from your head and took a seat in one of the barstools. Shortly after, Hotch slides over a glass of water across from you.

“Thanks.” You say and down the pills with a gulp of water.

Hotch is looking at you with an unreadable expression, it makes you shift in your seat and take a few more sips of water to distract yourself.

“You need rest and plenty of water…” Hotch trails off, like he wants to say more but doesn’t. Then, like he can’t take it anymore, he moves around the counter to be next to you. “I’m sorry.”

He’s so close again, even taller than usual since you’re sitting. You have to crane your neck to look up at him, his expression has softened from earlier. Confused by what he said you replied, “What are you sorry for?”

Hotch sighs a little, his jaw is tense. “I shouldn’t have sent you away.”

You didn’t know what to say at first, struck by the way he was acting. It was very unlike himself to display any sort of unprofessional behavior, and this was definitely not professional. You furrow your brows and hesitantly reach out to place your hand on his.

“You were doing your job. I shouldn’t have gone to the park, I knew the risks and did it anyway.” You say, trying your best to keep your beating heart under control at Hotch’s proximity.

He looked just past you, not meeting your eyes and shook his head, “I was worried I may never see you again.” Hotch seemed genuinely distraught at his own words, it made your gut twist in an unpleasant way.

“Hotch… Aaron.” The sound of his first name finally made him meet your eyes. You smiled up at him, “You’re not gonna get rid of me that easily.”

It felt tense in the room now, you were used to the team being all together, interrupting moments like these and pulling you back down to reality. But now it was just you and Hotch, and he wasn’t pulling away.

“I-“ Hotch starts, but a loud ringing cuts him off. He closes his eyes for a moment, obviously upset at the interruption, but he answers anyway. “Hotchner.” He pulls back and paces a few feet away from you.

You know that whatever was being said, it wasn’t good and by the look on Hotch’s face and the furrow of his brows, it was probably minutes before he’d be out the door. When he hung up, he looked over at you sympathetically. 

“Go on, boss. I’m good.” You say, trying to ease the stress that was evident in his frown.

Hotch’s hands twitch at his sides again and you make a mental note of it. He tends to do that when he’s considering his next move. Ultimately, he nods and strides to your front door, pausing when his hand lands on the doorknob.

“We’ll be in Pennsylvania. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call.” Hotch says, regretfully.

“Can I call even if I don’t need anything?” You ask, trying to lighten the mood.

He gives you one of his rare smiles, “Yes, Agent.”

-

Hotch left Y/N’s apartment with a mix of emotions. He wasn’t sure if she was truly alright. Mentally, maybe, the events with Mazdin didn’t seem to wreck her emotional state, she still joked and smiled at him which was a good sign. Physically, though, was another story. 

One of her tells that Hotch caught early on when she were hired was deflection. He’d ask if she was okay, she'd ask if he was. If she answered, it was quick, as if she were afraid to elaborate too much and make herself seem suspicious. He knew that she was in pain and afraid to show it in case it affected her return to the BAU.

Y/N’s fear was unwarranted, though. Hotch was counting down the days of her return despite knowing she needed time to heal. It was difficult to leave after having spent the last week checking in on her, keeping her company.

One day when he paced outside her hospital door, unable to stay still, Y/N called out his name. “Hotch, just come in, you’re stressing me out. And I need help changing the channel.” Her voice was still strained but he could tell she was smiling. It calmed his worries about intruding on her, and from that point on he didn’t linger outside as much. 

It was still difficult to see her covered in bruises and looking at him like he was the only person she wanted to see. Her black eye was getting better, the swelling had gone down considerably, but she had a dark ring underneath that was an ever-present reminder of what happened. The lines on her neck were barely starting to fade, still an angry-red color, and the bandages surrounding her torso hid the damage beneath, but Hotch knew that bruised ribs were serious injuries. Any time he thought about it, he felt a little sick.

After everything that he’s seen in the BAU, nothing compares to having a teammate go through something that traumatic. Regardless, Hotch knew that she was recovering. Even if it wasn’t at the hospital with trained professionals, he thought bitterly.

His phone rang again as he was driving towards the office, “Hotchner.”

“I had a thought.” Y/N’s voice rang out from his speaker and his frown softened a little.

“Yes?”

“I may not be able to be in the field, but if you send me the case files I can work on it from here.”

Hotch should’ve expected that one. With a shake of his head he responds, “You need to focus on getting better, not causing yourself stress.”

“No, you don’t get it. If I’m left alone with literally nothing to do for longer than 30 minutes, I’ll lose it.” Her voice was coming out rushed, he could tell she was either pacing or tapping her fingers nervously. The image made the corners of his mouth turn up a little.

A few seconds passed with silence, Hotch debating what the best thing to do was in this situation. “If you promise to take care of yourself… I’ll have Garcia send over the paperwork within the hour.”

“Thank you thank you thank you!” Y/N said excitedly. “Oh- also, I wanted to remind you of Reid’s birthday, it’s Friday.”

Hotch laughs at that, “Yes, I did actually remember.”

“Okay great, because I was thinking the team could get together that day and celebrate. Either at the bar or maybe Rossi’s since it’s bigger…” Y/N says, sounding like she’s just thinking out loud.

“I’ll discuss it with everyone, though you really shouldn’t be leaving your home-“

“Yeah, yeah I know but you only turn 29 once and I want to see Reid’s face when I give him his “Happy 30th Birthday” card.” She replies.

Hotch tries his best not to laugh and give her the satisfaction. “Well, in that case. I’ll get back to you about it.”

“Thanks Hotch.”

-

The week actually flies by, to your pleasant surprise. You were often sat on your couch, eating some type of take-out and going over victimology of the team’s case in Lancaster, PA. The unsub was a family annihilator, targeting middle-class families and spending extra time torturing the fathers.

Without being there, you were limited to your access of information, but frequent calls to and from Garcia kept you in the loop. Ultimately, you suggested to the team that the unsub was a father himself and most likely had his children taken away from him at some point.

Of course, you were trying to keep your promise to Hotch and taking care of yourself. That mostly meant drinking at least two cups of water a day and trying your best to fall asleep once the clock read 12:00 am. That second one didn’t work out as well.

Hotch knew that you weren’t sleeping again, given the times you had called him. Since there was no time change between Virginia and Pennsylvania, it was obvious that your insomnia had crept back.

A particular call one night left a bad feeling in your stomach. It was past 1:00 am already, but you knew Hotch would still be up, working. You were proven correct when he answered on the second ring, “Hotchner.”

“I was looking over the night that the Clarkson family was murdered and I noticed something off with the children’s position in the house-“

Hotch cut you off before you could finish, “Agent L/N, you need to go to sleep. Now.” His voice was curt and a little angry, you thought.

“Hotch, I will, but listen to me-“

“No. I’ve allowed you to work remotely under the assumption that you would be prioritizing your health. Now that I know that is not your intention, I’m relieving you of this case.”

For a moment, you were speechless. You winced from the pain in your ribs as you shifted your position at the dining table. “Hotch, I am prioritizing and I have been sleeping, it’s just later in the night.” 

“I will not allow you to continuously jeopardize yourself, if need be I can and will suspend you.” His voice was monotone as always, but you sensed irritation in it. 

“Fine.” Was all you said in response, quickly ending the call and slamming your phone down onto the table in front of you. You can’t remember the last time you were this angry at Hotch. Even though it came from a place of concern, he had no idea how much worse it was for you when you had nothing to preoccupy yourself with.

The nightmares returned very soon after the Mazdin incident. In fact, they were even worse. Before, the dreams would consist of you and the team on a typical case, trying to find an unsub before the clock runs out. You would see image after image of decapitated bodies, mutilated corpses, the faces of missing children. Every time it shook you so badly, you’d wake up in a cold sweat, involuntary tears in your eyes.

After your own kidnapping, you’d dream of that basement. How this must’ve been how all those other girls had felt, terrified that they would never see sunlight again, never hug those closest to them, never have the luxury of another boring day. You’d experience the pain of that night over and over and over again. The feel of the strangers fist connecting to your stomach, face, and ribs was so real, you could practically smell the musty air and taste the blood in your mouth. 

When you were in the hospital, hopped up on painkillers and connected to an IV, you had dreamless sleeps. They felt like temporary comas and you were aching to feel that again. You could feel Hotch next to you, holding your hand and talking but you never made out what was actually being said. It was perfect.

Now, back inside your own apartment alone yet again, not even a case to distract you, the thought of sleep petrified you. You made yourself coffee, did laundry, washed dishes, even cleaned out your closet at one point. Nothing could stop the inevitability of you closing your eyes and being transported back to that night.

You were told by Garcia that the team had caught the unsub just before he was able to take out the Williams family and they were flying back Thursday night. You were glad that everyone was safe and on their way home, but it hurt that you didn’t feel like you could even talk with Hotch now.

You wanted to call and check in on him since you knew how hard he took family annihilator cases. Still, you didn’t reach for your phone. You would be seeing them all tomorrow, anyways. It was decided by Reid that Rossi’s place would be better than any public outing, so the team had made a plan to meet there at 6:00 pm Friday night.

Throughout the year, you tended to buy things for the team. Small gifts, anything that stuck out to you that someone may like, and you kept them for birthdays and holidays. So when you came across a dusty antique bookstore during one of your cases in New York several months ago, you knew you had to look around. You found the most incredibly bound and gorgeous hardback copy of ‘The Importance of Being Earnest’ by Oscar Wilde and just knew it’d make a great gift for boy-genius.

You also happened upon an old collection of classic vinyl records, with dozens of artists varying from Frank Sinatra to Harry Belafonte and you had to get it. Not for you, but you knew one very serious Unit Chief that loved oldies.

-

By the time that Friday morning rolled around, Hotch hadn’t spoken to Y/N in over 48 hours. It put him a little on edge, he was too used to seeing her every day, hearing her voice asking how he was. He knew it was his fault for snapping at her the way he did, but he couldn’t take another night of worrying about her. He had enough to deal with already.

She had called him at least twice a day every day that they were in Pennsylvania, offering some of her insight. It was welcome most of the time, especially after they’d hit a wall in their investigation. Y/N not being on the scene allowed for a unique outside perspective. But Hotch wasn’t going to allow her to compromise her health for the job.

He debated calling her several times and it just never happened. Either he would get busy or he’d rationalize that she didn’t want to hear from him, but they were all excuses. So he decided to bite the bullet and dial her number when he finally settled into his office that morning.

“L/N.” Was all she said when she finally picked up. Usually, when she noticed it was Hotch calling, she would answer the phone with a “Hey Boss” or some variation of it. The change made him look down at his desk with a frown.

“Hey…” Hotch said, completely forgetting the reason he had come up with for calling so early. “I wanted to check in with you, see how you were… will you be coming to Rossi’s tonight?” He scolds himself internally for sounding so unsure of himself.

“Well, yeah, I wouldn’t miss it.” She said as if it were obvious. He supposed it was, seeing as the get-together was her suggestion. “Was there anything else?” She asked after a minute.

Hotch wanted to ask what her pain level was, if she had actually slept since the last time they spoke, and quite a few other things, but instead he shook his head a little, “No. We’ll see you there.” He hung up quickly after that, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Several hours of paperwork later and Hotch was finally leaving for the day. He arrived at Rossi’s mansion at 5:50 pm, noticing that he was not the first. Morgan and Prentiss’ cars were both there, and he was relieved that Y/N hadn’t shown up just yet. He was still trying to figure out what he was going to say to her.

As he rung the doorbell, he could hear talking and laughing inside. “Answer that, would you?” Rossi’s voice could be heard echoing from the kitchen. A couple seconds later he heard footsteps and then Y/N was there, holding the door open.

She was stunning. Her usual work clothes were nice and complemented her, but Hotch had never seen her like this. She wore a mid-length, off the shoulder gown with long sleeves, it was black with a lace trim. Her makeup was done but it wasn’t a lot, he suspected it was to cover up the remaining discoloration from that night. Her hair was done in a different way that he’d never seen before, and she was so gorgeous.

It took a moment before Hotch could speak, “I brought wine.” He holds the bottle out to her and she takes it with a small smile and nod. As she walks away with it towards the kitchen and he follows, he thinks about what the hell was wrong with him. 

“Ahh, Aaron, this is perfect.” Rossi says as Y/N hands him the bottle of red. “Why don’t you all take a seat, the rest of the team is on their way and the food will be ready shortly.”

Morgan and Prentiss were hovering around the island counter, also dressed up in less than casual outfits.

“What’s up man?” Morgan asks as he makes his way over to Hotch, “Didn’t you bring a gift for wonder boy?”

“Spencer’s gift is all of the paperwork he does not have to do for the next three days.” He responds, shrugging off his blazer.

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Prentiss says, “does that extend to the rest of the team?”

“What you guys get is his workload.” Hotch says with a growing smile.

A collective groan is heard as everyone takes their seats. Y/N is still in the kitchen, helping Rossi with kneading some type of dough. He tries not to glance over too often, but it’s hard not to. She’s laughing at something Rossi’s said and the smile on her face is infectious. 

Hotch notices how she’s still favoring her right side, moving only when she has to. Her breathing is controlled and her posture is purposefully casual. She’s certainly gotten better since the last time he’s seen her, but she’s not fully healed and he resists the urge to go speak to her about it.

“So, what’s for dinner?” Emily asks.

Y/N responds before Rossi can, “Burrata Caprese Gnocchi with balsamic bruschetta and garlic bread.” She shares a look with Rossi who smiles at her.

“Sounds amazing.” Emily says just as the doorbell rings.

JJ, Penelope, and Reid were all at the door, which Hotch answered this time, beating Y/N to it. 

“There’s the birthday boy!” Derek said, getting up to give Spencer a hug.

“I really don’t think the word ‘boy’ accurately describes my age anymore.” He replies, returning the hug a little hesitantly. 

“Ah, come on Spence, you’re still the second youngest agent in the team.” JJ says, pointedly looking at Y/N from where she still stood in the kitchen.

“Hey, I am not much younger than him.” She says defensively. Hotch smiles at the interaction.

“Well, regardless,” Penelope cuts in, taking Reid’s arm in hers, “you are still the residing genius of the BAU, myself excluded.”

“Well, thank you very much.” Hotch hears Spencer mutter as he’s dragged along to the dining room with everyone else.

Rossi commanded that everyone help set the table as the last bit of dinner was being prepared. Y/N was moving around seemingly effortlessly, stirring something in a pot and then pulling bread out of the oven. Hotch thought she looked very graceful, until she must’ve turned the wrong way and she stilled completely.

Y/N clutched the edge of the counter like she had back at her apartment last week and Hotch stopped passing plates around. He watched as she excused herself to the restroom and after a second of deliberating, he followed.

The light underneath the bathroom door was on and Hotch knocked on it lightly, “Y/N?” There was no response for a minute. “Hey, are you okay? Please open the door.”

Another few seconds went by with no sound and he was thinking maybe he should just go back to the dining room when the door unlocked and swung open a fraction. Hotch took that as an invitation to open it fully and walk in.

Y/N was leaning against the bathroom sink, hand on her side and eyes closed. “What do you need?” He asks, hands clenching at his sides, not sure if he should reach out and touch her.

“Um…” Her breath shakes slightly, “If you could, my bag has my medication, I left it out there.”

“Of course. I’ll be right back.” It took Hotch less than a minute to go out into the living area, find her bag with the painkillers and bring them back to the bathroom. He knocks twice before entering, “Here.”

“Thank you.” Y/N says, taking them with a mouthful of tap water.

“How’s the pain?” It’s a long shot that she’ll even continue speaking to him, but Hotch doesn’t feel like leaving her alone like this.

“Uh, a 6.” She looks at him finally, and his frown deepens. She’s never actually gone past 5, and he knew 5 was bad. “It’s okay, really, I think I just strained my side while cooking.”

Hotch nods, but he doesn’t feel reassured. “Well, I’ll help you to the table, and please don’t move again unless you have to.” He thinks that she wants to argue but that would take energy she doesn’t have, so she allows him to wrap an arm around her waist. She leans against him and he inhales her scent, it’s warm and sweet, like cinnamon he thinks.

If anyone noticed the way the two of them walked out together, no one said anything. The team wasn’t oblivious, they knew Y/N was in pain as well, and that she wouldn’t want to speak about it. Especially tonight when it was about celebrating a fellow teammate.

Hotch set her down in a seat directly next to him, his hand lingering where it had been a moment before. Rossi was passing around the main course and the conversation had been redirected to Spencer’s weekend plans.

“I’ll be in Vegas for the next couple days. I’ve been meaning to visit my mom but haven’t really had the time.” He says as he grabs two pieces of garlic bread.

“That’s nice.” Emily says, taking a sip of her wine. “I would rather be working than visit my mother on my birthday.”

“Cheers to that,” Rossi says, also taking a sip.

Everyone raises their glasses, Y/N included. Her face gives no indication that the movement bothers her at all. She takes a sip and rests the glass back down where she starts tapping nervously on it and Hotch knows the meds haven’t kicked in just yet.

“Time for gifts!” Penelope yells excitedly and claps her hands, getting up from her spot after everyone had finished with their meals.

Y/N makes a move to stand up, but Hotch catches her wrist before she can. He shakes his head and says, low enough so that no one else can hear, “Don’t even think about it.”

She gives him a look but doesn’t try to shift out of her seat again. His hand stays on her for a moment longer under the table and she doesn’t try to pull away.

“Well then, would you mind grabbing the gift I brought over on the counter?” Y/N practically whispers.

Hotch has to clear his throat before responding, “Of course.” He’s up in a second, already missing the warm contact. He locates the present with white wrapping paper that was covered in gold stars, attached to it was a card that said “You’re 30!” on the cover with a picture of an cartoon senior citizen underneath the text. The sight made him laugh under his breath.

“Open mine first, please.” JJ says, handing over a rather large bag to Reid.

As he grabs it, Hotch takes his spot back next to Y/N. Spencer is ripping out the tissue paper until he reaches the gift. He pulls it out with a gasp, “Ohhh no way.”

In his hands is a model replica of the USS Enterprise from Star Trek, and by the way he was holding it, it seemed fairly heavy. Hotch smiled at the Doctor’s reaction and noticed that Y/N did too. The corners of her eyes crinkled with her grin and he wanted to lean down, just a few inches so that he could come face-to-face with her. He thought about brushing her hair out of her face, behind her ear. He would tilt her head back until she couldn’t go any further, then lean down closer, closer…

Hotch was snapped out of his thoughts by Y/N’s voice. “That one’s from me and Aaron.”

He looked at Spencer, who had the gift in his hands. “I am not thirty years old.” He tossed the offending card down onto the table and the sound of laughter filled the room from everyone.

“Is there something wrong with being thirty?” Derek asks, feigning offense.

“No, I’m just stating the fact that I am not actually thirty years old, I have another 364 days before I reach that milestone, in fact-“

“Just open the present!” Emily says, laughing.

“Okay.” Reid does as he’s told and unfolds the wrapping paper carefully. When he’s done, a hardcover book lays in his hands, but Hotch can’t make out the title. It seemed to make Spencer very happy though, if his widening smile was any indication. “Where did you find this!”

“New York, that case where we were snowed into our hotel and couldn’t leave for an extra week. Gave us time to look around.” Y/N said, making brief eye contact with Hotch. She was keeping up the ruse that he had helped in picking out Reid’s gift.

“You know, out of all of Oscar Wilde’s books, I’ve read this one the most,” Finally Hotch could make out the title ‘The Importance of Being Earnest,’ “it’s actually very short but it’s masterfully done, almost no other author compares from this century.”

“You’ve mentioned it a few times.” Y/N says.

“Thank you both, very much. This is great.” Spencer replies. 

Hotch tries not to look at her again, he’s not sure what he’ll do if he does. His professional nature was slipping with each sip of wine.

Another few minutes of Reid opening gifts goes by and they were all very thoughtful. Rossi gave him a new suit jacket, Italian made of course. From Garcia, he received several doctor who related items including the full series on blue-ray. Emily got him an iPod, mostly so that he would stop playing his music out loud on long car rides, she explained. Lastly, Derek stated that his friendship was gift enough. Though, later Hotch discovered Morgan had already given Reid a certificate for an all-expenses paid stay at a resort in the Bahamas which was run by a good friend of his.

The night ended on a good note, everyone was buzzed and in deep conversation. Hotch never left Y/N’s side. She seemed to be doing significantly better than earlier, no longer wincing at every move and engaging with the teams banter.

As everyone started to trickle out, Hotch turned towards her. “Do you need a ride?” He hadn’t noticed her car when he got here and it was unlikely that she could drive home in her state anyway.

“Oh, Emily drove me-“ Y/N said, looking around for their friend, who was nowhere to be found.

“I don’t mind, your apartment’s on the way.” Hotch replied, hoping she would say yes. He needed just a few more minutes with her. She looked up at him like she was debating it, eventually pursing her lips and nodding.

“Okay, thank you.”

The two of them said their goodbyes to those remaining, Y/N gave Spencer a hug and wished him Happy Birthday once more before they made their way outside towards Hotch’s car.

Hotch made sure to keep an eye on the way she moved, ready to support her if she needed, but it was unnecessary, she seemed to be fine. He made his way over to the passenger side door and opened it swiftly.

Y/N laughs a little, “Such a gentleman.”

Hotch smiles back and closes the door after she’s settled. Once they’re on the road, he remembers everything that he’s been meaning to say.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know?” He says lightheartedly.

“Do what?” She asks with that little crease between her brows. His hand tightened around the steering wheel just slightly.

“The gift for Spencer. I had no idea about it.”

“Oh, right… Well the no paperwork thing was nice. I know he appreciates it.” She says with a smile. This is torture, Hotch thinks. She’s so close to him, literally less than a foot but he can’t do anything. 

“About the phone call-“

“Hotch, don’t, I already know.” Y/N says, as if she was expecting this conversation all night. “I know I still have five days until my evaluation and if tonight was any indication, I’m still not really to be in the field yet.”

He was glad that she knew that, at least. But his intention wasn’t to scold her all the way back to her home, “Y/N, please let me… I didn’t mean to insinuate that your help wasn’t appreciated on this last case, it was.” She doesn’t say anything in response, just looks over at him with questioning eyes. “I need you to know that everything I do, everything, is for the well-being of this team.”

“I know that, Hotch-“

“Then you know that I would do anything for you.” He cuts her off, but doesn’t take take his eyes off the road, even for a second.

The tension in the car feels high, but Hotch can’t tell if only he can feel it. The seconds that go by without Y/N’s response is agonizing.

“I do know that.” Her voice is softer, almost far away. “And I would do anything for you.”

The words make his shoulder’s slump in relief, he dares to glance her way. She’s looking at him in a way he’s never seen before, a little sad maybe, but smiling. He’s tempted to pull the car over to the side of the road for a few minutes.

“You just passed my place.” Y/N says then.

“I know.”

[1-800-gaygentsofshield]

not her choice, part 2 | n.r.

part 2, part 1 here

summary: y/n and natasha will do anything for love, whether they realize it or not

warnings: nsfw themes, angst, brainwashing, violence, kidnapping, y/n and nat making dramatic calls, injury, basically "fuck" in different contexts

word count: 7,354

(sorry this is long I didn't want to split it up into more parts, not proofread as always)

(ALSO SIDE NOTE LOOK AT HER HANDS MY LESBIANISM IS FUCKING SCREAMING)

"You're pulling your punches." The man in stars, you now know as steve rogers, says as he stands across from you, nose bloody and shield in hand. You raise an eyebrow being your mask, as if asking him "You want me to stop?" After a pause, he nods his head and gets back into a fighting stance. "Please, continue."

Ever since that little..ahem..incident with Natasha, she's been telling you to not hurt her teammates, even though most of them have superpowers you might add, so you've been pulling your punches in fights ever since. You still beat their asses it was just..a lighter beating. You were treading in dangerous waters here, knowing that if Hydra suspects you even in the slightest bit they'll bring you back to the lab and wipe your mind again.

You dodge a swing from Steves shield and quickly knock him off balance, playing more defense than offense at this point. The Avenger quickly regains his traction and charges at you, tackling you to the ground so that the wind gets knocked out of you. You, as best as you can, try to dodge his punches on the ground, genuinely surprised when the asphalt underneath you sinks in with his punch. When his fist sinks into the ground once more, you grab his torso and use your legs to shove him off of you, landing a punch in that all-American boy face of his once you get on top of him. Instead of beating the man bloody like you would usually do, you shove yourself up and move away from him, trying to spot Natasha in all the chaos.

Your search stops when you hear Natasha's voice from behind you, her words being accompanied with a punch. "Hey." The punch isn't enough to hurt you but its enough to grab your attention as you turn around and grab her arm. Your grip is firm but not uncomfortable, letting Nat know that they hadn't brainwashed you yet. "Hey." You reply back, throwing a punch that she easily blocked. "You still with me?" She asks as her hand grabbing your wrist twists it back. "I let the guy with the metal arm beat me up twice, what do you think?" You say as you hit her stomach to make her stumble back.

The hits are hard but not fatal as Natasha moves to kick you in the stomach, you easily grabbing her leg and pulling her down to the ground. You land on top of her and you grin, "You've gotten soft, Romanoff." You tease in a breathy laugh as you see her quirk an eyebrow up. "Don't pretend like I can't kick your ass with my eyes closed, y/l/n." She says as she quickly shifts her weight and pins you down, an amused look on her face. "How come you always end up on your back when I'm with you?" She asks and you roll your eyes, scoffing but also realizing how true she is. Before you can reply there's comm's static in your ears, a Hydra officer barking the command to move out.

"I've got to go." You say as Nat gets off of you, hopping back up and making sure you've got your gun in it's holster. "Where will you be tonight?" Natasha asks as you fix yourself, her statement causing you to shoot her a teasing look under your mask. "You'll find me Romanoff." And with that, you turn and leave, not needing to look back to see the amused look on the red-heads face.

--------

"Couldn't find any more shitty hotels?" Natasha asks as she sees you standing behind a run-down gas station, chewing on some gum that you bought with the change you found on the sidewalk. "They were all booked." You shrugged, lips turning up a bit at the sight of your favorite person. "Mm, come here." Natasha hums as she reaches you, gently pulling you in by your chin to kiss you.

These secret meetings have been happening for a while now, being both beneficial to the two of you and the Avengers.

You immediately told Natasha about Hydra's plan about building the next atomic weapon soon after her head came up from between your thighs, the redhead listening intently as you spill all of Hydra's intel. That's when she told you about them, the Avengers, and how they protect the world from Hydra and otherworldly threats. She said she might introduce you to them sometime, saying that the people there don't see others for their worst mistakes.

At that point in time though, you didn't care what side you were on, as long as Natasha was there you would fight alongside her. That's how it was like for your entire life, not caring about the sides of good or evil, only ever caring about Natasha and keeping her safe.

