#purely had fun drawing the strange heels

[b-a-m]

what i drew on halloween! werewolf marina and vampire pearl

[spencersawkward]

*concussions and confessions//spencer reid*

summary: a near-death experience encourages Spencer to admit his feelings for his best friend, even at the risk of ruining their relationship.

pairing: Fem!Reader/Spencer

content warnings: oh boy there’s a lot. i’ll start with the nonsexual ones-- choking (again, not sexual), blunt force, violence, some angst. ok time for the fun ones-- unprotected penetrative sex, masturbation, sex dream, oral (male receiving), slight dirty talk, creampie. lmk if there are more that i missed! 

word count: 5.4k

A/N: hi omg so i actually combined two requests for this bc i loved the concepts and i didn't wanna do one and not the other. i hope i do both of these justice hehe thanks for sending them! also sorry if the unsub scene sucks-- i don’t usually write that way, so i tried my best. 

request(s): omg if you need ideas for baby spence can you do a one shot where he's the girls best friend (she's not in the bau) and they are in love but neither of them admit it and he is really hurt in a case or almost dies or something traumatic and only when he gets back they confess their love... and then have sex 😏 ive been thinking about this concept alot 😌

can’t stop thinking about baby spencer (like s2-s4) & his girl best friend losing their virginity to each other... can you write a one shot on this please?

masterlist

"when are you coming back?" you ask over the line. you're lying on your bed, legs in the air while you talk to your best friend. it's been a long day for you, but a longer day for him. it's always a longer day for him. 

"you know that I don't know the answer to that question." Spencer's voice is soft as he attempts to keep quiet. he's two hours ahead and, despite the fact that you're both night owls, the person he's rooming with tonight isn't. 

"I know, but there's this Korean film festival that starts tomorrow and I was hoping you would be here to translate for me." you examine your nails while you talk. Spencer lets out a disappointed sigh. 

it's only been a few days since he left, but it's been a week since you last saw him and it feels like a long time. whenever he's not at work, you two are joined at the hip. ever since you first met a few years back at a poetry convention in DC, it feels like he's the only person who understands you. which is weird, because you couldn't be more different as individuals. 

"you should bring one of your other friends." 

"bold of you to assume I have other friends." you joke. Spencer chuckles to himself and your heart flutters. you love his laugh more than anything in the world. 

"I thought that was just me." he says. 

"oh, it is just you," you reply flatly. "I was trying to make you feel better."

you can practically feel Spencer smiling through the phone. although you tease him pretty frequently, he's sometimes able to get in his own shots. it's what makes your friendship interesting.

"hey," you add before he can say anything more. "how's the case going?" 

Spence starts to detail the whole thing, and you listen intently, the timbre and smoothness of his voice comforting you as you slip beneath the covers of your bed. you like the way he enunciates his words, his strange manner of speaking, because it lulls you to sleep. 

you know he's talking about horrible things, but something about the sound comforts you deeply. when he's not around, you're wishing you had it bottled up. 

he lays out their profile as it stands, and you fall silent. it's getting pretty late and you have to be up early for work tomorrow, so it would be a good idea to get some real rest. plus, Spencer needs to sleep, too-- even though he probably won't. 

you remember times when he'd call you at three in the morning, his mind whirring as he played chess against himself and asked if you wanted to hang out so he could teach you how. you hate chess, but of course you said yes; you'd been head over heels with him since your first conversation.

eventually, you feel yourself start to drift off. you don't even really know what he's saying; all of it blends together until you're laying there, one cheek pressed to the pillow and the receiver against the other. 

"Y/N?" he says your name abruptly and your eyes, which have been slowly drawing shut this whole time, fly open. 

"yeah?" 

"go to bed."

"what? no, I'll wait until you're done." you shift. 

"I could hear your breathing change." 

"then why didn't you just hang up?" you giggle. he goes silent for a moment and you wonder if he cut out, but then he responds. 

"I wanted to say goodnight." 

it's like a cage of butterflies is unleashed in your stomach. you wrinkle your nose as you get nervous. god, you miss him. things would be so much better if he was back. not like he'd be in your bed even if he was, though.  

"then say goodnight." you prod. he lets out an awkward little sound. 

"now I can't because you made it weird." 

"how did I make it weird?" 

"I don't know, you just did." he's so clumsy, your face heats up. you want to keep talking like this until morning.

"goodnight, Spence," the words sound reluctant, but you try to cover it up by teasing him further. "see, was that so bad?" 

"oh my god, Y/N--" he tries to sound exasperated. 

"no goodnight back?" you raise an eyebrow even though he can't see you right now.  

a lengthy silence again. "goodnight."

"that's what I thought." before he can protest, you end the call, settle into the covers. moonlight beams on the walls of your apartment, and you start to think about your best friend. about all the nights spent curled up on his couch with two bowls of popcorn, his ramblings about how much he loves his job and him asking about yours. 

he's a great listener. every time you talk, he nods along like he's hanging off every word. it's nice to feel heard that way, to have someone care. and he's fun to hang out with, too. you've met his team before and they all talk about how hard it is to get him to go out, but they don't see the same side of him that you do. 

Spencer is nerdy and cute and kind and sensitive. he makes you feel special. he's everything that you've ever wanted in a person. but it's not like it would matter, anyway. he hasn't really shown interest in any girls-- much less you. even if he did, you're scared of ruining the friendship. 

the fallout of not having him around at all... it would destroy you. and something, even if it's torturous, is better than nothing. 

which is why, as you sit there and remember being around him, your fingertips creep below the comforter. a familiar routine, they move over your stomach, until they reach the waistband of your panties. for a moment, you hesitate. it's wrong. he's your best friend. but he doesn't need to know that this is how you handle the ache he puts between your legs. 

as your index finger slides down your slit, you feel the wetness already forming. Spencer's hands, his mouth. the thought of his lips pressed to yours while he fucks you, holding your body like it's delicate. 

you don't know exactly how it would feel because you've never had sex, but you want to find out with him. he's never done it, either. you don't care; all you need is to have him inside of you, to see how he looks when he's on the edge. 

your mind wanders to the image of him parting your legs and rolling his eyes into the back of his head. the sensation of him filling you up. falling apart. 

you slide a finger inside, gasping at the way your walls tighten and your imagination runs wild. that tongue, lapping and making you squirm, your fingers twisted in his soft hair. he's so sweet; his attentiveness would make your legs shake. you want to look into his eyes while he does it. 

you add a second finger, curl them and brush over the most sensitive part. the pressure of his hips grinding into yours. your body curves up at the way you start to finger yourself, the other hand stimulating your clit. it's almost overwhelming, the way his name tumbles from your lips over and over. 

you've never wanted someone so badly in your life; he belongs in your bloodstream. the sounds he would make in your ear before finally cumming and collapsing on top of you, spent. you want to tire him out and then do it all over again. 

you're greedy on the edge, indulging in every single image of him you can conjure up, every dirty thing you'd say. finally, you feel yourself fall, the orgasm intense as you bite back groans of pleasure and work through the high. it's amazing. 

you sit there, panting, feeling your heart beat in your chest. some things can't leave your head, they're so sinful. and the worst part is that you don't regret it in the slightest. 

...

Spencer can feel his pulse practically leaping against his throat as he makes his way through the empty warehouse. he should have waited for backup; he knows he should have, but it's too late now to go back and change things. 

he clutches his gun, pointing it in front of him while his eyes flicker wildly across the space. he's moving between enormous aisles stuffed with crates, not knowing who else is around. they said the unsub brought his newest victim here-- Spencer came first because was closest to the site-- but he hears nothing aside from the uneven rhythm of his own breath. 

every step is careful. he's thinking about how close the rest of the team must be. based on their distance from the station, they should arrive within six minutes-- but that doesn't account for the time it takes to put on their bulletproof vests, to get to their cars. 

truthfully, he doesn't know if he's going to have to do this on his own. and that scares him the most. 

there's no point in worrying. he swallows the lump in his throat and presses his back to one of the crates. there's a scraping noise a ways off that causes him to freeze. because of the echoes of the warehouse, the origin is indiscernible. he doesn't breathe, eyes darting between each of the openings into the aisle. 

after a minute of pure silence, he peels himself away and turns to head back out. 

and that's when the sound of wood cracking against bone startles him; he hears it before he feels it, but it's obvious when he crumples to the floor. like knife points pressing into his brain at all angles, the shooting agony in his skull. 

he starts to clutch at his head, only to be yanked off the ground by a meaty hand and thrown against the side of a crate. 

"fucking feds." the guy is enormous. gargantuan. he keeps his arm across Reid's throat, pressing down enough to restrict his airway. but Spencer can't even concentrate on the guy's face further than its rough outlines. his vision is going in and out, fuzzy at the edges from the blow to his head. 

he definitely has a concussion. 

"I..." he trails off. the huge FBI logo on his vest is a dead giveaway. 

"all alone?" the unsub has breath like rotten fish, spits each word into his face. "I won't even need my gun." 

Spencer's head lolls to the side and he catches sight of his own weapon lying helplessly a few feet away. there's no way he could get to it in time, even if he got out of this guy's chokehold. 

he tries to think of a way to talk himself out of this; after all, their profile said he'd be more susceptible to negotiation, but that's kind of hard to do with someone's forearm slammed against your trachea. he presses harder and Spencer sees stars. his glasses hang almost off the bridge of his nose, centimeters from falling to the floor. 

he starts to realize that he's going to die, defenseless and alone, in a warehouse. at the hands of a man who kills women because his Viagra doesn't work. but this doesn't incite the kind of panic Spencer always predicted he'd feel. the lack of oxygen in his brain causes him to go delirious. 

he misses home. his mom and his old house, even though things were hard. he misses Y/N, his team members. he wishes his team was here; he should have waited for them. he should have told Y/N how he feels. now she's never going to know. 

Reid is so out of it, he doesn't even notice the pressure being relieved from his throat until he collapses on the ground. the unsub falls, too, his cheek smashed by the force of the abandoned wooden plank. 

it's hard to tell what's happening until Reid lifts his head to see Morgan standing above him, preparing to handcuff the criminal.

"kid," Spencer never thought he'd be so glad to hear his voice. "what happened?"

...

you practically crash into Spencer's apartment the next evening, flinging your body through the front door with your spare key. 

"Spence?" you call out from the entryway. everything still looks the same, but when his colleague, Penelope, called you today to tell you that Reid had gotten a concussion after a run-in with an unsub, you rushed here as soon as you could. 

"in here." he calls from his bedroom. you don't hesitate, your feet carrying you there. you've been anxious all day; he didn't call last night or even text like usual. you were on the verge of panicking when Penelope called. 

of course, you knew that was the risk with Spencer. he knew the risk, too. his life would always be in the balance when it came to the cases, but he'd gone through so many at this point, you weren't thinking about it. if you did, you wouldn't be able to focus on anything else. 

when you walk in, the first thing you see is Spencer laying in bed in his silk pjs. there's a stack of unread books on his bedside table. his glasses sit on top. he's just laying there with his eyes closed. 

"oh my god." you mutter, dropping your bag on the floor and walking over. he opens his eyes with a slight smile. there's a purple bruise forming across his throat, light but definitely there.  

"hi." 

"what the fuck happened?" you ask the question you've been wondering the whole way here. 

"he hit me with a plank." Spencer explains, the phrase coming out like he's still confused about it. "I'm fine, just a mild concussion and a bruise because he choked me." 

you take a second to assess if he actually means that he's okay, or if he's trying not to worry you. he stares at your expression for a second. 

"Y/N, I'm really fine." 

"you don't look fine." you gesture to the fact that he's laying in bed. 

"my body is sore, but nothing's wrong with me. I just can't look at screens or read." this last part makes him much more melancholy, it seems. you reach down and ruffle his hair playfully. 

"sounds like a nightmare." 

"it is." he cracks up. 

"I'm glad you're okay." you sigh. your heart rate has slowed to a reasonable pace now that you know he's fine. Spencer gives a ghost of a smile, and when he pats the empty spot on the bed beside him, you kick off your shoes and climb over his body to sit down. "so... did you guys get him?" 

"the unsub?" he turns his head to look at you. something is in his eyes that you can't read. "yeah, he's in custody. we saved the girl he abducted, too." 

"well, aren't you a hero?" you grin, pinching his arm. 

"ow!" he flinches. "don't hurt the patient."

"oh, so now you're injured?" you giggle softly. his smile fades a bit, gaze trailing from your face to your legs. it isn't lustful or anything, more like he's taking in your existence. it still makes your heart flutter. 

"I wasn't really a hero, anyway," he sighs. "I got knocked down before I even found her." 

"oof." you wince. 

"yeah, it's sort of embarrassing. I went in by myself and--"

"you went by yourself?" you clarify, turning to face him. of course he did. 

"yeah." he avoids your gaze. 

"Spencer, I work in a stationery shop and I know you're supposed to wait for backup." you deadpan. he snorts, staring straight ahead at the wall. his hair is flat in the back from where he's been resting it against the headboard. 

"he would have hurt her if I had waited." he explains. your heart softens a bit at this. you know Spencer has a problem with saving people; sometimes he doesn't think things through. but you know that it's only because he cares. 

you smile gently, appreciating what a beautiful person he is. you don't understand how other people don't see him how you do. your hand reaches for his suddenly, and you find yourself snuggling into his shoulder. 

Spencer doesn't usually like touch, but he welcomes this, dropping his own head to rest on top of yours while you both stare at the wall. his silence feels heavy, more than it usually does, and you wonder what he's thinking. 

"I'm really glad you're okay, Spencer." your tone is low, like it's a secret. 

"you already said that." 

"shut up." 

"you care about me." he sing-songs with a smile, and you know he means it in a friendly way, but you don't care. it brings warmth to your cheeks. 

"whatever. you care about me, too." 

he lets out a slight chuckle. "when I started to black out, I thought of you." 

your heart leaps, even though the reason is pretty dark. "oh, yeah?"

"mhmm." he hums. 

"nobody's ever told me that they thought of me in their last moments of life before." you tease. there are so many things you'd like to say, but know you can't. he smells like himself and coffee beans, his skin warm beneath the silk of his pajamas. 

"I'd hope not."

"anything in particular?" you wonder aloud. 

"what?" you feel him tense beneath you, and that's how you know there's something he's not telling you. 

"were you thinking about anything in particular?" 

"someone's full of themselves." he jokes. you smack his arm.  

"humor me." more than anything, you want to hear his thoughts. you know you're reaching, but you don't care. 

"just..." he pauses, the next words coming out almost too quietly to hear. "things I never got to say to you." 

"like?" now you're intrigued. 

"no way." he laughs and you groan, turning and realizing that you've both sunk deeper onto the bed and are now practically lying down. 

"c'mon," you prod. you've flipped onto your side while you watch him, his eyes directed at the ceiling. "what if you'd actually died?" 

Spencer gives you a look, and you wish you could snap a picture of his face. the gentle features, the warmth in his eyes. he stares at you differently than before, and it makes your stomach flip again. "I, um." 

you start to trace your index absently down his forearm, where his sleeve has incidentally gotten rolled up. his skin is soft. you know that this isn't a friendly thing to do, but something inside you craves his touch right now. you almost lost him; you can't imagine how horrible that would be. 

"I wanted to say that I--" he gulps, muscles in his shoulder tight beneath your cheek. "well, I care about you, and I... I really love you." 

it's not the first time he's said it, obviously in a platonic sense. what affects you is that he's acting like it's a big deal. 

"I love you too, Spence." you smile softly. his chest rises and falls faster, his face tensed. 

"no, I mean--" he turns onto his side, using the action to distract from his own nervousness. he holds your gaze and you forget how to breathe as he speaks. every syllable is serious, but you note his fingers fidgeting at his side. "I'm in love with you." 

it's like all the air in the room has been sucked out. you swallow, unsure of how to react at first. you don't believe what you're hearing, simply because it doesn't make sense. you've been friends for a while, now, but Spencer has never made a move to ask you out or acted like he wanted anything more. 

your heart swells. 

"you're in love with me?" the words even feel surreal on your tongue. he takes it as rejection.

"I shouldn't have said that, I'm sorry." Spencer rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, his expression turning to a cringe. he's about to sit up to hide the red in his cheeks, but you pull him back down by the shoulder. 

"not so fast, crazy boy." the corners of your mouth are turning up into a grin. you can't help it; every nerve in your body is alive. Spencer loves you. he feels the same way. 

when he sinks back down onto the mattress and sighs, preparing to say something that rescinds the statement to erase any awkwardness, you grab his face and turn it to yours. you don't kiss him, only force him to look. 

"I'm in love with you, too." 

his eyebrows fly up in surprise. "r-really?"

"yes." you nod. 

he takes a second to process this. you see about five different expressions pass over his face, each one reminding you of how earnest he is. and it's absolutely adorable. 

"well, that's good, isn't it?" he clarifies. you pretend to think on it. 

"I'd say so, yeah." 

he smiles. a genuine, rare one that makes your veins feel as if they're full of glitter. you're on Cloud 9. 

"can I kiss you?" you ask him quietly. he seems surprised at this, too, like he never thought you'd want that, but then nods eagerly. 

you close the gap between you on the bed, holding his jaw in one hand while the other rests on his forearm. your lips meet softly at first. he's cautious, scared of pushing you away. he hasn't kissed many people before. but he's good at it, letting you take the lead. 

there's no way to adequately describe kissing Spencer. every bone in your body turns to mush, immediately craving more contact. you slide your tongue across his full bottom lip, and he lets you in. his affection is the most loved you've ever felt. because sure, you haven't had sex, but you've kissed people before. 

never like this. 

one of his hands goes up to wrap around your forearm tenderly before he shifts to lie on his side. you wrap around each other, turning the kiss into a full-body embrace as you breathe in. you want more. your leg swings over his torso so you can pull yourself closer, and he groans into your mouth when your pelvis presses against his. 

the kiss gets more heated, his hands carefully but hungrily traveling down the curve of your waist. you flip so that you're straddling him without breaking any contact. 

you don't really think about the way your hips begin to rock against his, your pussy involuntarily working for friction. there are so many happy chemicals in your brain right now, you giggle against his mouth when his body bucks up into yours. he groans. 

"Y/N..." he breathes softly. his hands move from your waist to your thighs, afraid to dig his fingertips in. 

"what?" you sigh, licking over his bottom lip again. he moans at the way you keep grinding on his erection. 

"I wanna--" his eyelashes flutter when he gasps. "I wanna touch you." 

"do it." your palm is resting tenderly against his cheek. he responds by finally holding you down, sliding his body up a bit to grind against your center. you whine. "touch whatever you want, Spencer." 

his cock twitches in his pants and you push the hem of his shirt up while he uses one hand to massage your tits. the voracious, curious nature of his attention makes you sigh, touching his stomach. he feels perfect beneath you. 

soon you're grabbing at each other without any regard for grace. he's so horny, he's pawing at whatever he can while you do the same to him. the kissing gives way to straight panting while you look at each other. 

"can I suck your dick?" you whisper. Spencer's eyes widen. you've never seen him nod so fast. 

you press your mouth to his one more time before inching down his body, sucking on his clavicle, then his stomach. careful to avoid the purple marks on his neck. he watches you intently, memorizing the details of this moment for later. when you reach the waistband of his pants, you peek up. he strains against the material. 

your mouth drops open and you draw your tongue over the clothed bulge, maintaining eye contact. Spencer throws his head back. his voice is high. "oh my god, oh my god." 

you smirk, licking it again. he clenches his jaw. "I'm gonna c-cum if you don't--" he tries for words, but he's mewling and moving against your mouth. you pull at his pants, hooking your fingers in his boxers and bringing them down, too. 

Spencer bucks into the air when his cock hits his stomach. it's big, precum leaking helplessly out of the tip while he whines. you want him now. 

"wow." you smile. he stares at you, tensing his stomach as you wrap your hand around his length. he's trying to keep quiet, but as soon as you spit on it and start to pump him, his head falls back into the pillow. 

you draw your tongue up the underside, paying special attention to the veins, reveling in his reactions. he looks like he's ascending to heaven when you start to suck on the first couple inches.  

"o-oh, fuck..." he keeps moving his hips off the bed for more, so you sink down further onto him, hollowing your cheeks and moaning. "Y/N..." 

you groan in response, feeling yourself get wetter with every sound he makes. you can't believe this is happening, the way he threads his fingers loosely through your hair in an attempt to touch more of you.

he tries to keep his eyes open while you suck, but they squint with pleasure. he's a mess for you, shuddering gently when you take nearly all of him into your mouth. 

before he can cum, you pull your mouth off of him with a satisfying pop. Spencer moans. 

"was that okay?" you ask carefully. this is the extent of your sexual experience, and you want to do more with him, but you aren't sure how he feels. your best friend stares back at you like you've turned his world upside down. 

"y-yeah," he replies. his face is flushed. "definitely okay."

he's throbbing, occasionally twitching against his stomach as he waits for more stimulation. you eye him carefully. 

"what do you feel comfortable doing?" your voice is smooth. "we can stop now, if you'd like." 

"I--" he chokes on the word. "I don't wanna stop." 

"do you want to have sex?" you ask. Spencer bites his lip, whines. 

"mhmm." 

"I wanna do that, too," you breathe out, straightening up and pulling your shirt over your head, unclasping your bra, before getting to work on your shorts. you know you're practically dripping. he's been more vocal, but you feel like you're going to implode from the desire. "but I need to tell you something." 

"what?" he tugs your arm, coaxing you back to him and touching you greedily. you giggle as you kick your shorts and panties off somewhere in the room. both of you move like awkward teenagers. 

"I'm a virgin." you say. 

Spencer frowns. "really?" 

"yeah," you lick your lips. "so you need to be careful." 

"o-of course." he blushes, getting nervous again. "you know I'm a virgin too, right?"

"I know." you smile. he returns it sweetly, and the commotion of your bodies slows for a moment. you're so happy, you could cry. 

"what?" he breaks the comfortable silence. 

"I'm excited," you shrug. he's got his hands on your waist, rubbing his fingertips over your skin. then you remember something. "wait, are you allowed to have sex with your... injury?" 

"it's fine." he reaches up and kisses your throat with an urgency. 

"did the doctor say that?" your eyes roll while he sucks on your neck. he groans and pulls down on your waist so that your stomach presses against his cock. he ruts. 

"second opinion from me." he pants. you tap his cheek playfully, move up his body until your core brushes him. he whimpers when you reach between your bodies and grip his length in your hands. 

"you ready?" your voice is low. Spencer squeezes your thighs, eyes moving between your tits and your face. 

"yes." he sighs. you position it, slicking him in your pussy while he wraps an arm around your waist and moans for more. your chests are pressed together, looking into each other's eyes while you slide him into you. 

you have to go slow, the intrusion causing your jaw to drop. you don't breathe. he's got his eyes rolled into the back of his head.  

"Spencer." you whimper, dropping your head onto his chest when he's fully inside of you. his fingers rub patiently over your back. 

"are you okay?" his voice is laced with a moan, trying to resist thrusting. 

"yeah, just a second." you wiggle a little bit to test the boundaries. it hurts, but it also feels good. your clit is begging for more pressure, so you start to roll your hips. Reid moans loudly. 

"Y/N..." he whimpers. "don't stop." 

"you want more?" the need in his voice makes you hornier, and you increase the pace, despite the slight pain. you're so wet, he slides in and out without much effort. 

"so-- much more." he's gasping, hands on your thighs as he watches your naked body writhe on top of him. he's never been more aroused in his life, spurred on by your scent and form and the tightness that keeps clenching around his cock.

he understands why people love sex so much, now. he wants it every day, wants to fuck you in every position and pleasure you. the sounds you release in his ear, whines and praises, he would do anything for more. walk to the ends of the earth to feel you cum on his cock. 

his hand finds your ass, squeezes it. 

"this feel good, Spence? fucking your best friend?" you talk dirty and he twitches. you're always so sweet, the words coming out of your mouth for him are going to send the genius into a tailspin. 

"mhmm," he holds you down so that he can thrust up. speaking at all is a struggle with the way he's feeling. "perfect." 

you start to say something else, but he hits a certain angle and you let out a quiet yelp, hips jumping at the pleasure. "I'm gonna cum." 

Spencer gets a rush of relief because it's taking everything in him right now not to absolutely lose it inside your pussy. he's hanging on by a thread. "me, too." 

you use your position on top to stimulate yourself. both of you chase your orgasms roughly, the rhythm you created degenerating into clawing excitement. 

"cum inside me, Spencer." you beg him. it sounds like you would do anything to feel it, that sensation that you've never experience but have always imagined. and Spencer, his own head foggy with ecstasy, nods and opens his mouth to let out a loud groan. 

"Y/N, fuck fuck fuck-- I'm--" he shoots his load inside of you, rutting wildly and letting his head drop onto the pillow while he pants. you can feel it. strange, lovely jolts of his seed spreading. your hands, which have been resting on his shoulders, tighten and you reach your climax. you flutter around him, both of you still moving to ease the intensity of the high. 

it's remarkable. you're crying out, having the most mind-blowing orgasm of your life. you never thought your first time would be like this. but you're glad it is, muscles tightening and releasing with the mixture of emotions. 

you collapse fully, him still inside. 

neither of you speaks. his heartbeat thuds against your ear, and you hold onto him like letting go would be the end of the world. you can't believe you could have lost him. you don't want to think about it. 

"sorry I came so fast." Spencer apologizes breathlessly. you can feel his cum dripping down your entrance when he slides out. 

"I don't care." you mumble. both of you stay there for a while, his heartbeat changing to a pace that reminds you of genuine excitement. like a hummingbird. 

"we can try again, sometime." he offers. you lift your head to rest your chin on his chest. his skin is flushed, pupils dilated, hair messy. such a pretty boy. 

"we should try multiple times." 

he gives you a cheerful smile, and everything starts to fall into place. you took each other's virginity. "Y/N?" 

he likes to say your name, and you love to hear it. "yes?" 

"are we dating?" the bluntness of the question makes you giggle. you don't hesitate. 

"yeah." 

“good.”

taglist (lmk if you wanna be added/removed!): @reidsconverse @voidsfilm @xoxomgg​ 

[mercy-burning]

Say You’re Sorry

Part of Mercy’s 1k Celebration: A collection of Spencer Reid x Reader requests to celebrate 1,000 followers.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: After a petty argument, Reader and Spencer spend weeks trying to get each other to say they’re sorry first Category: SMUT (18+) Warnings: Language, smut (fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, light choking) Word Count: 4.3k

Full Request: “...a smut about Like reader and spencer fight for something stupid, because both of them think are right, And maybe the fbi it has the annual gala of something and reader wears a *SUIT* with just a nice bra under the jacket, and spencer lost his mind.” —Anonymous

MASTERLIST | 1K MASTERLIST

NOTE: This one was so much fun to write! All of these requests have been, of course, but I just loved getting to write Spencer and Reader’s petty tactics and dialogue here 😂❤

***

It was stupid and they both knew it. Everyone in the office knew it, too.

But when two people who were always priding themselves on being right have been dating for years, stupid little arguments like that were bound to happen.

This time, though, Spencer and Y/N seemed to have taken it a little too far. For weeks now they haven't spoken unless it was bickering, and when it wasn't bickering, it was demanding the other person to admit they were sorry.

And now it was just a game.

The first round started when Y/N gave Spencer a cup of coffee as a gesture, a sign of good faith. She hadn't explicitly said sorry, though Spencer was willing to accept it as an apology anyway. The round ended, though, when he took a drink to find it completely bitter, not a grain of sugar to be found. She laughed, the sound somehow even more bitter than the coffee she'd given him, and left him with a prompt, "Gotcha."

Round two was a bit more evil, Spencer retaliating by changing all the settings in her car so that when she got in, everything would be the exact opposite of how she preferred it. She was always particular about how she had the air, the seats, the mirrors, and everything else set up in her car, and the day she got in it after work almost had her in tears of anger. First of all, her seat was set all the way back, which she found strange, but then after adjusting it she turned the car on, and the radio blasted intense techno music, which she always found annoying. She turned it all the way down after almost having a heart attack, suddenly very angry and confused, only to then notice that all the mirrors were adjusted as well.

But the tip of the iceberg was when she looked at the speedometer and noticed she was almost entirely out of gas. It certainly wouldn't be enough to get her home.

"What the actual fuck?" she yelled, only to jump again when Spencer knocked on her window.

"Looks like you're gonna have to take the train home with me."

It really was her only option, and she hated it. And he was so hopeful that it would get to her admit that she was sorry, that when they got to his apartment he would be able to convince her to come to bed with him and sleep it all off.

Turns out, he was sorely mistaken. She didn't talk to him the whole way there, and when they did manage to make it up to his apartment, Y/N locked him out of his bedroom and slept in his bed alone. No matter how many times he tried to convince her to let him in, she yelled back, "Say you're sorry, and we'll see if you deserve to sleep with me!"

But he wasn't going to give up that easily. So he gave up trying to reason with her, and stayed on the couch.

When he woke up, he was drenched in freezing cold water, cursing as Y/N stood over him with a smirk. "Mess with my car again, and it'll be something worse, Reid."

She never used his last name. She was doing it to taunt him, and it only made him angrier.

She left that morning, calling Emily for a ride and hoping she'd taught Spencer a lesson.

Unfortunately, no lessons had been learned. A few days later, he 'accidentally' bumped into her, spilling coffee all over her white blouse, and said 'oops,' in the least apologetic way ever.

Y/N scowled as she dabbed up the liquid, not even paying attention to him as she ranted about how pissed off she was and how childish her boyfriend was being.

