#perhaps the most confusing of the brain cell hours

[adamfinchley]

THE MIND AND THE GUT ARE THE CLOSEST OF FRIENDS

Recently I heard someone discussing psychobiotics and thought they were confused and meant probiotics or even prebiotics. But it seems this is a relatively new word that conveys the powerful connection between the mind, or brain, and our gut.

One area talks to the other via a network of neurons and heavily influences the two areas so strongly that some professionals in both gastroenterology and neurology consider the two to be a single organ.

What happens in the nervous system and the digestive system is strongly linked to the point where a mood, depression, anxiety that we all feel sometimes, changes the health of our gut microbiome to our detriment.

We have around one hundred billion neurons in our brain and five hundred million in our gut constantly in communication. Stress, depression and anxiety will often cause gut problems, and the same in reverse.

It's the reason our diet is so very important and yet many of us continue to stuff our faces with over processed and food that is neither particularly pro or prebiotic.

Added to the problem is the way we too easily reach for pills in the medical cupboard. These may be antidepressant pills or other mind altering supplements. But what does that do to our gut microbiome.

Apart from a healthy diet, some form of colon cleansing may help. Supplements such as Oxy Powder that consists of magnesium oxide and citric acid, will help shift any compacted waste with oxygen the main catalyst.

Oxygen is one of the main secrets to gut health. Every single cell in our body needs constant oxygen. We are designed to obtain quite a lot of it through breathing, but not as much as we think.

Oxygen is only one fifth of the air we breath, and even then, we exhale more than we retain.

Most oxygen is absorbed through the walls of the thirty foot of digestive tract. From mouth to anus this is an extremely sophisticated bio-chemical factory better then any machine.

In the thirty or so hours that food travels the distance, a huge number of processes take place.

It just takes one imbalance of enzymes, digestive juices or acids to malfunction and the first we might no of it is something as simple as a headache, or depression.

There is an old adage that we are what we eat. It's true. We are fit and healthy in body and mind when we get it right. Or nervous, twitchy, and depressed when we get it wrong.

Most of us bathe or shower every day. Some take exceptional care about our outer appearance that they will spend hours undergoing beauty treatments.

Perhaps we should also take more care of our gut from healthy diet to an occasional gut cleanse like Oxy Powder provides.

Nearly every religion in the world has a period of fasting. Thirty days of water only may seem a bit extreme to people today, but the idea may be the right one.

[emeraldbabygirl]

So it’s been a week. And I’ve thought a lot on the situation, I’m sure people know what I’m talking about. And despite me making this post I am still thinking about it all. It happened and the very next day my state caught fire so in an odd way I’m connecting these two situations? I’ll explain in a little bit. I’m not actually going to say everything on my mind as I have so much on my mind about the situation and I know from past experience my opinions can upset people. This post isn’t to do that. I just need to kinda say something without saying all the things I’m thinking of. Like I’ve stated so many times I’m really not good at putting my thoughts into words, especially with serious situations. I’ve heard a lot and I’m very confused still and I’m upset and disappointed and even mad at the way the situation is being handled and the way people are acting about it. So like the wildfires, I take the situation as something was said and whether it was true or not it quickly got out of hand and now things are such a mess. Twitter, Tumblr, YouTube and TikTok are all a mess. It’s everywhere just like the wildfire. What I am going to say about the situation is that like the wildfire I’m going to wait it out. Like everything that takes time this will too. Whether everything I’ve seen and heard is true or not, whether more things come out, it will all take time. And in the end I’m really hoping that it blows over and the situation doesn’t get worse. Speaking from the view of someone that has seen a lot of things go down in the kpop industry I don’t want another idol to be hated on and bullied to death. Ok I will say this, say it’s true, if it is let the people involved and the law handle it. Don’t get yourself involved because it’s not your problem. Putting yourself in a situation that has nothing to do with you just makes everything worse. I’ve been on both sides of that and it’s not Gucci at all. I probably didn’t say everything that I wanted to say without saying everything that I actually wanted to say because that would be a rant and I don’t want to do that and I don’t want to get into arguments and things with my followers and my mutuals.

That all being half-ass said keep this in mind, 2020 has already been such a shit year, what’s important is that we all take care of ourselves. There’s so much negativity everywhere and that affects a lot of us. So from someone who has been having a time for almost a week now, I love you, feel free to talk to me about any little thing you may be stressing over whether it’s school, work, this cursed pandemic, maybe you just had a bad day and need to vent about a paper, maybe you just need some attention. My asks are open and I answer my messages almost immediately after I get them unless tumblr is slow or crashes. Remember during all these hard times that you are the most important thing, your family and friends are the most important thing. (I don’t know where this is going but pretend I’m making a really great speech) take care of yourself, your family, your friends. Drink your water, (for anyone living in Oregon rn drinking coffee isn’t the best idea cause the smoke is bad so drink water! Also if you are living in Oregon I will stay positive for you. Hang in there love 💕) also I hope Cory and L.Joe’s families are alright totally not @ me dming Cory on insta oops get as much sleep as you can, be kind to yourself, take a break from social media if you need to, go for a walk, watch cat videos cause those are always great, cook or bake, read a book (like a real book with pages and shit trust me the nostalgia on that is comforting on it’s own), play with your animals NAPS ARE GREAT PEOPLE AND SO UNDERRATED. Listen to a new genre of music, might I suggest Nordic music, or songs used in Pow-Wows, it’s such good stuff. Scream into a pillow, crying is good just make sure you drink lots of water after cause you have to stay hydrated uwu! Anything to help comfort you or take your mind off things. I love you guys and I hope you are all doing alright. If anyone wants to send me pics of blue skies please do as I want to look at more pretty blue skies with white fluffy clouds uwu! Anyway I’m still finna stress myself about these two situations, keep in mind I seem to be more worried about the one that doesn’t involve me and I shouldn’t be. So I don’t know where this post is going like most of my posts but take care of yourselves you guys, don’t stress out over it too much, it’s not good for your health. I love you all and take care of yourselves. Also invest in a popcorn popper those things are iconic and make me giggle like a 5 year old. Ya’know, cause despite me being 20 fucking 1 I act like such a child uwu! Also I highly recommend drinking out of juice boxes that shit with throw you back!

[thevoidfishsminstrel]

Alex Danvers wasn’t phased by much. Had she expected to get an alien sister? No. But she went along with it (eventually) and was a good sister. Had she expected to get recruited by a government agency? No. But that was fine, and she was good at her job. Had she expected to be gay? Also no. But she accepted it and she was… well she was a disaster on that front, but she was happy.

The one time that she possibly, maybe, perhaps faltered a little, and thought, ‘this cannot possibly be my life now’, however, was during the months after the arrival of one Lena Luthor to National city.

———

“Alex! I broke Lena Luthor’s chair!”

Alex whirled around to see Supergirl anxiously striding towards her through the DEO, whisper-shouting her name. “You did what?”

Kara came to a stop in front of her, nervously wringing her hands. “I broke Lena Luthor’s chair.”

Alex blinked. “How? I thought you and Clark were just interviewing her?”

“We were! I was just standing behind one of the chairs in front of her desk and holding the back of it and then she looked at me and I wasn’t expecting it and a bit of the chair just kind of broke off in my hand. I tried to squish it back into place and tucked the chair under the desk but I think you might be able to tell if you looked too closely.”

Alex sighed. “Okay. Don’t worry, I’ll get it fixed.”

Kara deflated with relief and grinned. “Thanks Alex.”

Ten minutes later, Alex phoned the L-corp lobby with an excuse to get Lena down there while J’onn phased through her balcony door and swapped the very obviously hand-shaped-dented chair with a new one that would hopefully go unnoticed. She had naively thought that that would be the end of it.

———

A week and a half later, Alex got a panicked phone call from Kara claiming that she had seen Lena at a restaurant and stayed to have brunch with her but there was now a large chunk of table missing from where they had been sitting, caused by Lena laughing at one of her jokes. Suspicion had begun to creep into the back of Alex’s mind but she was too exasperated to pay it any attention.

Kara said she had managed to cover it up with an empty bread basket and persuade Lena they should go to see the crepe stand that had been at the park recently.

Alex, Winn and James had arrived at the restaurant half an hour later in fake uniforms and a fake van, claiming a table replacement had been ordered by the restaurant management. They quickly set up the new table and took away the cornerless one along with the piece of wood that had Kara’s fingerprints permanently embedded in it.

———

Over the next few months, they replaced glasses, vases, windows, tables, chairs, various cutlery, and an array of annoyingly abstract decorations that had to be specially 3D printed because no replacements existed.

A new section of the DEO budget had to be put aside, labelled ‘Cleanup’, and the superfriends became unofficially known as ‘The Cleanup Squad’ (although Winn only said it out loud once, given Alex’s thinly veiled threat afterwards).

It wasn’t until Alex witnessed one of the events that preceded the need for The Cleanup Squad that her subconscious suspicions hit her like the ton of bricks they would have to fix.

It was a standard game night with a shot too many and a brain cell too few, all of them shouting over a game of two truths one lie, when the delivery guy arrived with their food.

Kara went to get the door while Lena had her go. That was the first mistake.

Kara had been sneaking alien alcohol into her drink for the past hour.

Lena’s third sentence was ‘I’m more often attracted to women than men’.

Kara’s foot went through her floorboards with a crunch and she stumbled into her front door, making the whole wall tremble worryingly. Alex shouted out one of the other sentences as a guess to distract Lena from looking behind her to see what the noise was. That was the next mistake.

Kara took the food from a slightly confused looking delivery guy, thanking him and checking the bags as he walked away, as Lena cheered, wine sloshing around in her glass.

“Alex wins! Women are hot and I like to kiss them.”

The door came off its hinges in Kara’s hand and as she went to correct her mistake she smashed it into the doorframe with enough force to bring down a plane. The door, doorframe and half the wall collapsed to the floor, leaving a shellshocked Kara among the rubble, holding a useless doorknob.

Nia slung her arm across Lena’s shoulders to stop her turning around again and cheered. “Woohoo! That’s great! Hey can you teach me how to win at Monopoly?”

Lena frowned. “But only half of us have had a go at-”

“Yeah! You guys set up Monopoly while I go get snacks with James.” Alex not-so-subtly dragged James up with her, glaring at Winn. “What about you, Winn?”

He jumped up with a nervous laugh. “I need the toilet! Yep!”

They all scurried off to where Kara was just standing and blinking. Alex took the food and doorknob from her hands, putting the food on the counter and the doorknob in a nearby vase while Winn and James started haphazardly piling bricks back up into a wall-ish shape. Nia and Brainy seemed to be going through every single Monopoly card and asking Lena about it in a kind of terrifyingly over enthusiastic pop quiz.

Kara snapped out of her daze and began helping as Alex sent a message to the DEO to get a new door there as quickly as possible. She dragged Kara out into the hall and made her laservision off the entire door and doorframe of her neighbour who was luckily currently on holiday. While Kara did that, she kicked the old bits of door and brick dust under a rug in the hall.

Kara fit the new door into the hole that James and Winn were leaving, blowing her freezebreath over the whole wall to freeze it all in place for the time being.

Before she could go back inside, Alex grabbed Kara by the arm. She raised an eyebrow at Kara’s confused look. “Want to explain what just happened?”

Kara blushed and glanced at (or probably through) the door. “I um… I just got distracted by the food.”

“So it was nothing to do with Lena openly admitting she’s bisexual?”

Kara blanched. “I- wha- pff no.”

Alex rolled her eyes and opened the door to let Kara through before she broke anything else.

They all moved back over to the living room area as casually as possible, Winn setting out the food.

Alex leaned down to speak quietly to Kara before she sat down herself. “You know you can talk to me right?”

Kara nodded shyly and she let it go.

———

The last operation The Cleanup Squad did, it was Nia that called.

Alex sat up in bed, having only just managed to fall asleep, and picked up her phone. “Hello?”

“Alex? Kara’s about to break Lena’s coffee table.”

Alex sighed and waved away Kelly’s questioning look. “Okay. I’ll call J’onn.”

Ten minutes later, Alex was hanging onto J’onn like a backpack as he hovered just under Lena’s balcony with a replacement table.

There was a crash from inside.

“What was that?” Lena’s voice came from somewhere further inside her apartment and J’onn floated up to peer through the windows.

“Nothing! Just… a video on my phone.”

Alex’s phone buzzed with what was presumably the panicked text she just watched Kara send.

Kara went further into the apartment, rambling to Lena about how they should get into their pjs before they watch the next movie.

J’onn alighted on the balcony and they quietly made their way inside. J’onn cleared the broken table into a bag and flew off to dispose of it while Alex set down the new one.

Just as she was putting into place, Lena wandered into the room. Their eyes met briefly before Lena turned towards her kitchen, filled a glass of water, and left again, as though she hadn’t seen anything.

J’onn was back in the next moment and they disappeared back out into the night.

———

Lena opened the door with a smile and stepped aside to let Alex in. “Alex. What can I do for you?” She shut the door and led her over to the kitchen. “Tea? Coffee?”

“Coffee please.”

Alex sat down at Lena’s kitchen island, thinking about how to phrase what she was going to say while Lena made them both a coffee.

Lena set a mug down in front of her and sat down across the island, waiting patiently for Alex to start talking.

“Do you know?”

Lena smiled, raising an eyebrow. “I know lots of things.”

Alex rolled her eyes. “Fine. Do you know about what we’ve been doing?”

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific, Danvers.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I know you saw me last night, Luthor. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Lena smiled and shook her head. “Alex, I have the most high tech security system in the world and an IQ that is most definitely higher than a five year old, and even a five year old would be able to notice you lot trying to rebuild furniture around them. Did you really think I didn’t notice? You replaced a $1000 chair with Ikea furniture.”

Alex went to defend herself but just deflated. “Yeah. Sorry.” She swirled her spoon through the coffee foam. “So why didn’t you say anything?”

Lena shrugged. “She’ll tell me when she’s ready.”

Alex watched her for a moment and smiled. Yeah. She was pretty sure she’d be her sister-in-law one day.

———

“Alex?”

She pushed past Kara into her apartment. “I think you should tell Lena.”

Kara blushed and stuttered as she closed the door. “Wha- I- There’s nothing to tell!”

Alex frowned at the odd reaction before she realised what Kara thought she meant and rolled her eyes. “No not that. Well… that too. But that’s not what I meant. I think you should tell her about Supergirl.”

Kara gaped at her. “Really?”

“Yeah. She proved beyond a doubt that she’s trustworthy and I can see how much you two mean to each other.”

Kara bit her lip, looking down and wringing her hands together. “But what if… what if she hates me for it?”

Her eyes were so big and sad and scared when she looked back up that Alex immediately wrapped her in a hug. “That’s not going to happen, okay? And the rest of us are here for you whatever happens. You know that, right?”

Kara nodded against her shoulder. “Okay.”

———

Kara stood outside Lena’s office, trying to drag her courage back from where it had run to hide, and wiping her sweaty palms on her slacks.

The door opened and Lena hesitantly poked her head out. “You doing okay out here?”

Kara gave a strangled laugh and nodded unconvincingly.

Lena stepped out of her office to join Kara in the corridor. “Okay, well, do you want to tell me why you’ve been standing out here for the past ten minutes?”

She gulped, breathing getting a little faster.

“Hey, hey it’s okay.”

Lena took her hand, stroking her thumb across her knuckles gently. It calmed her down a little and she sighed, leaning back against the wall and sliding down it, hand slipping out of Lena’s.

Lena came and sat on the floor beside her, offering her hand again.

Kara gladly tangled their fingers together, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry, my hand’s a little sweaty.”

Lena laughed and bumped their shoulders together. “That’s okay.”

Kara sighed and brought her other hand up to her glasses. “Lena, I-” She closed her eyes and removed her glasses with a shaky hand.

She felt gentle fingers take them from her grasp and opened her eyes to watch Lena carefully fold them up and place them on the floor beside them. She looked at Kara with a soft smile. She reached up and traced the same fingertips across Kara’s cheek, making her eyes flutter closed.

“I know.”

Kara’s eyes snapped open. “You did?”

She nodded.

“Oh. Well now I feel like I’ve made you sit out here on the floor with me for nothing.”

Lena laughed, her eyes and nose crinkling adorably, and Kara couldn’t stop herself from smiling even as her heart beat faster.

“Well since you already knew I was Supergirl, I feel like I should tell you a different secret. Like how I think I’m in love with you.”

Lena’s breath hitched, eyes flitting between Kara’s as they subconsciously leaned slowly closer. “You think?”

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and Lena’s eyes followed. “I know.”

“Good. Because I am definitely in love with you.”

Any other thoughts melted away when their lips met. Kara’s hand automatically slid to Lena’s waist as Lena pressed closer, soft and warm and perfect.

There was a crunch and Kara fell backwards a little, accidentally pulling Lena so she was almost in her lap, as she made a hole in the wall with her back. They broke apart giggling, resting their foreheads together.

“Sorry.”

Lena kissed her again but they were both smiling too much for it to last long. “At least you don’t have to call Alex everytime you break something around me now.”

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 11

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

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

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,511

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

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

Links to Part 1 and Part 10 and Part 12

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then let’s begin.”

~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The transmission goes dead.

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[sourwolphs]

Like an Animal - Bucky x Reader (1/8)

Read on Ao3 (For better interface + formatting) 

Summary: Reader is an enhanced Omega kidnapped by Hydra and trapped in a cell with Alpha Bucky Barnes. Tags: A/B/O, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending Warnings: Rated M, Kidnapping, Degrading Language (not from Bucky)  A/N: This story takes place post-Endgame, but everyone is happy and living in the compound and nobody died :-) Because I said so. Also switches POV between Reader and Bucky, with Reader in first person and Bucky in third! Follows typical A/B/O dynamics, with some random headcanons thrown in and explained.

The first thing I felt was the searing pain in my wrists.

My eyes flickered open, slowly taking in my surroundings, my heartbeat picking up as each terrifying detail came into my line of sight. My back ached terribly, cold cement beneath my skin. I was slumped in the corner of some kind of cell. It was dimly lit—just light enough to reveal the shadows of the large space, and the light of a hallway stretching to my right through the bars of the cell. I looked down at my body to find it clad in the clothes I’d been wearing the night before. My shoes were missing, plain socks dirty on my feet.Worst of all— my wrists were bound in a thick metal band, glowing with a soft blue light that ached where it touched my skin.

My memories were blurry. The last thing I remembered was approaching the front door of my 3rd floor walkup late at night, seeing a shadow slip from the dark alley to my left, before everything went black.

The red-haired agent had warned me it was only a matter of time before those with bad intentions discovered me and the things I could do. If I could, I would have kicked myself for not listening to her when I’d been warned.

I lifted my hands to test my powers, summoning the energy I felt like an icy throb in my chest. But when I tried to channel it down through my hands, urging even a snowflake to appear, all I felt was a stinging pain. Whatever the device on my wrists was, it completely neutralized my abilities. If my heart had been beating fast before, now I was approaching unprecedented levels of panic. Deep breaths, deep breaths, I told myself. Panicking won’t get you out of here. But as I took my next inhale, my other senses kicked in.

The second thing I realized? I was not alone in this cell.

I could smell my own scent, layered with sickly sweet anxiety and the sharp, metallic scent of panic. But a foreign scent, distinctly Alpha drifted towards me from the shadows of the cell. I instinctually curled closer to the wall, my Omega hindbrain working overtime to protect me. Bare your throat. Make yourself small. You are defenseless. Not like I needed the reminder with the sharp pain still throbbing at my wrists.

I curled into a small ball, taking a quiet gulp of breath to assess the situation as I peered futilely through the shadows. I didn’t smell anger, or danger—just a heady, strong Alpha scent. Cedar, a hint of campfire and the crisp, clean scent of… snow. Not typical. But… good.

But the Alpha scent also had a hint of something else. Something strong. Something like rut. I tilted my head, confused— I heard a shifting, and the glint of metal moving in the far right corner of the cell. Two pinpricks of light—his eyes— lifted up and connected with mine.

The hairs on the back of my neck rose in fear. An Alpha nearing rut. Locked in a cell. With me. I took another few deep lungfuls of air, willing my heart rate to slow down and making myself smaller. Whoever locked me in here couldn’t have had good intentions. Should I… introduce myself?

I didn’t get the chance to decide. A door at the end of the hallway opened, and a pack of men filed in to stand outside the cell doors, peering in at me. I squared my jaw, biting down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep myself centered and tamp down on the inner voice telling me to submit.

“Not so powerful now, are you?” barked a weaselly looking Beta at the front of the group. He wore a tactical vest, buckled in an X shape in the front. His muscles, overcompensating an embarrassing amount for his designation, bulged on his compact frame.

I glared at him. “What do you want with me?”  I spit.

He laughed. “Careful with that nasty attitude, Omega.”

I suppressed the disgusted shiver that trembled down my spine at his use of my designation.

“Big Guy in there won’t like a defiant bitch,” he continued. The men at the back of his pack laughed darkly. “Better get ready to submit.”

The Alpha in the corner was still motionless— still staring. I felt dread settle in a pit in my stomach at what they implied. Show no weakness. I put on my most defiant face.

“Oh, him?” I tossed my head in the Alpha’s direction, feigning indifference. Don’t show fear. “You can’t scare me. Take these cuffs off me and let’s see who submits first.”

The Beta growled, the laughter momentarily draining from his face, hackles raised. “Shut up, whore.” Then, he seemed to remember I was in the cell and he was outside of it. He smirked, before turning around to head back down the hallway with his pack. “You’ll see.”

The door slammed shut behind him.

I let out the breath I’d been holding as quietly as I could, willing my anxiety to settle so I could think. But it was then that the Alpha decided to stand and stalk slowly towards me.