You wince at her action and she pulls back immediately, a concerned look on her face as she looks for the cause of your pain. It's then when she sees the blossoming bruise on your jaw, right where her fingertips grazed when she pulled you in. "Who did this?" She asked and you shrug, reaching up to touch the purple and red spot. "The guy with the metal arm, it really packs a punch." You reply as you see the worry lines deepen between her brows, causing you to cup her neck and pull her in for a soft kiss. "I'm alright Nat." You whisper, kissing her a few more times before leaning back. "I've gone through worse." You say and she frowns, intertwining her free hand with yours as cars pass by. "Haven't we all." Nat sighs and you nod, running your thumb along the back of her hand.

-------

"Fuck! Tasha!"

You grip the back of the headboard as Natasha brings you to another orgasm, knuckle deep inside of you as she kisses your chest lustfully. "That's it, good girl." The redhead hums as your chest rises and falls, you trying to catch your breath as Natasha's fingers start to gradually slow down. Cum coats your inner thighs and sweat sheens your skin in regards to the many times Natasha has made you cum in the past few hours, finally deciding that you've had enough when she fully pulls her fingers out.

"God you have a lot of stamana." You laugh as your breathing finally calms down, moving your hand to pull her into a deep kiss. "I still have a lot more in me, y'know." Natasha hums as she moves to kiss your jaw, trailing it down your neck as she peppers kisses along the flushed skin. "I know just- just give me a minute." You breaths out as you let your eyes fluttered closed, liking the feeling of Natasha laying between your legs as she praises your skin.

It's not long after when your arousal starts to build again, deciding to take the initiative by gently bringing Nat's lips up to yours. "Natalia." You say breathily, your free hand intertwining with Natasha's hair. "Zachem tebe moy golub'?" She asks, heat pooling in her stomach as she feels you tug at her roots. "Ya tak khochu tebya trakhnut', Tasha." Your tone is filled with lust as you kiss Nat deeper, teeth tugging at lips and tongues meeting one another. "Mm bud' moim gostem." She hums and you grin, flipping Natasha over so she's on her back. You look at her for a second and smile, causing her to give you a curious look. "What are you looking at?" She asks with a small smile and you shrug, "You." You hum before kissing her, your teeth tugging at her bottom lip as your hands move down south.

"My god you're cheesy."

-------

"Nat, wait up." Steve catches up with Natasha as she's walking down the compound hallway, the assassin slowing down her stride as the super-soldier gets in step with her. That little action is enough to tell Steve to continue, taking a moment to contemplate his words before speaking. "So..y/n." He starts off slow to see Natashas reaction, deciding that it was okay when the redhead kept a straight face.

"What about her?" She asks and Steve purses his lips together, thinking for a moment before grabbing Nat by the arm and pulling her into a storage closet. "What the hell, Rogers?" Nat asks as Steve closes the door behind them, his voice going down to a whisper as he speaks.

"I know you've been seeing her, Tasha." He starts off and Nat only furrows her brows, looking up annoyedly at the man. "I don't know what you're talking about." She says and he raises his eyebrow. "You're not being discrete Nat. I've seen you fight before and what you do with her is not it. You've knocked down people twice your size before but let her fight you like it's some sparring session." Steve says and Natasha opens her mouth to interject. "She's trained with me in the Red Room, of course she's going to be on my level-" "And that too. After every encounter we have with them you disappear for the evening, usually not arriving until 3 am with Hydra information given to you by your "inside source."" He finishes and Natasha sighs, knowing that she's been caught.

"Okay fine, you want to know the truth?" She asks in a low voice and he nods his head, waiting for Natasha to give her explanation. "I've been- fuck- I've been meeting with her after missions. She used to be brainwashed by Hydra but she broke out of it, hence the reason she's giving me information on Hydra's plans." She says and he stays quiet, the puzzle pieces clicking together as Natasha continues. "I've missed her, Steve, after all these years so I go to make sure she's okay and..other things." Her sentence trails off as she doesn't want to reveal her sex life to her best friend.

"Other things?" Cap raises his eyebrow and Tasha rolls her eyes. "We..comfort each other in not safe for work ways." She says and Steve looks confused for a moment before his mouth opens in a soft "oh- ohhh." "Just please don't tell the team, Steve. You out of all people should understand what it's like to have someone you..care about..taken by Hydra." Nat says and Steve's face softens, a gentle sigh escaping his lips before a grin breaks across it.

"Is this love, Agent Romanoff?" He asks and she shakes her head, stepping back to grab the door handle. "Love is for children, Rodgers, this is just.." She pauses, trying to find the correct word for the situation that she's in. "Comfort?" He offers and she nods her head, opening the door fully. "Comfort."

------

You watch Natasha with curious eyes as she towel dries her hair, you only being dressed in underwear and a bra as you lay stomach-down on the bed. It had been a particularly hard fight that day, Hydra pushing to take bigger strides in their next big war machines. The Avengers, of course, came in and tried to stop them and they conveniently broke into the base that you were being held at.

You were there being punished for your recent behavior, Hydra officers treating you like an animal as they kicked and hit you. "It needs to be put back into it's place." They practically spat at you like you were some sort of monster, threatening you with knifes to your throat as they criticized every breath you took. The next time they send you into the lab, you know you're going to get brainwashed, waiting for the scale to tip as you sat there helplessly watching. You just found Natasha after years of suffering and you weren't too keen on forgetting her.

A soft hand against your back pulls you back into reality as you see where Natasha's soft gaze is looking at, her fingertips gently tracing the scars along your back. "What are you looking at?" You ask even though it's pretty obvious, Natasha's emerald eyes meeting yours. "Who did this to you?" She asks with furrowed brows and you shrug one shoulder. "You want me to give you a list?" You joke half-heartedly as she moves across the bed, gently straddling your back as you feel her fingertips map out your scars. The feeling makes you hum contently, your eyes fluttering closed as Natasha touches you like the most delicate thing in the world.

Nat has never been the soft type, choosing to show her love through reassuring shoulder pats and quiet comfort instead of gushy romantic acts. That's why it genuinely surprises you when you feel a soft kiss placed on your back, right where a stab wound was a few years ago. "I'm gonna kill every single one of them." She mumbles and you can't help the laugh that escapes your lips, your head turning to look over your shoulder. "I know." You hum, a feeling of déjà vu washing over you.

------

"Kto sdelal eto s toboy?"

Who did this to you?

Natasha's voice is clipped as she holds your chin with her fingers, seeing you try and blink back the tears that threaten to fall. Your nose is bruised and bleeding, the skin under your eyes starting to turn purple and red.

"Anastasiya."

Your voice is barely above a whisper as rage burns in Natasha's eyes. Anastasiya is one of the older girls in the Red Room, almost four years older than you and a good five heads taller. You had beaten her when you were sparring but as soon as no one else was looking she got you cornered, making the other girls her age hold you down as she took out her rage on you.

"Ona bol'she nikogda ne prikosnetsya k tebe, kogda ya zakonchu s ney."

She will never touch you again when I'm done with her.

You know that tone on Natasha, knowing that Anastasiya is going to have more than one bend in her arm when Natasha gets done with her.

"Nat, ne nado. U tebya budut problemy, i ya spravlyus' sam."

Nat, don't. You're going to get in trouble and I can handle myself.

Natasha's face softens a bit as she looks at you, her other hand coming up to rub your shoulder.

"YA znayu, pauchok, no pozvol' mne napomnit' yey."

I know, little spider, but let me give her a reminder.

-------

"But-" You start and she nods her head. "But you can handle yourself, I know." Natasha says, moving up a bit to kiss your shoulder. “No, what I was going to say was that they all died shortly after.” You say and she laughs softly against your skin, mumbling a “good girl” as she goes to kiss your cheek. Her lips conveniently land on the scar she gave you all those years ago, the thin line going along your cheekbone.

"That, you did yourself." You say teasingly but you can see her face drop a bit, her lips peppering over the scarred skin. "I'm sorry." She whispers but you shake your head, turning under her so you can face her. "It's okay Nat, we were young and they forced us to train with knives. Shit happens." You say nonchalantly, hands playing with the hem of her tank top. It's then when you see the scars on Natasha's skin, bullet wounds and cuts littering her skin. She notices your gaze and moves her hand down to hold yours, seeing your brows furrow.

You glance up at Natasha and feel your chest tighten as you see her look down at your intertwined hands, her thumb gently brushing up and down the back of your hand. "Your hands have changed." Natasha states under her breath as she glances up at you briefly, seeing you raise an eyebrow in question. "What do you mean?" You ask and Natasha holds your intertwined hands up.

"See, there's more scars on your knuckles and there's a new cut right here." She says and you nod your head, not really noticing the changes until now. "The last time I saw you, they were so much different." She mumbles and you raise an eyebrow, a slightly amused look on your face. "Since when have you paid so much attention to my hands?" You ask and she shrugs, your heart rate speeding up as you watch Natasha's fingers play with your own.

--------

"YA skazal tebe, chto u tebya budut problemy."

I told you that you'd get in trouble.

You hum as you gently grab Natasha's bruised hands, taking a ripped piece of cloth to clean up her bleeding knuckles.

"Oni sobiralis' rasskazat' o nas instruktoram."

They were going to tell the instructors about us.

Natasha winces as you wrap up her hands, carefully making sure that it isn't too tight as you tend to her injury.

"My mogli by spravit'sya s etim, Nat."

We could have handled it, Nat.

You sigh and Natasha shakes her head, her free hand moving to rest on her knee.

"No oni by nas nakazali."

But they would have punished us.

You nod your head and bite your lip, looking up into those green eyes as you hold her hand gently in your own.

"YA mog by prinyat' eto za nas oboikh."

I could have taken it for the both of us.

Natahsa's eyebrows furrow as she hears your words, her bandaged hand coming up to cup your cheek as the other grabs your free hand.

"Net."

No.

She gently brings your hand up to kiss your knuckles lightly.

"Net, ya ne pozvolyu tebe sdelat' eto dlya menya."

No, I won't let you do that for me.

You slowly move your hand to cup her cheek, Natasha's hand moving to cover your own.

"YA by vzyal na sebya mir za tebya, Natal'ya."

I would take on the world for you, Natalia.

Your words are a whisper but to Natasha, it was like a shout from the rooftops. The redhead slowly moves and kisses your hand that was resting on her cheek, causing a blush to dust your cheeks as she softly smiles at you.

"I ya dlya vas."

And I for you.

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

Gently guiding her hand to cup your cheek, the both of you smile, you leaning into the warm touch as Natasha relishes the moment.

---------

You awake with a jolt as you hear heavy doors close outside of the motel room, it now being in the dead of night. Slowly moving from Natasha's arms, you go take a look outside, hoping to see that there's nothing. Your hopes are shattered when through the window, you can see the faint outline of a Hydra vehicle and multiple armed men, your heartrate spiking as you see the ones in white coats. "Shit." You hiss out as you start to pull clothes on, all of the rustling causing Natasha to awake. "Y/n?" She asks groggily as she sees you frantically moving around the room, hastily putting a shirt on and trying to find your weapon.

"Y/n what's happening?" She restates herself and is fully awake when you finally make eye contact with her, seeing the worry behind your eyes as you move towards her. "Nat, they're here." You rush out as you hand her some clothes, frantically trying to get the redhead out of here before she could get involved. "Whose here? Hydra?" She questions and you nod your head, feeling the bridge of your nose start to sting as reality comes crashing down on you. "They're here for me- shit- you have to go." You say as you try and pull yourself together.

"What? No, Y/n, I'm not leaving you again." Natasha says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, pulling on some clothes and shoes. "Natalia this isn't fucking debatable, okay? I won't ever forgive myself if they get their hands on you." You say as you glance out the window one more time, mumbling a curse word as you start to see the figures close in. "Why are you acting like I can't handle myself?" Nat asks and you shake your head, opening a window opposite to the parking lot.

"I know you can handle yourself Nat, I've seen you fight hoards of threats and make your way out alive..I just don't want to pull you into this fight with me." You say before crossing the room and standing in front of Nat. "You've been the only thing I've cared about my entire life, please understand why I want you safe." Your voice is softer as you speak to her, her green eyes still prominent in the moonlit room. "What about you?" Nat asks in a whisper, a worried expression set across her face as you give her a watery grin.

"You know I never die, Natalia." You say as she shakes her head. "I'm like a cat and my lives haven't run out just yet." You continue and a laugh breaks past Nat's lips, causing you to smile even as a tear runs down your cheeks. "There it is." You breathe out and she looks at you questioningly. "What is it?" She asks. "I just wanted to see your smile one last time." You reply as you kiss a tear from her cheek, Natasha then moving to gently kiss your lips. The kiss is soft and passionate, you both trying to communicate to each other a message you both aren't ready to say yet.

Sooner than you'd like, the two of you break away, both of you giving the other a watery smile as you sniffle. "I'll come back to you, Nat. I promise." You whisper and she nods her head, gently kissing your temple as your eyes flutter closed. "You better, or else I'll beat your ass." She says and you give a shaky chuckle, hearing the Hydra men starting to kick down apartment doors. "I'm planning on it."

Hydra doesn't take long to storm the motel room, quickly seizing you before you had a chance to react. You were happy to comply with them until you saw them grab Natasha's arm, you immediately tearing from the Hydra agent's grip to tackle his ass. You successfully break his arm but aren't so lucky when you feel a wave of electricity shoot through your body, every muscle tensing up as you fall to the floor. "Fuck." You curse through gritted teeth as you force yourself to get up, looking at Natasha with desperate eyes as she hasn't left yet.

"Go!"

As the words leave your lips, both of you could almost see each other back on that mountainside, the dead bodies of the other girls littered around you as you kill another one for Natasha to escape. It felt like you were a teenager again, seeing Natasha teeter between staying and leaving as she stood at the treeline. A grunt of pain leaves your lips as one of the men shoves you into a desk, the wood breaking underneath you as air rushes out of your lungs. You've only taken down a few men, stabbing one of them in the throat with their own knife. As they start to overwhelm you, you take one last look at Natasha, seeing as she's taking one last glance at you as her hands rest on the window frame. As you lock eyes with her, you say one simple phrase.

"It's okay."

-------

Natasha isn't paying attention at all in the meeting the next day, not getting the image of your worried look out of her mind. “Romanoff, did you hear me?” Tony asks and her eyes glance upwards, the other Avengers looking at her as they await her answer. “Sorry, what?” She asks and Tony sighs, pointing towards a highlighted point in the mountainside. "From the information we've gathered, Bruce surmises that the next Hydra base is here, the building located about thirty feet below the surface." He explains and Natasha nods her head, her attention immediately being drawn when the word Hydra slips past his lips. "I was asking your opinion on how we should enter the compound without getting caught." Tony finishes, waiting for Natasha to give her input as he sees the gears turning in her head.

"It's the compound that they use for their experiments, right?" She asks and Steve nods his head, Nat sighing as she looks at the dot on the map. "Well considering that it's underground they only need security for the entrances and exits, probably have a few patrolling the perimeter..I think our best entry point is here." She says, standing up and pressing a pen to the western side of the mountain. "Of course, we always have the risk of getting caught but it's lower than just walking through the front door." Natasha explains and all of the Avengers nod their head, she's not a trained soldier but she's a damn good spy if they've ever seen one.

------

"Nat, are you alright?" Steve asks after everyone clears out of the conference area, grabbing the assassin's arm before she leaves. "They've got her, Steve." She says and his eyebrows furrow. "Who?" He asks and Natasha sighs, looking up at the super-soldier. "Y/n. They took her last night." She explains and Steve sees the worry on his friend's face. "Do you think she's at the base we're going to?" He asks and Natasha shrugs her shoulders, "I don't know, but if she is there I'm gonna tear up the whole place until I find her." She says and Steve nods, seeing the determination in Nat's eyes. "We'll get her back Natasha." He says and Nat grins a bit, "I know."

-----

It's easy, almost too easy, getting into the Hydra base, Natasha only taking out five guards patrolling the area and guarding the entrance. "This doesn't feel right to me." Steve says as they head towards the entrance, the fresh snow crunching under their boots. "Nothing ever feels right to you, Cap." Hawkeye says as he flys overhead, making sure no Hydra agents get the jump on the pair. Natasha only quirks her head to the side when Steve makes eye contact with her, agreeing with both men as they reach the entrance. Natasha scans the entry card that they swiped off the guard and the door opens, immediately granting them access into the underground base.

-----

"Give her a sedative." One of the doctors commands as you continue to struggle, hitting anything you could reach as they try to strap you onto a stretcher. They've been touring and interrogating you the entire night, bargaining for information instead of brainwashing you.

"We saw that Avenger in the motel, tell us what you know and we won't wipe your memory." They say but you only clench your jaw and stay silent, ripping yourself from their grip each time they try and contain you.

"Don't you fucking touch me!" You grit out as you knock one of the men unconscious, kicking the stretcher away from you as you watch the doctor run to grab a sedative. Your body is covered in blood and bruises, still putting up a fight since you were taken a day ago. Getting shoved up against the wall you cry out in pain, your head getting aggressively slammed against the wall. You don't even realize the doctors came back with a sedative until you feel the prick of the needle in your neck, your vision going blurry as the fight leaves your body.

You don't put up a struggle as they drag you onto the stretcher, strapping your arms and legs down as everything moves in slow motion around you.

You know where they're taking you. You know you're about to get brainwashed.

As they push you down the hallway, you slowly close your eyes and try to burn the image of Natasha's face into your mind, feeling slightly calmer as you think of her wrapping you up in her arms and telling you that everything is going to be okay.

The next time you open your eyes, you're strapped down into the metal chair that they use for brainwashing, feeling like you're a shell of a person as you look down at your restraints. They force a piece of plastic into your mouth as you blankly stare at the doctors in white coats, only one thing on your mind as they prep the machine.

Natasha.

A tear rolls down your cheek quietly as the restraints latch onto you tighter, forcing you to lay back as your breathing starts to get heavier.

It never gets easier, the brainwashing, knowing that you'll only be a puppet to Hydra with no free will.

The metal paddles clamp around your head and your heart rate spikes, hearing the doctors beside you start to say the words you always dreaded to hear.

"Snow."

"Sixteen."

"Red."

With each word, you could feel the control leaving your body, bracing yourself for the pain that's going to come next.

"Ballet."

"Redback."

"Knife."

A scream rips from your throat as pain surges through your body, the machine being activated and making you pull against the restraints. Your vision fades in and out of focus as you continue to scream, every muscle in your body tensing as the brainwashing takes over.

You try your best to fight the pain, your mind trying desperately to hold onto the memory of Natasha as your trigger words reach your ears.

Natasha.

Natasha..

Natasha..?

Natalia?

Natalia..

No, it's Natasha.

Nat?

Natasha.

Natalia.

...

...

who?

Your eyes are blank as the machine finally releases you from its grip, a scientist having a pleased look on his face as he walks up to you. "Just to make sure this doesn't happen again." he says before commanding you to put your head forward, gripping your hair as he presses a cool metal gun to the back of your neck. With a click you could feel something being put into your neck, the new object feeling irritating under your skin. It's a small chip, maybe a quarter wide, and it's now attached to the nape of your neck, the needles embedding into your skin to make sure it stays in place.

"Are you ready to comply, Agent 809?" He asks and you nod your head, suddenly hearing alarms go off that there's been a security breach in the compound. "Say the word, sir, your wish is my command." You say and he grins, grabbing your chin. "Kill the Avengers." He says and you look at him in the eyes. "Main target?" You ask and he thinks for a moment, looking at the Hydra officers before looking back at you. ''The Black Widow."

------

Natasha hears your screams ring through the compound and she feels her blood run cold, Steve grabbing her arm before she could do anything stupid. "Natasha, don't." He says in a harsh whisper and she shakes her head, pulling herself from her grip as she continues to move down the hallway.

She quickly takes down the next few guards that she sees, not using her bullets yet so they don’t cause the rest of the base to be alerted of their presence. That plan doesn’t last long though when a guard gets the upper hand on her, causing her to shoot two bullets into his chest and making him drop. As soon as the shots are fired, alarms go off across the compound, causing Natasha to curse under her breath. “Language.” Steve says and Natasha rolls her eyes, picking up her gun and racing down the hallway to try and find you.

———-

Natasha kicks down a set of double doors and shoots the people inside, scanning the room for any sign of you. They've gone through 95% percent of the compound and haven't found you yet, Natasha getting more and more anxious as time goes on. "I heard her, I swear." She tells Steve each time they clear an area and come up empty.

It isn't until she sees you strapped to the chair that she lets out a breath of relief, you seemingly normal accept for the cuts and bruises. "Y/n, oh god you're okay." She breathes out as she reaches you, seeing the dazed look in your eyes as she undoes your restraints.

"I'm sorry." You whisper out in a last-ditch attempt to warn her before your chip clicks on. "Sorry? You're sorry for what?" Natasha asks but doesn't get a chance to reply before you knock her backwards, tearing out of the remaining restraints as you stand up.

The wind gets knocked out of Natasha and Steve gets into a fighting stance, you not even giving him a glance as you head towards Natasha. Steve quickly intervenes and throws his shield at you, your hand sticking out to grab it before tossing it to the floor. "That's all you've got, Capitan?" You sneer teasingly as you grab a knife from the table, getting a swing on him and clipping him in the cheek.

The super soldier quickly hits back though, kicking you in the stomach and making you stumble back. You quickly grab one of the cords that was attached to a computer and you wrap it around the Avenger's neck, maneuvering yourself so that you're behind him and pulling tight.

Stumbling backwards, he throws himself up against the wall, successfully breaking your grip as you get pinned between the wall and the Avenger. Steve quickly turns and pins you up against the wall by your neck, pulling his fist back to punch you. "Steve!" Natasha hisses out his name harshly and he turns to look at her, temporarily forgetting that you're brainwashed. He groans and tosses you to the floor, seeing the glowing chip on the back of your neck. You quickly get back up and go for Natasha, the redhead dodging your swing and making your fist go through the wall. "Y/n. Stop it." Natasha grits out as she grabs your arm and twists it behind your back, a hiss leaving your lips as you feel your muscles pop.

"Who. the fuck. is y/n?" You spit out as you maneuver yourself around and hit Natasha back, grabbing her throat and tossing her up against the wall. "They want me to kill you, so that's what I'm going to do." You say as you grab a beaker besides you, breaking it to create a shattered edge. You're about to swing the bottle when Steve comes up behind you and hits the back of your neck with his shield (and you swear later on that if he did it any harder your neck would have snapped). A cry of pain leaves your lips as the chip sparks and you stumble forward, your head bowing into Natasha's shoulder as pain surges through your body. Natasha freezes as she sees your shoulder slump, a small whimper of "Natasha." leaving your lips as the chip short circuits. "Y/n?" She asks and she sees your hand come up to grip at the back of your neck, your other hand dropping the shattered beaker. "Nat. The chip." You breathe out as you feel it starting to take hold again, pushing yourself away from her as your mind clouds over again.

"Steve, hit the chip again." Natasha commands and Steve nods his head, watching as your shoulders tense up again as you attack Natasha. She quickly blocks all of your hits and flips you over onto the floor, you quickly gripping onto her arm and pulling her down onto the floor with you.

The chip sparks again and for a second you regain control, scrambling up to the control panel and enabling the emergency demolition program. "What are you doing?" Steve asks and your jaw tenses, shutting all of the Hydra officers inside by locking all the exits except one. "I'm blowing this place up." You mumble, jaw tensing as the chip revs up once again. "I've locked all of them in, if you go to exit c9 that'll be the only one unlocked so you can escape." You say as you lock all of the doors inside of the compound, keeping all of them in place so they can't run.

"What about you?" Natasha asks as she gets up from the floor, looking at the chip flicker on and off. "The chip will take over sooner or later, I'd rather die in this explosion than let them use my body again." You say as you grip the side of the table, everything in your body being split in two with each side fighting to take control. "No you're not, we're getting you out of here." Steve says and it genuinely surprises the both of you, the man in stars grabbing your arm as you slam the button down to activate the explosion.

T-minus: two minutes

"I don't deserve to get out of here." You shake your head as you look at Natasha's neck, now bruised with your handprint as you wince. "I've hurt you, I've hurt her, I've hurt so many people. All of it is on my hands." You say and Natasha shakes her head, grabbing your hand and kissing the back of it gently. "I've left you once, Y/n, I'm not letting you go again." She says and you think for a moment, alarms blaring around you as you see the pleading look on her face. "Alright." You whisper, allowing Natasha to pull you out of the room as Steve follows close behind you.

You run down the hallway as you guide the two other Avengers towards the exit, quickly taking out any Hydra agents that gets in your way.

"There! There it is." You call out as you see exit c9, all three of you running towards it as the speakers count down.

T-minus: thirty seconds

The chip fully kicks back into gear as your eyes widen, your strides slowing down as it feels like someone wraps restraints around your body. "No, no no no. Please not now." You beg to yourself as both Steve and Nat notice, your eyes turning dead as your legs start to carry you away from the exit. "Oh no you don't." Natasha grits out as she tackles you, dragging you towards the exit as you fight against her.

Twenty five..

"Let go of me!" You hiss as you tear from her grip and Steve lingers near the exit, watching the interaction happen as a metal curtain starts to descend over the only open exit. "I'm taking you home, Y/n." Natasha says as she grabs onto your body, Steve moving to keep the door open as he calls the two of you to move.

Nineteen..

"Steve! Go!" Natasha yells out as she drags you towards the exit, blocking each hit you try and swing at her. Steve shakes his head and calls out over the alarms, "I'm not leaving you two!"

Natasha looks at him and shakes her head, being only ten feet from the exit. "Just go! I'm right behind you." She says and Steve reluctantly steps through the exit, the now dented metal sheet continuing to close on the two of you.

fifteen..

fourteen..

"Y/n please, stop fighting me." Natasha begs as you tear out of her grip again, heart-pounding as the alarms fill her head. "Why should I listen to you? You left me. You were everything to me and then you just left me!" You ask harshly as you see the tears in her eyes, Natasha seeing the real you starting to break through. "I didn't want to leave you, Y/n! I'm sorry!" Natasha's voice raises a bit in volume. "I wanted you to come but you were stubborn and stayed behind for me! You stayed behind and when I went back to you..you were already gone." She says and the gears turn in your head. "Then why are you here? Why are you going through so much trouble for me when you have a perfectly good life out there?" You ask, your body still tense as Natasha looks at you with an open mouth. "Because.."

Five..

Four..

"Because.."

Three..

Two..

"Fuck." Natasha doesn't finish her thought as she grabs you and holds you close to her chest, turning you so that your body isn't the closest one to the blast.

One.

The explosion shakes the ground as the two of you get tossed through the air, your body hitting the metal door with a thud. The ground shakes above you as the base comes apart, Steve pulling the metal curtain open and dragging the two of you out into the snow.

