#since she almost killed him with it when they first met :) he gives her widow to kaidan :) it’s the one he uses in the gifs :)

[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

"Did I ever tell you about my Omega casino run in with the Blue Suns, Eclipse, and the Blood Pack Vorcha mafia? Five thousand credits and a bottle of whiskey?"

Ft. Staff Cmdr. Kaidan Alenko, Operations Chief Ashley Williams, Zaeed Massani, & Seven. Dominik Shepard. Phoebus. MIRA'S MORE CANON ME1.5 "Are you Phoebus?" AKA: Pt. 1 of some of what happens between ME1 and ME2 with the Vorcha mafia storyline. :) Mass Effect: Legendary Edition (2021)

[utterlyotterlyx]

The Girl Who Cheated Death

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary - There was no one in any universe who would dare to approach you without fear, that is until you meet a certain Shadowsinger. Once stone cold and vicious in your own right, you soon come to realise that perhaps all it takes is a pretty male with hazel eyes to set you free.

Warnings - kinda dark reader, stone cold, lots of sass, swearing, drinking, mentions of physical abuse, mentions of trauma, some subtle sexual tension, everyone being afraid of the reader because she's giving death vibes x

Word Count - 8.9k

Physical descriptions are present in this fic.

Based on this ask! Thank you @cleverzonkwombatsludge for the request 🫶🏻

"Can I offer some criticism?"

"If it's constructive..."

"You're an idiot," the unwinding braid at your side loosened more with each twist of your fingers, and to your right, through the reflection of the recently polished vanity mirror stood Amren, your closest friend that you had gained when you had first moved to the Night Court one hundred years ago.

It had been no accident that you and Amren had met, in fact, she had been the one to seek you out after a rather intriguing show you had directed at Rita's. Amren watched man after man almost break their necks to look at you, the most beautiful resident of the Night Court, and in all of Prythian. Hair that reminded Amren of a black widow swayed behind you in perfectly loose curls, it was sinfully dark and shone in the faelight, shimmering so brilliantly that Amren had thought that threads of silken web were weaved between each glossy black strand.

Amren also remembered the dress you had worn, it was short and tight, the fabric hugged every curve of your body and kissed the thighs that were connected to those incredible taut calves. If looks could kill then the Night Court would certainly fall to its knees.

It wasn't what you looked like that caught Amren's attention, however. It was the way that every single person in that room shrunk away from your stare, a stone iced glare that was void of any life, all that lay in them was ire and boredom, which quite perfectly summed up what you felt about life in general.

The firedrake sought you out, coming by the gallery you had opened in the city which held an array of carefully collected artworks and mysteriously rare antiques, just to get a glimpse of you, to see the one who had been the first to pique her eye in centuries. Amren had not been disappointed by you. There was something about the way you carried yourself that attracted her to your aura, the perfect posture and slightly hooded eyelids that encased walnut orbs that glimmered gold in the sun. That wasn't all, no, it was also the way you spoke, so sultry and dark, but there was a certain elegance your words. A siren luring souls to the darkest depths of the ocean floor.

Rhys had once suggested that you'd never truly age considering you never smiled. That had earned him a rare small quirk of your lip, and he considered it to be his greatest achievement of his life to date.

It had made sense that the Night Court had been the place where you had chosen to settle, it had moulded very well with you, to the point where Day had become an infantile dream that was floating away in your subconscious. Forgotten.

Despite being a collector of sorts, Amren had soon found out just how far your talented talons stretched, you were incredibly well versed in old dialects, ancient symbols and traditions, a talent that Rhys had soon asked Amren to take advantage of since he was too afraid of you to ask you for aid himself.

Seemed as though the terrifying High Lord of the Night Court was actually scared of something.

"How exactly am I an idiot?" Amren enquired with darkened orbs that kept on glancing downward to the scars that littered the bare spine from the licks of Illyrian whips. They were slightly raised and pallid in comparison to the rest of your healthy glowing hue.

Untethering the last of your braid, you ran your nails over your scalp and pulled slightly, shivering at the relief that surged through you as your hair fell unbound down your spine. All the taut tension in your body quickly evaporated. Silently, you turned on your seat to face your friend, "You're asking me to revamp my evil lair to make it more welcoming for your odd little family," you said incredulously and unblinking, "You're an idiot."

Amren wasn't exactly asking you to make your own home more appeasing to the Inner Circle, she simply meant the private office that Rhys had bestowed to you for whenever he needed your help with something, and it had become a place that you frequented often. It was located in the library of the House of Wind so that your nimble fingers had access to all of the books and ancient texts they needed.

The only settling thing about that office was the view of the golden valley of Velaris, of the snow-capped mountains that loomed to the north. Everything else filled any resident with dread. Tall well-loved candles were scattered about the space, cloths stained with millennia old text hung from the ceilings, tomes lay splayed open on the desk and centre table, each depicting some form of terror. To you, your work was fascinating, studying the origins of evil and all of its forms, to others it was petrifying.

It wasn't odd to find the firedrake confined in your apartment, whether you be with her or not, glass of red in hand and reading some sort of research text. Amren often didn't even glace up at you when you entered your own home, all she noticed was your shadow gliding across the room, drowning out the golden candlelight.

"Rhys would spend more time with you if you did. He's actually really insightful, he could help you with your study."

"Why would I want to spend time with him?"

A poor attempt from Amren to try and push you into a monotone civilian life yet again.

"Fine," Amren rolled her coiling silver eyes and tutted, "Are you ready? Rhys doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Irritation was rife in her voice, you clasped a dainty blood diamond around your neck and allowed your shoulders to drop, "I don't particularly care for your High Lord's time." Rhys was not your High Lord and he knew it, he knew that you couldn't be ruled over and would never answer to anyone but yourself. A queen of her own kingdom. But one he very much wanted to keep on his side.

"Y/N," Amren bit, and you too tugged back the smirk that was quaking in the corners of your mouth.

Meeting her fiery gaze in the mirror, you rolled your head to the side in one swooped graceful motion, "I'm teasing, Amren." Rising from the bench before the vanity, you felt the silken hem of your dress brush against your feet. It was a simple garment, black buttoned up fabric, a deep v-neckline that showed the beginnings of your cleavage, short and soft floating sleeves that cuffed above your elbows.

Smirking with approval, Amren moved to the front door of your ornately beautiful apartment, a personal haven of yours that was vastly different to the office at the House of Wind. Brunette carpets thick enough to sleep upon covered the space, the walls were a shade of milked coffee, warm and inviting, and the ceilings were a soft cream and coved with intricate carvings. A large fire bundled into the far wall at the centre of a wall of windows, before it was a onyx seating area of plush deep seated sofas and armchairs.

It was charming. One of the best views of Velaris was from your living room window.

Leaving your home with the click of the lock, you followed after Amren, falling into place beside her as you walked up the winding paths to the House of Wind. The feeling of people's eyes trailing you had become something you'd become rather accustomed to, they were astounded by your beauty, amazed by how someone could look so breath-taking yet so horrifying.

The House of Wind was as it always was, incredibly luxurious in its own right and shivering at your entrance. It wasn't like the house didn't like you, it just struggled to adjust to your energy, it was starkly different to the usual joy it mostly held.

The echoing voices halted when you rounded the corner, your scent of jasmine and sandalwood soaring through the air, infecting their oxygen. Violet eyes appeared before you within a couple of moments, always wary, always laced with the tiniest bit of fear, "Thank you for meeting with us."

"Well," your eyes sliced across the room, absorbing every face and feature and feeling somewhat intrigued by a face you had never seen before. Tall and tan, shadows swirling at his shoulders, large wings that he had mindfully tucked behind his back, and shiny black hair that fell over his forehead. Rhys stood before you waiting for you to speak, your eyes found his and you hummed, tapping your finger against your clothed thigh, "Anything for the firedrake."

A chortled scoff flew from Cassian and Rhys stepped aside slightly to expose you to the general who soon choked on the air, "Something funny, Cass?" Rhys asked with a smirk, he motioned for you to find a seat and make yourself comfortable.

A deep rooted velvet armchair called to you and you moved to it, paying little attention to the hazel eyes fixated upon you. "No, not at all," Cassian sent you a tight-lipped smile which made Nesta grin, enjoying his discomfort nearly as much as you.

Flames danced in your eyes, the fire burning brightly in the fireplace that welcomed your gaze as though it was a mirror. Turning your head, you folded your hands over your thighs, feeling the exposed skin that lay there from the seamless slit in the fabric.

"How about you skip whatever small talk you were going to offer and get to the point, Rhysand?"

Widened pupils possessed Nesta's gaze, she leaned back into her seat and smirked, a wickedly feline feature, and spoke, "I like you."

No words left your lips, you held her gaze and felt your darkness bubble at her determination to withstand your stare, but she soon stood down; though, she continued to watch you, noting your posture and the way you held yourself. Nesta was in awe.

And she wasn't the only one.

"Straight to the point as always, y/n."

"Am I supposed to be anything but?" Rhys sighed, a headache already forming at his temples from your dry sassing. Perhaps he needed some of that powder that Elain had gifted to Azriel last solstice.

The High Lord pinched the bridge of his nose and slid his hand to rest on Feyre's knee, a sweet gesture, "We need your help with some particular text that none of us can translate. If anyone is going to be able to decipher it then it would be you."

"What text?"

Boredom coiled in your gut, "It's the story of Koschei, we believe that there may be a key hidden within the text that could help us to defeat him." The coil loosened and your eyebrow twitched, and a dark spot to your left caught that millisecond-long expression, sliding back to its master and humming in his ear.

Koschei was a death-god, a personification of evil. To have your hands on such a text would more than aid your research. It would make you infamous in the underworld of Prythian.

"Is it in my office?" Rhys straightened and nodded stiffly; rising to your feet, you brushed down the pleats of your skirt, "I'll take a look."

Before you could move from the room, a gentle clearing of a throat sounded from behind you, beckoning and hesitant. Slowly, you turned around, noticing how Rhys was now standing, "I would like Azriel to help you with this. I believe that your collective talents will be able to decipher the message faster."

Of course. The illustrious Shadowsinger that you had never had the displeasure of meeting. Azriel, Spymaster of the Night Court.

"Studies have shown that I didn't ask for your opinion, High Lord," if anyone else had used the mocking tone toward his title they would have been misted on the spot. But not you, never you. Rhys was too afraid that Hell would rise from your ashes and devour the continent if he even tried it.

A cool kiss slithered around your ankle, and when you peered down you found a shadow curling there, caressing your skin and shivering in delight. Your eyes followed the tendril back to its owner who was clearly mentally scrambling to pull his shadow back to the others. Hazel collided with molten gold and you found yourself yearning for the shadow to return.

"I have to insist," his voice wavered and it didn't go unnoticed by you.

Amren sucked in a breath, shrinking further into her spot wedged between Mor and Elain, knowing that she told had told Rhys multiple times to never order you to do anything.

"What do you fear, Rhysand?"

"I think that you'll find that the word fear is not in my vocabulary," he doubled down and you couldn't blame him, he was an alpha protecting his territory.

Ticking your head to the side, your eyes dragged up his body, and you smirked, a real one that made his blood chill, "Perhaps. But it's in your eyes," not giving him a chance to respond, you turned to Azriel, finding him looking up at you with an almost bewitched possession in his eyes, "Stay out of my way."

Not another word was spoken as you stalked from the room, the only sound being the footsteps of Azriel who had speedily followed after you. Neither of you spoke on the descent down to the library, even that vast space of aged excellence watched you enter; you almost floated across the room, a grace in your steps that Azriel had never seen before, and it had him needing to know more.

How Azriel had never met you astounded him, he would certainly remember a face like yours. It was one that held the power to haunt his dreams.