Rationally, I knew Alphas were big and scary. They always were— overly tall, overly aggressive, insufferably controlling and dominant, and so strong-scented it made me feel lightheaded and stuffy. But this Alpha, well, all of the above was an understatement. He was tall and broad-shouldered with a wide chest and legs thick with muscle. He was wearing tight-fit, black clothing that showed off the muscles of his body to an exorbitant degree, and it looked, well, tactical—buckles and straps and belts with holsters that had been disarmed by whoever threw him in here with me. His face was still mostly in shadow in the dim cell, but I could make out curtains of brown hair and a strong jawline speckled with stubble. And the closer he got to me, the stronger his unique scent grew, washing over me like a wave— along with the growing scent of his rut.

You’re staring. Be small, my Omega hindbrain reminded me. I cowered, feeling fear wash over me again. What if he was in on this with them….I didn’t let myself think that far. I turned my head to the side slightly, baring my throat in an appeasing way to the dominant force in the room.

Then the Alpha’s full form came into my line of sight, and I realized exactly who I had been trapped in a cage with. Oh, fuck.

—————

Bucky didn’t know what possessed him to step forward. Chivalry, perhaps? Though according to Steve, that whole concept had died in the 21st century. Omegas didn’t look to Alphas for protection the way they had in the 40s. Something urged him towards the defiant Omega in the corner, and he would be lying if it didn’t partially have to do with her intoxicating scent and the weird and uncharacteristic prickliness he was experiencing that he couldn’t shake off. Her scent was sweet like peppermint, laced with the crispness of a cold gust of winter wind, but her anxiety at waking up across from him had soured it slightly. He didn’t blame her—but he couldn’t resist another lungful.

Bucky stepped forward slowly, his movements measured so as not to scare her. She had pushed herself as far into the corner as possible, her throat bared and chest rising and falling quickly. But as his face—and his recognizable arm— came into view, he saw the change in her expression as realization dawned. She gasped, her scent turning dark and desperate with fear. He stopped short, swallowing. Fuck.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured. Then, improvising, he lowered to his knees in a position he hoped looked as non-threatening as possible, turning his face to the side to show her his throat in return. “I’m not going to hurt you. It’s… I’m—“ He stopped, shutting his eyes in resignation. This was not going well. She was still panicked, curling in on herself.

“I’m in control,” he said, hoping that would be enough to quell her fears. These days, the public knew all about the Winter Soldier and the horrible things his hands had done. But Shuri had erased the loophole from his brain over six years ago now, if you count the blip. Which is why it made no sense that Hydra had gone to such lengths to trap him here on a mission gone awry in Northern Europe.

Now wasn’t the time to dwell, though. He estimated he’d been trapped here for no more than about 15 hours, and he didn’t doubt that Steve, Sam and the rest of the team would track this base down within 24. He’d already examined his body for injuries, tested the bars for give and scoped out any other potential entry and exit points before Hydra agents had cracked the cell door with three assault rifles trained on him and dumped the Omega inside three hours ago. The only thing that felt off was this strange, growing feeling that he needed to get out of his skin. He’d already removed his outer layer of Kevlar, feeling hotter than normal.

The woman looked normal enough, besides the panic taking over her faculties and the unknown, bulky device clasped around her wrists. She was small, but deceptively strong—he could see the lean lines of muscle on her limbs. Her long hair was loose around her pretty face, and they’d removed her shoes— if she’d even been wearing any in the first place. But god, her smell. Bucky couldn’t help taking another deep lungful, trying to be as discreet as possible. It was like his body was on autopilot, drifting closer and closer to where she was pressed against the wall.

She looked confused by his placating bared throat. Nowadays, Alphas were insufferable hotheads. She’d probably never seen one so willing to submit to an Omega. Bucky noticed that the rise and fall of her chest was slowing. “A-are you really….?” she practically whispered.

He nodded, clenching his jaw. “The Winter Soldier?”

She nodded back—so small, it was almost imperceptible.

“You can call me Bucky. I’m not— The Winter Soldier doesn’t exist anymore.” He laughed a little. “They actually call me the White Wolf now…”

Something was wrong with his body. He was feeling itchy—painfully so now. He shifted forward even closer, on his knees, and she flinched imperceptibly— turning to face the wall next to her. He took another deep lungful of her scent, and the sweetness lit every cell in his body on fire. Was he… getting hard?

Realizing her distress and how close he’d gotten to her body, Bucky stood up and put distance between them. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s going on…” He gasped. Her scent was addicting. His Alpha was screaming at him to close the distance, grab her, shove his face into her scent gland and inhale. To run his hands all over her body, to rut into her, to sink his teeth into her gland and bite, to claim her as his own and mark her body all over…. Holy shit. He was going into rut. After 75 fucking years, he was going into rut while trapped in a Hydra cell with an unmated Omega.

Against his better instincts and training, Bucky started to panic.

————

I could tell exactly the moment that the Winter Soldier—Bucky, I corrected myself— realized what was happening. He’d been drifting closer and closer to me, his ice blue eyes trained on my gland, taking deep lungfuls of my scent as if I couldn’t tell exactly what he was doing.

When he recognized my distress, he forced distance between us, wiping sweat from his forehead and inspecting his hands—one flesh, one metal— as if they’d have an answer.

“Rut,” I said quietly. Our eyes connected. His were wide, panicked. His scent was sharp with fear and anxiety, so strong with lust it was making me dizzy. I pushed my forehead against the cold cement wall to center myself. Why would they kidnap me as Omega bait for a fucking Avenger? Why me?

“I’m on suppressants—I don’t know how…” He trailed off, then abruptly ripped the leather sleeve off his shirt in one swipe to inspect his upper arm. Holy shit, he was strong. I mean, I knew he was a super soldier, but Jesus Christ. “They stuck me with something.” His jaw was set in a tight line when he turned back to look at me, pupils blown wide with lust.

I swallowed hard, squeezing my eyes shut. This couldn’t be happening.

He growled sharply in frustration, slamming his metal fist into the concrete wall of the cell so hard that cracks appeared on impact. I yelped in fear, my heart racing. Before I could open my mouth to apologize submissively, he dropped down to his knees again.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I—“ He cut off, growling in frustration, fists clenched at his sides. He shook out his head, his hair falling in front of his eyes, before he looked up to meet mine again. “Please, don’t be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you,” he said through gritted teeth.

I nodded weakly, feeling the tears start to spill from my eyes. He was trembling now. Whatever they gave him was working quickly, and the strain of keeping himself contained was obvious in the restrained quiver of his limbs. Maybe I was fucking crazy, but I actually felt sorry for him. An ex-assassin Avenger twice my size, pumped full of super soldier serum and rut hormones. That couldn’t feel good— especially not with his history.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeated again. This time, it seemed more like he was trying to convince himself. His hands were clenched so hard I could hear his Vibranium fist squeak with the strain. “I won’t. I won’t—“ he gasped for a centering breath.

Against all rational instinct, I started to believe him. He wouldn’t hurt me. At least— he really didn’t want to.

I knew about the Winter Soldier. Everyone did. How Hydra had kidnapped him, tortured him, and turned him into a brainwashed weapon for their murderous intent. I couldn’t imagine how horrible this would be for him— with his very public history— to have control wrested from him again. Especially like this.

Comfort Alpha, my inner Omega cooed unhelpfully. Alpha is hurting. Help him.

Fighting back my fear, I came to my hands and knees on the cell floor, shuffling a few paces forward until we were only a few feet apart. He was still shaking slightly, murmuring to himself in what sounded like Russian, breathing shallowly. I risked another lungful of his scent, and it made my Omega go wild. I felt my own body start reacting to his arousal, my scent billowing out in soothing notes, slick between my legs. It was impossible for Omegas to launch into a sympathetic heat when they were distressed or in danger, but I couldn’t ignore how intoxicating his scent was to me— or the growing need I felt to soothe and calm him as his chest heaved with the strain of restraining himself.

“Get— Get away from me. I can’t—“ he spit through gritted teeth. I paused, hesitating, my bound hands reaching towards his knee. “I don’t want to hurt you—“

“It’s okay,” I murmured soothingly, hardly recognizing the calm sound of my voice when my heart was racing a million miles an hour inside my chest. I was too cowardly to be a hero before, when the red-haired agent had found me and urged me to join her. I had always run from responsibility and hidden my abilities from the world. Maybe today, I could be courageous.

I placed my hands on his forearm, feeling the sweat-slick heat of him. His head slowly raised to look at me. Up close, I could see his plush lips, the stubble along his jaw, his pupils blown wide with lust. His scent, God.

“I know you won’t hurt me,” I said. Bucky was panting now. “I— I trust you.” He narrowed his eyes at me disbelievingly, but my words and tempting closeness seemed to tamp down his initial panic. He leaned in closer, close enough that I could see the stubble of his jaw, his adorably delicate ears tucked behind the loose strands of hair framing his face, the plush cupid’s bow of his lips.

The pictures in the news don’t do Alpha justice, my Omega murmured.

“Isn’t someone coming for you? Aren’t you, like… a superhero?” I asked.

He grimaced, breaking eye contact. “I’m not a hero. But the team should be here within a few hours. We’ve never… lost someone for longer.”

I took a shaky breath. Okay. So we’re getting out of here.

“Do you know what they want?” I murmured. I could guess. Scum like Hydra only see Omegas as good for one thing: breeding. But I didn’t want to voice the horrible thoughts out loud.

He scoffed. “Whatever it is… I won’t do it.” The resolve set in his jaw, muscles ticking as we made eye contact again, the scent of his rage and restrained instincts washing over me— bitter as gunpowder and steel. He was still trembling, fists clenched. “I won’t.”

I felt something soften inside of me at his words. I should be terrified, rolling over on my stomach to submit— throat bared —but I felt… protected.

“Do you mind— Would it be okay if I—“ He cut himself off, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and looking pained.

“If…?”

“It helps if I can… scent you,” he sighed. “I won’t—“

Before he could finish that thought, I nodded my head in assent. There’s no greater pain to an Alpha in rut than being unable to touch. I shifted off my knees, intending to curl against his side, but he shocked me by standing and scooping me up into his arms, returning to the shadowy corner of the cell he’d been in when I’d first woken up. I bristled a little at his intentions, but he quickly set me down on a soft pile of leather and thick canvas that smelled strongly of his heady cedar scent— clothes he must have shed from the heat of rut.

“Sorry,“ He murmured. “I won’t touch you if you—“

“It’s okay,” I interrupted, taking a deep breath to steady myself and leaning back to get more comfortable. He hovered over me, propping his metal arm by my head. His ice blue eyes searched mine, our breaths loud in the quiet of the cell as we settled into the comfort of each others’ scents. I tilted my head to the side a bit, feeling my mating gland peek out from behind my hair.

Bucky growled softly, leaning down to press his face into my neck and taking deep lungfuls of my scent. I squeezed my eyes shut, bringing my bound hands awkwardly to touch his side to anchor myself. Under my palms, I could feel the tension leaving his muscles as he breathed me in.

“Omega,” he groaned, his voice raspy and deep. I shivered. Arousal stirred in me again, his chest pressed tight to mine as he nose trailed up and down my neck, into my hair and onto my cheek. “You smell so good. Fuck,” he whispered.

He was starting to lose himself. His flesh hand came to my waist, strong grip catching me off guard as he settled closer to me. My heart rate picked up again, and I fought the urge to bolt. Alpha won’t hurt you, my Omega supplied. Please your Alpha. Bucky must have picked up on my fear, because he pushed himself back.

“Sorry. I’ll—“ He shifted so he was laying next to me but with his lower half intentionally tilted away, arm across my waist and face near enough to my gland that he could continue to breathe me in. “Okay?” He grunted. I nodded, shocked that he was able to control himself enough to hold himself stiffly away from me. The scent of rut was so strong that from what I knew about Alphas, he should be animalistic with lust— unable to stop himself from shredding my clothes and taking me on the cell floor. Small mercies.

“Sleep,” he said gruffly. When I didn’t move or shut my eyes, he tightened his much gentler grip on my waist. “Please. I won’t… I won’t do anything. We’ll be out of here, before…” he trailed off, again. Boy, was he a man of few words. But he didn’t need to say it out loud for me to understand his meaning: Much longer, and he wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

I took another soothing breath, trying to settle myself. Alpha wants you to sleep, my Omega purred. Alpha will protect you. For once in my life, I listened. I took in a lungful of his strong smell, taking comfort in the protective weight of his arm thrown over me, and let myself drift off.

[ratinthedeadhouse]

Forbidden Love

My heart is devoted to the one I shouldn’t love...

Fyodor x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Trying to keep it fluff.

"... A demon you say?" You question with hesitation, pale face bearing a frown as you try to put all the puzzles together. "That man is the super ability user and a terrorist that Yokohama is so desperate to catch? The very man, I spent countless evenings going to museums and libraries with? The very man with his astonishing diamond brain had helped me solve several murder cases?"

Silence settled between you and other Special Division Forces agents who glared at you with fear or utter confusion.

Nobody knew of your accidental connection with Fyodor Dostoevsky, or simply known as Demon Fyodor, and it sure was a surprise to you when your (e/c) eyes noticed a familiar face on all the screens and papers in the office with a screaming title: 'Wanted Criminal. Terrorist. Fyodor Dostoevsky. Highest rank ability user. Ability unknown.'

You honestly had no idea who the mysterious slender man was when you first met him at the museum. He looked charmingly tired, sharp purple eyes looked deeply into your soul while you both stood, rather awkwardly, near a woodblock painting that depicted the suffering of young children and women. Their weak bodies engulfed by flames, others were drowning in the peaceful veil of water. Despite the horrible scenario the colours united in harmony making you both stare at it for longer than you should have.

"The choice of the colour pallet... It mocks their suffering" you stated after a while, rather talking to yourself but hoping, subconsciously, that a curious stranger with a funny white hat would respond to your comment. To your amusement he did.

"Mhm," he nodded at first, pinching his chin like philosophers do while thinking and then slowly added: "Maybe the painter wanted to tell us that not all sufferings are recognizable at first glance. I noticed when walking up to the painting, the bright colours made me think of happiness and kindness, however, now that we stand closer to it we see that their very souls are in terrible agony" Fyodor's voice was soft like moonlight rays with a gentle touch of a foreign accent.

"I suppose... It depicts life itself. We never know how much one suffers due to the façade they’re putting" you said with a sad smile. At this very moment you looked delightful, Fyodor found a strange pleasure in watching your serious face merging into a saddened frown. And oh, he did it on purpose. He could've chosen a less explicit interpretation of the absurd painting but in his calculated mind he knew that this version would strike you the most... And he was right.

You still didn't move from the tiny painting, twirling a strand of your silky, (h/c) hair around your finger, beautiful eyes glued to the painting but your thoughts wandered far away. 

It took one glance from Fyodor to understand your entire being, no matter how complicated you think of yourself - to him you are an open book, and he could not resist the urge to live the faint mark on one of those innocent, white pages. 

“I apologize if my interpretations upset you, miss...” started Fyodor with a polite smile curving upon his frail face, but was interrupted by your sudden enthusiastic reply:

“Oh, please don’t apologize. One is a fool if they are not moved or hurt by art” your voice was gentle and soft and Fyodor couldn’t help but love your words. 

Perhaps you two were more similar than he thought at first. In any case, enchanted by your watchful careful eyes, your smile and graceful movements of your hands, your speech and voice - he couldn’t just let you go like that, out of his sight. 

A man tilted his head sideways a little, looking pleasantly amused, letting his dark locks fall upon his cheek, gently. “It seems that I found a charming lady who shares a similar view on things with me” something bittersweet hid in his words but it didn’t matter to you. 

With a small, delightful laugh you move your right hand forward: “My name is, (y/n). A pleasure to meet you” 

Expecting a handshake you watched as the man in a long dark cape came closer, gently grabbed your pale small hand and softly kissed the back of your hand;

“A beautiful name for a beautiful lady” he murmured watching how your pupils dilate. “My name is Fyodor. Would you agree to spend the rest of the evening in my company?”

Walking around with a stranger whom you’ve just met seemed like a ridiculous idea... But you felt safe around him, although his eyes were dark as a bottomless well, you agreed but made a promise to yourself to stay on guard. However, he cast away all your suspicions in just a few hours. 

You became good friends, discussing ancient Myths and modern poetry embarked on philosophical journeys sitting in the dim corner of the library simply enjoying the presence of each other. He even played his cello for you under the mocking bright moon. His words and the depths of thought sometimes caught you off guard however, you were able to track his line of thoughts and in return challenged him with your endless and charming affection. 

Fyodor never learnt what the word love truly meant. He could explain its psychological and physiological effect but never experienced it himself. He was in absolute control over his feelings and that is why he felt confused when you would meet him with a bright, loving smile that changed into a slightly concerned frown when you noticed dark eye-bags on his face. Why did you notice it? Why did you care? Who gave you the power to capture his heart so suddenly and so... wrongly? 

For the first time in a long while, Dostoevsky felt as if he made a dreadful mistake. At first, he thought of you as a pawn. Easy to move and easy to get rid of. But you reminded him of himself... yet you were so much better! Despite your intellect and wittiness, you had a warm, loving heart, that even accepted a demon like him. It all changed when you finally opened up to him about your placement of work. That’s when he realised how forbidden your relationship would be. Soon you would find out anyway about his identity, his goals and... it would wound you. Deeply. 

Soon he stopped coming to the museum where you two would usually meet. You remember that day. You took his favourite tea from the shop and held it in your cold hands while the hot drink burnt your fingers. 

‘He will never come again’

You felt as if you lost a piece of your heart. But you never cried about it and kept all the memories of the mysterious man named Fyodor close to your heart, or rather what was left of your heart. 

But now it all makes sense. The puzzle is complete. You stand in the room full of your colleagues who proceed to glare at you in silent amusement and your heart leapt in ecstasy. The adrenaline rushed through your blood as your cheeks turned red - you felt like the main character of your own story, engaged in a forbidden relationship with the demon himself. 

You didn’t care about the consequences but on entering the Special Prison for the restrained Ability Users, shadows of doubt crept within your heart. 

“Please wait here, ma’am. You sure you want to interrogate him?”

“Yes” 

“In terms of emergency, we won’t be able to assist you immediately... ” 

“I understand”

The heavy door was shut behind you, a metal desk was drilled into the floor and so were the chairs. No windows - just solid rock walls that reminded you of a medieval dungeon, except there were no cracks at all. Finally, you heard footsteps and another door before you was opened. 

“Good afternoon, Fyodor,” you said in a strict tone trying to hide your excitement as much as you could. 

His lilac eyes widened in surprise, thin lips parted as he watched you right there before him. In his head, he tried to process why you came out of your way to see him? Did he not abandon you back then? Did you not realise what a hateful creature he was? 

“(Y/n)... Why are you here?” he questioned curiously. 

You were now completely alone in the interrogation - underground cell. He watched you come closer to him with a soft smile looking with kindness into his soulless eyes... 

“Why, you ask? Because I love you. That is the only concept you failed to fully understand. Monsters have hearts as well, they just need to learn how to love” words fell softly from your rosy lips while Fyodor closed his eyes and chuckled to himself. 

“Talking to you is pure joy (y/n)! Love is the ultimate atonement of all human sins. Even a Devil needs someone to love him at the end of his immortal life...“

“... Angels did fight for Faust’s soul at the end, despite all his reckless deeds” you added referencing the work of a German poet, Goethe. 

Fyodor sighed. He reached his slender cold hand towards you and you grabbed it without hesitation. 

“Will you be... my angel, (y/n)?”

You nodded raising your bright eyes at him. A soft kiss was placed upon your forehead before he hugged you letting you bury your face in his shoulder. You were like a blooming flower in his deadly grip... but he would never hurt you. Ever. 

People say the forbidden fruit is sweet... But is it so for the forbidden love that burns like fire?

 lmao part 2 is gonna be saddddd (if I get the motivation to even write it) 

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter 7

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 7,150 (being succinct is for wimps)

Warnings: Language, SMUT - this is your warning, no under 18s please.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something!This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

What the artist owes the world is his work, not a model for living.

Harry Crews

Chapter 7

Waking up comes to you slowly and languidly,as if the day was kind enough to filter softly into your eyes through a vaseline focussed lens, not unlike the ones shone onto Ingrid Bergman’s face and projected through Marcus’ iPad last night. Unlike your usual routine of falling out of bed and drifting with eyes still shut tight, in the direction of the kettle to make that all important cup of tea as your alarm sounds, you have instead woken as the first light of day paints the room in soft Degas pastels. Your sleep is normally quite fitful and filled with dreams that you wish didn’t cycle through your head for the rest of the day - but today feels different. Maybe it’s because your pillow is breathing.

Hang on, your pillow is breathing.

Shit, you fell asleep on Marcus.

How fucking professional, you absolute numpty!

Somehow during the night it was no longer just a case of you leaning into his shoulder but rather that your limbs had become confusingly entangled. From what you can work out, you must have both slid down the length of the sofa as whilst your head is still nestled on his shoulder, your forehead has now edged closer to the constellation of freckles on his neck. The steady percussion of his heart cradled within the gentle rise and fall of his chest is directly pressed against yours. Not crowding you despite the precariously narrow ledge you’re both huddled on, just fitting together like the most exquisitely cut puzzle.

For fuck’s sake, woman, what have you gotten yourself into this time?

You have one of the brightest minds in art history and are renowned for solving criminal activity but right now, you have zero idea as to how you will disentangle your limbs without both you and your boss showing willing.

But do you really want to?

There’s also a part of you that just wishes you could stay here- warm, safe and snuggled deeply in his chest. Jasper had always been so bony- all sharp edges and lean whereas Marcus offers a softer and more solid warmth as his body curls languidly around yours. His sleepy strokes and unconscious squeezes send little tingles throughout your body and whilst you’re utterly certain that nothing has happened other than the sheer exhaustion of two adults completely wiping out, you don’t feel ready to shatter the illusion of there being something more.

With the freest limb that’s slung over Marcus’ back, you try to wriggle some feeling into your fingers- psyching your body up to move. In an exchange of roles from the previous day, you stroke his cheek, tucking a curl of hair behind his ear before murmuring gently in his ear,

“Hey.”