Natasha is coughing fiercely as the smoke and dust enters her lungs, gripping onto you for dear life as she feels Steve dragging the two of you out. Your blood stains the snow as Natasha sits up, heart dropping to her stomach as she sees your head loll back limply.

"Shit, Y/n!" She says as she taps on your cheek, blood running down her temple as she checks for signs of life. Your heartbeat is slow and your breathing is labored but you're alive, that final hit allowing the chip to fully break in half on the back of your neck. "It's because I love you, you idiot." Natasha whispers as she gently kisses your temple, Steves's jaw setting as he sees the little interaction.

------

The next time you wake up, you're in a sterile white room, your heart rate spiking as you think you're back in the Hydra lab again. Trying to push yourself up, your hands get stopped by restrains, the same straps tying down your legs. Swallowing thickly, you look around the room, the atmosphere making you feel vulnerable as you try and undo the restraints. A door opens to the right of you and panic seeps into your bones, thinking that it's a doctor coming in to run experiments on you again.

"Hey, it's okay." Natasha's soft voice reaches your ears as she comes over and undoes the restraints, gently freeing your legs and wrists before looking up at you. "I'm sorry, Bruce put them on for precaution." She says with a soft smile, taking a knee beside your bed so she's at eye level with you. You don't say anything as you move to hug her, your head immediately finding residence in the crook of your neck as you take a shaky breath. Your body aches and you're pretty sure you look like shit but you're so fucking happy that Natasha's here.

"Nat." You whisper softly as Natasha's arms quickly wrap around you, being careful to not hurt you as she closes her eyes. "I'm here, moy golub', I'm here." She whispers and you almost break down at that nickname, your arms tightening around her. "You're safe Y/n, you're free." She whispers and your mind can't even process her words, your only thoughts being how nice it feels to be wrapped up in Tasha's arms again.

When you pull away, there are tears in your eyes, Natasha gently wiping them away and kissing your cheeks.

"YA lyublyu tebya."

I love you.

The words slip from your lips before you could even process it, your eyes widening as you see the unreadable look on Natasha's face. "N-Nat, I'm so sorry, I didn't-" Natasha cuts you off with a kiss, gently pressing her lips to hers as she grins.

"ya tozhe tebya lyublyu."

I love you too.

---

"Should we do something about that?" Tony asks as the team looks through the one-way mirror they placed in your room, seeing Natasha climb into your bed and pull you into her chest. Your eyes close as you contently settle yourself into her, Natasha's hand rubbing circles along your back.

"Give them a break Tony, it's not like she's going or hurt anyone." Steve says as Bruce holds up the chip implant, "Yep, no more brainwashing for her." He says as the rest of them look at the two of you, never seeing Natasha this content until now.

[alrightberries]

three weeks

❈ pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

❈ genre: angst. ❈ word count: 1.9k

❈ summary: “It’s been three weeks, and Levi still lies to himself when he says he’s okay.”

❈ trigger warnings: profanity. mentions of violence, death and gore. explicit description of panic/anxiety attack.

a/n: i’m not sure what... this is since i just randomly started typing it but hopefully y’all still like it.

He could still feel you.

Feel your presence in his room; in his hollow heart. With every shallow breath he took he swore he could still feel your warm palm on his skin, gently patting his shaking shoulders.

The clothes you'd left behind were still in his closet. The little notes you'd scribbled to him on random days still compiled. The letters you wrote sit heavy in a wooden box inside his bedside drawer.

He once complained that they created clutter in his room when you started slowly moving your things into his private quarters. It started off with clothes left on his unmade bed and eventually ended with you bringing your hygiene products to his personal bathroom. Slowly but surely, you moved in. Slowly but surely, you cemented a place in his life where you'd already cemented a place in his heart.

But now glancing at your shared bed, half empty, he simply couldn't find it in himself to do anything about your ‘clutter.’ It was, after all, all he had left of you.

The pillows on your side of the bed still smelled like you. The cotton where you slept countless nights before had a slight depression, an imprint of your body on the mattress. Faintly, if Levi closes his eyes, he swears he could still feel your fingertips running through his scalp as you peppered sweet little kisses onto his calloused skin.

His own fingers reach out and grasps at air where your beautiful face should be, sleeping peacefully next to him. Snoring. Twitching your eyes when you had nightmares. Him gently shaking you awake and holding you close to reassure you that everything was okay, whatever you dreamt of wasn't real, and he'll be here to make the darkness go away.

Yet his own darkness starts to eat at his conscience. He curses at his hands for even having the audacity to reach for you when it was these same hands that signed your death certificate earlier in the day.

Three weeks.

That’s how long it's been since he woke up next to you. Since he bid you good luck before breaking into formation as you crossed the walls and rode your horses through titan country.

It’s been three weeks since you were separated from your squadron. Since they came back from the expedition and he'd only noticed you weren't there when they finally reached the walls. Since he searched through countless corpses and severed bodies, trying to find your own.

It’s been three weeks since he's pushed off on signing the "M.I.A. - PRESUMED DEAD" document with your name and information printed at the top before he was forced to come to terms with your fate when the second search party once again came back empty handed.

It’s been three weeks since he last cracked a smile. Since he lost the last reason he had to strive forward. Since he lost the last reason to hope for a better place; a better future; a small home in the suburbs to live out the rest of his life with you.

It’s been three weeks since he last heard your voice. Since he rested his cheek against the palm of your hand. Since he first picked up a bottle of bourbon and let the alcohol numb his distressed mind and aching heart to the reality that you were gone.

Three weeks. It’s been three weeks, and Levi still lies to himself when he says he’s okay.

A breeze passes through the open window, snapping him from his thoughts. Goosebumps form on his skin but he couldn’t bring himself to get underneath the sheets or close the window because he tells himself that the breeze was you. It was you, checking up on him, scolding him for drowning his sorrows in bottles of brewed brown, wiping away the tears he didn’t even know he’d shed as the pain of loss and mourning— the very things he’d been trying to outrun— hit him all at once.

He closes his eyes to stop more tears from falling. But he knew he was really doing it because he found darkness more comforting than having to look at your shared room. Not when you weren’t there to make the darkness go away when he opened his eyes. Not when every little thing reminded him of you.

The chair in the corner where you always sat, reading under the dim glow of candlelight. The shelves full of books, an impressive collection you’d both amassed throughout the years. Even the porcelain cup that sat on his bedisde table reminded him of you. It was a gift you’d given him when you were both still in the Underground. A cup matching his own sat on your bedside table, that much he already knew without having to open his eyes. He brewed you a cup of tea hours before going on the expedition that would seal your fate.

His skin tingles when he remembers the way you held his hand as you both sipped tea on that day. You were sat next to each other on the bed. He was reading the newspaper and you were reading a book, intertwined hands resting in the space between your bodies.

A new wave of tears threaten his eyes and he hears himself sob before he realizes the tears have fallen again. His hands clutch at his hair, pulling at the strands, and he lays on his side to curl up into a ball as he wills himself to stop, be quiet, and stop being so weak.

His heart began to speed up and his ears began to ring. He couldn’t focus. It was so noisy— everything was too much. The was talking. So much talking.

shut up. be quiet. leave me the fuck alone.

Levi realizes that the talking was his own conscience degrading him, and he wonders if he’s finally snapped. He heaves and gasps for air, trying to get his mind to shut up, but it only serves for the noise to get worse and suddenly the ringing in his ears turns into static. His heart begins to thump louder, and he’s accutely aware that he was having a panic attack.

Pathetic mewls leave his lips and his hands reach out to your side of the bed out of habit, just as he’s done plenty of times before. Only this time he doesn’t feel your fingers gently grasp at his shaking wrists to pull him to your chest, to hold him and whisper sweet nothings into his ears to calm him down. Instead, he grasps at white fabric, and he lets out a frustrated growl when he once again feels air where you should be.

Unfair. It was unfair.

It was unfair how you were taken away from him so easily. How he hadn’t even noticed until it was too late. How he didn’t have a body to mourn, knowing you were either rotting away in a forest or disfigured in some titan’s belly.

Levi cracks open his eyes and his gaze lands on splotches of wetness on his pillow, the marks of his sorrowful tears. He sniffles, telling himself there was no need to be so pathetic when soldiers died everyday. He repeats it to himself like a mantra.

But then, he thinks, you weren’t just any other soldier. You were y/n— his y/n. The owner of his heart. The love of his life. The one who kisses his forehead good morning and good night. Who held his hands underneath the table before giving him a knowing glance, like you were sharing a secret that only you two knew of. Who would slip little notes into his pockets when you thought he wasn’t looking. Who sat with him in silence and calmed him down when emotions got the better of him. Who held him close and tight on nights like this, when the crushing reality of pain and loss finally broke him. And the sickening irony of needing you the most because he was mourning your death almost made him want to laugh.

He doesn’t know how long he stayed there. Unmoving. Curled up into a ball on your side of the bed, nose digging into the sheets to find comfort in the remnants of your scent as he hugged himself to slowly calm himself down.

Suddenly, he hears the door to his office burst open and rapid footsteps approaching his room. The wood slams against the wall, and his reddened eyes meet the wide and panicked ones of a soldier he’s seen in passing. She’s breathing heavily like she ran a mile to get there, sweat dripping down her forehead as she frantically looks around in search of the captain before finally landing on the man in question.

“Captain Levi, we—“ She’s cut off when he heaves a loud sigh, slowly sitting up and rubbing his red puffy face.

“Has there been a breach?” He asks. His voice is hoarse, she notices. The tone is calm but his eyes are angered, clearly not amused to be interrupted when he was mourning, and the soldier visibly gulps as she replies.

“N-no, Captain.”

“Are there titans anywhere in the walls?”

“No, but sir we—“

“Has anyone died in the few hours that have passed since dinner? Choked on their own spit, perhaps?”

“Well, no. But—“

“Then why the hell are you here?”

“Captain I was—“

A thought crosses his mind and he clicks his tongue in irritation. “Tch, did shitty glasses send you?”

“...yes but—“

“Tell four-eyes to stop sending people to check up on me.” He murmurs, beginning to lie down. “I’m allowed some goddamn privacy the night before my fiance’s funeral.”

“Yes but, sir, that’s actually why I’m here.”

“Whatever motivational words you have to say, save it for someone who cares.” He pulls the sheets above his head. “I’ve had enough pity-filled glances and half assed condolences thrown my way to give a damn—“

“Captain Levi, Y/N is alive!”

The soldier doesn’t know what’s happening until her back is abruptly slammed into the wall behind her and pain shoots from her spine to the back of her head. Hands are tightly wrapped around her throat in an ironclad grip, and her feet are dangling from the ground. She gulps.

The captain’s face is mere centimeters away from hers. If she thought he looked angry before, then the scowl he gave her now made it look like he was smiling just moments ago.

“What kind of sick joke do you think you’re playing, huh?” He sneers. “You think it’s funny to make fun of someone’s death?”

She tries to reply but only choked sounds escape her lips as her fingernails claw at her captor’s hands. Tears blur her vision as the Captain tightens his grip, but the way his eyes almost glowed a bright red— the clear intent to murder if she so much as breathed out of line— didn’t go unnoticed to her.

“Do you get some fucked up kick out of this?” He asks again. “You get a kick making fun of a man who’s lost everything?”

He loosens his grip the slightest, and the soldier is momentarily releived when she realizes she could finally speak.

“N-no, sir, I—“

“Levi, let her go!” Another frantic voice pleads with him from behind. “She’s telling the truth.”

Wait, what?

“What?” He chokes out. His grip loosens on the soldier and she slides to the ground in relief, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Hange cautiously walks closer, almost scared that any sudden movements would put Levi in a state of shock. They slowly, warily place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“It’s true, Levi. Y/N is alive.” The Section Commander murmurs. “Your Y/N is alive. They’re looking for you.”

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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[spiltscribbles]

Oooo it’s my birthday today and I neeeeeed my sweet boys, is it too greedy if I ask for you to write something absolutely adores like you always do. I can wait there’s no rush. It would really make my day a whole lot better

~Notes: HI HI BABY!!! I’m so so fucking sorry this is like two days late 😭😭😭 I am a piece of shit and I had an idea and then I scrapped it and then I came up with this crack shit! But I included singling like you wanted!! And ILU endlessly!!! I hope your birthday was at least filled with sunlight and friends and all the adoration you deserve🎉🎉🎂🥳🎈🎈🎈🎊🎊🥳🎁. And I hope this isn’t a shitty gift!😭😭

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Send Me A Prompt<3  |  A Reblog is like a hug!!!!

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The 4 Times People Suspected About Remus and Sirius, and The One Time They Called It By Name

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~I~

Peter notices it first.

He doesn’t know quite what it is, or what it means— Peter doesn’t understand what it entails when he’s watching the way Sirius gently thumbs at a high patch on Remus’s cheek while he’s sleeping on the hospital bed after the first full moon of fourth year, a fraught look in his stormy eyes. Or how Remus’s gaze always search Sirius out first after he’s made a wry comment in the expense of the Slytherins, going alight with the other boy’s laughter. Peter doesn’t comprehend the way it sometimes seems like he’s caught in some sort of static— a negative space that makes him feel out of bounds— when he’s alone with only the pair of them. When they’re all huddled around the common area or their dormitory while James is probably skulking in search of Lily Evans or cajoling the other chasers to have another lap around the court. With Remus lounging on his fourposter, or the sofa, reading one of the infinite books he’s got tucked away in his trunk, and Sirius is quietly  sat by his feet, toying with a non-magical contraption he’s found in Muggle London after sneaking out from his ancestral home while his folks were having a row. And Peter is ordinarily just fiddling with a scroll he has to finish for one of the tougher courses from a bit away, intermittently  glancing at them side long, just waiting for an excuse to leave the suffocating ambiance that feels like it’s been fitted for just the pair of them and not another soul.

But the most peculiar part about all of this is that Peter is accustomed to feeling like the spare, the cast off who’s clinging to the glimmering forms that are James and Sirius, and their ravenous appetite for any and all attention that’s given over because that’s the sort of boys they are— affluent and prominent and radiating with a sort of spark that’s all there own— the sort of boys that others find doubtless that they are something miraculous. But when Peter’s around just the pair of them, in the corner of the galaxy that the marauders have carved for them to rule like kings— It never feels quite so stilted, so weighty. Sirius and James have a gift of making everyone in the room feel like they’re in on the joke, that they could be showered with that same granger just as long as they play in the tableau. Remus and Sirius together feels the contrary of that, like there’s something pregnant lying between them, waiting to pounce. Like there’s an understanding that no one else gets to glimpse at, and no one else should try. An understanding  that’s personal and private and crackling with an energy that is far beyond anything between mere friends, beyond anything Peter could fathom with all his fifteen years.

Idly, over supper after an entire two hours being stuck between that strange tension simmering beneath the surface of Remus and Sirius, Peter wonders for the umpteenth time on whether he should ask James about this development in their small brotherhood, should ask him if he’s detected the difference there. And if he has, Peter will listen to James’s plan to ensure this doesn’t ruin anything. How whatever is brewing under the surface won’t absolutely ruin them.

But then, from the corner of his eye, Peter sees Sirius— none to gently— piling Remus’s plate with an abundance of the potatoes that Moony likes best, dipping down to whisper something in his ear— something surely lecherous— before tousling his curls in that brash, bombastic way of his that he does with Peter and James too, even if he ends it by gingerly cupping the nape of Remus’s neck with a surreptitious squeeze that ends just as quickly as it began, falling back into conversation with James and Marlene about the Wasps’s chances against the Harpies this Friday night as if it was just an innate action, even if it’s one Peter’s only ever witnessed him doing to Remus.

And even though there’s another full in two days, and even though Remus looks like a walking inferi— pale faced and exhausted posture and circles the color of midnight smudged beneath his eyes— Peter watches the ends of his lips quirk up into the best approximation of a smile Peter’s ever seen on him so close to the wolf breaking through the surface of his body that’s all skin and bones, and he isn’t sure if it’s a trick of the light or not, but Remus actually looks like he might be glowing over the strange attention that Sirius’s only ever paid to him.

So no… No, Peter doesn’t think he’ll ask James quite yet, reckons that if anything can help his moon plagued friend, that it must be something good, something that shouldn’t be tempered with.

They can figure out how the strange string pulling Remus and Sirius together will alter their brotherhood later on, there’s still time. There’ still a possibility that it won’t devastate everything.

~II~

Lily’s suspected for a while.

The thing is that she’s known about Remus since the end of third year, when he rebuffed the advances of an eager Heleen  Abed, and Lily found him on the ledge of the largest window in the vacant common room— the same one that they regularly commandeer with Mary McDonald to discuss the finer points of Muggle politics and current events, separate from the melting pot of their Gryffindor class that’s composed of either pure bloods or those with their closest Muggle relative being a long dead grandparent. And it was definitely a dangerous, knife’s edge she was playing at, but Lily had sat besides the boy who she’s cultivated a real and true friendship with— one beyond pleasant platitudes and fodder about their course work— and she told him about her cousin Joey with green spiked hair and a mischievous smile adorned with a sparkling stud and how she and Petunia had caught him holding hands with one of his friends from sixth-form in the garden of her Aunt’s cottage, and how even the sneer on her older sisters lips hadn’t deterred Lily from thinking anything but mild indifference about the situation. Only wanting her cousin to always live in that easy effervescence she’s always known when it came to him.

And nothing else was exchanged between them, but Remus had grinned in that barely perceptible way of his, and Lily had nudged his shoulder with her own and then fished out her final handful of chocolate frogs for them to share while they revise their notes for the transfiguration exam coming up. 

Two summers have past since then—they’re in the midst  of their final term of fifth year now— and she thinks that they’ve become even closer, that the frequent late nights in the library for their impending OWLs and their countless prefect rounds has helped forge a real and true bond— especially that whole snag earlier in the year when they had realized they were both snogging Leon Bennett on alternating nights behind greenhouse three. But all of that withstanding, Lily knows that there are still secrets Remus keeps tight to his chest, ones that Lily’s analytical mind— the mind of a potions expert and future healer— has suspected to do with the thin, silvery scars running down his strong hands that are all tapered fingers and slender wrists, and another across his right bicep that she saw when he had changed his robes for a jumper in front of her, and the one cutting down from the bottom of his ear and nearly across the entire length of his neck, ending at the corner of his sharp collarbone. But Lily suspects he’ll tell her about that soon enough, what she isn’t so confident about is him admitting that particularly dazed look he gets when around Black, of all people. The way he stammers his words occasionally and the way he worries on his bottom lip while averting his glance when Sirius is chatting up a very pleased looking girl, and the way he flushes when Lily is ribbing about him in particular. And Lily knows that the foursome of Gryffindor boys had a falling out of sorts before winter hols, that there’s a hairline fracture between them and Remus now— one that she’s sure no one else can pick up on after the way they had seemingly come back together in late January, right before her birthday funnily enough. But Lily’s always been the analytical  sort— the sort to absorb the barebones of a situation so she could conjure a hypothesis that she could prove after careful study.

So Lily knows that it’s something deeper, and she can see  how Remus is reticent around them in ways she’s actually worried won’t be shaken off anytime soon— which is all levels of bazaar considering she’s been telling Remus for years that he needs to shrug off his rowdy mates like a snake shedding an old coat. But before, when she’d barb as much he’d only stick out his tongue and tell her what happens to busybodies, and how she doesn’t really know them at all. But now days, he just looks particularly hurt, and more than a bit put out, and Lily catches him flickering over to wherever Sirius was holding court, longing in a way she couldn’t possibly articulate out loud.

Honestly Lily thinks it’s really quite gracious of her to have dropped the subject completely, rather, she takes up the mantel of his friend that can distract him from all those sorts of woes, biting her tongue over his lingering feelings for Sirius that are more than likely far beyond a passing fancy. And she thinks that maybe that’s a good call, maybe it’s good for Remus to beat down those sorts of emotions  that he’s harboring for the wanker. She knows Remus, and she knows he wouldn’t hold a grudge— even such a quiet one— for no reason at all. Besides, she doesn’t really think it’s her place to tell him how when he’s glancing away, Sirius is holding vigil to him with that same sort of fervor. That Sirius is the one who collects the notes for all his classes on those conspicuous absences of his when Remus is feeling poorly in the infirmary. That Sirius occasionally looks so very gutted when Remus is wilting away from them, when he seeks Lily’s company instead.

She has a heavy suspicion that Remus might already know all of those things— that maybe they’ve already discussed it at length, that maybe the falling out in December has caused a full stop of anything that could’ve potentially blossomed between them. And she just wishes she knew the entire story so she could decide on whether she should be jinxing Black’s face to a putrid orange color, or pushing Remus to actually give him a chance.

Lily just wishes she could read Black as easily as she can Remus, maybe that would help in this experiment she’s testing, because for now she’s just confused as all hell over what exactly Black feels towards him. Well that is until it’s a fortnight before Remus’s birthday, and she’s being bodily dragged into a closet on her way to charms.

“Oi— What the bloody—“

“Language, Evans,” the annoyingly familiar baritone of Sirius Black tsks, lighting up the cupboard with his wand and smirking in that jagged way she’s heard countless girls tittering over, and the one that makes her want to pop him one right against his ridiculously smug face.

“Black,” she says, caustic as all get out with her fists clenched against her sides and her brows making a really resilient effort to meet in the middle. “You’ve got thirty seconds before I hex your bollocks off.”

“Pff, and Jamie thinks you’re some sort of saint.”

“Twenty-eight. Twenty-seven. Twenty-six.”

Sirius pulls a face at her, but must understand the credence in the words, because it’s not another moment more before he pulls out a bedraggled looking slip of paper from his robe’s pocket, and thrusts it at her face. So with an indignant huff, Lily opens it up and begins scanning the words— becoming all the more confused when she sees measurements and things like coco powder and melted butter, instead of whatever the hell else she was preparing herself to read.

“I’m being pranked, aren’t I? You’re trying to distract me so you and Potter can do something horrid to the Slytherin’s common room.”

“We’ve actually already done that today,” Sirius jeers, raising up his hands in concession with a cluck of the tongue at her scowling face. “’s from Moony’s mum, all right. I asked her to send me the recipe of this chocolate cake she use to make him for his birthdays before Hogwarts— I just thought… It might be nice is all, and you can sod right off if you look at me like that, Evans, with the soft eyes and all that rot. Are you going to help me or not?”

Lily resolutely ignores the pang to her heart, because God, this really is such a sweet gesture. “And what? you thought I could help you because I’m a bird?” She asks in the most scolding inflection she could muster in the face of this incredibly soppy gift he wants to give Remus.

“None of that, blimey, Evans.” Sirius snarls, obviously diffident, and combined with the faint flush to his cheeks, Lily suddenly realizes why he’s considered one of the best looking blokes in the entirety of their school. “There’s a whole load of Muggle mumbo jumbo, so it was between asking you, or McDonald, and I adore Mary and all, but  she has got such a mouth on her.”

“You should know,” Lily counters with a leer. “She couldn’t stop going on about your date back in October.”

Sirius’s brows hike, and he actually smiles at her— one that’s vacant from all his bravado from his upbringing in his pretentious, pure blood home, and one that isn’t trying to show off. And Lily can’t help but favoringly liken him to an excited pug. “Oh you’re wicked, Evans!” He shrills delightedly. “Oh this is great, you’re just as depraved as Remus, are all prefects like this?”

Lily snorts, shaking her head at him, indulgent. “Never mind that, Black. Most of this stuff can be found in the kitchens below, I’m sure the house elves won’t mind us borrowing anything.”

“And the ingredients that won’t be down their?” He asks worriedly.

“Well, good on you planning this so far ahead of time, we’ll just have to experiment.”

Sirius groans in retort, muttering things about Muggle potions and James thinking he’s getting off with his future wife and other ridiculous things that Lily doesn’t bother to stay and listen to. Though, when Remus’s birthday does roll around, and she sees his countenance go a thousand shades brighter as he bites into the pudding, and Sirius’s grin stretch just that much more across his face in response— their eyes meeting across the room and past the crowds— Well Lily suspects Sirius never really minded any of the things he was whinging on about, not at all, not as long as the result was a beaming Remus.

~III~

Regulus hears about it in the halls.

He’s not much for gossip or that sort of dribble, doesn’t have much patience for anyone outside his house if he’s being at all frank— and even then, it’s not as if he doesn’t frequently find himself escaping to his fourposter for a moment’s quiet. It seems that everyone in this bloody castle are just dimwitted, daft idiots, and Regulus’s never been the sort to offer allowances for that kind of behavior. He’s been raised in the home of a family as close to royalty as Wizards permit, a prince among men. And he was told that he should have patience for the dull folks beneath him, just as long as they have the correct ideals, but sometimes he can’t help but wish they would all just let him be, sometimes feels like he’s being carted around Hogwarts as the perfect pure blood,  like he was nine years old again and being shown off in the parlor of  his home when guests came to call, watching from the sidelines while his mother rave about how splendid of an heir Sirius is turning out to be. How his tutor calls him a genius for any age, and how darling he looks in Slytherin green, and how he’s already mastered three romance languages to help in his spell work. 

And Regulus can’t help but scoff at those contemplations now, thinking of the past summer when his dramatic and brash brother had made a whole production of leaving behind the values that gave him everything he has. How he escaped to that Potter git’s home the way he’s been doing for nearly every holiday since his second year, how he offered Regulus to come along as if he’s a trader just like him. What a risible excuse for an heir.

But Regulus won’t commit such follies, he’ll make his parents proud— even if his father is nearly never paying much mind and his mother goes from raving to sickly in a blink of an eye. It doesn’t matter, because he’ll carry on the Black legacy, something that his oh so perfect brother never could’ve done. Regulus is only a fifth year, will be turning sixteen in only two months after Sirius’s coming of age, and sure, this might mean he’s still young enough that the Death Eaters don’t find him adequate to fight on the line of fire, but he’ll do it eventually, feels the weight of the letter from Bellatrix praising him for as much resting heavy in his pocket. And if Regulus finds them all a bit too vicious or a bit too excitable and completely lacking a deft hand to make the changes they’re searching for, he shrugs it off. He knows what he must do, and as he stares at his brother from across the valley cusping the lake, he’s only that much more steadfast in the conviction of the fact.

Sirius is sitting and laughing with a group of his Gryffindor mates, the mudbloods, and blood traders that had warped him from the brother he knew to the stranger he is now. And there’s a dark skinned Ravenclaw bird— Meadowes if he remembers correctly from his prefect meetings— and she’s telling some sort of long winded tail with hand gestures and loud cackling coming from the group as she goes on. And Sirius is tossing around a quaffle with Potter— the glint of a handsome, silver watch on his wrist catching in the dying sunlight. And Regulus wonders who had gifted him such a personal passage to adulthood, but is soon distracted by spotting the way Sirius nearly gets smacked in the face with the ball because he was too busy gawking over  at Lupin in such a stripped down, cautious way that it makes Regulus squirm.