"If you'd just man up and say you're sorry already, maybe I won't have to be such a bitch, but you're really getting on my fucking nerves..."

He was suspiciously quiet. So she looked up to catch him staring at her, a look in his eyes that she'd seen many a time. In fact, it had to be one of her favorite looks.

He was staring directly at her chest, where she'd unbuttoned a few buttons to get at more of the coffee that splashed on her shirt.

It was only a few seconds, and Spencer seemed to snap out of it rather quickly, giving her a wink before walking away completely.

She glared at him as he disappeared into another room, but in the back of her mind, a plan was already forming.

***

The Bureau was hosting a mandatory gala for a few agents who were retiring, and with the event coming up, Y/N knew it was the perfect opportunity to get Spencer's attention and maybe, just maybe, get him to finally apologize.

But that was all unbeknownst to him.

He knew she was going to show up on her own, because neither of them had stepped up to the plate to apologize, and truth be told, he wasn't sure how much more he could take. It had been about a week since he'd spilled his coffee all over her, and he couldn't stop thinking about her. Not that he never thought about her at all—she was his girlfriend, of course he thought about her—but after going weeks without getting to kiss her, touch her, or even just be around her when they weren't playing stupid, petty games with each other, Spencer was starting to think maybe they should just talk it out.

So that's what he decided. The gala would be a perfect opportunity to make a grand romantic gesture and admit that he missed her, that they were both being childish and he wanted to work it out.

All of that completely went out the window, though, the second she walked through the door.

The drink in his hand almost dropped to the floor. The only thing that even kept him standing upright was Derek's hold on him when he stumbled. And as if he didn't already know he was in trouble, Spencer heard his friend whistle lowly beside him.

"Kid, I think you better apologize, or I have a feeling you're gonna regret it..."

"No kidding," was all he responded with, his eyes still glued to his girlfriend from across the room.

She was wearing a pair of maroon suit pants and a matching jacket that held together at the middle by one button, exposing a lacy black bra underneath. Her hair was pulled back into an elegant updo, exposing more of her neck and chest as small pieces of hair framed the sides of her face. From far away he noticed her wearing some long silver earrings and a matching necklace that landed right above where curve of her breasts met her neck. She walked—no, glided—across the floor with heels that accented her every step with power.

She caught his eye, and though she was the most stunning, captivating woman he'd ever seen, the pure smugness that lit up her pretty features as she walked towards him made Spencer want to win. No romantic gestures, no giving in and talking it out... He wanted to see her beg for forgiveness.

It was a pretty hard task, though, considering the second she got closer and he searched her eyes, he almost crumbled beneath the sheer power they exuded. They gleamed at him as if to say, "You lose."

Everything was made even worse when she smiled at him like nothing was wrong, like they hadn't been playing childish pranks on each other all week. She leaned in and held onto his arms, giving him a sweet kiss on the jawline.

"Hi, babe," she chirped happily, and before she pulled away, she added into his ear with a whisper, "By the end of the night you're gonna be real sorry for last week..." It was low and seductive and pure evil. Spencer would have stumbled again had she not been holding onto his arm.

He wanted to think that Y/N surely wouldn't resort to using her seduction to get him to apologize, but that would be a flat-out lie. She knew exactly what she was doing.

But it wasn't going to work. He wouldn't let it. He couldn't let it.

He cleared his throat and led Y/N to the table they were staying at, trying his hardest to ignore the low burn that settled in his stomach.

But once again, that proved incredibly hard when she was sitting next to him all night, talking confidently with other agents and occasionally slipping her hand along his inner thigh to tease him. When no one was looking, she'd move it higher, lightly drawing circles along the inseam of his pants. And when he gripped her wrist under the table, leaning in to say lowly in her ear, "You better quit," she responded with a turn of the head and a kiss on the cheek, whispering right back, "Not until you say you're sorry."

She pulled back and they smiled at each other sweetly, right before she excused herself to go to the bathroom.

What she wasn't counting on was him following after her, catching her arm and pulling her into an empty storage closet before anyone could see. It all caught her completely by surprise, but even as the light switched on and she saw Spencer standing in front of her, a look of pure frustrated grief flashing across his features, she settled into another smug smile.

"Aw, what's wrong, babe?"

His eyes raked her up and down, and it was obvious how hungry he was for her. His hands reached out tentatively to touch her, and she let him. They settled on slipping under her suit jacket and practically burning handprints into the bare skin of her stomach.

"What's wrong?" he repeated, running his hands farther up her stomach and just below the bra. He could see his fingers peeking up through the jacket, and it made him absolutely feral. "You're a fucking tease, that's what's wrong."

Y/N cooed like she would at a crying baby. "Aw, and who's fault is that, hmm?"

"I'm not gonna say it." His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and still she was unwavering.

"I'm not gonna say it either."

"Well... Maybe I'll just have to fuck it out of you, then."

She would have been lying if she said she hadn't lost a little self control upon hearing those words come from his mouth. Which is why she challenged him yet again, silently hoping that he'd make true on his promise.

"I'd like to see you try..."

They stared at each other then, and for a moment Y/N thought he would actually do it. Her body shivered with excitement, especially when he pushed her into the door and ran his hands up to cup her breasts. He leaned in close and pressed gentle kisses to the side of her neck and down her collarbone, and eventually, he found his way back to her neck.

Right when his hands moved to her back to unclasp her bra, he suddenly removed them altogether, and placed them on either side of her head, trapping her between his body and the door.

And with five simple words hummed lowly into her ear, he'd managed to win this round.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Spencer opened the door and pushed past her, leaving her behind to catch her breath.

***

The night was nearly over, and she still hadn't managed to break him. And after the stunt he pulled in the storage closet, she was getting just as frustrated as he was. Since then, he'd practically dangled himself in front of her all night, making a point to play with his hands (which he knew she went crazy for), doing the same with his mouth (which she also had praised multiple times over), and occasionally resting his hand on her lower back, or on the inside of her thigh under the table.

And now, he had her cornered near the back of the room after she'd excused herself to collect her bearings.

But she wasn't having it.

Before he could say or do anything, she grabbed him by the tie and pulled him to her, sneering in his face. "Back off, baby, or I swear to God..."

She wasn't really sure what she was going to say, because no words could properly accentuate her frustration. All she could do was give vague threats and hope Spencer stepped up to the plate.

Unfortunately for her, he didn't.

"What? What are you gonna do?" he laughed, looking at her hungrily.

At this point they were just needlessly teasing themselves, and they both knew it. But the game had gone on for so long that one of them had to break eventually, right?

She couldn't answer him... There was absolutely nothing in her brain except for images of them, screwing each other to the ends of the earth. So, she looked back at him, silently hoping that he would just forget about the apologies and do something about the tension that had been building up for weeks now.

And truthfully, she thought he would have. He looked like he was ready to say fuck it and kiss her right there. He leaned in, and she gripped his tie even tighter.

But then someone cleared their throat beside them.

"Alright, you two." It was Rossi. "Get out of here, go kiss and make up. That's an order."

"But you're not our boss," Y/N pointed out, apparently still on the high of arguing.

"Tonight I am. Go on, get."

She turned away from them and left without another word.

***

One silent car ride later, the two of them walked up to Y/N's apartment. It wasn't until Spencer had closed the door behind him that either of them said something.

In fact, they both said something at the same time.

"Take your clothes off."

"Leave the suit on."

And then, silence.

For one second. Then two. Then three.

And then the only sound to be heard was Y/N's heels as she glided to Spencer in three large steps and crushed her mouth to his. The second it happened, it was like a rubber band snapped, all this pent up tension finally releasing and shooting across the air until it landed somewhere.

In this case, it landed on the kitchen table. She pushed off his jacket the second her butt landed on the cool wooden surface, and her mouth pulled away from his with a harsh smack. "I thought I told you to take off your clothes."

"So fucking impatient," he breathed, grabbing her face with his hands and kissing her again.

A second later, she pulled back and gripped his tie. "Then don't take so fucking long," she said lowly, and then pulled him forward by the tie, connecting their mouths once more.

He grunted in her mouth, releasing her face and working at the buttons of his shirt while she tried her hardest to get the tie. The second everything was loosened, she slid her hands under his shirt and pulled his body into hers by the waist, digging her nails into his skin.

"Lift your hips, baby," he breathed against her mouth, his hands already at the button. "Let me get these off."

"I thought you wanted me to keep the suit on?" she laughed.

"Well, I can't fuck you with your pants on, Y/N."

She lifted her hips then, using her hands on the table as leverage while he shimmied them off over her heels. "I know, genius, I was just fucking with you."

"Well, stop it," he got out with an exasperated sigh.

And before she could retort, his fingers were pushing her panties aside and slipping through the opening of her pussy, causing her words to get caught in her throat.

She choked on a moan and he laughed. "Yeah, I thought that'd shut you up."

"Fuck you," she gasped.

"I'd rather fuck you instead."

And with that final sentence, he started finger-fucking her, leaning forward and applying kisses and bites to her neck. Her hands reached out to grip his shoulders, pushing the rest of his shirt off and then clinging to him like a cat clinging to a tree.

"Who knew all this fighting would make you so wet for me," he said, punctuating his words with a nip to her neck. As if to prove his point, he worked his fingers in and out of her quicker and deeper, the both of them taking in and relishing the sounds it made. Meanwhile she rocked her hips against his hand and tried her hardest not to make much sound, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of hearing how much he was affecting her.

Though, it seemed he caught on to her scheme.

"What's the matter, baby? Cat got your tongue? I know you wanna let it out, so why don't you?"

"Not... until you say you're sorry," she managed to respond clearly, leaning back to look him in the eye.

The look he gave her radiated cockiness as his fingers worked even faster, and she squeezed her eyes shut to hold back any noises.

"Aw, not even one little moan for me, pretty girl? I know you've got one in you..."

"N—no," she pressed, obviously trying not to react at all. But it was getting harder when every second Spencer was curling his fingers inside her now, hitting that sweet spot and bringing her closer to the edge.

"Yes," he reiterated, bringing his other hand to her mouth and pushing her lips apart to press his thumb down onto her tongue, keeping her jaw open and forcing out all the sounds she'd tried so hard to hold in.

There was no getting out of it, but... right now she didn't care. Because she loved when he took control like this, seeing his face scrunch up with determination to get what he wanted, the raw, primal look in his eye that boiled her insides and broke her down every time...

Inevitably, she moaned out. Loudly. And when she was met with a smug, "Atta girl," she closed her mouth around his thumb and sucked on it, humming as her pussy clenched around his fingers. "That's a good fucking girl..."

As he worked her through her orgasm, the high subsiding, she thought, Alright... You win this round...

And then, as he pulled away from her and brought his fingers to his mouth and cleaned them off, Y/N slowly grew a smirk.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" Spencer asked, raising an eyebrow.

She took out her earrings, jumped off the table, and unbuttoned the suit jacket, letting it hang open as she dragged him with her to the bedroom in nothing but her bra, panties, jacket, and heels. "I'm gonna get you for that."

His heart raced as she all but threw him in the direction of the bed. He sat down and leaned back, breathless as she kicked the door shut with her foot and settled her hands on her bare hips. From the low angle he had, she very much radiated dominance and power, and God, if she wasn't the most stunning specimen he'd ever laid his eyes on...

He wanted in that moment so badly to submit to her, to give her everything she wanted, but... If he didn't, what would she do?

She took a few slow steps, and with every one Spencer sunk back, until he was laying down and she was standing at the edge of the bed, using her knee to push his legs apart.

"Sit up," she demanded softly, and he almost obliged. But he wanted to see what she'd do if he refused. So when he remained on his back, she stretched her arm out and grabbed his wrist, pulling him up and then gripping his chin in her other hand to make him look up at her.

In the dim light of the bedroom, he studied her, every curve and peak of her face and the way the shadows accented her prettiest features, the faint glimmer of the eyeshadow she was wearing, the way her tongue danced behind her lips as she figured out what to say next...

Likewise, she took him in completely, the way his eyes softened with each passing second as they roamed her face, and how his just settled in her hand, like he was completely submitting to and amazed by her. And truth be told, the feeling was mutual. Just looking into his eyes alone, Y/N could tell how much he loved her, and it made her heart swell.

Consequently, the electric buzz that had been between them all night and growing stronger for weeks was a dull hum, something more warm and... remorseful.

"I love you," Y/N breathed, loosening the grip on Spencer's chin. She let her fingers slide down his neck and over to his shoulder, where she gave him a light, loving squeeze. "And I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," he whispered back, bringing one of his hands up to cup her cheek. "And I love you."

She sat down on one of his legs, bringing them closer together and to eye-level. And with a smile, she said, "Truce?"

"Truce."

"Good. Now, fuck me?"

"Always."

Her body melted into his when he pulled her face to him and kissed her. His lips moved slowly against hers, yet with a burning passion and need that made it hard for her to breathe. It wasn't long before she starting rocking against him, butterflies swarming in her stomach when he noticed and used one of his hands to run up her thigh. Meanwhile their kisses grew stronger, deeper, and the little sighs and moans they produced together provided the cherry on top.

Y/N slid off of him, then reached down to take his pants off, head spinning and heart soaring. And Spencer felt the same, tugging at the hem of her panties.

She laughed, breaking away once his pants were off. "How do you want me, baby?"

"Just like this," he responded, not needing any time to think about it. "Ride me, do whatever you want to me. I just want you."

With another little laugh, she pushed him back lightly and took off her underweat and heels, then climbed over him to straddle his hips. "Careful what you wish for."

When she reached back her arms to remove the jacket, Spencer stopped her, gripping her thighs and saying in a low voice, "Don't you dare take that off."

She sounded satisfied. Triumphant. "I knew you'd like it."

And before he had a chance to elaborate on just how much he liked it, she shifted her hips and ground down on his bare, hard dick. All words escaped him at the feeling, and she seemed to know it, because she smiled down at him victoriously.

She leaned down and braced her hands on his chest as she continued to rock back and forth, slicking him up with her arousal. Soon after, she snuck one of her hands down to help herself onto him, and she sank down slowly, ever so slowly...

Spencer sighed out, long and drawn out, and the sound was like music to Y/N's ears. She started off slowly, but it wasn't long before she sat up and set a steady pace riding him. And once he found his bearings, getting used to the feeling of her around him after almost a whole month of missing it completely, his eyes opened and took her in once more, the sight before him almost shattering him to pieces.

As his hands flew out to grip her waist, Y/N sighed, reaching down and placing her hands on his stomach. "Fuck, I missed this, baby... Missed you..." Then she slid forward and settled her hands at his collarbone, slowing her hips and making sure to speak just as slowly. "Missed the feeling of your cock deep inside me..."

He lost it then. His grip tightened on her waist and he shifted his hips, repeatedly thrusting up into her with a force that elicited a deep moan from Y/N's throat. She gasped out as he continued this pace, the tension inside of her starting to stretch thin.

"Fuck, baby, please! Oh, right there!" she couldn't help but yell out. She sat up just a little so he had a better angle, and her hands gently wrapped around his throat, to which he rolled his eyes back and groaned out a soft, "Fuck, yes."

They were moving together now, meeting each others' hips with an urgency that could only be present through weeks of built up tension and depravation. It was like a thunderstorm, intense and filled to the brim with flashes of lightning that danced behind both of their eyes as they reached the pinnacle.

Their bodies slowed down naturally, and Y/N's hands were now combing through his hair as she slumped down over him and felt his release as it started to drip down her thigh, and Spencer basked in the feeling of her envelopment, her body weight over the top of him like a warm blanket. They both felt little aftershocks of pleasure as they slowed their breathing and just laid there, hands gently rubbing each others' skin and mouths exhaling soft whispers of 'I love you,' and 'I missed you.'

And then they fully came to their senses, the storm having rolled through completely and leaving them in a calm breeze. It was peaceful. Rehabilitating.

Y/N kissed Spencer's neck and lifted her head to look him in the eyes. "Babe, you know I love you, but I'm not sleeping in this thing tonight."

He laughed, tucking some of the hair behind her ear that had fallen from the updo and then running his thumb along her bottom lip. "That's fair. You should... wear suits more often, though. They're a good look for you."

She smiled and kissed him softly. "Duly noted."

PERMANENT TAGLIST:  @elldell1204 @muffin-cup @calm-and-doctor @slutforthegubes @takeyourleap-of-faith

If you would like to be added to the taglist, feel free to message me or leave a comment, and I’ll add you!

[vizowrites]

“We” vs “Me”| or “Why BlitzStrike Works So Well For Me But Stolitz [as of episode 6].....Doesn’t”

Alright my Loves, so I said that I was going to talk in further detail about my feelings regarding Stolas and the multi-layered portrayal of his relationship with Blitz in the new episode, and today’s the day where that happens!!  First of all, though, before I really get into my feelings about things, I want to just make it ABUNDANTLY clear that I’m not trying to sway anyone from one side to the other, or trying to shame anyone for shipping two fictional characters.  I’m fully in the boat that you are completely entitled to ship whoever you want, but I also think it’s wise to at least be able to recognize the faults and flaws in a pairing--and especially to be able to recognize them in the context of an IRL relationship.  In this analysis in particular, I’m specifically focusing on these two relationships within the realm of the Helluva Boss universe [......Hell] and within the specific context of their characters as they’ve been portrayed in the show thus far.  And, my biggest disclaimer of all: I’m doing this for no other reason than I felt like putting my jumbled thoughts together into a cohesive post so that they don’t have to stay bouncing and buzzing around in my head.  Please keep that in mind that this is just pure personal opinion and interpretation before anyone comes at me with torches and pitchforks.  <3 <3 

SO WITH THAT LONG ASS DISCLAIMER OUT OF THE WAY 

Let’s finally get to the good stuff.  And the not so good stuff.  :D

So I don’t think it’s a surprise to anyone who follows me here that I’m a huge BlitzStrike fan.  What I think fewer people know is that when I first entered the fandom a few months ago, I actually was on board the Stolitz train like so many others that I’ve met here in the fandom.  Naturally Stolitz was the first major pairing I was introduced to, and I did find both the characters of Blitz and Stolas incredibly interesting and compelling in their own rights AND saw the potential in how they could really come to grow into one hell of a relationshp over time.  I was honestly really excited to see it happen, too.  

And then I watched Episode 5 [still my favorite episode, btw] for the first time and had this sudden question hit me like a truck that even now is still relentlessly burning in the back of my mind because I still haven’t found a legitimate answer for it: Why in the FUCK wasn’t Blitz falling head-over-heels in attraction to Striker throughout this fucking episode??

And I don’t mean that in a “They’re so hot and I ship them now why didn’t they get together?? DX DX” kind of way--I mean that in the genuinely perplexed “I don’t understand based on what has been presented to me thus far about Blitz as a character and the storyline overall why he’s reacting so nonchalantly to this whole thing”.  To Note: This is me wondering this from the context of what’s in the show itself, not from any extra fan materials like the Instas or Twitter or just straight up knowing that the most likely answer is that there are people on the creative team that ship Stolitz really hard and realistically wouldn’t have probably written Blitz as being attracted to Striker because that would just be--to quote Jack Sparrow--blowing holes in their own ship.  No, this is me disregarding ALL of that and trying to rationalize this with myself from the perspective of a fan whose entire knowledge of the show and its characters comes exclusively from what’s in the episodes themselves.  .....And that’s where I just can’t find my answer, except for the Stolitz positive “He’s not attracted to Striker because he’s in love with Stolas” answer.  Which really doesn’t even feel like a satisfying answer, because the entire vibe I’ve gotten from Stolitz in the show has just felt.....strangely.....off.  Like, the framework is there and the elements are there, but I’d felt as though they had so far to go still that it would be entire SEASONS before they got there.    

And THEN the new episode [Episode 6] came out and I’d heard a handful of fans going crazy because the show was finally addressing Stolitz in full, and I thought to myself, “Well, maybe if the show really is going to go with saying that the reason Blitz wasn’t interested in Striker is because he’s in love with Stolas.....sure.  I’m curious to see how they finally establish it in an episode, especially since there’s only two more episodes left in the entire first season.”  And then I watched the episode.  And then it hit me why Stolitz just does not do a damn thing for me but BlitzStrike does despite the fact that we’ve had 4/6 episodes [5/7 if you count the Pilot] of Stolitz but only 1/6 [1/7] of potential--not even canonical--BlitzStrike:

When Striker talks about Blitz, or interacts with Blitz, he always talks about them as a “we”.  As a team.  A partnership.  OR he just straight up puts the entire focus on Blitz and his accomplishments and keeps himself out of it entirely.

When Stolas talks about Blitz, he always talks about them within the context of “me”--of himself--of what Blitz does or should do for him.  Even here in episode 6, in the most “selfless” instance we’ve seen yet, where he does ask about Blitz’s safety first BEFORE going right back into how Blitz’s actions affect him and what Blitz should be doing in response for him.  Stolas’s focus is always automatically set to himself--and even when it comes to the people he supposedly loves the most.  

To explain what I mean here, let me give some examples directly from the show itself, starting with the Stolas side of things: 

Episode 1

Blitz, in the middle of trying to hide so much that he actually clamps both of his hands over his mouth just to muffle the sound of his own breathing, knowing damn well that this psychotic bitch who already shot him once won’t hesitate to do it again if she finds him.....gets a call from Stolas.  Stolas, who we clearly see from his leisurely hang out time in his bubble bath, is literally watching this happen and is fully aware that calling Blitz right then was potentially putting him in danger. But what does he say when he gets Blitz on the phone?  He offers--not help--but Blitz the use of his book in exchange for monthly sex.  Stolas literally uses Blitz’s peril as leverage here--consciously or not, though given the fact that he knows the situation at hand, I’d find it very hard to argue that he didn’t do this on purpose--just to get him to agree to be his bootycall until further notice.  

Stolas not only doesn’t lift a finger to help Blitz once in all of this--even at the moment where he and Millie are about to be shot in the face--but instead continues to stay on the phone talking about all of the things he wants for their upcoming future rendezvous.  He already got exactly what he wanted out of this and he still just continues to go for more for himself.

Episode 2

.....There are honestly so many fucked up things that happen here as far as Stolas and his relationship with Blitz goes but honestly the thing I want to draw the MOST attention to is actually Stolas’s storyline with his daughter, Octavia.  I know it’s a little left field, but bear with me--this is actually something I want to use as comparison for Stolas’s relationship to Blitz as we go along:

When Stolas first decides that he’s going to take his daughter to Loo Loo Land, he does so while completey setting aside the fact that she doesn’t want to go.  He just offers her assurances that it’s going to be so much fun because he remembers that she loved it so much when she was a little girl--effectively putting his memory above her wishes even as she’s sitting right there and telling him that she doesn’t enjoy the idea of going now.  

Stolas doesn’t actually notice just how uncomfortable he’s making Octavia throuhought their entire trip by spending his time sexually harassing paying more attention to Blitz than he is trying to cheer her up.  This tells me that Stolas--though I do believe he genuinely wanted to do something to make her happy--still wasn’t able to completely overcome his own self-centered tendencies at first even when it’s for her.  And this is the person that Stolas loves more than anyone or anything else in the entire world. It still wasn’t enough.

It’s only when Octavia runs off and completely breaks down that Stolas finally gets the much needed slap-to-the-face of reality to understand just what he’s putting his daughter through--and, for the first time in the entire show, he actually puts someone else’s needs and well being above himself.  It’s the one solid honest display of love that we see from Stolas in the entire show--and it’s how we as the audience come to learn that that’s how Stolas shows that he loves someone: When he puts their needs above his own with no strings attached or expectations of something in return.  A true selfless act just because he loves them.  **Keep in mind the parallel of Stolas carrying Octavia out of Loo Loo Land at the end, and how it compares to Stolas carrying Blitz out of D.H.O.R.K.S headquarters.

Episode 5

The. Fucking. Cigarette.  I had no idea that something so small and quick would be able to infuriate me as much as it did, but the fact that Blitz used the post sex cigarette to free Stolas from his wrist bondage but then Stolas turned around and put the cigarette out on Blitz’s horn which is literally a part of Blitz’s body just.....honestly it sums up exactly what I’m trying to get across in this entire huge ass post: Stolas only ever thinks of himself first and anything pertaining to anyone else just doesn’t cross his mind at all unless you blatantly put it there in front of his face.  And the fact that he’s still at this point with Blitz all the way here in Episode 5 is not.....promising for their relationship.

The fact that Stolas literally cannot stop himself from calling Blitz “Blitzy” or talking to him in such a condescending way no matter how frustrated Blitz gets and how many times he asks him to stop.  I just--how is that supposed to be interpreted as someone talking to a person that they love?  There’s no respect or dignity given to Blitz at all on Stolas’s part, and the fact that it seems to be presented as a “Oh teehee it’s just their cute couple thing” is just.....I really, really don’t like that.  It also doesn’t match with the Stolas in the very next episode which I quite frankly think is because the creators have been listening to the feedback from fans and were like “We need to SHOW THEM that Stolas actually does speak to Blitz respectfully!!” but that’s just my personal opinion there and, also, it still didn’t happen.  

Episode 6 

Keeping in mind that THIS is finally the episode where we see Stolas actually save Blitz from danger and demonstrate even the slightest inclination towards his well-being.....I think that honestly makes the next few things here even more fucked up

First and foremost: “WE”.  The second after Stolas asks if Blitz is alright and gets the assurance that he is, he roughly grabs his cheek and points out that “If you get in trouble, I get in trouble!  WE don’t want that”.  The fact that this is the first time that Stolas ever talks about Blitz in the context of “we”--when really what he’s really saying is that him [Stolas] getting in trouble is going to be a bad thing for all of them--is just.....so, so disappointing.  At least with this I could hope that perhaps the idea here is that Stolas is genuinely afraid that if he gets in trouble, he won’t be able to protect Blitz from the undoubtedly much worse trouble that he would be in as an imp, but still.  The fact that Stolas immediately reverts back to his self-centered perspective so quickly after supposedly being so worried about Blitz’s wellbeing, really makes it seem as though it’s just his own ass that he’s trying to protect.  And that.....isn’t  exactly what I’d been expecting from “the episode that confirms Stolitz is canon” feedback I’d been hearing.

"Am I going to get ANY thank you for the rescue Bltizy?”  This for me was kind of what actually lead to me having this whole epiphany over Stolas’s selfish perspective in the first place.  I realized that even here--even when he’s just been the most “romantic” towards Blitz that he’s ever been in any previous episodes up until now [and yes this shift in his character was incredibly jarring for me because of that]--Stolas still goes right back to thinking about what he’s going to get out of this now that he knows Blitz is safe.  Let’s take this back to that thing I was saying about Episode 2 and comparing how Stolas rescued Octavia and how he rescues Blitz.  Obviously they’re going to be different because it’s Stolas’s daughter vs his hook up BUT just think about where the focus is for Stolas in both of these scenes.  With Octavia, Stolas is entirely focused on making things up to her--taking her to do something she wants to do--even if it’s something that he himself doesn’t fully understand or isn’t fully into.  That doesn’t matter though, because the entire point is that he’s doing something just for her.  It doesn’t have to be about him.  But now go back to the scene where Stolas is carrying Blitz out of the room.  What does he do?  Ask what Blitz is going to do for him.  That just takes the idea that this scene was a confirmation of their love and throws it right out the window.  Stolas--as we’ve been shown before--would never ask for something in return from someone that he actually loves.  

Now let’s take a look at the one and only episode we have of Striker and Blitz interacting together, with an honorary shout out at hallucination!Striker’s appearance in Episode 6: 

Episode 5: 

Striker knows Blitz’s name.....and he uses it.  He’s literally the ONLY other character that we’ve seen so far refer to Blitz as “Blitz” instead of “Blitzo” or “Blitzy” by someone who wasn’t a member of I.M.P..  Aka someone who wasn’t a member of Blitz’s family.  He shows Blitz respect at that basest level, and only builds on that from there going forward.

Striker first recognizes Blitz for being “the bold imp that started his own killin’ biz”.  Not his hotness, not his skills in the Harvest Moon games because at that point he hasn’t seen them yet.....but for his accomplishment in starting up his own successful business down in Hell.  He treats it as an accomplishment.  With the kind of respect that comes with acknowledging another person for their accomplishments.  Right there, within two seconds of meeting him, Striker demonstrates more respect for Blitz than Stolas has yet to do in the entire show.

The Harvest Moon Festival Games.  Now this is something I find fascinating to think about from Striker’s perspective in particular.  We as the audience are shown pretty early on that Striker has a strong desire to be the one who comes out on top.  He likes the idea of being superior and he openly relishes in the praise and attention he gets for being better than everybody else.  ....Except Blitz.  When they tie in the games, Striker doesn’t seem bothered with sharing the spotlight with him at all.  If anything, he--again--respects just how skilled Blitz is in rightfully earning his place beside him on the stage.  That, to me, is HUGE.  I’m not going to go so far as to say that Striker necessarily sees them as equals because I think that might be going a bit too far for his ego but he does still fully acknowledge that Blitz is in the same general class as him: that is to say, better than most.  Worthy of the same kind of acknowledgement and praise that Striker gets.  I literally can’t get over just how big of a thing that is for what we’ve been shown of Striker’s character, and I think it’s unfortunately something that’s incredibly easy to miss or gloss over. :(

And now--for what I personally think is the most significant thing of all--we have: “We”.  How many times does Striker suggest during that final scene between them that he really wants Blitz to join forces with him as equals?  He never demands that Blitz join up with him, he doesn’t threaten him into joining up with him--Striker barely even hurts Blitz at all during their fight scene compared to how he tried to straight up murder Moxxie--and, most of all, Striker continues to acknowledge that Blitz deserves better than his current arrangement with Stolas.  And he’s right.  But instead of putting it as “I’M right and this is why you should do this”, he always puts his focus on Blitz himself, or the two of them together as a partnership:  “You are so above sucking on a a digusting rich pompous Goetia” | “We could be the most dangerous beings in Hell, Blitz” | “You could partner up with me and klll the unkillable--starting with the one that treats you like a plaything”.  It’s just--I honestly can’t believe it’s taken me this long to put together why Striker appeals so much more to me as a romantic interest for Blitz, but really breaking it down episode by episode and comparing the differences in wording between Striker and Stolas’s dialogue when it comes to Blitz is just.....holy shit. 