Thick eyelashes start twitching before you notice an eye opening, darting around the room before coming in to focus upon your face, “Hey,” a shy grin slowly grows on his face, “I guess I didn’t get to put the comforter on you last night.”

“What?” In utter confusion, you push the back of your head into the cushion of the sofa so that you can angle your head to look more into Marcus’ face.

“I heard your breathing getting heavier last night n’ I thought of how you covered me the night before. Kept thinking I’d manage to do the same for you but you were so soft and warm, that I must’ve drifted off soon after,” his chuckling morning voice still painted with a sleepy rasp.

Giggling and grinning broadly at Marcus’ almost sweet gesture, you gently tease, “Well look, the quilt you nearly put on me, stayed on all night! Didn’t kick it off once.”

“Listen, thanks for not making this as awkward as it should be. No, no, no, I mean it,” Marcus emphasizes emphatically, his forehead wrinkling as his eyes implore you to believe him, “Not sure there are many people, who can wake up next to their new boss after less than 48 hours together and still crack jokes at their expense.”

Finally, working out a way to partially wriggle yourself free, you manage to push yourself into an almost seated position. A small groan and a flush runs through Marcus’ cheeks. And just before he flings his arm across his face to try to obscure his expression, you catch a look of embarrassment in his eyes.

In a low, gentle voice, you try to comfort him, “Come on, you have nothing to be embarrassed about- it’s a normal reaction. I’m going to shuffle across you, if that’s ok? I think it’s the only way we can get out of this tangle without both of us ending up on our arses on the floor.”

You take the small nod from Marcus as confirmation for the manoeuvre and start to crawl over him. Aiming to lift your hips up and away from the source of his embarrassment as possible, you end up overbalancing and tumbling to the floor in a heap of awkward limbs and laughter.

“Hey, you ok?” Marcus’ sleep creased face peers over the edge of the sofa down at you.

It’s now your turn for embarrassment to flush through your very being as you lie there staring at the ceiling rose and cornicing, “Ah I can’t ever pass up an opportunity to demonstrate just how clumsy I am,” you admit thickly through your eyelashes. Perhaps your limbs hadn’t been quite as ready as you’d hoped to carry your weight as you slowly shuffle yourself into a seated position on the deliciously deep pile rug that had cushioned your fall to the floor.

“Although, I may need to ensure that these rugs are kept around me at all times as at least there are no bruises this time. I swear my body is a map of mystery bruises,” you admit as you inspect the skin under your pyjama legs, pointing out inexplicable yellowing bruises.

“Well, Andy can look into that for you around the office,” Marcus says playing along with a wink, surreptitiously enjoying the little flashes you were revealing of your body, “Shame we’ve gotta leave today. I’m beat - but it’s been fun.”

“I’m not sure I’d have ever returned if it wasn’t for your insistence,” you admit, surprised at how the pain in your throat has already lessened to a mild dull ache.

“Guess we’d better get packed up and head off to the airport then.”

You observe Marcus’ bottom lip drop into a small pout, that delicious crease in the middle jutting out as if he was a petulant child rather than a man in his mid forties.

Oh how you’d love to suck...STOP IT! HE IS YOUR FUCKING BOSS, ANUSHKA MEERA LEAH PIERCE!

With an awkward wave and a quick turn of pace to hide the heat coursing through your face, you hightail it out of his room, stubbing your toe as you yank the door open far too viciously,

“SHIT ON IT!” You loudly curse, hearing the sofa creak as Marcus’ weight lifts from it. Not wanting to stick around for his latest sweet gesture when you don’t bloody deserve it, you painfully hop into the cool anonymity of the corridor to nurse your swollen toe.

Fucking smooth, Nush. REALLY fucking smooth.

✪✪✪✪✪

SLAM!

Marcus stands there, still slightly bleary eyed and dazed after experiencing some of the worst emotional whiplash he’s ever felt. How do you go from being genuinely sweet over feeling the morning glory of someone you barely know poking you in the belly to virtually running from the room and hurting yourself in the process to supposedly go pack your suitcase? Your words and actions seem so divergent- in total opposition to one another. Almost as if your brain and being are constantly at war with each other.

In one breath, you’ll tease him mercilessly, amaze him with the depth of your knowledge and the next you’ll shut off completely as if sharing even the time of day, would destroy you. You jump away from him as if it wasn’t the coffee that burns you but his touch and then, you lean into him, snoring sweetly with your face buried into his chest. He wants to shake you and scream WHAT DO YOU WANT in the same way that Ryan Gosling does in The Notebook, but life isn’t a romantic film. Something he’s never truly accepted.

Scrunching his eyes and scratching his head, rubbing the deep crevices that littered his brow, Marcus wonders what his next move will be. Should he run after you to check your foot? Wrap you in his arms and tell you that it will all be ok? Risk you running further from him? Unsure of whether your door would even open to him, Marcus sighs deeply before taking a few steps away from the sofa and tumbling face forward towards his as yet unslept upon bed.

Get it together, Pike.

How much of your constant pestering pushed Teresa away? It’s not a cute quirk, it’s fucking needy - and you need to stop before everyone runs from you.

Burying his face into the comforter, Marcus releases a deeply frustrated growl into its thick squishy noise-absorbing softness before using the springs of the bed to flip himself onto his back. Feeling his pulse throbbing a nervous beat in his neck, he shuts his eyes. All he can see is you. He can smell the tiniest imprints of your perfume and shampoo upon his t-shirt.

You’re fucking feral, Pike.

Feeling the blood rush to his groin as images of your face, bra strap and legs dance through his head, Marcus slides a hand under the waistband of his joggers to give himself a soothing stroke. He enjoys playing with himself as much as the next man- rubbing, stroking, cupping- but right now, all he can imagine is your hand being wrapped around it. Your hand gripping his cock - your skin so fucking soft - building up a rhythmic pleasure as you stare deep into his eyes.

Oh, fuck it.

With a quick arch of his hips, Marcus pulls down his pants in one smooth motion to allow himself full access to his dick. The immense pressure building and tightening as he works the shaft developing a pleasing rhythm whilst he is thinking of you. Filling in the gaps of the parts he hasn’t yet seen of you. How when you’d drifted off last night, he’d patted your hip and realised after feeling no ridge from where the elastic should have been that you had no panties on under your pyjama bottoms. The thought of your pillowy soft, warm, wet flesh so close to his fingers had made him grimace and groan last night when he couldn’t act upon it.

Now by himself, he gives into his basest wishes. Imagining licking, biting and stroking down your body, sucking on your nipples before lifting your hips to lower you onto his dick, sinking deeper and deeper inside you, feeling your warmth and wetness encase around him. Scraping his nails lightly across his balls, up the shaft and across the tip, he throws his head back as he thrusts harder into his fist. The first wave crashes over him pumping jet after jet of cum over his belly as his back arches up away from the soft mattress, his mouth crying out your name.

Dazed. Spent. Marcus lies there for a while, his hands and belly sticky from his release. Allowing the tiredness to wash back through him, his eyes close again- torturing his brain with images of you lying back with him. Being able to stroke your hair and press kisses into your sweetly almond scented skin. Hugging you tightly to him.

Never letting go.

Oh, you are utterly fucked, Pike.

✪✪✪✪✪

Lying upon your tummy, head resting on your arms, you rest upon your bed thinking over the events of the past two days. Burning yourself, burning others, coming back to France, panic attacks, confessions and oh, finding a piece of well faked art- nothing too taxing. The exhaustion is so exquisite as it courses through your veins. There is one thing you’ve tried to exclude from your list- the Voldemort of kindness- he who shall not be named.

Marcus Fucking Pike

When you’d seen his bank card, you’d noticed the F sitting between the M for Marcus and his surname of Pike. It had momentarily tickled you to think of what the F could stand for. You totally know that with his track record for openness, he’d have told you in a heartbeat but it was more fun to wonder. For now, it will stand for Fucking as from what he’d demonstrated of himself he can be really Fucking nice, a Fucking tease about your totally non-existent snoring and Fucking hot.

Stop it, Nush.

You’ve been there, seen that, done it and got the fucking t-shirt. You do not want to go down that road again.

Rolling yourself off the bed, landing with a little more grace than you had off the sofa previously, you set to grabbing everything- throwing it all into your rucksack haphazardly. You’d underpacked, not wanting to cart a wheelie suitcase with you, leaving you with fewer clothes than you actually needed for this trip. You don’t have a clean outfit for the office today. Shit. The dress, although pretty smart for work, wouldn’t be terribly comfy on the flight back and there are some small splatters decorating it from where your coffee shot out of your mouth from laughing hard. You’ll have to head home before travelling into the office today, meaning a later night to catch up with the work you’d not complete earlier. Cursing your inability to pack well and organise your life, you throw on your dress and hope that your cardigan covers the worst of the stains.

Dragging the Tangle Teezer through the motions of pretending to tame your mop before securing it in a high ponytail, you head towards the bathroom that is situated on the adjoining wall between Marcus’ and your bedroom. The old fashioned tap handle with its smooth enamel touches spins easily between your fingers with none of the guttering, spluttering and sudden gushes of cloudy water that yours does at home as you wet your toothbrush, ready to brush your morning breath away. Buzzing fills your bathroom as you set about starting your day, your eyes dancing around the room looking at the cool tiles, the elaborate cistern on the toilet- all very fitting of a Victorian era bathroom. Not your style in the slightest, but it suited the styling of the hotel well. You hated when buildings were stripped and gutted of their original features, fitted with cookie cutter IKEA furniture. Chairs should be a little creaky, floors uneven and tables a little rickety- no perfect lines. A bit like that gorgeous missing bit of beard from Marcus’ face- perfection in imperfection.

Stop it, woman.

Spitting the foamy bubbles into the porcelain of the sink, you turn on the tap to rinse it away. Spinning the handle to the off position, you grab the cleanser that Claire, your eldest brother’s wife, had convinced you to start using and to be honest, it certainly helped the hormonal breakouts when it was that time of the month.

Tearing the cotton pad packet open, you grab two of them, squeezing a blob between them, then squishing them together so that it makes a cleanser pad sandwich. It reminds you of those potions you used to make as a child out in the garden mixing any berries, leaves and soil, or in the bath where you used all your dad’s shaving foam and your mum’s stupidly expensive creams, oils and lotions, mixing wild concoctions that would stop your brothers from coming into your bedroom or your mum rolling her eyes at your grades.

Rubbing the cool ointment in soothing circles over your skin, a strange sound seems to come through the wall. From Marcus’ side. It’s muffled but did it sound like your name, or were you imagining it? Confusion creases your forehead- why wouldn’t he just call or text if he needed you, unless he’s hurt? Deciding that the only way to put your mind at rest is to ring and make sure that he’s ok, you scroll through the names on your phone until you hit Sir Agent Marcus Pike. Hitting facetime, you gaze around the room as you wait for him to pick up. A lopsided smile on a slightly flushed face arrives on your phone, “Hey! You ok?”

“Yeah, I was just ringing to check if you were- I thought I heard you say my name when I was in the bathroom,” you gently question, noticing Marcus’ face twitch awkwardly as his eyes widen, “I was just worried that you might be bleeding out in there. Can’t really have that happen twice or people will start to think it was me that did it!”

Covering his mouth, scratching his scruff with his fingers, Marcus tries to think quickly, “Urm, I was… just trying to um get packed up and I stubbed my toe. You probably heard a pained grunt- sorry,” Marcus shakes his head, flaming cheeks giving away his lie.

“Oh we’re a matching pair, now!” you giggle watching Marcus’ uncomfortable twitching and the way he keeps running his hand through his hair, not entirely convinced by his story but glad it isn’t anything more serious.

“Anyway,” you announce wanting to move the conversation along, “I’ve booked us a taxi to the airport- you’ve got about twenty minutes until it arrives.”

A genuine smile creeps across his face- his eyes creasing into half crescents, “Thanks Nush. Hadn’t actually considered how we’d get there. I promise I am capable of running this team.”

“No worries, Marcus. See you down in reception?” that delicious smile and a slight nod greets your question before a quick goodbye on both sides.

He bloody hadn’t stubbed his toe but what the fuck had he been doing? Eyes widening as a realisation crosses your mind.

He hadn’t, had he?

Giggling away to yourself at the very thought, you finish grabbing your things before flicking the switch on the kettle and opening those beautiful French doors so their gauzy curtains float like ribbons in the slight breeze. One more coffee on that glorious balcony before you head back to London. So that’s two major developments you have gained in regards to work- one faked picture and that Marcus Pike is a shit liar.

✪✪✪✪✪

The journey back to the UK had been pretty uneventful other than Marcus trying to take your bag from you whenever possible. A sweet gesture but entirely unnecessary when it is literally a rucksack with five light items inside and you are more than capable of carrying it unless he was secretly worried that you’d injure someone else by swinging around too quickly or something. In the end, it was just easier for him to hold it rather than bickering like an old married couple in the middle of Stansted airport.

“Just gimme it, Nush. You can concentrate on working out where on Earth I’ve parked my car- this is the info I’ve got from the email ticket,” Marcus pointedly says, passing you his phone screen.

“You don’t have to give me a lift. I have to go home first as I didn’t pack enough clothes to cover me for today too,” you own up, “You get yourself to work and I’ll meet you there in a couple of hours. I promise I’ll work late tonight to make up for it.”

Marcus shakes his head, “You hardly strike me as someone who does half a job. You’re in Blackheath too, aren’t you? To be honest, I could do with grabbing a few bits from home before going back into town, so it won’t be going out of my way.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to take any more of your time than necessary- I know that I’m not the easiest person to be around and you’ve had to pretty much live with me for the past twenty-four hours,” you check noticing Marcus’ wince when you mention your difficult personality, “Ooof that bad huh?”

“You should stop talking about yourself in that way, Nush,” he gently soothes, lifting your chin with his thumb so that he can pick your eyes up from where they have fallen to the floor, “From what I’ve learnt about you in the past couple of days, you are an incredibly intelligent, occasionally clumsy but warm human. It has been a pleasure to have this opportunity to get to know you better and get to see the level of your skills so early on.”

Shifting uncomfortably in your coffee stained clothes, a smile crossing his face as he adds, “Can’t take a compliment can you? Ah well, that’ll have to be in your performance management plan- something for you to work on.”

“Ah hah! I’ve worked it out- your car is in the third bay, second row in Green Zone,” you triumphantly cackle.

“Lead the way, Nush. Let’s head home.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Roughly forty-five minutes later, you are kicking the base plate of your door to get the damp to release its powerful grip. Realistically, you had no need for a lock as the fluid retention of the wood would stop the most committed burglar in their tracks and unless you angled the kick just right, ah that’s it- home. You lean over the edge of the walkway to wave at Marcus, who is waiting below for a signal that you were in. He flashes his lights in acknowledgement of your gesture before smoothly reversing from where he has pulled in, watching his car disappearing from your estate, there is a tiny ache but you try to push it away as realistically, it is utterly ridiculous. You’re going to be seeing him in an hour for a lift into work.

After a scorching shower, a squirt of perfume and donning a pretty wrap dress with brightly coloured tights and your trusty cherry red Docs, you’re ready. Lying upon the sofa with your head upon a cushion, your knees bent and feet up on the arm rest, you flick through the various emails and messages that have slowly trickled in over the course of the morning. A sharp rap at the door, shakes you out of work mode.

“Hang on,” you yell through the door giving it the special shake and wiggle before muttering a prayer to the door gods to open first time, “Sorry, it’s the damn damp!”

A very smart, besuited, booted and bespectacled Marcus has a look of total alarm, “I’d say to get that checked but I’m guessing you already have?”

“Oh multiple times of pestering my landlord- apparently it’s on a list. Has been for at least three years,” you answer irritatedly, “Anyway, it’s my best security feature- no one can get in or out.”

“I didn’t realise you wore glasses. They look good on you,” you admire the black frames enjoying the flush being brought to Marcus’ cheeks before teasingly adding, “Ohhh, now who can’t take a compliment!”

“Get down your ass down those stairs, Ms Pierce, I’m pulling rank,” Marcus winks, lopsidedly grinning at you, “We have to at least pretend to do some work today.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Marcus opens the door to the office for you- ever grateful to his wonderful manners, you slide into the office first and inwardly groan at the pile of files that have seemingly made themselves at home on your desk.

“Oh there’s my girl!” Andy’s arms wrap themselves around your shoulders, encasing you in a bone crushing hug, “Missed your face yesterday but I’m guessing you’ve had no time to think of us poor souls slaving away here whilst you’ve been gallivanting across the French countryside? How was the hotel room? Enjoy the view?”

Feeling a little ambushed by your friend’s questioning, you blink hard to steady your thoughts of the glorious view you awoke to this morning, “Yeah, it was lovely!”

And warm. And soft. Snored quite sweetly too.

“I know what a mardy bum you can be if you don’t have something nice to look at when you wake up,” Andy adds with a gentle shrug. He then turns his attention to Marcus, who’s shifting uncomfortably behind you, “Welcome back, Sir. Good to have you back here.”

“Thanks Andy. Um, I’m going to get set up,” Marcus says as he steps out around from behind you, placing a hand on the small of your back. The warmth exists there for a moment before he’s already passed your desk and opened the glass door to his office.

“Coffee’s already waiting for you on your desk,” Marcus swings back to look utterly amazed at his PA, so Andy qualifies this, “I get reception to let me know when all of you arrive so that you can focus on the important things.”

“By the way, Nush and Marcus, before you get swallowed by case files,” Andy addresses you both as you lower yourself onto your chair, “we’re all heading to the Model Market on Friday to find some food and drink before drunkenly throwing some moves to my cousin who’ll be behind the decks. It’s only Wednesday and it already feels like a week!”

Dian sneaks over to your desk with a pastel de nata, “I heard these are your favourites so here’s something sweet to start off your day right.”

Your lip trembles and tears start to form as she passes you this sweet treat, “Thank you. They are my favourites. You are a truly lovely human, Dian.” You reach across the table and squeeze her hand.

“Oh I’m alright, I guess,” she winks one of her anthracite eyes at you, beaming widely, “I am just looking forward to finally spending some time with you in a context that doesn’t involve work. It’s so hard leaving a place that you’ve got your people who you vibe with and then you upend yourself to live somewhere new, where you’re totally on your own and have a job where you work odd hours!”

A sudden hit of guilt pumps through your veins, “I am so sorry, Dian, I hadn’t thought of that. I am so lucky to be from the same city that I now work in- I should have taken you to Borough. I will, and I promise I will show you all the little nooks you won’t have seen around there.”

“I was very jealous of Marcus stealing you away. Ridiculous when it was just for a day but I’d really like to get to know you. I feel like we could be friends,” Dian squeezes back, “Harper has family and friends here already, and I swear I overheard Kiri talking about a rugby team he has joined and meeting up with some mates from uni.”

“Yup- that’s probably true- plenty of Aussies and Kiwis in London but sadly not so many Canadians! Right, we’ll do this old school- come over to mine at seven on Friday, I’ll put some wine in the fridge and we can pretend we’re teenagers getting ready for a night on the town,” you quickly scrawl your address on a piece of paper, pushing it across the table towards Dian.

The smile on Dian’s face is the prettiest thing you've seen for a while. It seems to extend from her eyes to the very depths of her soul. Her reaching out to you makes you think of Marcus. Perhaps he could do with a friend here too- maybe another pizza and classic film night? Even though it had only been two nights, you feel a pang of disappointment at the thought of him not being there with you this evening. Ridiculous. Get a grip before you risk curling up on a sofa with him again.

As Dian returns to her desk, you are faced with the mountain of paperwork from yesterday’s adventure. Shutting your eyes to try and focus your brain, you try to figure out where to start- the report? Logging the video feed? Filing the pictures? Writing up the notes from the meeting?

“Already napping on the job?”

You open one eye to be met with Marcus’ amused face.

With a slight shake of your head, you dismiss his teasing inquiry, “Trying to figure out where to start. I’m not sure quite how we managed to achieve so much in a day but it allllll nowwwww neeeeeeds to be loggggggged, bleurgh!”

“Let’s start at the very beginning,” Marcus says with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“A very good place to start,” you sing along, channeling your best Julie Andrews, highly amused by Marcus’ reference, “Actually- as my brain’s not quite in work mode yet, I should ask you before I forget. I was thinking- do you fancy making the pizzas and classic film night a thing? While London is always full of people, it’s easy to feel quite lonely until you find your group of friends.”

A genuine smile slowly crawls across Marcus’ face as he drinks in your offer, “I mean, it's just a thought. Of course you don’t have to and I’m not sure that my old sofa is anywhere near as comfy as the one in Lyon…”

“I’d love to,” Marcus grins at the fluster in your voice, was he happy to spend more time with you? “Let’s get something in place…”

“Nush- sorry to interrupt, Marcus- I have a highly animated woman called Élodie on the phone asking for you. Can I put her through?” Andy asks, “Seems like she has the lab results back for the possible Soutine.”

Lifting the receiver for your phone whilst whispering to Marcus that you’d catch him later, you lean into the backrest and spin yourself comfortingly from side to side, « Coucou chérie, ça va? Vérifie si mon numéro de téléphone fonctionne? » Hi my love! How are you? Already checking if my telephone number works?

«Coucou mon chouchou! Bien sûr- tu ne peux pas me quitter encore! Il a été complètement falsifié. Sur la toile, sous la peinture, se trouve une autre image qui me rappelle quelque chose qui a été peint par un ado troublé! » Hey my love! Of course- you can’t leave me again! It was completely faked. On the canvas under the paint, another image was found that reminds me of something a troubled teenager would paint! The words tumbling hurriedly from Élodie’s mouth into her phone.

You giggle remembering the angst-ridden art and poetry you’d created as a mopey teenager and are filled with amusement that someone might improve them by putting faked masterpieces on top.

« D’accord! Donc la radiologie l’a prouvé - mais qu’en est il des échantillons de peinture? Une joie avec ceux-ci? » Ok! So the X-ray proved it but what about the paint samples? Any joy there? Now spinning on your chair as far the cord would allow you, your mind wonders how on Earth it could ever have ever been thought to be real.