He doesn’t know much about the elder Prefect, only that his name had come up nearly as much as Potters during that first year when Sirius would send him correspondence on a frequent basis because he knew how lonely Regulus would get while stuck in Grimmauld all by himself. And then when he began attending Hogwarts, Regulus never could get a good reading on him. He knew Potter because of how his family is infamous for their liberal views and nouveau riche attitudes, and Pettigrews family owns a hokey herb shop in Diagon. All he’s found out about the Lupins is that his father is the son of half-bloods and his mother is a Muggle, and that this mudblood is a reserved, carefully aloof bugger, and that somehow he’s seemingly captured all of Sirius’s attentions that he’s not giving Potter or the clinger ons who follow him around like mindless fools. Beyond that, Lupin and Regulus have only traded a hand full of words whenever their roles of prefects would force them to intermingle, and it’s always been punctuated by Lupin giving Regulus a witheringly cold look anytime they were in close proximity, which is admittedly impressive considering that half the time the sickly bastard looks like he’s about ready to keel over.

So no, Regulus doesn’t know much about him, but he’s heard the rumors. He knows that it’s basically an open secret between the Gryffindor class and selected friends. The fact that  his brother is probably shagging the mudblood, convincing Regulus that Sirius really has never given a toss about the decorum and standards befalling them as the only two Black males of their generation. And he hates his brother  so scathingly right then, hates his little munblood lover probably even more. 

And when he watches Lupin straying his gaze from the novel he was reading while that red haired Muggle born was resting her head in his lap, and Regulus saw the way both of their expressions went a peculiar sort of tender— well that’s the last straw, so he stands up in a huff— so unlike himself— and he cuts the story Mulciber was crowing on about, and he tells them he needs to complete a scroll for Slughorn.

And while he prowls away from the sight of his brother continuing to ruin everything, Regulus plunges a hand into his pocket, and crunches Bellatrix’s letter in his grasp, promises himself to write her back soon, and ignores the ache in his chest that’s only been growing larger since Sirius had left permanently.

~IV~

James’s always known.

Perhaps that’s an over reach, but it’s true enough. He’s known for years, on some level, that the thing between Sirius and Remus is something completely foreign to him. Something completely separate from how Sirius licks his face when James is over sleeping and he wants to be a general nuisance. Separate from how he and Remus have begun discussing anything and everything in the wee hours of the morning, with a spot of tea between them and a blanket on their legs, because Remus can’t sleep from the moon and James has never been able to sleep through the whole night without feeling guilty over it. He thinks it stemmed from when he was younger, when his parents were feeling sickly, and before they were gifted a house elf by a family friend who recognized that the elderly Potters needed just a bit more assistance. 

James never knew whether it was obvious to him because he’s always considered Sirius as his bastard brother since Christmas of first year, and that he’s always trying to make sure that Remus is all right after finding out just how impressively the bloke can keep secrets once Sirius figured out his furry little problem. So he’s not sure what others know, or even what Remus and Sirius  know of what’s happening between them, honestly, there have been so many almosts that James has picked up on over the years. And he still shutters thinking about the near total break that happened with the prank, still isn’t quite sure what had past between them to get Sirius and Remus  speaking with each other once more, but he does know that Remus staying with James, Sirius, and  Peter the past summer after Sirius escaping the twisted place he was suppose to call a home, is what helped indefinitely. And now, a year separate from the prank, things finally feel normal between them.

Well— Erm, not normal per se. Those idiots are still blustering and bumbling and bashfully avoiding one another when anything close to romantic comes up in a discussion or when their hands touch over the Great Hall table or whenever James makes a pointed remark when he catches one of them staring a bit too slack jawed at the other in the midst of something totally bloody innocuous in the eyes of a normal person— EG: Sirius gathering his hair— that’s nearly to the bottom of his neck now a days— into a small knot on the back of his head, or Remus sucking idly on a sugar quill while he’s revising. And sure, James has to deal with the kicks at his ankles, or a spare jinx if one of them is especially pissy, but Lily’s come to join him in the ribbing, so it kind of makes everything all right. Especially when she levels her beautiful, forrest green eyes with his own brown ones, and she actually looks sort of endeared.

Yeah— that’s a fucking amazing feeling all right, and it’s probably the memory of that happening only a few hours ago that has got James all jittery now, far past midnight. So with a tired sigh, he slides open the drapes of his fourposter, is ready to go downstairs for a kitchen raid if Remus isn’t awake— Though once he sets his glasses on, and blinks a few times over to get acclimated with the dark, he’s only a bit stunned to find the shapes of Remus and Sirius crowded on the former’s bed— and they’re really not much more than suggestions beneath the shadows, but it’s enough for James to see Sirius’s head bent low, resting it against the crook of  Moony’s neck and shoulder, while the shorter boy has got his arms wrapped around Sirius’s torso. And it’s nothing obscene, not really— it’s not like they’re nude or anything— but Sirius is shirtless, and Remus does have this blissed out expression painted over his features, that James would bet good money is the same one Sirius has got on if most of his face wasn’t covered by his hair.

And in another breath, Remus’s honey colored eyes flap open, widening exponentially when he catches sight of James, and wiggling around as if he wants to move away from Sirius completely, which is of course stunted when Sirius makes a low noise under his breath, and presses closer so that his mouth is quite literally right against Remus’s neck, and his arms tug him closer.

And James is definitely convinced that he’s the best mate any bloke could ask for when instead of chuckling at the obvious show of territorialism, he just shakes his head indulgently at them, mouthing an “About time plonker,” to Remus, who replies in kind with a hefty, two fingered salute.

This time James has to bite down to prevent his chuckle from spilling out.

“And here I was, about to offer you a snack from our dear house elves.” He whispers, hopefully quiet enough so that only Remus could hear.

“Oh, just bugger off,” Remus retorts, smiling with such mirth that James can’t even feign to be affronted over it, only follows the playful command and tries figuring out just how to give the ‘If you hurt him I’ll hurt you’ talk to the pair of them without it coming across insincerely. 

~+I~

Millie was bored until she saw them.

The only reason why Millie got this boring job in this beyond posh restaurant is because her folks reckon that she needs to learn some form of responsibility before university, and she hates it. The pay is absolute shite, and most of her coworkers are all levels of boring, and the patrons are not nearly entertaining enough to try and make up some secret back story of tumultuous affairs or secret agents from the MI6, or a royal from some country on the continent meeting their star-crossed lover.

It’s all just painfully ordinary, and she’s cursing her parents while she chomps on her gum, reading some stupid note by an ugly old fart who left her his number on the receipt. 

Scoffing while she bins it, Millie glances over to the newly occupied table in her section, heart immediately leaping once she gets a good look at the pair of blokes sitting down. 

The sandy haired one is definitely cute in that reserved way her best friend Claire would definitely be mad over— the guy who could read you poetry in French or Italian and then gently kisses the back of your hand. And that’s all and well, but Millie’s every attention is laser focussed on his mate, the one that looks like he can be bloody James Bond with those smoldering eyes and that ink black hair, and God, those cheekbones! Definitely one of those beautiful, Public school boys who’s born and bread by the patrician. And while she takes their orders, she tosses him her most flattering of grins and slips in her giggle that an ex boyfriend compared to silver bells, and is sure to flip her long, chestnut hair enough times so he’d notice, even if she’s pretty sure he’s either pissed or probably more than a bit stoned. (Truly, where the bloody hell would he come up with pumpkin juice? How horrid must that taste). 

Millie may or may not spend an unreasonable amount of time spying at them from where the cooks drop off the completed plates to be sent away. He’s just so bloody good looking, and she can’t believe this awful job has finally brought her such an amazing distraction, and the arse doesn’t even pay her much mind, leaving the ordering and the conversing to his fair haired friend.

Maybe he’s sensitive, she thinks to herself. Maybe he’s just a shy soul. And yes, that must be it! The poor, beautiful sod. She’s sure to make her intentions clear next time she thinks it’s appropriate to top off their waters, because she’s so very  gracious like that.

“Enjoying yourselves?” Millie asks in her most light hearted of cadences, filling up the shorter one’s glass but smiling fully and exclusively to the boy who looks like he should be starring in some sort of Brook’s Brothers advert.

“Ta,” the sandy haired boy says, sounding a bit amused at her dilemma, but it’s kind enough so Millie doesn’t feel brassed off over it. “Do you mind pointing me to the loo?”

“Oh of course!” She crows, suddenly ecstatic as she directs him, finally getting a chance to be alone with the model. Though when she turns her attention to him once the other one leaves to take a leak, she’s kind of confused how he’s staring after him with a glance she vividly remembers on the face of her ex whenever she’d peer back around to ensure he was watching her go— Though, if Millie’s being honest, the model somehow looks simultaneously eager to watch the back of him, but also already disheartened not to have him around in ways she doubts anyone she’s ever gone out with has ever exhibited. “He’s a nice chap,” she states, instead of marinating on the strangeness of this development.

The practical model starts, seems to have forgotten about her presence all together, but then he glances over towards her with those impossibly flattering, pale gray eyes, and he nods disinterestedly. And yeah, yikes. That is a total hit to Millie’s ego.

“Ahem,” she clears her throat, begins twisting her free hand into the material of her apron. “’S nice you guys came for dinner, you don’t see much friends considering how bloody expensive it is here, hah.”

Millie feels herself going absolutely scarlet at the impassive way he drags his gaze up and down her form before taking a swig of his Bellini. “He’s not my friend.”

“Oh,” Millie practically squeaks out, suddenly wonders if maybe he’s a tutor from his class or something? Maybe the model is just taking the cute one out to dinner as a thanks for helping him pass his A-levels? Maybe this is considered cheap in the circles that the model keeps.

“’S our one year anniversary actually,” he tells her, still in that methodical, blasé way of his. And oh. Oh wow! Suddenly everything is snapping into clarity.

The way the two boys had brushed the back of their hands before being seated, how model had trusted the other boy to order for him, how model never looked away from the cute one’s mouth or collarbones or hands as they spoke. How whenever she came around to ask if they needed anything else, it felt like she was intruding on more than just a couple of mates catching up.

Oh Jesus, she feels like such an idiot, and Millie tells the model just as much.

“I’m sorry, I’m an idiot! I didn’t even put it together.”

Remarkably, the model’s rigid posture goes a bit loose at her apology, and the corner of his thin lips quirk up into a grin. “’S fine, he didn’t want to make a fuss out of it, but yeah— Just feels good telling someone.”

Millie nods eagerly, she can’t understand exactly what he means, obviously not,  but she can definitely try to, and if it feels good for him to tell a random bird about something so important, then she’s more than happy to help. “Well the point stands, yeah? He seems like a good sort, you’re lucky to have found each other.”

The model’s grin goes elastic at that, and he looks actually approachable for the first time tonight. “I’m the luckiest bloke in the world that I get to be with him.”

Millie flushes at the intensity embedded into his statement, but thankfully doesn’t have to answer when she hears the sandy haired boy walking closer now, smiling so brightly that there’s a dimple popping up on the apple of his cheek that Millie’s only just noticed— The mirth is a good color on him, she reckons. Makes him look as gorgeous as those boys on the telly dramas her Mum is always gushing about, even his eyes turn more golden than light brown. “You pestering our waitress Padfoot?”

“You know I keep my devilish tongue for you and you alone Moonbeam,” the model—Padfoot cannot be his actual name for heaven’s sake— retorts.

“Lucky me,” the sandy haired boy says wryly as he takes a seat, and while Millie walks away— intending to get them a pudding that’s on the house to celebrate the milestone of their relationship— she peers back around only once and it’s enough to see the tips of their fingers kissing across the table, and their smiles looking like a secret language not meant for anyone else to read. 

.-

My Full Wolfstar FIC Masterlist💜

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper - Part Twelve

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader Warnings: Mentions of sex, swearing, mentions of drug use, fluff, smidge of angst? Length: 1.7k Notes: Managed to whip up this bad boy during a quiet moment today and should probably make y’all wait for it but I don’t really do posting schedules (as you’ve noticed) so enjoy. Not beta’d, not proof read, I’ll die on this messy hill.

Series Masterlist

Surprisingly, life didn't change too much after that night. Frankie continued to run his acreage and oversee the making of this year's cider. With some encouragement and support from you, he was starting to expand the business and already had a few pubs in the closest city clamouring to have his product on tap.

Meanwhile, the improvements on the house were nearing an end, for the indoors list anyways. The first thing Frankie had helped you do was to install your new soaker tub, immediately followed by christening it by making soft, slow love to you inside of it.

There hadn't even been any water, your impatience to be close to each other wouldn't allow for that. You had just stripped out of your coveralls, convenient work-wear for people who fucked like rabbits you had to admit, and sat in his lap with your arms and legs wrapped around him. His hands guiding your hips in a slow rocking motion, breathing each other's air as your open mouths hovered in a not-quite kiss, only breaking eye contact when you threw your head back as you came.

Autumn passed quickly and Winter had gripped Vermont, cloaking the countryside in a heavy blanket of white. Christmas was a cozy affair, you and Frankie had been asked to join Jacquie and Mark in their family's merriment. It had stirred something inside of you, watching a functional family laugh, sing, argue, eat, and love with such abandon. 

It was everything you'd dreamt, initially, for your future with Brad. Now? Now you were starting to picture that future with Frankie's face as the patriarch, you just haven't built up the nerve to broach the subject yet. 

You'd started working at the bakery, enjoying the early mornings surrounded by rising dough and sculling back coffees with the adorable older ladies who ran the place. You'd also begun doing the books for Morales Acres and Catfish Brewery. Frankie was a veritable genius but he claimed he had no patience for keeping receipts and tracking numbers.

You had a sneaking suspicion he was playing dumb in an effort to give you more time together but you really didn't mind. Your break-of-dawn mornings at the bakery had you tired, but after a full day of renovating or bookkeeping, you were downright exhausted and ready for bed by eight pm. This, mixed with Frankie monitoring the brewing, bottling, and distribution of his cider and networking at bars and pubs throughout the state meant the two of you rarely saw each other.

All of your hard work in your own house had made you a popular friend to call when someone needed decorating advice, or a helping hand once they realized they couldn't tile their kitchen backsplash solo. You never charged for your time, although payment had initially been offered until work had got around that you preferred a good meal and conversation over money. I mean, sure, you could use the cash but it just didn't seem right. And you loved helping people and making deeper connections with the town you now truly felt you belonged in.

Tuesday evenings had become an unofficial date night for the two of you. The bakery was closed on Wednesdays and bar owners tended to be less interested in business halfway through the week, something to do with the rush of the previous weekend having worn off and the worry of setting up for another one starting to grow.

This meant you could stay up late, enjoy a proper homemade dinner, maybe even watch a movie or share a bottle of wine while soaking in your big ass tub. It usually ended as a sleepover, your house being the preferred location; Frankie's loft was perfectly fine but it did lack a certain homey appeal.

This pattern, this life, that you'd created for yourself was making you happier than you'd ever been in your entire life. You weren't one hundred percent content, not yet anyway, but the path to getting there was on a direct trajectory. You still wanted to finish your college degree, maybe switch it over to horticulture. Building a greenhouse and selling flowers was still a pipe dream but something your heart truly longed for, something that Frankie was constantly encouraging you to do.

"Look, hun," he had called out to you a few weeks ago while supposedly researching the new line of bottles. "There's an auction next county over and they have all this confiscated stuff from a grow op that got busted!"

"What?" You'd made a face and laughed at the absurdity of it all. "What on earth would you use from a pot farm?"

He just gave you a salacious wink as an answer.

Frankie had been open about his past drug abuse and while some recovering addicts may want all mention of it banned from a conversation, Frankie found levity in treating the topic like any other person would.

It had taken you a couple of hours to realize why he'd brought up the auction. It had hit you with a jolt, knowing that he’d remembered your rambling from on top of the Ferris wheel. You didn't realize he'd been listening when you'd told him about your idea of taking over the flower stand at the market once the current couple retired.

Your heart had swelled and there was a concerted effort to prevent the sudden onset of tears from running down your face. God, you loved this man, maybe one of these days you should tell him...

This particular routine was working well for the two of you. It gave each of you your own space to relax, destress, enjoy the shitty tv shows you were too embarrassed to watch in front of another living person. It also forced the two of you to take your relationship slowly, communication being a constant learning curve. You were both really good and telling each other when you needed time alone, when you were feeling stressed or sad. You each had learned the tells for when the other was angry or just hungry, if it was hormones or if there was something that was actually pissing you off.

The thing you each seemed to struggle with was expressing the softer side of the relationship. Neither of you appeared to have the Words of Affirmation love language skill, yet you both craved to hear it. You showed how much you cared for Frankie with your acts of service; helping him with the boring side of the business, baking, deep cleaning the loft, even scrubbing out the massive fermenter in the Catfish Cider warehouse.

Frankie, on the other hand, showed his love through physical touch. At first, you had assumed it was a staking-his-claim kind of thing but then you noticed how he'd do it all the time. A hand on your lower back while walking, caressing your hand with his thumb when driving in the truck, carding his fingers through your hair while you watched tv.

This week's date night found you at his place, relaxing in the loft after a busy workday. You were making dinner while he 'helped' by sneaking bites of the prepped ingredients, arm slung around you with a hand in your back pocket.

"What're you looking for?" He asked, taking advantage of your distracted searching through his cupboards to sneak a few more pinches of grated cheese.

"A can opener!" You replied, exasperation raising your voice an octave. "I could have sworn I saw a white one around here somewhere..."

“No, pretty sure that one's yours. I don't think I have one?"

"Frankie," you deadpanned "how did you survive as a bachelor without canned food?"

"I ate a lot of take-out?" He looked indignant at your laughter, "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Can you stop judging me long enough to eat some burritos?"

Smoothing his playful scowl with a kiss, you sat down at the counter and enjoyed your first meal together of the week.

An idea was formulating in the back of your mind, though, and you barely tasted anything. As the evening progressed, the idea grew and you were liking it more and more. The final straw was you not having a toothbrush in his bathroom anymore, having forgotten that it had fallen off the counter and into the trashcan the last time you'd spent the night.

Using his, with a strange mixture of distaste and nonchalance, before making your way over to the bed, you began to plan how the conversation could go:

Hey Frankie, so you know how I have a big house all to myself? Yeah... And it had everything we need in it? Yeah... And there's more than enough room for two adults to store all of their things? Yeah... And I wouldn't have to use your toothbrush ever again? Yea- wait what? I think you should move in with me.

It wasn't very romantic but it was the most likely, considering your dynamic. Just as you were crawling into bed and snuggling under the arm he'd raised to allow you to get closer, his cell phone rang.

"Hello? - This is he. - Yeah, biological. - Oh god, when?"

The immediate change in his tone from questioning to horrified caught your attention, sitting up to face him you grabbed his free hand, silently letting him know you were there for support.

His eyes were out of focus and a panicked expression was slowly morphing his face as the conversation went on, but he gave your hand a squeeze back in acknowledgement.

"Yes, in Vermont. Do you have my address? - Okay, good, good...okay - When? - I'll have something ready. Umm... does she... does she remember me? - Oh. Okay, thank you."

Slowly lowering the phone from his ear, Frankie sat staring into nothingness for what felt like hours. His side of the conversation and the way he was reacting had you rattled. You could guess as to what was happening but weren't sure if now was the right time to pry.

"Babe? Is, is everything okay?"

Silence.

Gripping his hand tighter and rubbing his back you sat with him for a few more minutes before trying again. You didn’t want to push him but your heart was constricting in your chest from nervousness and concern for him.

"Can I get you anything? What do you need?"

His hand was now completely dead in yours; eventually, he turned his head towards you, eyes never fully focusing, and shook his head.

"I- she- fuck... I think you should go.”

Part Thirteen

[fanmoose12]

after death do us apart

Summary: Levi thinks his house is haunted.

Levi is in his kitchen, busy with a very important task of measuring leaves for the tea when he hears a loud, obnoxious thud, coming from his living room.

He softly curses, grabs his cane and rushes, as fast as he can with his body not as strong as it was before, there.

When he arrives, he sees that everything else is in order, except a picture frame that is now lying on a floor.

Levi's blood boils, an annoyance bordering on anger rushing through him. This picture - that one that now lies on the floor like some kind of useless shit - is his most priced possession. It is the only thing that keeps the memory of them alive, the one thing that reminds him during cold and dark nights that he might be alone right now, but there was a time where he wasn't.

It's a picture of him, Hange, Erwin and Mike all standing together with their arms around each other. He doesn't remember if that had ever happened, but that's what he had found in one of Moblit's notebook and after he made that discovery, he just couldn't leave it behind.

No picture of them exists - Mike and Erwin were gone even before they found out what a photo camera was, and in her last years, Hange was always too busy to take a single photo.

He regrets it now, not pushing her to take it, but Moblit's picture is vibrant enough. He doubts a photo could capture their essence quite like his sharp eyes and skilfful hands could.

Onyakopon tells him there are more pictures of Hange now. There are portraits made by talented artists that paint Hange as the last Commander of Survey Corps or during her last moments on Earth.

They're hanged in museums and various memorials but Levi doesn't wish to see any of them. He doesn't care about them, those pictures - they were drawn by talented artists, and Levi doesn't doubt that.

But they never knew Hange, not like he did. So how could they come up with something worthy of the light she bestowed on this world? How they could ever hope to put it on paper?

Levi crouches down, his bones and protesting, and picks up the picture frame.

Thankfully, it is still intact.

But just as his old, broken heart swells with relief, there is another thud. This time, the book falls down, nearly missing Levi's head.

He curses again, loud and vulgar, letting out the best of profanities the Underground taught him.

He whirls around, his eye searching for the offender. The room is empty, though. It's mostly silent too, the only sounds flowing around are those from outside his window. But then he hears it, a faint, feeble murmur that sounds almost like "sorry".

His heart clenches, his hand gripping the cane to keep himself grounded.

He knows that particular sorry. Heard many times many years ago - ehen he stumbled over the barely conscious, sleep deprived body, when his shirt got soaked in tea, soup or some kind of possibly dangerous chemicals, heard it repeating over and over as gentle, trembling hands inspected his injuries and wiped away the blood.

It was sometimes accompanied by cheerful, loud laughter, other times - with quiet, broken sobs.

He couldn't hear that sorry. He couldn't.

It was just a trick of imagination, nothing more, nothing less.

I am not old enough to go senile yet, he thinks as he puts the picture where it belongs to.

It was just a trick of imagination, he repeats and leaves the room.

He goes back to the kitchen and resumes his task. The skin on the back of his neck is prickling, like someone stares intently at it, but Levi chases that feeling away, convincing himself that he's simply being paranoid.

He pointedly ignores the quiet sound, the one that resembles a sigh of disappointment and the one he heard too many times too, during long nights at the lab and inside Commander's office, as well.

***

It's not the first weird (unexplained, she would say) thing that happened in his house. There are instances happening all over the place, each of them brings a different degree of strangeness

Windows and doors - close and open on their own volition, lights turn on and off, books, his clothes, kitchen ware - disappear for hours only to appear in the most random of places, bangs and knocks sound at all times of the day, merciless to his sleeping pattern.

Logically, he knows that it isn't normal. He also knows that he probably should talk about it with someone. But he was never good with that thing - talking. All the people he was somewhat comfortable sharing his troubles are now dead and gone.

He theoretically can discuss it with Gabi and Falco, but he doesn't want to, because, well, no matter how big they think they are, they're still children. Onyakopon is out of question too, because he might just get too worried and then send him into that building on the edge of the town - mental institution, he calls it.

And Levi might be old, but he's not senile. Yet.

Probably. He hopes so at least.

His mind is still his own, broken but not shattered. He knows right from wrong, sees the difference between reality and a dream.

He still functions properly, and yet those instances don't back away.

He'd ignore it, write it off as a product of imagination or strange coincidence. If only it happened once. Or twice. Three times even. Three weird happenings in a row is hard, but possible to ignore. But when it happens every damn day, for almost dozen times, it's not just hard to ignore. It's fucking annoying too.

He knows a name he can put to describe it all, of course. Born and raised in the depth of Underground, how can he not? Stories like this were well known and greatly appreciated down there. They were children of the dark, after all, friends with shadows. Everything dark and scary, anything feared above their little world was welcomed and encouraged.

Isabel used to warn him about enraged, vengeful spirits that hunt those who wronged them or those who disturbed their resting place. Kenny - when he was in a less shitty, kinder mood - used to tell him about souls that die without fulfilling their purpose and were destined to roam through the land of the living for all eternity, unable to sleep with their business unfinished.

Before putting him to bed or whenever she felt especially sentimental, his mother used to speak of those unlucky ones who died before their loved ones did.

"They cannot find peace even in death," she said. "And so they come back to our world and stay close to the ones they still cannot let go, watching them until they are able to reunite."

He never believed in those stories, though. Perhaps, he was born and raised in the Underground, but he got out of it, lived his best years with the sun shining on his face and wind blowing through his hair.

He thought ghosts doesn't exist.

But now that his best years are behind him, now that he has seen enough shit to know that anything is possible, now that some days he himself feels like a ghost, he starts thinking of them more and more.

Hange is gone, he reminds himself, she's gone and even though you miss her like crazy, it won't bring her back.

Hange is gone, and none of it is real.

But, god, does he really wishes that it was. *** It is the middle of the night, and Levi feels a presence behind him. It's not ominous like in that book about ghosts he recently found. It's quite soothing, actually. It makes him almost content.

It's not looming or hoovering over his form either. It's right next to him, as though this something - or someone - lays on a bed close to him.

It doesn't bother him anymore, nearly not as much as it did before. It brings him comfort, in some sort. It reminds him of-

No. It doesn't.

The presence behind him shifts and Levi feels the blanket slip from his legs.

No, that won't do.

He tugs the blanket back, but either he's getting too weak with age or that presence, ghost or whatever is so much stronger than him, but he can't get it back. They fight for it for a while, each struggling to get the upper hand. Levi yanks it back, applying all the force that's still left in him, but bears no result. He grits his teeth, sweat gathering on his temples as he pulls the blanket.

"Give it back, you little sh-"

He doesn't get to finish.

The loud, snapping sound of ripping cloth cuts him off.

"Fuck!" Levi yells, frustrated. It was his favorite blanket. "Is this so funny to you, you piece of shit? Why do you keep tormenting me?"

There is a bit of silence, and then lights in his room turn on. With wide eyes, Levi watches the paper levitate from a small pile on his desk. Pen appears next, and it hovers above the paper, the sounds of furious scribbling filling the dark room.

Before he can say anything else, shout more profanities or threaten the invisible fucker to get out (he may not be as strong as he was before, but he has a cane and he still knows how to use it effectively), the paper starts flying, catching him right in the face.

Levi takes it in his hands, squinting his good eye to see what's written there.

It IS funny, but i didn't wish to torment you. You know that, right?