Honorary ShoutOut of Episode 6: 

The fact that the only thing hallucination Striker has to say to him is “But you don’t want to do things alone Blitzo!” is really, really interesting to me in the fact that he’s.....not......wrong??  Like, To be fair, Striker, RoboFizz, and Verosika all spill their harsh truths, but the thing is.....Striker’s is markedly different in that his wording really isn’t harsh or aggressive at all the way the other two are.  He’s just kinda stating a fact in an overexaggerated way because tripping balls hallucination sequence.  It’s very interesting to me that that’s the worst that Blitz can imagine him to say--as well as the fact that halluci!Striker calls him “Blitzo”, which is really weird considering that Striker’s never called him “Blitzo” once in the entire show.  Makes me kinda wonder where that came from tbh. 

Alright so, in conclusion of this very long and rambly styie post: I want to take things back to where I started by reiterating that this is not me trying to convince anyone that BlitzStrike is “right” and Stolitz is “wrong”, or that you should stop shipping what you’re shipping in the fandom.  This was just me honestly getting way more excited than I should’ve been over having my “Eureka!” moment for realizing why this new episode didn’t put me back on the Stolitz train like it did for so many other people--and why, in fact, it actually made me think even more favorably of the idea of Blitz and Striker being together.  

Thanks for sticking around with me for this very long read, I hope you found it interesting, and I really really hope that it didn’t piss anyone off or rub too many people the wrong way.  Like I said at the beginning, ship who you want to ship!!  That’s part of the fun of being in a fandom.  I’m just hoping that this might help make it easier to understand at least one perspective on why Stolitz is seen as being so problematic as a ship [as of where they are right now].  

Here’s to seeing where things go from here!! 

[tf2-hellhole]

hello! I hope this hasn't been requested before but, can you write some lovesick headcanons for the mercs? i'm talking totally head over heels, just absolutely immobilized by their feelings type of lovesick. How would they handle themselves? thank you so much ><

Sorry I wrote a whole essay lmao. I assumed that the the reader and the merc are already together in this. Also sorry, I didn’t really know how to write lovesick mercs so this kinda just ended up being how their behaviors change once they become lovesick.

Scout:

Is always trying so, so hard to impress you. He always shows off when you’re around; if he’s on the battlefield, he’ll say “Hey toots, watch this!” And will show off his speed or his aim. He’ll always come back and be all, “Damn, it must be amazing having an awesome boyfriend.”

He’s always bringing you food. When he buys food, he’ll offer to share it with you. If you say no, he’ll just shrug and say “Your loss.” He never, ever shares his food with anyone other than who he’s interested in, so as silly as it sounds, sharing his food with you shows he loves you.

He can be a little clingy sometimes, but he tries to cover it up, especially around the other mercs. He always has to come greet you if you show up after being away for more than an hour, usually with an arm slung over your shoulders and sometimes a quick smooch.

He’s always flustered by you giving him affection. Even something like holding his hand or giving him a quick peck on the cheek makes him turn bright red. In private, he’s always trying to get affection from you, and he can’t live without it. He’s always trying to hug, spoon, or cuddle you, every chance he gets.

He becomes a little more protective of you. In public, he’s always ready to tell someone to go screw themselves if they get friendly with you. He won’t hesitate to punch anyone who touches you.

The reason he loves you so much is because you treat him correctly. All of his relationships in the past have been purely sexual, even if he did want a real relationship with the girl. He can’t believe he has someone who loves him and takes care of him and doesn’t demand sex or complain all of the time. Sometimes, he asks himself how he scored someone as amazing as you.

Soldier:

He becomes very protective of you, though he’s not at all restrictive. He allows you to go anywhere or do anything you want and fully trusts you, but he’ll always ask if you’d like him to come with you for protection if he isn’t already coming with you and offers you weapons to defend yourself with.

You’re one of the only people who are allowed to touch his raccoons, the others being Demo and Engie. He doesn’t trust most people with his raccoons believing they’ll try to take or eat his pets, but he completely trusts you with them. He’ll often ask if you’d like to hold or feed one. Surprisingly, the raccoons are completely docile around you and act like weird, mute dogs. The raccoons hate everyone else, including Soldier. Highkey cries when he sees how well his raccoons behave with you.

He trusts you to know that he was never actually in the military. When he tells you, you know he trusts you more than anyone on the planet and he’s at the point where he would absolutely take bullets for you without any hesitation.

You’re the only person who can get him to behave. Usually, he won’t listen to anyone except Ms. Pauling, and even for her, he won’t do anything he doesn’t like unless he absolutely has to. But for you, he’d do anything without hesitation. That doesn’t mean he won’t voice his opinions if he doesn’t like what you’re telling him to do.

The reason he loves you so much is that you accept his strange behaviors. Most people are rude to him and often make fun of him, even to his face. But you treat him normally, while accommodating his eccentricities. Even though he won’t say it, he appreciates that you respect his strange interests and behaviors and still love him.

Pyro:

Pyro wants to spend tons of time with you. They want to show you their newest crafts and creations and do all sorts of fun things together. It gets to the point that they can be a little clingy, but if you explain how you feel about it, they’ll quickly back off with no hard feelings.

You get lots of hugs, cuddles, and nuzzles. Pyro loves to receive and give physical affection, so it’s often how they show how much they love you. Quick hugs and nuzzles are often how Pyro greets you, often accompanied with tons of giggling. They also love to cuddle with you when the two of you have any free time.

Whenever Pyro makes any treats (they love baking and making candy), you’re always the first person who gets to taste it. The first few times they tasted horrendous, but after a little while Pyro got really good at making it. Scout always tries to get the first taste, but Pyro is always there to slap his hand away and scold him, even when he sneaks into the kitchen.

Pyro gives you tons and tons of gifts. They’re often drawings of you two together, and the aforementioned sweets. Though of course, due to their hallucinations, gifts sometimes are something freaky like an arm. But most of the time, they’re very sweet gifts accompanied with a quick hug or kiss if their mask is off.

The reason they love you so deeply is the same reason Soldier loves his S/O; because you treat Pyro as normal, while taking care of all of Pyro’s eccentricities and problems. You don’t treat Pyro like they’re just a scary maniac, you treat them like a person. But, you also don’t discourage Pyro’s stranger behaviors. You just accept them just how they are and they deeply appreciate that.

Demo:

He’s a very physically affectionate man, so hugs and kisses are a regular thing, especially as a greeting, but he’s never clingy or physically demanding. He loves to kiss your cheeks or temples or put a arm around your waist, but most of the time he just holds your hand. If he’s been away from you for more than a day, he always excitedly greets you by wrapping you in a bear hug and giving you a big kiss.

He looooooves going to new places or adventuring with you. He’d love to take you back to Scotland and show you his favorite places and some national events, but he’d equally love to go to where you’re from, even if the place you’re from is near or in Scotland. If your culture means a lot to you, he’d love for you to tell him about it, and he could listen to you for hours. He’s mentally taking notes of your favorite parts of the culture, such as events or food, so he can do something for you.

You discover that he’s actually a very supportive person and an excellent listener. If you ever need to rant about something making you upset, he’ll pull you onto his lap and ask you to tell him about it. He’s actually pretty good at giving you advice.

The reason you mean so much to him is because you’re his rock. He’s a man who’s always had to deal with his demons by himself. However, he was too weak to fight them, which is why he turned to alcohol. But you supported him, spoke to him about his problems, and encouraged him. You were able to make him feel better about his mistakes and his appearance. You’re even the reason he cuts back on drinking (he doesn’t stop, but he’s no longer drunk 100% of the time). The fact that you care about his emotions and well-being when no one else did always gets him a little emotional.

Heavy:

Even though he obviously doesn’t see you as a sibling, he can’t help but activate his protective big bro instinct. He always discourages you from doing anything risky or dangerous, and will focus a lot more on protecting you, especially if you’re a fellow merc. He prefers for you at least to be in the same room as him so he can watch over you. But he still respects your independence and doesn’t tell you not to go somewhere unless he’s 100% convinced there’s a real danger.

Every once in a while, he likes to make food from his homeland/childhood, though he shares it with nobody, not even Medic unless he’s in a really good mood. But he always asks you to taste his latest meal. It’s not often you see him so happy, but he loves sharing something that means so much to him with you. He’s beaming if you completely clear your plate or bowl.

You are the only other person allowed to touch his guns. You were actually surprised by this. You aren’t allowed to USE his guns, but he doesn’t have a problem with you touching them. He makes sure to watch carefully when you do, though, so you don’t damage it accidentally.

He loves you so much because of the emotional intimacy and trust you share. Trust is something he values deeply, and he doesn’t give his trust easily. But you were kind and honest and obviously trusted him, so he began to trust you. Once you two started dating, he opened up more about all the horrible things he’s been through, and instead of being disgusted by his actions, you said you were sorry he’s suffered so much. The fact that the world, which he always knew was cold and unforgiving, had produced someone so forgiving and kind like you, always has and always will baffle him.

Engie:

He loves to take you on cute domestic dates. This was already the case when you two were still only dating, but he amped it up once he really fell in love. He’ll spend more time away from the lab so he can spend more time with you. He loves little dates like cuddling up with a movie, making dinner together, or going into a nicer town for a walk in the park. He especially loves to bring you little gifts for a date, which usually is something sweet, cute, and simple like a bouquet, even if you’re super masculine.

You’re the only person other than Medic that he trusts around his sentries or his lab. Of course, he doesn’t allow you to work on them, even if you’re also an engineer, as he doesn’t want the sentry to be damaged or you to get hurt. But if you promise to be careful, you’ll be allowed in while he’s there with you.

When you two were only dating, he had a couple little nicknames for you, like Sweetheart. But now he lays on as many as he can think of, and of course they all sound amazing in his cute accent. He loves to use nicknames like Sugar, Honeybee, Darlin’, Baby, and Cutie/Handsome/Gorgeous, and that’s only a fraction of the nicknames he uses for you. He doesn’t hesitate to use them in front of others, too.

Engie doesn’t love you for any particularly deep or significant reason; he just loves your personality, your mannerisms, and your beliefs. He’s a man who lives for the domestic part of a relationship, so he tends to feel hopelessly in love when you two spend time together like he’s a normal man, not a full-time mercenary. He just loves having you in his life, and with the life he lives he’s honestly surprised he was able to find himself with someone like you, even if you’re a fellow merc.

Medic:

He surprises you with how much he cares about you and your feelings. To everyone else, he’s a very selfish person who only cares about himself and his experiments. And while he was a little more considerate of you when you were only dating, you still acknowledged this in your mind. But after he fell in love, he’s always asking you how you are and cares deeply about how you are feeling, physically and mentally. It honestly really surprised you.

You are the only other person on the whole planet who is allowed to pet Archimedes; he deems you worthy and competent enough. He loves showing his birds to you and having you help him care for them, though he does get a little jealous if his birds steal your attention away from him.

Medic is an attention-seeking baby and loves when you spend time with him or do things with him, but he usually isn’t very demanding unless he’s really stressed and needs comfort. He likes to pull you away to talk to you or ask you to relax with him, and he tends to pout if you say you can’t.

Medic loves you so much because you embrace his eccentricities. He loves that he can do whatever he wants and you don’t care as long as he’s not putting himself in danger (though he sometimes does intentionally, as he loves to be fussed over/given attention). You encourage him and appreciate his enthusiasm, even if you’re grossed out by his unique occupation. But he really loves that you love him despite how weird he can be. He can sit with you and tell you about his latest experiment or talk with Archimedes and you’ll just watch or listen like he’s completely normal. He loves not being treated like he’s nuts or creepy.

Sniper:

He starts to really open up about the impact all of the bad events in his life has put on him. He’ll ask if you’re comfortable with him sharing about it, and if you say yes, he’ll sit you down and tell you about everything he’s been through. A lot of bottled up emotion comes out and he needs a lot of hugging, cuddling, kind words, and kisses. Once he opens up about this, you know that this man would trust you with his life without question.

He becomes a little needy when it comes to physical affection. It doesn’t show in public, so it’s not annoying, but has to be touching you most of the time when you’re alone with him. He loves hugging you from behind and burying his face in your neck, or pulling you onto his lap to press a deep kiss to your lips, but he also lives for all of the smaller touches, like handholding or pecks on the cheek. He’s always been touch-starved, so having you to cuddle close to whenever he needs touch is amazing for him. You’re like a security blanket for him sometimes.

He’ll want to take you out to explore with him. He already did when you two were just dating, but now he wants to show you the places he really loves or mean a lot to him, like places his parents took him. He’ll spend a little while telling you about the things he did with his parents, but he spends most of the time trying to create new memories with you.

Sniper cares so deeply about you because you treat him with kindness. This man has had such a harsh, pain-filled life that he was certain he’d never by truly happy. Just like Heavy, he thought the world was cruel and cold, so he was surprised to find a person who so genuinely cared about him and wanted to make him happy. He’s so grateful to have someone so good in his life, and he’d do anything for you.

Spy:

He starts to like your more personal, domestic moments together. When you two were only dating, he preferred extravagant and expensive dates, as he was trying to impress you. But he started to realize he loved when you’d just spend time together like a normal couple, like cuddling up with a movie or making food together. It allowed him to relax and focus more on sharing an intimate moment with you rather than impressing you. It let him be more himself rather than the fake personality he’s created, and it makes him realize how exhausted he is with acting this way. Any moment when he can chill, be himself, and spend time with you is always his favorite moment of the day.

As weird as it sounds, his compliments change. At first his compliments are exactly what you’d expect from a Casanova like him. Very smooth but expected compliments about how lovely you look, often accompanied with a kiss on the hand. But once he’s truly in love with you, his compliments are much more heartfelt. He compliments all the things he truly loves about you, like maybe the colors of your eyes or the feeling of your hair. They always come with a warm smile rather than a confident smirk, and often a kiss on the cheek or forehead too. He always looks at you like you’re the most beautiful and amazing thing in the world.

It takes a lot to get Spy to be head over heels. But, it can be done if he begins to trust you and you show him you completely trust him with personal stuff like your origin or your feelings. It’s that mutual trust (or at least the beginning of it) that makes him fall in love with you, and actually completely and fully trust you. After that, he’d be willing to give up his identity, his reputation, or even his life for you.

[moonbeam-writing]

Hi!! Can I request you a Kuroo scenario where he falls in love with the reader one day after seing one of her match for the first time during a tournament ? After running into her a few times, he ends up taking the courage to talk to her (or confessing ? 👀)

— Love at First Sight

๑ Requested by a lovely Anon!

๑ Quick Note: Of course! This is so cute! Thank you for requesting, lovely! <3

๑ Characters: Kuroo Tetsurou (Haikyuu!!)

๑ Warnings: None!

๑ Word Count: 1,500

—

The first time Kuroo Tetsurou saw you, you took his breath away. He had little to no clue who you were or which school you went to, but what he did know is that he wanted to get to know you more. At that moment, though, he had a game to focus on, but his heart was set on seeing you afterward somehow.

However, despite having the game to focus on, he still found his eyes finding their way to you before each set, had managed to pick up the sound of your cheering amongst the crowd, or at least what he thought was your cheering. That part was purely wishful thinking on his end, but Kuroo knew he’d love the sound of your voice regardless of whether or not that was you. At one point during the match, Kuroo had even managed to catch your eye.

He found himself convinced that love, at first sight, was a possibility. He knew that it wasn’t love, at least not yet, but he certainly knew that it was infatuation. He felt this strange pull towards you like he needed to meet you no matter what. Kuroo thought about looking around his wrist or pinkie multiple times throughout the small breaks he had, wondering if the Red String myth about soulmates was true, but didn’t. He didn’t need to seem like he was crazy in front of you or anyone else, realizing that if that were the case, he would have seen the string by now. That one moment of eye contact changed everything.

After the tournament ended, Kuroo nearly missed you. He had managed to just barely catch you on your way out, politely tapping on your shoulder and introducing himself. Your hand felt so small in his as you shook it and your smile practically made his heart stop. The slightly noticeable tint on your cheeks was adorable and Kuroo couldn't help but feel like you felt the same. Of course, you did feel the same. There was something about his wild hair and the obvious passion with the game. The captain that you only just learned the name of had somehow managed to draw you in. Unfortunately for the two of you, you both lived a good five hours away from each other. For the time being, the two of you settled with exchanging names and numbers, hoping to gain the courage to possibly text the other first.

Though it was a few months before the two of you saw each other again, but when you did, it was exciting. It was completely random and purely by chance.

Kuroo had been in town for a game and the two of you had coincidentally gone into the same coffee shop, Kuroo, however, was convinced it was by fate. Any time Kuroo had seen you, despite it only being twice, it was by pure chance and he wasn’t about to question it too much. He got to see you and he wasn’t about to question it. It was bad enough that the two of you were barely able to talk and your texts were hours apart sometimes, so he was absolutely taking advantage of what the world was so graciously giving him.

The entire time you were with him, you felt light. There wasn’t any form of tension in the air, no odd weight on your shoulders. To your knowledge, Kuroo felt the same, or at least, he certainly looked like he did. You were so happy to finally see him again, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. Your week had been long and you had been meaning to ask if he’d want to meet up for the last month and now here he was, right in front of you, talking to you. It almost made you feel like a little girl with her first crush, and you weren’t too far off. In such a short amount of time, you were absolutely head over heels for him.

Unfortunately, the time came for the two of you to say goodbye to each other. You saw him off before he left, bringing coffee and a breakfast pastry to him for the trip back. Neither of you wanted him to leave, but he had to.

From then on, the universe seemed to try making it easier for you two to talk, text, and occasionally see each other. In the span of another four months, you were able to see him another two times and now he was asking if you’d come to Tokyo for an upcoming tournament. 

The butterflies in your stomach were intense. They almost always were when you were able to go see him, or he was coming to you, but this time was different. You weren’t sure how or why, but it was definitely different. Regardless, you couldn’t help your obvious excitement.

Everything felt similarly to the last tournament, the one that you met him at, though the biggest difference is that this time, not only were you not going just to go, but you were able to wish your favorite captain good luck before the start. You noticed that this time, Kuroo seemed a bit more hyped up than last time, and you couldn't help but wonder if you were the cause.

Much like the first time Kuroo had seen you, between almost every set, Kuroo’s eyes would look to you in the crowd and every time he found you, your eyes met. It wasn’t much of  a shock, though; your eyes hadn’t left him nearly the entire game, aside from a few close calls in the game. From up in the stands, you couldn’t help but admire him out on the court; all of Kuroo’s strength and determination, and the obvious love he had for both the game and his teammates was incredible to see, part of you was wishing that the current game would never end just so you could keep watching him do what he loved. Of course, with that thought, you also had to admit to yourself that you were stalling a little. You were anxious to find out why today felt so different compared to any other day that you saw him, but luckily for you, it seemed like the game was wrapping itself up once and for all.

Once the match was officially done, you were one of the first people to leave the stands, excited to, hopefully, be one of the first people to congratulate the team, especially Kuroo, on their win.

As soon as you had gotten towards the front doors, the boys were on their way there themselves, all of them exhausted, but clearly amped up from their win. Upon seeing you at the door, Kuroo’s victorious smirk turned itself into a wide grin, seeing his favorite girl right in front of him.

“Tetsurou!” Your voice sounding off against the surrounding noise made his smile bigger as you began to move, meeting him halfway and stepping comfortably into his open and waiting arms. “I’m so proud of you!” You paused for a moment, stepping on your toes slightly to look over his shoulder better. “You guys too! You were all so incredible!” Their thanks was heard, but you were already back to being shoved up against Nekoma’s captain for it to register in your head.

“Thanks, (Y/N)!” Kuroo smiled down at you, though you could tell that there was a hint of nervousness in his eyes, which was odd and out of place for a number of reasons. “How long are you going to be here?”

“A few days, nothing too major. Even though they’ve met you, my parents aren’t really all that big on me staying a full week here, ha ha. It’s honestly a miracle they’re letting me be here for a few days on my own.” The two of you shared a small laugh over it, because you were absolutely lucky, but so was he. Kuroo knew he needed to make his move. “Any reason why?”

“Yeah, actually. Um, I know I haven’t known you too long, a bit under a year, really,” you couldn’t help smiling slightly at the rare sight of a nervous Kuroo. It was something you’d probably not see again for awhile. “And it might be a bit difficult because of the distance and all, but I was wondering if you’d possibly want to go on a date with me, and if you had fun, would you want to be my girlfriend?”

The grin that had made a place for itself on your lips was practically infectious as you tightened your grip on him. “Of course! Hell, you don’t even have to wait for the end of the first date, I’d gladly be your girlfriend, Tetsurou.”

Hugging you back once again, Kuroo pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. Though the captain was a man of science, he couldn’t help but think that maybe love at first sight was actually real.

[multifandomimagin3s]

Succubus ¬ Erron Black [Smut]

Warnings: 18+, essentially porn with a plot, demon stuff (duh)

Erron quirked a brow, hazel eyes following your form as you swiftly made your way through the crowd. The Black Dragon Fight club was infamous for its brutality - as if to prove his point, one of the ‘competitors’ hit the ground with a dull thud, laying limp in a pool of their own blood and sweat, all life leaving their form as the victor raised their hands in feral triumph. It was no place for someone as delicate-looking as yourself. 

Then again, he never underestimated women; he’d dated assassins in the past - full-blown killers, in some cases - who on the outside were as beautiful and perfect as a carefully-crafted porcelain doll. Stunning, but wouldn’t hesitate to rip you to shreds. It was how he liked it - the thrill of knowing that he could be killed by whoever he was having rampant sex with gave him the adrenaline rush he craved - at least, for a short while. 

It made him wonder if you really were as pure as you looked on the surface. To be fair, you were in amongst mercenaries, thieves, smugglers, and the like - you were obviously a brave one. The Gunslinger took a sip of his whiskey, as you side-stepped men and women alike who tried to block your path to instigate a conversation, without sparing them so much as a glance. Yep, definitely brave. 

“What brings a pretty little thing like you to a place like this?” Erron purred as soon as you were within earshot, cocking his head to the side when you turned to him in slight surprise,” Y’ come here often?”

“You tell me - you’ve been staring at me for the last ten minutes,” You retorted with a smirk, cocking your head to the side coyly. He hummed at your bluntness, staring into your (Y/E/C) eyes as you took a leisurely slow step towards him

“Just admirin’ the view, Darlin’,” He leaned back, elbow against the bar top, as you came to stand almost shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Whatever perfume you had on was...amazing; he was never a man to really care about such things - as long as those around him didn’t stink to high heaven, he didn’t care. But you smelled different - he struggled to focus on anything other than you, as if everything else didn’t matter in that moment. 

“Is that so? Aren’t you just a charmer - your reputation proceeds you.”

“And what reputation would that be?”

You bit your bottom lip with a coquettish smile, hand raising towards his holsters, index finger tracing over his gun. It was strangely attractive, his gaze trained on how small your hand was compared to the weapon - so delicate,” Word travels fast, Erron - from what I’ve heard, you’re very...efficient in more ways than one.”

He swivelled round slightly, his body effectively blocking you from view from anyone next to him. His eyes traced up and down your form, appreciating the tight clothing you adorned; a tight pale-pink dress, with a low neckline, giving him a good view of your cleavage. Paired with your heels, it left him with a sense of longing. He wanted you.

“Well, words are one thing, Dollface, but being able to prove it is another kettle of fish.”

You hummed, slowly walking your fingers across his belt, tapping your nail on the brass buckle. Erron huffed a laugh: “ You’re a forward woman, huh?”

“Are you complaining, Erron?” He shook his head ‘no’,” My species can’t afford to be soft and sweet all the time - if we were, we wouldn’t last long in this world.”

He clicked his tongue in realisation, the pieces coming together in his head. He shifted slightly on his feet,” You ain’t as human as you look, are you?”

“Yes and no - I’m a Succubus,” You informed, hand coming to rest against his lower abdomen, flashing your demonic red eyes as proof. He, unsurprisingly, was undeterred, but instead seemed more drawn in to your form than he was before,” I trust you know what that is?”

“Yeah, I know - never met one until now though,” His gaze fell to your plump lips, before coming back to your (Y/E/C) irises,” Gotta say, you’re a lot prettier than what I expected.”

You huffed on a laugh. Most of the scriptures were unflattering, to say the least - depicting you and your Succubine sisters as ugly monsters. It was demeaning, not to mention completely inaccurate. 

“I’m glad.”

His mask hid his cocky smile from view, but the crinkles around his eyes were an obvious tell. He knew why you were talking to him now - he knew how your kind fed - he just needed the conformation,” So, how does this work? Do I have t’ go crash out on that couch over there before we can have some real fun, or what?”

Your brows knitted together in irritation at his statement; it had the opposite effect that it was supposed to have, as he thought it was adorable,” No - I can’t speak for my sisters, but I certainly don’t prey on sleeping people - it’s fucking weird.”

Erron held his hand in surrender with a chuckle,” Sorry, Darlin’, my apologies...”

His hand caught yours, using it to tug your body closer to his. Your skin was unbelievably soft - it felt incredibly in comparison to his calloused hands. Erron took in your shocked expression while it lasted, the small slip in confidence giving him an ego boost. He managed to fluster a sex demon, who’d have thought it?

“Apology somewhat accepted,” You smiled, eyes half-lidded. Erron found himself becoming drunk on your pheromones, being in such close-proximity to a sinfully perfect being was intoxicating. He hadn’t even had you yet, but he didn’t want to let you go. 

“Oh? Then what’ll it take for you to fully forgive me, Babydoll?”

“I have a few ideas...”

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

Erron let out a deep groan, his fingers twisting into your hair as your mouth bobbed on his cock. He would have thanked every God and deity he knew of for having you grace his path, had his brain not been reduced to mush in your hands...and lips. He grunted, as you slowly slid back down the length of his member, tongue dragging over the vein on the underside of his cock with perfect precision. 

“Christ, you’re fuckin’ amazing, Darlin’,” Erron uttered, brow furrowing in pleasure as you hummed appreciatively, the vibrations only adding to his euphoria. His hold on your hair tightened as you peered up at him through your lashes, doe-eyed and innocent, hand stroking up and down his cock languidly. The sensation of your palm sent his nerves ablaze, so soft it was unreal, in contrast with how you slurped his sensitive head into your sinful mouth - his brain short-circuited. 

You giggled, thumb stroking over his reddening head, turning your attention to his balls, cradling them in your free hand. He hissed, teeth biting down on a clenched fist in a bid to control himself. It was undeniably hot as fuck, watching such a composed man crumble in such a way. It was addictive, your primal urges taking in the image before you hungrily, not quite satiated but damn was it beautiful. 

His hand came to push slightly on your jaw, pulling your mouth from his length with slight urgency,” Easy, Darlin’, I wouldn’t have lasted much longer if you’d kept that up.”

“What’s the matter? Couldn’t handle the pleasure, Erron?”

He huffed, warm hands latching onto your waist, tugging you down onto the mattress with him, his weight pressing you firmly into the sheets. You squirmed slightly, letting out a mewl as his hand connected with your ass with a firm slap; he grabbed the plump flesh with an appreciative hum,” You’re perfect - so hot.”

You wiggled your hips, biting your lip as you peered up at him over your shoulder. He cursed as his gaze fell onto your glistening slit, his cock twitching at the sight. Erron jumped slightly as something tickled his leg. He rocked onto his arm, peering downwards. 

Your tail trailed up his bare leg, the black appendage serving as a reminder as to what you were. His brows raised slightly, as your red irises stared up at him, the heart-shaped prong at the end of your tail tickling the inside of his thigh. You chuckled as he shuddered at the feeling,” What’s the matter? Second thoughts?”

Erron let out a groan as your tail lightly brushed against his aching cock, words leaving him for a moment as his weight rolled off you. You slowly turned, hand cradling the back of his neck, your sharp nails lightly scratching his scalp. 

You let out a whimper, the building pleasure and sexual tension sending your senses into overdrive. It was a wonderful sensation - being fed...but it wasn’t enough at the same time. Not when you’d come this far. This man would be the death of you. 

The Gunslinger smirked lazily, connecting your lips to his in a bruising kiss. You hummed - the sound turning into a squeak as his fingers traced your folds, the tip of his index finger just tickling your clit. He was teasing you - dipping into your wetness, only to draw back and leave you hanging. You caught hold of his wrist in your hand, catching his bottom lip between your teeth,” Don’t tease me.”

Erron nipped your jaw, a deep groan sounding in his chest as he sank his index finger into your pussy. Your walls tightened around his digit at the intrusion, as you threw your head back with a purr. He drew his finger back, adding his middle finger, pushing in roughly, drinking in the sight of your hips jumping to meet his palm. 