As promised, the texts had been left on your desk, and you moved to them instantly, tracing your fingers down the bound leather spine and examining the golden embossment, picking apart the symbols in your mind. Rounding the large oaken desk, you pulled the text with you, opening the cover and not even flinching when it thudded against the desktop.

Thick waves fell over your shoulder and you mindlessly tucked them back from where they had originated, not caring about the effect it had on the Shadowsinger who noted how your fingers grazed against your collarbone on its return to the ancient pages before your insightful eye.

"I've never been in here before," a weak attempt to strike up conversation with you. Azriel had heard much about you from Cassian and Rhys, of how awful terrifying you were, how you intimidated every single person that crossed your path and seemingly enjoyed the terror of it.

Azriel understood it, there was something about you that was unnerving, that he could understand why people were uncomfortable in your presence, but he only found himself in wonderment of it.

Without looking up, you turned the page gently and muttered, "Why would you? It's my office."

Displeasure was prominent on your tongue, the taste of it swelled in the muscle but you didn't allow it to be vile, you pulled the bile back and silently choked on it.

Azriel drank in the room, the begging to be lit candles and the large arched windows, the aged tapestries of history that were clearly too valuable to display in your gallery, "The creation of the cauldron," the words pulled you from the text and your gaze narrowed in on the Shadowsinger rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet with his hands folded neatly at his back.

"How do you know that?"

The Shadowsinger circled to face you and took a tentative step to the edge of the desk, "I've seen a couple of the same markings in a cave. This is the original?"

"Yes," there were many deplorable things you had taken part in to secure your collection as the most impressive in the entire universe, some things you weren't proud of, others, you were very much so.

"How did you get it?" Azriel admired the piece, a depiction of Prythian's creation that no one would ever guess was as important as it was, all because they couldn't read the first language of the fae.

Sitting back in your seat, you placed your magniscope on the surface, an ornate tool used by curators and researchers alike to read between the lines of existence, and watched him, "There are some things in this world that would make even your blood burn, Shadowsinger."

The way you said his name had a shudder flickering down his spine, your tone was sultry and low, like you knew of his darkness and had decided that it was a star in comparison to whatever lived within you.

A golden glow shrouded the room from the setting sun kissing the mountain peak, it washed over you, its light glittering your skin with shimmer, turning your eyes into burnished gold. The blood diamond around your neck cascaded speckles of its hue across the ceiling, and your chest rise an fell with even, calm breaths.

Forgetting the reason why he stood before you, Azriel allowed himself a moment to examine you, the beautifully loose hair that swam down that perfectly curved spine, the eyes and cheekbones, the full lips and the indents of your collarbone. You were by far the most incredible thing he had ever seen.

The stolen moment wasn't one that escaped your eye, a gentle heat pooled at your cheeks and you had no option but to look away, clearing your throat and pouring your attention back into the text in front of you.

Coiling the magniscope in your fingers, you hovered it over the written symbols on the page, moving it in line with every line and swirl you could see. It was a heavy object, and you hadn't been surprised when Amren had mistook the glass orb as a bookend.

"What do you know of Koschei?" Azriel found a place in the seat opposite you, his shadows danced from his shoulders and began to inch toward you, and he made no move or command to stop them.

"There are many legends," you began, craning your neck to peer at the top of the adjacent page, "Attacking his physical body won't harm him, he has split his soul into parts and placed them in other living creatures or sentient objects. Destroy the objects and you have a better chance of ending him."

Azriel angled himself forward, propping his elbows on his knees, "How do you know that?"

Again, without looking up, you spoke, "When you spend a lot of time in the Underworld of this continent you pick up a few things. You also learn how to decipher the truth from the lies."

Another gentle turn of the page.

The taupe scribing possessed the faintest words written in a pale gold ink, so miniscule that any other magniscope wouldn't be able to see it. Though yours wasn't just any ordinary magniscope, it was forged with the stardust of a fallen star, a star that used to burn the brightest in the northern skies.

"You know of the Underworld?"

For a moment, your gaze flickered upward, golden pools peering through your long thick lashes, "Very well."

It wasn't surprising that you had dabbled in the darkest reality of the continent, your knowledge was not cheap, and it wasn't knowledge that you could gain from books alone. Azriel wondered how many souls you had stripped from the earth on your quest for knowledge, perhaps it would cause his count to pale in comparison.

"I could only imagine what someone would do for this level of knowledge," his voice lingered, questioning, requiring to know every corner of the mind locked within the female in front of him.

"Are you trying to compare body counts, Spymaster? If so, I assume I would be disappointed with your lacklustre attempts."

Then you were back on the text, scribbling words down in the notepad to your left without even glancing to it, focused to the point where no letter strayed from the lines. But you still felt his eyes on you, waiting, scouring your face and trying to figure out why exactly he had never crossed paths with you before considering your occupation.

"Don't you have some doe-eyed damsel to go and rescue?"

Even with the fleeting few minutes spent with the Inner Circle, you saw how Elain Archeron looked at him, all love-sick and hopeful. Elain was a perfectly mundane being, content with all things bright and pretty. It was sickening.

Biting back the urge to roll his eyes at the thought, Azriel shuffled into his seat, seemingly getting more comfortable, "No."

"Shame," you mused, impressing Azriel with how you scribed, analysed and spoke all at the same time. A very powerful mind was dwelling within you, and it had his attention.

Azriel was finding your dry words quite amusing, though he was spending his time sat before you in silence, sketching every inch of your face and body to his memory.

A soft tug pulled at your brows, and if Azriel wasn't fixated upon you then he surely would have missed it. He let a minute pass, a minute where the pace of your analysation quickened alongside the rate of your writing. Again, your hair fell over your shoulder, clearly bothering you but you couldn't move it, not when you were so entranced, and it took all of his will to not do it for you.

Questioning you on your findings, your eyes held a certain twinkle to them as you explained your theory. That Koschei had in fact fractured his soul and implanted the pieces of it within other living creatures and objects, and that to hunt those objects down was the only way to be able to banish him from the world.

"Run and tell your master," you told him after you were done explaining how to find the first host of Koschei's soul, "I'm sure he will be thrilled with your input."

Which was very little, Azriel hadn't done anything other than invade your space and make himself far too comfortable, but he didn't argue, he simply stood from his seat and bowed, taking your hand in his marred digits and raising it to his lips, brushing them against your knuckles and thanking you before leaving you to your silence.

The ghost of his touch lingered on you skin, as did the licks at your calves from the shadows he hadn't cared to reign in upon his exit.

It was then that a small yet foreign warmth pooled in your chest, you rubbed the spot gingerly and sighed, returning to reality and shaking your head back to sense. Finding peace in the confined corners of your mind.

The next instance where you found yourself in Azriel's presence had been one warm afternoon in the library.

Velaris had been scorched by the sun, the summer breezes swept across the city, and you had decided to wear a simple grey dress that afternoon, it was lightweight enough to flow in the gentle caress of the wind but still managed to keep to your usual elegant yet sharp style.

Since that insisted couple of hours in your office a couple of weeks ago, you were ashamed to admit just how much your thoughts drifted to the Shadowsinger you had seen lurking in the corners of your consciousness. The darkness was lingering in the farthest reaches, as if it didn't wish to be discovered by you but couldn't steer itself away.

The ladder beneath your feet creaked as you reached across the shelf, tongue stuck out of the side of your mouth as you strained slightly, your fingers barely brushing against the spine of the book you needed. A familiar cool presence washed over you, trailing up your skirt and arms and extending from your fingers to remove the book from the shelf and place it in your awaiting grasp.

Peering back to the ground, you saw Azriel stood at the foot of the ladder with his hands resting at his sides; balling the skirt up in your fingers, you used the railing the lower yourself back to the earth and paused in front of Azriel who had a brow quirked in curiosity, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," his voice matched your own but he found himself faltering when you went to walk by him. His voice called out to you, "I just wanted to let you know that we found the first host."

You paused your steps and turned, "And?"

"It's destroyed," and clearly the gravity of it weighed on him, he had to have known that Koschei wasn't exactly going to make the objects easy to destroy, but it still didn't mean that it wasn't traumatising.

Understanding what he meant, at the life he had just taken to protect to continent, you took a step toward him, an olive branch of sorts, "Are you alright?"

Itching with confusion, Azriel nodded slowly, "I didn't think you cared."

You shrugged, nonchalant, and scuffed the heel of your sandal against the floor with your gentle kick, "I don't."

Azriel hummed, a serene grin tugging at the corners of his lips, "I think that you do," Azriel took a step forward and noticed how your back straightened and shoulders rolled back.

The book became plastered to your chest, "Whatever you think is of little concern to me."

Two weeks had passed, two weeks of not only searching for the first host of Koschei thanks to your wildly impressive knowledge, but two weeks of Azriel doing all he could to gain your attention. It had been difficult to see you at Rita's, swaying to the music without a care in the world beside Amren, and not be able to touch the skin that seemed as smooth as honey.

His shadows had been following you, reporting back to him of how you spent your days cooped up in your apartment reading or in your office analysing another ancient text. They reported no men, nothing untoward or damning, they simply whispering to him how pretty you were. They had been bewitched by you, utterly obsessed with everything that you were, and he couldn't blame them.

Turning on the balls of your feet again, you entered your office, leaving the door open in silent permission that Azriel basked in as he followed you inside, "I'm trying to talk to you, y/n."

A soft hum vibrated against your lips. Placing the book once glued to your chest on the centre table of the room, you faced Azriel once more. The office was cold, as was every chamber built below the main infrastructure of the house, and Azriel wondered how you could be so at home within it.

It was entrancing how a room so dark and full of evil texts and passages could make you look so ethereal. The glossed black hair he had often dreamt of running his fingers through was tied back in a loose thick braid, whisps of hair fell from the vines of it and settled over your eyes. Ornate jewellery twinkled in the pale sunlight, swirls of gold encased your fingers and wrists, and a coiled necklace that resembled a scaled serpent glided around the base of your neck.

"What would you like me to say? I did tell you how to find the first host so that you could destroy it. I don't require updates, Azriel," the movement of your tongue as you said his name for the first time had his resolve withering.

"Well, I suppose we'll have to warm ourselves by the glow of your I told you so."

Then, as though the sun was blessing the earth after eons of slumber, your lips widened into a grin, one big enough to expose your perfectly white teeth and Azriel felt the dark storm clouds in his soul splinter. A golden threat soared through him, reaching out to you and entwining itself with the thread bristling at your centre.

Sculpted fingers drifted over that spot in your chest that had become increasingly hard to ignore and you inhaled sharply. Azriel's pupils had dilated, they were wide and frenzied, and his hand was outstretched to you.

The smile on your face dropped.

"You're my mate," Azriel nodded at the words you had managed to utter, the same ones that had become lodged in his throat.

Heat prickled at his skin, nerves seeped into his bones. You were so unreadable, and Azriel was scrambling his thoughts to clear so that he may be able to figure out how you felt about it. About being fated to be his.

Azriel had learnt from Amren how unaffectionate you were, how much you hated anyone touching you. It was because of the Illyrian camps you had visited in your younger years where they had thought you a witch, and had punished you for it in a barbaric way; the evidence still lingered on your skin in long angry streaks, and Amren had admitted that night is what spurred on your need to understand the roots of evil.

It was understandable, to spend a lifetime studying the one thing that had ever truly hurt you. For what reason, Azriel didn't know, but he liked to think that it was to cause evil to cower in your presence.

Silence shrouded the room like a disease, infecting and poisoning everything in its path, and Azriel way becoming increasingly worried about how your smile had dropped. Was he truly that repulsive to you? He could only ever dream to be mated with someone like you, someone who welcomed death like an old friend and would entertain it in an eons long waltz, someone who was poised and elegant but so brilliantly lethal that it made even him shudder.