« Tous les échantillons montrent des peintures modernes telles que la phtalocyanine bleue et verte. Les résultats de la datation au carbone sont attendus plus tard dans la soirée, mais j'avais hâte de t’appeler! Je t’enverrai les résultats par e-mail dès qu'ils apparaissent» All of the samples show modern paints such as phthalocyanine blue and green. The carbon dating results are due later this evening but I couldn't wait to ring you. I’ll email you the results as soon as they appear. Élodie continues, « Comment s'est passé votre dernière nuit et le voyage de retour avec votre magnifique patron? » How did the last night and journey home go with that lovely boss of yours?

« Je raccroche le téléphone maintenant, femme ridicule, » I am hanging up the phone now, you ridiculous woman. You reproach your friend playfully.

Hanging up, after sending hugs and kisses to Jacques too, you see that your computer has now decided that no more updates need to be made. Perhaps it’s time to get started on that report…

When you read you begin with ay bee cee…

✪✪✪✪✪

The flurry of activity continues to hover around your desk and slowly your colleagues peter out in search of lives lived outside of the office space. In fact, you don’t notice the ageing of the day until Marcus goes to leave the office, “Hey, are you planning to sleep here tonight?”

“Had more sleep last night than I usually do so I am riding this high until I drop,” you snort without removing your eyes from your screen as you furiously type away, “You off home?”

“Gym first- gotta burn off the pancakes I’m going to have for breakfast tomorrow,” Marcus says as he fiddles with the strap on his laptop bag.

“That’s not the way that food intake and exercise should work. Food is for nourishing your body and exercise is for making it strong. Don’t get sucked in by that bullshit, Marcus,” you wag your finger at your boss, still hammering the keyboard with your other hand, “You have nothing to worry about, the way you look.”

You finally look up to see Marcus shyly smile, rocking from heel to toe in his highly polished brogues, his eyes on the toe of his shoes. Drawing a deep breath, he looks back up at you, nodding towards the report on your screen, “D’ya think you’ll be able to present that to the team tomorrow?”

“Yeah, just had the results from the carbon dating come through so I should be ready to speak to everyone tomorrow morning at the briefing, if that works for you?” You answer just as tiredness starts to take a grip on your body.

“Perfect. Can I offer you a lift home or are you staying a bit longer?”

“Staying,” you confirm, glueing your eyes back to the screen.

“Well, goodnight Nush,” Marcus wishes you warmly, as he makes to walk away from your desk.

“G’night Marcus. Try to sleep in a bed tonight.”

A throaty chuckle fills the cool office air before disappearing as the door shuts behind him. Bathed in the blue light of your screen, you try to jog your memory of which point you were about to make in your report but sit there utterly stumped due to the distraction.

Marcus Fucking Pike.

✪✪✪✪✪

“So what’s the big deal about this colour exactly?” Harper cuts directly to the chase, “Explain it like I’m five because as you are well aware, this is not my area of expertise.”

You always wonder how far back people need to know of a colour’s history to explain it well enough. Do you take it back to cave paintings or perhaps start in the Renaissance? Perhaps somewhere between the two?

“There was a blue that was known as the colour of the heavens. It’s called ultramarine and is created by crushing lapis lazuli. Now, lapis is only found in one country- Afghanistan, but it’s been used since antiquity to create this beautifully, insanely intense blue. The blue that you see in Tutankhamen’s mask, that’s lapis. Having been used by the Ancient Egyptian and Babylonian empires, lapis then fell out of favour as the Romans associated it with the woad used by Barbarian hordes.”

Tapping his pen on the table, Kiritopa nods in agreement,”Like Braveheart?”

“That’s a wee bit later in European history but a similar idea. Think more Boudicca- the Iceni tribes uprising against the marauding Romans,” Dian points out kindly before nodding encouragingly at you to continue.

“The use of ultramarine then slowly diffused through Europe thanks to the Crusades in the 13th and 14th century but even then, it was still an incredibly precious commodity and solely available to the richest of the rich. That’s why you only ever see it in pictures of the Virgin Mary, emperors, popes and other dignitaries. When a patron requested Ultramarine to be used, the contract would have to be super tight specifying exactly where it would be used and how much.”

“So over the years, scientists have attempted to replicate this paint to create a substance that’s more commercially available but when we try to make paints, we’re dealing with chemistry. When manufacturing paint, you’ve got to make sure that it’s a stable, preferably non-toxic product because well, we all know what happened to the Radium Girls.”

“It took until the first half of the twentieth century for the scientific community to create CuPc. I think it was 1927 when they first created a reaction between copper, cyanide and 0-dibromobenzene, finding that one of the byproducts was an intensely blue powder. This blue powder ended up being first manufactured in 1935 but it still wasn’t readily available until the sixties because Yves Klein tried in the fifties to create the blue used by Giotto and still didn’t manage to produce anything nearly as stable or non-toxic.”

“How does this all link up to this forgery in France?” Harper questions bluntly, clearly desperate for you to get to the point.

Blinking hard, you take a moment to steady yourself as Marcus’ eyes flit between you and the Australian agent.

“Kind of wishing that I’d asked you to explain it like I’m twenty five, might have reached the point by Christmas,” she mutters under her breath.

“Stop packing a sad, Harper. Nush has heaps of skills in this area,” Kiritopa shoots a glare in the Australian’s direction, “Keep going Nush.”

You go to open your mouth but Harper just can’t help herself, “There’s a skill in being succinct.”

“There’s also a skill in not being rude but you’re not managing that are you?” The look on Kiritopa’s face announcing that he is pretty much ready to kill.

“Whoa - guys…” Marcus chooses now to join in?

“Look,” you acquiesce- your heart racing in your throat, raising your hands to try and calm the situation, “Harper’s right, I’m blathering. I should have gotten to the point far sooner. The crux of the situation is that the paint found on the canvas in Grenoble dates from the sixties whereas the artist died in the forties.”

“All of the evidence points to it being a fake- carbon dating, x-rays- the lot. This was an easy find but I think we should be prepared for harder to spot ones,” after throwing paper copies of the lab results in the centre of the table for everyone to grab, you sit back in your chair. Your posture screams for everyone to leave you alone, burying your face in the agenda. Multiple sets of eyes look upon you but you refuse to meet them, feeling furiously obstinate and wholly uncommunicative in the moment.

As the meeting grinds to a close, you finally lift your eyes to find that Marcus’ regard has barely left you- only looking away when you catch him. Urgh, he’s going to be nice about this too. But it isn’t Marcus, who reaches out to you. It’s Kiritopa. Kiritopa, who wordlessly reaches his bear-like arm across the table and squeezes your hand before getting up and leaving the room. The gesture fills you with a grateful warmth and you decide to scarper from the meeting room before Marcus says something and makes you cry.

Time to put on my big girl knickers and get back to work.

✪✪✪✪✪

Friday passes in a blur of calls about a new possible forgery meaning that you can only pull silly faces at Dian from across the room. Kiritopa seems hugely excited by the prospect of a night out, chattering about how he’s invited some of the guys from his rugby team to meet up with him there later. Harper is her usual distant self, head down, beavering away- not really paying much attention to anyone or anything around her.

Where’s Marcus?

You throw a scrunched ball of paper at the PA’s head to get his attention, but entirely miss him, “Andy is Marcus not coming in today?”

Picking up the paper and without even looking up, he throws it back, hitting you square in the forehead, “Car trouble. Any issues, message him.”

Eventually, you hear his confident gait walk into the room. Looking up, you send him a smile which soon fades when you see what a mess he’s in. Hair sticking up all over the place from a stressed hand constantly running through it, a slight gleam of sweat across his skin and an oily mark on one cheek, shirt untucked, jacket draped over one arm, tie askance and lowered due to the top two buttons of his shirt being undone. All of him, in fact, looks undone and defeated.

Without thinking, you jump up from your seat, walk over to him and hug him tightly. With this action the other agents look up and see the state their boss is in. Marcus, whilst initially surprised by your gesture, leans into the hug and lowly whispers, “Thanks. I needed that,” before giving you a tight squeeze, releasing you and slowly trudging towards his office.

“Shit start to a Friday, Sir,” Kiritopa offers, “I’ll get the first round in tonight- you look like you could do with a beer.”

“Fuck, yes, I need a beer but as your boss, that’s my job,” Marcus forcefully asserts, “You can get the second round in.”

You make to slink off back to your desk but Marcus catches your hand, rubbing the skin lightly with his thumb, “You ok?”

“Yeah- just wanted to check on you. You look a fucking state,” you declare through an amused grin.

Marcus chuckles at your observation. “Not the best start to a day,” he grimaces, “I miss anything major this morning?”

“Not apart from the boss arriving at midday looking like he pushed his car all the way here,” you gently tease, “You know we have something called public transport in London- you should try it some time!”

“Yeah, I’ll have Andy look into that for me,” Marcus nods in mock-contemplation, “Hey, um, are you coming out tonight? With everyone, I mean?”

“Uh huh,” you concede reluctantly, “I’m not really a fan of nights out with colleagues but I think we could all do with a glass of something and some good street food in our tummies. What time are you getting there?”

Marcus scrunches up his nose, “Around seven but you know this job- it might be then or some time in September!”

Giving you a wink as he buttons up his collar and straightens his tie, Marcus turns towards his office and you head back to your desk- both with a renewed wish to get finished up and out of the office tonight.

Taglist: @astroboots @silverwolf319 @yespolkadotkitty @agirllovespancakes @danniburgh @lunaserenade @leonieb @tardisfangurl @mouthymandalorian @disgruntledspacedad @zukoyonce @pedropascalito @absurdthirst @mrsparknuts @sirowsky @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @green-socks @lv7867

[litenmyra]

Shrunken Kyoka Jirou being cuddled/manhandled by short-circuited Denki Kaminari - This is almost entirely fluff! A bit of attempt at humour too, I wished to practice my writing, and I do love these two QwQ I felt the dynamic of a short-circuited electric boy may be interesting to try my hand at.

Warnings: None.

oooo

He was drooling, she noticed with a sneer, hands on her hips as her boot beat at the dirt in a nervous impatience. “Whe- whey…?” She could not for any money decipher what the fuck he was even trying to say, but the tone was confused. Had he tried with a question? “What do you want? Huh?” Kyoka made no attempts to step any closer to the teens’ towering form, the distance between them was very, enough. Frankly put, she was more than very off about the whole shrinking thing. To be truthful, Denki was almost terrifyingly big as she looked up at his lost face. The two had tried to work as a duo against a gang of teens their age, and perhaps she got a bit ahead of herself. It left her brushed by the deceptive finger of a delinquent with some sort of shrinking quirk. She witnessed, helpless to do anything, as the idiot before her had tackled the dude down then short-circuited, only that the target had friends who had carried him off; leading to now, as he sat in the grass, glancing down at her, oblivious to the strangeness of this predicament, while subconsciously going back and forth with his thumbs, as per usual. Kyoka groaned, rolling her eyes.

‘If only you’d stayed smart.’ “Hellooo? Earth to Jamming-Whey.” She tried. Which only earned the girl indifference from his eyes, not calming down his erratic hands. Of fucking course this had to happen, and to her too! The girl turned around, stomping as hard away as she could as she just tried to think of anything to help their situation. They weren’t in any immediate danger, just unsupervised. Mr.Aizawa would surely arrive soon, the others had been messaged info of their whereabouts, so maybe about half an hour from now-

All of a sudden she was enveloped by fingers taller than herself. With no time to react Kyoka let out a “Hey!” of surprise, eyeing frantically at the imprisonment, till she turned and raised her head to face the blond captor. Expecting some sort of explanation. Denki’s eyes were however only dazedly eyeing his friend, brows creasing his forehead, as if in a worried state of mind. ‘What is going on inside that empty space?!’

 “Hey, Whey-man!” She tried kicking herself loose once more, “Let me down, Denki!” 

He wasn't being rough, actually, his grip was surprisingly gentle, but she hated the thought of being in his grip. Tiny, and to top it off, unable to stop whatever antics he would come up with. The blonds brows just furrowed together even further, almost disclosing a look of hurt. Damn, she did not like seeing this big baby-guy sad. Kyoka ceased her kicking, sighing in a defeated manner. Her world shifted a bit as the hand around her was brought closer to her friend’s chest, cradling her protectively against him. He radiated heat, but it was not too bad. A shadow was over her in a few seconds, the back of the other hand being wiped under Denki’s chin, bringing the drool with it. He was just about to bring the other hand around the one holding the girl, but no, nonono, she wanted nothing to do with his spit. “Ah, ah! Denki! Wipe that off first!” God, she had to baby this giant boy. She mentally dragged a hand down her face. His own hand froze at her words, his throat making some strange humming as the arm limply fell to his side. At least he was not completely lost to his drawback. No other choice but to relax, somewhat at the very least, she untensed her body. She had not noticed it before, but as all fell quiet, she felt and heard the strumming of his pulse. Though, what worried Kyoka was the occasional skip or jitter it gave off. She guessed a powerful quirk like being able to freaking electrocute stuff was not in any way easy to deal with. A sad sigh flared her nostrils, just to save her he had once again lost a few brain cells. She also noticed he had calmed down since he had snatched her up. His breathing slower, and his hands still. Was it sheer willpower to restrain that restlessness, or did the predicament bring him content? Her heart swelled a bit. Kyoka supposed Denki was not all that bad. Annoying at times, but sweet all the same. Especially as he sat there in the grass with her… while she was  miniaturized... Held protectively against her wishes. Though, it was humouring. “Big doof.” She snorted. “K- Kyo-” The blond started up again, trying with words  “Ka… S- Safe.” He seemed to be leaving it at that. Sight rolling back up to stare at the clear hues of the evening sky.

 A smile eased onto her normally frowny face, closing her eyes. Maybe... She didn’t mind it that much, not for now.

Bonus: Denki sensed that sobering feeling slowly letting on his brain, blinking a few times as if to encourage it in more. His memories were a bit fuzzy, like, he had had a dream about Kyoka. Being tiny. He was sitting in that same grass-patch that he had dreamt about, and his hand- He whipped his head fast to look down on his occupied hand, shaken to find his dream less of an actual figment of his crazy imagination. In his hand he held his friend, actually shrunken and dozed off. Awe entered him, only interrupted when- when she snuggled her resting head further into his fingers. His heart swelled at her action, but he figured she could not be super comfortable in his fist. Still a bit shaky from the dizzy spell, he opened his hand over the other, cupping it as he gently let her lie onto it. Being more than careful not to rustle the girl around too much. He could see a small smile fall onto her face, once more burying into his skin, as if napping in a comfortable bed. Ahh! She is so cute!

He heard a buzz, raising his head and reaching into his pocket to fish his phone out. He saw a multitude of missed calls and notifications, but the most recent one was from his teacher himself! Asking for the coordinates of their whereabouts. Denki quickly sent them, putting the phone back into his pocket.

 Looking to check on the girl again, he was not expecting to meet her two glaring eyes. The boy nervously chuckled.

“What is it?”

--

Shouta walked into the forest, Hizashi waiting in the car at the road in front of the clearing. He was just about to look back at the coordinates Denki had sent to his work-phone, but did not have time to open the map as a screeching voice made its way to his ears.

“Denki! This was the hand you wiped your nasty drool with!” “S- Sorry!” There was the shortest of pauses. “It tickles, but the amount- amount of power you put into hitting me hurts me so much, Kyoka!” Yeah, this was starting off easy. He thought as he trudged on, knowing he had some lecturing to do.

[tobiosmilktea]

scenario request: enemies to lovers au! w atsumu, ✨ thank you 💛

paper daisy chains — miya atsumu

5.5k words | genre/s: fluff, a little angst, enemies to lovers!au | warning/s: language, lots of arguing | pairing: atsumu x gn!reader

↪︎ in which three hours of detention leads to your hatred for your former best friend to fall apart all due to a kiss

a/n: you had me at enemies to lovers anon 😏 ngl tho this is not my best work considering i procrastinated on writing this and i needed to post something today ✨

in a mere afterthought—after everything had gone to shit already, it was then you had some forming recuperation of the situation you were in despite always finding a chance to snake your way out was no longer in your hands. so, perhaps you could have handled the situation a little bit better. emphasis on ‘little’ as there was very little you could do about your absolute hatred for miya atsumu and that sly grin on his face.

it wasn’t like this before–this messy relationship between you and atsumu. if anything, you were the bestest friends in middle school, by each other’s side like you were stuck together with glue. yet a single assumption ruined it all, tearing everything down into nothingness.

did you sometimes yearn for things to go back to the way they were before? the simple answer was yes, but your pride would never let atsumu know.

“as for you (y/l/n) (y/n), atsumu is now sporting a broken nose after you punched him during lunch.” the principle states matter-of-factually which earned a quiet scoff from behind you.

despite not standing directly next to you, atsumu was still far too close for your liking as his right shoulder often brushed against you at every small and sudden movement. you could practically feel his breath grazing the exposed part of your neck. however, you couldn’t exactly blame the setter no matter how much you wanted to as both your teacher and his coach had sandwiched you two together.

“disrespectful little swine that one.” inarizaki’s coach grunts loudly towards you, “you oughta teach that one a lesson before she hurts my starting setter again before nationals!”

you flashed the man a toothy grin as you grit them together. he always had an odd way of speaking, “yes, of course, it’s completely my fault for defending myself.” you deadpanned with your own sarcasm of poisonous venom, surprising almost everyone in the office—everyone except atsumu of course. if anything, he’s the only one still smirking in amusement while all the adults had their faces all contorted. 

however, his eyes did widen a bit as he looked at you the moment you smirked up at him with proud delight written across your pretty face.

your teacher cleared his throat, elbowing you slightly in the ribs discretely. “my student didn’t mean that, sir.” he excuses, quickly giving you a warning look as a sign for you to apologize.

“i’m really sorry,” you weren’t sorry.

the principle simply smiled at your scornful apology that left your lips in the most condescending manner. he then switched his gaze back to the atsumu’s coach who has been arguing against the old man for a good fifteen minutes on only punishing you and not atsumu as it ‘wasn’t his fault,’ but you hadn’t been listening. why would you, anyway? in the end, you were going to get the short end of the stick once again with atsumu getting away with everything. from his annoying teases to his backhanded compliments that caused him a blow right on his nose in the first place will never be called out.

enter atsumu’s twin, osamu, through the office doors. to your surprise he (in a way) defended your case by saying that atsumu was provoking you all day. so, you and atsumu were both in the wrong. then again, that’s what happens between two enemies since middle school.

“based on what osamu has said, i have no choice but to give them both detention.” the principle concludes, “atsumu and (y/n) will be on cleaning duty in the library for the time being.”

“if you don’t mind me commenting,” the coach exclaims, drawing himself up to perhaps argue for the umpteenth time again, “atsumu has volleyball practice to—”

the principle immediately cuts him off, “there’s nothing i can do about it.”

“can’t he serve detention after nationals?” he tries to express once more but is cut off yet again.

“then that goes against our policy of having no behavioral issues in order to go on field trips.”

“then it is decided,” your teacher confirms with a nod. even he was getting a bit tired on this back and forth. “i’ll make sure both students will report to the library the moment the final bell rings, sir.”

great.

there was always something unnerving about the after school noon at inarizaki as you teetered on the edge of boredom and monotony. and that’s saying a lot considering you spent the majority of your time after classes secluded in your own room or wandering the streets of hyogo by yourself instead of going to club activities. you’d come to think that maybe, in the absolute inevitability that for once atsumu’s company would be much better than being alone, but you were wrong. so incredibly wrong.

you would much rather stay locked up in your bedroom all day than be stuck mopping the library floors and dusting off the shelves upon shelves of textbooks and novels.

a sigh escapes from your lips as you bring your gaze up to atsumu on the other end of the aisle, his tall figure reached at the tops of each book shelf as he dusted them off haphazardly while you too care of the bottom layers. it was understandable though as the task was not only tedious but simply counterproductive. the shelves were going to get all dusty again weren’t they? granted, punishment was punishment no matter how futile and impractical.

the library’s fluorescent lights had created shadows upon atsumu’s face, creating deep grooves and shadows upon his jaw and cheeks that perhaps you didn’t think he looked absolutely repulsive for once (even with the bandage on his broken nose).

you lift yourself from your crouched position and brushed any lingering dust off of your uniform, which at this point was a bit unkempt from the light labor you were forced to do. approaching the preoccupied setter, the rag within your hand was tossed back and forth between your left and right.

however, your eyebrows furrowed as you stopped only a few feet shy away from atsumu who should at least be sensing your presence at this point. he always had a knack of being aware of where you were and honestly you found it plain creepy. your gaze fell upon the rag in your hand, shrugging to yourself before chucking it at atsumu’s face.

the setter’s expression contorted slightly in confusion as the piece of cloth smacked him on the side of his cheek before falling onto the floor. his gaze followed the rag before turning his stare towards you.

“i’m bored,” you sighed out in a mutter with little to no emotion coating your words. 

“me too,” he replies, crouching down to pick up the rag before tossing it to you lightly. you caught it within your hands as you feign the look of surprise on your visage. you honestly expected him throw it as hard as he could, but he didn’t. “the faster we get this done the faster we get to go home–or whatever you do after school like wander around hyogo or something.”

you nod, yet curiosity stroked you. how would he know about that? gently placing one foot in front of the other, you steered closer to the boy. “and how would you know i do that everyday after school?”

it was then, you could finally feel the striking tension between the two of you. as if it was heat emanating and merging simply from the proximity you two were standing, a beat had passed again the moment you confirmed that whatever answer atsumu was going to give you would be complete and utter bullshit.