“That feel good?” He breathed into your ear, sucking on the lobe as he slid his fingers in and out at a leisurely pace. You whimpered, as his thumb stroked over your clit, his fingers bending as he sped up his movements, bumping against your g-spot harshly. He added a third finger, and you babbled his name, left hand winding into the sheets while your right gripped onto his bicep for purchase. 

“You-You’re too good at this,” Your compliment was met with a chuckle. It wasn’t often that you met someone who could make you feel as good as this - most took the pleasure you gave them, and left without reciprocating any of it. It didn’t matter much because you fed from their pleasure, not your own, but still - it wasn’t the point it was the principle. 

He pulled his fingers from your heat, licking his lips as he watched your hips all but follow the movement of his hand, whining at the loss of contact. Erron flexed his fingers, a string of slick connecting his digits to your sopping heat. You whimpered, as he lifted one of your legs onto his shoulder, biting onto the inside of your thigh playfully,” Such a pretty pussy.”

You bit your lip as he placed his tongue over your clit, rolling it across the sensitive pebble in tight circles, swiping down the length of your pussy. He hummed against your heat, his fingers sinking back into your walls with ease, massaging your spot with each in-stroke. It was a beautiful sight - watching a Succubus fall apart before him, clutching at his hair as he sucked and slurped her sweet juices. 

“Sh-Shit, I’m gonna cum!” 

The Gunslinger pinned your hips to the mattress, devouring your core like a man starved, groaning deeply as your back arched off the bed. He let you ride out your orgasm against his mouth, as you came with a shout of his name,” Holy shit.”

Erron grunted as he was suddenly flipped onto his back, your form shifting over his, straddling his hips. His hand drew back, landing a slap to your ass. You giggled, reaching back to stroke his hard cock,” You’ve been so good to me, Erron - I can’t wait to ride your big cock.”

He grinned, hands gripping onto your hips roughly as you rose upwards, aligning his head with your folds, slowly sinking down on him. Your mouth fell open in an ‘o’ shape, the sensation of being full sending you into bliss. He grunted, head falling back against the sheets as he tried to keep himself grounded,” Fuck, you’re so tight.”

Your hands pressed against his chest, as you slowly lifted yourself up, allowing yourself to feel every inch of his cock. Erron flicked his thumb against your clit, your walls clenching in response as you slid back down. The man underneath you was clearly growing impatient, as his grip assisted in quickening your pace, his hips thrusting up to meet yours with each down stroke. 

“You feel so good,” You moaned, leaning down to connect your lips to his, fingers fanning across his cheek. Erron’s stomach fluttered, as your walls tightened around him, a deep groan rumbling in his chest.

“You gonna cum again, Sweetheart?” He purred encouragingly, watching your wetness dribble down his length, pooling at his groin. 

You nodded with a squeal, as he flipped you both over, thrusting hard into your pussy, drawing your legs up onto his shoulders. His cock drove deeper, sending you tumbling into your second orgasm of the night. Instinctually, your teeth latched onto his shoulder, arms winding around his neck.

The mix of pain and pleasure were euphoric, and Erron found himself falling into his orgasm without warm, groaning gruffly with each hot spurt of his seed. You hummed, licking over the bite mark briefly; it had broken the skin, but it wasn’t deep. Erron eyed it with a cocktail of curiosity and amusement, as he noticed your apologetic smile,” Don’t worry - you’re not the first lady to bite me during sex, I’m kinda into that sort of thing.”

“Good to know,” You smirked, as he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him. You rested your head on his chest, drawing random patterns on his chest as he played with your hair. 

“Where the hell were you hiding that?” You snorted as he eyed your tail. You swished it in front of his face, the soft heart-shaped prong tickling his nose. He grasped it gently, stroking over it curiously. You let out a gasp; he froze,” Did that hurt?”

“N-No, it felt good actually...it’s very sensitive.”

He gave you a lop-sided smirk,” I’ll keep that in mind, Darlin’...are you ready for round 2?”

[bewitching-elizabeth-olsen]

Press/Gallery: Elizabeth Olsen Is Ready to Lead the MCU

An ambitious new Disney+ series might just give the strongest Avenger the happy ending she deserves.

  GALLERY LINKS

Studio Photoshoots > 2021 > Session 001

  ELLE: We can’t keep meeting Elizabeth Olsen like this. By “this,” I mean in the throes of catastrophe or bereavement, or, to put it plainly, when she’s an emotional wreck. In the 2018 Facebook Watch drama Sorry For Your Loss, Olsen assumes the role of Leigh Shaw, a young widow grappling with the unexpected loss of her husband and all the painful nuisances that come with death: the unbearable waves of sadness, the clichéd condolences, a grief support group that runs out of donuts. At one point, Leigh says through a cracked voice, “I’m just mad all the time.” It’s hard not to draw parallels to Olsen’s other angry character. After all, “mad” is exactly how 2015’s Avengers: Age of Ultron introduced us to Wanda Maximoff.

Defined by tragedy since her Marvel debut, Wanda (aka the Scarlet Witch) is an orphan with telekinetic powers. When not saving the world, she spends most of her time onscreen grieving the deaths of her parents, twin brother, or lover. Wanda’s never been allowed to fully exist outside the confines of her grief and anger, but with the launch of WandaVision—Marvel’s foray into serialized content for streaming—she may just be getting the happy ending she deserves.

Partly inspired by The Vision comic book, which follows synthezoid superhero Vision and his family as they move to the suburbs of Washington, D.C., the Disney+ series is an ode to the TV sitcoms we’ve come to love, with Wanda and Vision (Paul Bettany) basking in newlywed bliss—except Vision’s been very dead (killed twice, in fact) since the events of 2018’s Avengers: Infinity War. It’s unclear exactly how these starcrossed characters got to suburbia, but for now, it’s a delight to see the typically solemn duo sink their teeth into slapstick comedy.

“The show is like a blank slate for them,” Olsen tells me over Zoom, her light brown fringe a departure from Wanda’s red waves. The Scarlet Witch’s doleful glare is also long gone; in its place, Olsen’s eyes are wide with excitement. “Wanda and Vision’s journey to this point is a story of pure, innocent love and deep connection with another person,” she explains. “It was also very traumatizing. Tragedy has always been their story. In our show, we kind of wipe that clean and start fresh.”

But Wanda’s complicated past looms over WandaVision. Age of Ultron saw her and her twin brother, Pietro, initially opposing the Avengers (the siblings volunteered for a series of experiments with Hydra—a super evil organization within the MCU—after the deaths of their parents at the hands of Tony Stark’s Stark Industries) before switching sides to help save the Earth. The movie ends in victory for our superheroes, but yet another tragedy for Wanda when Pietro dies in battle. She finds comfort in the arms of Vision, an android created from the remains of Tony’s J.A.R.V.I.S. program, but even that bliss is short-lived. You see, Vision can only live with the help of the Mind Stone, which Mad Titan Thanos needs to take over the universe. In Infinity War, Vision asks Wanda to sacrifice him, and Wanda reluctantly agrees—but Thanos reverses time to gain control of the stone, killing the robot for a second time. Wanda’s pain is palpable: Imagine sacrificing the love of your life to save everyone else, just to watch him brought back to life and killed again—by the very villain you’re trying to defeat.

Though the thrill of playing a character with superhuman abilities is enticing for any actress, Olsen says it was Wanda’s internal battle with mental health that attracted her to the role in the first place. “[Joss Whedon] explained to me that Wanda Maximoff has always been this pillar of the struggle of mental health, from her pain and depression and traumatic experiences to how she completely alters the reality of the comics,” Olsen says of her early conversations with the Age of Ultron director. “The thing I held onto after reading the initial script was that she was not only powerful because of her abilities, but because of her emotions.”

In fact, MCU theorists would argue she’s one of, if not the, strongest Avenger. She can infiltrate the others’ minds to reveal their biggest fears (Age of Ultron). She can overpower Vision and send him plunging through several floors to break up a fight between warring superheroes (Avengers: Civil War). She can even bring Thanos to his knees, snapping his sword in half and forcibly removing his armor piece by piece (Infinity War).

Still, “they keep slapping her over the head with more grief,” Olsen quips.

As phase one of the Marvel Cinematic Universe began with the sound of clanging metal on May 2, 2008, phase four kicked off on January 15, 2021 with a kitschy 1950s sitcom theme: “She’s a magical gal in a small town locale / he’s a hubby who’s part machine / How will this duo fit in and pull through? Oh, by sharing a love / like you’ve never seen.”

With WandaVision, Marvel steers clear of the typical superhero trappings: no destructive battles at a Berlin airport or across the streets of New York City; no blonde-haired god time-traveling to other realms; no tree-like alien fight alongside a raccoon. Wandavision takes place after the events of Endgame in a fictional suburban town called Westview, and the biggest problem the newlyweds face in the show’s opening moments is creating a convincing backstory to get nosy neighbor Agnes (Kathryn Hahn) off their backs.

“They are just trying to fit in,” Olsen explains. “They’re trying to not be found out by their neighbors that they’re super-powered beings.” Now, if only we can figure out what the hell is actually going on. Olsen remains tight-lipped: “The reason it’s a sitcom shows itself later in the show,” she hints. “When Kevin [Feige] told me, it didn’t feel so bizarre. It felt like a great way to start our story.”

“With our show, you don’t know what the villain is, or if there is one at all.”

So, is Wanda stuck in the first stage of grief, denial? Has she altered reality as a coping mechanism for Vision’s death? Is she being held hostage by a terrorist organization (ahem, Hydra!)? One thing we do know is that someone is watching the couple and taking notes. At the end of episode 1, the camera pans out from a retro TV playing an episode of WandaVision (meta!) to show a hand jotting down notes. There’s a strange sword symbol on the notebook and a nearby control board, and in episode 2, the same sign appears on a toy helicopter lodged in the couple’s front yard. Later, when a mysterious beekeeper crawls out of the sewer on the couple’s street, the symbol is seen on the back of his suit. In its 20-plus movies, Marvel villains have always existed in plain sight. But with a new, less obvious darkness lurking at every turn, Wanda may have to return to her world-saving roots.

“Someone said to me when you watch any of these hero movies, you know when the villain’s about to show themselves, and you also have an idea of who the villain is,” Olsen says. “With our show, you don’t know what the villain is, or if there is one at all.” For now, WandaVision allows for glimmers of hope and optimism for Wanda and Vision, despite what darkness tries to threaten their happiness. “Wanda is trying to protect everything in her bubble, protect what she and Vision have and this experience,” Olsen says. “I think everything she does is in response to keeping things together.”

In addition to exploding the concept of the superhero onscreen, WandaVision toys with a different era of TV in each episode. The pilot takes viewers to the ‘50s with an episode filmed in front of a live studio audience, and Wanda dresses up in the quintessential housewife garb, not a hair out of place in her voluminous bob. By the time we click on episode 2, she trades in her apron and kitten heels for a more pared-down ‘60s look, while episode 3 gives a nod to the ‘70s, complete with a Brady Bunch-style staircase and a shag haircut for Vision.

While dressing up was the fun part, time-hopping through the eras required a lot of binge-watching old sitcoms to get the mannerisms down right. Olsen studied series like The Dick Van Dyke Show, The Brady Bunch, The Mary Tyler Moore Show, and Bewitched to “understand the tones of each era” and get a grasp of how Wanda and Vision should act as a couple. (One of her favorite TV pairings was Jane Kaczmarek and Bryan Cranston from Malcolm in the Middle.) She was fascinated by the way female characters evolved through the decades: “You have to learn appropriate manners—what’s considered being polite or proper. That coincides with women’s voices changing,” she explains. “I enjoyed challenging myself to match the syntax and the lyricism. I live in a very chest-register kind of deep voice. I had to remember not to bring it up at certain moments.”

For so long, Wanda served as a supporting character to Marvel’s biggest names, and the formulaic mundanity of the major theatrical releases made it easy to get comfortable. WandaVision offered Olsen a much-needed challenge. “I’ve only been working for 10 years, but there is this feeling where you start to get comfortable,” she says. “WandaVision was the furthest thing from comfortable for me. It felt intimidating. The character is a completely different thing.”

And fans hoping for a little Marvel action won’t be disappointed. “We still live up to what Marvel does,” she promises. “We just tell the story in a completely different way. It’s a very emotional, female story and it’s a story they haven’t told yet for either of our characters.” Whatever your theory is, keep the cliché condolences to yourself. No one will be uttering, “Sorry for your loss” in Wanda’s world.

Press/Gallery: Elizabeth Olsen Is Ready to Lead the MCU was originally published on Elizabeth Olsen Source • Your source for everything Elizabeth Olsen

[nice-kill-tanaka]

Hi! I read all your x readers and love them! I especially loved the Bakugou x Rough and Tough Crush, I was wondering if you do a part 2 of that one? Where the squad are trying to get the two together.

Of course Nony! Glad you liked my self indulgent work 🥰

—————

🌄Bakugo + Rough And Tough Crush: Part 2🌌

Looking for the whole set? Take Part 1 right here!

Summary: The Bakusquad gets a little sick of watching you and Bakugo pine after each other in your own...special ways. So, it was decided to devise a plan to get you two crazy kids together!!

A/N: Me, internally: First request, don’t mess it up, first request, don’t mess it up, first request, don’t mess it up, first request, don’t mess it up-

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

💥Katsuki Bakugo💥

Let’s start by looking at your end of the pining stick

When Bakugo started treating you differently (like an equal/rival rather than a hurdle to trample on) your own perspective started to shift

You now knew what it was like to be on Boom Boom Boy’s good side. And if you were being honest? It was fun as hell 🔥🔥

Nothing got under your skin very easily, so you took Bakugo’s aggressive taunts and jeers as petty opportunities to take him up on his challenges

What’s better than a free chance to get stronger??? (Mentally, emotionally, and physically)

It wasn’t very long before you began to find Bakugo’s unwavering passion and drive attractive rather than amusing. You wanted to see more of it, to draw it out, to match it

That wild and determined smirk he used past bared teeth when you bested him would really make you feel some type of way 😳

But Y/N is currently a single-brain-celled bastard in this household

My dude, you don’t even misinterpret your feelings. You're just incapable of giving them a label 😭

You just know that you have warm and fuzzy sensations in your stomach whenever Bakugo is being uniquely himself, which you mistook for indigestion on multiple occasions

Y’all are so freaking dumb it actually hurts 😭😭😭

((^^The Bakusquad’s general consensus on you and Bakugo’s mutual pining))

Which brings us to how the Bakusquad decided to go about bringing you hotheaded lovers together

Kirishima casually suggested that they let you two get together on your own, but was out-voted in favor of putting an end to the infinite frustration that came with watching two people crushing on each other and not doing anything about it

Mina and Jiro thought of the first plan:

They’d have a movie night for everyone in the friend group and Mina would conveniently choose a ✨romance✨ movie. The rest on the squad would think of lame excuses to leave in the middle of the film, leaving only you and Bakugo alone (hopefully on the same couch). If things went well, you two would be together by the end of the movie

Their reasoning was that if the concept of romance was introduced at the right time, you’d both feel more inclined to confess your own feelings 

It seemed feasible enough, so the plan was set into motion

As expected, the moment Mina pulled out the Blue-Ray box, Bakugo started to grumble about how corny the film was gonna be

But, Jiro caught a glimpse of you leaning over and muttering something to Bakugo, out of earshot of everyone else

Immediately, Bakugo began to loosen his shoulders, still not happy about the genre, but more complacent. He slouched into the couch and endured it like an adult

During the movie, especially the more romantic moments, the squad constantly stole glances towards you and Bakugo. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to look at

Bakugo, in the same position as the beginning, didn’t seem bored, but like he’d rather be doing anything else at the moment. His eyes were glued to the screen in a judgmental stare, but that he dared not say anything to ruin a certain person’s experience

You, however, looked like you were enjoying the movie! However muted your position might have looked. Though you weren’t enjoying it cause it was good. Oh no, you looked like you wanted to ✨a s c e n d✨ into orbit with laughter every ten seconds

For the sake of letting the rest of the Bakusquad enjoy the romance aspect, you limited your actions to biting your fist whenever something hopelessly cringy happened

Any longer than the halfway point, and you would’ve broken down in a fit of hysterical laughter, roasts, and jeers at the screen

Soon enough, the rest of the group made their excuses to leave the room momentarily, disappointed with their results

But, when they came back, something beautiful had occurred 

“Why the hell is she running back to the apartment?? HE CHEATED ON YOU?? KILL ‘IM??”

“SKSKSKS- Okay, but wtf is her FACE?! Is that supposed to be distress?? Freakin’ ahegao faceass.”

Bakugo was deadpan roasting the movie with an amused smirk. While you were coming after it with the gusto of Monoma coming after 1-A, snorting with every comment Bakugo made

Neither of you had even noticed everyone else come into the room

(Apparently, you had told Bakugo earlier that you two can shit on the movie all you wanted once you were alone)

Alright...not exactly the plan. But, possibly a step in the right direction

Sero and Kaminari thought of the next “plan”

I only put quotations, because it’s hardly thought out enough to call it one

It was literally just locking you and Bakugo in a closet 🤡🤡

Don’t worry Sero and Kaminari, I’ll play Taps at your funerals 🎺🎺🎺

You and Bakugo didn’t even have a genuine conversation in the closet...You were too busy yelling various profanities at your friends

“Dude, it’s really FUCKING HOT in here. Let us out while I’m still feeling nice!!”

“I’ll murder you bastards when we get out of here!!! You better start running now.”

Btw, you both ended up making it out of there on your own

You managed to deck the doorknob hard enough to break it off, giving Bakugo enough leeway to blow the door off its hinges

Bakugo took care of Kaminari, while you caught and hogtied Sero with his own tape 

You gave each other congratulatory fist bumps afterwards 😚

Despite the rest of the Bakusquad miserably failing in their schemes, their setups did help develop you and Bakugo’s relationship. Just not as fast as they hoped

You had become a pair that could laugh and fight together. Being each other’s advocate became a source of pride for you both

You were all set to become a romantic couple 

But, what actually brings you together??

Well, it went something like this:

I’m not too sure of the exact details, but I know that you and Bakugo were having an extra intense training session

Things were starting to get a bit sloppy, as your bodies were getting tired, but your morale was just as strong as ever

It could’ve just been a freak accident, or something neither of you saw coming

But, the point is: Either of you could’ve gotten really hurt, had you not been the tough cookies you are

In your perspective, you were oblivious to the danger that you had been in. And if you did know, you didn’t particularly care. You only saw that the person you cared about most in U.A. could’ve gotten hurt

The idea of that happening, and it being your fault (or, not being able to do anything about it) really rubbed you the wrong way. You were mostly angry at yourself

But, you took it out on Bakugo

Because you were the first aggressor, Bakugo responded with what he knew best: Aggression

Yes, he was absolutely mad at himself for putting you in danger. But, what made the feeling worse, was that you refused to acknowledge that you could’ve been injured as well

Your blatant lack of self-preservation pissed him off. Why couldn’t you care about yourself the way he cared about you?!

On the outside looking in, the fighting was far too intense for any peer of yours to try and break it up

Yelling, cursing, but neither of you put your hands on each other (Like you usually did when you play fought)

Strangely enough, I think that’s how you could tell the situation was serious

Finally, your emotions had reached their climax. All caution had gone to the wind at that point

You weren’t even thinking when you yelled the next thing in Bakugo’s face

“DO YOU THINK I’D FUCKING YELL AT YOU IF YOU DIDN’T MEAN THE GODDAMN WORLD TO ME?!”

“WELL FUCK YOU IF YOU THINK THAT YOU’RE ANY LESS IMPORTANT TO ME THAN I AM TO YOU.”

At that moment, you both turned away to storm off before abruptly stopping in your tracks

“What?!” You said in unison, registering what you both had heard and said

You sighed, frustrated at your own stupidity, unclenching your fists and begrudgingly explaining your true feelings to the seething object of your affections

As you spoke, you were realizing just how whipped you were for Bakugo. And how you didn’t know it until you were given the opportunity to blurt it out with pure emotion

Your words weren’t very poetic (You actually sounded very constipated), but what you said was what you felt in its rawest form

Bakugo could hardly think of what to do next. His crush was reciprocated and they confessed first??? Wtf???

His silence made you uncomfortable, and you didn’t feel like blowing up again. You huffed, shoved your hands in your pockets, and turned to stalk away, unsure of what to do next

Before you could completely turn on your heel though, you felt yourself being roughly shoved against a nearby wall

You weren’t even given time to react, because as soon as your back made contact with the wall, a warm, caramel-scented sensation met your lips

The kiss you had just registered didn’t even last two seconds, but the lingering feeling stuck with you as your brain effectively shorted out

“Yo, wh-what was that??”

Bakugo was impossibly red, one hand still on your shoulder, keeping you in place. Even though he refused to make eye contact with you, it was clear that what he had just done was completely intentional

He scoffed, voice barely above a grumble, “Damn dumbass...you didn’t even give me a chance to respond...”

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

[🌌 There you go bud! That’s one set of headcanons for the road. Hopefully it lasts for a while, but if it doesn’t, feel free to come back! I’d be thrilled to see you again.🌄] —Reagan

[panda-noosh]

against the odds {Finn Shelby x Reader}

  Words: 11.2k

 Summary: Your worlds could not be more different, but that doesn’t stop them colliding. 

 Genre: angst!

 Warnings: strong language (stronger than usual because it’s the Peaky Blinders), violence, graphic depictions of injury.

  Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! - okay we’re trying something new. let me know what y’all think :)

----

  The sound of guns shots has become something normal.

    Your mother would be absolutely mortified to hear such a thing. When you moved from London to Birmingham, she thought for sure you would be safe, hidden away in a little shack with no one to bother you. You would get on with your studies before moving on to bigger and better things, and in the beginning, that was the plan. You kissed your mother goodbye, hopped on the train and departed for a life you had all planned out.

    Small Heath isn’t the place to make dreams come true, but it’s where you ended up.

    The job at The Garrison was only meant to be part-time, but again, Small Heath is full of unexpected little mishaps. After the old barkeep, Grace, was brutally murdered at a party she herself had organised, you had been offered the job full time - and you took it.

    You took it, even though you knew with everything in you it was a bad idea. The world was falling apart around you, and it was as if the main source of this destruction came directly from inside The Garrison itself, like this tiny little pub in Birmingham was the hub for all the worlds travesties.

    Despite the little voice in your head telling you to step away, find a life elsewhere, it’s Finn Shelby that keeps you rooted behind the counter. It’s always been Finn Shelby.

    Tall, broad shouldered, built like a watered down version of his older brother, John. By name, Finn is scary, but he’s only scary because he’s a Shelby. For the first few weeks of you settling into The Garrison, you had walked on egg-shells around him, lest he suddenly draw a pistol out of his trousers like you’d seen his brothers do on multiple occasions.

    However, time went on, and things became clearer, and soon, Finn was seated in front of you when the rest of the pub was emptying, and the two of you spoke.

    About nothing. About everything. About a life outside of this mess. He’d laughed at that, and you remember the noise being so pleasant, like music to your ears, and you remember shutting those thoughts down with the harsh reminder that the man in front of you was a Shelby, meaning there would be no room whatsoever for anything like that.

     You saw more of Finn each and every day. He hardly ever speaks to you when his older brothers are waltzing about, but with the recent business with the Russians, the older Shelby’s visits are getting few and far between, meaning you see more of Finn throughout your always-busy shifts at The Garrison.

    The door slamming closed signals his arrival this evening. Having already spent a good six hours on your feet, serving the drunk and disorderly, it is a relief of the grandest kind when you look up and see Finn and Isaiah pushing through the crowd towards the bar; Finn is smiling, nudging Isaiah’s arm to which Isaiah ruffles the boys sandy blonde hair.

     “Evening, Y/N,” Isaiah says once he and Finn have finally arrived in front of you.

   “Evening,” you reply. “What are you two drinking today?”

   “I’ll have a whiskey,” Isaiah replies. “My boy here will have-”

    “Just a water,” Finn cuts in.

   Your eyes sparkle, darting up to meet his own; he’s staring right back at you, a shy smile on his face. “Just a water, Mr Shelby? You do know what time of day it is, right?”

     Isaiah has one eyebrow raised, glancing at Finn through the corner of his eye. “Have you gone fucking mental, mate?”

     Finn shrugs. “I’m not feeling good. Just a water will do fine.”

    “Alright. A whiskey and a water, coming right up.” You turn to the shelves, trying desperately to suppress the tiny smile threatening to weave its way onto your face. 

    Behind you, Isaiah’s voice is hushed but still audible when he says, “You think staying sober is gonna impress the new barkeep?”

    “I’m not impressing anyone,” Finn bites back. “I don’t need to impress anyone.”

   Isaiah scoffs. “Right. You’ve just lodged a stick up your arse for the fun of it, have you?”

    The unmistakable sound of Isaiah’s forehead smacking off the counter sounds behind you.

    “Fuck! Alright, I get it. I get it. I’ll keep my fucking mouth shut next time, yeah?”

    “Good. Next time it won’t be my hand smashing into the back of your head.”

   “Ooh, I’m shitting myself.” Isaiah is laughing when you turn back around, their selected drinks in your hand. You slide them across the counter, following close behind when you lean forward with your arms crossed. Isaiah smiles, taking a swig of his drink before he pats Finn’s shoulder and says, “I’ll be off now, anyway. That table over there is playing cards.”

    You crane your neck. “Are they really? I told them not to do that - half of them gamble their money off before they pay for their drinks. Robbing bastards.”

    “I’ll tell them to keep a few shillings spare, shall I?” Isaiah grins again, grabs your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles before he turns on his heel and heads towards the table in question. You watch him go, shaking your head slowly.

    It’s just you and Finn now.

    Finn hollows out his cheeks, swirling his water around and around and around. His hazel eyes burn into the top of the glass, as if he can somehow turn the water to wine if he stares at it long enough; his hands are scarred and bruised - old and new, mixing together against pale skin that really shouldn’t be so blemished, but is anyway. 

    You resist the urge to reach out and touch his hand, trace your fingers along the scars left behind by years of being a Shelby. There’s so much you can say to him, so many opinions you can throw at him in one go, but you don’t think he’ll listen. Maybe you don’t really want him to listen. Maybe he shouldn’t listen, because at the end of the day, he’s a Shelby brother, and you’re a barmaid. 

     Finn looks up. “You know what I’ve noticed recently?”

    You raise a brow, silently urging him to continue.

    “You don’t drink a lot. At all.” 

   “Is that a problem?”

   “No. It’s weird, though. You’re a barmaid. You’re surrounded by all this booze and you don’t touch it.”

   “Arthur will have my hands if I even think about taking from his stash.”

   Finn purses his lips, casting a glance over his shoulder. “I don’t think Arthur will notice. He’s a bit busy right now.”

     You shrug, straightening up. Your shoulders crack with the slow movement, hours on your feet finally taking a physical tole on you. “I don’t have to worry about that, anyway. I’m not a big drinker in the first place. I’m more of a tea fan.”

    Finn scoffs. “Tea?”

   Your arms fall to your sides. “What’s wrong with drinking tea?”

    Finn raises his hands in a mock pose of surrender, a shining grin forming on his face. You find yourself smiling right back, completely unable to stop yourself. “I’m not saying anything is wrong with tea. I like a cuppa myself sometimes, actually.”

   “Aye, so wipe that fucking smile off your face, Finn Shelby, before I do it for you.”

   Finn laughs, his hands clapping back against the counter. “You and what experience?”

    You roll your eyes, slapping his hand away from your arm before he can curl his fingers around your wrist in that way he always does when your conversations take a turn for the amused. “You have no right to judge my drinking habits when you have a glass of water sitting in front of you.”

    “If you want me drunk, Y/N, all you have to do is say.” With that, he takes a swig of his water, staring at you over the lip of the glass; his gaze has a warning to it, but that isn’t uncommon for the Shelby boys. Dark eyes an accessory to a personality of pure gold, you find your knees going weak beneath their scrutiny. 

    You look away, grabbing a dirty glass as way of distraction. “It’s not my job to tell you what to drink, I’m afraid. I pour the beverage, collect the money, tell the drunk twats to fuck off when I need to - and that’s it.”

    Finn hums into his glass. “Sounds fun.”

    “It pays.”

   “And that’s all you care about?”

    You look at him. “That’s all anyone in this shit hole cares about, Finn. Including you.”

   Slowly, Finn sets his glass down on the counter. You find it strange how he can down an entire glass of whiskey in two seconds flat, but struggles to make a dent in a glass of water. 

    “Money isn’t all I care about, you know,” he says. “I have. . . other things.”

    “Do I even want to know?”

    “You can ask if you want.”

    You pause, towel still stuck in the dirty glass, mind still reeling, knees still slightly unstable. “I don’t want to know. I’m too involved with you Shelby boys as it is.”

    Finn chuckles. “Is that a bad thing?”

    “Oh, it’s the worst sin of them all.”

    “May God have mercy on your-”

    Finn’s words are cut off by the gunfire.

    As earlier stated, gunfire has become something you’re not unfamiliar with. Before arriving in Small Heath, even the sound of a car back firing would have sent you scrambling for cover, unfamiliar with the sounds of violence, but now, you simply crane your neck to get a better view of what is going on.

    Thomas, John and Arthur Shelby stampede through the doors of The Garrison, John laughing his head off, Arthur yelling, Thomas strolling alongside them. John still has his gun raised towards the door, but judging by the sudden silence, none of his enemies have been left standing.

    Finally, John twirls around and laughs. “That’ll show the bastards, eh?”

    “What did you do?” Finn asks, turning to face his brothers. John immediately wraps an arm around his shoulders, pressing Finn’s face into the crook of his neck. Finn fights against the grip, pushing John away with a scowl.