Something resembling a sob escapes from his lips. Levi fists his hands into sheets below him, but eight fingers is apparently not enough to ground him and keep him from falling.

"Who are you?" he asks shakily, his voice breaking.

The pen starts moving again, flying over another paper. This one isn't thrown in his face. It's gently laid next to his thigh. Levi takes it, and his hands shake so much it gets hard to read. Words swim between his eyes, but Levi persists, laying the note on his lap and bending over to see better.

His whole world shakes when he finally deciphers the words.

Haven't you guessed already?

He closes his eyes and some sound escapes past his lips, he's not sure if that can be called a sob or a chuckle, or a combination of both, but his whole body is trembling as he tries to fight strength to whisper,

"Hange?"

From somewhere close to him, on his left side where she always used to be, he hears a delighted, happy laughter.

He looks around the room, his eye shifting, desperate to find her, but he sees nothing.

Fear grips at his heart.

So just a hallucination then? Simple wishful thinking?

"Where are you?" he murmurs, giving it all another chance. "Hange-"

"I'm here," a warm sensation travels up his forearm. It doesn't exactly feel like an ordinary touch would, but it's there, it seems real and it fills his chest with hope. "Right here, a little to your left," she continues. "Just look at me, Levi."

He does, immediately he does. But there is no one next to him. The gentle sensation doesn't fade, gets more persistent if anything, but Levi still can't see her.

"You need to look a little bit harder," Hange murmurs. "If you can hear me, I'm sure you can see me."

Levi stares, his eye focused on the empty place next to him. He strains his vision, moves his gaze up and down, huffs in frustration and then finally, finally, he sees something.

It's vague, indistinct, barely visible in the dark, but he makes out the outline of the body. He can see the mop of brown hair, and they're messy as always, can see strong arms and wide shoulders, that long, prominent nose, that rosy, soft lips that are stretched out in a hopeful smile, those brown, sparkly he missed so much.

"Hange," he breathes out, his voice barely above whisper.

He wants to touch her, god, he wants to touch her so much, but when he puts his hand above hers, it goes right through her.

"The situation is not exactly perfect," Hange laughs. "I don't think you can touch me, and I can't exactly touch you as well."

"I don't care," he shakes his head and moves his fingers, until his and Hange's are close. He doesn't feel much, but something warm is still there and it still makes his breath stumble.

Hange is here, she's not gone, not completely, she's here, with him. It is more than enough.

*** They fall into a sort of routine after that. It's easy with Hange, as it always was.

She disappears for short periods of time, refusing to tell Levi where she goes.

"They asked me not to tell you," she says enigmatically, and doesn't ever elaborate, no matter how many Levi asks.

At first, he still worries he's going crazy, but then Falco, Gabi and Onyakopon show up. They all sit down around the small coffee table in Levi's living room, chatting amongst themselves and sharing the last news and gossips.

"You look healthier," Falco remarks, as Levi brings the tea from the kitchen.

As soon as he puts the cups down, the chaos begins.

The door shuts with a loud bang, the windows rattle and chandelier above them starts to dangerously tremble.

Levi also notes that Hange is careful not to make any mess, but she still acts so damn loud. And dramatic. He hides a sigh as he continues to sip on his tea and watch Onyakopon, Gabi and Falco lose their shit in front of him.

Gabi ducks behind an armchair, Falco close on her heels, curling around her. Onyakopon keeps frantically looking around, his breath quick and shallow. Levi can almost hear the sound of his panicked heartbeat.

"Stop it, four-eyes," he murmurs, too softly to everyone else to hear (not that they could pay attention to him amidst all that clutter anyway).

Everything stills immediately. Silence washes over his apartment, interrupted only by Onyakopon's gasps.

Hange snickers beside him, but Levi is the only who can hear her.

"This was fun," she giggles, running a hand over his shoulder.

Levi can't disagree with her on that one.

"What was that?" Onyakopon exclaims, clutching his heart. "Was it-"

"A ghost?" Gabi cries out, looking both horrified and excited.

Levi glances at Hange, silently telling her 'she looks just like you'. She waves him off and turns back to Gabi.

"Is is the first time it happens?" Falco asks.

"No," Levi answers, shrugging. A week ago, he'd be as disturbed as his friends are, but now he moved past disturbance to acceptance to delight. "It's been happening for weeks now."

"You aren't safe here," Falco, bless his young soul, looks genuinely worried, down to the deep crease on his forehead. "We should look for another apartment."

"Don't bother. I'm quite comfortable here."

Of course, he's comfortable. Hange is here with him, after all.

"But!" Gabi tries to protest, but Levi silences her with a raised palm.

"I'm not injured or unwell," he gestures on himself, as if to illustrate his point. "And, besides, it gives house some character, don't you think?"

"A very scary character," Onyakopon notes.

"Well," Levi almost smiles, hearing Hange's laughter behind his back. "The house is not very different from its master then."

His guests leave soon after, but not before Gabi and Falco make him swear to call them if anything 'more dangerous and scarier' happens.

As soon as they're out, Levi sits down in his favorite armchair. Hange flies over to him.

"So," she looks up at him, and the bright sparkle in her eyes, even though it is still a bit indistinct, sets his heart racing. "Have I convinced you that you're not going crazy?"

He wants to ask how, opens his mouth even, but then promptly shuts it closed. Of course, it is Hange. She knows his thoughts better than he does.

And if he had any doubts about her realness, they've disappeared right in that moment.

*** Hange is almost always next to him, hovering over his shoulder and constantly chatting into his ear. It almost feels like the good old days.

Although now he can't kick her leg whenever she starts teasing or rambling too much. His trademark glare has to be good enough, though.

He brings Hange books and introduces her to all kinds of new technology. She is beaming like a child at every new thing he shows her, and Levi's heart is so full of love for that weirdo, he's afraid it's going to burst.

Hange accompanies him on his strolls too, and his poker face has never put to trial more than during those moments, when Hange starts joking or fooling around, making him almost lose all of his composure.

He can't laugh or even berate her in public, and she knows it, goddamn. And uses it for her advantage, the asshole.

Levi gets his revenge when they're back at his house, refusing to give her new books until she swears to behave.

She swears every time, hand on her chest and all that. And she breaks that promise the very same day. Levi can't stay mad at her, though. He never could.

*** "You know, I thought you were a vengeful spirit at first," he shares with her one evening.

He sits in front of the fire, his legs outstretched to the source of warmth. Hange is laying on the floor, book hovering above her. She closes and turns to Levi.

"I could be," she says. "But, unfortunately, the people I'd like to haunt are long dead as well. Floch is gone, Eren is too..." Hange scoffs, shaking her head. "And I can't very well haunt every bloodthirsty soldier back in Paradise. Too much work for the old, frail me."

Levi lifts an eyebrow. "You don't look that old to me. Especially, when compering with me..."

"Oh, Levi," Hange rises and gets closer to him. She sits down on his lap, and Levi feels warmth spread through the skin of his cheek as Hange puts her hand on it. There is a smile on her lips, the one that Levi knows too well. The one that means that Hange is going to say something very, very stupid. She opens her mouth and proves him right once again. "I was always more attractive than you," Hange murmurs. "Nothing changed since my death."

He rolls his eye and laments that he can't flick her nose.

Hange is still smiling, and when she leans in, he can almost feel a ghost of a kiss on his lips. *** "Don't you ever feel regret?" Levi asks one day.

He is sitting in his wheelchair, looking at the bright setting sun from the small garden near his house.

Hange is on top of him, her long legs dangling from the wheelchair. As he speaks up, she turns to him, and the happy expression turns into something more thoughtful.

"Regret?" she repeats, frowning. "What can I ever regret?"

"This?" Levi gestures around. "I know, you're still here, but don't..." he frowns, struggling to find the right words. "Don't you wish for something more? For us to have a proper chance?"

Hange looks up at the sky, and for a moment she's quiet. Levi thinks if he should take his words back, change the subject completely but it's something that's been bugging him for a long time. He's happy, so happy, that Hange can still be with him. But there are moments when he wishes for... more. To be able to hold her hand and share meals with her, to walk with her through the streets without worrying that someone might think he's some drunkard or lunatic who talks to himself.

He knows it's selfish to even think about it, he already received so much more than he deserved, but isn't selfishness an inherent part of a human?

Sometimes, he just can't help but long for something more.

"I'm sure you know what a method of trial and error means," Hange begins, looking back at him. Her words confuse him, but before he can open his mouth, Hange shushes him and continues. "Remember those days at my lab? Nothing ever worked out, every experiment turned into an ever bigger disaster than the previous one, and I was so frustrated I wanted to crawl up the wall. But there was a certain beauty in it all - I tried, I failed, I tried again. Over and over, until something good came out. And, boy," she chuckles. "When something worked, it worked perfectly. And, maybe, all of this, all of us," she swiftly runs her fingertips through his brow and Levi shivers at the warm, gentle feeling that spreads down to his soul. "As a failed attempt. We tried, it didn't work," she pauses, and her eyes are bright, much brighter than the sun behind her. "We can try again."

Her words stir something inside, a long forgotten feeling of hope. But he still can't accept it so easily, the cynic in him fights to make himself known.

"But you're already dead," he protests.

"And that means this attempt has failed. Not as spectacularly as that time when my experiment blew up and burned Moblit's eyebrows, but... not a perfect success either. We can try again, though. We can say goodbye, walk from each other and then meet again, in some other place and time."

"And what if we fail again?"

"Then we try again. And again, and again, until we can get it right. And when we finally do, oh boy!" she exclaims, flailing her arms into the air. "Wouldn't that be spectacular?"

She laughs, so happy and free, and Levi wishes to gather her in his arms and never let go. All he can do right now, though, is circle his hands around her waist, imagining that he's holding her.

Just like always, he trusts Hange.

They will meet again, and, maybe, it will all fall apart in a disaster worse than this one. But they can try again. They can keep trying, until... forever.

And, perhaps, that's the true beauty of life.

[lilyrachelcassidy]

Summer Nights (2)

A/N: Is that... is that...? The unbridled enthusiasm I’m hearing? Or are you trying to reach me with torches and pitchforks for being so untrustworthy? Assuming the first option.

Anyway -- Yes, as I promised, this is the second part of the Summer Nights which you would hopefully enjoy. Waiting for your feedback. It’s the INDEX if you need a refresher.

ALSO, I give a lot of credit to @drawlfoy and @bored-and-botheredwho helped me with editing this chapter and steamed off my emotional breakdown related to my writing (lmao). I love you so much gals and a big THANK U once more!!!

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: coarse language; alcohol; Narcissa turning into a shitty-mother (lol)

Tags: @war-sword @paradigmax @winnsmills @idkatee@bforbroadway @okaydraco

The next thing Draco knew, he was being woken up with a massive hangover in the snuggly, way-too-comfortable bed by the high-pitched squeal of his mother.

"You, darling, made a lot of trouble for yourself yesterday," Narcissa admonished her son, a glacial cool look on her face. Entering Draco's hotel apartment, she walked over to the window and opened the drapes with one swift movement, splashing an annoyed Draco with light. He groaned, not yet daring to complain due to his mother's livid mood, to say the least.

"You have no idea of what happened yesterday, do you?"

"Yyy-" was the only sound he could make. God, where to the fuck was he? He hadn't been this plastered in forever.

"Of course you don't." Narcissa shook her head and laughed nervously, although she made it plainly obvious there was nothing humorous about the situation. "You blacked out so hard in that sleazy bar there is no way you can recall anything from yesterday. Look at you -- you are squinting at me like I'm the sun!"

Draco nervously ran his finders through his disheveled hair. He was definitely not in the right mind to provoke the conflict. "I left you the note at the reception," he informed her, trying to slickly get out of the unenviable conversation. "Told the receptionist to hand it over."

Contrary to his mother's accusatory ascertainment, he actually had some glimpses of the previous night (or should he say an all-night rave?). There were for sure drinks -- a lot of drinks; a variety of kinds he didn't recognize from the magical world but still guzzled delightfully. The second recollection was dancing --which wasn't his intention, but with some luck of his -- got invited by some hot-looking chicks from across the table. And yes, he definitely remembers the swaying and the rhythmical moving of the hips along with some cheesy muggle vibes mixed with the smell of booze and weed. Maybe he even hooked up with one of the girls? The last thing he recollects before passing out, almost like through a haze, was seeing Narcissa's furious face screaming something incoherent at him. Overall, that's his all night wrapped in one.

"Do you think the mere note 'I will be fine' was going to calm down my shattered nerves? Draco Lucius Malfoy, I swear to our dear ancestors, I did not raise you to act so irresponsibly." She waved the finger at him warningly. “We come from rich history. You are the descendant from a line of successful forefathers who put their effort into building up our reputation. Do you think Lucius would approve of such unrestrained behavior? I’ve been already hearing of letting you be too careless. Is tha-"

"Mother, could we skip the lecture?" Draco snapped angrily, try as he might to suppress it. "I've heard it too many times. All I’m trying to have is a peaceful life. Without the prying eyes of the media and the meddling of my family..."

"And all I’m trying to have is an integrated, happy family to offer you support and love.” Draco opened his mouth to cut her in, but she shushed him with a wave, clearly suggesting 'Don’t even get me started’ meaning. “I’ve been- been trying  to get a job, going through the infelicitous job interviews and looking for a solution to help our household through the post-war crisis. Have you shown any interest in that? Any?"

"But mo-"

"The last thing I want to have on my mind is dealing with your ignorant, boyish transitional stages, and let me tell you -- you do not make it any easier for me," she said without taking a breath. She exhaled slowly and continued, this time forcing a softer tone. "I ask you one thing for this summer. Let it be an enjoyable time without unnecessary conflicts. We have come to the beautiful country as France. Let's make a good thing out of it."

Draco, who was already wide awake by the buzz of adrenaline, looked at her with a serious expression. Scanning her face made him suddenly realize how hard must it have been for her to bear everything, and seeing the bags of tiredness under her beautiful, hazel eyes stopped him from retorting. "Mother, no matter what happens, I'll always support you. Remember that."

Narcissa smiled. “Oh. I know, honey, I know.” This time she lowered her voice by two octaves, slowly sitting at the edge of the bed. “It’s just… people have been gossiping behind our backs lately, partly throwing the blame at us. All I’m trying to do is protect us from those tormentors. But your binge drinking is not making the deadlock any better, and it drives me mad.” She chortled a little bit and patted Draco’s palm. “So, until the rumors die down, all we can do is raise our chins high.” Narcissa ended, her voice encouraging yet plaintive.

The last thing Draco liked is seeing his mother on the verge of emotional exhaustion, like in this moment. He felt an instant surge of sympathy, so he quickly found himself locking Narcissa in the supportive embrace. She responded to the gesture by wrapping her arms around her son’s neck and stroking his cheek delicately with the back of her hand, just like in the old times. Both of them yearningly wished to come back to those years of frivolity.

"I promise I'll try to be better," Draco said with certainty. Seeing Narcissa’s eyes light up in gratefulness and the smiley dimples form on her features, he assured himself it was the right thing to say at that mother-son moment.

“How could I be so lucky to have such a wise boy,” she muttered proudly, kissing Draco at the top of his head. “But perhaps you should not restrain yourself too much during the holiday. I give you the partial alibi per se. Just keep it under control.”

Smiling, Narcissa got up, straightening up her impeccable posture as in the habit of the high-status woman. For the first time in that day, Draco noticed how elegantly she was dressed up: the black, partly lacy dress stopping at the level of her knees; the shiny-white pearl jewelry perfectly matching her entire outfit; dark yet not defiant high-heels; andhair fixed up in the tight bun. In Draco’s opinion, she looked too prim...even for herself.

"Mother, are you heading somewhere?" he asked curiously.

“Well…” she started, blushing. “I’m going to see my old friend in the coffee shop. I haven’t been there for ages, so it’s one of the chances to meet up with them. Hopefully, you are going to take care of yourself for a few days.” 

"Days?" he asked, shocked.

“You didn’t expect me to travel from town to town, did you?” she laughed lightly. “Bordeaux is quite a route to overcome. So I might be settling there for a few nights. Do you mind it, darling?”

Was he positive about the information? Did he mind? Partly yes. He didn’t imagine the prospect of wandering around the alleys of France on his own, especially on the first day of being there. But from the other side, seeing the joy painted on his mother’s face as she told him about the planned get-together made him feel less skeptical. Plus, getting rid of the extreme supervision for a few days wouldn’t be such a disaster as well.

As he calculated now, the ratio about the idea was 90% pro and 10% against.

"Of course not," he said simply, smiling at his mother.

"I knew you would understand." The crease of uncertainty on her forehead disappeared, and she let out a sigh of relief. "Meanwhile... I have already booked you the brunch downstairs but seeing as you are not in the wholesome state, I might order a delive-"

"Don't..." Draco opposed, rising from the bed and throwing the nearest shirt he could find over his head. "I'll come down. Some fresh air may be a cure for a hangover. Oh, and speaking of hangovers -- do you happen to have an anti-hangover potion?"

Narcissa let out a quiet chuckle and clapped her hands, seemingly satisfied with herself. Her tranquil gaze landed on the cupboard. "As a matter of self-preservation, yes, I do. Try searching inside the bedside cabinet."

He thanked her and then they talked with each other a little bit longer until Narcissa took the pocket watch out of her handy purse, noted the time ("Merlin's Beard, I am so tardy! I'm going to be alone on the platform if I stay here a minute longer!), and –a little startled with her inadvertency – hurriedly declared she should get going ("I really should get going Draco!”). Pecking her son twice on the cheeks as a farewell, she rushed towards the door and, for the last time, turned around to blow a brief motherly goodbye kiss. She left in such a hurry that the only sign indicating her presence in the room a few seconds ago was her familiar perfume lingering about in the air.

Draco gathered his clothes, and after half an hour of very difficult preparations while dealing with the consequences of yesterday's actions -- because the potion finally hits after two to three hours -- he found himself in front of the hotel's restaurant. As he walked in, he had to admit the room enchanted him with its lovely atmosphere, which brought back the memories of his first Hogwart's magical feast as an eleven-year-old boy.

With the large windows allowing plenty of light in, the entire space was in the classical style. The whole floor was clad with marble tiles in the white-like color; the walls were purely white and, apparently, someone must have put a lot of effort not to let a single dust spot appear in there; the ceiling was created in the concept of the sky resemblance making an impression of the real clouds hovering over heads. Three enormous chandeliers made a very good fit with carved wooden tables and similarly-looking chairs.

"Sir, would you like to make an order?" The decently looking waitress walked over to his table, with a white apron around her waist and green, deep eyes staring at him. "I'm Laura, by the way. I'll be serving you today."

He nodded, not really paying much attention to her primitive attempts of having a chit-chat. Cursorily glancing at the menu, he decided on having a french bagel with melted cheese and a coffee which was a specialty of the house as was written in the recommendations. The waitress scribbled something sloppily in her notes, smiled briefly, and then strode away.

The restaurant was almost fully emptied, and the only things heard in the background were a heated discussion of the couple beside the table and a composition of french, old songs prepared specifically for the guests.

Draco let out a small sigh of boredom, thinking yet again about the scenery of today. The only ideas that crossed his mind were either lounging in his stuffy hotel room or finding another hang-out spot to drown his sorrows.

After the War, he had found out it was pretty easier not to give in to any of the memories, blurring them out with the support of Scotch as a coping mechanism. Pansy and Daphne, his childhood friends, had tried to talk him out of it, kindly offering some tenderness and a chance for a conversation. But he had eventually stopped caring about any of that bullshit anymore.

That's why perhaps he'd just--

"Hi!" said a cheerful voice behind him, making him jump slightly at his seat with surprise. At first, he thought it was a mistake; that he must have been deemed as someone else considering he didn't know anyone around, so was in the opposite way. Turning around, however, made him realize it wasn't entirely the truth. "Do you remember me?"

"Hello." Of course, he remembered her. It was the receptionist from the previous day, whose name he didn't bother to memorize. Although he planned on avoiding potential candidates for a talk today, he said truthfully, "Yes, I do. You work here, right?"

"Yeah," she confirmed, smiling. "Can I join?"

For a moment, his sluggish brain did not process what she was asking about, and that made him frown. The girl probably comprehended what it was about because she explained, reading his confused expression. "...the table".

"Oh," he said, feeling more than embarrassed for his dumb reaction. "Yeah, help yourself."

"Thanks," she mumbled, pulling out the chair to make some room for herself. "Tough night, huh?"

The inquiry made him suddenly realize she must have witnessed the whole scene yesterday -- him asking her for a favor, Narcissa drilling her out for any clues about his disappearance, his arrogant attitude, and scurrility as he spoke to her. For sure, if she were smart enough, she would deduce what the situation was about.

He couldn't help it, but a wave of shame pierced through his body, and his stomach rolled slightly.

"A little," he answered minimizing a dimension of the spree, almost like a lie, and then he shook his head. "Listen, sorry about yesterday. I might have been...rude."

A small smile of courtesy formed on her lips. "I presumed you were a little off. Happens..." she said tentatively, gripping both of her hands together. "Oh, and about yesterday -- you lost this at the lobby." She took his wand out, and Draco's stomach made a second roll, the heartbeat hastening like a speed of light. He quickly tried to bring his face to the natural expression, but the girl had noticed that, and curiosity filled her eyes. "I thought I should give that back. In case it was valuable or something."

Fucking great... How was he supposed to elucidate that?

His throat felt so dry he couldn't let out a word of excuse. The moment was so mortifying to him he just reached for the familiar wand and nodded politely in gratefulness.

"Mhm..." Draco hummed, barely audible and momentarily deflated. "It's just... Something I've been training with..."

What the fuck is that supposed to mean, dolt?!

"Oh," the girl unconsciously flipped her hair off the shoulders, probably trying to make sense of the information. Furrowing her brows, she put her hand under the chin. "Are you a magician?"

"Kind of..." he agreed, not happy about the reputation he had just created for himself, but at the same time satisfied he didn't have to make up more explanations.

Luckily for Draco, the uncomfortable pause was rescued by the arrival of the food -- thank Merlin -- and even though he hadn't been hungry at all, now he felt an unexpected appetite to eat up the awkwardness. The girl probably caught a hint it was about time to end an encounter because she grunted.

"Listen," the girl started, clearing her throat yet again. "I better get going. But..."

The next thing Draco knew was that she was reaching to her pocket again, this time taking out something similar to a quill, only without ink. He assumed it must some kind of muggle invention, only a mechanical-like version. The girl uncorked it and suggestively drew out her hand, clearly signifying he should bring his hand closer as well. He obediently did.

"France is a big city," she said, glancing at him and sounding serious. "If you ever needed someone to show you around, let me know."

Without any preamble, her soft, delicate fingers grasped his forearm (he made sure to give her the right one), and with a few scrawls on his skin, she looked at him merrily, blushing slightly, and then left a table.

He stared after her for a while, looking at her curls bouncing behind her back as she walked away at a slow, monotonic pace. After a few seconds, she disappeared out of his sight, letting him finally peek at the note she had left:

'Call me, Y/N,' and a nine-digit number attached.

XOXOXO

A/N: I know this part might have contained too little Draco x Reader momento, but I promise it’ll get better as a plot develops. Also -- is it only my impression, or is Narcissa as changeable as the weather in Germany lol.

[soldrawss]

Ok, this morning I opened Tumblr, found your blog, started checking all your rottmnt tagged posts, found your big brother Mikey AU, CRIED FOR ALMOST AN HOUR as I red every post about it, drooled all over your gorgeous art, smiled like a crazy person reading all your Human AU posts, got up with the sun in my chest and more energy than I know what to do with and have been productive since then. I don’t know what to ask (or if you take asks) but I crave more infos about your big brother Mikey AU❤️

WOAH OK this was such an incredibly sweet ask and I’m SO HAPPY that my BBM au could bring you so much joy and ahhhh!!! Just thank you so much, this ask made my night <3 Here’s one of the many little stories I’ve written for the AU that I’ve sent to my friend @zacharandom (thanks for always reading my little emotional blurbs about these kiddos Zach~) Enjoy!

(I haven’t gotten into it yet (I will, it’s a separate ask I’m working on) But Leatherhead is a BIG part of the BBM au. Zach had asked if any of the kiddos had ever been to LH’s place, since LH always stays over at the Hamato’s, and I said yes, but only Donnie, and then this mini fic was born.)    Donnie and Mikey get into a 'fight'. And I say 'fight' because Donnie doesn't really know what else to call it. Because he doesn't pick fights, not really, not with Mikey. He doesn't go looking for them with Mikey like he does with Leo. Leo, who can take the worst of Donnie’s shitty teenage attitude and come out of it alright, wearing the worst of Donnie’s temper and anger like a bulletproof vest. Donnie can afford to hurt Leo cause Leo won't break because of it. He's safe to hurt. But it's different with Mikey. Mikey, who's so tired he can barely stand straight most days. Who has bags under his eyes like dark stickers, that not even doe-eyed and ever adoring Raph can peel away. And Donnie KNOWS better than to pick a fight with Mikey about it, it was mostly why he was trying to avoid the conversation altogether. Why he had hidden all the school letters and hacked into Mikey's phone to block all the emails and texts and phone calls from the school about it. He didn't expect Mikey to run into one of his teachers after work and basically blow everything Donnies worked so hard to avoid. He didn't want to skip a few grades. He didn't care what his teachers or his GPA said. He didn't CARE if they thought he was ‘wasting his potential’. He wasn't, and they had no right to complain about it to his big brother like they did. Donnie had TOLD Mikey that he didn't want to. Had gone all the extra lengths to take as many of the AP classes the adjacent high school offered, bargained and pleaded and BEGGED them. He’d do whatever it took, but he didn't want to move grades. He didn't want to quit the robotics club. He didn't want to go to school with a bunch of kids older than him and be the butt end of every baby freshmen joke in the book. He didn't want to be separated from Leo. He really, really, really didn't. And he had explained this all to Mikey. And he knew that Mikey KNEW this. But the teachers wouldn't stop hounding him, and Mikey was already so tired anyway, the weight of the world always seemed to be a weighted pressure on his shoulders that looked physical, with the way Mikey’s whole body sagged. Like every move he made was a conscious effort and pain. Donnie knew this, and he still yelled at Mikey about it anyway. And Mikey didn't yell back, cause Mikey never yelled back at them, but his voice was stern and tired and it just begged Donnie to at least consider talking about it. But Donnie’s 13, and the biggest jerk in the world because he doesn't want to talk about it anymore. And Mikey didn't deserve the one sided shouting match that was all Donnie, he didn't deserve the pointed "I can't believe you would take THEIR side, you NEVER listen to me!" And Mikey DEFINITELY didn't deserve the front door slamming in his face, the last words Donnie said hanging in the air behind him. "I HATE IT HERE!" It wasn't raining, but there was a misty cold hanging in the November air as Donnie sat at an empty park bench, somewhere in Flushing, feeling like the biggest loser in the world the second he ran away and oh,,, oh God. He ran AWAY. How could he run away? He didn't want to run away! He didn't want to run away from anything, especially if it was away from Mikey. Mikey, who deserved more than Donnie’s cold shoulder and heated words, but took it anyway, and he didn't even flinch as Donnie practically screamed at him. He just looked tired. More tired than ever. And accepted Donnie’s temper tantrum like he accepted every other bad thing that has ever happened to him. Like he thought he deserved it. And he was sad. Sad in a way that made Donnie want to throw up. Because he was one of the people who were NEVER supposed to hurt Mikey like that. But he did. He did and he ran away like a little kid and he felt so STUPID about it, jumping on the first bus he could and taking it to God knows what neighborhood and now he was sitting alone on some random park bench, the November cold sinking into his skin and thin shirt cause he didn't have the mind to grab a jacket on his way out and GOD what was he doing? He was cold and alone and probably lost and Mikey probably hated him and now- "Donatello?" Came a voice from behind Donnie, and Donnie whirled around on the park bench because he'd recognize that low and gentle voice anywhere and... Yup. There he was. Lieven Heather, or Leatherhead as Mikey always affectionately called him, standing tall and curious like. His long black hair pulled into a low bun, his green eyes leaf-like and bright, piercing through the dark park like fireflies, looking at Donnie like he was searching for an answer before he got the chance to ask the question and WOAH was Donnie not the emotional type, but he could have cried when he saw the familiar face.