“just to make sure you were safe,” he mutters so nonchalantly. something so out of his character, especially for you would obviously be more alarming than a simple shrug and a brow raise.

your arms braided over each other, your gaze hardening by the second. “safe?” you repeat in disbelief that was accompanied with a scoff, “that’s rich, miya, anymore shitty lies you want to tell me before i could ruin that pretty face of yours again?”

a smirk had fallen on his lips as he flickered you an entertained look. “so, you think i’m pretty?”

you roll your eyes, turning your back towards him. you knew talking to him was a stupid idea and if only your teacher didn’t force you to try to make amends during detention with him, you wouldn’t have to feel your brain cells deteriorate every time you look his way. so much for taking sensei’s words into consideration into making friends with him again when your patience was being tested every five seconds. “whatever,” you scoff for the umpteenth time as you going back to your previous spot.

“the thing is, what i said just then wasn’t a lie.” he concludes while his eyes follow your figure to the other end of the aisle, “but, it’s not like you’d believe me or care for that matter.”

you’re right, i don’t. you thought to yourself, and yet you were still taken aback from the sudden ardor in his tone. it was less of atsumu’s usual bite from his arguments and more of a laceration to the skin, near rather than cutthroat despite both being some form of verbal wound. one hurt more than the other and you were sure atsumu was holding back.

“and what makes you think that?” you question.

atsumu shrugs, “nothing really groundbreaking.” he pauses as his eyes fall upon your expression of nothingness as for once he couldn’t find the right words to say. on the tip of his tongue laid words that would definitely hurt you and that hollow chest of yours, and usually he wouldn’t care just the same as you wouldn’t, yet something was stopping him.

come to think of it, this was one of the rare occasions that you and atsumu were actually alone together. nothing but the confines of the library bookshelves to obstruct you and your enemy. if anything, you and atsumu are constantly surrounded by others who are aware of your mutual resentment towards each other. hell, the only reason why your name was even as near popular as atsumu’s was because you had beef with him that was never serious in the first place. even after the numerous altercations you had since middle school with the blond boy, it was always him who provoked you.

it was almost as if you only kept up your act because that’s all you’re known for in this damn school. and you hated it.

“just the fact that you hate me is the biggest reason.” atsumu adds.

a sarcastic laugh emitted from you as you turned back towards him. you were well aware how priceless your expression looked, all muddied in disbelief and annoyance. “the feeling’s mutual.” you seethed through your teeth, stopping yourself from suddenly dumping fuel to a slow building ember. you had dirt on atsumu, but so did he and you had to be careful in order to play your cards well.

yet atsumu was already one step ahead of you, “you know hiding you emotions and feelings isn’t very healthy, is it?” he evoked. it was starting again and you knew it—from the way he inched closer to you and the way he held that godforsaken smirk on his lips again.

this guy was really asking for it wasn’t he?

a chuckle leaves your lips as you fully face him, your skin pulsated with arising anger, you couldn’t wait for miya atsumu to pull your final strings so you could finally land a punch on his face again. “it’s not like stalking someone after school is any better,” you hissed in the same venom. “i heard that shit can go on your permanent record if you were caught following someone. who knows, miya, maybe you’ll be surprised one day when you’re kicked off the volleyball team all of a sudden—”

“that’s hilarious coming from you, (y/n), you piece of—” atsumu had cut himself off in the midst of his retort, pursing his lips together as his hardened gaze suddenly dropped. “whatever,” he scoffs before turning away.

he let out a frustrated sigh as he attempted to walk back to the other end of the bookshelf so he wouldn’t have to look at your widening smile of provocation on your visage—slick with the taste of ash and synthetic amusement. it covered you in a downpour of emotions, most of which (if not all) were just synonyms of anger and acrimony. your tone was almost elated, drenched in salty irritation that couldn’t wither. you waited for him continue his words knowing damn well he could hit you with something stronger, something that can hurt more.

atsumu had to admit that he wasn’t as nearly as tough as you, though. you were someone that grew up surrounded with constant thunderstorms of a family and had a chest filled with bruising epiphanies waiting to be spewed out if anyone were to ever fuck up. it would’ve been best if he stepped himself away knowing that you both had no crowd to entertain, and yet there was an aching within you that wanted atsumu to continue whatever insult rested on his tongue.

pull that string, miya, i dare you.

“whatever?” you miffed, testing the waters you knew was tainted in tension. “no, please continue what you were about to call me, miya. i’d love to hear a new rendition.”

the setter shook his head as he couldn’t bring himself to meet the fury in your eyes any longer. “i hate how it had to be you,” he muttered under his breath.

“what was that?”

atsumu shook his head, “nothing.”

detention was flying by slower than you had hoped. 

within the first hour, you and atsumu had finished all the work assigned simply due to the fact that keeping yourselves busy on opposite sides of the library was best for both of your mental health.

two hours left of detention and boredom was dangerous for the likes of you two. now that you were both situated at the array of desks, it was common sense that some form of dispute between the two of you were bound to happened despite being separated and sitting at your own tables.

stupid atsumu, you thought. he really thought he was sly trying to sneak glances at you every five seconds like he was just waiting to get you riled up. what was his problem anyway? you thought that atsumu was the one who stopped himself from making matters worse earlier but it seems like he wanted to start something again.

you ignored him like you usually do. you were far too busy making a second pair of paper daisy chains and you needed the utmost focus cutting out each individual paper daisy to string into a faux flower crown.

atsumu had some audacity thinking he could keep throwing glances at you when you literally had a pair of scissors in your hand.

“keep staring and you’ll lose all of your piss-blond hair,” you deadpanned. you didn’t even bother to look at him as you were too preoccupied in your latest craft activity to fight your boredom.

however, it wasn’t atsumu’s fault that you were a complete enigma to him. he hated the way his friendship with you ended up like this after one big misunderstanding. sure, the first signs of your wavering friendship on the cusp of the big chasm of hatred you both created started in the middle school, but it truly formed in your first year.

granted, it wasn’t like he was wrong for worrying about you. he thought you were in danger last year when he thought you were getting involved with terrible people and simply reporting any suspicious behavior was his best way to go. the report was anonymous, but after you received the news, you were immediately suspended for a week all because of him. atsumu wasn’t going to negate the fact that perhaps it was his fault, but despite his numerous trials and errors of apologizing to you, it turned into nothing but heated arguments that led to your relationship now. all jagged and broken.

the topic has been taboo since.

atsumu’s gaze left yours, scoffing under his breath as he rolled his eyes. why did it have to be you? it wasn’t like this before, but you were all well aware how stubborn you two were.

you were an absolute wildfire that couldn’t be contained and atsumu was constantly treading over fresh embers that threatened to ignite at any form of friction. he was tired of always having to be careful around you, especially now that you broke his nose, yet he still wanted for things to be different.

“here,” your voice interrupts the tense silence as you toss him a finished paper daisy chain. it landed on his crossed arms, raising an eyebrow of confusion when he picked it up. “give that to osamu.”

atsumu was a bit perplexed to say the least, but he simply sighs to himself before gently placing the flower crown over his temples. “why osamu?” he knew damn well why, “i think it looks better on me.” he mused.

“you look hideous with it on,” you scoff, “besides it’s for your brother for a reason.”

“cause you like him better?”

“no doubt about it.”

(can you believe you liked atsumu more than osamu back in middle school?)

the setter shrugs, “too bad, you gave it to me so it’s mine now.”

“no it’s not, you don’t deserve one.” you say as you stand from your chair that screeched against the dark oak flooring of the library. you try to reach for the flower crown on atsumu’s head, but his hand snatched your wrist before you could grab it. 

atsumu’s adams apple bobbed up and down when he realized how close you were, “let. go.” your voice was hushed, yet still spat out your infamous venomous tone.

but he didn’t let go.

“aren’t you tried of it?” atsumu brings up instead.

“tired?”

“of this,” he continued before motioning to each other, “of us having to act like we hate each other everyday?”

you feigned a scoff, yet you couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes to the absolute bullshit coming out of atsumu’s mouth right now. “i’m not acting.”

“well i am,” remarked atsumu before a millisecond could even pass, “i’m tired of having to act like i hate you all the time.”

it was then it seemed like something just cracked within you. lies, lies lies, everything was a lie with atsumu—from the moment he ruined your trust last year to every altercation, big or small, that happened until this point was nothing but lies. you swallowed a lump of pride, fear, and anger collecting in your throat as you let out a huff. “your lies are becoming progressively shittier, you know that right? i don’t need your sorry excuse of sincerity.”

you tugged at your wrist again, this time harder for atsumu to finally let you go, but he wasn’t budging. it wasn’t like you to admit this either, but it was starting to hurt.

“too bad i’m not lying.”

a sigh of frustration left your lips as you felt your anger suddenly swell within you. bottling up your emotions until they exploded was something you were explicitly good at and you could feel the bile rising in your throat, burning you along with words that threatened to spew out of your mouth. “what the fuck is wrong with you? you think that saying that bullshit now is going to make up everything that had ever happened between us?”

“no, I just—”

you didn’t bother to let him speak as you cut him off, “your volleyball fangirls harass me everyday for treating how i treat you, not mention i get constantly watched on like a hawk because of what you did! you made me lose my parents trust after i got suspended and i can’t even go out freely anymore! the only reason why i wander around hyogo alone after school is because that’s the only time i can have to myself since my parents think i have club activities—”

atsumu didn’t mutter a word as he waited for you to continue. he knew there was more inside you yearning to finally be verbalized and he was ready for it to come his way.

“you think i’m acting like i hate you out of pettiness, but that only proves how self-centered you are atsumu,” you huffed, not bothering to pull your wrist out of the setter’s vice-like grip anymore. “for once, i did consider finally letting this whole thing between us go and make amends, but not like this—not when you just keep fucking up and digging yourself a bigger hole.”

a few beats of silence passed between the two of you as you felt the heat rising within your slowly deplete. even atsumu’s hand on your wrist had loosened up a bit, sending a wave of relief within you knowing that you had a chance finally walk away.

“so you’re tired too?” the setter suddenly interjected.

here we go again, you thought with a dejected sigh. “can you—”

his hold around your wrist suddenly tightened again, but not as harsh as before. “answer my question.”

“no.” you pursed your lips together.

“liar.”

“atsumu, please—”

“listen, i’m really sorry about what i did.” the setter expressed, hoping the sincerity in his voice was reaching you. “what i did was fucked up, but just say the word and we can stop everything right here.”

“let go,” you muttered in between, but atsumu only continued.

“no more arguments, we could go back to how we were before or we could start over again—”

“i said let go!”

it was then atsumu’s grip left your wrist and caught your face in between his hands and leaned in.

it wasn’t like this was your first kiss, but it certainly felt like it. granted, this was the first time you kissed some you hate—or rather, someone you’re supposed to hate. you’ve kissed numerous people before, all of which were fueled with nothing but boredom and was nothing more than a simple peck. and yet, this was everything out of the ordinary. you were kissing miya atsumu for fuck’s sake and for once there wasn’t a clear instinct in your body to move away fom him.

your mind blurred so much that the confusion written all over your expression and in your head was muddied by the roaring of your heartbeat. perhaps it was the way atsumu had managed to somehow run his hand from your face and through your hair while the other gently caressed your cheek as if this was how it was supposed to be for ages. it certainly didn’t feel like some cheap thrill atsumu had devised as the way he pulled you closer to him felt like a missing puzzle piece finally being placed.

and for once, you didn’t feel absolutely disgusted when he touched you like this.

it was then when the bandage on atsumu’s healing nose tickled the bridge of yours had suddenly pulled your out of some dream-ridden euphoria. as if it was a reminder that this is what you did. the person who was supposed to be your best friend turned into your enemy after one misunderstanding. he hurt you once and that was the most he did, and yet it only made matters worse when you’ve come to the realization that all of atsumu’s quarrels with you was far less hurtful than what you ever said. they were all for the same reason and that reason was how he felt for you. the feelings had been simmering within him since middle school was finally revealing itself and you’ve been throwing it away for so long.

you didn’t deserve this type of love.

the swift beating of your heart was no longer from the burning sensation of atsumu’s lips against yours, but rather the adrenaline of every single worry tucked in the confines of your head were coming out of their shadows all at once. no matter how intoxicating a forbidden kiss like this felt, you were suffocating beneath the drowning ocean of the unspeakable.

your swollen lips, all tinted red parted slightly before biting down on atsumu’s lip.

“shit!” he suddenly exclaimed, suddenly pulling away to touch the bleeding wound on his bottom lip.

you took this chance to finally get away like you always did. and to your surprise, atsumu didn’t follow you into the labyrinthine aisles of the empty library for once. perhaps this was the one time you were glad that you and atsumu were alone in this huge room as it at least saved you from any humiliation of whatever the fuck just happened.

the inkling within your gut felt familiar, but too peculiar to fully comprehend. yet, with the blush that stretched from your cheeks to your ears still at it’s fullest opacity to the loudness your heartbeat still thumping against your chest and in your ears, it was obviously what the feeling was.

this can’t be happening.

you let out a sigh.

fifteen minutes. that’s all that’s left of the three hours of detention and after this, you were free from the confines of the library walls that suffocated you.

just fifteen more minutes before you can leave and avoid atsumu for the rest of your life. after those fifteen minutes, you would no longer give two shits about inarizaki’s setter and he could no longer confuse you anymore. and all you needed to do was wait in the most obscure corner of the library that most wouldn’t even go to.

the thing is, it was genuinely a good plan, but lately you’ve come to the conclusion that you had been underestimating atsumu for such a long time. this was one of those moments where you believed he would leave once detention was over, and yet he made sure to go through each and every aisle of bookshelves only to find you with your nose stuck in a book to keep you occupied. you didn’t even see him at first, but atsumu was glad you didn’t as he spent a good five minutes forcing himself to stop blushing just by your presence.

and to your (quite unfortunate) luck, here miya atsumu was now—approaching you in all his broken-nosed glory. it certainly didn’t help the fact that this entire time, you couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss. it was the way he spoke about his feelings for you via the sparks from the sudden excursion that had your heart blossoming out of your chest even an hour after it happened

atsumu plops himself next to you, yet still leaving enough room that you wouldn’t run away from him again. his arms rest over his knees as he picked at his nails in uncertainty, as if he was treading over thin ice and a single misstep would eliminate any progress that was created between the two of you. “we’re free to go in fifteen minutes,” his voice was gentle, yet hesitance laced it to soften it a bit more as you didn’t even spare him a glance. “...just to let you know.”

there was no response from you. a simple nod was a good enough answer even though you weren’t obligated to. if anything, you feared that atsumu could hear the wavering in your voice when if you did say anything verbally. you hoped just by a simple nod would be a sign for him to get up and leave you alone in your furrowing thoughts, but he just sat there. in the deafening silence and the flipping of the pages of your book, he stayed for you.

atsumu wanted to make sure you got home safely and not do anything stupid. he knew what you were capable of especially after something out of the ordinary transpires (see: the kiss from earlier).

you had to admit that maybe you didn’t care that he was right next to you anymore. before, you would always yell at him to leave you alone or give you space, but for once his presence felt comforting to you (you wouldn’t confess that for you the life of you, though). you just hoped he wouldn’t notice the heat rising in your neck again.

(he did end up noticing)

the setter cleared his throat then, his fingers still playing with each other to spare him from the awkwardness. “are you okay?”

you huffed, “i knew you were an idiot, but i didn’t think you were this stupid.”

there it was, atsumu thought. despite the severity of your response, he couldn’t help but feel a smile creep on his lips knowing that you were at least talking to him. throughout the past year, he had come to realize that having you throw insults at him was better than not talking at all. granted, you wouldn’t even spare a single breath to someone you truly hated and not give a shit about. so if anything, you being mean to him was a sign that you think of him as something more than a stranger.

it was an odd case of stockholm syndrome, atsumu had to admit.

“is it because of the kiss earlier?” he asked, yet you didn’t utter a word. rather it was the sudden bursting of red tinted ears and burning cheeks stopped you from forming proper words. you would never get used to this feeling. “if it makes you feel any better—”

“just shut up about it,” you hissed as plunged your face deeper into your book. atsumu seeing your tomato-red face was the last thing you wanted as you shooed him away, “i don’t want to hear it.”

a chuckle left atsumu as he took the book out of your hands, loudly slapping it shut that the impact of paper hitting one another echoed throughout the library. it forced you to look at him in the eyes as he smirked at your expression. he hasn’t seen a look of embarrassment on your visage before and he found it adorable. “if the next words that come out of your mouth is to forget about the kiss ever happening, i’ll do it again and make sure you remember.”

your jaw tightened slightly as you peered your eyes at him, “fine.” you affirmed, “it did happen, but it meant nothing.”

“well, it meant something to me.” atsumu countered, not even noticing the way he leaned in closer.

it felt almost impulsive the way your emotions just crumbled before you. with the sense of betrayal between your mind and your heart had you dragged into the tide of finally giving into the guy you’re supposed to be hating. it felt criminal the way you even let your eyes flicker back down to his lips that was still a bit swollen from last time.

it just had to you, huh?

“i hate you,” you say before pulling him his tie towards you.

the kiss was slower than last time, deeper even. you were sure this was how serendipity felt like, sweet against your tongue like marmalade and soft like feathers with the way atsumu was trying to chase that euphoria when he made his way down your jaw. the ghost of his lips left trails down your neck and to your collarbone before recoiling back to your lips. you tasted like mocha and atsumu already found himself addicted to it.

“miya! (y/l/n)!” the advisor in charge of detention’s voice suddenly thundered throughout the library, forcing you two to pull away from each other. “detention ends in five minutes! the hell is this? daisy chains?” he suddenly interjects before letting out a loud scoff. “if i don’t see the rest of the trash from these tables thrown away, i’m giving you two another after school detention next week!”

a disappointed sigh emits from you as you and atsumu make your way back to the other end of the library. you hoped the exchange between the two of you wasn’t too obvious as your lips were all pink and your uniform disheveled.

the advisor gave you two a look before turning away to leave the library. humiliation struck you then and atsumu couldn’t help but laugh.

“i’ll make sure osamu gets his paper daisy chain.” the setter reassures playfully as he snatches both flower crowns from the table and hands the other to you.

your hands brush together as you take it from him, muttering, “you can have it if you want.”

“what was that?”

“nothing,” you say as you make your way towards the library’s entrance, “i said you look like a cunt.”

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

lip sync your way into my heart

( @thecomfortofoldstorries and I got into a fun head-cannon debate last night about Tik Tok POVs and this is what happened)

--- Jaskier has never really been in the loop when it comes to social media. He was behind the curve when he made his Tumblr and he was two years late to sign up for Twitter. It’s no surprise that he finally downloads Tik Tok and makes an account several months after it’s become a viral platform.

That also means all the good usernames are taken; Jaskier types in @buttercup-bard, sees that it’s available, and calls it a day. This isn’t an app he’s going to care about. It’s just to waste time during his forty minute commute to and from campus. 

Alas, he has ADHD...and this shit is addictive.

Especially, he hates to admit, the thirst-trap hotties who do weird, obscure, edgy POV videos. Jaskier knows they’re aimed primarily towards teen and young adult women but he’s a red-blooded Redanian gay. He’s horny. He can watch a few POV Tik Toks on the bus and thirst after pretty boys with big muscles...as a treat.

By Jaskier’s second week of classes he’s found a definite favorite Tik-Tokker (is that what they’re called? Or is it influencer? Jaskier doesn’t care). The guy is gorgeous. He has beautiful honey-gold eyes and long, silvery-white hair; which is appropriate since his handle is @whitehairdontcare. He makes a wide range of content, too. Perfect for Jaskier’s Concerta-focused tastes. There are some dances here and there and some Q&A videos, but for the most part he does POVs. 

Jask and his roommates, Essi and Priscilla, have spent many happy hours poring over Mr. White Hair’s account, watching and re-watching their favorites from his vast repertoire of content. Essi loves his weird, edgy-boi shit. Stuff with titles like “POV: I fight the bully who insulted your haircut” or “POV: you make a deal with the devil for true love”. Stuff that Jaskier would have been into when he still listened to My Chemical Romance on the regular (okay, he still does, but don’t tell Essie). 

Priscilla is a huge fan of Tik Tok dances. She follows every challenge and ranks her favorites, compiling them into a YouTube series that’s more for her self-gratification than anything else. Mr. White Hair is generally towards the top of her list whenever he deigns to follow a trend that doesn’t involve badly applied makeup blood smears. The guy clearly works out and the definition of his body (and the movements of said really hot body) make the dances look so much more fluid and fun. Jaskier and Priscilla clearly share a brain-cell when it comes to appreciating Mr. White Hair’s hotness.

Jaskier’s favorites, of course, are the cute little POVs that lie scattered between all the edgy ones. Stuff made for the softies of Tik Tok. Stuff made for boys like Jaskier. “POV: I fix your car for you” is the one he’s probably re-watched the most. Mr. White Hair is lying on his back beneath a jacked-up blue car, oil smeared in a few strategic places on his face, chest, and arms. At the very end of the Tik Tok he moves the wrench out of the way of his face completely and winks directly into the camera.

Jaskier hates to admit it, even to himself, but no matter how many times he’s watched that stupid twenty-give second video, that wink drops his heart straight down into his shoes and fills his stomach with butterflies.

---

“Hey do you guys carry fake blood here?” an almost terrifyingly deep voice asks from behind him. Jaskier twirls around on his heel, Retail Smile firmly in place, and loses his shit the moment he sets eyes on his latest customer.

It’s Mr. White Hair.

Here. In the middle of the aisle of the Party City where Jaskier works every weekend. He’s either going to throw up or pass out or both. 

He doesn’t though. Instead, the Demon Lord of Retail possesses his body momentarily and nods, “Right over this way!” He leads the insanely attractive influencer over to the year-round section of Halloween FX makeup and gestures towards the shelf filled with various fake blood capsules, bottles, and packets. 

“Thanks,” Mr. White hair smiles. Jaskier nods again, silent, and drifts back towards the counter in a daze. He’s the only one on shift right now (it is not a very busy Party City) and he knows that he can’t pass out on the dirty tile floor or he’ll get fired (and perhaps tetanus). He just needs to power through the next few minutes and then he can crouch next to the helium tank and freak the fuck out.