    “None of your concern, Finny-boy,” says Arthur. The older man doesn’t look at you when he says, “Whiskey. Now.”

    You grab him a whiskey. 

    “Who are you sending out to clean up the bodies?” Finn asks.

    “Some of the Lee’s will take care of it,” Tommy replies. “Casualties were light this evening.”

  “I think that’s a cause for some fucking celebration!” John hollers, slapping his hand against the counter. “You’re a bit slow on it today, love. Where’s my fucking drink?”

    “Give them a bloody chance,” Finn hisses.

    You grit your teeth, handing Arthur his drink before you nod your head at John. “Sorry Mr Shelby.”

    “Whatever. Just get me a whiskey. And don’t be stingy with it, alright? I’m in a good mood tonight.”

    You do as asked, pouring a glass half full of whiskey and sliding it over the counter. You make one for Tommy, as well, even though the boss didn’t ask; he’s got his head down, staring at some pages he has now scattered across the bar, taking little to no care about the other inhabitants spread out across it. You give Mr O’Neil a pleasant, apologetic smile, and he nods because he understands perfectly well why you can’t move them; they’re the Shelby boys. They’ll sooner take their fingers off one by one before taking orders from a simple barmaid.

    “What’s that you’ve got there, Finn?” John asks.

    “Water. Don’t touch it.”

    You turn. John is glaring at Finn’s glass of water like it has just offended his ancestors, one eyebrow raised, his lips quirked in an amused smile that tells you he is seconds away from taking the piss out of his youngest brother. You hang back, watching the scene unfold in the way you’ve mastered over the past few months - looking, but not making it obvious you’re listening. 

     “Water,” John repeats, jostling Arthur’s arm. Arthur is laughing, has the decency to cover it with his own whiskey glass. “You’re on the water, are you? When’s the baby due, then?”

    “Fuck off, John.”

   John slaps the back of Finn’s head. “I’d sooner drink my own piss than touch that stuff.”

    “Don’t let me stop you.”

    John laughs. “Oooh, he’s got a mouth on him tonight, hasn’t he?”

    “The water makes him loosen up,” Arthur replies, before his eyes shoot to your own. “Or maybe it’s the barmaid. Tell me, Finn - is their mouth any good?”

    Your eyes pop open, heat rising to your cheeks. You’ve always known the Shelby brothers to have absolutely no filter, but it’s very rare you’re behind the comments they fire. You fold your arms over your chest, resisting the urge to tell Arthur to go to hell; you’ll leave that to Finn, who now shakes his head and says, “For fuck sake, can you two just mind your own business for once?”

    John wraps an arm around Finn’s shoulder and purrs in his ear. “You are our business, little brother. I’m proud you’re getting your balls drained.”

    Finn’s cheeks are coloured red by now. He keeps his eyes on the countertop, fingers moulding together to the point where there is a red mark beaming from where he rubs his thumb back and forth. “It’s not like that. Neither of you have a clue what you’re on about.”

    John’s eyes snap up. You look away, running your fingers along the glass cabinet in any attempt to keep up the facade of not caring. “Aah. They’re hard-to-get, are they? Do you forget you’re a Shelby? You can have anyone you want.”

     “I don’t want anyone.”

    You bite your lip, turning your back on them. 

    John laughs. “Right. Well, when the hormones finally hit and you start getting blue-balls, just keep in mind that we run this place. We’ll get you sorted.”

     Finn doesn’t reply. Part of you is glad he hasn’t, because his response would only lead to further discussion into something you certainly do not want discussed; John and Arthur continue their celebrations throughout the night, requesting more and more drinks, making more and more crude jokes. Tommy laughs along with them sometimes, but he can handle his drink much better than they can. Every now and then you will look over to the Shelby table, note Finn’s uncomfortable demeanour, before catching Tommy’s eye. It startles you every time, and you never keep the eye contact long enough to figure out what he wants - just long enough to acknowledge that it’s not an accident. He’s analysing you.

    When it comes to Tommy Shelby, that can’t be good.

    ----

     The light is dim in your flat.

     The bulb is on it’s way out, and you know that. If you hold off buying another one for any longer, you will be left shrouded in darkness for the evenings - and you’re not home during the day any more. Nonetheless, you pretend it’s fine when you get home. Another day spent dealing with drunken idiots, though Finn didn’t show up tonight, which made the night a little bit worse. 

     You turn on the record player, put it on it’s softest volume before you tug your robe from your shoulders and step into the bath. There is a cup of tea sitting on the desk beside you. The curtains are closed, your bed awaiting your arrival. You are determined to relax tonight. You think you deserve it.

     You don’t wash yourself. Instead, you spend the time just staring up at the ceiling, a cigarette between your fingers. You trace the patterns indented in the roof, notice the damp spots that will soon make you cough if you don’t take care of them - yet another maintenance issue to add to the ever-growing list. You don’t even know where to start; the idea of going out after work to buy light bulbs, or ventilation, or a new set of curtains - it’s daunting when you’ve seen what these streets can be like. In the day time, perhaps it’s not so bad. People walk around Small Heath in the day light all the time, but you’re always working when the sun is out; the only time you can go out is at night, and you’re not stupid enough to risk that.

    You close your eyes, sliding lower beneath the warm water. Your feet pop up over the edge of the basin, and you wiggle your toes against the cool air that attacks them, a direct contrast to the bubble-less water you’re currently soaking in. You want to stay there until your fingers are wrinkled, until the water is cold and there is no pleasure to be taken from it any longer. 

    You want to disappear beneath the water forever, never resurface. Not dead, but not present, either. 

     These thoughts get to you sometimes. Ever since leaving London, they appear at the most random of moments; you wouldn’t describe yourself as a very sad person. You’ve struggled, and you are struggling, but life is good. For the first time ever, you have a steady wage, and you can afford things. For the first time ever, you have friends you can genuinely joke around with, regulars at The Garrison who have already sworn to protect you with their life purely because you know just the amount of tonic water to top their whiskey with.

    But anyone will agree - disappearing forever is much easier than dealing with life. It doesn’t matter how happy you are. 

     These thoughts are cut off by a knock at your door. You immediately bolt upright, water sloshing over the side of the bath. Your eyes dart to the door, mouth opening, words of welcome on the tip of your tongue, but they are blocked by the anxiety coursing through you right now.

    And then, “Y/N? Open up.”

    Your throat closes over, the familiar voice of Thomas Shelby startling you into action. You don’t waste time pondering on why the fuck he’s decided to visit you. You just hop out of the bath, snatch your robe and tug it over your shoulders before opening the door. You grip the front of your robe with one hand, your other hand curled protectively against your chest.

    Because there he is. The most feared man in Small Heath. The most feared man in Birmingham. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was the most feared man in the United Kingdom.

    He’s not a tall man, but his personality gives him a good foot in height, in your eyes. With his shoulders drawn back and his daunting, ice-cold stare, the fact that most men are taller than him does not factor in on the fear he emits from people. He’s wearing a nice suit - as per usual - and there is very little expression on his face. His eyes roam your form for a second before he sighs and says, “Bad time?”

    “Yes.”

   He pushes into the house, nudging you out of the way with nothing more than a clip of his shoulder against your own. “That’s a shame. Have you got whiskey?”

    You swallow, slowly closing the door behind him. The music still plays softly in the background. Tommy rummages through the tea set-up you have laid out, frowning when he realises you don’t have any alcohol for him to consume.

    “I have tea,” you reply, hovering by the door in case you need to make a run for it. He’s trying not to be threatening, but the outline of a pistol is so prominent against his waistcoat. 

    Tommy glances at you. “I’ll have tea then.”

   You gesture towards the tray. “It’s all there.”

   “I pay you to pour my drinks.”

   You tap your empty wrist. “Off the clock, Mr Shelby. Pour your own drink, or dehydrate for all I care.” You fold your arms. “What are you doing here?”

    Tommy sighs, pouring himself a cup of tea - no milk, no sugar. “I’m here on behalf of my brother - young Finn.”

    Your heart stops for a brief moment. “Finn sent you?”

   “No.” He takes a long, loud sip of his drink. “Finn seems to have become quite. . . mute when it comes to matters concerning you.”

     “You shouldn’t tease him, you know. He’s a nice boy.”

   “He’s a Shelby. None of us are nice.” Tommy sits down, runs his fingers along the broken curtains behind him. “He’s just nice to you, which is why I’m here.”

    You raise a brow. 

    Tommy looks over at you, shakes his head when he sees your confused expression. “You’re aware of the work Finn is involved in, yes?”

    You don’t reply. It’s response enough.

    “Good,” says Tommy. “Then you’ll know the risk you’re taking by getting involved with him.”

  Your eyes widen. “Mr Shelby-”

   “Call me Tommy.”

   “Mr Shelby, Finn and I aren’t involved. We talk when he comes to The Garrison, but it’s nothing more than that. I talk to everyone that comes to The Garrison.”

  Tommy takes another long, loud sip of his tea. You want to slam the entire tea kettle into his fucking skull. 

    He sighs, content, when he finally sets the cup down. “I have a question, Y/N.” He flicks his eyes up. “Do you think I’m fucking stupid?”

    You freeze. “What?”

    “Finn doesn’t just talk to people. He knows his own business just as well as anyone else - he knows it can never just be talking when it comes to people outside the Peaky Blinders. Our enemies will find his weak spots, and they will use that against him. I’m afraid, Y/N, you are definitely one of his weak spots.”

    Your heart is beating so loud, a symphony in your chest. Your palms are sweating, and suddenly the heat from the steam is overwhelming. You swipe a hand over your forehead, biting your lower lip when you say, “No one has come to hurt me if that’s what you’re worried about. Nobody will come to hurt me, because I’m the fucking barmaid. I’m not your little brothers play thing.”

    Tommy smiles. Smiles, like he’s amused. “I never said you were. In fact, I think Finn sees you as everything but a play-thing. He’s always been the naive one of us - I think he believes in true love.”

    “And do you not, Thomas Shelby? You had a wife once, no?”

   Tommys smile fades, replaced by that familiar deadly look that - somehow - you’re much more comfortable looking at. When Thomas Shelby is smiling, he’s unpredictable. At least you’re used to his scowl.  

     He bites the inside of his lip and looks into his tea cup. “I came here to tell you that - for your own safety - you need to stay away from him. Break his heart. Do whatever it takes, because the business we’re involved in right now is no place for you. And you will get involved if this little thing with Finn continues.”

    “How many times do I have to tell you? There’s nothing between me and Finn. You’re wasting your time.”

    Tommy slowly stands up, setting his cup on the side. He glances at the bath water, the dim lamp turned on in the corner, the broken curtains. He purses his lips, points to the ceiling and says, “I’ll send someone over in the morning to fix some things in here.”

    “I don’t need your charity.”

   “No.” He starts towards the door. You move out of his way, keeping your eyes trained on the floor when he leans in and says, softly, “But this place needs to look decent if I want it taken over when the Russians get rid of you.”

    ----

     Every person walking through the door is an enemy.

    That’s the power Thomas Shelby has. He twists your brain. He puts you on edge. He makes every person a threat.

    Your hands tremble when you pass the glass across the counter. Your voice shakes when you laugh at the inappropriate joke told by the man you’ve seen everyday for the past three months - he’s an alcoholic, you’re pretty sure, and you sometimes feel bad for being the person serving him his addiction, but right now, you look into his eyes and you see nothing but motive, motive, motive.

    He wants to kill you. The person over at that table wants to kill you. 

    Thomas Shelby probably sent them. A warning. A way for you to understand he isn’t messing around. Whatever you and Finn have - it needs to stop before things get out of hand.

    You inhale deeply, leaning your head against the glasses case. Behind you, the pub is thick with people, the evening crowd bustling through the doors at speeds you can’t keep up with. It’s strange, really; you’ve been doing this job for months now, and never before have you lacked. You’re always on your toes, skilled in talking to people, providing drinks right on time. But today, things are different. You can’t concentrate. You have to ask people to repeat their orders.

     Nothing is right. Everyone is an enemy. 

    “And what the fuck has got into you this evening?”

    You close your eyes, Isaiah’s voice making you tense. “Is Finn with you?” 

    “No. Little Boy Shelby had a family meeting to go to. Left us both for dead.” Isaiah racks his knuckles against the counter. “You didn’t answer my question.”

    You turn. Isaiah sits at the bar, that jovial smile on his face. As soon as your eyes meet his, however, it morphs, shaping into something close to concern. He’s a Peaky Blinder, though, so you aren’t really sure what way to take it.

    You hollow out your cheeks, closing the gap between you and him. You lean against the counter, ducking your head down. “Thomas fucking Shelby.”

    Isaiah sighs, placing a hand on the back of your neck. “What’s he done now?”

    “Nothing. He’s done. . . Well, he’s done what he always bloody does.” You look up, around, shrink back down against the counter. Lowering your voice, you say, “You didn’t exactly go into detail about how bad this whole Russian deal is.”

    Isaiah pulls back. “Tommy was talking about the Russians?”

   “Tommy was talking about me and Finn.”

    “Right. . . And that has to do with the Russians, how?”

    You raise a brow. Isaiah examines your face for a second before the realisation dawns on him; he pulls back, that cheeky smile forming on his face again. You roll your eyes, grabbing his wrist to yank him forward.

    “He’s talking shit, Isaiah. You and me both know that Finn and I are just mates.”

    Isaiah scoffs low in his throat. You wack him round the ear.

   “We are!”

    “Maybe you think that,” Isaiah argues. “But Finn has a special place in his cold dead heart for you.”

    You shake your head; you’ve heard it all before, and it still doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t seem real. Finn is a Shelby boy through-and-through. Shelby boys don’t fall in love with barmaids. Shelby boys don’t fall in love at all.

    But then you remember Grace. Sweet, kind, understanding Grace who managed to sweep Thomas Shelby off his feet with nothing more than a purring accent and an attitude. She was close to the complete opposite of Thomas Shelby, and yet she had his heart in her grasp.

    But you’re not like that. You’re not another Grace. Whatever she had, you don’t have it.

    “Yeah, well,” you mutter, pulling away from Isaiah. “You’re no fucking help, are you?”

    “I’m telling you the truth. What did Tommy say to you?”

   “Is that any of your business?”

    Isaiah rolls his eyes. “Don’t get bitchy with me now. You’re the one looking like the fucking mafia have their guns to the back of your head.”

     “Keep your voice down!”

  “Or what?” Isaiah swivels round in his chair, doing a dramatic overview of the crowded pub. You squeeze your eyes closed, raking hands through hair matted from long hours trapped in a room full of smoking alcoholics. 

    Isaiah turns back to you, one eyebrow raised. “Y/N, what has Tommy got you so afraid of?”

    Opening your eyes, you regard him with what you hope is a brave look; you don’t want to make your fear obvious, but it is, because it’s there and you can’t push it away. Thomas Shelby’s voice is playing on a continuous loop in your brain, the warning that once meant nothing to you only just now reaching its full potential in your head.

     “He’s just being Thomas Shelby,” you mumble. “You know how he is.”

    Isaiah opens his mouth to say something more, but is cut off when Charlie pokes his head round the door. “Oi, Y/N. We need some more rum from the back room.”

    You scowl. “I’m a bit busy out front, Charlie-”

    “I’ll take over. I hate the smell of that fucking stuff.”

   You roll your eyes, nod a quick goodbye to Isaiah before pushing away from the counter and heading into the back room of the pub. It’s only small, filled to the brim with multiple wooden containers that hold all types of beer and alcohol. The stench of bleach fills your nostrils, and you succumb to pulling your shirt over your nose to block it out.

       Pushing crates of alcohol out of the road, you make your way to the back of the room where you know the rum is stored. You quietly curse Charlie under your breath, curse Thomas Shelby, and the Russians and everyone who is currently making your life a complete misery, because there’s just something about finally being alone that gives room to all the thoughts you’ve been trying to avoid.

     Clink.

    You freeze.

    The echo sends goosebumps up your arms. Your hands still against the wood of a single crate, fingers curling. The air grows still, and suddenly you are made well aware of the gaze burning into the back of your neck.

   It is replaced by the cold kiss of metal.

    You inhale sharply, bolting up straight but you don’t dare move. You stay rooted there, trying desperately to gather some coherent thoughts that will help you out of this situation, but nothing besides white noise comes to the surface. You’re going to die. Tommy was right. The Russians have pinpointed you, and there’s no going back now.

     “You didn’t even scream,” a cold Russian accent purrs. It’s low, so close to your ear. You nearly jump with the unexpected proximity, but it’s as if the gun has pinned you down. “I don’t know why I expected any different - the Shelby boys like the brave ones, yes?”

     “I’m just the barmaid.” Your voice shakes. At this point, you don’t even care.

    Your captor laughs. “Oh sweetie, I know. And I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

   “It doesn’t. You’re wasting your time. I don’t have any information-”

    “Who told you I’m looking for information?”

   You clench your teeth, squeezing your eyes closed. “What else could you possibly want from me?”

    It’s quiet for a split second. The air is suffocating. The walls are drawing impossibly closer, and you’re certain you’re going to faint with the sudden onslaught of unexplainable heat rushing to your face. 

    The Russian leans in. His lips are inches from your ear, barely brushing the lobe when he says, “Loved ones make fine bait, don’t you agree?”

    His question goes unanswered when he slams the gun into the back of your head, and the darkness pours in.

    ----

     The ropes have already done more damage than you’re comfortable with.

    Indents in your wrist. A bloody indent in the back of your head. Throat hoarse from yelling, crying out for a mercy you know you will not get; there is only one way this can end. Finn will come barrelling through that door with his band of merry men, and you will be dragged from these pits through gunfire and death.

    Or you’ll get killed.

    Neither of the options are appealing. You don’t want Finn throwing himself into danger, but in the same breath, you don’t want to never see him again. You have things you want to say to him. You have things you need to say to him, because if you’re about to die, you don’t want to die with this weight on your shoulders.

     Blood drips from the cut above your eyebrow. You blink it away, throwing your head back to let out another strangled cry for attention; so far, the only people who have entered your cell are the people assigned to injure you - only little cuts; a slit above the eyebrow, bending your finger back just a little bit, tugging on a tooth just enough to make you fear them ripping it from your skull entirely.

    It’s a weird form of torture, but it’s certainly working. You feel the pain tenfold when it bombards you few and far between. The cut on your forehead throbs. Your fingers ache with strain. Your gums have already started swelling from the prodding they’ve been given these past few hours.

    Few hours. Time isn’t real any more. You’re locked in a windowless room with only a metal table and a single chair placed within it. The world could be burning outside, and you would be none the wiser.

    The door opens again. A tall, grey-haired man in a lab coat walks in, smiling  with a set of teeth too perfect for the head they’re moulded in. His steps are sure and professional - he’s done this before. He probably thrives off it.

     “How are you?” is the first thing he asks.

    You spit blood on the concrete.

    He nods, kneeling down beside your chair to double check the bindings. His fingers are warm against your cold wrists, and you silently curse the sudden desire for him to just wrap them around your own and never leave - the cold is eating you alive. This tiny taste of warmth makes you crazy.

     “Another hour has passed,” he explains. “It seems we might be forced to take things into high gear.”

    Your eyes snap up. You say nothing, but the question glows in your eyes nonetheless.

    The man nods like you’ve replied. “We’re going to start sending the letters out. Details. And we’re not known for being liars, so we’re going to have to rough you up a little bit more to really make the Shelby boys quake, yes?”

    You stare at him. You hate him. You hate him, and he’s smiling, and you would do anything for the opportunity to reach over and claw those glowing eyes from his fucking skull.

    He smiles again. “Don’t worry. The sooner your boy comes through that door, the sooner this can all stop.” He slowly stands up straight. “Let’s just hope he gets here before the blood loss gets too much, yes?”

     “Why don’t you just kill me?”

   You hadn’t even realised that was a thought you were having; it seems so desperate, so close to the edge of giving up that it feels wrong to even think. But your head is throbbing. Your mind is numb. For the first time in your life, death doesn’t seem like a bad thing.

    The Russian’s smile slips. He tilts his head to the side, regarding you with beady eyes the colour of cracked pottery. “Don’t get it twisted, little one. We don’t enjoy doing this - but we have business.”

    “Oh, fuck you! That’s your excuse?”

    “That’s the truth.” He tugs on your bindings, forcing them deeper into your cold flesh. You squeeze your eyes closed, a trickle of blood tracing its way down your hand. “We don’t enjoy doing this, Y/N, but if you keep this up, you’ll definitely make it easier.”

     You shake your head. “I told your man back at The Garrison that this is a waste of time, and it is. The Peaky Blinders don’t give a fuck about me - they never have. They’ll see I’ve disappeared and put up a vacancy for a new barmaid. That’s all the attention they’ll give me.”

    “Oh, but we both know that’s a lie. Young Finn Shelby has already taken an interest in you. He’s already given you much more attention than what you describe.”

     “Finn likes a chat. So does any drunkard on a Saturday night.”

    And then the first blow hits.

    Unexpected, uncalled for. You don’t have time to beg for mercy before his wrinkled fist is smashing into your nose, your head crashing against the wall behind you, blood immediately clogging your nostrils. The noise that escapes your mouth is guttural, gargled from the blood that rises in the back of your throat; he caught your lip, too. 

    “I don’t like liars.” He steps back, rolls up his white sleeves. That smile is gone from his face, replaced by an angered scowl. “Lying will get you nowhere here, little one. It’s only going to make you look like a fool.”

    You try saying something, but blood pools over your lips and the words are caught within the platelets, drowned beneath a pained grunt.

     “Sometimes it’s just easier to know you’re place,” he continues. “Feel free to scream if you so wish, but that was the last lie I want to hear from you today, do you understand?”

    You spit blood onto the concrete again. “Fuck you.”

    He drags the knife from his sleeve.

    ----

    “The letter has been sent. They should receive it within the next half hour.”

    The man - Igor, you’ve learned - nods. Still, his sleeves are rolled to the elbows. Your blood mats the dark hairs running along his arms. His smile has returned.

    He’s got what he wanted.

    You can’t lift your head. Blood dribbles from your swollen lips. Two fingers on your left hand have been snapped for no reason other than they are bone, and Igor is merciless. Cuts and bruises dot your face, your body. Your shirt is ripped, sliced from the blade currently sitting idle in Igor’s hand. He’s taken a break, the letter has been written, and the Peaky Blinders will soon hear word of your stupidity.

    Tommy will read the letter and laugh. You know he will. He’ll look at the details, and he’ll imagine your bruised and battered body, and he’s going to say what Thomas Shelby always finds pleasure in saying: “I was right.”

    And he was. The little bastard was right the entire time.

    “It takes an army, you know,” says Igor, waving his little helper off. The door slamming closed behind him makes you jump. “To do this, to really rile us up to this point. It takes an army.”

    He approaches you slowly. His heels click off the concrete, silenced only when he kneels beside you. The stench of his breath fills your senses, a mix of smoke and alcohol - something you’re all too familiar with.

    “You must realise how far Thomas Shelby and his men have pushed us,” Igor continues. “We protect our own. You understand that, don’t you?”

    You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.

    Igor runs his thumb along your swollen bottom lip, examines the blood before wiping it on his unstained handkerchief, pulled from the inside pocket of his blood stained lab coat. “I wish to be friends with you when this all ends.”

    You squeeze your eyes closed.

    “You lied to me a few times, but I can get past that. As I said before, Y/N, it takes an army to rile us up - not a few tales told in the moment. So I hope when this is all through, you can look past the corpse of your lover and see our side of things.”

    Your head snaps up. Pain bounces through your skull, but you push past it to say, “Corpse?”

    Igor smiles, slow and thin. “Finn is a Peaky Blinder.” Not a question, because Igor has done his research. “They must all go, Y/N. All of them. No matter how innocent they seem.”

    “Please don’t.”

    “I will not argue this point with you.” He stands up, brushing imaginary lint off his coat, as if it’s not covered in blood. “I’ll leave you to rest until we get some kind of response.”

    “If you get a response,” you spit. “I told you-”

    “We’re not wasting our time,” Igor says. “Having you in our company will never be a waste of time.” 

    He offers you one final grin, one final chance to tell him you understand, before he turns on his heel and walks out the door.

---

    In the moments before death, you may take a moment to look back upon the life cut short.

    Regrets, pleasures, happiness - all of it will come rushing back to you in a single, fatal blow. Faces of loved ones will flash through your mind, all smiles and scowls and inside jokes. Their voices will echo. The feel of their hands against your skin will tingle against the flesh now rotting away as death takes its patient, steady strides towards you.

     This moment can be seen as a blessing or a curse. A good farewell, or a waste of time. 

     You sit with your head hung, blood matted hair falling against your blood stained cheeks. Your head thuds, but not enough to push the image of his face away.

     Finn Shelby was never meant to be the last person you ever thought about, but you’re almost certain that is how it’s going to end up.

     His smile, always timid because he’s a Shelby and Shelby boys aren’t meant to smile. You remember sitting behind that bar, trying desperately to find something that amused him, some inside joke the two of you could share together - just to see him smile. Just to see him break the hard mould his brothers have always set him in.

     You recall him walking through the doors of The Garrison almost every evening. Sometimes he would be alone. Sometimes he would have Isaiah with him, or some other threatening member of his brothers motley crew; it didn’t matter who accompanied him, though. His eyes always found yours, his stride always led to you, his final goodbye for the night was always pressed into your hand for you to take to bed. 

    And you always claimed you didn’t love him. It was easier that way. You have an idea that most people who find themselves feeling things for any of the Shelby boys will much rather live in denial than admit their feelings. That was the mindset you took; it’s safer to ignore them. It’s safer to pretend you just care for Finn as a friend might care for a friend.

     But you’re dying. There’s no reason to deny anything any more. 

    Your head rolls back, cheek pressed against your shoulder. In the distance, you can hear the Russians talking. They stand outside the door, discussing things in a language you do not know, making decisions about a life slipping away. One of them bites into an apple, and they make it so loud and so obvious, and your stomach starts growling in response.

    You won’t be able to eat anyway. Not when everything will taste like your own blood.

    You settle your mind on the sound of Finn’s voice. It blocks out everything else, giving you a nice distraction to latch onto until things end. Your wrists ache, and your body is going numb, but in the back of your mind, Finn is telling you it’s all going to be alright, promising a life beyond this moment. You close your eyes, let your head fall to your chest-

    And then the gunshots sound.

    A noise once familiar now jolts you upright. Your heart spirals, thumping against your rib cage in a manner close to dangerous. People are yelling. In two seconds flat, the calm and quiet of wherever the fuck you are is shattered.

    “Shit,” you whisper through swollen lips and blood. “Shit, shit, shit.”

    Something has happened. The Peaky Blinders, maybe, but your brain goes directly for the worst case scenario - it’s not them. They don’t care about you. This is the Russians. Maybe they’ve got impatient. They might be wiping each other out. You don’t know. You’ve never dealt with this kind of thing before.

    You stir in your seat, ignoring the burning pain flaring in your wounded wrists. The ropes are slippery, the blood curling around the fibres, and you can feel them shifting, but you’re too weak to slip them off. You thrash back and forth, biting back the scream of frustration just seconds before the chair tips to the side, dragging you with it.

    You cry out, bruises and scrapes being knocked against the cold concrete. Black dots burst behind your eyes, and you’re certain this is it. These black dots are going to overwhelm you, take over everything until that pretty bright light appears in the distance, an angel coming to take you home.

     But you don’t want to die. No part of you wants to die. The pain isn’t bad enough. The circumstances aren’t scary enough for you to crave death; not when the memories you were pondering on before are so strong, so bright, everything you want and aren’t willing to give up.

     You curl your knees into your chest, squeezing your eyes closed to block out the sound of the gun shots. You remember all those evenings in The Garrison, simply rolling your eyes when John or Arthur or Tommy would come skidding through the front doors, gunshots following close behind. Back then, in that setting, it was so normal. It was an everyday occurrence. In Small Heath, people are meant to die. Wars are meant to be fought. Enemies are meant to be-

     “Y/N?”

    Your eyes pop open. A sob falls from your lips. You’re trembling.

   “Finn!” you cry out. “Finn!” 

    The door is thrown open, locks wasted, security obliterated. In the hallway, people yell and scream, and gunshots are fired left, right and centre, but suddenly, all of it is just background noise. 

   Finn is here. He slides to his knees, dropping the gun that is far too big for him. He pulls the strap away from his shoulder, throws it to the side before he grabs his knife and cuts into the ropes binding your wrist to the chair. You gasp as soon as you’re free, crawling to your knees only to fall directly into his already-open arms.

     You sob into his shoulder. Your body aches. The world is tilting, and blood is pouring from a slit in your eyebrow, right down the side of your face. Finn holds you close, whispers in your ear words that you cannot hear. You just focus on his voice, the lull of it, how each syllable shakes as it passes his lips.

    He pulls away, holds you at arms length. His eyes scan your face, thumbs tracing a line down the side of it. His fingers pull away bloody, and at the sight of it, his own skin pales.

    “You have to get out of here,” he says. “You have to get out of here now.”

    He scrambles up, dragging you with him. You wince, but you know you have no other choice; you need to move fast or risk getting shot, wasting this second chance you’ve so mercifully been given. 

    He drags you towards the door, where the gunshots are loud and the smell of death is pungent. You wince, letting Finn drag you into the blood smeared hallways-

    Where he passes you right to Isaiah.

    You flinch away, neck twisting round just in time to catch the moment Finn starts walking in the other direction. It’s confusion at first, followed by anger, followed by panic that sees you reaching out and grabbing his wrist before he can get very far.