Taking an unsettling step toward you, Azriel loosened a breath when he saw that you hadn't retreated, his eyes were trained on you as he took another step, and then another, until his shadow danced with you own, "I'm your mate."

Rhys and Cassian would be mortified of the news, Azriel was sure that Rhys found you terrifying in the same way that Cassian found Bryaxis. No of that mattered though. Not to him. Not when he now belonged to a female as striking and dangerous as the blood in his veins.

A faint blush crept up your cheeks at the proximity, the tendrils connected to his essence peered over his shoulders seemingly apprehensively thrilled that it was you stood before them, "Yes, you are."

Azriel's gaze drifted down to your lips and left dragged back upward to your eyes, "Can I touch you?"

A part of you froze at the desperate question. You hadn't let anyone touch you in years, you couldn't remember the last time you laid with a male or female, you couldn't remember what a simple even felt like. Amren had never even tried to get too close to you let alone anyone else.

In the first vulnerable emotion you had ever let anyone see, you sheepishly nodded, eyes boring into his own and he didn't break his stare as his fingers twitched toward you, ghosting along your skin and melting at the heat they found there. Mindlessly, you shifted when his palm lingered a whisker away from the slope of your neck and his eyes became stitched with concern but softened when you had won the fight against your fear to stand still once more.

Azriel's hand lowered, resting against your skin that was softer than his imagination could ever fathom. His thumb drifted down the column of your throat and you swallowed, hard.

"You don't have to accept this or me," he told you, his voice tantalisingly cooing to you in a hush above a whisper, "But gods, y/n. I really hope that you do."

Azriel saw through you then, through that façade you wore like a medal. And he found what saw to be quite heart-breaking. Stood before him was a woman, one that possessed a brilliant mind and equally captivating beauty, but beneath it all was the girl who was brutalised so badly that she vowed to never allow another person close again.

"You're my mate," you spoke with a certain conviction that hadn't graced your words the last time, Azriel watched your lashes flutter, and he felt his soul singing when those eyes found him again, "I'm not letting you go."

Gracefully, your fingers curled around his wrist, your index finger sleeping just over the faint beat of his pulse, just where his marred flesh faded to memory, "You accept it?"

"I- yes, I do."

Jasmine and sandalwood drowned his lungs, and he would have died happy just to be able to say that he knew what your shampoo smelt like. Papaya and coconuts. He gingerly ran his fingers through your hair, noting how much you loved the feeling of it as you shivered in his arms. Azriel pressed a dainty but tender kiss to your brow, and it had you realising that maybe you were allowed to give yourself this one thing that the younger version of you had always dreamt of.

Azriel hadn't tried to push you further, he knew that the moment of allowing someone to touch you, to hold you, was far more momentous than finding your mate.

Instead he asked you a simple question, it was more of an offering than anything. To spend time together away from the prying eyes of his family, so that you may become comfortable with one another before allowing anyone else into it. You had agreed. Eagerly.

So the next few weeks drifted by, afternoon walks along the Sidra, morning breakfast drop-offs at your office, after hours visits to the gallery where you would tell him of your adventures and how on some occasions you barely survived. Azriel was in complete awe of you, he sat beside you on your love seat completely captivated by you, his fingers tracing small circles into your thighs and his shadows curling through your hair. And that smile, gods, that smile could make even the most poised male lose all sense. It was bright and gleaming, and your skin glowed with the happiness of it.

Then you had decided to break the news to the Inner Circle, and as you stood before those doors oozing with grandeur, you felt nerves pinch at your skin, "Are you ready?" Azriel's fingers were tangled with yours and he bowed his head to place his lips on your bare shoulder.

"Yes." Azriel gave your hand a gentle tug, willing you to move from your spot located just behind him.

The aura of the house had shifted, now, it was inquisitive, glancing to the mirrors and then back to your hands to see if what it was seeing was real. Laughter echoed at the end of the hall, your scent had usually silenced them by now, but not this time. Now that your scent was mixed with Azriel’s it seemed much less threatening. Pity.

Turning the corner, you became startled by the smash of a glass, shards of it glided along the floor and fell at your feet. Looking up, you found Mor frozen in place, wide eyes and bewildered. The rest of the room craned to attention, collectively moving their eyes from Mor, to you, and then to Azriel, and then to your entwined fingers.

It took a minute, but you could have sworn you heard the bell ding in Cassian’s empty brain, “Oh shit,” he rose to his feet, wings flaring slightly as a wide grin gripped his mouth.

Rhys appeared before you both, gaze lowered in surprise, clearly trying to picture a timeline in his mind. The High Lord looked to his Spymaster, “Are you-“

“Mates?” Azriel finished incredulously, knowing that your moulded scents had already infected the room, and turned his head to you, orbs gleaming and adoration speckled on his cheeks, “Yes.”

Elain Archeron had sank into her seat, doing her best to not pay attention to you in particular whilst her stomach churned with the scent seeping into her bones. Subconsciously, you moved closer to Azriel, a slightly territorial action that made him smirk.

It had been a brief conversation that you had suffered through, the one where Azriel had made it very clear that the situation with Elain was brutally one-sided. Azriel had only sought to be nice to her, to help her to adjust to her new body and life because she was Feyre's sister and Feyre was his High Lady, and she had taken his kindness for something much more than what it truly was.

Leading you to the velvet armchair that you would usually slither into, Azriel sat and motioned for you, turning you in his hands so that his touch never left your thighs, and pulled you to his lap. A bashful smile formed on your face and you could feel the eyes of the room on you, equally as confused as shocked.

"Since when?" Nesta had asked after sipping from the goblet of red wine between her fingers, the liquid staining her plump pale lips, and she used her thumb to wipe a singular droplet before it ran down her chin. Her eyes held an emotion you couldn't quite make out, Azriel had admitted that Nesta was just as unreadable as you at times, but the way his digits dug into your flesh told you that what the eldest sister was feeling was an assortment of jealousy. Not toward you, toward him.

"The bond snapped just over a month ago," Nesta hummed and burrowed herself into the cushions, pouting slightly, like she was an infant who had her favourite toy taken from her grasp. "We wanted to explore it before we properly accepted it or told anyone."

That made Elain's doe-like stare move from the floor to your mate who was sat with you on his thighs rubbing small circles into your shoulders, "So you haven't accepted it?"

Your jaw clenched at the question, the question that was perfumed with the last splatters of hope, "If you're asking if we've fucked yet, Elain, then no, we haven't. Does that answer your question?"

Azriel's fingers moved to play with the ends of your hair, knowing that the sensation of slight tugging over your scalp relaxed you infinitely, "I only ask because I know how physical Azriel can be. Surely you've heard the stories?" Elain feigned innocence, Feyre sighed from her seat and glanced to you apologetically, silently begging you to not tear her sister apart.

In fact, you had heard the stories. Trying to ignore the gossip of the city was difficult considering how used you were to eavesdropping into certain conversations in the underworld. So, unfortunately, you had heard about Azriel's many lovers, and you'd be silly to not feel insecure of it, but you wouldn't let her see that. Ever.

Craning your neck to the side, you smiled, your iced gaze slicing into her and making Elain shrink under the weight of it, "With all due respect, which is none," you leaned to the side, accepting the goblet of wine that the house had presented to you in premature thanks for the forthcoming words you were about to utter, "Your existence gives me a headache, so please go and find somewhere else to be."

Rhys' eyes widened but he suppressed the smirk forming on his face, hiding his lips behind his fist and closing his eyes. Not even Feyre or Nesta spoke up over it, they clearly knew better than to challenge you. Cassian however didn't really care if Elain saw his joy at your words, he had been growing more tired each passing day of her pining affection toward his brother, and now he understood why Azriel had withdrawn further from the female over the last few weeks.

It was because of the unique female before their very eyes.

The middle sister went to open her mouth, to retort something that wouldn't even irk you, but Amren shushed her, halted the words in her throat and willed her to die with them, "Don't even try it," Amren served you more than her own court, finding a kindred spirit within you, and she would shame herself if she let Elain speak to you as if you were nothing.

Elain would never understand someone like you. She wasn't worthy of it anyway.

No one had ever tried to understand Amren, not really, they thought her too complicated to be worth it. As long as they brought her pretty jewels and respected her then there was little else to worry of in their eyes. But you, you had understood her instantly and had found a particular solace with her, like you were peering through a mirror and she was your reflection.

Sipping the potent liquid in your goblet, you bowed your head to her, quietly thanking your friend for halting the small spat before it escalated and ruined the evening entirely. Tonight was not about Elain and her fragile feelings, it was about showing the Inner Circle who now owned your heart.

So, the middle sister vacated the room feigning a migraine, and the aura instantly lifted. A soft smile formed on your lips when your eyes landed on your mate, your entire face relaxed; entwining your fingers with his, you blushed when he pressed his lips to your knuckles and dragged your index finger down his cheek.

The Inner Circle watched on, knowing that they had never seen Azriel so taken by anything. They feasted on the sight of his shadows purring through your hair, on your colliding smiles, and how your gentle words to one another were contained in an ornate bubble around your bodies.

As the evening continued, you found yourself quite enjoying their company, you sat bundled into Azriel's embrace, finding comfort in the arms that were wrapped around you whilst Cassian spewed war stories, bragging at his prowess.

"Not to brag," you began with a smirk, "But at least eight men have described me as 'terrifying', and two of them are in this room. Choke on that ego, Cassian."

Nesta's grin turned feline and excitement bubbled in the pit of her stomach. What she wouldn't give to spar with you, to have your legs wound around her and that tense gaze splitting her in half. From the whisperings of Prythian, it was very clear that you had done some rather diabolical things in order to obtain certain artifacts that had been locked away in your most prized and personal collection. So prized that its location was unknown. She could only imagine what trinkets you possessed, and the things you had witnessed.

"What about Azriel?!"

The Shadowsinger shrugged, his hand resting on your thigh and squeezing the flesh there, "I've only ever been entranced by my mate, Cassian," Azriel drawled, sipping the amber liquid swirling in his rocks glass like molten bronze, "It's you and Rhys who are afraid of her."

"If it's any consolation, I don't blame you."

Cassian frowned, turning to Nesta and asking, "Are you scared of her?"

"No," she answered a little too quickly, so quickly that you had quirked your brow at the sound, "I find y/n to be quite exciting."

"Exciting?" Cassian moved to Feyre and asked the same question, his manhood decaying when she too said that you didn't scare her, "Mor?"

The blonde who could not rival your beauty had always watched you from afar, and had always enjoyed how you made males squirm. Mor rose her glass to the stars and stated, "Bring every man you meet to their motherfucking knees, y/n."

"Amen to that," Amren tipped her glass in response, downing the rest of the thick red sap and finally feeling at home in the presence of her family thanks to you, and she eternally thanked the male sat beside you for being able to breathe some light into the storm cloud that was your mind.

"Mother above," Rhys grumbled, the women in his life uniting and itching to wreck havoc. The action of Rhys swiping his hand down his face, dragging the skin slightly toward in frustration, made a deep chuckle float from your lips, so serene that Nesta likened the sound to a siren call and found herself drawn to it. "Did I just make you laugh?" Rolling your eyes, you nodded at the High Lord who turned toward his mate, "This is the best day of my life," then back to you, "Does this mean that we're friends?"

Rhys waited expectantly, childlike orbs pleading to you with their innocence. You had no friends bar Amren and you were content with that. It meant that you only had one thing to lose. But as Azriel laid his hand on the small of your back, gaining your attention and giving you an expression of promise, the resolve of your solitude cracked, "Why not?"

The door to the River House flew open, a sudden shrill chill soaring through the air from the wild winds battering against the city, no doubt spurred on by your fury.