But not until Mr. White Hair is gone.

Just as Jaskier is re-learning how to breathe normally, the sexy internet star makes his way towards the counter with an armful of products and the retail worker loses it again. Thank god for the ability to compartmentalize.

“So, just these for you?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“No problem! I love your Tik Toks by the way,” Jaskier replies automatically. His eyes widen slightly. Why the fuck did I mention his Tik Toks!?

“Thanks,” the guy says and blushes. “I didn’t know they’d gotten so popular.”

“You have like two million followers?” Jaskier laughs. “I think that makes you pretty popular. Maybe even famous.”

“Oh yeah...right.” 

“Anyway, your total is going to be twenty-one fifty.”

Mr. White Hair pays and Jaskier bags all his fake blood, wondering the whole time exactly what kind of content he can look forward to seeing. More of Essi’s edgy shit, apparently. As he’s handing the plastic bag over the counter, Jaskier smiles and works up the courage to ask, “Is your hair naturally white? I don’t mean to pry, it’s just really pretty.”

Geralt’s face goes slightly pinker than before and he nods. “Yeah. Weird genetic thing. Thanks.”

“No problem. Right on,” Jaskier beams. “Well, it was nice meeting a famous person. Thanks for stopping in.”

“Thanks for helping me out,” the Tik Tokker replies. Jaskier watches him exit the store before ripping his phone from his pocket and dialing Essi. He needs to talk to her before he spirals into a giddy panic attack.

---

“Hey Jask have you seen that hot guy’s latest Tik Tok?” Priscilla asks, lounging across her futon like a queen. Jaskier looks up from his copy of The Collective History of Aedirnian Funeral Dirges and wrinkles his eyebrows in confusion.

“No, why?”

“You should go check your phone. I think you’ll be happily surprised.”

“Oh-kay,” Jaskier says, drawing out the ‘kay’ for as long as it takes him to get up from his seat on the floor and exit the room. He retrieves his phone from the charger in the kitchen and returns to Priscilla’s bedside. He opens his new favorite app and pulls up @whitehairdontcare’s page. There’s a new POV from earlier this morning and Jaskier taps on it. 

His eyes go round when he reads the caption: “POV: You’re the cute cashier at the Party City and I’m bad at flirting”. 

Mr. White Hair is staring into the camera with those beautifully golden eyes, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck with his hand while he lip syncs to whatever song is playing. He’s wearing a tight, navy blue v-neck and Jaskier can see the movement of every one of his ridiculously defined muscles as they flex. The silver wolf’s-head necklace Mr. White Hair always wears around his neck is in its usual place, dangling down between those perfect collarbones…

Jaskier takes a shaky breath and glances up at his friends, who are staring back at him with wide eyes. “It could be about anyone.”

“How many Party Cities do you think he went to yesterday?”

“I’m not going to get my hopes up,” Jaskier snorts. “He’s a social media influencer and I am one semester away from finishing my degree and my thesis. Why would he ever want to be with someone like me?”

Essi rolls her eyes and Jaskier goes back to his homework. 

---

Later that night, alone in his room, Jaskier plugs his earbuds into his phone and watches the Tik Tok over and over. He finds the song Geralt used and adds it to his Work Is Tough playlist, which he’s allowed to play over the loudspeakers at the store so long as he’s working a solo shift. 

He watches Mr. White Hair’s plush pink lips move around the words and dreams of kissing them someday, as far-fetched as that scenario is (because this video is definitely not for him, that’s impossible):

“My hopes are so high that your kiss might kill me.

So won't you kill me, so I die happy.

My heart is yours to fill or burst, to break or bury,

or wear as jewelry; whichever you prefer.”

Fucking Dashboard Confessional. Of course. One of Jaskier’s favorite bands from his emo days in middle school. If this really was for Jaskier, if this really was a legitimate attempt at online flirtation by Mr. White Hair himself, it was working.

 Jaskier buries his head in his pillow and sighs. 

[whump-a-la-mode]

Can you do a part 3 of The Trophy Room? 🥺

Of course! La voila! I’m really glad you’re enjoying.

Continued from here.

CW//Mentions of death, mentions of sickness, battering rams, nausea

Hero was dying. They were more than certain of that.

Consciousness meant nothing at all, nor did its opposite. They were floating, somewhere in the exact middle of the two. A horrible limbo. Their body was nowhere at all, and, yet, every cell, every neuron, every fiber of every muscle was awake, even as they did not exist in any capacity at all. 

They were awake, and they were sick. Everything felt so awfully, agonizingly sick. Could ears feel nausea? Could arms be dizzy? Could legs become congested? They weren’t certain, but they knew what they felt.

And their eyes...

Their eyes were not sick, even as something burned behind them, deep within their sockets. No, they knew where their eyes were, even in all the chaos, all the mess, all the sickness. There was something beyond them, beyond their lids, something...

Hero was dying, and they were awake. In an instant, their eyes, unburdened by illness, shot open.

The light attacked them, all at once. Shimmering lights of a glaring, white hue stared down upon them, threatening, insisting that they veil their eyes once more beneath their lids. Yet, they could not. No, they wee awake, now, and everything was shifting back to place. Back to where it should have been. Nauseated ears upon their head, dizzied arms sprouting from shoulders, congested legs beneath their pelvis.

Hero...

Where were they?!

In an instant, they jolted up. That time, at the very least, the nausea was in the right place-- jabbing at their stomach with an agonizing quickness. Had their throat not been so terribly numb, perhaps they would have felt as bile arise in it.

Their ears awoke, then. Their terribly sickened ears.

They could hear, again, and the first thing they heard was footsteps. Another flush of bile rose as they turned their blurry vision, looking up, taking in the world around now that they had the senses to do it with.

The hospital room. Their brain awoke, too, in that moment, they remembered. The spying mission gone awry, their return to HQ, the hospital room, Villain-

That was the soft thing beneath them. A hospital bed. And the footsteps...

From what they could tell, the room was the same as they had left it. Same white walls, same sterile same, same complete and utter lack of any useful medical equipment. And same Villain.

Those were the footsteps.

There were only two things different about the room. For one thing, the door was closed-- if the shivering, nervous doctors were anywhere close by, they certainly couldn’t be seen. For the other, Villain was no longer laying unconscious in a hospital bed. No, they were upon their feet.

Back, and forth. Back, and forth. It was with this rhythm that they paced. Back and forth and back again. Pacing in front of the door.

When they looked back at Hero, their movements did not stop-- though, for a single beat, the hero’s heart most certainly did.

Villain looked alive. They had been alive before, most certainly, but... Everyone knew Villain. Everyone knew the defeated villain, existing in their cylinder, attended to by doctors in hazmat suits who never once released them from their iron shackles. They were alive, yes. But they never moved, not really, and their skin was so pale...

That wasn’t to say that that paleness had retreated, nor had the angry red marks around their neck-- where their iron collar had hung for... hell, a year? Maybe more? But, now, there was something more concrete to their wakefulness. Their eyes were open, and there was something behind them. Determination.

“You’re awake.” Hero had almost forgotten that the imprisoned villain had a voice. It was accented, of course, by their footsteps. They seemed to act as though, if they ever ceased pacing, even for just a moment, their very heart would stop to beat.

“I-” They’d nearly forgotten how to speak in their own right. “I am.”

“How are you feeling?”

It was a surprising question, and one that sent Hero retreating back within their body. Focus turned to their own limbs, their torso, their head... Everything was sick, every inch of it. There was no pain, not an ounce of pain, but illness permeated everything that it could touch. Nausea and bile. Their blood was gone, they were certain, replaced in its entirety by bile.

“Sick.” That was all they could say. “Sick.”

“Well, you’re dying, so I can’t say I’m surprised.” Their glare returned to the closed door. What was possibly beyond it? Ever so softly, they could make out the edges of voices from behind the panel of steel, but their words were lost on them.

“I’m dying.”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

Villain replied to that with a grunt. For the merest instant, they ceased their pacing, approaching the door just enough to press their ear flush with its metal. Whatever was on the other side was abrasive enough to make them jerk their head away an instant later.

“Your people are pissed.” They muttered, before turning their back to the entrance that they had before been so relentlessly guarding. Upon tense limbs, they moved to Hero’s side.

For an instant, they flinched, images jolting to their mind. Warnings. The doctor’s faces--questions of “Are you sure you want to go in there? Even without a hazmat suit?” Villain was dangerous, everyone knew that. That was why they were put on display-- if anything happened, the world would know in less than an instant.

Then, more images. Visions of the unconscious villain on this very hospital bed, their sickened body barely strong enough to accept healing. To accept the green. They had been so, so close to death, and now...

Their hand touched Hero upon the neck, a single, soft index finger. The slightest of pains, and the sickness cleared. Every inch of bile, giving up its nauseated fight.

“You-” The hero jolted away. This villain could kill with a touch, could destroy their body from the inside out.

“Stop.” The warning was swift, sharp, and clear. “Don’t move.”

“Don’t hurt me!” They hated how it came out as a whimper, a disparate cry.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, you dolt. I’d have done it already. Now, hold still.”

That soft, frigid finger returned. The spiraling pieces of illness, where it had crept into the edges of their muscles, the fibers of their bones, were slowly, agonizingly destroyed. All with a touch.

“What are you doing?” Hero strained.

“Saving your life.”

“I thought you killed. Necrosis.”

“I do.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“This poison.” Villain sighed sharply. “Is as alive as you are.”

“It’s- It’s what? How do you know that?”

“Hibou has been working on this stuff for a long time.” They muttered. “It’s not a neurotoxin, or whatever in the world she says it is. It’s a disease. An infection. And it’s alive. I’m killing it.”

“Then- Seriously, what is going on?!”

The villain gritted their teeth together. It was incredible, the defiance left in them after a year in a cage.

“You give me an answer, and I’ll give you one.”

“Fine, what do you want?”

“Hibou.” There was a certain... tenderness to the way they spoke. All at once, Hero could not help but remember the way that the owl-themed villain had spoken, what felt like ages ago. Called Villain their kid. Their child, stolen away and placed on display. “How is she? And the others?”

“They’re...” Hero bit their lip. “They’re okay. I saw them, yesterday. It’s still the same day?”

“You’ve been out for two hours.”

“Only two?” It felt like so much longer. “I saw them today, then. They’re okay. They really miss you. Hibou... She said she wants me dead. As revenge.”

“Good. I miss them too.” It was so fast, so much emotion shoved into five, snappy words. “What did you want to know?”

“What’s going on?”

“The poison reached your brain. You passed out.” The villain shrugged. “Oh, and I locked us in the room and now your people want in.”

“They’ve been out there for-”

“Two hours? Just about. But some idiot decided that the doors should only lock from the inside. And it was probably the same idiot who made the door out of steel.”

“So-”

“They can’t get in. They don’t get it.”

“Get what?! You’re confusing me.”

“If they get in here and take me away, you’re as good as dead. At the very least, I can keep you alive.”

The sound that lit the room in that instant was more than certainly the loudest that Hero had ever heard. A crash, a crunch, and a dent, carved into the door of steel.

“And it looks like they’ve brought the battering ram.” Villain glowered.

[jadoue1999]

The X-Men and the member they lost - Chapter 5

Summary: Life in Westview was perfect, but a certain visitor would soon change all that.

Previous parts: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, 

Chapter 5: The circus

Life in Westview was very pleasant. Charles had only recently joined the Spectacular World of Rapturous Diversions and it quickly became his home. He had been accepted into the circus as the psychic. He had an extravagant room full of cushions for visitors to sit on and a table adorned with a crystal ball. The orb truly wasn’t necessary, it was all for show; he usually sensed whatever he had to no matter the accessory in front of him. He had come alone and wasn’t sure of the reception he would get. He didn’t remember much of who he was before he came to Westview. He had flashes once in a while of a grand mansion, a school perhaps? His lack of backstory didn’t bother him much. When one’s job was to see into people’s future and all sort, it was expected to not remember all of one’s past. Some people were bothered by his ability to read them like an open book, but he thankfully had made some friends.

There was a young man who insisted on people calling him Nightcrawler. He was wonderfully skilled in the art of disappearing. He had seen his act many times and never could figure out how he achieved it. The teen had been born with a peculiar skin condition; he had been shunned by everyone he had met until he had joined the circus. Charles had taken him under his wing, making sure he felt welcomed and supported.

Then there was Mystique. They had grown close very quickly. They had felt like they had known each other for a long time, their camaraderie was similar to one of siblings. He had stumbled upon her act by a lucky coincidence. He had been entranced by her many quick changes and how she could switch between outfits, accessories, and hair in mere seconds and flawlessly every time. He had knocked on her dressing room after her performance and they had talked for hours. They had been close friends since.

Then, there was Erik. He had been looking around the circus through the recently added acts and had found this ‘Magneto’ sign very intriguing. It led to a small stage where the man had various metal objects thrown at him. Some seemed very sharp, but they all fell a little before they reached him. His apparent control over the metal had earned him the nickname ‘man of steel’. Halfway through the performance, they had locked eyes. Strangely enough, it felt familiar? His act had ended quickly after that and the man walked up to Charles, asking him if they knew each other. As unexpected as the question was, he too felt a connection. Like they had gone through a thousand hardships together and had lived through high and lows for what seemed an entire lifetime. They had conversed the night away, talking about the circus and why they had come to Westview of all places. While Charles himself was simply looking for a place with people similar to him, Erik had a different answer. He had been looking for someone but hadn’t been able to remember who. He was certain that it was someone very close to him, someone he had known for awhile, but hadn’t known about his connection with them until recently. The psychic had tried to see whoever it could be, but all he could catch was a silver blur too quick to follow.

They were now playing a game of chess, a sort of bonding time between the two. The crystal ball was moved from its usual spot to make place for the board.

“So,” started Erik, breaking the silence after so long, “how did you end up in a wheelchair? You’re free to ignore the question if it’s a sensitive subject, of course.”

He frowned at the man’s question, how had he ended up in this situation? He closed his eyes in concentration, trying to activate his memory. He didn’t see much, there was an intense feeling of rage that wasn’t his own and he had blindly run towards it. Then, pain had suddenly coursed through his spine. The next thing he saw was that he had fallen and couldn’t feel anything in his legs. “I- I had a bad fall on a beach... I think.”

The man nodded and moved a piece. “I’m sorry.”

Charles tilted his head in confusion, “why do you say that? It’s not your fault, you weren’t there.”

‘Was he? No, he couldn’t have, they just met.’

Erik shrugged his shoulder, lost in thoughts, “I’m not sure... I just feel like I need to apologize.” He shook his head and concentrated back to the game. The psychic could practically see his mind turning and trying to figure out his next move. One of his hand hovered over the bishop piece in hesitation. Suddenly the piece was knocked over without being touched. The men shared a slightly panicked, but more confused look.

“Did that just happen?” Asked Erik.

Charles took the piece in his hand and examined it, it didn’t look like it was rigged or anything. How could it have moved? He handed the piece back to the man, “try that again.”

Erik took the bishop with caution and gently put it on the table. He was about to bring his hand forward when commotion outside was heard. There was a sound of a door closing and a truck driving away as someone screamed to whoever was leaving.

“You get back here! I need you!”

The brown-haired man got up and looked out the tent for a few seconds before looking back at Charles. “We’ve got runaways, I guess I’ll have to cover their act.” He quickly said goodbye with a nod and exited the tent.

Charles was now left alone with his thoughts and confusion. He took the chess piece in his hand and examined it once more. It didn’t make any sense; it shouldn’t have moved by itself. He shook his head with a sigh, it was probably nothing. A little metal game piece couldn’t move by itself, the very notion of this was ridiculous. He wheeled himself over to where the crystal ball had been moved for their game. He gently put it back on the table. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths to ground himself.

The sound of the curtain of his tent being opened pulled him out of his thoughts. A woman walked in, she seemed to be in her thirties, she had green eyes and red hair. He greeted her and let her look around the room. There was a nagging feeling in his brain, telling him to get away from her, but he couldn’t understand why. She was simply visiting the circus on her day off, how much of a danger could she be? They exchanged pleasantries before he told her to take a seat. He concentrated on the woman like he would any other client.

Though, on the contrary to most people for whom he’d see various events and feelings, he could only feel overwhelming grief and pain. He hummed as he tried to make heads and tails of what he was seeing. There was a bomb going off, crushing a building and children hiding under a bed, frightened out of their minds. There was soldiers and dirty cells and blinding pain as unseen power unlocked itself. Then, he saw the woman growing more vengeful as time went on. There were killer robots and a blonde man, he instinctively knew he was her brother. The woman was fighting against the robots now. Suddenly pain ripped through her chest and she realized her brother was dead. A stray thought from the man echoed through her mind, his last thought.

‘I love you, Wanda’

Then everything was silent, and the woman felt awfully empty and alone. Charles sighed as her past was unveiled before him. “I see pain, a lot of pain,” he sighed. “Oh, I’m sorry Wanda, so much loss.” He felt the woman stiffen at his words, but he was already gone in another vision.

There was a team of heroes training her, she tried to work through her pain, but it kept gnawing her. Then there was a mistake, a misdirection. Lagos. Everything went wrong, an unfair law was written. Named after her country, staining it forever. Smearing it in blood and regrets. The team that trained her went against each other, the android she liked was on the opposite side. She didn’t want to hurt him. Her side lost, and now she had to run away. She changed her life, changed her hair; the man visited her. They grew close, they wanted to get away, together. But a threat made them put their plans aside. They met with warriors; the robot needed to have a stone taken out so he could survive. They didn’t have enough time. A purple giant was going to get them. She had to kill her love to save the universe. She didn’t want to, but she had to.

‘It shouldn’t be you, but it is’.

The deed was done. She had done it, she pushed down her growing grief as she told the monster about his defeat. But it wasn’t enough, time was wound back, and the android was there once again. The stone was ripped from his head and he fell limply to the ground. ”I see a great battle, one that was unfortunately lost.” She was still holding on to his corpse when it happened. Charles felt her turn to dust, everything was cold, but she wasn’t afraid. At least, she wouldn’t have to suffer anymore. She’d join her family and lover. “But then everything was made right,” he frowned, “but not for you. You were still alone.” She came back, expecting to be greeted with a corpse again but nothing was around her. “I see... a breaking point, and great suffering.” No one came to her; everyone was rejoicing. All of her grief came crashing back, she had truly lost everyone.

She had to find his body, he had to have a funeral, they deserved it. She had every right, but they still refused her. She went to him; he was being ripped apart for profit. She let her magic explore his head, where the stone had been. She couldn’t feel him, he was gone. She was still alone. She drove to a town, the promise of a future still in the air. But nothing was there, her entire life had been ripped apart without her even having a say in the matter. It wasn’t fair. Life kept taking everything, why couldn’t she be happy? Her magic ripped through her and engulfed the town. Her husband was back, she was home. Everything was alright. Charles couldn’t help but feel for the woman. “Oh Wanda... what have you done?”

He couldn’t understand what he was seeing, he had never heard of any of the events he had witnessed. A sudden pulse of red flashed through his mind and Charles gasped. He remembered everything. Peter’s disappearance, the broadcast, travelling between dimensions, the base, the barrier expanding; he could recall everything. But that didn’t make sense, Wanda’s spell wouldn’t allow it. Wanda was in charge, she was-

She was right in front of him.

Panic surged through him, she was unpredictable, what would she do to him? ‘No, this is like any other mutant that comes at the school. Make her understand that she can trust you.’

He calmed himself down as he extended a hand towards her. “Wanda Maximoff! What an honor to meet you!” She backed off, but he stood his ground. While she seemed in control of everyone, it was a very real possibility that she didn’t realize that they were hurting. Moreover, it was probable that her pain and grief blinded her to the truth. Perhaps she truly thought Peter was her real brother, back from the dead. He had to make sure she could see the situation for what it was. “We have a slight misunderstanding here, your brother, Pietro as you call him, he’s not your brother, not really.” The telepath paused as he tried to take in her reaction, but Wanda was unreadable. He understood her reaction, in a way. Hearing about the multiverse had to be unsettling. Plus, realizing that she let a stranger into her house must be unnerving. Hopefully, she hadn’t hurt him. Perhaps she would even give him back now that she knew the truth. “You see, a team composed of myself and a couple of others, including his father, are here to bring him back.” The woman was still as stoic as ever. She showed no sign of comprehension, perhaps she needed some sort of explanation or proof? Charles obliged. “We crossed universes to get here, it took weeks to find the right calculations. Thanks to your broadcast, we had a good grounding point. The military base kept us updated about Peter. We were brought in as you expanded the Hex, even our member with teleportation powers couldn’t escape. I’m certain it wasn’t your intention to trap us, or Peter, but you have to let us go. We’re not from your universe, we don’t belong here, we- “

“No,” Wanda’s voiced echoed. That caught him off guard. He had met many mutants in his life, but they were generally stable enough to understand right from wrong. “This is my home, I have my husband, my children and my brother. I will not let you take them away.” The professor didn’t like the way she emphasized Peter. His instinct told him that she had already known that he wasn’t truly her Pietro. But that possibility made way for a terrifying truth; she simply didn’t care that he wasn’t the real one and was determined to keep him at her side. However, he wouldn’t allow that, they had traveled all this way, they would not leave empty handed.

“Ms. Maximoff, you have to come to reason, you cannot keep up this lie forever.” Charles enunciated, taking on his authority voice. “What you’re doing is wrong, putting an entire town under mind control-“

“Is better than putting the entire Earth under it,” interrupted Wanda.

So, she truly was aware of her doing. And she didn’t care about the consequences, that was very bad. He focused on her mind, perhaps there was something he could find there that would be able to make her realize how wrong she was. He started making out the outline of what seemed to be a necklace. But, before he could look any further, he was casted out from her mind and the red energy was back. Charles felt slightly nauseous as the woman suddenly stormed out of his tent.