    He ducks his head down, gun dangling around his neck. “Let me go, Y/N.”

   “No. You’re coming with me. You’re getting out of here, too.”

    “They nearly killed you.” He turns, running his eyes over your injured form. You’re slouched against Isaiah, one eye swollen, but not enough to shield your obvious hesitance at letting Finn go in there on his own. “I’m the one who’s pulling the trigger this time. I told Tommy that when we walked in.”

    “You don’t have to - Finn, you don’t have to do any of that. Leave it to Tommy.”

  “I told him this,” Isaiah says. “The shithead didn’t listen.”

  Finn whirls round, pointing a finger right in Isaiah’s face. “And you can shut the fuck up, alright? These men came for me. They came for my loved ones - I’ll be the one to sort them out, and that’s the end of it.” He pushes Isaiah. You stumble to the side, scrambling for his wrist, but Finn pulls away before you can get a hold on him again. “Get them out of here. I’ll meet you back at The Garrison.”

   “Yes boss,” Isaiah grunts. He starts pulling you away. You start yelling, thrashing around in his grip as much as your injured limbs will allow, but there’s no point to it. Finn turns on his heel and starts down the hallway, marching towards the area where the gunfire is still going off, where blood is still being spilled, where there is every risk he might be added to the long list of corpses found later on.

    You let Isaiah drag you from the building, because it’s all you really can do right now. Your body is giving in, the pain coming back in full force when he drags you out of the building and into the sunlight. You fall to the side as soon as Isaiah lets go of your arm, stumbling in the grass with a gasp. You grip your arm, curling fingers along the slitted knife wounds running the length of your flesh.

    Isaiah drops to his knees beside you. “What did they do to you?”

    “You’re an idiot,” you choke out through a wince. “A fucking idiot! You let him go back in there on his own!”

    Isaiah pulls back, eyes wide in disbelief. “You’re blaming me? He’s a Shelby, Y/N! A stubborn bastard.”

    You groan, shaking your head. “We need to go back. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know how dangerous they are-” You stumble to your feet. Isaiah catches you just seconds before you crumble to the floor all over again.

    Tears leak from your swollen eyes, the world spinning. There’s a bed of water just a few feet away, and the sight of it reminds you of your dry mouth. A boat bobs within it, Charlie ready to take you home. You meet his eyes and he waves, but there is none of his usual enthusiasm; he just looks startled, eyes wide as he takes in your battered form.

    Isaiah tugs on your arm, drawing your attention back to him. “Finn will kill me if I don’t get you back home in one piece, love. So do me a solid, yeah? Just this once.”

    You close your eyes. “I don’t think - I don’t think I have much of a choice.”

  “What are you - ay, no. Open your eyes, Y/N. Stay with me!”

    But it’s too late. The world is spinning. The gunshots echo inside a head that suddenly feels much too heavy for your shoulders. It falls against Isaiah’s shoulders, and then he starts yelling, hands scooping you up. He barrels across the grass towards the boat, Charlie yelling out questions you cannot even begin to comprehend. Isaiah is yelling something back, voice hectic, but again, it slips through one ear and out the other.

     It’s a relief when the darkness finally settles in.

    ----

    Your body aches. 

   Bones out of place, blood pooling in the back of your mouth, the taste of ash and death licked from your teeth. Memories cling to the surface, perched on the shock of still being alive.

    The hospital room is lit only by a tiny lantern set upon the table beside your bed. In the air, there is a single cloud of grey, swirling from the soft lips of Thomas Shelby to the roof high above your head. 

     The mob boss sits beside you, legs folded at the knee, eyes trained on a magazine. Between his lips is a cigarette that he now takes a heavy puff from, draining the life from it in the way you’re certain he has drained the life from so many human beings.

    You should be intimidated, demanding answers to a situation you don’t even really want to ponder right now. But instead, you glance over, swiping a lazy hand across your eyes. Thomas flicks his own eyes up, acknowledges your rousing state and goes back to his reading.

     “You’re not the right Shelby.”

    “I’m afraid you have to go through me before I can put you through to Finn.”

   “What are you doing here, Tommy?”

    He looks at you then. Ice blue eyes carved into a face of pure steel; it’s a lie. His entire expression is a lie, something to throw you off balance. He smiles, and he tilts his head, and he hardly ever raises his voice, but behind that casual demeanour is a demon - a demon you’re growing to respect.

    “They told Finn you might not make it,” he says. 

    Your heart stutters. “Good.”

    “But you’re alive.”

   “Also good.”

    “You should have listened to me, Y/N. You’ve dug yourself too deep into this to crawl out now.”

    You shrug. It’s a lazy gesture, one that certainly does not encompass the real emotions clawing to the surface right now. The world is coming back into view. Recollections of what happened are prying, trying to get you to give them an attention you really cannot afford to give them at this moment.

     Tommy sighs, setting the magazine aside. He even has the decency to quash his cigarette in the ashtray before he leans forward, elbows pressed into his knee. “Finn wants to see you.”

     “He made it out alive then?”

  “Did you think otherwise?”

  You tap your temple. “I was a little too out of it to be focusing on Finn Shelby.” A lie, but you don’t need to tell Tommy that.

    Because he probably already knows.

    “I want to see him, too,” you reply, voice quiet. “I just - I want to make sure he’s okay.”

   Tommy tilts his head. “He’s not in this hospital beside you.”

   “Where is he then? Bleeding out back at the Shelby headquarters? Left to die because he didn’t listen to his all-mighty older brother?”

    Tommy doesn’t even flinch at your tone of voice. He simply plucks a second cigarette from the tin case in his pocket and hands it to you; you take it, do not place it to your lips. “I didn’t make a mistake in telling you to stay away from Finn. Clearly, my warning was made with sense. None of this would have happened if you listened to me.”

    “No, Tommy,” you say. “None of this would have happened if you didn’t get involved with the Russians in the first place.”

  And for the first time, Tommy looks genuinely shocked. His eyebrows shoot up for only a single second, his lips parting before he snaps them closed and turns away, glancing at the door of the hospital. His jaw clenches, Adams apple bobbing as he swallows down whatever words of hostility he had set out for you.

    And then, his voice low, “I don’t know what power you have over Finn, but he won’t listen to me. Nothing I say - nothing I do - will make him see sense. He wants to see you.”

    “And I want to see him. Where is he?”

    “Back home. He doesn’t know I’m here.” Tommy looks up. “He thinks you’re dying, Y/N. We’ve made an effort to keep him away.”

     “I appreciate the sentiment, Thomas, but it isn’t needed. I’m alive. I’m - I’m okay.” You place your hands on your ribs, bruised and battered, halfway to broken. “Let me see him.”

      “When you’re healed,” Tommy replies. He starts to slowly stand, all long legs and expensive suits. He brushes a hand through his hair before placing his flat cap back on his head, and all you can do is watch his gracious movements when he plucks your unlit cigarette from your fingers, places it in his own mouth and heads towards the door.

    “Tommy,” you bark, stopping him in his tracks. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t reply, but the acknowledgement is enough for you to continue. “You were right. It’s my relationship with Finn that threw us in the shit. But just ‘cause you’re right, doesn’t make my relationship with Finn wrong.”

     His fingers curl around the cigarette tin in his hand. For a second you think he might humour you, respect you enough to turn and give you some kind of response, but he does no such thing. He simply starts walking again, slamming the door closed behind him.

    ----

    Being out in Small Heath at night is dangerous. It was once an action you never would have even considered.

   Now, however, with your battle scars throbbing and your mind a blur of painkillers and hostile memories, you don’t care. You pull your knees into your chest, leaning on the wall of the small building you call home. The children no longer roam the streets; the carriages have been parked up for the night. Above you, the moon blinks, asking you what on earth you think you’re doing sitting in the open like this, when the rapists and murderers are at their optimum.

    You take a sip of your tea. Well, Mr Moon. I don’t care.

    Tommy kept his word, of course; stumbling into your house for the first time in two days, the first thing brought to your notice was the new bulb in your lamp and the new curtains set up against the window. The roof was painted a fresh white over the course of your absence; Tommy had left a single note on the mantelpiece: “Sleep well.”

    What it means, you don’t know, because it obviously isn’t just a casual, light hearted message to welcome you back. Thomas Shelby isn’t like that.

   Through the silence, it is easy to hear the footsteps sidling up beside you.

   In the darkness, you stiffen, hands curling round your mug. You don’t look up to see the persons face, but a single glance to the left reveals all; you would recognise those polished boots anywhere. Boots that should be stained by dirt and blood and gore remain clean, because Finn is a Shelby, and that’s what Shelby’s do.

     “You should be inside,” he says.

    You press the cup to your chest, the warmth scorching your collar bone in a most delicious way. “I couldn’t sleep.” You look up, breath leaving you as soon as you see him. Even the shadows do little to mask the face you’ve fallen in love with - and god, you’ve fallen in love. Months of trying to deny it, of telling people you and Finn are friends and only friends has come crashing down with the experiences of the past few days. He stands above you now, hands tucked in his pockets, his hair a little bit messier than usual. He’s staring down at you, eyes glittering under the lanterns lining the street above your head.

    You tap the concrete beside you. “Sit?”

    He lowers himself to a squat, not quite sitting but he’s close enough to you now that you can smell the mint leaves on his breath. 

    “How have you been, Finn?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. 

    He glances at you, chews his bottom lip. “I thought you were dead. They told me you were dead.”

   “Who?”

  “Everyone.” He rubs his knuckles along his upper lip, a rare demonstration of nerves. “It fucked me up. Fucked my brain up.”

    “I could have died.”

   “But you didn’t.”

    You close your eyes, tilting your head back just a little bit. When you speak, it’s like you’re addressing the moon. “No. I didn’t. Because you stupid fuckers came and helped me.”

    Finn scoffs. You look at him, one eyebrow raised. You can feel the stitches in your forehead pulling with the movement before Finn reaches over and runs his thumb along the seam, as if flattening the scowl. 

     “I’m offended you thought I’d just lounge about on my arse all day whilst you were in danger.”

    You swat his hand away, tea nearly spilling over the lip of your mug with the action. “You could have been killed, Finn. Killed. Do you know how long Thomas would have let me live if you got yourself murdered whilst trying to save me?”

   Finn rolls his eyes. “Don’t even talk about Tommy. He-”

   “A whole zero seconds,” you cut in. “He would have shot me on the fucking spot.”

    Finn lowers himself to the curb completely, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “He wouldn’t waste bullets like that.”

    You slap his arm.

   Finn throws his head back, laughing. His smile is so bright, momentarily letting you forget about the darkness you are both encompassed in, the world of danger you stand upon. For him, it is willingly. He was born into it and has seen no reason to leave. For you, the choice was made not by your head, but by the stupid thing beating in your chest. You’ve fallen in love, and can’t bring yourself to walk away.

    It’s as you’re having these thoughts - these scary, scary thoughts - that Finn reaches over and brushes his thumb against your lower lip. You tense, eyes darting to his own. He’s staring at your mouth, tongue peaking out from appealing lips of his own. 

    You slowly reach up, curling your fingers around his wrist. 

     “I killed them.” His breath fans your face, all mint leaves and truth. “Shot them with my own fucking gun.”

    “Finn…”

    “And it still wasn’t enough.”

    You close your eyes, tilting your head to rest in the palm of his hand. He wraps his other arm around your shoulders, tugs you into his side without explanation or awkwardness; you fall into his grip, resting your head against his shoulder as the darkness comes back, and the reality follows suit.

    “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

    His grip tightens. “Don’t.”

    “I don’t want to give you the burden of having to protect me all the time.”

    “It’s not a burden-”

   “Tommy warned me about what it would mean for me to fall in love with you, the danger of it. He told me to stay away.”

    Glancing to the side, you catch sight of Finn’s clenched jaw, fingers on his free hand curling and uncurling. 

    You reach over and touch his wrist. “He wasn’t wrong, Finn.”

    The Shelby boy closes his eyes. “Don’t say that.”

    “I don’t want to hurt you-”

    He stands up, sudden and swift, with the grace only a Shelby boy could truly have. You catch yourself before you tilt, head following his movements. He runs his hands through his hair, jaw clenched and teeth gritted. “You know, Y/N, there’s a reason I didn’t let Tommy handle the Russians on his own.”

   “Finn, keep your voice-”

   “A very good fucking reason.” His eyes burn into your own. “You’re the one person who listens to what I have to say. I felt like you were the only person in the world who saw me as Finn, not just an extension of the fucking family business.” 

    Your heart thunders. “Finn-”

   “You were the one thing I thought I could enjoy on my own, because you can look Tommy in the eye and tell him no. You’ve always been able to do that. You don’t want to hurt me? Then don’t let that fucker get in your head. You can walk away from here now, never talk to me again, but for the love of god, don’t be like everyone else - don’t let Thomas Shelby run your fucking life.”

     You’re standing in two seconds flat, arms thrown around Finn’s shoulders, back and stomach screaming in agony but you don’t care. You kiss him with a ferocity you’ve never known before, drown in the feel of his hands resting on your jaw, his breath mingling with your own, the years of pent up need finally rushing from your system in a single clean swoop.

    Finn kisses you back just as desperately, his fingers resting on your jaw line but not controlling your movements; you’ve taken control. You’ve got your arms slung round his neck and this man wrapped around your little finger, and you sink into him, deeper, deeper, deeper if that’s even possible after the months of denial you forced yourself into.

       You pull away first, shaking your head. “This is so stupid.”

    Finn runs his hands through your hair, voice a whisper. “I love you.”

    You melt against him. He catches you, hands slipping from your hair to your waist where he tugs, pulling you closer against him. “I know this is a bad idea,” you mumble into his neck, “but I can’t leave.”

      “You don’t have to leave. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

    “You can’t promise that.”

   “And I won’t.” He pulls away, holding you at arms length. “But my life is a fucking mess, and you’re the only thing that makes sense, so I’m going to try my fucking hardest.”

     Here he is. Finn Shelby, a member of one of the most feared gangs in England, someone who is meant to grow up to be just as scary, just as intimidating, just as savage as the rest of his family - and yet he holds you like you’re made of glass, nimble fingers cupping your elbows, eyes soft, trained on your mouth as you purse your lips and shake your head.

     You can imagine the destruction this will cause; Polly will have something to say, some insult to throw in your direction because god forbid someone put her boys in any type of danger. Arthur will let you away with nothing. John will curse and kick things and throw a hissy fit. Thomas will just be a danger, a risk you’ll have to look out for.

    You wrap your arms around Finn yet again, hugging him close. He nuzzles his nose in the crook of your neck, sways back and forth just a little bit, like the night breeze has finally taken him hostage. You bury your own head against the side of his, the feel of his skin making it so, so easy to forget about what it is you are really doing.

     “I love you,” you whisper, directly into his ear because you feel like you need to. Right now, with the stars and the moon as witness, you need to tell the truth.

    Finn shudders against you, tightening his hold on your waist. Afraid to let go. Afraid to dive headfirst into a life he once signed up for, but one he has never been prepared for.

[miraizu]

Open Book - 4. An Informant’s Infamy

Open Book Ship: Chrollo Lucilfer/Reader Part: 4/?? [PREV] | [NEXT] Word count: 2,064  Warnings: None. Synopsis:  Everybody has to make a way of living. Some are hunters, some are thieves, some are just regular civilians trying to enjoy their lives. You? You're an informant, and in York New City, a city that never sleeps, you're about to find out just how much of a commodity that really makes you.

       "Hello, how can I help you -- no."

       Your face was a deadpan as you looked over at the new customer, unenthused as to who it was.  The man in question grinned coyly, spreading out his hands.

       "Aw, is that any way to treat an old friend, [Y/n]?"

       You snorted humorlessly.  "I could never see you again, Hisoka, and it would still be too soon."

       Hisoka Morow, 29 years old, and a transmuter.  If you had a physical list of people you hated, the top five slots would all be reserved to the annoying pain in the ass in front of you.

       Clearly unbothered by your remark, Hisoka casually strolled in, topaz eyes running over everything.  You were immediately on guard - whenever Hisoka was around, trouble always followed.  You didn't trust him at all, and were already at a huge disadvantage.  Your hatsu was purely for information, not at all suited for combat.  You had seen Hisoka's combative ability thrice before, and each time his opponents wound up mutilated and dead.

       He had a penchant for seeking out strong opponents and discarding the weak - it honestly confused you why he bothered with you at all.  Did he sense some hidden potential, or were you just really fun to annoy?  You didn't know the answer.  You weren't sure you wanted to know the answer.

       "I need some information."

       You nearly dropped the pen you had been holding out of shock, a rare occurrence for you as you met his eyes.  His face was serious, an expression that chilled you to the bone.  It bothered you almost as much as the fact that Hisoka Morow was coming to you for information.  A scenario you would have never thought possible.

       Blinking a couple times, you gazed at the man as if he had grown a second head.  "You....  Need information?"

       Hisoka huffed, striding forward.  "Is that so hard to believe, little informant?"  You bristled at the nickname, and his eyes twinkled in amusement at your reaction.  "I'm afraid I very well may need to find a nen exorcist soon, but unfortunately do not know of any."

       A nen exorcist?  A strange request, but not completely invalid.  If Hisoka had a nen curse placed on him, you would definitely leave him to die without a second of hesitation, but he seemed completely fine.  No, this nen exorcist was probably for somebody else, unfortunately.  However, a nen exorcist...  They were increasingly rare, a trade very few even pursued, let alone excelled in.  You had met one nen exorcist long ago, and you had seen him die yourself.

       You didn't like not having the information to help others, although the fact that it was Hisoka made you feel just a bit better.

       "I don't know of any," you admitted, meeting his gaze.  "Why, though?"

       For a moment, he stared at you, and upon realizing you were telling the truth he sighed and pulled back, clearly disappointed.  "I guess you'll never find out, little informant."

       He lifted a hand in a disinterested wave, already heading out of the door without any further conversation.  "Bye bye~."

       That was a bit...  Anti-climatic.

       Once you couldn't feel his presence, you had slumped, feeling drained.  You were always on edge around Hisoka, and every encounter with him left you drained.  It didn't help that, not even two hours prior had you dealt with Chrollo, and before that, Gon and his little merry band.  These encounters with familiar faces made your introvert self want to take a break from the entire world.  The only thing that kept you from completely doing that was the reminder that, once again, you had bills to pay.

       Being an adult truly sucked.

       Thankfully, throughout the rest of the afternoon and evening, as customers came and went, nobody else that you knew had come into your shop.  It was relieving - you would have lost your mind if you had to deal with anymore people.  Dealing with nameless customers who you'd never see again was one thing.  But with people you knew and were expected to have longer, more in-depth conversations with?  Forget it.

       Bidding a customer goodbye as he walked out with a dusty old GameBox, you allowed yourself to slump forward against the counter, using your arms to brace yourself as you hung your head.  You were exhausted, and only had one more hour until you needed to close up shop.  That hour, though, seemed to stretch on terribly.  Despite the auction starting soon, people came in and out of your store until the very end, and you wound up having to shoo people out as you went to go lock the door, flipping the sign to a close.

       The night may be young, but you wanted nothing more than to go to bed.  Not even bothering to count the cash drawer, you had gone upstairs, kicking your shoes off and collapsing on your bed in the corner in a heap, sprawled messily.  A nice long rest was just what you needed...

       And what you apparently couldn't get.

       You didn't know how long you had been lying on the firm mattress, tossing and turning, but your earlier sleepiness had faded away into an annoying restlessness.  Your mind wouldn't stop racing about everything.  The blond.  Gon and Killua.  Chrollo.  Hisoka.  Had it really been only two days since your first interesting customer?  It felt like ages, and you glared up at the ceiling in irritation as if it was the problem for all of your troubles.

       Apparently, sleep wasn't about to come so easily.  After a moment of contemplation, you sat up, running your fingers through slightly tangled hair.  Holding out your other hand you brought up your hatsu with ease, summoning your book.  First, you brought up Killua and Gon.  Both seemed together on the outskirts of town, by Hisoka of all people.  A part of you felt concerned, but the stronger part of you insisted that this was none of your business.

       Next, you brought up Leorio and Zepile, who were also together.  Go figure - you weren't surprised that those two would hit it off.  

       You pulled up a couple of others you often kept tabs on.  The people you were most interested in were in other countries, and finally, you wound up on Chrollo's page.  He was on the move, slowly but surely - right by the auction house.

       Glancing over at the clock, you hummed.  You probably weren't going to fall asleep any time soon anyways, so why not go and sate your own curiosity?  As much as you hated anything dealing with the mafia, you were more interested in seeing what Chrollo was doing.

       Rolling off the bed and onto your feet, you knew you'd have to dress the part.  You weren't great with formalities, so there was a lack of black-tie clothes, but eventually you found a dress that would work.  Eventually, you found a black qipao dress, and deemed it good enough.  It had been quite a long time since you had worn it, but thankfully it still fit like a glove, clinging tightly to your body in all of the right places.

       The dress itself was completely black and floor length - usually, the style would be a problem, but the slits on the sides ran up to your thighs, helping with movement.  You had black spandex under the dress to prevent any wardrobe mishaps.  The trim of the dress and collar were a metallic gold, and the dress was sleeveless, the collar wrapping around like a halter - it would seem modest, if the qipao wasn't backless.  Across the front of the dress was a golden dragon wrapping around ferociously, its red eyes glinting like two rubies.  It could fetch a pretty penny if you sold it, not that you would ever - it was a gift from a precious friend from his home country.  You'd never get rid of it.

       Pairing the dress with black heels so sharp that they could double as weapons, and strapping a wicked-looking dagger to each thigh, you deemed yourself ready to go out.  You looked elegant, almost ethereal if you didn't say so yourself.

       Okay, maybe you were just being a bit vain.

       Pleased with how well put-together you managed to look, you summoned your book, reconfirming Chrollo's location before you started to head out.

       While the area you lived and worked in was shady, in the darker recesses of York New City where the occupants were no strangers to crime on a daily basis, the locals knew you well.  Better yet, they knew not to mess with you.  In a city teeming with scum, it was a useful trait to have, and you walked with your head high down the sidewalk.  It would make your trek to the auction houses and other mafia-owned buildings go without a hitch.

       Every so often, while walking, you'd draw your book out to make sure he hadn't left your destination.  The click-clack of your heels on the pavement echoed throughout the quiet streets.  Everybody was either outside or down at the auction - not many were brave or stupid enough to walk in this part of the city once the sun set.

       As the tall, pristine buildings came into view, you swiftly made your book disappear.  Instead, using your next hatsu, you tapped the side of your temple, glasses slowly appearing.

       Another facet of your hatsu.  Years of being an informant had helped you figure out what was useful and possible with your nen capabilities, creating the last third of your hatsu ability as an informant.  Instant Sight: not the best for gathering information on people, but it had its uses.  By using an enhanced version of gyo over your eyes in the form of fashion lens, you could detect heat signatures over nen presences.  You could also pick out people in a crowd that you had used your ability on before - while you couldn't gain anything from a complete stranger, if you saw somebody who was already in a book, their information would come up in the bottom of your lens.

       What you also liked about Instant Sight was the zoom option.  It wasn't limitless, that would be next to impossible, but you could zoom from a couple hundred meters away, treating your glasses as binoculars of a sort.

       And honestly, as useless as it was...  You had made it possible for them to change appearance.  That part literally had no other use other than cosmetics, but you couldn't blend in if you wore an elegant dress paired with clunky, bright red glasses.

       Both parts of Open Book were best at gathering information on people; Instant Sight, however, was best for gathering the layouts of buildings and coming up with infiltration plans.

       Scanning over the crowd with your lens, you felt the edges of your lips tug upwards as a name seemed to float upwards in the air over the very person you were looking for.  He was walking indoors with a shorter woman with blue hair, and you hummed.  You needed to get past the checkpoint, and didn't have the proper identification to get through.  A minor bump in the road.

       Casually walking up to one of the guards at the checkpoint, you attempted to give your most charming smile.  It honestly wasn't the best, you weren't a very charismatic individual, and it seemed to fall short anyways as the guard's face lit up in recognition.

       "Hey, you're the informant woma-- gak!"

       At his outburst, you had quickly brought your hand up, striking him in the neck and causing him to collapse and choke on his words.  You caught him with ease, just as a car was passing by and effectively concealing him and you from the others.  Talk about sheer luck - you hadn't eve thought about that.

       Slipping through alongside the car, you made it in.  You didn't even look back as you heard shouts of confusion about the guard.  If you looked back, that would surely raise suspicion, and besides - you were on a bit of a time crunch.

       Making it into the building, you used your glasses to read the heat signatures again, unable to hide the excited smile that was starting to morph onto your face.

       Sleeplessness aside, you had a feeling this evening was going to be quite eventful.

[magniloquent-raven]

Ooh for your prompts: Fluffy Elmax sleepover with cuddling for #16 pls :') xoxox

i had such a good time writing this omg thank you!!! tho there’s a couple bits that threaten to be angst because im physically incapable of writing pure fluff lmao. it’s just tiny bits tho. just a smidge.

also, because s4 isn’t out yet i uh. kinda just did a time skip but didn’t rly change anything about how s3 left off? i know we know hopper’s alive but like. i guess he’s just still in russia in this fic LMAO rip. don’t think about it too hard

posted on ao3 as well :)

—-

Max’s watch timer beeps obnoxiously again. 8:36. El’s late. She hits snooze.

“When’s your friend supposed to be here, sweetie?”

“Soon, mom. You know, you and Neil don’t have to wait up.” They do this every time. Like Max isn’t almost seventeen and perfectly capable of being alone in her own damn house for five minutes. At this rate they’re going to be late for whatever thing it is they’re going to, and Neil will be even more of a bitch than usual.

Her mom glances over at him. He’s sitting in his armchair looking surly, checking his watch pointedly. Asshole.

“Well…I don’t think—”

Max hears a car pull up out front. “Oh, thank fuck,” she mutters, turning on her heel and marching out to greet the Byers’.

Joyce climbs out of the passenger seat as Max strides across the lawn. “Max, honey!” she waves, grinning bright, “How are you?” There’s always a…tone to how she asks that. Questions lurking under the surface that they don’t talk about. It makes Max’s insides all squirmy thinking about it, though she is on some level grateful for the concern.

Max stands on the curb, tugging on her earring. A habit by now. It’s both a comfort and a reminder. She got one hell of a lecture the day she came out of the bathroom with blood running down her neck and a safety pin in her earlobe, but she didn’t regret it for a second.

El slides out of the driver’s seat, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. Max watches her stand and adjust her shirt. She always looked good in yellow. “I’m good,” Max responds after a beat, and it’s honest for once.

The door behind her creaks. Probably her mom and Neil coming out of the house, hopefully to leave, finally. She doesn’t turn around, just steps into Joyce’s waiting arms and presses her face into her shoulder. Max is taller than her now, by a couple inches, so it hurts her neck a little, but it’s worth it.

Will’s still tucked away in the backseat, peering through the window, Max waves at him when she peeks up over Joyce’s shoulder.

Then El distracts her. “Your hair,” she says, gently tugging on a lock behind her ear. Max steps back from Joyce, and runs a hand through it, cheeks pink. Three years ago she’d hacked off all her hair with a pocket-knife, woke up the morning of Billy’s funeral with strands still stuck to her neck, locks hanging ragged across her forehead. Her mother had thrown a fit.

“Yeah, I cut it again,” Max says, like that wasn’t obvious. She’d let it grow out uneven and messy for a while, but she broke out the scissors again about a month ago. It’s neater than her last haircut, but not by much.

El’s hand is in Max’s hair again, dangerously close to her face. Max’s knees wobble a little.

“Bitchin’,” she says solemnly, after a few seconds of consideration.  

Max’s grin is blinding.

Her mother cuts in, before she can respond, gives her the usual talk about staying in the house and making sure she’s got her emergency numbers memorized. Then she bids them all a hasty, distracted goodbye. Her mom was never very comfortable about the Byers’. Probably something about Joyce’s too-knowing gaze, or the fact that El glares daggers at Neil every time he’s within range.

She’s doing it now. Watching him get into his truck with a quiet rage in her eyes. Joyce puts a hand on her elbow, and it doesn’t move until Neil’s truck has turned the corner at the end of the street.

“We should get going,” Joyce says, checking her watch. “Will wanted to be at Claudia’s an hour ago but we got caught up at Mike’s house, and, well, you know how it is,” she flutters her hands, approximating a shrug.

She hugs El goodbye, then pulls Max in for another one. “Call us if you need anything,” she says, pulling back and putting her hands on Max’s shoulders. That sad glint is in her eye again, and Max knows the offer extends beyond tonight.

“Thanks, Joyce, we will.”

By the time she’s taken the corner at the end of Cherry Lane Max’s watch is beeping again.

El glances down at it, a pinch between her eyebrows. “…Was that for me?”

“Uh.”

The confusion melts off her face, replaced by a cheeky grin. “It was!”

Max shuts the alarm off, cheeks burning. “Why were you guys at Mike’s for so long?” she asks. eager to change the subject. If the guys are meeting up at Dustin’s the delay wasn’t because Will and Mike were catching up, and, well, Mike and El’s relationship is…of interest to Max. For reasons.

El purses her lips. It’s a face that tells Max they’re gonna need to be sitting and cozy for this conversation because it’s gonna be a long one. So, she links their arms and pulls her inside.

An hour later they’re huddled under a throw blanket on the couch. El is giggling, face in her hands, and Max is wheezing around a mouthful of skittles.