Many months had passed, and in that time you had truly blossomed, sure you still wore the mask of the devil on your features in public, but when you were with the Inner Circle, a group of people you now proudly belonged to, that mask drifted away like ash in the autumn breeze; and when Azriel was beside you, it felt as though warmth and happiness was all that you ever knew.

Much to Elain's upset, you and Azriel had officially accepted the bond and had locked yourselves away for four weeks to make the most out of every single moment together, and Rhys had been understanding enough of the bond between you both to not drag your mate away on another mission. The bond between you and Azriel was something that Rhys had never seen before, not even between him and Feyre.

"She tastes like every dark thought I've ever had."

The ceremony itself had been astonishing.

The women of the Inner Circle had spent the better part of two days dressing your apartment for the occasion and Feyre had made it quite clear that the upcoming ceremony was going to make theirs look ridiculous in comparison. Rhys was split between jealousy and awe when he saw it.

No one had ever stepped into the apartment beside Amren and Azriel, he had decided to move into the apartment after your return from the four-week sabbatical at the cabin, it was as though you were gifting them with the last part of you, allowing them to see what they could never fathom.

Faelights were strewn across the ceiling, curling around the arched windows that displayed the golden valley of the city in a way Rhys had never been able to appreciate before; tucked between the vines of the lights was fresh foliage, an array of green hue ferns caressing fully blossomed white roses and pale blue peonies. Sprigs of cedar and rosemary had been wove between the foliage and flowers alongside splinters of sandalwood, filling the room with the physical aspects of your scents.

Only the Inner Circle had been invited, and as you were dressing in your room with Amren, you could hear Nesta whining of her foolish jealousy of having to watch Azriel marry you. Amren had simply raised a brow and smirked at you through the mirror as she finished securing your veil to the back of your head.

There was no one you would want to share the moment with other than her.

Amren had blindfolded you, leading you through the home so that the gift wouldn't be ruined just so that you could get ready together, for the most important and deserving night of your life.

The dress that you had meticulously chosen was the most incredible garment Amren had ever seen, so much so that the first time you had tried it on in front of her, she had nearly cried at the beauty of it; and there you now stood, twisting in the mirror and running your hands down the hem of your veil and then your hips. The dress was made entirely of white lace that you had imported from the Day Court, an off-the-shoulder neckline and sleeves that kissed your wrists, it was elegant and graceful, and made the freckles of your trauma glow like shooting stars.

A gentle knock had sounded at the door and Rhys stepped in, taking one look at you and finding his breath catching in his throat. "You look amazing," he breathed, approaching you with his hands deep within his pockets.

The High Lord had been honoured when you had sheepishly asked him to walk you down the aisle; Rhys had found himself consumed with the need to protect you, after seeing your guard disappear, he saw who you truly were, a woman who just wanted to be loved and protected, and ready to allow other people to do it for her after spending so long doing it herself.

"Are you ready?" Inhaling deeply, you nodded and turned to him, noting the outstretched hand before you and feeling your usual anxiety bubbling in your gut. Rhys, realising that he shouldn't have done something so bold, went to retreat but halted when you took a small step toward him, reaching your fingers out to his palm and sliding them into his grasp.

Azriel was right, your skin was a smooth as honey.

A gentle smile of triumph later, you spoke, "I'm ready."

It was that moment that Rhys was begging you to remember as you barrelled through his house, no doubt heading straight for him in the confinements of his office.

He could feel your anger slam through the walls, your footsteps sounding up the staircase and stopping at the top of the hall, a pause to remember just how much you liked him before stalking down the hall and bursting into his office. Rhys cringed, knowing what was coming as you strode to his desk and slapped your palms flat against the wood.

"If you ever," you pointed your perfectly manicured finger in his face, "Send my mate back to me in that state again. I. Will. Destroy. You."

The snarl of your words sent a shiver coursing down his spine, and in that moment you were the y/n he had met one-hundred years ago. Cold. Distant. Almost demonic.

In his defence, he hadn't sent Azriel on an overly dangerous mission, it wasn't his fault that his Spymaster was ambushed in The Middle. Azriel's spilled blood was entirely his own fault in Rhys' eyes, "I didn't mean for him to get hurt, y/n."

The rushed footsteps of another sounded in the hall, and when Rhys looked past your deeply heaving form, he was relieved beyond compare when he saw a bruised Azriel approaching, "Angel, it wasn't his fault. I was distracted," his voice grew louder as he paced closer to the pair of you, appearing at your side and turning your head in his fingers to face him, "I was thinking about you and I didn't hear them coming."

Watching your shoulders drop, Rhys sighed and wiped away an invisible bead of sweat from his brow, sitting back down and continuing his viewing just as you tilted your head to the side and popped out your bottom lip.

"You were?" Azriel's eyes softened and he dipped his gaze to meet yours, "That's the most romantic thing you've ever done. You were attacked because you were thinking about me, you actually bled because you were thinking about me?"

Rhys could only watch on perplexed at your words, you threw yourself into Azriel's arms, muttering small apologies for brushing against the bruises littering his abdomen, "She's crazy."

The Shadowsinger could only huff, too entrapped by you to really reprimand him, "Yeah," his eyes opened lazily, brimming with exhaustion, "But she's my crazy."

Azriel's shadows curled over your shoulders and shuddered, crying to be as close to you as possible, like they were trying to entwine with your soul so that you one day may carry them with you wherever you walked. In whatever world.

A bond like yours was made to topple temples and shatter worlds, it was made to transcend time and space; and as you wrapped an arm around your mate and led him from the office, not without sending one more warning glare to the male you had come to love as a brother, Rhys knew that no matter where either of you went, there would be no place that you could travel to where the other would not follow.

Author’s Note

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[jammydodger3579]

Young Lust

Summary: Reader is an ex-widow. She escaped with Yelena and lives at the Avengers compound, though she denies being one. The X-men have been working with the Avengers quite closely lately. (I plan on making this a series so that's all the context you get for now hehe)

A/N: so this is the first piece I've put out in a long time so pls be kind, feedback is welcome as long as it's constructive. idk when I'll post the second chapter so enjoy this for now. Also couldn't stop listening to Young Lust by Pink Floyd and Closer by Nine Inch Nails while writing this iykyk ;)

18+, for mature audiences only.

1000+ word count.

Warnings: smut, p/v sex. cursing? I'm really bad at writing smut so apologies

It wasn’t the first time they’d met, it was just the first time he’d noticed her. Her hair, messily curled. Her makeup, strikingly bold. It suits her. Y/N noticed him too. Drink in hand, leaning against the kitchen island. He seems to have put effort into his appearance for this night. His hair was done, his beard freshly shaven. He even wore his nicest jeans and jacket. Y/N was half listening to a conversation between Kitty and Yelena. Something about how Kitty had come to be at the mansion. They all got along, especially since the Avengers, and their associates like Y/N and Yelena, wanted to bridge the gap between them and the X-men.

Professor Xavier had come to the compound around 3 months ago to discuss with Stark the future of the X-men and how they should all work together. They were practically already neighbours, Stark remarked, the Avengers compound being only a 20-minute drive from the school. Logan had visited that day, sparking up a conversation with Y/N and Bucky.

“So you’re an avenger?” She looked up and smiled at the large man. 

“Only by association. They give me a place to live, and I help them out with missions” She shrugged and stood up. Compared to her, Logan towered over her. “So you’re an X-man?”

“Only by association” Logan nodded and noticed the Professor leaving Starks office. And with that, he was gone. Y/N sighed. Bucky stood up and put a hand on her shoulder. 

“Guess we’ll be seeing more of them,” He said. He was right, Y/N would be seeing a lot of Logan. She wanted to know more. 

The X-men had successfully worked with the Avengers for a series of related missions, Y/N only onboard for some of them, so as a celebration of their success, Professor Xavier hosted a dinner night for the Avengers. Y/N parted ways with the woman and walked over to Logan. She leaned over the counter and poured herself a drink. 

“Enjoying yourself?” They’d only spoken a few times during their missions. They seemed to work well together without talking. Logan nodded and took a sip of his drink. “I’ve never actually been here before, it’s nice” 

“It is, have you had the tour yet?” Logan pulled a cigar out of his pocket. “I need fresh air anyway, so I can show you around a bit” Y/N nodded and followed him out of the kitchen. They walked through the dining room and a living room. One of a few, Logan had said. They made their way outside to the back of the building. Y/N watched as Logan lit his cigar and she took this opportunity to light herself a cigarette. Logan scoffed slightly. “Didn’t peg you for a smoker, bub” 

She smiled and shrugged. “Sometimes you just need a cigarette,” Logan nodded, understanding. He couldn’t help but notice her face, under the moonlight. Her makeup making her features more prominent. He’d recognized she was naturally pretty before, but tonight was different. She was wearing casual, nice clothing. Not her usual tactical gear. Her hair was down unlike how she usually had it. She looked almost regular, someone you wouldn’t expect to have a gun tucked under her skirt. But she was raised to be prepared for anything. “Tell me, how does the Professor feel about his teachers smoking on school grounds?”

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him. Besides, it’s a stressful job” Y/N was drawn to him, especially tonight. Maybe it was just the alcohol or the moonlight. Something in her stirred. She needed more. His massive body, his arms around her…

They’d had a moment, about 3 weeks back, a one-time thing. Logan was at the compound with Bobby and Kitty, discussing some information they had with the team. Y/N wasn’t a part of the conversation, she had just been training with Yelena. As she walked into the room, the conversation died down. Stark called the meeting there and everyone piled out of the room. Except for Logan, he stayed behind. They made small talk, but there was tension between them. He’d seen how she’d fight, still looking gorgeous after each punch. Even after she’d been training, she barely looked bothered. Logan was collecting files from around the table when he leaned past Y/N, brushing past her shoulder. He held his breath, fearing something would happen if he moved. 

“Good workout?” he finally said, breaking the tension. 

“Could’ve joined, y’know, since we’re a “team” now” She replied calmly, leaning against the table. “God knows I need a new training partner, Yelena is relentless” 

“You guys are very close.” Logan was still standing right next to Y/N. He extended his claws out to retrieve the last file on the table. 

“We were raised together, in the red room... We escaped together, and when she found her sister, she offered for us to stay here. We were family, shared trauma and all..” she trailed off, shaking her head “Sorry, I shouldn’t be dumping all this onto you” 

“It’s okay, I get it” Logan looked over. He saw a vulnerable woman, not the same snide-commenting one he’d gotten to know on the battlefield. His gaze flickered between her eyes and her lips, hurt washing over her face. And then it happens. Y/N had leaned in and kissed Logan. By instinct, he pulled back, shock all over his face.

“Oh my god, I’m so sor-” Y/N was cut off by Logan's lips crashing against hers. His hands dropped the files and moved to her waist, pulling her in flush against his body. He was rough, his lips chapped. She was comfortable, her lips soft. Y/N lifted a hand into his hair. That caused Logan to pull away again, second-guessing what he was doing. 

“No I’m sorry, you’re upset and I’m taking advantage.” Logan grabbed the files off the table and left the room, leaving Y/N alone with her thoughts. It felt like second nature, the act itself feeling so normal that it left Y/N feeling confused. Why had she done that? Why did she open up like that? Logan was an X-men. They should be working together, not getting together behind closed doors. 

“You’re cold, here” That snapped Y/N back. Logan removed his jacket and put it around her, his hands lingering on her shoulders. Y/N leaned in and kissed his cheek without thinking. Stupid. Logan smiled and kissed her forehead. It was instant. Y/N put her cigarette out, took Logan's cigar away from his mouth, and kissed him. It was hungry, desperate. To her surprise, logan leaned into it this time, putting one hand around her waist and the other on her face. Then he pulled away. “I wouldn’t take a man's cigar away from him, sweetheart,” he said, taking it back. 