Actually, he was already crying before, but crying because you’re happy to see someone and crying because you’re a jerk to your big brother are two completely different types of emotions, and Donnie tried to hide it either way by rubbing at his face with the back of his wrist. LH’s namesake leather jacket is HUGE on Donnie, but the 12 year old takes it without a fight because LH does NOT look like he's willing to negotiate, as he holds a bag of groceries in one hand and holds an umbrella over the both of them in the other, saying that his apartment is just a few blocks away, and it'd be best to get out of the cold. The tall man doesn't press Donnie for details, doesn't ask why his friend's kid brother is out at 8pm on a school night, all the way on the other side of the city, eyes red with something between tempered anger and grief and skin pale with November cold. Donnie is thankful for it. He doesn't feel like explaining himself quite yet. The second hand hurt from before is still raw in his chest, and even though he knows he's the one at fault, he can't really shake off the sinking black hole feeling in his chest. So the 10-minute walk is mostly silent. LH lives in a grey bricked building, on the third floor, and his apartment is exactly what Donnie would expect if he really thought hard about it. It was a simple studio, minimalist and uncluttered, but that seemed more because the place felt untouched rather than because LH was a particularly clean guy. All the electronics on in the kitchen where stainless steel and spotless, Donnie half suspected they were untouched because of the garbage can filled with dollar store Ramen noodle cups and forks in the sink. His grey walls were bare, and he didn't have a TV,  but there was a large bookshelf that covered the expanse of one wall, filled to the brim with thick books that looked like they belonged in the reference section of a library. There was a little queen-sized bed shoved in the corner, neatly made, and looked rarely slept in. The only sign of life in the little apartment that felt much too small for the nearly 7-foot man was the little desk that sat beside the bed, which was covered in astrophysics textbooks, notebooks filled with scribbled notes and a few orange study note cards that had Donnie's older brother written (metaphorically) all over them. Lh motioned to the chair at the desk with a nodded, "you can sit there if you want. I'll make some Valerian tea." "Valerian tea?" "Helps with stress." "I'm not stressed." "Right, of course not. Still tastes good." And Donnie doesn't really like tea, he'd much prefer coffee, or one of the energy drinks Leo sneaks him during school lunches because Mikey doesn’t buy them, but he knows better than to ask for that. He knew about LH’s anxiety disorder and underlying PTSD, from a past that Donnie didn't know any details about except from snippets he'd overhear here and there from the hushed late-night conversations LH and Mikey would have when they thought that Leo and Donnie and Raph were asleep, and he knew that caffeine wasn't something LH indulged in often because of it. The tea tastes fine though. It's hot, and burns his throat a little, but Donnie doesn't care enough to wait for it to cool down to enjoy it. Because it hurts, and Donnie figures he kinda deserves the pain. It's after a few quiet minutes, Donnie sitting at LH’s desk while LH leans against his kitchen counter, that Donnie reaches for a courage he doesn't usually possess and tells LH everything.

About the extra AP classes, and the nosey teachers, and the way it feels a bit too suffocating trying to be everything everyone wants him to be.

And how it all feels too lonely. He barely remembers his mom. He’s starting to forget dad. Mikey works all the time and Raph goes to a completely different school. If he moves up a few grades, then he loses Leo too. And he just can’t deal with that. He can’t deal with everyone, some way or another, leaving him. And how in some, backward, twisted way, it sometimes feels like people are trying to get rid of him. And he just can’t take it anymore. Donnie likes LH. He's smart and collective and cool and he's super nice to Mikey and he’s pretty much everything that Donnie wants to be when he grows up. And he's friends with LH. LH gives him pointers on his science projects and he teaches Leo how to punch a bully like its nothing and he's patient and understanding and helpful with Raph's temper and he's a godsend of a friend the Hamato clan didn't know they could afford after April had came into their lives and Donnie LIKES Lh. But he didn't think they were good enough friends for Donnie to deserve THIS. LH listened to him patiently and quietly. Nodding at the appropriate moments in Donnie’s tearful and half-hysterical rambling about his school and his GPA and how he didn't mean to take it out on Mikey and he didn't mean to run away but GOD he was so sick of everyone looking down on him like a little kid and like HE didn't know what was best for him and didn't have a choice in deciding HIS future. And he expects LH to get mad at him too, cause he was Mikey’s friend first before Donnie’s, and Donnie YELLED at Mikey, and Donnie WASNT going to sob like a child about it, but his head lowers and there's a stupid stinging in his eyes and he sniffs once or twice anyway when he mutters "God, I'm so stupid. Mikey probably hates me right now and is so mad at me." And he can hear LH sigh, and put his own cup of tea down, before walking over to where Donnie sat and crouching before his chair. "That's funny you think that, because when I texted him earlier, he sounded nothing short of scared out of his mind and relieved." "You texted him???" "Well yeah, of course. He called me shortly after you ran out, singing the same tune you are about how you're so mad at him and he didn’t mean to fight with you and that you probably hate him. That’s probably the only reason I even saw you, I wouldn't have known to look out for you if he hadn't told me to keep a lookout for you." And that, woah, Donnie felt a million times worse now because of COURSE, he didn't hate Mikey! Donnie wasn't even MAD at him. He was just being a stupid stubborn teen who took out all his frustrations and insecurities on the last person in the world who deserved it and boy oh boy, this whole thing was so stupid anyway.

“How about he finish our tea, wait for you to get a little bit warmed up first, and then get you back home so that you can tell everything you just told me to your brother. Because I think we both know how much he’d want to hear how you truly felt about this situation.”

And that... that sounded good. Because after his entire mini-rant, it felt like a shadow had been cleared from over Donnie’s heart, and now he wanted nothing more than to go home and hug his big brother for all his worth and apologize about a million and half times. Maybe more. Donnie hadn’t decided yet.

After they had finished their cup of tea, and LH had given Donnie one of his warmer college sweaters to wear before they took the subway back to the Hamato residence, where Mikey stood in front of the building, red-cheeked and shivering from the cold in a giant puff jacket and pajama bottoms, waiting for them.

Donnie didn't even wait, he ran the second he saw the familiar orange jacket that belonged to one of his favorite people on the planet and broke into a breakneck sprint, colliding into his older brother’s chest and waiting arms, and breaking into a choked cough when Mikey’s arms instantly wrapped around him like he always belonged there.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to run away!" Donnie rushed to say because he didn't want a second to go by without Mikey knowing that, but Mikey was already running a gentle hand through his hair and hushing into the crown of his head.

"Shhhh, shhhh it's ok, buddy. I know. I'm just glad you're home." And Mikey still had bags like bruises under his eyes, and looked on the point of breaking if Donnie hugged him too tightly, but he still smiled at Donnie with all the affection and warmth of the world when they pulled away, and Donnie couldn't fight the urge to spit out, "I don't hate it here! And I don't hate you. Ever! I'm sorry I said that. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry Mikey." And Mikey replied with a soft smile and an "I know, kiddo. It’s ok." But there was relief like a balloon losing helium in his eyes and shoulders, like he would have believed differently if Donnie hadn't said anything, and Donnie made the promise there and then that he’d do everything in his power to make sure Mikey never thought that way, even for a second, again. LH hadn't stayed over for the pizza movie night that Mikey offered as a silent ‘thanks for bringing my kid home’, so Mikey and Donnie saw him off at the subway station, and made the few blocks back to their waiting apartment and waiting little brothers with their arms around each other in a side hug. Neither one of them wanting to let each other out of their grasps. And there had been a promise to talk about it later, because Donnie was feeling a little more up for negotiation even though Mikey swore up and down that he’d back whatever Donnie decided to do 110%, but it could wait till another day, when both of their nerves and hearts weren't so tender and raw with emotion. Tonight, they would just sink into the weathered old couch that was softened by a million quilts, and out on a Mothra vs Godzilla movie, and squeeze themselves between an over-excited Raph, who couldn't stay still and just HAD to act out all the Godzilla fight scenes, and a relaxed Leo, who sprawled his legs over Donnie's lap despite Donnie complaining about it, but Donnie didn't make any effort to push him away because Leo kept keeping a wary and watchful eye on his two older brothers, probably knowing more about both sides than either one of them, and keeping his legs over Donnie was half for familiarity and half to keep him from jumping up and running out again and huh, maybe he wasn’t so relaxed after all. Guess Donnie had more than a million and a half apologies to make. Better round it off to a good 2 million, just to be safe. Because Donnie couldn't rightly blame him for keeping a careful eye out, but Donnie had learned his lesson. He wasn't running away again. He wasn't running anywhere if it was away from his brothers. Away from the only family he’s ever had. Because donnie was stubborn and stuck in his ways. And he wasn't going to quit the robotics club, and he wasn't going to skip grades and he wasn't going to leave Leo behind and he wasn't going to be left behind. Donnie wasn’t going to run away. Because Donnie wasnt going anywhere.

(one of the doodles I did for this particular story)

[jobean12-blog]

The Color of Your Smile

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 1,415

Summary: Each and every time Bucky smiles it’s like the sun comes out 🌞

Author’s Note: This is for the HBC’s @the-ss-horniest-book-club 24 hour surprise drabble challenge with the theme of colors! Really love this idea and I went with Yellow Sunshine because honestly the thought of Bucky smiling is really like sunshine! And my beautiful friend @nano--raptor and I were talking about how shitty bad days and anxiety can be and what we would love to have to help...love you Mal❤ Hope this makes you all smile and you enjoy it! Thank you so much for reading! Much love always ❤❤❤

Warnings: Super soft fluff, shy Bucky (he’s so soft) and LOTS OF SMILES :) 

Nothing makes you happier than seeing Bucky smile. No matter how bad the day has been if you catch him laughing or smiling, it’s as if the clouds part and the sun comes out. The way his eyes crinkle at the corners and his nose scrunches up make it impossible for you not to smile too.

Sometimes he dips his head in the most adorable way, almost like he’s embarrassed and a strand of hair will fall over his forehead and you want nothing more than you comb your fingers through it and kiss him. He knows none of this of course, the thoughts never more than a whisper on your lips.

Today is a particularly shitty day. Everything is giving you anxiety and you can’t seem to focus enough to get anything done, which is bad because your to-do list has never been longer. It’s not raining but it might as well be with the blanket of gray clouds that covers the sky. When you finally make it through to dinner and head into the kitchen, you’re so ready for something yummy that you can already taste it.

Shuffling through the cabinets you search for your mac and cheese. You’re sure you had at least one box left. It isn’t anywhere to be found and you’re on the verge of tears. That is, until Bucky shows up. “Hiya doll, what are you looking for?” He walks up next to you and brushes the hair from your shoulder, smiling softly while he waits for your answer.

You smile back. “Well, I had a shitty day and I was hoping to eat some mac and cheese, but it looks like I’m out or someone else ate it, which is fine, but now I’m hungry and just…” You shrug and sort of deflate, wanting to lean into him for a hug. Without a thought he does just what you want, pulling you close to his chest and circling his arms around you. “I’m sorry. I hate days like this. What can I do?”

Feeling better already you lay your chin on his chest and look up and his still smiling face. “The hug really helped, thanks Buck. Now I need a shower and food.” You feel his laugh vibrate through him. “Tell you what, I have an idea. Why don’t you go shower and change into something comfy and meet me back in my room in about an hour?”

Raising your brow, you make to argue but he gives you one of his brightest smiles and you immediately crumble, smiling right back with an excited “yes!” After a nice hot shower, you throw on some yoga pants and a tee shirt before walking down the hall to Bucky’s room. Lightly knocking you wait a moment, hearing some shuffling from the other side of the door.

He opens it a crack, blocking your way with his body. “Hi.” This time you smile first and notice he seems a bit nervous. His cheeks are even a little pink which makes your smile grow. “Are you gonna invite me in?” Now he cracks a lopsided smile and you fall more in love. “Of course. But uh, can you close your eyes?”

Without a second thought you squeeze them shut and he takes your hand in his, slowly guiding you through the door and into his room. He stops and stands in front of you taking hold of your other hand and bringing them to his chest. His shirt is warm and soft under your touch and all you can think about is how nice it feels against your skin. “Ok, so I hope this helps and that it’s ok. And you like it. Because if not, that’s fine.”

Releasing one of your hands you reach around until your finger finds his lips to stop his rambling. “I’m going to love it.” He lets out a breath and brings you around to his front. “Ok, open ‘em.” Your eyes pop open and you’re momentarily stunned silent. He’s taken all the pillows from his bed and couch and laid them on the floor. The sheet from his bed is now somehow pinned to the ceiling and cascading over the plush fluffiness on the floor. Small twinkling star lights set the space aglow and when you turn to look at him, they twinkle in his eyes. “Bucky. I don’t know what to say. It’s. It’s perfect!” Grabbing his hand, you launch yourself into the fort, plopping down on the pillows and snuggling in.

He laughs and lays beside you, propping himself up on his elbow. “Really? Are you sure?” His smile is so sweet you can barely stand it. “I LOVE IT!” His nose scrunches and he dips his head and you almost let out a moan, not sure you’ll be able to stand much more of it. Rolling over to hide in the pillows you hear a crunch and quickly sit up. “What was that?”

Bucky leans over you and feels around under the pillows, eventually pulling out a bag of party mix. “Snacks!” he says brightly, opening the bag and offering you some. “My favorite! How did you know?” For a moment he looks too shy to speak but finally manages to mumble, “because I pay attention.” And now he has your full attention. “What do you mean Buck?”

He brushes you off with a wave of his hand and pops a pretzel in his mouth, smiling through his chewing. “Nothing, forget I said anything.” Taking the party mix from his hand you sit up, placing your hands on his thighs. “Bucky.” He drops his head and groans. “It’s just. Well. I listen when you talk, and I remember everything. Like when you said how much you love party mix and blanket forts and star lights.”

If it weren’t for the yellow glow from the lights above, you swear his face would be completely pink. With a sheepish look he waits for you to say something. “I’m completely in love with your smile.” The words leave your lips without a thought and it’s your turn to blush. Deciding there’s no turning back now you keep talking.

“Every time I see you smile it’s like the clouds part and the sun comes out. The way your eyes crinkle at the corners and your nose scrunches up makes me feel all warm and tingly. And when you try to hide a blush and dip your head and a stray hair falls loose, I can’t help but feel better and like everything will be ok.”

He hasn’t said a word, his eyes focused on yours as you pour your heart out. His hands slowly come up to cradle your jaw and he brushes his thumb over your lips. “You really feel that way when I smile?” You slowly nod, letting your eyes flicker to his lips when his tongue darts out to wet them. “It’s true.”

With the drop of his head he’s close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath fanning over your lips and it makes you tremble. “That’s good. That’s really good. Because I’m completely in love with everything about you.” The press of his lips is soft at first but there is a swift progression of intensity that has you clutching his shirt to steady the dizzying sway of the world beneath you.

Pulling you into his lap he brings his hand around to hold the back of your neck, tilting his head and parting your lips with his tongue. You open up for him, carding your fingers through his hair and down over his broad shoulders. His hands smooth down your back and he gently lays you on the pillows, covering your body with his.

He moves his knee upwards, parting your legs and you wrap your own around his waist, pulling yourself impossibly closer. He drags one hand down your arm and his fingers dance around the hem of your shirt. You can’t help the giggle that rises in your throat and before you pull away you feel him smile against your lips.

“Wow,” he hums, trailing soft kisses over your cheeks and down your neck. “I think I found a new thing I love best about you.” You giggle again, loving the tickle of his beard over your delicate skin. “And what’s that?” He brings his eyes back to yours, brushing his nose over your jaw, “kissing you. I don’t ever want to stop.”

@aesthetical-bucky @auro-ora @abovethesmokestacks @book-dragon-13 @bugsbucky @buckys-broody-muffin @buckys-minty-breath @buckys-henley @breezy1415 @bucky-on-my-mind @buckyandbowties @eurynome827 @godofplumsandthunder @hiddles-rose @hawksmagnolia @hailmary-yramliah @ikaris-whore @imgaril-lindru @itsunclebucky @jhangelface0523 @jewels2876 @kaosera @lokilvrr @loricameback @lorilane33​ @littleredstarfish​ @littledarlinhavefaithinme​ @mushyjellybeans​ @marvelandotherfandomimagines​ @marvelgirl7​ @nano--raptor​ @randomfandompenguin​ @pinkdiamond1016​ @crushedbyhyperbole​ @this-kitten-is-smitten​ @sallycanwait68​ @softpeachbarnes​ @scarletsoldierrr​ @nordlysinthewoods​ @tuiccim​ @the-wayward-robot​ @yansi1923​ @cuddles-with-bucky​ @jamesbarnesappreciationclub​

I tagged some extra friends just to pass along smiles, hope you don’t mind and of course don’t feel obligated to read or anything❤🥰

[justallamaimaginingthings]

Memories {Klaus Hargreeves x Reader}

A/n: The dialogue in bold is a prompt by @write-it-motherfuckers​ requested by @starxidismoos​ . It's a bit shorter than my usual stuff, but longer ones are in queue. Enjoy!

Words: 1100ish  II  Masterlist

All credit for the photo goes to @absolutelysheehan​  💕💕

The light summer breeze flew through the window of the small apartment, carrying with it the crisp of the night. You were curled up on the side of the bed, completely lost in the book on your hand. The sound of the water running from the bathroom stopped and a few moments later Klaus walked out, wearing nothing but neon briefs. His hair were still wet from the shower and you could notice a few droplets running all the way down to the crook of his neck, passing by his collarbones and reaching his lean chest. Your eyes followed them as the desire to trace the exact same path with your lips formed.

"Enjoying the view, I see" He noted playfully after catching you staring at him from behind your book.

"You know I do. However, this has earned my attention for now" You replied, having to put on a lot of effort not to roll your eyes at the pout that formed on his face. If there was one way to describe Klaus in a relationship that would be adorably clingy. He always looked for a way to establish physical contact, whether that was resting his hand on your thigh while one of you was driving or holding hands when you walked around the city. There was something about the softness of your touch that felt so comforting that he couldn't imagine living without it and you never missed a chance to show him he wouldn't have to.

Instead of replying he plopped down on the mattress, leaning on his elbow so that he was facing you. A soft smile graced his features as he observed you returning to being fully focused on the book. With hair tied up in a messy bun and an oversized t-shirt, you never ceased to captivate him. Realizing that there was nothing he could do to overshadow the little attention thief, he shifted around, so that his head was resting on your lap. Almost instinctively, your hand reached out to comb through his damp locks, eliciting a satisfied hum of approval from his lips.

"Will you read to me?" He asked, shooting you a pleading look that made your heart melt and a chuckle to escape you. You happily accepted his offer before turning back a few pages in search for the poem's beginning.

"This one is called The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot" You explained and he nodded, closing his eyes as he let your velvet voice ring in his ears. Reading to him had slowly become one of your favorite habits, both of you loving the proximity of it. However, if Klaus wanted to be honest, he'd admit that usually he paid more attention to your silky voice that, combined with the feeling of your fingers running through his hair, was enough for him to feel positively blissful. By the time you put down the book you were almost certain he would have fallen asleep, being pleasantly surprised to be met by his piercing green eyes.

"Did you like it?" You asked, curious as always to hear his opinion.

"Yeah. I mean, it was sad, but the beautiful kind of sad" His reply was accompanied by a vague motion of his hands, something he used to do when he wanted to get a point across. For a while the two of you stayed like that, him lazily playing with the hem of your shirt as you reveled in the warmth of his touch.

"Can I ask you a question?" His voice broke the comfortable silence a few minutes later.

"Shoot" You replied, followed by a small pause while you got up and moved to snuggle on his chest. Leaving the softest of kisses on your forehead, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer.

"What's your most precious memory?" He asked. To say that you were taken by surprise would be an understatement. It wasn't unusual for Klaus to come up with questions weird and unexpected enough to trigger hours of late night conversations and there was nothing you loved more than resting in his arms while you talked about everything and nothing. Mentally searching through your memories, you realized you could hardly choose one you'd consider the most precious. All your moments with Klaus were special and for a moment you were about to say your first kiss when another thought came in your mind.

"Honestly? That time, not long after we met, when we sat in that shitty little car park late at night, eating those terrible chips from the petrol station with the broken sign" You said finally, prompting him to give you a confused look. According to what he remembered that night had been fun, but he had never considered it that special, especially in comparison to everything the two of you had been through since then.

"Seriously? Why?"

"Because it was the first time I saw you smile for real and I think it was the first time you let your walls down around me" The moment those words fell from your lips, he could swear his heart skipped a bit. He turned to look at you with eyes full of love and affection, still trying to process what you said. It took a moment for the reality of it to sink in, and when it did he felt like his whole being was flooded with a warm fuzzy feeling. Sure, he had hoped for you to reply with one of your shared memories, but he had never imagined it could be something like that and once again Klaus found himself in awe of you.

"Are you for real?" He asked in a small voice.

"Of course I am" You replied softly, melting under his gaze. Seeing Klaus this vulnerable was more than rare and it made you realize just how much that meant to him. You reached out to trace his cheekbone with your thumb, returning the heated gaze with just as much intensity. Slowly, you leaned in for a tender kiss, loving the way his lips molded against yours. Klaus let out a sigh as the two of you broke apart. His eyes were still closed and he refused to lean back, unwilling to let any distance get between the two of you yet.

"I love you" He whispered slowly before pulling you in for another kiss. There were no words to express what was going on in his mind, instead he chose to show you. The rest of the night was spent like that, foreheads pressed together as you lied in a mess of tangled limbs while whispering sweet nothings into the night. For once in his life, Klaus felt truly loved and he adored you in return. Settling down had never felt better...

[the-lincyclopedia]

* adapted from @librajiminn on twitter

A fun game to celebrate 2020 ending! The rules are simple: recommend your favorite OMGCP fics so everyone can enjoy them, while trying to fill in enough slots to get a bingo!

This is going to get long, so I’ll put it under a cut. Also, I’m too orderly to try to shoehorn my favorite fics into these particular prompts, so I’m just going to go right to left, top to bottom, taking the prompts literally, until it’s bedtime. 

1. first fic you bookmarked: “Here Comes the Sun” by @doggernaut, 19k, G, no warnings, Zimbits

For the past month, the man with the baby and the sad blue eyes has been stopping in for a cup of coffee an hour before closing. He always sits in an overstuffed chair in the corner and drinks his coffee while his baby sleeps next to him in the stroller. Sometimes he pulls a book out from the diaper bag he carries with him; other times he just stares straight ahead as if in a daze. He never asks for a refill, always respectfully gathers his things and leaves ten minutes before the shop officially closes. Eric desperately wants to ask him what his story is. 

My notes: I read Check Please over the course of two days in June of 2019. On the second day, right after catching up, I looked at @peppermintfeminist‘s AO3 bookmarks and found a fic by @doggernaut. Then I read just about everything @doggernaut had ever posted. It was glorious. This fic in particular is so cute. 

2. most recent fic you bookmarked: “Flight Check” by @edgarallanrose, 15k, E, no warnings (though there is a creepy/handsy guy at a club to watch out for), primarily Zimbits with most of the other popular pairings in the background

Flight attendant Eric “Bitty” Bittle has been working his way up at Samwell Airlines for the past four years, and his new promotion has provided him the opportunity to work with a brand-new crew. Unfortunately for Bitty, that crew includes an incredibly handsome but equally grumpy pilot, Captain Jack Zimmermann, who seems to want nothing to do with Bitty. Even worse, Jack refuses to eat any of Bitty's baked goods. Will Bitty be able to win the captain over? Or is there another reason Jack has been avoiding Bitty?

My notes: There are a lot of great things about this fic--Jack’s character arc, Lardo’s dialogue, that scene in Seattle--but the reason I bookmarked it is the scene where Bitty’s basically slut-shaming himself and Jack gently but firmly tells Bitty not to do that and that it was the creep’s fault. 

3. a fic that made you cry actual tears: “a little bit more” by @ivecarvedawoodenheart, 14k, T, no warnings, Holsom

“I just wanted,” he says, “a perfect day. With you. Because it’s our last day together and our last day being here as undergrads and we’re kissing the ice tonight, and the weather’s supposed to be beautiful, and you’re moving tomorrow and Holtzy I just — I don’t want to be missing you already.” Holster wipes his eyes before he even realizes he’s crying. Behind him, Ransom sighs. “One more day where everything’s the same,” he says, feeling around blindly for Rans’ fingers. He feels Rans nod as he laces their fingers together. “Yeah. Yeah, Rans. I’d like that a lot.” __________________________

Holsom after graduation and throughout the subsequent six months after Holster signs to an expansion team in Oregon, and realizes his feelings for Ransom too late. Holster's POV :) kinda angsty, but there's a happy ending :)

Inspired by shitty-check-please-aus: "Holster moves to Oregon while Ransom stays on the east coast. The time difference makes it difficult to talk and one day they wake up and realize they aren’t best bros anymore."

My notes: I almost never cry at fics. I searched “tears” in my fandom email account and only a handful of my fic comments came up, but Syd is a literal master of Holsom angst, always. 

4. longest fic you’ve read: “Like Real People Do” by @xiaq, 153k, M, No Warnings, Kent Parson x OC

Parson gestures with his spoon toward Hawke. “So am I allowed to ask about the service dog or is that not PC?”

“My medical history is more of a 3rd date conversation," Eli says.

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Because. No one sticks around afterward and I like to live in glorious denial for a short period beforehand.”