“Oh, that’s so not funny,” she chokes out, trying not to spew candy everywhere, which brings about a fresh wave of laughter. El’s shoulders are shaking, brushing against Max’s and making her warm all over. God damn, she’s missed this.

“Then why are you laughing,” El replies, poking her side and smiling from ear-to-ear.

She’s beautiful, Max thinks. Her braid is half-undone, letting her hair curl around her face in gentle waves, and her eyes are bright. She looks happy, and Max holds on to that, keeps it all for herself because she did that, she made that happen. She might not have everything she wants from El, but she’ll take whatever she can get. Whatever El wants to give. And sometimes just her smiles are enough, enough to make Max’s chest constrict and her heart glow, because for now, she’s happy too.

She laughs again, in leu of a response. How can she not, when she feels so light she could float away, high on the soft strawberry scent of El’s shampoo and the way her cheek dimples when she grins. But she can’t say that, so she says, “Because it’s Mike,” and pokes El right back. “I’m legally obligated to laugh at his misfortune.”

They have a complicated friendship, which mostly boils down to her being willing to bail him out when he’s in shit, but only if she gets to make fun of him while she does it.

El wrinkles her nose a little, but her smile doesn’t dim, “You two are weird.”

She’s pretty sure it used to bother El, how much Mike and Max fought. Max can’t help but wonder if they’d have gotten along better if she wasn’t in love with his girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. Because she’d dumped him for good this time. Four months ago, apparently, though Mike was, until a few hours ago, under the impression it was temporary.

Max almost feels bad for him. Except she doesn’t. Apparently, he was a dick about the whole thing, so at least she has a solid reason not to.

“You love us,” Max scoffs. El may have broken up with Mike, but she’ll always love him in some way or another.

El’s expression softens, turns fond and sweet. She’s thinking about Mike, Max is sure, but the smile is still directed as her. Small victories. “I do,” she says quietly.

They order a pizza after that, and watch movies into the wee hours of the morning. By 3am Max’s throat is raw, and her stomach hurts from laughing (and too much pizza). It’s the most fun she’s had in a while. The Byers’ don’t visit as often as any of them would like.

Max isn’t even tired, but El’s head has been dropping onto her shoulder on and off for the past hour so she suggests they call it a night.

She knows that when the boys sleep over at each other’s houses they’ll take the floor, or the couch in the basement, anything but actually sharing a bed. As El wraps an arm around her waist and snuggles up with her under the blankets, Max takes a moment to wonder if that would be better or worse than this.

It always seemed so miserable to Max, how much boys have to limit themselves.  

But also…well, it might be easier sometimes. She wouldn’t have to deal with wanting things she shouldn’t want because El would be over there, and not right up in her space, hands warm and breath tickling Max’s ear. This is different than sitting thigh-to-thigh on the couch, it blurs the line more, and it’s the ambiguity that’s driving Max crazy.

She wasn’t tired before, but she’s wide-awake now.

Time creeps by strangely this late at night. Max isn’t sure how long she lays there, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm her pounding heart. El’s breath is steady, quiet, and her eyes are closed. Max is sure she’s asleep, she was so tired before.

Before she can stop herself her hand creeps up, brushes a strand of hair from El’s face.

Moonlit, she’s ethereal. There’s always been something otherworldly about El, with her big, dark eyes, always watching, boring holes into you with their intensity. Shadows play across her cheek, and Max tracks them for a while, absurdly jealous of moonlight.

She traces patterns on El’s forearm, the one resting on Max’s stomach, keeping her touch light so as not to wake her.

More time passes, and Max’s head feels heavy with sleep that won’t come. She’s groggy, leaning back but unable to keep her eyes closed.

She starts talking. Whispering. Remembering the times she read Wonder Woman comics to El until she fell asleep, and hoping, somewhere in her foggy brain, that it might work on herself too.

“You know… I always knew we’d be good friends. The second I heard your name I wanted to know you,” she murmurs, and draws a star on El’s wrist. “Didn’t know how badly I wanted until I saw you though. You were terrifying, and I loved it. And now…” Her eyes slide closed as she thinks. “You’re the best person I’ve ever met. You’re beautiful. Everything about you. And I love you…more than I should.” She sighs, sits in silence and cards her fingers through El’s hair. It’s getting so long.  

El’s hand closes around her wrist.

Max’s eyes fly open, and she stills, heart pounding. “Uh.” El’s eyes are open, looking up at her, she’s awake, she’s awake, oh fuck– “Um. Did—did I wake you up, I’m—sorry if I woke you—”

“It’s okay.” The corners of her mouth turn up, slow and careful, “I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

“Oh.” Is all Max can manage, staring down at El with wide eyes, waiting for her to…do something. Max’s palms are sweating. She doesn’t know what to expect.

El moves her hand, puts Max’s palm against her cheek and shuffles forward until they’re nose to nose.

“Oh.”

She tastes like toothpaste and kiwi lip balm, and kisses as sweetly as she smiles. Her hands end up in Max’s hair, fingers gentle but demanding, guiding her forward. If Max wasn’t already laying down, she’d need to be because her knees are jelly.

“Oh,” El echoes when she pulls back, laughter in her voice. She presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Max’s mouth, careful and deliberate. Then her expression softens, sobers. “I was jealous of you. At first. Didn’t…know what it was. Know why. So, I ignored you. And… I’m sorry.”

Max shakes her head, “Ancient history. It’s okay.”

“No, I,” El stops, furrows her brow, “You were so happy. Free. I wanted that. And then, then you helped me have that. So. Thank you.” She cups Max’s face, fingertips tracing along her cheekbone, and Max’s heart sings. “And I love you too.”

They kiss again, and Max decides that El sleeping on the floor would’ve been a terrible idea.

[stripyhorse23]

TV of 2020

1) I May Destroy You

I May Destroy You might not have been written during the pandemic, but when it arrived in June it felt like the sort of complicated, cathartic show that could have been.  Detailing one woman’s experience of rape and its aftermath, Michaela Coel (who wrote every episode) continually found rich narrative avenues in which to explore her characters’ individual experiences of sexual assault and consent.  If that makes the series sound concept-driven, it always placed its characters first; the push-and-pull between Arabella, Terry and Kwame is key to the ways in which Coel’s tender, curious writing is able to explore power dynamics within relationships, friendships and hook-ups.  Other, lesser shows that are this deliberately open-ended might feel opaque: it’s testament to the show’s confidence of voice that isn’t the case here.

2) Normal People

Like plenty of others, I binged the entire series of Normal People in a weekend, although one of its many pleasures is how Sally Rooney and Alice Birch’s adaptation teases out the episodic nature of the former’s bestseller.  From Connell’s early days at university, to a Tuscan holiday turned sour, and an exchange year in Sweden, Normal People was about the ways in which the people we love move in and out of our lives over the years.  It wasn’t immune to mis-steps (the show draws something of a crude line between the abuse Marianne suffers at home and what she seeks out in romantic partners), but the sheer emotional heft of the show was undeniable, nowhere less so than Paul Mescal’s floodgate-opening performance in Episode 10.

3) Adult Material

Perhaps one of the year’s most overlooked shows, Adult Material follows Hayley Burrows as she attempts to balance life as the harassed mother-of-three and the twilight years of her career as adult performer Jolene Dollar.  The slyly comic edge of the first episode is quickly eroded after Jolene becomes embroiled in the abuse of another actor on-set.  A stark portrait of alcohol abuse and loneliness, it’s also a sharp indictment of how little the so-called ‘culture wars’ surrounding pornography are meaningfully impactful on sex workers themselves.  Hayley Squires gives the sort of white-hot star performance usually reserved for 90s Hollywood rom-coms, a veneer of frustration and resignation overlaying even her character’s most abrasive moments.

4) Cook, Eat, Repeat

Why not in this interminably shitty year, choose the one show that offered the sort of balm it’s impossible to reverse engineer?  Following hot on the heels of a disappointing series of The Great British Bake-Off, Nigella Lawson’s warm, inviting half-hour new series was the televisual equivalent of a long bath and a facemask.  Her fish finger bhorta, brown butter colcannon and black pudding meatballs have already made it into this household’s repertoire, but there’s something innately comforting about the luxurious silliness of Nigella that almost transcends criticism.  Whether it’s the giddy nonsense of her liquorice box, the ‘did I hear that right’ moment when she revealed her pronunciation of ‘microwave,’ or the seductive self-care of making a creme caramel for one, no other show elicited such pure enjoyment from me this year.

5) I’ll Be Gone In The Dark

The true crime documentary series boom has increasingly leaned into a focus on the victims, from last year’s The Yorkshire Ripper Files to Jeffrey Epstein: Filthy Rich, but none so effectively or compassionately as I’ll Be Gone In The Dark.  Less a story about the hunt for the Golden State Killer and more a study of trauma and obsession, the series splices together home footage of the late Michelle McNamara’s investigation with survivor testimony to create a haunting portrait of one man’s legacy of pain.  The early episodes are replete with skin-crawling tension, anguish and tears, but the later episodes allow that to fall away, focusing on the mental fortitude necessary for the survivors at its centre and the sense of community fostered by meeting other women like them.

6)The Salisbury Poisonings

I had no interest in watching this BBC limited series initially: the advertising made it look dry, the story itself (the Novichok poisonings of 2018) seemingly devoid of juicy narrative material.  That I’ve watched this three times in the space of a year speaks to its robust, urgent filmmaking.  Like several other shows on this list, it arrived into the context of a pandemic it couldn’t have foreseen, but watching the rapid, careful response of local government (crucially and deliberately obstructed by Whitehall) to this crisis presented a sort of horribly watchable what-if scenario.  What seemed at first blush to be middle-of-the-road programming evolved over three episodes into the sort of spare, quietly terrifying journalistic drama that invites comparison to last year’s Chernobyl.

7) We Are Who We Are

It turns out that Luca Guadagnino’s woozy, seductive style transfers perfectly to television, and despite We Are Who We Are lacking the timelessness that typifies I Am Love or Call Me By Your Name it thrillingly captured the turbulent adolescence of its teenage characters.  Equally effervescent and raggedly emotional, the show’s joy always felt hard-won, bumping heads with the often cynical, unreadable motivations of the adult characters.  A tender and frank depiction of queer identities within traditionally restrictive environments, it’s also a love letter to young friendship and the lifeline that can provide during our formative years.  Spellbinding.

8) Selling Sunset

Perhaps the year’s most impressively constructed reality show, I was slow on the uptake with Netflix’s Selling Sunset only to have it take over my life for a few weeks during the summer.  Manufactured reality series are tough to get right, but much like The Hills (surely this show’s biggest influence) Selling Sunset gains a lot of mileage from gaming pre-existing friendships for maximum impact.  Christine and Mary’s beleaguered relationship and, obliquely, their respective responses to fame continued to provide wildly watchable fireworks, but the build-up to Chrishell’s separation from husband Justin Hartley was exquisitely handled.  Suddenly Davina’s strangely uncharismatic shit-stirrer and Christine’s predictably OTT wedding were forced to take a back seat to something approaching genuinely moving television.  Trying to tease out what was real and what wasn’t, and following the ways this all spilled out onto social media, was pure, unmitigated pleasure in a year sorely lacking in just that sort of unfettered escapism.

9) My Brilliant Friend

Two seasons in and there might not be another character on TV that I’m as continually frustrated and fascinated by as Lila, the eponymous ‘brilliant friend’ of the show’s title.  Sparingly warm, often cruel, seductive, Season 2 of HBO’s masterful adaptation sees her trapped in a loveless, abusive marriage but as ever it’s her fractured relationship with Lenù that forms the emotional spine of the show.  There’s often a strange sort of snobbery around the term ‘prestige drama,’ as if all that money on the screen is a smokescreen for a dearth of anything to say; My Brilliant Friend uses every colour in its paintbox to portray the yawning void that opened up between Lenù and Lila as they entered adulthood, from the lavish, provocative outfits Lila’s adopts after she marries Stefano to Max Richter’s evocative score and the detail poured into the show’s supporting characters.  Rewardingly complex.

10) Mrs. America

I laboured over what would take my tenth spot this year since there was so much TV that I loved, and especially this year so much of it felt essential to how I was receiving the world around me.  Ultimately, Mrs. America’s mixture of astute political commentary, character-driven writing and host of enjoyable performances tipped the scale in its favour.  Cate Blanchett’s all-timer of a performance as Phyllis Schafly understandably received the majority of attention, but Mrs. America gave us so many memorable moments: Sarah Paulson’s Alice ringing the bell at reception whilst high, Uzo Aduba’s Shirley Chisholm speaking to a potentially bugged hotel ventilator, Margo Martindale’s Bella Abzug quietly realising she’s no longer the radical of her youth on a busy New York street.  This sort of deft, smart political drama isn’t often this much fun to watch, and what an ending...

11) This Life

An honourable mention to a show made almost twenty-five years ago that nevertheless helped define the year in TV for me.  Shows that were once considered part of the zeitgeist can often feel quaint and old-fashioned in retrospect, but Amy Jenkins rambunctious flatshare drama isn’t one of them.  Whilst it can sometimes feel like the show’s characters are universally adverse to making even one good decision between them, there’s a compassion and care underpinning This Life that means it never comes across as overly cynical or sneering.  There’s also a lot to be said for discovering a performance that you genuinely consider to be one of the best of the decade, and no other character this year frustrated and moved me in the ways that Daniela Nardini’s Anna did.  Bonus points for the genuinely chaotic final episode, perhaps one of the best I’ve ever seen.

And FWIW, these are ten performances from shows not on the list above that I loved this year: Marielle Heller in The Queen’s Gambit, Nicholas Hoult in The Great, Sarah Lancashire in Last Tango in Halifax, Poorna Jagannathan in Never Have I Ever, Michael Sheen in Quiz, Imelda Staunton in Talking Heads, Leila Farzad in I Hate Suzie, Alison Pill in Star Trek: Picard, Gillian Anderson in The Crown and Andy Allo in Upload.

And ten episodes of TV that I loved too: ‘Terry and Korvo Steal a Bear’ (Solar Opposites), ‘The Gang Deals With Alternate Reality’ (The Good Fight), ‘Uncle Naseem’ (Ramy), ‘The View From Halfway Down’ (Bojack Horseman), ‘The Vat of Acid Episode’ (Rick and Morty), ‘I Am’ (Lovecraft Country), ‘No Small Parts’ (Star Trek: Lower Decks), Seven-Spotted Ladybug’ (Everything’s Gonna Be Okay), ‘Daytona’ (Cheer), ‘Whenever You’re Ready’ (The Good Place).

[georgemackayhey]

Silver Lining: Chapter 2

In which you and George decide to make the most of life after meeting up at the wrong place at just the right time...

w/c: 3k

a/n: Thanks for such lovely feedback, already! This has been so much fun to write and we’re just getting started y’all! Please let me know if I forgot to tag you or if ya want to be added ♡

taglist: @etherealallure @maria-josefin @shelbygirlsclubx @loulouloueh @clarkewithameme​

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Seen yesterday 11:12 am

Of course, he hadn't responded to the shared google doc, you laughed to yourself in the car park of the airport. What were you thinking, inviting a stranger on holiday? You were nearly full of more regret than excitement for your pending adventure. But here you were, double-checking all the things in your handbag.

A pair of sunglasses, your plane tickets, and passport all accounted for, you unplugged the charger from the console and double-checked the time on your phone screen.

Right on time. You locked your phone, sliding it into your bag as a wave of nerves swept through you. Was this even going to be any fun? What was the point of going on some big romantic getaway if-

Your phone buzzed in your hand before you had let go all the way. When you pulled it into view a single notification lit up your screen... from George.

Wait up for me? ;)

Oh. Oh? You found yourself staring between the text message and his name in the corner of the screen. Was he really coming? Or was the cheeky emoji his way of sardonically letting you down easy?

You clutched your phone, trying to read between the lines as you collected your luggage from the back seat. You glanced at the message again as you locked your car and made your way inside the bright airport. Would lingering around the lobby make you look like a loon when you were inevitably left all alone? Would checking into your flight summon George, but all too late?

You glanced down to your phone one last time, decidedly turning it off along with your useless worries. You slid the device into your bag, reaching for your tickets and passports in exchange. And right when you turned your heels, you stopped in your tracks.

"Good morning!"  

It was him. George Mackay was stood there, in some high-end joggers, sporting perfectly messy hair and a smile that made you wonder what he had to be so damn happy about.

"You're here."  You realized, looking him up and down like taking notice of the laces of his shoes would solidify his existence.

"For some reason, I am." George nodded, shifting his weight as you stood staring. You wondered for a beat, what exactly you'd gotten yourself into. But all at once, a family of four rushed by in a hurry to the tune of their father chanting, "We're gonna be late!"

"Shall we?" You decide, remembering you were on a clock. You extended one of the plane tickets to George, whose already pleasant grin grew during the exchange.

You moved together, checking your bags, shifting through security and strolling amongst the slew of fellow travelers.

As you walked through the airport alongside George, crept into a conversation about how you’d both ended up here. About your recent ex’s, how for a dozen different reasons you should have seen it coming. How it was still sort of hilarious the way it all came to an explosive head. As George laughed along with you over the shitty situation, you felt more like you’d been catching up with an old friend than getting to know a new one.

Sure there was an air of elusiveness between the two of you, but it didn’t seem George had anything to hide. He took his time forming most of his responses, knowing there was a certain level of trust being built as you marched toward spending a handful of days together. But even though his quips were quiet and maybe even coy, he spoke in a manner that was confident and sure. You found yourself in a bit of a daze, studying his face as he spoke. He wore a hint of a smile and an almost furrowed brow. His sparkly blue eyes glancing at you every now and again, as if to check you were still listening.

All these factors added up to dampen your worries over if this was a good idea. George hadn’t given you a single reason to feel unsure of his company. He even asked somewhere back at the baggage claim if you were sure about his tagging along. By the time you wound up at the waiting gate, it seemed you’d found fast friends in one another.

“Are you sad about the wedding?” George wondered, sitting on a stool at your side. You rested your purse at a low risen bar, spinning on the stool to face him.

“I guess a little. I’d spent so long planning.” You shrugged. Funny how you really didn’t miss Colin, though. You explained to George how you met Colin in high school, before he got a big fancy job and fell in love with the money and power he gained. How you’d already settled into the role of doting on him, and you stopped feeling anything for the guy a while back, but only realized after it ended. You explained how you were glad for it now, but how it scared you a little to have been so blind.

“What about Chloe? Do you miss her?” You wondered, propping your elbow on the table at your side, and resting your head in your hand.

George gave you a lifeless grin, casting his eyes off in the distance as he explained how she was hardly ever around. How he wasted more breath begging for her to pay attention to him than ever actually spending much time together. How he felt silly for trying to make it work, after realizing all the signs it never would, were there from the beginning.

“I wish her the best, though, I suppose.” George sighed as if he wanted to hate Chole for what she did, but his purely kind soul wouldn’t allow it.

“I found her Instagram last night and scrolled through. I wanted to be mad at her, but I wasn’t. I mean, lots of her posts were pretty annoying, but I digress.” You gave a light chuckle. The girl had thousands of posts and saved stories, most of which were emoji saturated over-filtered bullshit. But she was studying to be a nurse and she had a family and friends who cared for her. She was just a normal girl who fucked up.

George hummed in a sort of agreement but the way his brow drew together made you toss him a look that demanded he speak his mind.

“Social media really isn’t my thing,” George informed matter of factly. Ah, so that explained why you hadn’t been able to find any accounts of his, last night.

“But you’re famous. Isn’t that like the prime place to advertise or whatever?” You chuckled, sitting up a little, stretching to shift positions.

“I’m not famous,” George stated, plain as day, that same perplexing micro expression lacing his features together. You huffed a laugh as his expression remained,

“Well, I recognized you and I'm nobody. We live in different worlds." You pointed out, playing along.

“That’s not true, is it? Look at us now.” George rose a coy brow as if to prove a point. A montage of muddle memories of the past couple days flashed across your brain as you looked to George, realizing this was really truly happening.

“Why’d you decide to come anyway?” You wondered all of a sudden. Shouldn’t he be off charming a few news anchors or something?

George sat up a little from where he’d been slumped against the counter space, giving a small slow nod as if he knew this question was coming sooner or later.

"Well... I've got some time to enjoy myself before I start my next film. The last one I worked on was, well it was intense. Made my head spin a bit, if I'm honest. The next one will probably do the same, so I figured a bit of spontaneous fun was in order."

"How could you possibly enjoy work like that?"

"I like bringing these stories to life, even if they're hard to tell. Besides, not all of my roles are quite so intense." George explained, drumming his fingers on his knee for a beat. "Ah, but you should know, I'm apparently quite famous."

He cast you a blank look, waiting for you to crack a smile before he did. With a shake of your head, you let out a laugh and stopped marveling over how you ended up here long enough to appreciate the fact that this was happening at all.

And then, it was time to board the plane. You found your seats, watching the last of the passengers cram their belongings overhead.

"Why Rome and Barcelona?" George asked as he settled by your side once more.

"Colin wanted Barcelona. I wanted Rome so he booked it first to get it 'out of the way'" You mocked your ex, feeling more grateful by the minute to be rid of him.

"You really scored with that charmer." George snickered, relaxing back against his seat.

"And now I have a masochistic actor taking his place. I'm so lucky."  You shot back withholding a massive grin. You did feel pretty damn fortunate.

"You literally asked for it." George pointed a finger your way.

"You literally offered." You countered. His lips were upturned, and parted as if he wanted to respond but only a defeated breathy laugh escaped. It caused you to wonder if he was regretting making the strange offer. If he'd suddenly realized what he was doing and wished he'd never agreed to it.

That's about the time the plane started to jet down the runway. When the wheels lifted off the ground, the small worry in your stomach spread to your chest and everything seemed so insanely wrong all at once.

"I've never flown before." You admitted quietly, gripping onto either armrest and hoping the feeling of dread would pass if you alluded to it out loud. George glanced to you, sitting up a little straighter, and speaking up in that tone of his that was calm yet demanding all at once.

"It's just like a roller coaster, just at first. Then it's like nothing."

"I threw up on Splash Mountain." You fretted, the one and only ride you ever had the experience to draw from.

"Gives a new meaning to the name aye?" George joked, but you could find it in yourself to laugh along.

You knew George was only trying to keep up the banter you'd picked up somewhere back at the airport, but you were far too freaked out to join in. You hoped the sorry look in your eyes was enough of an apology before you screwed them shut, trying to ignore the invisible vice around your throat.

"Okay, it's alright, you've just gotta breathe." George shifted beside you, leaning in a little closer to gently relay his message.

"My heart's beating so fast I can't even feel it," You admitted. It felt like the buzz from the broken air conditioner vent overhead, with a flap vibrating against cold air. George followed your gaze to the thing but shook his head as your focus remained.

Then, without a word, George gently tore your grasp away from the armrest. He decidedly pressed the back of your hand to his chest, holding it there as he said,

"Focus on that beat and try to match it."

His heartbeat was unmistakable and strong. His concentration was on you, and you were almost lost taking note of the exact color of his eyes. They were sodalite, the color of a world you could have easily lost yourself in.

"Thanks." You mewled, daring to keep your focus on George, forgetting for just a split second, what you were so anxious about.

After you'd gained composure, and there was no reason for your hand to be intertwined with Georges any longer, there was still a nervous flutter in your chest.

George eased into a conversation about his favorite books, asking you to list off yours, joking that you needed to find something in common besides the grim reality of being recently dumped. He made you laugh, and he listened when you spoke. You'd almost forgotten where you were headed, and why, entirely too lost in the fun you were having on the ride there.

By the time the plane landed, it was as if you'd planned for this trip together all along, with George rambling about the things you'd organized in the google doc you shared.

In the blink of an eye, Rome was alive all around you, at long last. You passed through colorful markets and waved to musicians in the streets as you took a short journey to a hotel just outside of the city.

When you ended up in the bustling sunlight saturated lobby, the very kind and tired looking woman behind the front desk let you know that the room you'd reserved wasn't quite ready. She very kindly offered to stow away your bags until then, while you decided to take to the streets.

All the while, George was always somewhere right behind you, charming the lady at the front desk and making a cab driver laugh so hard he cried. You realized you were in the presence of someone very special, George wasn't like anyone you'd ever known. And strange as it was to sit by him in these sudden change of plans, it was oddly familiar. It was as if it was always meant to be this way.

The cab dropped you off in the heart of the city where you pointed out sights and ordered some coffees from a vendor to fuel your stroll through town. You were finally in the place you'd longed to end up, even having only just gotten there, there was so much beauty to spin around and soak up. The sun was low in the sky, peeking through a dusty alley in a quiet part of the city you'd wandered to. When you took to a bench to rest a beat, you checked your notifications and found your phone was full of missed phone calls from your mother. You couldn't help but wonder if you'd made some kind of mistake.

But then there was George, lingering a few feet away, snapping photos of a street sign like a dad on vacation. The golden sun highlighted his charming features as he turned to you with a smile.

"I see why you choose this place. It's like nothing bad can happen here." He spoke, sauntering your way with that same dopey smile he'd been sporting all afternoon.

"What about in the '80s when that girl got kidnapped by the police and the church covered it up?" You spoke up, crossing your arms as he approached you with the shake of his head.

"You're a real ray of sunshine, huh?" George laughed, shifting his weight to stand right in front of you. "There are bright sides to every story too, ya know?"

"Says the guy who keeps auditioning for horrific films." You shrug with a grin. This was what you'd been doing all day, trying to uncover each other's layers between the deepest level of small talk imaginable.

"Okay, first of that's just a lie," George pointed, "And who says I'm not looking for the bright side in those stories? Why not try and make the most of the bad part of life?" So that's why he was here, you figured. But you had to counter him.

"Sometimes life is just shitty ya know?" You shrugged as a breeze blew past.

"Yeah, well not now. Come on, let's go get some dinner." George held out his hand for you to take, pulling you from where you sat on the bench. You couldn't help but chuckle as you followed his lead. Your shared laughter echoed through the empty streets as George directed you to an eatery where tiny tables were packed into a vine-covered stone patio. He'd found his way there without fault, leaving you to wonder if he'd been here before. And if he hadn't, George's assuredness was admirable.

The crowded restaurant was full of smiling faces, yours included. Everyone vendor and passerby you'd interacted with thus far was incredibly kind. Rome was everything you'd imagined and more, and you'd only been for a couple of hours.

As you ordered food and ate, you and George went on slyly getting to know each other. He mentioned his family, comparing the dinner he ordered to his grandmother's best recipes. You admitted your mother had phoned a dozen times throughout the day. George insisted you call her back right away, recalling a time he ran off as a boy, almost giving his mother a heart attack and still felt guilty to this day.

So to cease his pestering, you called her right in the middle of your meal. The conversation with her wasn't very long, as you informed her you'd taken off on the trip you planned for and that you'd call to tell her the rest of the story later, only ringing now to let her know you were safe and fine.

And by the time you finished eating, George refused to let you pay for any of it.

"You've planned and paid for most of this trip. I can't just tag along with nothing to offer" George laughed, but swatted your hand away from the bill all the same. "So it's either I pay for dinner or I force you into some spectacular plan and blow all my savings on it, your choice."

"You're impossible." You nodded, slumping back allowing him to pick up the check, just this once.

Back at the hotel, the lobby was just as full of people as it had been early in the day. You almost reached out to George as you pushed through the crowd, just so you wouldn't lose him, but you didn't.

After collecting your room key and luggage, you were greeted with your first issue. It was inevitable for something to have gone wrong, but the stakes were a little higher now, in the company of a man you just met. You didn't even know his middle name.

But now you were stuck in Rome together, in a teeny tiny hotel room with one small bed and a wooden chair in the corner.

"I'll go see if they can switch rooms." You sleepily sighed, spinning to head back down the couple flights of stairs you'd just trudged up.

The same sweet woman at the front desk looked even more exhausted when you reached her again and you almost felt bad for asking, but you had to.

When the lady regretfully informed you that they were entirely booked, pointing to a walk-in who opted to sleep in the waiting lounge, you wished her a goodnight and worried all the way back upstairs.

"We could take shifts like they did in the war." You shrugged, informing George that your trip down to change things proved unsuccessful.

"I don't think that's a viable option." George chuckled. He was sitting in the rickety wooden chair, thumbing through a paperback that rested on the desk beside him. Before you could speak up again, he shut the book and stood, announcing that he was going to get cleaned up for the night.

You sorted through a few of your belongings as George occupied the bathroom, pacing at the end of the tiny bed. The room was quaint and warm and held all the charms you'd longed to be surrounded by. But what the hell were you supposed to do now?

You kept on trying to brainstorm when it was your turn to clean up, but you'd had far too much to still try and process about today, that your mind went blank.

Back in the room, You found George settled below the paint chipped window, leaning back against the desk. His legs kicked across the floor, that old ratty paperback in his lap.

"George, get up you're not sleeping on the floor." You sat on the edge of the bed, turning back the covers. He twisted to gaze up at you, confused.

"Come on, we're grown-ups and we're only here two nights." You gestured for him to occupy the bed space beside you, easing toward the edge best you could. You could practically hear him thinking from all the way across the very small room.

"Don't make me count to three." You threatened, giving George a look. He let himself smile as he rolled his eyes and stood with a sigh. He turned off the light and somehow after you'd both situated under the covers, there was a miraculous sliver of space between you.

Worn out from all the travel you were nearly asleep when your head hit the pillow. Tomorrow was a tour of the Sistine Chapel and the Vatican. It was the day you'd planned for a million little things you'd always dream of doing, but now, you felt guilty.