“What are you gonna do about it” The words escaped before she could think about it. Then, without warning, Logan took her hand and pulled her inside the building. This was exciting. He found an empty broom closet and the two went inside. Before she could ask what was happening, Logan had her pinned against the door. They could hear talking and laughter. Logan locked the door, just in case. Y/N was drinking in his scent, the cigar still burning between his lips. He removed it, put it out against his hand, and placed it back in his pocket. He was thinking about it, a suitable punishment. 

“Let's see, what would a dirty woman like you deserve” he snarled before kissing her again. It was heated, sloppy. Y/N had been waiting for a moment like this for months. Before this, it was stolen looks and glances towards the other. He would casually ask if she was okay during their missions. Constantly checking in. This was different. This was heading somewhere. Finally.

She moved her right leg to wrap around Logan’s left leg in an attempt to bring him closer. He kisses her roughly, poking his tongue inside his mouth to show whos boss here. Logan’s hands roamed her body, smiling when he found the gun she had hidden for emergencies. He removed it carefully before returning to explore Y/N’s body. He left marks down her neck, causing a loud moan to escape. Logan placed a hand over her mouth, the other returning to her leg. She leaned into him, desperate for him to feel her. She could feel his growing erection against her. She muffled something against his hand quietly. He moved it away.

“I need you” she panted, she was eager, he’ll give her that. He wanted to devour her. He pulled down her underwear and traced her clit painfully slow. 

“So wet for me already,” he purred. Her hips moved closer, wanting more. Her hands roamed his chest, then moved down to his belt. She started to unbuckle it, fumbling as she was very distracted when he stopped her. He moved away slightly, taking in his view. He quickly took his belt off with one swift tug and then freed himself of his pants. Y/N’s eyes widened at the sight, daunted by his size. Logan smiled and returned his lips to hers. He placed his hands under her thighs and lifted her onto him slowly. Y/N moaned against the contact. “Shh, I’ll need you to be more quiet sweetheart” 

Logan got a good rhythm going before returning his lips to a special spot on Y/N’s neck. She whimpered, not wanting anyone to hear her get fucked against a door. Her legs wrapped themselves around Logan's waist, not wanting him to leave. His hand covered her mouth, not wanting any noise to escape. He nibbled and licked and kissed all along Y/N’s neck. Her hand reached into his hair, holding on for dear life. She was already close to her end. She bit the inside of Logan's hand. This made him speed up his thrusts, knowing she was almost close to coming undone around him. 

“Such a dirty girl, taking me so well,” Logan growled against her skin. His movements were getting rough and sloppy, also close to his climax. Lust filled his eyes when he saw the pleasure on Y/N’s face. He became animalistic almost, kissing her, dominating her mouth. Y/N could feel the build-up coming, moaning against Logan's mouth, no longer caring about the possibility of being heard. He placed his hand back over her mouth as she came around him. Logan continued until a deep grunt left his mouth, coming undone inside her. Y/N felt him fill her up, and it drips around Logan's waist. They're both breathing heavily and kissing each other sloppily. They rode out the high together for as long as possible before Logan placed her back down. Her heart was racing, she couldn’t believe what had just happened. Logan pulled his pants back up and adjusted his belt. He didn’t know what to say. Y/N was still trying to catch her breath when he handed her gun and underwear back to her. She put everything back into place when Logan broke their silence. “I hope we can do that again sometime bub” and before she could reply, Logan had left the closet, returning to the dinner night.

Part 2: here.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Hey! I just saw the new spiderman movie (across the spider verse) and had an epiphany. (First of all, did you see the movie? I don't want to give you spoilers or something like that, if not, you can ignore my request)

A spider-woman reader who gets lost in the multiverse and somehow makes it to RoR's, maybe platonic yandere reactions because of how young she is and what she has to go through? (because of the canon and all that)

Maybe a bonus of Miguel O'hara going to look for her so as not to alter her canon and seeing a group of supreme beings on the way? (God that man is wild)

With the gods being Odin, Hades and Poseidon and on the human side Adam, Qin Shi Huang and Tesla.

-You wandered around, curious as to where you were, after your watch malfunctioned when you were trying to run from Miguel. You were trying to help Miles who just wanted to save his dad.

-You remember when your own dad was killed, something Miguel said was a ‘canon event’, but you felt like you could have prevented it, you could have saved your dad, and now you were giving another fellow teenager a chance to save his own dad.

-Those who defended Miles were ordered to be captured to be grounded to prevent any more canon events from happening according to plan, to prevent the multi-verse from being destroyed.

-You were one teenager verses an army of other spider heroes, so of course you ran, scared, and when you tried to go back to your own dimension, someone managed to take a swipe at you, making your watch malfunction and you wound up here and your watch broke right afterwards.

-There were so many weird people around, people that didn’t look human, so you thought that you didn’t stand out much, wearing your own spider suit, a black bodysuit with red web designs, and a red pleated mini skirt with an oversized bow tied to the back of it and a black widow symbol on your chest and your back.

-Brunnhilde ran to find you after reports came to find you and found you with Shiva who instantly like you as you were sparkly eyed- or sparkly masked, “You’re so cool Mr. Shiva!” you had never met anyone with four arms before and he was instantly taken by you, easily able to tell that you were a teenager.

-Brunnhilde brough you before the other gods and powerful warriors from history, you only recognized a few names, like Adam and Nikola Tesla as far as humans went, but you knew a lot of gods, as you were a history buff.

-You unmasked, pulling it off and jaws dropped, seeing you really were just a teenager and you told them about what led you to being here, something Odin was able to tell was the truth, as well as the broken watch.

-Your eyes were huge; meeting Nikola Tesla himself, and he was thrown off by your elation before you started to ask him questions about his inventions, and he instantly beamed and the two of you hit it off quickly. He had never met someone so into science that wasn’t a scientist, and after you told them about your own powers, showing them by shooting webs and able to scale walls after being bitten by a radioactive black widow spider, he was elated, wanting to know as much as possible!!

-Nikola pulled your watch apart, trying to figure out how it worked but it was very advanced.

-Adam was instantly your parent in this new world, as he was furious that you were out fighting crime and putting yourself in danger, furious that a child was being forced to do this, after you told them about canon events, as most of the different Spider-Men gained their powers as teenagers.

-You found yourself quickly adopted by many different people in this new world, getting a massive family almost instantly, which was nice, since you only ever had your dad, and since he died, you lived mainly at HQ and only going to your dimension for school and to fight the bad guys in your dimension.

-Since you couldn’t leave, you were welcomed into this world, and since there were no villains, you got to live as a normal teenager, learning about figures of history directly as well as learning from gods.

-Poseidon was one that took a little longer to warm up to you, as he didn’t really want to bother with you, until Hades brought you over and your eyes were huge and sparkly, wanting to know more about the oceans as humans weren’t going very fast with their exploration of it.

-Hades sent him a small glare when Poseidon tried to wave you off and spoke rudely at first, but seeing your drive to learn more made him realize that not all humans were bad, a few, like you and Kojiro were proof of that.

-Hades adored you, as you dropped in, literally, wanting to ask him all sorts of questions from the lore you learned in school and he was happy to get away from his paperwork and was able to tell you all about the truths being many of the legends, some were true, and some had more embellishments added in.

-Odin was the god you spent the most time with, as you lived in the Norse pantheon with the valkyries, so you got to see him, Loki, and Thor all the time, although Odin learned quickly that Loki was a bad influence on you, as he would encourage you to get up to mischief with him but seeing you happy was nice here and there.

-When you first met Qin Shi Huang, your eyes nearly popped out of your head, realizing that he was a bona-fide emperor!! You asked him so many questions, a lot like a curious child and he was quick to realize how smart you were, and he loved watching you use your abilities, even taking him flying with you once, showing the strength in your webs. It was his turn to be sparkly-eyed when you showed him your fangs, your upper canines that grew just a bit when you were first bitten, and you told him that you could paralyze your enemies for about four hours with the poison in your fangs, but you don’t like biting others, to you it’s kind of gross.

-When a portal opened and Miguel stepped out along with several other members of HQ and he immediately glared, “There you are!!” you let out a terrified squeak and instantly ducked under a table but when nothing happened, you peeked out, seeing your new parents, those who had adopted you, were standing between Miguel and you.

-Miguel remained calm, explaining the canon events, and that the multi-verse was at threat of falling apart if you didn’t return to your own world and continue with your duties, this time with a babysitter since you were one of the ones who tried to help Miles.

-Miguel tried to yell at you once you came around, peeking out around Adam, who held your hand when he felt your hand looking for his, “Miles needs to understand that this needs to happen! Miles, you, and those other idiots who helped him are all so selfish!”

-You immediately snapped back, “He’s a teenager- I’m a teenager, we’re kids! What do you expect when you tell us that we have to let our loved ones die?!”

-He glared and Odin, showing his intimidating aura, spoke, “That is enough!” Jessica tried to reason with you, but you didn’t want to, you refused to believe that this was the only way.

-Zeus then laughed warmly, “My-my~ you humans always seem to make such a fuss out of things. As gods, we have the power to remove the instability of these multi-verses, so things can play out according to how you all want them to.”

-Jaws dropped all around as you gawked at him, completely stunned before the gods combined their powers to just that, giving Miles the opportunity to save his dad with no repercussions, there were no longer a need for canon events!!

-Miguel was stunned before he sighed softly, admitting defeat and sent out the message to everyone, letting them know what had happened and that Miles and those who were being hunted were no longer in trouble.

-You cheered loudly, celebrating and Jessica couldn’t help but ruffle your hair lightly before she gave you a new watch, as she knew yours had been destroyed, giving you the opportunity to come back to HQ whenever you wanted.

-You beamed, leaping and hugging Poseidon who caught your embrace, as you now had the freedom you always wanted to do what you want with your powers, and you could come and go to Valhalla as you pleased.

[targaryenismuses]

Martha Wayne

DCEU, DC AU, DC Comics

CHARACTER INTRODUCTION

We all know the tragic story of the Wayne's. A gun, leaving a little boy named Bruce an orphan

. Well what if instead of his parents being shot that night it was just Martha that survived?

That night in the alley changed her life forever.

The gunman shot down her husband first then ask he aimed for Martha. She jumped forward grabbing the man's hand trying to push it down. But 'BAM' the gun fired off, she heard a cry. Both their eyes widen. The robber ran off with fear in his eyes.

Leaving Martha holding her son on his last breath next to her dead husband. She begged Bruce to stay with her then Thomas. But there was so much blood. All she remembers is tears and blood from that night. Fear living her in guts keeping her still as she sobbed. The next thing she heard were police cars showing up to the scene...

Martha Kane - Wayne grew up as the princess of the city due to her family having money. Her family name help build this city, she was treated like a princess by everyone else but her own family.

There was bad things that happened in her house. All of it was a nightmare for her. The nightmare became worse the night her mother killed her father. then herself. She was eight years old. Just a girl who watched both her parents die. That soon led her to being an orphan, along with her brother.

The two children were sent to live with her mothers sister. Since then she wanted to be the prefect child. Straight As, class president, and a prefect dancer. It seemed she did it all.

Until over the summers when she was on 'vacation', she really was sent to therapy because her brain would be cracked like sheared glass. This was kept hidden due to mental illness not being spoken about at the time.

Martha found a love for dance and writing. She was an excellent ballerina.

Preforming in local shows in Gotham. She lost her self in dance. It almost seemed to heal her. She found herself wanting to be a a journalist more, wanting to share peoples stories.

Bringing attention to things no else did. Give helpless people a voice. So that's what she did but danced in her free time.

Due to choosing that path she met a man named Thomas Wayne. The two worked together a few times and fell for each other fast.

That night in the alley was the night she lost her soulmate and son.