It comes out more self-deprecating than he intended.

Parson looks…thoughtful. “Well, does this count as one or two?

“Pardon?”

“This. Ice cream. I mean, technically it’s a second location, but still the same night. So is this one date or two?”

“One,” Eli says firmly. “If it’s happening within the same three-hour period.”

“You’re the expert,” Parson says, which, he’s really, really, not, but ok.

“So still two dates to go then?” Parson continues.

“I—what?”

“We’ve got a roadie coming up but then we’re home for almost two weeks. When does your semester start?”

“You want to do this again?” Eli asks.

Parson stops idly twirling his spoon.

“You don’t?”

He does, Eli realizes. He really does. Because apparently he actually likes Kent fucking Parson.

My notes: Okay, this fic has my whole entire heart. I’ve read it multiple times in its entirety, and it’s almost twice as long as the full-length novel I’m querying. Eli is one of my favorite OCs I’ve ever seen in a fic (probably tied with Damian Navarro and Ari Paxton, both brainchildren of @fozmeadows). Anyway, this is probably going to be the next thing @themeaningoflifeischeese and I read out loud to each other. 

5. a fic you almost didn’t read: “when all else fails (i’ll still be right here)” by @whoacanada, 6k, T, Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings (and I don’t remember if I think there’s stuff to warn for, sorry), Zimbits

The National Hockey League is resurrecting the Quebec City Nordiques, and the expansion draft hits the Falconers much harder than expected.

My notes: Given that this was for @omgcpheartbreakfest, I was worried this would be all angst--all hurt and no comfort. Which made me sad, because I love @whoacanada‘s writing but I wasn’t up for reading unresolved angst. But @doggernaut reblogged the fic, so I asked if the ending was sad, and it’s NOT! There is quite a bit of angst but the ending isn’t sad. 

6. a fic that convinced you on a ship you didn’t ship before: “it drops with the gravity of rain” by @geniusorinsanity, 16k, T, Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings (attempted sexual assault by an OC), Nurseydex

It happens like this:

“I don’t--this is a bad idea,” Dex says, his lips still tingling, his hands shaking on Nursey’s hips where he’s shoved him away. “This is a really bad idea, Nurse. I can’t--We can’t do this.”

And there’s hurt in Nursey’s eyes and his bottom lip is swollen from Dex’s teeth, but he says, “Okay.” And then, “It’s chill, Dex. Just friends, then.”

It happens like this:

“Actually,” Nursey says, talking more to his granola than to them, “I kind of have a date.”

It happens like this:

When Nursey calls, Dex almost doesn’t pick up the phone.

My notes: So I was really confused and a little disturbed when I first found out people shipped Nursey and Dex. Like, Dex just wasn’t someone I trusted. But then I was moving out of the house I’d been living in, and I needed stuff to listen to as I packed and cleaned, and @khashanakalashtar‘s podfics came in clutch. I gave this one a try even though I didn’t like Dex, and @geniusorinsanity blew. My. Mind.

7. a fic from an unusual POV: “Excuse Me While I Kiss This Guy” by @porcupine-girl, 8k, G, no warnings, Zimbits

Jesse Snowden knows all the best restaurants and gourmet food shops in Providence, so when Jack Zimmermann starts bringing in incredible baked goods, he's eager to find out where the new bakery is. When he meets the man behind the pies, he decides that there's no way Jack could really appreciate this guy's talent the way he does, even if they are friends. He starts hiring Jack's chef on the side, in the hopes that maybe once Bitty's done with college he'll come work for Jesse.

Good thing there is absolutely no way whatsoever that Jesse could possibly be misinterpreting this situation.

My notes: Oh my gosh this is so funny. The secondhand embarrassment factor is huge, but like, the hilarity. 

8. a comfort fic: “Don’t Need to Compromise” by @khashanakalashtar, 11k, E, no warnings, PB&J

“Hey,” said Kent, unknowingly setting off a chain of events that would change his entire life, “you said that like you know from experience. Have you done this before?”

Jack and Bitty have not done polyamory before, but they do know Ransom and Holster’s polycule, which contains March.

And March?

March is trans.

My notes: I’m in love with @khashanakalashtar‘s entire Directionverse series (and honestly a lot of their other writing), but “Don’t Need to Compromise,” which is the second fic in the series, just makes my heart swell especially much. The gender feels are so good, and all the characters are so good to each other, and when I listen to this on walks I have to actively try not to arm-flap. 

9. a fic you wish could be a movie: “Ice Crew Please!” by @petals42, 61k, T, no warnings, Zimbits

Jack Zimmermann was drafted first by the Providence Falconers when he was eighteen years old. He is good at hockey. Very good. His team won the Cup his second year and now, in his third year, they are looking good. Jack should be on top of the world. And some days, he manages to convince himself he is.

He’s not, of course.

Enter the Ice Crew.

AKA: The Ice Crew AU

My notes: This fic has its tender moments, but what I love most about it is the sheer goofiness. Ransom and Holster and Shitty are HILARIOUS in this one. I’d love to see their shenanigans in movie form. 

10. a WIP you read as it was updated: “Something Borrowed” by @fozmeadows, 48k, M, no warnings, Kent x OC

All things considered, Ari did his best to prepare himself for the advent of Kent Parson, Potentially Difficult Housemate and New Star Liney. The problem was that his best was an idiot.

My notes: So technically I didn’t start reading this until the first 19 chapters were posted. But there was still plenty of anticipation for the final few chapters. And like, @fozmeadows (as mentioned above) makes EXCELLENT OCs. And I love how their fics consistently convey that having bad things happen to you does not mark the end of your story. 

Okay, it’s bedtime, so have 10 excellent fics. I got bingo twice, because I went straight across on the top two rows.

[madyxtothemax]

The Pit Stop - Part One with @MyArrowBends

Atticus: 

-After a few days, the roads and sights began to blur together. Each truck stop was the same. The coffee all tasted the same and the bathrooms were all equally disgusting. I had enjoyed the solitude at first, but was now beginning to get a little stir crazy, and despite having bought a thicker foam for the bed, it still wasn’t the greatest sleep I’d ever had. 

As I crossed into California, I found myself craving human interaction, and more important than that, I had decided one way or another I would be sleeping in an actual bed tonight. As I gassed up at another same looking, shitty coffee making gas station, I didn’t bother checking google for any nearby hotels, figuring I’d stop when I grew tired and see what was close at that point. 

The hours passed and the sun was inching down toward the horizon with a speed that my van couldn’t seem to match. Dusk had settled and on the horizon I could see a cluster of lights that belonged to a city. I wasn’t sure which one it was, it didn’t matter. I had stopped paying attention to the names at this point since I didn’t really have a destination in mind. I would know when I was ready to stop and until I felt that feeling, I’d keep driving west. 

As the city lights grew closer, that same feeling of from earlier in the day returned. I was ready to find a motel for the night, maybe even somewhere I could grab a drink and a greasy burger. The potential for brief human interaction had a grin pulling the corners of my lips up. 

Still, I avoided searching something out on my phone, wanting to see what I could find on my own. Exiting off the freeway, and making my way toward the city, my eyes searched the buildings as I passed them by. Disappointingly, nothing much seemed to be open...at least nothing that grabbed my attention or sparked any interest. I wanted to find something local, I wasn’t interested in any kind of franchise. Those places were not geared toward any kind of interaction, speed and efficiency was their purpose. 

Finally after a few turns bringing me deeper into the city, I spotted a neon sign. The bright OPEN flashing in the door was the only invitation I needed. Admittedly, I wasn’t paying proper attention because I was still needing to keep an eye on the road, but as I pulled my van over to the sidewalk and looked up at the sign to fully read it, I couldn’t stop my laughter as it filled the quiet around me. 

A tattoo shop. 

I was not a collector of skin art, even though I liked it, I had never really felt a desire or pull to permanently mark my body with any sort of image. But I could see people inside, and I could go in and look around. I could get that human interaction I was craving even if I had zero intentions of getting a tattoo. Yeah. I could do that. 

Twisting the key in the ignition to turn off the engine, I unbuckled my seatbelt and made my way toward the door, noting the time on the door before opening it. I paused to check the time on my phone...they weren’t too far from closing. Perfect. Just enough time to have myself a casual conversation with someone about something I’d never follow through on before finding myself some food and a bed to sleep on.-

Madyx:

<I’d woken with it, the unshakable intuition alerting me that something was on the way. Something for me to attend to. Something significant. Someone to benefit from my unique abilities. Something to shake up the doldrums of a monotonous wave of months. 

As the hours in the day had passed like any other with a few window shoppers, bookings and not much more, whatever I had been anticipating hadn’t materialized. My intuition wasn’t normally so off, in fact I momentarily wondered if I’d pissed off the wrong people and lost my privileges. But, nah, I couldn’t shake it, even as the hours ticked down to less than fifteen minutes before the neon went dark. 

Having just finished with the people who’d shown up to book a session with Jordan, I was relegated to the idea I’d served as a glorified personal assistant for the day. Hell, I hadn’t even done a single piercing, let alone expressed anything in ink. At least Jordan would be pleased with what I’d lined up for her; a lot of people looking to lose their memories and oh-so-many willing to accept whatever consequences came with those choices.

I had my back turned as the group of three left, the bell chiming their exit. Oddly, the shop didn’t feel empty; I wasn’t alone after all. 

Turning, I was unsurprised to see a guy had wandered in just as the others had left. First impression was strong: he looked road weary, like he’d been places, but he wasn’t weighted by fatigue - nope. He wore whatever travels he’d been on with an earnestness. He wasn’t unkempt, but it looked like he hadn’t had a shave in a few days, and there was nothing that could have been done to conceal that he was damn gorgeous. I’d need to see more skin to know if there was any ink hidden under the clothes, and there were no visible piercings… visible being the operative word… 

Right.

I detoured my thoughts from veering in the direction of the gutter and noted the feeling that surfaced during the day had morphed into something more tangible. 

Well then.

I walked his way, which conveniently enough, was in the direction of the sign that was about to go dark. He, whoever he was, already had an unspoken invitation to stay as long as he liked.> 

Hey man, anything I can help you with? 

Atticus: 

-As I stood at the door, hand gripping the handle while sliding my phone into my back pocket, I looked up in time to see three people headed my way. I swung the door open and held it for them, offering an easy smile as they passed and spoke with an excitement I suddenly realized I wanted to feel. Seeing it on others left me no choice but to notice that I was heavily lacking that type of emotion in my own life. Sure, I had bought my van and felt the excitement and when I hit the road, it was there. But it was surface level excitement. 

I wanted to feel the rush of doing something impactful in my life. I still wanted to have some kind of human contact, and while my opinion and lack of desire to ink my skin hadn’t changed in the thirty seconds it took for me to hold a door open and walk inside the shop, I was definitely more open to suggestions. 

The guy who was working had his back to me. That was fine, he was busy and I had all the time in the world to wait to be noticed. Rather than doing something obnoxious like clearing my throat, I turned and began to look at the flash on the walls. Each page was neatly framed and hung with obvious care. Not a single one was off kilter. It made me smile. Anyone who paid this much attention to detail truly cared about what they did. I was envious of their passion.

I didn’t even have artwork that had hung on the walls in my office back in New York. Maybe if I had, my attitude toward being stuck behind a desk all day would have improved. Likely not. 

As I scanned a page filled with anchors, ships and pinup girls, a voice was directed at me. I had been so lost in my head, I forgot my entire reason for stepping into a shop I had no business being in. Turning my attention on the guy, I paused at his question. Shit. Instant attraction. I couldn’t remember the last time that had ever happened. My dick twitched as if to say, SURPRISE I still work! I felt completely disarmed. A fraud. An imposter. I couldn’t help the laugh that was two parts guilt and one part eagerness. 

“...anything I can help you with…”

Was there anything he could help me with? ...yes there certainly was, but I really didn’t want to admit that or what my initial reaction to him had been. My eyes searched his face first and then his gaze as it remained on me. His eyes were warm and welcoming the way my beloved hoodie felt each time I put it on. 

I was taking too long to answer but he didn’t seem to mind considering I was one of those assholes who showed up 15 minutes before closing. Remembering my entire reason for coming in here, to have a conversation with someone, I lifted my hand to the frame on the wall I had been looking at and grinned lazily at him, one side slightly higher than the other as I answered his question with one of my own.- Do you know who drew these? 

Madyx:

<The closer I got, the better my last call was looking. He appeared to be admiring what he saw on the wall which was a lift to my confidence after a day of nada. I was starting to pick up on the energy he was throwing off, and it was coming through strong. He was rife with a quiet excitement, like he was flirting with epiphanies and on the edge of taking chances. I was feeling it on a vibration much higher than my norm. Instant clarity. I relaxed into myself after his arrival helped me shake that unrequited anticipation I’d battled all day.  

When his eyes flicked off the art on the wall to me, I was ill prepared. His steel-blue irises were rimmed in navy, and subtly backlit; his gaze flecked with mischief. The cut of his jaw was a visual temptation outfitted with an infuriatingly attractive amount of scruff. His laugh broke me out of my preoccupation. It was telling, but only thanks to my extra sensory skills. 

His grin though… that was what slayed me where I stood. Crooked and slow, even stretched his lips were full and fetching.  Literally, I couldn’t have hand-picked the features of my non-type type more perfectly. He was exactly what I liked in a guy, at least physically. 

The lift of his hand to indicate the frame on the wall brought up my stare. A confident grin preceded my answer.>  

That would be me. But those are some of my more generic samples. I’ve got a book you can check if you’re in the market. Unless you’ve already got something specific in mind? 

<My eyes raked shamelessly up and down his body, taking stock of the canvas, before heading home to his eyes. I didn’t have to wonder if the charge I was feeling between us was legit. I knew it. If he had come for some ink and a fuck, I’d be happy to indulge his pleasure, even if it wasn’t in store for me… there’s no way I wouldn’t enjoy it.> 

Atticus: 

-The weight of this guy’s stare left me feeling some kind of way. At first, I thought I might be getting one of those he’s into you vibes, but then he answered my question and doubt began to creep back in. Maybe he was one of those people who were far too perceptive and he could smell the scent of wannabe all over me. 

No, I didn’t have anything in mind. I wasn’t interested in getting a tattoo, which was how I felt before I opened the door. I just wanted to have a conversation. Seemed the only way for me to do that without him getting annoyed that I was wasting his time so close to the end of the day was to keep looking at his work. I could do that, wanted to, actually. 

I shook my head, answering as honestly and non-committal as possible as his gaze hit me with a pointed once over. All right. I knew that look. I had given it out a time or two myself. I felt more confident as I found my voice again.- 

No. I don’t have anything specific in mind. I’m not exactly the type to just fill my skin with ink. -I paused and considered how my words sounded then quickly added to it so as not to insult the guy who clearly had no problem filling his own skin with ink which I suddenly wanted to check out every bit of.- I mean, not without research, that is. I’d love to see your book. 

-As he guided me to where a few different books sat on top of the glass countertop, I noticed each one had a different name on the spine. The one he gave me said Madyx. I grinned at him again and flipped open the cover. There were pages of photos of tattoos done on people. Some pages had drawings, too, and I took my time looking at each one. The silence between us was comfortable and easy. When my eyes landed on a particularly colourful image that took up someone’s entire back I paused to study it.- Wow. This one must have taken quite a while. Your work is incredible, Madyx. 

-I chanced a glance his way as I said his name so he knew I wasn’t just blowing smoke up his ass, before looking back down and flipping another page. I was beginning to feel like I was leading him on knowing I wasn’t going to be in town long enough to commit any kind of time like that, even if I did want ink. Which in the three minutes since I last asked myself, still hadn’t changed. I couldn’t pull the trigger on something that permanent. Plus, a tattoo that large would have taken more than one session, I knew that much. As I shifted from foot to foot, trying to figure out how to let him know I was sorry to have wasted his time, the light caught something below the glass counter. It was a showcase of sorts filled with what I assumed was body jewelry. My stomach lurched and adrenaline surged through my veins. I’d always been interested in getting a piercing, maybe...it was far less permanent than ink and wouldn’t take even a fraction of time.- 

Do you only do tattoos? -Sliding the book to the side a little, I checked out the display of hardware with more than the curious interest I had previously given to his artwork.- 

Madyx:

<Gorgeous seemed to be stalling. I sensed a reluctance I couldn’t quite define. I was starting to think it was definitely his first time, or maybe he was just feeling out the idea. BULLSEYE. He admitted as much by answering that he wasn’t the type to fill his skin with ink, but I wasn’t offended, nope. His eyes seemed to reflexively land on my own collection of pieces, and I wanted to invite him to gawk with those blues all he wanted. 

I didn’t care if he didn’t want any work only that it might end up in him leaving sooner rather than later. I was not down with that. I almost missed when he caught his self-perceived fuck up, but was nearly punch-drunk when he took me up on the offer to check out my book. Normally I wouldn’t waste someone’s time if they weren’t actually intent on letting me scratch my artistic itch, but he didn’t seem in a hurry to leave and, duh, same page. 

I handed off the book and he seemed to be truly checking it out. There was an excitement for me, one I hadn’t quite tasted. It was a thousand flavors, custom made...meant for me. Yeah, this was hitting way below the epidermis, into the bone, and below the belt, too. When he stopped on the page he did, my gut twisted in the best way, he just so happened to land on the favorite piece I’d ever laid down in ink. It had been inspired by Klimt’s “The Kiss” per the patron’s request, but with several liberties worked into the artistic elements. Instead of an obscure male and female, it was clearly two males. It had morphed from a symbolist piece to something more sci-fi and steampunk.  There were three dimensional aspects and an inordinate amount of intricate details, like any provoking piece, it begged look after look. In total it had taken 36 hours in six sessions. I would have got lost thinking about it if something else hadn’t caught my attention - my name. The intention in his tone was unmistakable. Now we were getting somewhere.

I didn’t even care that we didn’t discuss that tatt he’d stopped on, it was logged into the distant past when his attention shifted to the display of body jewelry. I walked to the opposite side of the counter, light shining up from the backlit case, we were closer to face to face and hell-to-the-yes; I saw the change in his posture. We were REALLY getting somewhere. 

I handle the piercings, too. <clearing the space of the books for the full view> But before we get to that, we need to level the playing field. Got a name or should I just call you gorgeous? 

Atticus:

-Generally speaking, I was not always very quick to pick up the cues when someone was flirting with me. It usually took a couple of are they or aren’t they moments before I caught on and then properly joined in on the exchange of the flirting game. Tonight it only took me two of those moments. First when I caught sight of him looking me over and then again, just now when he called me gorgeous. 

My grin at Madyx was instant and interested as I answered, holding out my hand to him for a shake, as proper dudes do.- Atticus. 

-When his hand slid into mine, I gave it a solid squeeze, and chanced a light brush of my thumb over the back of his before releasing it. His hand was warm and slightly rough on the palm, not at all unpleasant, the kind of hand that knew how to do hard work and wasn’t afraid of it. Not at all like my paper-pushing, then couch lazing hands. The most work mine had been doing lately had been flicking a signal indicator for left and right. 

As I returned my attention back to the display of body jewelry, I briefly thought about the other places I might enjoy the rough grip of his hands and damn near groaned. My dick was more than on board and before I could pitch any kind of tents of embarrassment, I considered piercing the damn thing just to get it to go back down. As far as ideas one might think about to initiate a cooling down effect on their body, this one should have worked for bringing my semi back to completely flaccid. Should have. 

It didn’t. 

The more I imagined Madyx jamming a needle through my most sensitive flesh, the more my pulse quickened and the more I discovered that I liked the idea. Fuck. Guess my body had decided for me. I now only needed to man up and tell the guy what I wanted. Vocalization time. If I couldn’t ask for the damn piercing, I did not deserve to have his hands on me, and that, judging by the sinking pit my stomach had just become was not at all what I wanted. 

Given how everything else I had done since rolling into this town has been on impulse decision making, I let my mouth run without much consultation with my brain, and hoped for the best.-

I’d like to be handled. -Welp. That was a wide open innuendo of his own words that couldn’t be taken back now. Guess I wasn’t going with my usual subtle approach, then again, nothing about this encounter was close to my usual.- A piercing, maybe two? Do you have time tonight? I noticed the sign said you were closing right away. I can always come back tomorrow if you need to close up and get out of here... 

-I wouldn’t keep him if he had somewhere else to be, but I really didn’t want to wait until tomorrow, I was too afraid of losing my nerve or even worse, waking up having decided I suddenly wanted an entire back piece devoted to body piercings. I shuddered at that particular thought before shaking my head, waiting to see if he was game for some over time before I even broached the topic of where I wanted him to pierce me.-     

Madyx:

<There was the grin again, but this one drew me in like it was baited with something addictive. I wanted a taste. I also wanted to hear him say my name again, that was until he told me his. 

 Atticus. 

As if I wasn’t already in deep shit with the grin, he had to go and share a name with one of my favorite literary characters. I wanted to roll it around in my brain on a loop, then say it out loud so I could see how it would feel in the slide off my tongue.  I swallowed thickly and dropped my hand into the one he offered for a shake, setting off a chain reaction I had in no way expected. 

Our hands fit like they belonged to each other, his warmth matched mine but his skin was smoother, more pliant. My eyes hit his just as I felt the subtle stroke of his thumb on mine. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and an electrifying buzz scaled my spine, then split and radiated north, east, south and west. My heart started to race in an erratic beat against my rib cage. When heat balled in my gut and prickled along the underside of my dick, it finally registered what was going on. Pleasure had always been my gift, but I had only played delivery boy and spectator so I hadn’t immediately recognized my receptivity. And it was specifically something about him…. I could feel his desire commingling with mine, the energy and tension between us behaving like a magnet...SNAP. 

Shit. For the first time in my life I was on the other side of the glass I’d always looked through. He was human, it shouldn’t be possible, but his singular, innocent touch had been undeniably thrill inducing. My mind and body were both fully engaged. If it wasn’t for the loss of his hand and his next words, I probably would have stood there in silence like a mooning asshat…. Lost in his eyes and all that.

But, HELLO, he wanted to be handled. I crossed my arms casually over my chest and couldn’t suppress the sideways smirk that came on quick. I’d handle him all he wanted, and with curiosity layering on top of the attraction to him, I wasn’t going to be shy. 

I kept getting hit with solid signals from him, they were unlike anything I’d ever felt, and somehow I knew he was also outside of his norm, but completely natural.  My attention perked when he brought up piercings and something about coming back tomorrow. 

Time to perish that thought. 

Shaking my head, I dropped my hands in a wide sprawl on the display case, leaning towards him.> 

I’ve got the time and my place is just upstairs. So what do you want, Atticus? <The question was meant to be overt and open ended. And if I loved learning his name… saying it packed a thousand times the punch.>  And for the record, I’d love to handle you. <It was shameless and I was not at all sorry.>

Atticus:

-He lived upstairs...I laughed at the immediate thoughts that came to mind then shook my head slowly, speaking quickly before he could get any kind of insulted.- 

Seems for the moment we are neighbours, Madyx. -The hand that had just held his, because of course I would now be differentiating my hands by whether or not they had touched him, lifted and I thumbed over my shoulder to my van parked out front. As his eyes moved to where I had indicated, I stared at the way his lips curved up at the corners and my fingers twitched at my sides wanting nothing more than to touch him again. 

Since it was generally frowned upon to yank a guy I’d just met over the counter and kiss him without giving him any kind of forewarning or chance to stop me, I cleared my throat and attempted to redirect my wayward thoughts back to what we had been talking about. He’d asked me a question and the proper thing to do was answer it. What did I want? 

I knew what I wanted… HIM. But that wasn’t what he’d been asking no matter HOW suggestive his voice had sounded to my ears.

In my early twenties I had looked into piercings, researched all the types and varieties a guy could get as a means of using the knowledge to impress this one chick I had liked when I overheard her talking about how hot guys who had them were. It even worked, up to a point. Turned out, simply knowing about piercings was much different than actually having them, and when she discovered I didn’t actually have any, her interest in me wavered and she quickly moved on. At that point, I didn’t see the need to get anything done since I had started out wanting to impress her, my intentions had been shallow, and lacked the intent to follow through. But now...now, my intentions were less fueled with wanting to impress someone I was attracted to and more about self-discovery. 

Tonight, the idea of getting a piercing made me feel more alive than I had in years. It was the right reason to pull the trigger on this. The gut churning excitement was the same I felt when I had called the number on the FOR SALE sign that had been hanging on the window the day I decided to buy my van. I was immediately grateful to the chick of my early twenties for having inspired me to do all that research, even if her rejection had been a blow to my fragile, immature ego. 

Was I being impulsive now? Absolutely. But I already knew I wouldn’t regret this which was why without any uncertainty colouring my voice, my gaze found Madyx’s and I grinned confidently as I told him exactly what I wanted.-

I’d like the first two rungs of Jacob’s Ladder. 

-I knew what I was asking for, and I hoped like hell the nickname for frenum piercings hadn’t changed in the years since I had done all that research. If it had, I fully expected him to laugh in my face and tell me to get my wannabe ass the hell out. I held my breath, and counted the thuds of my pulse as they wooshed in my ears feeling less and less confident in my answer as the seconds passed by that it took him to speak.- 

Madyx:

<There were several impulsive words trying to fly off my tongue, but I was biding my time. I glanced past him when he indicated he was my neighbor, noting the tell tale silhouette of his VW bus. Currently nomadic, likely sleeping on a less than comfy mattress in the name of experience.  The mentality someone must possess to live on impulse was a turn on, and it worked in my favor. Without knowing it, he was feeding me information and arming my artillery with all kinds of weapons to extend the night…because without explanation, I just wanted more with him. More time. More touch. MORE. 

Atticus was setting off signals like flares in a moonless night, the attraction was undeniably mutual. I knew it, but did he? He would, I wasn’t letting him out of my company without shooting my shot. . My sensory grid was lighting up in a bright spectrum of greens, this was something fae only experienced in the rarest of circumstances. I knew what it meant but couldn’t delve into all that mythology on the spot. 

Fuck that. I was just going to go with it. 

And then he said it. What he wanted. 

I knew there was more by the way his eyes flicked over my lips and the unequivocal energy that told me he was using restraint. 

My brows shot up in reaction. My grin stretched a little wider. My dick bucked in my jeans clearly in support of this development. I toed the line of professionalism in my day to day operations, but this was beyond that. I couldn’t stop thinking about getting his cock out of his pants. With a casual swipe of my tongue between my lips, I opened the case, pulling out the options so we could get down to business. I knew he wasn’t going to run. I’d bet on it.>

You have piercings I can’t see? Or do I get first honors? 

<fingering a few of the barbells to draw his eyes down, even though I loved the heat of them on me> Are you thinking the same size for each? Or a descending size?  Grooved balls? <I smirked, couldn’t help it>  Smooth? 

We’ll get to gauge when I see what we’re working with, Atticus. 