The psychic couldn’t understand why. Had he given her a bad show? He had done as was expected of him, perhaps she was scared? Yeah, that must’ve been it. She wasn’t able to accept that he could be the real deal and had been angry about it. He chuckled a little as he wiped a small spot on the crystal ball. Some people simply couldn’t open their mind that some individuals might be gifted with powers beyond their understanding. The man suddenly gasped as a vision overtook him. He felt freezing water around him, there also seemed to be a person next to him. He didn’t know who he was, but he knew he had to save him. The man was screaming, but not out of fear because of the situation, it was rage because someone was getting away. He wouldn’t hear reason if he spoke, he had to use telepathy. ‘Telepathy?’

“You'll drown. You have to let go. I know what this means to you, but you're going to die. Please, Erik, calm your mind.”

Wait, did he say Erik? But it couldn’t be the same Erik, they’d just met. The vision continued. The man was trying to struggle out of his hold, screaming at him to get away and let him get his revenge.

“Calm down. Just breathe. We're here!” He heard himself plead. The vision faded away, leaving Charles more confused than he’d ever been in his life. What was this memory? Was it even a memory? A voice in his head kept repeating that it was nothing, just extreme daydreaming. But that didn’t make any sense, it felt so real. The psychic exited the tent, he had to find Erik, and Nightcr- Kurt and Raven. Why would he need to find a raven? He rolled around aimlessly trying to make sense of the situation. All the horrible things he had witnessed, they couldn’t be true, it was simply too horrible.

After awhile of pointless wandering, he noticed a purple mist falling upon the circus, filling every crack, and finding its way to the people. He watched the tendrils approach him with suspicion as it coiled around him.

Charles awoke, suddenly and without warning. But Wanda hadn’t done this, it felt different. Still, he had to find the others, Peter could be in danger. Everyone was waking up; he could feel all their pain and confusion as the mind control was lifted. Some tried to run towards the barrier, but he turned the other way. That’s where he had last seen his friends. He spotted Raven first, she had probably been mid performance, judging by her colorful outfit. She walked towards him as he called to her. He wouldn’t use telepathy for now, Wanda’s powers were probably too similar and would cause a slight panic. Kurt suddenly manifested in front of them. His clothes hadn’t changed much from his usual outfit. They now had to find Erik. They looked through the crowd of people, but there was no sign of the metal bender. Finally, his eyes locked onto the familiar figure. The man walked forward and stopped next to the group.

“Well,” he said, “that was, without doubts, one of the worst experiences of my life.”

Raven and Kurt agreed, both of them saying how they were stuck reliving painful memories while not being able to control their bodies. Charles watched them with a pensive hand to his face. How could he even tell them what he had experienced? He let them talk a little, they had to get this off their chest. As far as he knew, Kurt had never been through any types of mind control. It had to be hard for him. He watched them with steadily increasing anxiety, Wanda’s words running through his head.

“We have a problem,” he finally said. He let the others get closer as he took a breath. “I spoke to Wanda; she came to see me. She’s fully aware of what she’s doing and very keen on keeping her perfect life.” He turned to Erik with sorrowful eyes. “She... she’s aware that Peter isn’t her brother, but it doesn’t matter to her. She’s determined to keep him at her side.”

He could sense Erik’s rage building up. The man clenched his jaw as he balled his hands in a fist. “Then, let’s make sure she doesn’t get a chance to keep him.”

***

Notes: Next chapter is the finale of the show, but were far from the end!

[fanficshiddles]

Trust, Chapter 8

The team decided within twenty-four hours that there was no reason to keep Loki locked up. They knew they weren’t going to get any other information out of him. And Darcy kept going on at them for having him locked up like a criminal.

‘He is a criminal, Darcy. Or have you forgotten?’ Steve said.

‘No, I haven’t forgotten. But he’s not right now.’ She said as she stuffed a Jaffa cake in her mouth.

Tony rolled his eyes. ‘Just tell her.’

‘Tell me what?’ Darcy asked with her mouth full.

-

‘I can’t believe this is happening.’ Darcy shook her head as she walked towards Loki in his cell.

He looked up and smirked when he saw her. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ He stood up and walked over towards her.

‘Apparently, you’re allowed out of your cell.’ She shrugged and went over to the control panel, putting in the code that Stark had given her, making a glass panel at the front slide open.

‘So soon? What’s the catch?’ He frowned, stepping out cautiously.

‘Well, I am supposed to be your babysitter. Keep you out of trouble. But let’s face it, that’s not gonna happen.’ Darcy put her hands on her hips and watched as he strolled towards her.

‘Why not?’ He frowned, stopping right on front of her.

‘You can just poof away whenever you want. Like I’d be able to stop you.’ She said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, making Loki smirk. ‘And second, I don’t really care what you do. As long as you don’t kill anyone. Besides, I think having you around the Avengers will liven things up around here.’ She shrugged.

Loki rolled his shoulders and looked around with a big smirk. ‘Well, I can most definitely make things more interesting around here.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ Darcy started walking to the door. ‘Just don’t blow the place up, ok?’

‘I make no promises.’ He chuckled and quickly followed her.

‘Well, make sure I get some warning beforehand.’

Darcy walked into the lounge and stopped when the team all ceased talking between them and turned to face her. Eyes widening when Loki strutted in and stood right behind her, towering over her.

‘Well then…’ Loki looked around, grinning wickedly. Everyone felt uneasy. But then rolled their eyes with what he came out with. ‘Where’s the Jaffa cakes?’

Darcy snorted and motioned for him to follow her to the kitchen.

‘They are suspicious of me.’ Loki said flatly as he sat down at the island counter, while Darcy raided the cupboards.

‘Well, yeah. They will be. Can you blame them though?’ She looked over her shoulder at him briefly.

‘I suppose not.’ Loki sighed, looking around, taking in the place.

‘They’ll get used to you. Just bore them with your chess knowledge.’ She teased.

‘Stop pretending you didn’t enjoy it.’

‘Yeah, because it was totally the best time of my life. Chess is even better than sex... Aha, yes!’ She finally found what she was looking for.

‘Chess is like exercise for the brain. And some would say that sex is a form of exercise, so therefore chess is like sex for the brain.’ Loki said.

‘Pfft. Don’t make it weird and confusing. Besides, I can’t just lie there during exercise, so I beg to differ.’ Darcy slid a packet of Jaffa cakes across the counter towards him.

‘Doesn’t sound like you’ve had very fun sex in that case.’ Loki commented as he cautiously picked up the packet, opening them slowly as if they were going to explode.

‘These look… interesting.’ He examined one closely.

Darcy walked around the counter and sat down next to him, grabbing one too. ‘They taste amazing. Just try it.’

Natasha, Steve, Thor and Jane wandered to the kitchen, to make sure Loki wasn’t going to try any funny business. They were all at the door, peeping in. They couldn’t quite hear what Loki and Darcy were conversing about.

‘This is weird.’ Jane whispered.

‘What are they doing?’ Steve asked, confused.

‘Just eating Jaffa cakes.’ Natasha said.

‘Yeah… but why? Why is she so calm around him?’ Steve said.

‘Well, if you think about it. They’ve spent a lot of time together. Just the two of them. Loki didn’t hurt her, so she has no reason to fear him. And I know my brother can be… difficult.’

‘That’s an understatement.’ Jane scoffed.

‘But he does have a good side, too. Perhaps Darcy sees that in him.’ Thor continued, ignoring his girlfriend’s remark.

But they all panicked and went running into the kitchen when Loki suddenly grabbed Darcy and vanished right on front of their eyes.

‘SHIT!’ Natasha gasped, she was about to raise the alarm when there was laughter from behind them.

The four turned around, surprised to see Loki and Darcy behind them.

‘Ah, you still fall for that trick, Thor.’ Loki smirked. ‘We could hear you, you know. You’re not exactly quiet.’

Jane sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘Darcy, come on. I have work to do in the lab.’

‘So… Why do you need me?’ Darcy asked, folding her arms over her chest.

‘Because you’re my assistant.’ Jane said matter of factly.

‘You mean you just need someone to get you coffee and snacks.’

‘Darcy.’ Jane grumbled.

‘I thought that Darcy’s job right now was to keep an eye on me?’ Loki asked innocently, putting his hands behind his back. ‘I mean, I certainly wouldn’t mind looking around on my own. Picking out my room.’

‘NO!’ Natasha and Steve said at the same time.

‘Fury gave you a job, Darcy… Jane, you’ll need to do without her for now.’ Steve said, making the decision.

Darcy was internally celebrating. At least babysitting Loki would be far more interesting than fetching coffee for Jane, that would be left to go cold so she would just be constantly running back and fore from the lab to the kitchen all bloody day.

‘So… I better go show Loki his new living arrangements then.’ Darcy said and pointed to the door, then quickly made her escape.

Loki just had a grin plastered on his face as he followed her out.

‘Is it just me, or does she seem happy with her new job?’ Thor asked, looking at the others.

They just shook their heads and left Thor in the kitchen, looking slightly baffled.

[anika-ann]

WINSoD - Pt.4

What You Need (Is What I’m About)

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2, part 3)  

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader, one more ;)  Word count: 3400

Summary: In which fate has a strange sense of humour, the Maximoffs appear and... well. 

Warnings: brief violence, mention of death, messing around in one’s brain, language, cutesy and fluff (yep, it’s all there)

Part 3

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

You watched the kettle quiver as the temperature of the water climbed towards the boiling point. You’d like to say your blood was reaching it too, but despite the warm hoodie (Steve’s, naturally), you were feeling coldness seeping into your very core.

You hated waiting for him. You had never been a fan of it, sitting on your ass and stressing until he returned from a mission, bruised and usually bloody, but this time it was something else. This time, you had more than just a vague idea of what he was fighting; you had witnessed it first-hand. An army of fucking robots.

The team had left 43 hours ago, but who the hell was counting, right? Certainly not you. And you had certainly not been feeling the urge to ask Jarvis (R.I.P., my beloved A.I.) like every half an hour for any updates. You weren’t that desperate. You weren’t that scared-

Yeah, not even you were having your bullshit anymore.

You were shivering in cold from losing sleep, terrified and over all out of your mind. Nothing helped to ease your worries. Definitely not the fact they hadn’t made any contact ever since they had left.

They consisted of the usual Avengers team; Nat, Clint, Tony, Bruce and Thor, plus Bucky. All of them under Steve’s attentive command.

Surprisingly, Matt Murdock – also known as a freaking vigilante (a blind lawyer!!) – did not join the quest. He had said that robots were way outside his territory. You would beg to differ, because he punched the robot like a champ, yet you didn’t quite blame him for refusing. Bottomline, you still thought he was pretty swell (not to mention easy on the eyes, but that was beside the point). He had saved your life though, so you might be a bit biased. A lot biased.

Sam Wilson might have fought once too, but he would sit this one out as well. It was not helping your anxiety.

The soft click of the kettle brought you back to reality and you grabbed the handle to pour water into your mug, only to see you failed to actually put a teabag in it.

To be fair, you would have sworn you had done it, but that was just another prove of you losing your mind. At this rate you were about to burn the kitchen down – not that you felt like cooking… or eating for that matter. Steve was out there, in his own sci-fi movie that had somehow become reality and-

You sighed and set the kettle down, reaching for the box with chamomile tea. Taking one bag, you felt a strange gust of wind and curled into the hoodie as a shiver ran down your spine. Was the air-conditioning misbehaving…? Perhaps it was an aftermath of what they called the Ultron mess-

You shook your head, scolding yourself for getting paranoid and went to finally finish the simplest task of making yourself tea.

Only for your blood turning to ice when you noticed the teabag was missing. You had just put it there half a minute ago, you were sure of it. Your heart started hammering in your chest as you spun on your heels, your eyes scanning the room.

The cupboard behind your head clacked and your head swiftly snapped back to it. Feeling your own pulse pounding in your temples, you forced your brain to come up with a rational explanation.

You were losing your mind, you were imagining things, you hadn’t slept in almost two days, your mind was playing tricks on you-

Another gust of wind and the kettle disappeared from your hands, a shriek escaping your lips. On instinct, you opened the drawer and pulled out a knife. You were probably useless with it, basically offering it the potential attacker as a weapon, because they would be able to disarm you and use it to their advantage, but you didn’t give a shit. You felt better being armed.

What the fuck was happening?!

A man suddenly appeared by your left hip, like a hurricane inside of the room, and your body acted on its own, driving the knife in his side.

Or you attempted to; the knife met something solid that could not have been a body and the blond – he was a blond man, younger, hell, looking younger than you, dressed in a jumpsuit – stared at you with his mouth hanging open.

It was only then when you registered a strange red matter--- no, something unsubstantial, like an energy, swirling and changing, hovering around the blade that had stopped an inch from the man’s torso.

“Taka se ubivate, kolibri,” a female voice sounded from the other side of the room, nearly sending you into a cardiac arrest.

Yet, you couldn’t tear you gaze away from the strange man, whose face was now twisted in annoyed grimace as the woman seemed to be scolding him.

What kind of a language was that anyway?

Really not relevant.

There were two strangers in the Tower, in the very same room as you, they could be talking about how to kill you the most painful way and you wouldn’t even know, and for fuck’s sake, why couldn’t you catch a break-

“Ne ti e zabavno, foĭerverk,” he hummed back, his lips spreading in a smile, baffling you to no end. “Zdraveĭ, krasavitse.”

Your hand still on the handle of the knife that was no longer under your control, of which you refused to let go though because you were not a complete idiot, you had no idea what to do.

The man sounded almost friendly, but then again, villains often did. Sleazy. You would know.

A tremble ran through your body and out of nowhere, you made a lightning-fast decision of kicking the man in the crotch.

Your knee only brushed his manhood when your leg was no longer yours. With horror filling every cell in your body, you realized it was caught in the freaky red spiderweb of energy and you couldn’t move it no matter how much you tried.

Tears filled your eyes and suddenly you were free, the man several feet from you. A gorgeous young woman, dressed even more strangely than him – crimson leather jacket, black and half-torn leather leggings with high boots with way too many straps, her outfit completed by sleeves peeking from under her jacket –, stood next to him, cuffing him in the back of his head.

“Idiot!” she hissed and in the back of your mind, the one tiny corner that was not occupied with the fact you might die in the next second, you thanked god for some words being international.

Then, the girl with long wild red hair smiled at you apologetically, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

“Hello. Sorry for startling you,” she spoke with thick accent which you identified as Eastern-European and shot her companion a murderous look. “My brother is an ass and doesn’t know the difference between being funny and scaring people.”

She didn’t sound menacing at all; in fact, you saw every responsible older sibling annoyed at their younger family member in her. You blinked away the sting in your eyes and attempted to focus despite the ringing in your ears.

“Huh?” slipped from your lips intelligently, utter confusion gradually replacing your despair.

The blond rolled his eyes, which only earned him another clip round his ear.

“See what you’ve done? This is all your fault!”

“I was just messing around!”

“Do you have any idea what she’s been through? You scared her to death!” the woman hissed, effectively sending you back to the spiral of dismay, your slowly calming heartbeat skyrocketing again.

What did she know about what you had been through?!

With your knees wobbly and not to be trusted to keep you upright on their own anymore, you gripped the counter behind you with such force your muscles cramped.

“Who- who are you?” you breathed out shakily, catching the attention of the supposed sibling duo once more.

The woman smiled warmly, patronizingly almost.

“My name is Wanda and this is my brother, Pietro. We are of Sokovia. Your Captain and the other Avengers found us, showing us that we were fighting on the wrong side of things. Would you like to see?”

Her words echoed in your suddenly dull skull, the meaning escaping you.

And because her last sentence was what made sense the most and yet the least, you nodded.

Later, you would realize just how stupid and trusting you had been when agreeing, mostly because Steve gave you his look of disappointment and horror, but at the moment, it seemed right.

Somehow, on a level you couldn’t quite comprehend, you already understood they weren’t a threat to you.

“See how?”

Wanda smiled.

*Like this,* a ghost of her voice sounded somewhere deep in your mind, making you dizzy. What the hell-? *Please, don’t judge me. I thought I was doing the right thing.*

Before you could question such statement or the fact her lips were not moving while you heard her voice crystal clear, you were thrown into a vortex.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Ultron had been sure they were coming; he left a bait for them, an easy track to follow. The track they could follow towards their end.

Wanda wasn’t one to enjoy killing or hurting people in general, no. She hadn’t even considered herself a strong person once, but that had all changed with their parent’s deaths. She had had to rely on herself – on herself and on her brother. Where an opportunity had risen, to step up their game and possibly to get revenge on the name still haunting them in their worst nightmares, they hadn’t even hesitated.

Wanda had once been a weakling. It had been the tempering in fire, in a burning pain of experimentation with the sceptre that had made her the woman who she was now.

And she had a mission; she and Pietro had a mission, their chance at revenge finally gaining a shape.

She had already played with Stark’s mind, with the scum only interested in money and destruction; now she could do the same to all of them.

Bursting in with a crash, they clearly hadn’t expected such livid counterattack. A response so… nightmare-like.

Just a flick of wrist and a little concentration on Wanda’s part and they were dropping like dead, trapped in their own minds.

Black Widow, locked in a scary base, ballet dancers, martial art training and merciless killing, her fresh fears creating a horror picture of aiming her gun at her current lover’s head, at her soulmate.

“I should have known you’d never change. You’re nothing but human reduced to a murder machine…”

Thor, oh so mighty God, travelling back to his home planet to a feast, legends messing with his headspace, confusion and helplessness, thunder and lightning all around and out of his control.

“You’ll kill us all! See, son of Odin, close your eyes and see!”

The righteous captain, trapped in his own mind, folded like a house of cards under his soulmate’s dead eyes, anger and accusation blossoming into hate and finally indifference.

“You cared about your 40’s sweetheart more, anyway, didn’t you? If it was her in my place, you would have chosen her before the thousands. You wouldn’t let her blow up… but if I’m nothing to you, then you are nothing to me…”

Satisfied with her work, with only a nudge to their consciousness and their own brains doing the work for her, Wanda smirked as she noticed the busy archer. Now what tricks his could mind come up with? What hardship would he get caught in?

As she slowly sneaked behind his back, a voice snarled behind her, causing her heart to stop from more than a simple fright.

“Kak mozhe neshto tolkova malko da prichini tolkova nepriyatnosti?”

Her first reaction to her blood crystallizing in her veins with horror and rage towards the whole fucking universe, was a snarky reply.

How dared he to call her small? Implying she was weak? Underestimating her and saying that she couldn’t cause any real trouble? Oh, she would show him… that arrogant bastard! She would show him trouble-

“Laĭna…ti mi narichash nepriyatnosti?” she hissed back, carelessly losing the sight of the archer, not interested in him in the slightest all of sudden. “Vie ste strana s greshni khora!”

This stranger, this—this man-machine radiating pain as her powers barely brushed the surface of his mind on instinct… he was the real trouble as she didn’t hesitate to tell him. He was on the wrong side of things! Fraternizing with a mass murderer, with her parent’s killer-

“Pone te sa kho—” he wanted to argue, but they his mind stopped before it started screaming, punching her telepathic powers she seemed suddenly unable to turn off.

Memories, a dozen of his own memories, the way he looked at his soulmark in a mirror, the pain, the sorrow, the torture… his encounter with the Avengers, living with them; with the band of heroes she just put down, one by one, teasing and laughter, compassion and acceptance, even from the man who was supposed to be nothing but a cocky heartless bastard-

“What the hell did you just say?” Bucky rasped, astonished and horrified.

He realized it too then. Everyone always did, didn’t they? Because every person with a soulmark awaited a moment like this; the moment someone would finally say the words matching the ones on their skin, met their expectations or not…

But Bucky Burnes was the farthest from Wanda’s dream when it came to a life-long partner.

Strength is tempered in fire, she remembered reading once. She had once found a special irony in the fact that the treatment by the sceptre felt exactly like that. Wanda’s soul turned to steel with the games the fate had played with her.

So why did her hands fell from their defensive position to her side, limp and drained of all strength and determination they had known, tears stinging her eyes.

Her life was shit and she thought she had made her peace with that. But judging by the deep ache in her chest, she had been holding out for her soulmate more than she had thought. Because why else would it hurt so bad when she found out he was an enemy?

“And I thought Romeo and Juliet was just a lot of crap,” she chuckled bitterly, switching to English when he did.

His thoughts scream at her, disbelief, caution, pain, confusion, regret and hope— ambivalence. He had no idea what to do and he hated her for what she had done to his friends, but the knowledge of her being his, supposedly, it torn him in half, reaching out with willingness to forgive her if she fixed it, because if anyone understood fighting at the wrong side it was him--

Unable to resist, she dug deeper into his mind, baring his very soul, fascinated.

Pietro was still fighting with the archer and Stark, dodging the lame attempts at attack of the Avengers lost in their minds, but for two people, the time stopped.

They stood against each other, staring and motionless, and Wanda was confident she saw more than him. His mind was a tangled mess of emotions and desperate desire to get a hold of them and think rationally, bundle of memories and hopes colliding with reality and rock-solid facts and Wanda felt a pang at her heart, a crushing sensation in her chest when she finally embraced everything his headspace had to offer, getting lost in it.

Lost in him.

James Buchannan Barnes had a beautiful soul. Torn and glued together with little kind gestures from his friends, sweet memories of his sister and everlasting friendship with Steve, his no-longer-little-but-equally-stubborn Steve, Steve’s soulmate, his teammates that accepted Bucky with surprising ease and less judgement anyone would deserve… and the careful way he was giving away the pieces of the very same heart that was barely together, in gentle smiles and good-natured teasing, silent self-declaration of giving his whole life for every single one member of his new-found family.

And Wanda understood. In a fraction of second she looked under the illusions she had helped to build in the Avengers’ minds and saw the truth.

*Pietro, spri!* she cried out straight into his mind, begging him to stop fighting. With another flick of her wrist, her enemies were free of her handiwork, shell-shocked from the experience, too lost to find their footing. “Brat, spri! Pietro… greshim. They are right.”

The battle froze as if the time did and for a second, Wanda felt like she was in her brother’s skin, moving so fast that the world around her stopped turning. The stunned silence was only broken by a soft gush of wind when Pietro appeared by her side.