Martha never ever understood why it happened. Thomas had been involved with some organised crime. One night while looking for more wine to drink her pain away, she discovered a wing of the house she had never seen before. Her husband who never told her a thing of what really happened. She found their murders. This whole time Alfred knew. That's why he was looking around after her.

She made him take her how to fight. She was already strong since she danced in her free time.

Martha became a justice.

The city gave her the name

'The bat'!

By day the widow by night the Bat.

[aceredshirt13]

So my buddy @oshawolt and I have watched the first two episodes of The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles, and by far the funniest part about the show is that its complete inability to give teenaged Indy anything like a concrete logical reason to enlist in WWI results in it reading like Indy is willing to go against his friends, his family, his loved ones, all logic, and a significant number of his moral codes, solely because his bestie T. E. Lawrence signed up for the war, and he apparently values that above literally all other aspects of his life.

Like. Listen. In the first episode, Indy joins Pancho Villa and the Mexican Revolution because he wants to help people, but when a poor villager tells him how even the most just of wars inflict untold suffering on the innocents the soldiers claim to be fighting for, Indy becomes disillusioned with the war effort... only to read a letter + photograph he keeps with him from Lawrence, who says he's joining the war effort in Arabia because he believes it is a cause worth fighting for. And Indy proceeds to immediately forget literally everything he just heard that Mexican villager say and go "fuck it, we ball. and by ball I mean go to the trenches." Indy has decided that the Mexican Revolution "isn't his war", but he's American - WWI in 1916 isn't his war any more than the Mexican Revolution is. So that obviously can't be his justification??

Now, ostensibly he goes because his friend Remy, a Belgian guy he met in Mexico who was fighting for the revolution after his family was killed, decides to go back to Belgium and fight in his own homeland's war instead of the Mexican one. In fact, in the upcoming episodes, he and Remy are together quite a lot. But during the first episode set in Mexico, we are never given to believe that he and Indy are particularly close - they seem like acquaintances at best. Not much time is shown of them together, and we hoped that in the second episode, when the two of them disembark in London and enlist in the Belgian Army, we'd get some of that good old intergenerational friendship energy and really see why Indy, despite not necessarily believing in this war, might want to go to support his friend in Belgium, and his more distant friend in the Middle East.

Nah. Remy ditches Indy for a hot widow almost immediately, and for the entire rest of the episode his ass is GONE. He literally doesn't show up again except to give Indy the papers saying it's time to go to the army, and to be like "oh by the way I'm married now!" at the train station. Bro apparently does not hang out with Indy or tell him anything. Which would be understandable if they were acquaintances, but like??? Aren't they meant to be so close as friends that Indy would up and fight a war with this guy???

Meanwhile, Indy follows a cute girl to a suffragette meeting, they become best friends on the virtue of "speaking an unbelievably unrealistic number of languages" and "having literally identical backstories" (to the point where we found ourselves wishing she'd been Indiana Jones in this show instead, given that she's apparently just his cooler genderbent version played by someone who can act better), meet and get along with his tutor since childhood (who apparently is close enough with Indy now not to want him to enlist in the Army and endanger himself, despite the fact that she disliked Indy so much as a child and allowed him in so many absurdly dangerous situations that we became convinced she was deliberately trying to get him killed in a way that looked like an accident), and eventually fall in love. All through this, Indy helps with the women's suffrage movement, lends money to a poor woman and her children, watches his friend/girlfriend throw a dessert at Winston Churchill (who is in this episode for five minutes because Why The Hell Not I Guess), meets multiple people whose loved ones have been killed in the war, and is told by an older suffragette that one day of the good work he's put in today is worth one year of time in the trenches. At one point, while visiting the girl's family, he is asked why he joined the war effort, and gives an unbelievably vague and evasive answer that all but proves he doesn't even know why. And in the end, he wants to ask the girl to marry him, but she says no - partially because of the implication that she doesn't know him quite well enough to be willing to sign her rights away, and partially because she doesn't know if after the war they'll be two different people.

So let's look at the facts. Here in London, he has friends, family, someone he loves who he could spend a life with and eventually marry after they've established themselves, and a purpose he enjoys with clear, positive results. Sure, he's already signed up for the Belgian Army, but he enlisted under a half-assed fake name that couldn't possibly be traced. He scarcely ever sees Remy - he seems to owe him nothing, and owe his country no allegiance. Why not just... not go when his number is up? What reason on Earth could he have to do anything but stay?

So naturally, he just. He just fucking goes! For no conceivable reason - no conceivable reason other than that Lawrence is also in the war!

Indy's been friends with Lawrence since they met when Lawrence was 20 and Indy was a nine-year-old kid who couldn't act very well - Lawrence asked him to call him "Ned", and he still does (which, for the record, Indy's tutor, who has literally known Lawrence longer than Indy has and is on good terms with him, does not. Apparently she didn't get the nicknaming permission. Rip). Still does, because the only time Indy is able to give a concrete answer about anything in the war is when said tutor angrily asks him why he's enlisted, and he says that "Ned" is in the war! He knows this because apparently Lawrence actually kept his promise to write to him, and they've been writing letters and sending stuff to each other since Indy was a child! And - judging by every other thing in his life suggesting otherwise - Indy values the actions of his pen pal more than anyone else's opinions, his friends and love life, and his own safety and happiness! That doesn't seem like a normal way to react to the actions of a guy you only knew in-person for a few days as a child!

Unless...

...

...In conclusion, world-famous fictional film character Indiana Jones would not have become the person he is if it hadn't been for his gay little crush on real human man T. E. Lawrence.

[empirexsin]

❝ i saw something today that reminded me of you. ❞ / @williopolis

" what was it? " has been spending more time with willow than anticipated. had thought that perhaps he might need to force himself upon her - lunging at her throat, choking her with all of his strength until she would fall unconscious, allowing him to drag her limp frame to his home. but it didn't turn out like that. hadn't wished to bruise her soft, pale skin anyhow. had wished for her to come willingly. and yet willow, if anything, has been imposing herself upon his life again. making an unexpected print. she has been in his home despite how when she had first come to his abode, he had been less than comfortable. fidgeting. biting at his thumbnail and watching her movements. as if she were unclean in a place he considers cleaner than anywhere else. safe here. despite the blood that regularly gets spilled.

max is tidy. max is neat. everything he owns seems to have a place somewhere. carefully placed somewhere rather than thrown to the ground or placed without thought. almost as if his home is an entry into his mind. how he has a clear vision despite the violence he inflicts. he had read something about how einstein liked a tidy desk for a tidy mind. yet his actions could be classed as chaotic and impulsive. giving into intrusive thoughts. and yet his house is as tidy as anything. " sit " he cannot help but to command her. instruct her when she is here. but his voice is calm, gentle. as if it is mere habit to direct rather than to allow free will. when people have free will they make foolish mistakes. perhaps both of their histories and life experiences have shown that. but somehow, despite his heinous crimes, max thinks his are not as awful as her past actions.

after all, has her life not been tainted by those she's met? james. her life has been an empty page that men have written on. scribbled carelessly and damaged the pages of. once clean and neat, soft to drag fingers against, has now been damaged by the carelessness of men who have seduced her with false promises and feigned behaviour. perhaps he had been wrong when they were high school sweethearts. made mistakes himself. but he thinks he had never damaged the book as much as other men have since their separation. he had been gentle. touched her with delicacy he couldn't replicate with another woman. had whispered things in her ear when he'd first touched her - comforting and beautiful things. had held her afterwards. thinks about the last time he fucked a woman. thinks he'd killed her afterwards. yes, he had. because he'd found some amusement in his actions. remembered smiling at the idea that he was similar to black widow spiders - killing their mate after reproduction. " spotted another naked bitch on a t-shirt? "

[the-bee-graveyard]

Rory I am in my tobias and eva FEELS RN

Cat's story seems SUPER sketch

Like his mom was 'hysteric', which is obviously 19th century language for queer mentally ill and being abused, and his dad was a 'hard man', cough cough abusive

And no one expected Eva and Tobias to get married, so they obviously eloped which would definitely piss off their parents who were high standing member of the clave (perhaps enough to plan something devious)

Now the real reason her story doesn't make sense

1) the clave FORCED him, and 4 others, to go to bavaria and leave his sick and ill wife to go fight powerful warlocks. The reason I say this doesn't make sens because why would the clave send someone from london to germany for a mission? Why not ask people from the german institutes or the institutes that are actually close to bavaria? More importantly why would they chose Tobias, the weakest and kindest herondale, to go and not his older brother William, who was said to be the best fighter of his generation?

2) only 1 of the other 4 men survived and told everyone Tobias deserted. First off, how would he know that Tobias fled and didn't just go chasing a demon? Also the guy said that Tobias was frightened because he was worried about his wife and kid? Yeah? He just watched 3 people get murdered why the fuck wouldn't he be scared of not being able to go home to his wife? Why would the clave be mad at him for that reason only? He was the youngest and worst fighter there. Did they want Eva to become a widow and raise their child alone?

3) HOW THE FUCK DID CAT KNOW THE EXACF DETAILS OF WHAT HAPPENED IN THE FOREST. She said that she ran into him in the woods and he was too far gone to be saved. However she knew that Eva was going to be executed in the stead of Tobias. He was just going to die anyway since he was stuck in bad dreams of his wife dying and not being able to eat or drink, so why didn't she bring him to the clave so Eva and the baby would be saved? And why was she so willing to take Eva's baby?

Theory time✨️

In the early 1810s Felix Blackthorn and Tobias' dad convinced the Inquisitor to look the other way when they buried Anabel alive. Consorting with a downword was a sentence for outcast, but having a child with one meant traitoring and was met with death.

What if Anabel and Malcolm stole the Black Book so they could have a child. Eva's parents are never mentioned, even though Cat supposedly knows them well. Eva was executed in 1828

Anabel was born in 1793 at the earliest and was 19 at the earliest when she died, that places her death at 1812. It's entirely possible she had a baby with Malcolm, and then her father and Tobias' father killed her.

Now after extensive research, I found out that shadowhunters in the 1800-1950s got married at an average age of 16 for girls and 17 for boys. Which means the timeline for Eva being Anabel's child makes sense as she would've be 16 at the earliest and almost 18 at the latest

Also, why would Tobias and Eva's marriage shock their parents? If Felix is close with Tobias' dad, then why would they be against it? Maybe because his dad doesn't want him to marry a half blood? Or because he doesnt want his weakling, probably mentally ill and queer like his mom, to get out of his control? Or because her dad wants to control her and he can't if she's married?

Now we all know half warlocks half shadowhunters don't have marks, but they do have magic.

So my theory is that Eva Blackthorn is Malcolm Fade and Anabel Blackthorn's child, who when she married Tobias discovered she had magic. She confronted her 'father' and he tells her the truth, so she makes a plan to tell and meet Malcolm

So Felix conspires with Mr. Herondale and they go to the Inquisitor to send Tobias on a suicide mission then convince the whole enclave that Eva should be killed in his stead

Maybe that's why Roland could do magic and why Malcolm would hang around and give Kit treats and tell him stories

But that's just a theory

A heavily researched informed theory

This is a very interesting concept and I would be very interested in watching it develop even further. I do feel like the Eva and Tobias story has something off about it myself, and this does seem to check the boxes that don’t make sense about it,

[yourmcu]

V-Day

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x reader

Summary:

You’re not like most people who enjoys Valentine’s Day. Can a certain redhead change that?

A/n: just a late valentine related imagine for all of u bc I’m incapable of posting this sort of stuff on the exact day. enjoy! (I’m finally using this iconic gif don’t mind me)

Word count: 1,753

Warnings: fluff

The 14th of February is just another normal day for you. You always find Valentine’s Day cheesy, you don’t see the point of celebrating it. That sort of thing isn’t as important as Christmas or Halloween. Not that you're bitter because you're single, you couldn’t care less about that, it just isn’t the occasion for you.