<I loved his name too fucking much and still wanted to say it a thousand different ways just to know how it felt on my tongue, lips and in every incarnation. And yeah, I wanted him to know I had his dick on my mind, front and center. With every tick of the second hand, the tension was on the rise, and I was thriving in anticipation of reaching the breaking point.>

Atticus:

-Just as my lungs were beginning to burn for fresh oxygen, he spoke, and I exhaled slowly, controlling myself from letting out a sigh of relief so as not to let on how unsure of myself I had been feeling. There was no laughter or smirking from him that told me I had used an outdated slang. Excellent. I was starting to feel less and less like a poser with each follow up question he asked. He was very clearly taking my request seriously though I was not blind to the less than subtle moments of flirtation he was allowing to slip out with each exchange between us. And I was about to let him see my dick. I almost laughed. I held it in. Barely. 

It was my turn to speak. Right, he needed answers. I could give those. With a grin and a rub of my hands together I chuckled as I got the first question squared away.- No. I don’t have any other piercings. You’re my first, Mad. 

-My eyes dropped down to the tray of hardware he removed from the display case, ears working overtime to hear each of his rapid fire queries that I was delayed in noticing I had already shortened his name from Madyx to Mad. Both suited him, but if he was about to get face up in my junk without it being sexual I figured it was all right for me to shorten his name without expressed permission, that was how nicknames were supposed to happen anyway.- 

Size. I hadn’t really considered that when I went and got overzealous with my request for two piercings. -Laughing low, my eyes moved between the various sizes of barbells he was showing me before making up my mind with ease.- 

I want them to be the same. As far as accessories go, I’m a bit of a minimalist and the idea of gradually increasing seems a bit pompous if not arrogant to me. I can only imagine the size needed at the base if I went and got the great idea to complete the ladder. FUCK. -A shudder of regret for future me shot down my spine then ricocheted straight into the tip of my dick. All previous arousal swifty vacated my body and in a hurry. Decision made.- Yeah. definitely the same size. And smooth. 

I also know enough from my research ages ago to know I won’t be looking to stretch out the gauge, either. No matter how fast these particular piercings tend to heal, I don’t want my dick to become a branch of a Christmas tree, sagging under the weight of a too heavy ornament. God, can you even imagine?! -The mental images that began to fill my mind had me laughing again.- Otherwise, any other decisions needing made, I will heed to your expert opinion. 

Madyx:

<I caught his exhale and something about it felt like he was relieved, as if he’d just confessed a long held desire for the first time, and maybe I wasn’t so off the mark as he answered that I was his first. I didn’t have time for a smart ass remark about popping his cherry because of what he said right after. 

Mad. He called me Mad. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, as if a hand had ghosted upwards, calling it to attention. The sensation carried up into my scalp, and even to the tips of my ears. How was it that something so damn simple was so affecting with him? It wasn’t the first time since he walked in my shop, and the longer he stayed, the more I was convinced there was more of it in store.

I took him in as he weighed his options out loud, none of his choices surprising me. I figured he’d want something understated,  but I didn’t want to assume out loud and then have him reveal his elaborate plans for a rainbow ladder with alternating barbells down the back of his cock. That would have been a grave mistake! 

I laughed my ass off when he referenced a Christmas tree sagging under the weight of a heavy ornament from sizing up the gauges, unable to stop myself.>

If the piercings look like too heavy ornaments and your dick a limp tree after piercings, then someone doesn’t know shit about shit when it comes to proper technique. 

You’re in good hands, Atticus. I promise you that. <I flicked my eyes up to hopefully catch his, and thankfully I didn’t miss my target.> First, proper frenum piercings need to hit at the right depth to avoid that unfortunate look. Second, and counterintuitively, because of the skin, we’ll want to use a heavier gauge. With a lighter weight, during the healing process, it would push towards the surface, also resulting in the wrong appearance and a damn inconvenient dangling effect that could lead to unfortunate zipping incidents. 

<Laughing, it was a feat to drop my eyes from his as I started selecting options to suit his taste>

You’ll want to consider width dependent on your head. Sight unseen, I think this brushed steel goes with your vibe. 

You also have options when it comes to the size of the balls. <smirking, I laid a few out> You don’t have to decide standing here, we’ll bring them over to my station and you can see what looks right to you. 

You ready? Need a beer? Something stronger?  <My mouth on your cock to ease any nerves? I kept that last one on lockdown, lifting a brow, as I anxiously waited for his reply>

Atticus:

-My previously lost arousal was swiftly returning, and reaching tenting trouble territory when Madyx promised I’d be in good hands. Wouldn’t I just love to be in his hands. I stared at them while he sorted through the barbells, selecting some he thought would work. Long fingers, nimble and sure in their movements. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Now was not the time to learn I had a kink for hands, I’d never felt that way before, maybe they were just his hands I was lusting after, particularly when paired with this whole conversation that felt heavy with an undercurrent of attraction. I couldn’t deny it was flowing in both directions. He was making it pretty obvious, where I would have normally brushed it off as him being friendly in the beginning, I’d have to be blind to not see it now. I was damn sure seeing it. 

Things were about to get very awkward if I didn’t get control over my body. I was a magnet drawn to a piece of metal, desperate to move closer, to obtain that satisfying click when the connection was finally made. 

What was my life right now? 

How could, of all the places I decided to stop on a whim have this guy right here, and have this kind of mutual attraction happen so effortlessly. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt that way toward someone and have them return it. Years, for sure. Many years. My eye was not exactly particular, it checked out chicks and dudes equally, but it took a lot to make me want a second glance.  

Then he had to go and talk about ball sizing while smirking at me. I was starting to suspect he was playing with me. Cat toying with a mouse. Taunting my dick with his innuendo, coaxing it to come out of hiding and play his game. Did I want to? DUH. There was no denying how much I wanted to do just that. 

But how does one go from piercing consultation to...Hey, you give me a boner, wanna hook up? Yeah…..no. He was hot, and there was no doubt in my mind that he was hit on all the time. Likely every day. I was certain of it. I didn’t want to be just some lame customer who was looking for an after hours special with the good looking tattoo shop guy. 

Could I be any more of a cliche. I prided myself on being nothing of the sort...well I kind of was with my current on trend living in a van and travelling lifestyle. The only points working in my favour there was that I hadn’t documented a single moment of it outside of the memories in my mind. I wasn’t the next Van Guy with the Instagram worthy morning shots overlooking the ocean while holding a cup of coffee and casually displaying my abs for more likes. A thirst trap, I was not. I had higher standards than that. 

Questions were being sent my way. Was I ready? What a loaded thing to ask, I laughed and hoped it didn’t sound as choked off to him as it did to my ears.- Yes. I’m ready. I’m good on the beer, for now. I think. 

-I laughed again, this time it felt a little looser passing over my lips and I looked down at the tray of jewelry once more then looked back up at him, eyes finding his. Before I could stop myself, words tumbled out without much control over the content or how they’d be received, now was not the time to have shame or embarrassment, I needed to know if the situation in my jeans could be salvaged.- I once read that when getting dick tattoos, you had to be hard the whole time. Is the same true for piercings? 

Madyx:

<The energy smacking me around was nothing I’d ever come across. Fuck. It was inexplicably intense, like we were plugged into each other and exchanging a charge. I was still mind-blown by what he was putting out. His subconscious and deep-seated pleasures were stimulating mine, as if they were dependent on one another. When I caught moments of him looking at me, my body reacted and my heart was thumping, driven by the physical and not so physical. I shut-up the internal analysis as much as I could and focused on what was in front of me. 

Atticus was definitely anticipating, his excitement laced with nervousness inciting my extra fae receptors into overdrive. He covered pretty well, but his flustered laugh made me want to drop my jeans on the spot. I was stoked he’d declined the drink, especially since he’d slipped with the “for now.” Bingo. That was enough to confirm he wasn’t looking to bolt after I got up and personal with his cock. 

The jewelry out, I let my attention land squarely back on him while he entertained what I’d displayed. It gave me a chance to scope the strong, lithe line of his back, and the sharp cut of his scruffed jaw. Hell, with every fresh recognition of his attributes, his hotness was intensifying right along with my craving for a thorough taste. While I had this fuck-me revelation, he was quiet, probably thinking about the dual-punctures I was about to put through his cock.  I knew something was coming but the smirk that happened when he asked his question could not be helped.>

I’d like to see someone keep it hard through an entire inking. It only needs to be up for the stencil portion of the tattoo, after that there are creative ways to stretch a dick for the shading. As for you… <pursing my lips then rubbing them together> I’ll get the job done either way, as long as I can pinch the skin, I can pierce it. Generally, there’s more to work with when it’s not at attention. Chew on that and follow me.

 <My smirk widened just before I broke eye contact and grabbed the tray of jewelry.  Cocking my head in the direction of my station and the chair that would have him slightly reclined when he planted ass in it. I set the tray down and waited for him to get situated while I snapped on my gloves. When I turned around,shit, my eyes went straight south where it was hard to miss what was happening behind his zipper and before I could blow it, my eyes shot back to his. I couldn’t seem to stop doing that. I also couldn’t repress the urge to set him at ease and give him something to grab onto during this prelude to a pierce. 

Playing it cool, casual, intent on finessing my approach, I took a seat on my stool, which kept us at eye level with one another. I knew he wanted this in my bones, but I was feeling the nerves from the risk of it. I stepped over the edge and took the cliff dive, the words passing over my lips as I felt a rush from the free fall.> How about you don’t leave after we’re done with business. <It was a question, but the way it came out sounded more like a statement. Unintentional. Organic. Assured. I dropped my eyes to his cock before they raked back up his body...to his suckable throat...his full lips...and back home to his grey-blue eyes.>

Atticus: 

-“Chew on that and follow me.” Shit. He knew. He had to. There was no way he couldn’t tell I was already sporting wood. When he turned his back to me and headed to his station, I tried to chill myself the fuck out. Naturally my eyes landed on his ass and the fire that was in my veins ignited to an inferno and I knew there would be no way to get the blood to vacate my cock. This was going to be embarrassing for at least one of us in a couple of moments. 

Did it matter though? I was just passing through town, at least that had been the plan when I entered the shop. I came in here looking for a conversation with another person and now I was about to leave with some metal accessories. I shook my head as I took a seat on the chair he wanted me in and took a few deeper breaths trying to slow the thundering of my heart. 

I wasn’t shy about my body, never had been, but damn if I wasn’t worried about how he’d react when he took notice that I was more than eager to have his hands on me. Could I explain it away with a joke about being a masochist? Maybe, but it wasn’t true, not by the definition of the word. 

As I spent precious time fretting in my mind he had turned around from setting down the tray and...YEP. I watched as Mad got himself an eyeful and like the professional I already figured he was, his gaze moved right past my crotch and straight up to my face. 

He didn’t laugh. Or smile or even make a comment. The flirting that had been so natural halted. I didn’t know what to do with that. I was suddenly feeling overheated in my hoodie while worry about insulting him began to cycle through my mind, of course that was when things started to chill out for me in trouser tent town. I reconsidered the whole masochist angle again just to try and break the silence but shook my head to myself. It wouldn’t matter in a day or two or a week. I’d carry on with my drive and he’d have a story to tell his coworkers tomorrow. I was fine being a laughable story. 

Before I could find something casual to say, he sucker punched me with that line of staying after he was done and I briefly wondered if he was trying to throw me a bone because he felt sorry for me. I didn’t think so. The tension between us had been palpable from the start. I nodded at his non-question.- Yeah. I’d like that. Though we both know you already know that I would. 

-I laughed low as his eyes did another sweep and the previously cooling jets fired right back up again. Jesus. When did I become a thirteen year old boy seeing his first dirty magazine. I reached up behind my neck as I sat forward in the chair and pulled my hoodie off over my head, draping it on the arm of my chair, leaving me in my well worn white tee that was underneath. 

There was no point in trying to hide shit, the elephant in the room had been noticed, spoken about and well acknowledged, not to mention Mad was about to shake hands with the trunk. I blew out a breath, feeling all embarrassment sliding away as easily as I had taken off my hoodie, and grinned at him.- Let’s get to you shoving some needles through my family jewels so we can have that beer you mentioned.

[cripplerage]

I need to go on a rant about my real estate so... cw for real estate, brief mention of c*m, homelessness and abuse, cockroaches, and capitalism.

I live in Queensland, Australia. I'm 19. I graduated highschool 2019, right before Covid. I tried to move out but failed because of covid and stayed living at my foster carer's. In around August, I had to leave suddenly due to the abuse in the home worsening. I was then couch surfing and ended up staying at my partner's parent's overcrowded house with him. Let's call my partner C. Not an ideal situation, but not on the streets either.

We couldn't stay for long, though, because they were moving and they couldn't take C or me with them. There were 2 problems with this:

1. It turns out that it's nearly impossible to get a rental without a renting history, which we obviously didn't have.

2. Our area began to face a very serious housing crisis.

We got more and more desperate, applying anywhere we could afford and reaching out to any and all organisations that might be able to help. In the end, we had one week left when we found out that one of C's siblings had once private rented a room from a guy, and the room was currently empty. Thank god. Again, narrowly avoiding living on the streets.

So, we now lived with someone I'll call A. And... it sucked. The room had a bunch of mold on the walls, A barely cleared any space for us in the kitchen, he would shave his whole head over the sink and never clean up the hairs (in the end, C did it.) He even would regularly leave his c*m unflushed in the toilet. Not to mention he said the rent would be one price before we moved in and then increased it after we moved in. And he tried to get us to lie to Centrelink that we were paying rent so that he wouldn't lose his benefit. AND he's a transphobic gamer man who screams slurs at people on Dota at all hours of the day/night.

But we had to stay, or we'd be homeless. Bit then it comes time to sign the lease, and the rent is increasing. A couldn't afford rent on his own. We don't want to stay that long obviously, so we're forced to move out so he can get someone who'll sign the lease with him.

Side note: when we moved put, he tried to get us to scrub the walls for him because he said it was our responsibility, even though it was the same as when we moved in. I was so mad at this point but also scared because he's a big man, so I planned on us leaving and saying we'd come back but then not. But after my foster carer secretly spoke with him, he mysteriously changed his mind... I guess she's not all bad!

Anyway, again, we're frantically searching for housing, though we had never stopped looking because we hated living with A. Again, nearly homeless. At this point, so many people were homeless that many of them had set up tents on the local showgrounds. Then, an organisation finally came through for us. All we had to do was sign a lease - it's a unit, we were saved!

This brings us to 3 weeks ago. The unit kinda sucks but we have no choice, so we sign. Luckily there isn't an end date, we just have to give notice when we leave. The unit is furnished - it's mandatory. It sounds like a good thing, but it means we're presumably paying extra rent for really crappy furniture and it has to stay. And when it needs fixing, we have to wait for the real estate to fix it.

So we discover, after moving all our cold food into the old shitty fridge with D-rock etched into it with a knife, that the fridge emits hot air instead of cold. It spoiled all our food. So we then have to rely on 2 minute noodles and takeout for over a week until the fridge is fixed. It turns out the issue was that the door jams just slightly open, so that even the light has turned off but it's not closed. We learn how to close it properly, and life goes on. Except the fridge is now only slightly cooler than room temp, and the freezer part is about as cold as the fridge should be. The doors had been closed properly, and the settings had actually been set on the coldest option - more than most fridges need and using more power.

So then we had to ask for another technician. They booked a time, but never showed up. It was too late in the day to call them before we realised they weren't just late. It's now been 3 weeks since we moved in and we still don't have a working fridge - we have to keep our milk in the freezer.

For context - we need a freezer. I have undiagnosed chronic pain. We don't know what it's from yet, but we do know that ice packs are the only thing that significantly helps. So you can imagine the fury I felt in bed one morning, in excruciating pain. I was unable to move; sobbing and nauseous, knowing that something as simple as an ice pack could make a world of difference... and not having any that were frozen because the freezer is broken.

On top of that, the washing machine didn't work, the toilet paper roll doesn't work properly, the blinds are very broken, the hanger rod in our cupboard is detached from the wall on one side, we have a cockroach infection that has been here since we arrived, and we have very loud possoms in the roof and even louder neighbours. All except the neighbours have been reported, only the washing machine has been fixed.

Which would be mostly ok in this timeframe. Except we've just been told that we have a house inspection in 2 weeks? The notice came less than a month after we signed the lease; the standard is 3 months. How are we supposed to be fully unpacked and tidy when we don't have a working fridge/freezer and I sometimes can't walk from the pain because of it?

I am just so mad and upset and I feel so helpless. I feel doomed to be in unstable housing forever. How can I focus on getting better when I literally found a giant cockroach on my pillow tonight???

By the way, we pay $210 a week for this shothole. And it's VERY small.

So anyway, this was part 1 of my war on capitalism and the government. And I didn't even MENTION the homelessness experiences I had as a kid. Let me know if you want to hear the injustices I've experienced in the health system, in the legal system, in the education system, or in the foster system next. Yes, I could write an essay on each of these... and I probably will.

[starrybethany]

Clayton Keller: Part 6

Word count: 2252

I groan, stirring against whatever hard surface I’m laying on. Wait, why am I laying on a hard surface and not my bed? My eyes open and I recognize the legs of my dining room chairs before anything else. Did I really sleep on my kitchen floor last night? Why would I do that?

My muscles cry as I lift myself into a sitting position and my head throbs as I rise to my feet. Oh, I passed out while drunk. That’s why.

There’s already a bottle of Tylenol and a glass of water sitting on my kitchen counter, along with a note from Tyler wishing me luck after getting as blacked out drunk as I did. I guess all of the stress got to me last night with the cherry on top being the fight with Clayton that I figured the only way to make it better for a little while would be alcohol.

My muscles and my headache relax significantly as I shower, pulling on some leggings and a baggy sweatshirt, letting my wet hair fall over my shoulders as I gag over some crackers in the kitchen.

My phone is nowhere to be found in this room and I didn’t see it in the bathroom or my bedroom, so I head to the living room to find it. It takes ten minutes but I finally find it in between the pages of a book, which I should have noticed immediately since the width increased immensely.

All I want to do today is sleep and watch movies from the early 2000s, but I grab my backpack and head towards the library knowing I should study for these midterms so I don’t flunk out of this college that I’m oh so desperately trying to afford. It’s not as hard with a paycheck from Clayton, though.

I’m two units deep into my early American literature class when someone slides into the booth across from me. I finish the line I’m reading before looking up, smiling when my eyes meet Paige’s eyes.

I feel bad for leaving her last night, especially just to have a shitty interaction with Clayton. Instead of that I could’ve been comforting my old friend and shoving some more Oreos down her throat.

“I wanted to thank you for being there for me last night. I know we’ve kind of drifted apart, but I’m glad to know that I can always turn to you,” she tells me in a hushed voice.

My chest gets warm at her words. I was feeling so guilty for ditching her but all along she just cherished that I was there in the first place. “You’re welcome, Paige. Andrew’s a douchebag, you know that, right?”

She shrugs. “I’m getting there.”

I turn back to my laptop while she pulls out a notebook, scanning along the pages with her finger. An hour passes before she speaks again.

“So what are you doing Wednesday night?”

I bite my lip in thought. “Probably the same thing I’m doing right now.”

“Well, if you’d like to take a break for a couple of hours, let me know. I got tickets for the Coyotes game against the Blues and I was supposed to take Andrew but-”she shakes her head. “Just let me know by tomorrow if you’d like to go.”

“I’d love to go,” I smile at her. I might not know how hockey works despite the WAGs trying to explain it to me, but I am a woman who loves to see a bunch of hot, grown men sweaty and beating each other up. Plus, Clayton will be playing, and I want to watch and partially understand this time to see what he does that makes him so rich.

“Okay, cool, I’ll pick you up at six. You still live in the same apartment, right?” She asks, packing up her stuff. Some people give her looks as her volume has risen out of excitement, but I ignore them, nodding to her question. “See you then.”

“Bye.”

I watch her leave, pulling out my phone and beginning a text to the hockey player himself.

Hey, sorry for how things went the other night. Just wanted to let you know that a friend and I will be coming to watch your game against the Blues on Wednesday. Score a goal for me.

I hesitate before sending the message. I don’t like to apologize, deep down I know when I should apologize but I tend to not do it because of the issues I have buried within. It isn’t fair for the other person, especially for someone who might as well be putting his name on the check for Debbie, and I identify that it’s an issue that I need to work on.

I click send before I chicken out. I’m afraid of the response- I don’t know if he’ll still be angry with me, or perhaps even more angry- angry enough to cancel our contract or lower my pay.

He responds right away, just asking me where the seats are. I’m a little annoyed at the question, feeling like he should at least acknowledge the apology, but let him know that I have no clue where we’re sitting.

He leaves it at that and I go back to studying.

When Paige texts me details about our hangout on Wednesday night I tell Clayton where our seats are. Section 205, the middle section of the rink on the home side. He gives me a one word answer so I’m still left in the dark of how he feels.

Paige doesn’t own a jersey and neither do I so we just wear nice sweaters and jeans to the rink, unsure of how you exactly should dress for a hockey game. We find our seats and sit down, making small talk as we wait for warmups to begin.

When the players skate onto the ice, everybody cheers in excitement and my eyes find Clayton almost immediately.

It’s electrifying to watch him doing what he loves. He skates with a passion and a purpose, like every step and every move he’s going to make will be better than the last. He lifts his head towards the two hundred section and I lean in to talk into Paige’s ear. “Um, I should probably tell you something.”

She looks at me curiously. “What is it?”

“You see number nine? On the Coyotes?” I try my best to point at him. She nods. “He’s actually my uh, sugar daddy.”

She laughs, raising her eyebrows at me. “Are you kidding?”

I shake my head.

“You have a sugar daddy?”

“I have to pay the tuition somehow,” I defend, surveying her expression.

“I’m not judging,” she quickly reassures me, “That’s very progressive of you. Get that coin, girl.”

I grin at her, returning my attention to the ice. Almost as soon as I do my eyes meet familiar green ones. Green ones that I was looking at the other night while he was telling me that I’m not spending enough time with him.

I see him smile behind his helmet and the pressure from my heart lifts with the action. Thank god he’s not still mad at me. I don’t know why I cared so much anyways- I know he wouldn’t break the contract or pay me less, that’s not the type of guy that he is.

Maybe it’s because I had just a little bit of fear that he would leave. If he left I wouldn’t get to hear his crappy jokes anymore or listen to him talk about Fortnite or ignore Christian’s smirks in the morning as I leave their house.

Clayton maintains eye contact with me, lifting his hand to his ear in a phone motion. My eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“He wants me to call him? Right now? But he’s on the ice right now,” I ask Paige.

He must sense my confusion because he puts his hand in front of him, pointing at it with his finger like he’s pressing different ‘buttons.’

“Oh, he wants me to text him?” I inquire.

“I think he just wants you to watch your phone for when he texts you,” Paige clarifies.

“He’s not good at this whole charades thing,” I giggle, watching all of the players skate around the rink, stretch, and shoot pucks at the net.

They leave the ice and I pull out my phone, waiting patiently for it to ring or vibrate or do whatever the hell Clayton’s going to do.

It vibrates with a text and I open it, immediately rolling my eyes.

Clayton: Stay after the game.

Of course he wants to instantly get back into the argument as soon as I think we’re done. The game starts and hockey is a lot more confusing without help than I thought it would be. I would ask Paige a question and she’d give me an answer of what she thinks the answer is, and when she has a question I return the favor. When we definitely don’t know the answer, we use Professor Google.

The Coyotes win in the end, that much I know, and Paige and I remain in our seats searching up the answers to our questions while we wait for some more communication from Clayton.

A woman appears after a while, leading us downstairs to wait outside the locker room. Some of the players leave the locker room in their suits, giving us curious glances on their way towards their cars.

Christian grins like a cheshire cat as soon as he lands his eyes on me and I roll my eyes, giving his shoulder a shove.

“Oh hey, Y/N. Are you coming over tonight?” He questions, wiggling his eyebrows in a suggestive way. Paige giggles at that and I see Christian’s eyes sparkle at the sound.

“I don’t even know anymore, Christian,” I answer.

“Who’s your friend?” He asks, eyeing Paige with a flirty smile.

She looks shy and I grab her hand, feeling overprotective since she just had a traumatic and recent breakup.

“Out of your league, dude. Get out of here.”

He rolls his eyes but gives us a wave, heading down the hall. “See you at home, Y/N!”

“Sorry about that, Paige,” I apologize to her.

“No, it’s fine, um,” she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, “He’s actually kind of cute.”

I give her a soft smile. “Just let me know when you’re ready. I can give him your number.”

She nods. The intimate moment is broken as Clayton leaves the locker room, heading our way as soon as he sees us. I introduce the two to each other and the brunette turns to me.

“Are you coming home with me tonight? I won’t be playing Fortnite, don’t worry,” he adds a snarky comment.

I raise my eyebrows at that. “I apologized, okay? Remember when I apologized on Monday and you completely ignored it?”

“Remember how you completely ignored the fact that you’re in a contract to spend time with me?” He retorts.

“I don’t have to spend every second of every day with you, Clay-””Hey, uh, guys? People are starting to stare,” Paige interrupts us worriedly.

I look around. It’s true. Some of the workers and lingering people are so clearly eavesdropping on our argument- well, now they know that Clayton has a sugar baby. Even though I’m shameless, I know better than to continue this argument in a public place.

“Let’s go back to my place,” Clayton nods towards the hallway towards the parking garage.

I turn to look at Paige but she nods at the tall man. “Go, I’ll be fine. Work out whatever you need to work out.”

I give her a gracious smile, falling into step beside Clayton as we head down the hall. “Go to my place, I have some studying to do tonight after this conversation.”

~

Clayton and I sit down after getting back to my apartment, having a conversation where we’re both completely honest with each other and laying out all of our thoughts and emotions. I think we’ve both come to the realization that although we both lead busy lives, we need to make time for each other. However, that doesn’t mean dropping everything at the other’s beck and call.

“Say it,” Clayton gives me a toothy grin.

“I promise to make time for you.” I stick out my pinky finger. “Now you say it.”

“I promise to respect it when you can’t make time for me.” He attaches his pinky finger to mine and we shake on it.

“Okay, now I need to study before we do anything else,” I inform him, grabbing the textbook from the coffee table and pulling it into my lap.

He pulls me across the table into his lap, looking over my shoulder. “What is this?”

“Anatomy,” I answer, trying to find the place I left off at when we left for the game.

“Gross.” He says that but I can feel him reading over my shoulder, even resting his chin on my shoulder to get a better view.

A half an hour passes before Clayton gets antsy, shifting below me and turning his head.

“Okay, time to pay attention to me now,” he declares, pushing the book off of my lap and onto the floor.

“Clayton!” My protests fall on deaf ears as he yanks me below him, hovering over me and pressing his lips onto mine.

I can’t even help but to laugh.