The Avengers seemed so baffled at her admission they didn’t try to attack them.

She exchanged a look with her twin, hoping her face spoke volumes as tears gathered in her eyes. She was far from convinced that Anthony Stark was a good man; but she knew he was better than the creature they had sworn to assist. And her mother always used to say that a man should be judged by the company he kept. From what she had seen in Bucky Barnes’ head, Stark had one bunch of fine people around; and their imperfections seemed to be balanced by the good they all wished to do.

Pietro understood. Of course he would. More than he could read her expression, he must have felt the change in Wanda’s aura, the transformation touching their bond as well.

He graced her with a reluctant nod of agreement. Via their mental connection, he whispered he trusted her. Her lips curled up in a tender smile.

“Are we just gonna stand here? Are we fighting together or against each other or what?!”

No, Tony Stark was by no means a man she would call good. In fact, she already found out he was an ass. But now, he had become her ally.

From all the eyes on their duo, she chose to meet her soulmate’s.

“Together, Anthony. Because there’s bigger malice in this world than you are.”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Wanda nearly cut you off right then. The rest of what she showed was a blur of images, fear, pain and determination, destruction and cooperation, all of that leading to this very moment. It all resembled waking up from a very intense confusing dream, being pulled away into consciousness by the first sunrays of the dawn.

You blinked heavily as the world swayed off its place, the counter seemingly in a peculiar angle from your point of view.

Why was the lamp not up, but on the side? Why was it spinning?

“Oops. Sorry. Never made the connection for such a long period of time-“ a voice reached you, breaking through the hush of blood and your own heartbeat in your ears.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to get a fucking grip on both your body and thoughts.

Bucky had a soulmate?

No, not relevant, the images were too unclear for you to be sure everyone made it out alright, you needed to see Steve first, you had to-

By the time Steve’s figure appeared in your field of vision, you were certain you were steady on your feet and finally managed to control your mouth.

“Steve!” you cried out excitedly as you sprang his direction, relief mixing with delight, because he was alive, he was not bleeding visibly, he-

-was suddenly graced with an identical twin, two loving tired smiles blending into one and splitting into two the next moment, swimming in your vision and you felt something solid grabbing your body and positioning it right into his strong arms.

You gazed at him in haze, melting into his warm and firm embrace, spotting a swirl of red energy flow around you.

Oh. Wanda’s work, no doubt. Sweet.

“Are you okay, doll? Are you sick? What happened?”

Wanda’s guilt was nearly solid in your reach, but you only let your head lull onto Steve’s shoulder, plunging into the fluff of love that his presence provided.

“Nah. I’m fine… just drunk on you…” you mumbled.

The girl’s bubbly relieved laughter rang in the room, bringing a satisfied smile on your face.

Steve’s kiss landed on your forehead, corners of his own lips upright despite the concern in his voice.

“Alright, sweetheart. Let’s just get you to bed…”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 5

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Thank you for reading!

I chose Bulgarian, just to avoid traditional Russian this once. Bucky is a Winter Soldier after all and he should know how to speak 30 languages or so :D just thought this would work. Google translator used; apologize for any mistakes.

I hope you had an okay start to 2021 :-*

[levisnackajack]

The Wrath of War

Hi there. Thanks to anyone who’s read up to now. This chapter is pretty long, so I have decided to post the story both here on my Tumblr, as well as on AO3. 

The link to the story is here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28919136/chapters/70952145

Please check it out if you can! 

Much love. 

Chapter Four

Captain Levi Ackerman.

This was the title owned by the man who had swooped in and saved Eden’s life like a damsel in distress. She felt sick to her stomach. How stupid was she to risk her life like that? 

Questions like that rolled through her mind, painfully wrecking her brain for the past couple of hours. The battleground had quietened; but Eren was ripped out of Mikasa’s arms as soon as the Scout and Garrison regiment both got their hands on him. 

Armin managed to grab Mikasa by the wrist as they led Eren away; but Eden was quick enough to avoid Armin and sprint after him; eyes lit with a fierce flame. Someone grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around violently- making Eden lose sight of her weakened friend. 

She huffed irritably; hazel eyes widening at the realization that Captain Levi had gripped her tightly. His expression blank, intimidating dull grey eyes staring down at the girl in an irritated way. Eden bit on her tongue to suppress the snarky remark resting in her mouth. 

“You seem to like proving how big of a pain you are, Cadet,” Levi began, his cool and monotonous voice causing realization to boil within the girl.  The man standing before her was the leader of the Survey Corps’ Special Operation Squad. His reputation has gifted him with the title of being “Humanity’s Strongest Soldier”. 

Being so close to him, Eden could barely figure out how old he was. He had a deceptively youthful face holding a chiseled jawline and narrow, grey eyes with dark circles under them that betrayed his possible insomnia. 

After all the things he has probably seen; how could he be able to sleep soundly at night?

“Sir, I’m only making sure that Eren is safe,” Eden said in a meek voice, mentally slamming her head against the wall. She didn’t want the frightening captain to feed off of her uneasiness. 

Whether Captain Levi grew satisfied knowing he instilled fear in people with a mere question would truly stay a secret. His physiognomy never betrayed his thoughts.

He tipped his head to the side ever so slightly, clicking his tongue. “Not that I owe you an explanation or anything, but he’s staying with us for the time being. Don’t want him going on a rampage because he couldn’t keep his emotions intact now, do we?” 

“It’s not like that...” Eden muttered out, hands balling into fists until her knuckles were painted white. That was when she began deeply regretting her reckless behavior. 

The Captain stepped closer, cape flowing rapidly behind him; his now lethal expression barely concealed by the loose raven strands of hair. 

He jabbed his finger into Eden’s collarbone; making her swallow a hiss. 

“Oh, apologies, I suppose we should all trust you and the miniscule amount of common sense you seem to own by the way you’re backtalking. What is your name, cadet?” He said in an uncomfortably calm manner; eyes never leaving Eden’s pale face. 

“Chiasa. Eden Chiasa, sir.” She forced herself to salute him, using that as an opportunity to step back from him. Levi glared at her in annoyance. 

“Well, Chiasa, learn some manners before opening that mouth of yours. I’m assuming you’re itching to join the Scout Regiment by the way your eyes sparkled once we took over?” He paused, lips pursing in disgust as though the idea of her yearning for a spot in his Regiment made him nauseous. He stepped forward once more, his words completely throwing her over the edge as she basked in embarrassment, cheeks glowing red. 

“Let me tell you something; we’re not looking for idiots who can’t even watch after their own backs. We’re also not looking for brats thinking their filthy attitude will impress their superiors. I suggest you think before you make up your choice about where you truly belong.” With that, Levi turned his back to the freshly-graduated cadet, striding off in the direction Eren was dragged to. 

Eden stood there; eyes trained to the ground as she begged herself not to cry. She didn’t mean to offend the Captain; she was just looking out for her friend. She begged for a titan to pop out of nowhere and tear her to shreds. Levi’s first impression of Eden was that she was a snotty brat who couldn’t keep her mouth shut. 

Being part of the Scout Regiment was her reason to live. She ached to belong with that Squad. But now, the somber feeling of knowing that she forever fucked up her chances of ever being able to join them made her want to give up entirely.

She viciously chewed on her bottom lip; shrugging Armin’s gentle touch off of her shoulder. He backed up, having witnessed the girl’s conversation with the profound Captain.

"We need to go. Eren will be brought before the military tribunal. They’re deciding his fate...” Armin echoed, Mikasa darkly staring into oblivion beside him. Eden nodded, following her friends; eyes trailing back to the path Levi and Eren took. 

Swallowing hard, she stopped in her tracks and went exactly the opposite way of the military courthouse. Eden followed her instincts, assumptions leading her to believe that they would most probably keep Eren underground since they were in fear of him and his powers. She hid in the shadows, her tiny body concealed by the darkness as soldiers passed her, unaware that someone had broken into the temporary prison. 

She followed the deep voices, heart sinking with relief when she heard Eren’s distinct- somewhat whiny- voice. Just as she was about to turn and walk into the cell; Captain Levi walked out of the room with a taller man who’s blond hair was slicked and parted to the sides. 

Eden held her breath as they continued walking in the opposite direction; talking in hushed, gruff voices. 

Once they were out of sight; she slipped into the jail-room and held onto the bars; gently calling Eren’s name. He looked up, eyes widening in horror.

“Eden, what the hell are you doing here?” 

“I needed to make sure you’re okay. Have they told you where they’ll be taking you next?” Eren stared back at the determined girl, swallowing thickly as he gave her a tight nod. 

She nodded in response, eyes softening at the sight of her friend behind bars. “Whatever happens Eren, just know that we are beside you. I will not let them slaughter you out of fear, okay? Just stay strong, this situation will soon be over and done with...-” 

“Who are you?” A deep voice snapped at Eden, causing her to yelp in surprise. She turned to meet the sky-blue eyes of the tall, blond man from before. His thick, bushy brows were knitted together in confusion; a parallel to the lethal death glare the shorter man who stood stoically beside him sent Eden. 

She saluted them both formally. “My name is Eden Chiasa. I am a cadet from the 104th Southern Division and I was just making sure Eren was alright, sir!” She spoke in a loud, clear voice that echoed through the jail cell. The taller man looked surprised and Levi cringed, his blank eyes twitching ever so slightly.

“Eden Chiasa, huh? Part of the top ten graduates of the Southern Division, I heard. I’m Commander Erwin Smith, leader of the Scout’s Legion. Who told you to come here?” His eyes were much warmer than Levi’s; although it was probably because the latter man looked an second away from throwing her into the cell with Eren. 

“I-...no one. I was on my way to the military courtroom but I decided to follow Captain Levi after knowing that that was the path Eren was led through. I have no excuse for coming here uninvited and I completely understand if you feel like it’s necessary to remove me from the Cadet Corps...” Eden trailed off, ignoring the resentful “tch” that slipped through Levi’s thin lips. 

“I see. Are you two close friends then?” Commander Erwin inquired in the most nonchalant tone. It was as though they were acquaintances getting to know each other over a cup of coffee. He walked closer, eyeing Eren who sat looking as uncomfortable as ever. 

“We grew up together, sir. Back in Shiganshina.” Eden paused as she watched both men’s stares darkened at the mention of her home. “After the Titans broke through, we vowed to join the Scout Regiment and help claim back what was stolen from humanity. Please understand that Eren is not a monster. If you allow them to execute him; it would be a far greater loss than a win,” Eden trailed off, hands trembling at her sides. 

“We have a strategy, Eden. Plans that will be greatly disrupted by Eren’s demise. Though I cannot promise miracles, the Scout Regiment agrees with you,” Erwin remarked as two guards walked into the cell and pulled Eren to his feet. Eden watched as they silently dragged him out. 

The Commander stared at the young girl watching her friend exit. He was certainly impressed. Perhaps it was the exhaustion of leading one war after the other that made him more lenient in this instance. He pursed his lips as he raised an arm towards the exit. 

“Shall we then?” 

Eden shifted uncomfortably as she took a seat beside Captain Levi in the courtroom. Hushed voices and spitting insults were thrown at Eren as they shackled him in the center of the room. 

Levi snapped at her once after she accidentally kicked his boot, her blood turning into iced water under his hooded stare. Mumbling a quiet apology, she watched as the Supreme Commander silenced the entire courtroom. 

After some time had been wasted on throwing disrespectful and vulgar sneers from one side of the courtroom to the other; Pastor Nick ruthlessly ordered for a gun to be pointed towards the handcuffed Eren. Before Eden could release the breath she had been unknowingly holding in; the Captain beside her had risen from his seat, striding towards the prisoner. Instead of jumping up and defying the merchants and the pastor; Levi’s boot met Eren’s jaw with such shrill force, the crack of his neck echoed through the silenced courtroom. 

Eden sat in shock; her whole body petrified as she watched Levi beat Eren to a pulp. He towered over the boy menacingly before kneeing him in the face countless of time. 

“In my personal opinion, pain is the greatest tool for discipline,” Captain Levi seethed in an unnervingly composed voice before grabbing Eren by the hair. Eden flinched and Levi’s eyes snapped to the side. 

That seemed to provoke him because his fingers flexed in a way where Eden could visibly see his grip grow tighter. 

“You’ve fallen so low to the point where it’s easy to kick you around.” He kicked him again and again until Eren choked on his own blood, shaking as he lifted his eyes to meet the Captain’s dead ones. 

He slickly conversated with the Military Police and the Pastor; feeling obligated to ensure they know how useless they were. Out of fear, they wanted to dissect Eren and then dispose of him.

Raising a hand, Erwin intervened, proposing that Eren was placed under Captain Levi’s command; kept under constant surveillance until the Scout Regiment could figure out whether he was a pawn worth investing in. 

Levi stared at Erwin as he spoke. His bored eyes jumped from the Commander onto Eden and his frown grew deeper as her hot glare hoped he would burn. He scoffed, completely disregarding her as the Supreme Commander voiced his final decision. 

Eden shoved through the people seeping out of the courtroom, fuming at everyone and everything. Naturally, she was relieved that her friend would live another day; but to treat him like some experiment was sickening. Yes, she vowed to partake in the restoration of humanity; but to what avail? 

The girl nearly missed Commander Erwin’s beckon directed towards her. She turned and walked back, saluting him; completely overlooking the man beside the tall man.

“Albeit being impulsive; I can see you have Scout traits burning inside you. Will you join the Special Operation’s Squad and accompany them on their upcoming mission overseeing Eren?”

Eden’s mouth swiftly parted, eyebrows rising slightly as the breeze ran cool fingers through her short, inky waves of hair. Her eyes dripped with the color of melting honey as they landed on her future Captain; who stared down at her in a detached manner; clicking his tongue and walking back to his horse as soon as Eden’s head began bobbing in affirmation.

She was one step closer to achieving her goal; but one step further from impressing the man in charge of her new Squad team.

[themilky-way]

as the hours pass {loki odinson}

gif credit: littlemisssyreid

pairing: loki odinson x fem!reader (might be considered gender neutral, though)

summary: he afraid of what he feels, so he does the only the thing he knows how to do: lie. based on this ask.

warnings: super shitty angst lol cuz it was 9 pm and my brain cells were FRIED. i think that’s it?? fluff at the end tho so we good 

author’s note: this took me a whole mf week to write which isn’t that bad but i have no time now and it’s kinda scary. yolo tho lol 

----------

when tony had initially proposed a weekly movie night for the entire team, not a single person would’ve imagined anything like this. a large projector had taken the place of the regular flatscreen television, consequently lining up in all the four corners of the penthouse windows. couches and reclining chairs compiled in a large circle instead of being adequately spread out amongst the common room, and they’d all been filled by at least one avenger. to those wishing to participate, jobs and duties had been assigned the week prior, the list ranging from making popcorn to dimming the lights. it was organized-sophisticated, in a way-how it had all been brought about, and to say the majority of the residents living in tony’s multi billionaire penthouse were surprised was quite the understatement. 

over the course of a few weeks, everything began falling into place. reminders didn’t need to be set anymore, and the designated tasks weren’t viewed as chores. natasha made sure to pop three full bags of delicious kernels- ensuring thor’s bowl had just enough butter to lick his fingers clean when he finished-while steve arranged a variety of pillows and blankets around the seating space. soon enough, fading shades of purple would ignite the obscurity of the living room-all due to the led lights binded to the borders of its ceiling-and either a horror or comedy film would commence. 

in such a manner, your spot could always be found on the same peculiar couch, next to the same peculiar individual. god, at that. to literally go to hell and back, to get placed in a home that wasn’t his home with people who wanted his head wasn’t particularly an easy life to lead. he wasn’t a man of sentiment, either, nor one who engaged in communal activities, so you took your part as a good samaritan and kept him company. the seat next to loki had been unreserved, with not even thor to take its place, and you shuffled away from a very frightened wanda to settle beside him. he'd been neutral, annoyed perhaps. if a stranger came to sit next to you out of the blue, wouldn’t you be, too? 

“mind if i sit here?” a mild pause signaled a response, and the shrug of his shoulders gave it away. “i’m not really enjoying the movie, and the space looked kinda cozy,” you added. 

after you had thoroughly felt the soft cushion of the seat and all its comfort, it was rather difficult to stray away from it. every friday evening, the striped bedding of the couch awaited your presence, and a pillow of an identical design lay by the armrest. loki always got there first, a bowl of ice containing two ice cream bars in his grasp, and if the belief that he had ever been remotely inconsiderate damaged your reasoning, the chocolate chip cookie he gifted you at the start of every night proved you wrong. 

if loki truly had to be honest with himself-his father, if he was peering down from above-the companionship you bestowed upon him didn’t upset him as he presumed it would. he half-expected his cold and antisocial nature to speak for itself, to grab hold of the kindness of your heart, crush it, and scatter its pieces so your blind hands would have to search aimlessly for them. for him, the opportunity would’ve been so effortless, so relieving in its own wicked sense, but you had already known that from the minute the tips of your sock-clad toes had walked right up to his. your words had been honey to him, simple yet profoundly eloquent that had dripped away every vowel on his tongue. the warmth that encircled you caromed over to him, and then his icy fingers became regular fingers, and his wintry complexion no longer overpowered the person he strived to be.

the thought alone of developing a kinship alarmed the presumably mischievous man, and when time, the most rewarding elements of his beloved universe, presented him with such a miraculous creature, he went into a comatose. the object of his interest was no longer an object, it was a person, an individual that appeared to envelop his nonexistent grace as if they depended on it. so his beautiful, virulent mind, as plentiful of wisdom as it was, conceived what it regarded to be the only correct answer. 

the seconds of long anticipated hours grew legs, and urged fragments of minutes to run off. solitude embraced the area loki used to adore being in, and his absence planted a seed of confusion within the person always seated beside him. the following nights were mindless for you, even when wanda had selected your favorite films to view, your headspace drifting off to the god who wasn’t watching it with you. interactions between your team lessened. refusing a handful of thor’s popcorn became a habit, and although he questioned you about it, he never brought it up again. then, a month flew by before you could cognitively process it. loki’s eyes hardly ever witnessed daylight now, or you for that matter. more often than not, his ear perked up at the soft squeaks of sneakers before their shadow halted in front of his door. the air in his lungs would almost escape from him entirely, lips pursed so tightly he felt them turn white, before mere seconds later distorted voices trailed your feet away from the barrier that separated him from you. foolish, he’d been foolish to deceive you so childishly. what could he possibly tell you now, that wouldn’t lead you to scurry away from him?

tonight, the best remedy to get some rest was to fix some tea. a good read seemed suitable enough, too, so a copy of The Scarlet Letter decorated your pillow. you trusted your weary legs to navigate you to the kitchen while your brain busied in forming unrealistic scenarios, as silly as it sounds, and you were doing fine and dandy until a conversation reeled you back in. an all too familiar voice-one you hadn’t heard in so long-was speaking, ranting, about things that bothered him? yeah, that was it. 

it was wrong to what you did at that moment, your dear mother had taught you better than this, but the never ending words spewing from loki’s mouth had glued the soles of your feet to the chilling tiles. 

a heartbeat shriveled to nothing, a weighty ache engulfing it in all its mighty glory, and everything you ever came to know became deception. “...ridiculous! i’ll tell you one thing, brother, and that is that they’re absurd for thinking i’m better.”

a booming retort-thor’s-defended you. “you’re ridiculous. they’re good to you and you’re going to throw it away because you’re afraid?” he neatly placed his mug on the counter before his firm hand landed on his brother’s shoulder and squeezed in reassurance. “if you keep pushing people away, you’ll outlive centuries-worth of joy.” loki flicked it away. “do they truly matter to you? enough for you to stop hurting them?”

the wall pressing into your shoulder obscured the visual of loki nodding his head. the tea you craved for now sounded disgusting, and no matter how hard you blinked your eyes, a puddle threatened to hover over them. you began toying with the sleeves of your sweater, hating the emerald shade you chose for it, and your head drooped down to focus on its marbled designs. odd shapes helped center your emotions, too much that you missed a figure passing by the entry. 

did you jump? yes. did loki jump? also yes. 

“what-why are you-why are you standing there?” his voice was shaky, concerned. he looked at your figure over once, his nervous glare lingering a little too closely at the pigment of your shirt, before he focused on you. it was hard for him to miss your anguish. the question his brother had previously asked him looped in his head, and by odin yes-yes, you mattered to him. 

“did you hear what i said?” he gulped. “all of it?”

your pupils were fully dilated, mouth inconceivably dry, so you muttered a tiny “yeah.”

“it’s alright, though. i’m not-i’m not mad, or sad, or whatever. i get it.” with enough strength, you pushed your body away from where you’d been cornered and started your leave. a tightening on your wrist stopped you. 

“please don’t go.” loki never begged, and he always trusted his ego to prevent him from doing it, but he’d inflicted grief on his most treasured midgardian, and he’d have to remedy that. “please.” 

“loki, hey it’s alright. i’ll leave you alone if that’s what you need.” he held you tighter before pulling your palm up to meet his chest. “what are you-look, i’m sorry-”

“you’re sorry?” he cut you off. “i’m sorry, don’t you see what you do to me?” the pad of one of his own hands moved to cover the back of yours to push it further onto his covered heart. it was beating faster than godly possible. if he were anyone else, maybe he was nearing a heart attack. “i do believe you’re the first one to do that.”

you ceased touching him before beginning to speak, but he knew your apologies, your questions, before they even escaped your lips. he fumbled on his words for some time, thorough confessions of his feelings never came as easily as he hoped, but he managed to get the point across. his obsidian, curly locks drizzling over his tiresome face distracted you, and his enticing features, his slurred attempts to achieve your forgiveness forced a tiny grin onto your mouth.

“it’s okay, honey,” you extended a hand outward in greeting. “let’s just start over, yeah?”

he choked on a breath at the name, and then two clammy hands melded into one, and everything was alright for once. “i’m loki, and the pleasure’s all mine, darling.”