Tony outdone it this year. The compound looks like it was powdered pink and red overnight from all the decorations when you step out of your room. You almost don’t want to know what the main area looks like. Sam and Wanda are probably getting started on breakfast which would consist of everything shaped like hearts.

Your plan for the day is to stay in your room, only coming out for snack and drink refills, simple as that.

“Hey, Happy Valentine’s...” you pretty much tone out every v-day greeting that came your way, rolling your eyes playfully as you sit down with everyone, greeting them with the usual good morning. You expect the compound to be deserted by midday since surely all of them have plans with their partners for the rest of the day, which is perfect. For you. And for them, of course, yeah.

Sam and Bucky made their way to you. “So, Y/N, how are you?” Sam greets. You already suspect that they were hyping you up for something. “Food good, coffee good... sleep well?”

You turn to them with a smile on your face. “Alright, what do you want?”

“Well,” Bucky lets out a breathy laugh. “Sam here was just helping me-”

“That is not what’s happening. What he wanted to say was,” the birdman cuts him off. “We both wanted to take you out to dinner tonight, we can’t settle on who, so we’re letting you pick.”

You blink. They have to be joking. Do they not notice your routine during this time of the year? After socializing with the team you’d grab a day’s worth of snack, head back to your room, lock the door and lose your mind on video games until the next day.

Unhealthy, but it's for one day.

“Only if you want to,” Bucky adds hastily.

“Come on, this is a chance of a lifetime!” Sam insists, wiggling his eyebrows.

“We’ll go to your favorite restaurant.”

“It’s just a friendly date.”

What you fail to notice was Natasha listening to the events happening. Her foot taps against the floor as she discreetly waits for your response, taking coffee sips and bites of food and looking away whenever she looked like she's eavesdropping. No one else is paying attention, everyone has their own conversations.

Inside, she pleads that you’d turn both of them down, just because she’s planning to ask you out herself. They just beat her to it.

“I appreciate the thought but I’m sorry, I have plans,” you shrug. “Why don’t you take each other out instead? Not literally.” You give them another smile and walk out of the room, coffee in hand. 

Sam and Bucky nods indicating they understood. Sam tells his friend that if he had more appeal you’d agree to the date. But they take you up on your advice, already planning a guy’s night.

Natasha almost cheers when she hears the first part, only to spiral when she hears that someone had already asked you beforehand. You're unavailable. She could ask you out any day, but you deserve something extra special. She sees this day as her only chance to confess her feelings for you.

Her eyes trail you as you walk out, turning to Wanda when you were out of sight. “Do you have any idea who asked Y/N out?”

“I don’t,” Wanda replies, a bit distracted. “They’re lucky, I’ve never seen Y/N show interest in anyone since I met her. Anyway, I have to go, Vision and I have a whole day planned...”

Natasha huffs while people slowly file out of the kitchen. As far as she knows, Tony's with Pepper, of course, Wanda and Vision, Steve is probably going to join Sam and Bucky on their night out, and Clint is back at his farm celebrating with his wife.

And you’re with that person, which most likely someone who isn’t on the team otherwise she’d know. She's left by herself to mope.

-

Few hours have passed, maybe three, it’s lunchtime. As you suspected the compound is empty, so you make your way to the kitchen to make yourself something to eat.

Boxed mac and cheese is the only thing you knew how to make.

“Y/N?”

You almost drop your stirring spoon at the sudden voice. You feel embarrassed about your choice of outfit, you feel and look like a grizzly bear while she looks stunning, even if it’s just plain workout clothes.

“Hey, Nat.”

“I thought you were... out with someone?” Knowing you, she might’ve misunderstood when you said you ‘had plans’. You look so cozy she would love to hug you on the spot if she isn’t so sweaty.

You let out a curious hum, turning off the stove. “I was?” You giggle. “Where’d you hear that?”

“I didn’t, just, I assumed you’d be,” she mutters and finishes her water bottle. 

You're now grabbing a bowl for the mac and cheese you made. “I mean, Sam and Bucky did ask me if I wanted to but... y’know, if I’m being honest they’re not really my type.” You pause to look at her who was staring back. “Have you eaten? This batch I made is enough for three people, I think.”

Natasha nods at your offer. “They did say it was a friendly date.”

You stop scooping the macaroni and perk your head up with a grin. “So you were listening.”

“Not like I had any choice, I was in the same room.” Quick save.

“Mmhm.” 

Then there's  a minute of comfy silence as you clean the area you made the meal on, putting the pot away and stuff.

“Why don’t you have a date today?”

“What?”

“Anyone would kill to go on a date with you, Nat.” Is what you say in your head. But instead you say, “Well, you know, I didn’t expect you be here too.”

Natasha shrugs and before she could answer you add, “No one’s caught the notorious Black Widow’s attention yet?”

She chuckles at your words, looking up at you. “Who did you think I’d go out with?”

“I dunno, Steve-”

“God, no,” she quickly cuts you off and laugh,  you laugh along but at the same time sigh in relief.

“Crap, I just remembered I have a game to finish,” you hold the bowl of cheese and macaroni and stick two spoons on the side. “I’m cordially inviting you to my room, you are very much welcome, after you change.”

Natasha tells you she’ll see you there in a bit.

-

“Huh. I just noticed you do this every Valentine’s Day,” Natasha notes as she takes everything in. Your PlayStation's on, your trash bin is almost full of snack wrappings, couple of beers tucked at the side of your bed. “Cozy.”

“Why, thank you,” you say sarcastically, picking up a controller and waving a vacant one at her. “Feel free. Or you can just watch me fail at this game.”

Natasha decides to join the game a little later, now she's lost in thought on how someone like you spends such a day like this, or how beautiful you looked as your eyes dart at every direction of the screen and how you sometimes bite your lip when you're that focused in the game.

It's always the little things she likes about you.

Glancing at you one more time before eating a spoonful of mac, she turns back to the TV to watch how you're doing.

But you're witty, kind and easy to get along with, why wouldn’t you have a date - or why wouldn’t you want a date on Valentine’s Day?

If only you knew how she feels, she’d make sure to treat you well. Like you deserve. She’d take you on dates you’d enjoy every time the 14th rolls by. If you don’t like the holiday for some reason she’d find a way-

“NO WAY,” you cover your mouth and bump your head to Natasha’s shoulder in defeat, making her come back from her trance to look at the big red words on the screen, indicating you lost. “I almost had it!”

Natasha leans into your touch and pats your back. “You can try again.”

You groan. “I definitely will but for now, I’m gonna take a break.”

“Great,” she shifts a bit to get comfy, switching to Netflix and choosing whatever’s trending right now. “I’m just curious but, do you like someone?”

You hum in response, sipping on a beer, not completely processing what she said. “I - yeah. I guess so,” you tug the blanket closer and pout at the movie that’s on. You don’t like romance movies. You always prefer an action or a mystery one any day. “Do you?”

Natasha feels her heart ache for a moment. “Yeah. She’s kind and sweet, goofy but can still seriously kick your ass type.” Your eyes land to her hands. You knew fully well Natasha isn’t straight, she admitted and definitely doesn’t act like it. “There’s just something about her that makes me... love her.”

“She sounds great,” you mumble, starting to get lost in your own thoughts. “I guess I just-” you hesitate, just because the woman you're about to describe is the same one sitting next to you. “I feel bad for her that someone like me likes her.”

“Why would you think that?” Natasha chuckles, shaking her head.

You shrug. “She’s amazing. So out of my league, I’d say she’s so close but so far away but that would be really cheesy and ugly,” you laugh. “I don’t know, she deserves way better.”

Natasha hums. “Sometimes I think she needs to her worth, because what she doesn’t know is, she’s very much amazing in her own way.”

Looking up at her from her shoulder, your eyes light up and you don’t know when it happened, but you just found her lips pressed against yours softly.

Even if it was just a short kiss you feel breathless when she pulls away to look at you again.

“Just so we’re clear, we’re just describing each other like idiots right?”

“Yeah.”

Natasha leans in to kiss you again.

---

oh my god I want a hug

[shameless plug] check out my natasha romanoff ambience here

[peterjakes]

Frank x Karen Fic - 'if you talk enough sense, then you’ll lose your mind’

Karen Page hadn’t seen Frank Castle in a long time. But he’s back in New York and can’t keep away from Karen for too long. They find each other, like they always do. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t painful.

so I finally got round to watching the punisher and omg these two basically killed me. their chemistry is literally ridiculous and their storyline in daredevil s2 is basically my fave part. im not sure if we’re gonna see karen and frank on screen again (I really hope so), but I felt compelled to write something about the two. enjoy! x

also posted on ao3; https://archiveofourown.org/works/37369096

Karen Page hadn’t seen Frank Castle in a long time. Not that she hadn’t thought about him, of course she had. That face, the torture, the pain that all came with it, she’d thought of that often. She missed him, even if she couldn’t quite admit that to herself or even to Frank. Enough time had passed for things to have changed, maybe a little too much. The Karen he knew when they first met in that hospital room, she’d disappeared, she’d gone. Karen wasn’t sure how much Frank had changed since then. Their last meeting, again in a hospital room, it had been painful. Every time they walked away from each other, it got harder and harder. Each time, the knife went deeper and deeper. That pain, that kind of pain was bad, is bad. But it was worth it, just for those flickers of moments. Everything with Frank seemed painful. But that didn’t stop the yearning from Karen. She was almost compelled to imagine where he was, what he was doing, even if it did hurt. She couldn’t help herself.

Frank had thought of Karen too. After everything that had happened; after Billy, after Amy, after John Pilgrim, Karen invaded his brain more often than not. He’d hope she was safe, hoped she was happy. It’s what she deserved, more than anything, more than anyone. Karen had already been through enough. She deserved…she deserved better. Better than Frank.

Frank had been back in New York properly for a few months now but hadn’t taken the leap to find her yet. He’d seen her promotion in the paper one day, a soft smile couldn’t help but appear from his mouth. He felt proud. There was a photo, Karen standing beside Murdock and Nelson, their arms around each other, smiling brightly. She was still wearing those pencil skirts she adorned so much, but something felt different. It had been a long time. He was still in awe with her, how she could be so determined, so strong, so wilful.

But this Karen, she looked genuinely happy. She must be happy, happier than she had been. Those conversations of loneliness they had once, that had stuck in Frank’s mind. Maybe she wasn’t lonely anymore, maybe she’d moved passed that, maybe she didn’t need him. He couldn’t save her forever.

Frank was ashamed to admit he hadn’t come back to New York just for Karen. He’d had business, big business. But that business was done. He was Pete once again. Pete Castiglione. Pete, the widower, who lived alone and spent his time drinking coffee in his local diner. Pete, who no matter how much he tried, always ended up back in something. He just couldn’t escape it, not that he exactly wanted to. It just wasn’t who he was. He was ‘The Punisher’ after all, or whatever people were calling him these days. But for Karen, he was just Frank. He’d always be just Frank. And for Karen, maybe, just maybe, things could get better. Things could be better.

The last time they’d met, the last time they’d lost each other, both assumed it may be the final time. Frank had told Karen to walk away, to walk away from him. He thought he could never give her what she truly wanted, no matter how much he desperately wanted it too. Maybe he couldn’t, not then, maybe he was lying to himself. But now…well, things were different. Frank was sure of that and there was no point denying it any longer. Enough time had passed, Frank wanted to accept it now. He had to. Karen was all he had left, and even then, he didn’t truly have her.

One afternoon, after much contemplation, Frank had started walking. He wasn’t sure exactly where he wanted to head, but his feet seemed to know what direction he needed to go in. As usual since arriving back in New York, he’d donned mainly inconspicuous clothing. Not wanting to be noticed, but not wanting to seem like he was hiding something. He was just part of the crowd.