"George..." You spoke out, quiet as you could, gazing out of the window you faced.  "If you got to spend a day in Rome what would you want to do most of all?" He offered to tag along on your trip, but you wanted him to have fun, too.

A beat passed in the still of the night and you figured the guy on the opposite side of the small but arguably cozy bed, had fallen asleep. But then in a low gentle whisper, George replied...

"Do as Romans do."

When in Rome, you thought... It was a saying used as an excuse to indulge but you'd forgotten it really meant to adapt to your situation, to roll with the punches and not get hung up in trying to fight or figure out the natural flow of things.

With that, you fell asleep, dreaming of waking up to another adventure

───※ ·❆· ※───

[nad-zeta]

Match up! (~˘▾˘)~

 Hi again…can I get an Ikevamp match-up? I got curious on who I would end up with tbh😅😅😅

About myself…I never lose a temper, I am extremely shy and quiet, it’s extremely difficult for me to trust new people. I am around 5'9 feet tall, above shoulder length messy brown hair tied into a ponytail; I would be mistaken for a boy if I let my hair down. I wouldn’t even notice if they mistook me for a boy until someone addresses me as one😅😅😅. I look intimidating at first sight because 1.)I am silent most of the time, I look cold and aloof, I never smile, and 2.) I can be blunt without noticing + my difficulty of showing emotions would make them think I’m judging their soul *yikes…whoops?😅😅😅*. That intimidates most people and when in reality when I am the one who feels more intimidated by them. 😅😅

Once I warm up, I have this side that only my family and close friends know. I get along well with anybody; I won’t judge people for their race, beliefs, personality, religion, and all. It doesn’t exist here when I befriend them 😊. I have this weird sense of humor that can turn dark and morbid without noticing… 😅😅 I am like a child at Christmas when it comes to new art supplies, baking, and cooking new recipes; I love sharing it with my family and friends. I can compare my strength to a guy and I can carry heavy things without a problem😅… I love to play the guitar and I used to play the piano when I was younger and I missed playing it. I’m extremely rusty after not practicing for 7 years now😥. I can still read music notes, and it will take longer for me to navigate the piano if I play it. I mostly draw and paint right now tho…

I’m not a fan of wearing girly clothes, and I would rather stick to wearing good ol’ shirts, polo (long/short sleeves), pants, and hoodies style. I avoid drinking alcohol because I easily get tipsy; I’d turn into a loud drunk after a few sips.  My friends would often keep me away from who knows what they’re reading and watching stuff… Told me that they don’t want me to taint my innocent eyes and soul or something like that…I never cuss even if I’m used to hearing my classmates swear like a sailor. The first time my friends hear me accidentally swear, they look at me in horror and demanded me to know where I got that word🤣🤣

I don’t like loud and crowded places, I would feel dizzy and suffocated if I stayed there for too long. There will be times on where I’m nowhere to be found since I would look for an isolated place somewhere around the corner for me to hide whenever I want to draw or paint. I am not really confident of my skills in drawing; I have a bad habit of hiding those from my family *which annoys them*. I have another bad habit of being stubborn whenever I got sick, and I wouldn’t even let anyone know I am unwell because I do not want anyone to worry about me. But when someone noticed, I would admit that I am sick. *I would go to school even when sick so I can finish my school works because, whenever I miss a class, there will always be some of them who would deliberately not tell me that I missed something in class so…i learned the hard way.😅* …

I easily get startled by sudden noises if I let my guard down: objects making a loud sound when they drop. I don’t know how to deal with physical affections and would probably get stiff and flustered. I’m not used to guys hugging me cuz would go stiff whenever a guy hugs me *I love hugs and all but… I’m not used to being hugged by guys… 🙁* I’m a bit of a disaster-prone whenever I’m outside, and would accidentally hit my head on lower tree branches and lower places, sometimes I would accidentally sprain my ankle on the uneven ground *if someone made me wear heels especially if it’s stilettos*. 😅😅😅

Yay: I love my coffee with a ridiculous amount of milk and with less sugar; baking, cooking, sweets, drawing, painting, digital art, music, cats, dogs, pokemon, Manga, anime.

Nay: I despise certain types of vegetables that are bitter and slimy. My face would shrivel up seeing those kinds of vegetables. Animal cruelty is a big no-no for me; I normally don’t get angry, and I forgive people within a blink of an eye *that annoys my family a lot😅* but, I will make an exception for that.

I can control my own anger, that no one can tell I am fuming.

If it’s ok with you…😅😅😅 Took me a long time to figure out how to send a more detailed one. 😂😂 I think that’s enough spilling tmi about myself… Whoopsie…😅😅 🦊🐱🦊🐱

Hi hi love! ❤🌻Thank you so much for the request! I had so much fun writing this up for ya and i hope you enjoy it dear! ❤🦊Also i hope you are keeping safe and well and have a super good day!🐇❤ Also sooooorrrry for taking 2 billion years with this! hehe so without further ado........... @xarexraven

So I match you with…………… Theo

The first time you met everyone, you were so quiet and reserved hiding behind Comte. They took one look at you and instantly thought, “oooh great another male guest.” You were wearing a hoodie and jeans and your hair tie keeping your hair in a ponytail, had just snapped as you walked through the door. Comte gave you a gentle push to introduce yourself, and one look at your intimidating face, had the entire household believing that they had another tsundere in their midst. 

During dinner, you had hardly noticed that they all thought you were a boy. The residents all started retiring to their rooms after dessert, when Sebastian handed you a final cup of coffee, “Here you are sir.” Your eyes widened, and you started up at Sebastian in confusion, too shy to correct him/ That is when Comte who was still sitting beside you gave your head a gentle pat, “Sebastian it is quite rude to mistake our precious guest for a boy, especially one who is beautiful.” Both you and Sebastian were left blushing at the comment, that’s when Vincent, who was the only other resident still at the table, spoke up. “I have to agree with Comte, it is not nice to call someone so pretty, a boy.” The resident angel beamed up at you, while Sebastian apologised profusely, and through it all, the only thing you could think was, “man, this is awkward.”

The next morning after Comte explained the whole, everyone in this mansion is a vampire thing, you wandered around the mansion aimlessly. Well, that is until Napoleon came across you and grabbed your hand, dragging you to the dining room, where a feast of sugary goodness laid wait. He told you that he had made way too many pancakes and that they needed help finishing them. No one in the mansion had seen you smile yet, but at the sight of the giant stack of sugary pancakes, you couldn’t help but beam. Vincent had spotted you and flagged you over to sit next to him. “Oi knaap, don’t go hog all the pancakes, save some of the rest of us will you,” Theo loudly exclaimed as you loaded up your plate to a stack of pancakes almost as high and his. At the sound of Theo calling you a boy, Vincent narrowed his eyes at Theo and started scolding his younger brother for being so rude. Theo stared at you in disbelief but with your hair now in a pony tail he simply shrugged and gave you a new nickname “Hondjie”. With the misunderstanding finally cleared up once and for all, you made quick work of polishing off the stack of pancakes with the three men.

After lunch Vincent gave Theo a detailed list of art supplies that he needed, and at the mention of art supplies your ears perked up. Your eyes gleamed in excitement, and your cold, aloof exterior changed to one of an excited child on Christmas morning. Your cheeks were starting to hurt, that had been a record of two smiles in one day. Although even though your smiling felt weird to you, to the three me it was the most beautiful sight. Theo took notice of your enthusiasm and in his typical indifferent voice, asked if you wanted to come along for the ride. You without a second thought nodded, you basically radiated excitement as you went upstairs to put on some shoes and get a jacket. You met Theo out in the foyer, and soon the two of you made your way to the art supply store. 

Comte had told you that you were free to break the bank and buy anything and everything your heart desired, on the condition that he would be able to see your first piece of art created with the new supplies. 

You were so excited at the thought of new art supplies and being able to continue your passion for art, even though you were stuck in the past, that you let your guard down a little with Theo. He asked you in his usual blunt way, why you were dressed like a boy and not wearing skirts and dresses like other women. You told him that you were most comfortable wearing pants and hoodies. The way your eyes were beaming, low key reminded him of his precious brother, and he found himself low key drawn to your pure, innocent energy. 

The two of you spent hours and hours picking out the perfect supplies, you were low key shook at Theo’s knowledge about art and supplies. He actually helped you pick out the best supplies for your personal drawing and painting style. After spending hours in the art shop. The two of you made your way to the waiting carriage, when Theo spotted an ice cream store, his eyes lit up at the thought of sweets. When you saw how excited he was, you suggested that the two of you investigate the shop before heading back. 

For the first time in Theo van Gogh whole existence, a woman had paid for him. He was sitting across from you in the ice cream parlour while you were happily eating away at your sugary treat, still trying to process it all. You had paid as a token of thanks for him helping you pick out the best art supplies. What shocked him even more was during argument about the bill you legit gave him a deadpan look and bluntly said that you were ganna treat him no matter what. After that comment you legit left him blushing and speechless, you truly were a strange woman.

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments when you finally decided to break the ice. You curiously asked why it was that he knew so much about art, and that’s when he revealed that he was an art dealer. And so the rest of the afternoon was spent chatting about art, paintings, drawings and your mutual passion and appreciation for the trade. To say Theo was pleasantly surprised by you would be an understatement, his first impression of you was now so laughable compared to the person sitting before him. The first time he saw you, he thought you an aloof, little boy who seemed to judge him down to the very depths of his soul. Yet as he got to know you, he had come to realise that there was much more to you.

In the weeks to follow you seemed to surprise Theo more and more. The first thing that had this boy sister shook was your inhuman strength. One day as you were helping Isaac sorts out the library. The two of you had managed to fill up 2 huge boxes of junk and clutter that could be stored in the mansions attic. Isaac lifted one of the boxes and determined that it was too heavy for the both of you, so he went to call Theo or Leo who would have an easier job with doing the heavy lifting. As Theo rounded to the corner to help move the boxes, he almost rammed straight into you. “Oi hondjie, you are going to hurt yourself let me take…” As he took the box from your hands, his face started going red, and a vein in his neck started popping out. The box you had been carrying was obviously almost too heavy for him to carry, he turned around swiftly and started walking up the attic stairs. It took you no time to catch up to him carrying another heavy box of your own. At this point you could see a bead of sweat roll down his face. Theo was determined to carry this box up, there was no way he was going to be shown up by a girl, especially one that he liked. He finally made it to the top of the attic and place the box down with a huff, you had to laugh at the small blush that was still on his cheeks. 

Just then out of the corner of your eye, an old piano caught your attention. Theo eyed you curiously still recovering from the blow to his ego, as you sat down on the dusty piano chair and blew the dust of the piano keys. Your fingers moved to their own accord, gliding across the keys to play a familiar song from muscle memory. Theo sat down next to you and closed his eyes to absorb the beautiful melody. As the last note echoed through the attic, Theo opened his eyes, and sapphire eyes glared down into the depths of your soul. He had honestly never in his life felt more drawn to anyone, before he could say anything your stomach gave a loud growl. It was now your turn to blush and look away in embarrassment. Theo then leads you downstairs, where he whipped you up some stroopwafels.

You tied the apron around your waist and helped Theo prepare the sugary dessert. You were so excited and happy, you loved baking and learning/exchanging new recipes. Once the two of you were done making the sweet snack, you sat down and munched on the Stroop waffles and coffee. The rest of the afternoon was spent chatting about your mutual hate for bitter slimy vegetables and love for dogs as you ate the sugary snack and sipped on coffee. This actually started a tradition between the two of you, where once in a while the two of you would exchange recipes and cook your favourite dishes together.

One day as Theo joined Comte in his room for some tea, he saw a beautiful painting hanging behind Comte, it was just filled with so much emotion. “Hey, Comte, did Vincent paint that one, I haven’t seen it before.” Comte gleamed in delight and told him that you were the artist responsible for the masterpiece and that you had given it to him as a thank you gift for the art supplies. Theo was shook, he knew you loved art but to have created such a masterpiece. He stomped his way to your room and knock on your door. He could hear shuffling from the other side, he swung the door open and spotted you throwing a heap full of tissues in the dustbin and hiding the trashcan behind you. All it took was one look at your red nose, pale face and tired eyes to know that you were clearly sick. You tried to play it off and make your way past Theo to help Sebastian with lunch service, when Theo picked you up and plonked you down on your bed. The second your head hit the pillow, your tired eyes closed and you lost consciousness. You woke a few hours later to Theo sitting by your side gently stroking your hair while placing a cold washcloth on your forehead every now and then. You stubbornly tried to convince him that you weren’t sick. Theo narrowed his eyes at you and in a soft, gentle tone said, “Hondjie can you just stop being stubborn for one minute and let me take care of you.” Theo had nursed you back to full health and you got to see a new side of Theo that you had never seen before, his sweet kind gentle side. It was actually during this time when Theo had confessed his undying love for you.

Theo love love loved your art and would insist you show him your masterpieces once you are done with them.  He knew your weren't confident in your skills and would usually hide your drawings so he did what any reasonable person would do. He tickled you until you gave up the hiding spot so he could see your creation.

He also knows you don’t like crowded places or loud noises, so he actually cleared up a room for you to use as your own art room to work in peace, where no one was allowed to disturb you. 

He knew you would get dizzy and feel suffocated whenever the two of you would walk through a busy crowd in the markets. So now every time the two of you cuties go out, he was sure to plan your route using back roads to avoid unnecessary crowds or he would bring King along for a walk with you. Even though King is a sweet, friendly golden retriever, he has come to love you and will do whatever it takes to protect the new member of his pack. Even if that means angry staring down people so they can part like the red sea before you and Theo.

Theo absolutely loves you to the moon and back. He loves your sweet innocent mind and will always cover your ears and glare daggers at Arthur whenever he is telling stories of previous nights conquests as he “doesn’t want Arthur to taint your innocent mind and soul.” 

He absolutely loves to finally have someone around who gets his dark, morbid sense of humour and who can equally match his weird jokes. Often when the two of you are together, you would be quick-firing the weirdest jokes at each other, while being in stitches laughing at each other.

Theo also loves how you have similar beliefs as him in not judging people. It was due to this that he was completely able to open up about his past with you. You helped him to heal and grow from his past traumas. You helped catch him many a time before falling in the abyss, dragging him out back into the light. 

Both of you were pretty awkward when it came to physical affection at the beginning of your relationship. However, after many, a stiff, awkward hug followed by a fit of laughter from how awkward the two of you were, eventually the two of you started to get more comfortable around each other. 

Now when Theo cuddles you, as you draw him as a manga character, the two of you chuckle at the memory of how stiff and awkward it was the first time the two of you had even held hands. Theo will 100% always insist on holding your hand whenever the two of you go outside as he knows just how accident-prone you are when it comes to nature.

Ultimately Theo loves to spend quiet evenings with you snuggled up in his arms as the two of you exchange stories of each other days. He loves to read all your little manga’s you manage to create for him. Although he will never admit it, he always gets super excited when you tell him about an anime you watched or show him your newest manga drawing. He will shower you with endless amounts of hugs and cuddles from the moment you go to bed till the moment you wake up. And every morning without fail Theo will greet you with a freshly bred cup of milky coffee and a kiss.

Other potential matches…………… Vincent 

I hope you enjoyed this dear and i hope you have the best day! 🦊🌻❤

[the-angst-chronicles-fanworks]

DRACO’S WISH [PT 4/14]

<< | < | > | >>

WORD COUNT: 2817

PAIRING: Drarry

TAGS:

hidden identity

Down and Out Draco Malfoy

Pretty Draco Malfoy

Talented Draco Malfoy

Auror Harry Potter

Smitten Harry Potter

Harry Potter Being an Asshole (just for a while)

Angst

Fluff

Angst with a Happy Ending

Falling In Love

Torture

Skipping Meals/Hunger

Cold Weather

Libraries

Hot Chocolate

SUMMARY: Draco does a good deed and is granted a wish - 12 days of anonymity in a world that hates him CHAPTER SUMMARY:    Potter shows up and insists on buying Draco a drink

on FF.net

on AO3

STORY:

December 11th , 2007

Draco wakes to an absolutely frigid morning and cold sun in his eyes, but for once it doesn’t dampen his mood. He’s positively chipper as he hurries through his morning shower and pulls on his stiff, cold clothes. He manages to get his stove working and, though he’s skipping breakfast today, he boils plain water in lieu of tea. He just barely waits until it’s cool enough before sipping it from a chipped mug, enjoying the warmth it brings.

He briefly flirts with the idea of trying a warming charm for the apartment, but it’s not a serious consideration. Why potentially waste an extinguisher when he now has a perfectly warm library available to him instead?

There’s no reason to dawdle around his apartment so he doesn’t – he slips into the empty hallway and then down the stairs and out to the street. It’s a cold but quick trek up Knockturn and then onto Diagon where the harsh weather prevents him from spending too much time admiring the splendor.

The street is less busy today, likely as a result of both the temperature and the early hour, but it’s still lively. Draco thankfully has no run-ins with Potter today on his way to the library.

The warm, familiar smell of books and ink greets him as he pushes into the building. The librarian, sitting behind the counter today, looks up and nods to him in greeting.

“Good morning,” Draco returns with a polite smile. He makes a beeline, this time, straight to the back where he’d found the volumes on wandless magic yesterday. He’d just reached the section of the book dedicated to harmonizing energy, magic, and intent, when he’d had to leave yesterday, and he’s eager to return to it.

He spends several hours there, reading theory and running through the practice exercises in the book. They’re not spells, not really, just exercises to learn to handle his magic better, and they’ve nothing to do with heat besides, so he’s not particularly worried about starting fires. They are, after all, designed for beginners, and therefore start small. A pleasant result of this, he finds, is that he’s not exhausted or hungry after practicing. Well… okay, he is hungry because he’s always hungry, but he’s not more so than usual.

People come and go from the library, but nobody pays him any mind and nor does he pay them any. Despite the steady traffic, the library is quiet, and Draco is well able to ignore them all and descend into his study.

So his day goes, until just after the library clock strikes 2 o’clock. That’s when Potter and Granger show up. Draco doesn’t see them, but he hears their voices, easily recognizable from being so often on the wireless – Granger is chattering about wizarding law and magical creates, and Potter is humouring her with one-word answers. Draco’s head shoots up, pure panic searing through his veins.

He glances wildly around but doesn’t catch sight of them – they’re somewhere else in the library – and he’s already half out of his seat and considering how best to make a break for it before his mind catches up with him. He pauses, taking a calming breath. Right, he’s being a fool again. They won’t recognize him. To them, he’s just a stranger in a library.

Draco forces himself to calm down, tentatively perching back on the edge of his armchair. He flicks open his book again, his muscles still tense as he looks unseeingly at the pages. But minutes go by and nothing happens, and Draco feels himself relaxing again.

His fingers loosen their grip on the book, and he allows himself to sink further into the armchair and actually start reading again. It’s interesting stuff, the theory behind wandless magic and the changes that must be adjusted for when not using a conduit. He lips move along silently as he reads a passage about the delicacy of shaping and directing magic by will alone.

There’s an exercise here too, walking him through the steps to produce harmless sparkles and then working through controlling the amount, shape, and intensity of them. It’s not a direct, straightforward endeavor, of course, where one simply follows a series of instructions and achieves a result. This is more nuanced, the instructions more abstract, requiring interpretation and creativity to apply them.

But Draco has had a lot of practice working with his magic, and many of these concepts come easily to him now. He feels he’s progressing though the book faster than he would ordinarily, had he not spent so much time reaching into himself and trying to guide his own magic.

The text expects that it will take several days of practice to even pull one’s magic up far enough to get sparkles, but it’s infinitely easier than heating charms and Draco has them dancing around before him in a matter of minutes. Changing their properties is more of a challenge, one that Draco dives into with enthusiasm. He spends the better part of an hour learning how to make sparkles bend to his whim.

He’s having fun making little sparkle fireworks when he looks up and sees Harry Potter standing there and staring at him. He lets out a surprised squawk, the sparkles fizzling out unceremoniously.

Potter flushes and scratches at the back of his head. “Sorry about that,” he says. “You’re the bloke from yesterday right? The one I ran into?”

Draco’s mouth opens and closes uselessly, not sure what to say. Potter remembers him, from bumping into him in the street. Potter is talking to him. Normally. What the fuck?

The silence hangs, awkward, for a beat before Potter fills it. “I really am sorry you know,” he says, and it’s no less awkward now that he’s speaking. Draco casts about for something to say.

“I…it’s fine,” he settles on faintly. He’d said as much yesterday hadn’t he? He distinctly remembers babbling nonsense of that sort at Potter.

Potter shakes his head, scuffing his strange muggle shoes against the warm carpet as he peers at Draco again. “You ran off so quickly yesterday,” he says, surprisingly unsure. “I didn’t get a chance to offer, but I’d like to buy you a drink. To make it up to you.”

Draco frowns, opening his mouth to tell Potter, again, that it’s fine, but Potter heads him off. “I know you said it’s okay,” he says quickly, “but it would make me feel better.” When Draco still doesn’t answer, he tilts his head, gives him a beseeching look that makes him look a little like a baby Crup, and says “Please?”

“Umm…” Draco replies intelligently, clutching his book hard and holding ut in front of him like a barrier. He shouldn’t accept, he really shouldn’t. He’s already decided it best that he stay far away from Potter, no matter how cutely he’s behaving at the moment. If Potter remembers who he is, it will ruin everything.

But Potter is offering him a free drink that isn’t water, and maybe Draco can get him to throw in a bit of food that won’t deplete his meagre stash…

Draco’s stomach turns restlessly, reminding him of how perpetually hungry he is. He knows that he shouldn’t, but he can’t resist.

“Throw in a bagel and I’ll consider it,” he decides, and Potter’s eyes light up.

“Brilliant!” He says eagerly, bouncing slightly on his heels like an overexcited kid. He gestures at Draco’s book. “Let’s get that checked out and we can go,” he says.

He wants to go right now? Draco looks at him in shock, but he seems perfectly serious, still looking over at Draco’s book.

“Oh, erm, never mind that. I’ll just…” Draco trails off awkwardly, nodding toward the shelves. Potter waits as he gets up and re-shelves the book.

Potter takes his arm as soon as he’s finished putting the book away, half-leading and half-dragging him toward the front of the library. They take a small detour to the section on wizarding law, where Granger is browsing the shelves with single-minded determination, so that Potter can call his goodbyes. He barely waits for her reply before he’s leading Draco away again.

They walk down Diagon Alley for a way, passing half-a-dozen little cafes that Potter shows no interest in, and then turn off onto another little street. It’s also a commercial street, but it’s smaller than Diagon, quainter and quieter. It’s still resplendent with Christmas lights, but it has a different air; the quieter atmosphere lends a sense of magic to the air that catches Draco’s breath and causes him to gaze about in awe. It’s such a mundane thing to be excited about, something his younger self would not have even noticed, but now that his life consists of the drab, bland, dankness of Knockturn Alley, he doesn’t take such beauty for granted.

Potter draws them to a stop then, and he turns to see him watching Draco with a smile. Draco quirks an eyebrow, but Potter merely shakes his head, before turning and gesturing to a tiny shop.

“I know it doesn’t look like much, but they have the best drinks here. I swear it.” Potter says. He pulls open the door and holds it for Draco, who feels oddly flustered at the gesture. He ducks his head and murmurs his thanks before he steps inside, moving out of Potter’s way and looking around.

It’s tiny and cramped, with mismatched furniture, scrubbed wooden floors, and pale-yellow walls. It’s not fashionable at all, but it’s bright and warm and Draco likes it. A young witch is behind the counter, chatting with a wizened old man, and other than that the store is empty.

Potter steps up beside him and turns a warm smile on him. “What would you like to drink?” He asks, gesturing to the menu written in chalk behind the front counter. Draco looks over to it, but there are so many options – the board is covered completely with cutesy writing declaring the names of various drinks – that he can’t decide. Tea is a treat for Draco these days.

Potter is still looking at him expectantly, and he burns in embarrassment at failing such a simple task as deciding his drink. “Surprise me,” he hedges. Potter nods, starting to turn away, and Draco adds hastily, “but make it sweet!” He feels his cheeks flush again as Potter chuckles.

“Alright, something sweet,” he says, his green eyes impossibly soft. Draco has never seen those eyes look at him with anything but hatred, and having it now sends electric sparks through his body. Draco shudders, forcing the thought away.

Belatedly, he realises Potter’s saying something to him. “Sorry?” He asks. His face is going to be permanently red at this point.

Potter raises his eyebrows, but he’s smiling. “I said, why don’t you get us seats and I’ll get the drinks.”

Draco raises an eyebrow of his own and looks pointedly around the empty café. “That may be a hardship, what with this crowd, but I’ll try my very best,” he cheeks. Potter outright laughs at that.

“Alright, Mr. Sass, just go sit down,” he says. Draco smirks but turns to comply, while Potter approaches the counter. He hears, from behind him, the girl at the counter saying “Harry! Back so soon?”, and Potter answering with something too quiet for Draco to hear.

He chooses the little round table nearest to the front window and sits, looking out at the twinkling street. Once upon a time, he would have looked down on a place like this. Now, he barely feels that he belongs, with his holey gloves and tattered, baggy clothes. He privately thanks Potter’s apparently overly active sense of remorse that’s led to him being here.

Potter soon comes back, levitating a mug of something steaming, that’s topped generously with whipped cream, and a freshly toasted bagel in front of him. It’s soon followed by a platter of pastries that slides into place between them. Draco blinks at these and then looks questioningly up at him. “What are these then?” he asks. Potter flushes.

“They’re – ah – something sweet,” he explains haltingly, scratching at the back of his head. Merlin, no wonder his hair was a mess. Still, it’s an exceedingly decent thing of Potter to do, and certainly not anything he’s used to.

“Thank you,” he replies, quiet but honest. Potter beams at him, and Draco smiles back as he sips at his drink, which he is delighted to find is hot chocolate.

“So…” says Potter, sliding into the seat across from him, “I never did get your name.”

Draco freezes – can he give Potter his own name? Will that break this anonymity he’s been granted? He’s not sure, and he doesn’t want to chance it.

“Emory,” he says, thinking of the dashing love interest in the romance novel sitting on his bed. “Emory Hughes.”

“Emory Hughes,” Potter repeats, smiling. “I’m Harry Potter.”

“I know,” says Draco without thinking, then clamps his mouth shut, eyes widening. Luckily, Potter doesn’t seem suspicious.

“I had wondered,” he says instead, laughing, and Draco is struck again by how handsome Potter is. He swallows nervously and, to distract himself, takes a pastry and pops it into his mouth. It’s good – incredible really – flaky, buttery, and filled with sweet cream. Draco can’t help his moan, closing his eyes in pleasure. Merlin, and he’d just wanted a bagel!

Potter has stopped laughing somewhat abruptly, and Draco opens his eyes to see him picking up his mug and taking a huge gulp. He then immediately flails, sputtering “Hot! Hot!” and dripping hot chocolate from his mouth and probably from his nose also.

The sight of Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World, dribbling hot chocolate is too much, and Draco can’t hold in his delighted laughter. Potter manages to get a hold of himself, dabbing at his mouth with his serviette and blushing furiously as he glares at Draco, but that only makes Draco laugh harder. Potter glares for a moment longer, and then he is laughing too. “I’m not usually this clumsy, honest!” Potter defends once they’ve both calmed down.

Draco shakes his head, tearing his bagel apart and smirking at Potter. “I don’t know,” he replies, “first you bowled me over in the Alley yesterday, and now this.” He sighs dramatically. “I think you will just have to accept the obvious – you are an utter klutz”

Harry pouts. “I hope you’ll accept all of my flaws then,” he says, and Draco grins.

“If your flaws continue buying me hot chocolate and pastries, I might just be persuaded,” he returns easily. He sips at said hot chocolate to make his point and smirks at Potter.

“Such a hardship,” Potter says. “How will my flaws and I manage?”

Draco throws a crumb of toasted bagel at him. “How dare you,” he sniffs. “I’m a delight, I’ll have you know.”  

Potter gives him a once over, smirks, and says, “I see that.” Draco sputters, red-cheeked. Is Potter flirting with him? No, that can’t be possible, he’s reading too much into it. That’s just to be expected when nobody’s talked to him like a human in years, he supposes – a single modicum of human decency is shown to him, and he thinks he’s being flirted with.

Draco inwardly rolls his eyes at him self and pops a bite of bagel into his mouth. “Well, good to know those glasses are good for something then,” he says at length, far too late. Potter doesn’t call him out on it, though his green eyes are amused as he sips his hot chocolate.

Potter proves surprisingly easy to talk to, a notion that once would have sent Draco into a conniption. He’s always thought the man fit, but now as he sits chatting with him, he finds that his company is honestly pleasant as well. The afternoon passes faster than he realises, and by the time they get up to leave, the sun is hanging low and painting the sky bright with colour.

Potter walks with him back to the library, where he needs to meet up with Granger, and Draco is almost regretful as they arrive.

“Thank you, Potter,” he says, stopping just inside the library door.

“Call me Harry,” Potter insists. Draco frowns – that’s decidedly too weird. It’s not as though they’re going to see each other again anyway.

“Goodbye Potter,” he insists instead. Potter opens his mouth to argue, but at that moment Granger emerges from the stacks and catches sight of them. She makes a beeline toward Potter, and Draco nods a greeting at her and steps out of the way. He catches sight of Potter’s pout in the corner of his eye and grins to himself, feeling lighter than he has in years as he makes his way back to the wandless magic section.