Her apartment widow was slightly ajar, indicating her presence there. Flowers in a clear vase were the only thing Frank could clearly see from the other side of the sidewalk. Peonies. He’d smiled at this, unsure why it had made him so happy. It was if there was still something, something there. Pondering for a moment, Frank wasn’t sure what his next move would be. He hadn’t planned on ending up there, on that street. But he somehow knew he’d eventually have to go; he couldn’t wait much longer. And he didn’t want to, he couldn’t. Not anymore.

The sharp chill of the Autumn breeze brought Frank back to reality. He couldn’t stand outside her apartment forever. And somehow, he knew he didn’t need to. She was here, he knew that at least. And that was enough for now.

Carrying on pass her apartment building, Frank soon found himself in the direction of Murdock’s office. Technically it wasn’t just his office now. Walking up to the front door, Frank was greeted by the newly painted sign. Nelson and Murdock and Page. There it was. The sign wasn’t the largest in the world, but it was enough. Enough for everyone to see. The street was relatively busy, so Frank didn’t stay long. He didn’t need to.

Karen had been thinking about Frank more recently. She wondered what he was doing, whether he had found some kind of peace or closure. She wasn’t sure if anyone could completely, she knew she hadn’t, not quite yet. Thoughts of Frank often plagued her mind, even when she didn’t want them to. Even when she had tried to make some kind of a life without him. And it hadn’t been bad, not by a long shot. After everything, after all the pain, the angst, she had finally gotten to a place in her life where she was content. At least enough to not feel that crippling sadness, that loneliness she once felt. But there were times, when she didn’t feel quite whole, not quite there. She was living, she had a life but not necessarily the one she wanted. What she wanted, what she yearned and hoped for, she knew was never to be. It wasn’t possible, not now. The hope, the flicker she had once felt even for just a moment, had disappeared.

Frank knew he would just have to bite the bullet; he’d have to see her.

Gripping his hand into a fist, he tapped the door. A shuffle of feet appeared from behind the door, but it didn’t open. Karen must have been wary; Frank hadn’t given any warning that he was coming. Checking his watch, he noticed it was late. Later than he had intended to come. But he came, and that was what was important. There was a clatter, Karen was clearly looking through the keyhole, maybe even holding her .380 against the door.

“It’s Frank.” Frank choked out; his voice sounded rough, coarse. Scared.

The door unlocked as soon as Frank uttered his own name, and he was greeted by the face he had missed for so long. The dim lamp sheltered Karen’s face from the flickering hall light, but she slowly moved out of the darkness. Her delicate features becoming more clearer by the second. Her hair was tied up loosely, only a few small strands were loose, shaping her face. She looked more casual, more casual than Frank could remember, only wearing an oversized sweater and pants. Her feet were bare, though Karen seemed to look as if she wished she had worn something. The cold air escaped from the hallway into her apartment. She stood there for a moment, holding the door, watching Frank keeping quiet. Frank pressed his lips together, not wanting to spoil the moment. This moment, that he’d thought about so often recently. This moment, that he’d yearned for. And now he wasn’t quite sure how to play it. The last time he and Karen had seen each other had been hard. They barely got a goodbye, and what Frank had said before, it was harsh, almost cruel. Karen would be well in her right to be angry with him. Even now. But she didn’t look angry, she looked almost relieved. As if she had been hoping for this, as Frank had.

“Hey,” Karen finally spoke, giving Frank a small smile. She almost whispered this, as if she was too scared to talk. She wasn’t scared of Frank, but of what would come next. She had gotten so use to being disappointed and didn’t want to feel that anymore. She wanted things to change. Frank randomly turning up at her doorstep showed her that maybe things would.

“Hey.” Frank echoed her greeting, leaning against the door frame, trying to put Karen at ease.

Without even thinking, Karen moved aside from the door, signalling for Frank to come in. He did as he was told, following Karen into the landing. Even with the dim light only illuminating half of the room, Frank could see the apartment was tidy, clean. Several papers were scattered across the coffee table, and a glass of wine almost empty were the only messy items Frank could see. She was looking after herself. Good.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again.” She said, as she turned back to face Frank. Her eyes looked tired; the dark circles underneath indicated a lack of sleep. But it wasn’t just that, it was if something was missing.

“I know.” Frank avoided Karen’s eye, focusing on the back of the room. He almost couldn’t look at her, he knew exactly what he had done. He sometimes wished he hadn’t, wished it could have been different. Wished he could have stayed.

“How long have you been back?”

“Not long, little while.”

“Had some business?” She asked with a wry smile, a call-back to the last time he was in her apartment. Frank had caught this, smirking right back at her. God, he missed this.

“Yeah, yeah. I had some business.” Frank managed a small laugh, which made Karen smile more.

“You hungry?”

“Yeah, I could eat.”

She nodded, shifting pass Frank, their shoulders brushed each other as she moved towards the kitchen. Frank turned to watch her opening the fridge door, almost empty but she pulled out two containers, half filled. Directing both the food and Frank over to her sofa, she moved slowly, not wanting to go too quickly. Not wanting to ruin the moment. Not wanting to push it too far. She handed a plate to Frank as she sat down, inches away from where Frank decided to place himself. Their fingers brushed against each other, though Karen seemed disinterested, only focusing on her food. It was take out, it tasted different to any take out Frank had before. Or maybe someone made it for Karen. Maybe it was a neighbour, offering some kindness or maybe it was someone else.

“Saw you, in the paper. You and Murdock.” Frank wasn’t going to admit he’d been to the office, not that it had mattered. It wasn’t as if he was going to go in, he doubted Murdock would be too pleased to see him and didn’t really see the point.

“Oh, yeah?” Karen chuckled, that little chuckle, the one she seemed to do when she was nervous.

“You, uh, you’re doing good?” Frank looked up at Karen this time, away from his half-empty plate. He looked at her, properly looked at her. They eyes locked and Karen could tell he wanted some kind of reassurance. Reassurance that he made the right choice, that he hadn’t let her down.

“Yes, Frank. I’m doing good. Better, than before.”

“Good.”

“And you? Now your…business is done?”

“Getting by, ‘ya know.”

“Just getting by?”

“Is that a problem?”

“You deserve more than just ‘getting by’, Frank.”

“Do I?” Frank shook his head, as if he didn’t quite believe what Karen was saying. Accepting everything that had happened, accepting who he had become and who he was now, it had taken some getting used to.

“Everyone does.” From the corner of her eye, Karen watched as Frank raises his eyebrow, which made her smile Maybe he’s right. “OK, maybe not everyone, but you know…” She shrugged, whilst shifting her seat. Her bare feet lightly tapped Frank’s thigh as she moved unaware to how this sends a shiver down his spine.

“You make this?” Frank motioned towards the food, trying to distract himself from what he was feeling in that moment.

“God, no. Cooking has never been my forte.”

“I make a mean Involtini, should try it.” Frank’s cooking had gotten much better. He had more time now, time to do things he’d ignored before. And he enjoyed it, he wanted to enjoy things now. He had time.

Karen turned to Frank, placing her fork down on the plate. She was surprised at this comment. Frank seemed to actively be making plans with her, which was something rare. He’d never wanted to talk about the future, about ‘after’. Always in the moment, always fighting a war, sometimes for someone else. But this? It was an almost admittance that they would be seeing each other again.

“I’d like that.” She smiled, it’s soft, sweet, and kind. But it slowly disappeared into something sad, as if she was holding something back. Frank knew what she was thinking. It’s what he had thought of so often. The regret of how they departed last, the guilt, the anguish. It had been playing on his mind, as had Karen. Constantly. Karen had once told Frank he couldn’t keep loving people in his dreams. She was right. That dream, those final moments of his family, they still haunted him every single night. The last thing he saw at night and the first when he woke up. But another dream, something brighter, something happier had started to appear. It was only short, and Frank barely remembered most mornings. But being here, with Karen, seemed to make everything clearer.

“’m sorry, Karen.” He blurted out, not wanting to waste any more time. He couldn’t do it for much learner, he had to try. For Karen.

“What for?”

“You know what for.”

“Do I?” Karen asked, her voice almost breaking. She knew exactly what Frank was saying, she knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted to hear him say it, she wanted those words to form from his lips and be heard.

“You gonna make me say it?” Sighing, Frank leaned forward, looking in-between his thighs at the hard wooden floor. The words couldn’t seem to form in his brain, it was as if something was stopping him. Blocking him.

“Yeah, I think so. I deserve that, at least.” Karen shook her head, maybe she wasn’t being fair to Frank. She’d understood him more than most, but she was tired. She was tired of it all. She just wanted… “Did you mean it?”

“I don’t know, maybe…I did. But...”

“But what?

“Karen…” Frank sighed again, feeling the weight of everything coming down on him. He almost couldn’t bare to look at her, but he took hold of her hand, gripping it tightly. Her left hand quickly placed itself on top of his, caressing it slowly.

“It hurt, Frank. But I’m not some broken little bird that needs you to save me.” No, she wasn’t. Frank had just always felt obliged to. But it wasn’t like before, it had changed. He needed to accept that. He needed to understand it.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Frank left her apartment only an hour or so after that conversation, The atmosphere changed, and Frank wasn’t exactly sure how to handle that. Him and Karen had never been truly transparent about their feelings, but things were coming ahead. And maybe, just maybe Frank needed to be honest. With himself as much as Karen.

It only took a week for Frank to reach out again, although to Karen it felt like eternity. It was after work one evening, when Karen was too exhausted to do anything but eat and go to bed. She hadn’t even noticed the note at first, hiding under her doormat. But something, this strange feeling, made her go back and check by her front door. There it was, folded and enclosed, waiting for Karen to read it. It was brief, as everything was with Frank. Her fingers slowly dragged across the letters, being careful not to move too quickly.

I’m sorry.

F

Although no admittance had been made, Karen assumed she’d see him again pretty soon. This was what he did. One minute he’d be there and the next, gone. Karen wasn’t just going to wait around for him to appear again, no matter how much she wanted to see him again.

It was much sooner than Karen had expected. Only a day had passed since finding the note when Frank had ended up at her doorstep again. He looked tired, more tired than before. Karen wondered what he’d been doing. During his last visit, they’d spoken about general things. New York, Karen’s work life, even old times. But there had been no mention of where Frank was staying, whether he was working, what exactly he was doing. Karen wasn’t necessarily surprised. This was how he was.

Karen had exhausted herself with work. Her life seemed to revolve around that now, not that she was complaining. She liked it, she liked that something was keeping her occupied and busy. But as soon as got home, she was alone once again. She wasn’t lonely, not like before, but she did spend a lot of time alone. The possibility of seeing Frank again had surveyed her mind almost every day until they saw each other again.

He came much earlier in the evening this time. No sooner had Karen heard a light tap on the door was she opening it, letting Frank in once again. They’d sat on Karen’s sofa once again, more than inches apart this time. Karen was just as comfy as before, whilst she noticed Frank was still wearing his jacket, as if he was going to make a quick getaway. She’d given beer instead of food this time, knowing she couldn’t cook something nice enough.

“How’s work?”

“It’s fine, tiring, but fine. Good.”

“Good.” Frank nodded, gulping down his beer. Karen watched as he swallowed the last drop and placed the bottle onto the coffee table. He seemed awkward almost, unsure.

Karen thought for a moment before speaking, she wasn’t sure how much small talk she could deal with. How much more of this she wanted. She knew she’d have to address it at some point, address it somehow. She had to know, she wanted to hear him say it.

“Why are you here? Why now?” The questions came out harsher than Karen had wanted. She wasn’t angry, just curious. Lots of time had passed since they last saw each other. Frank hadn’t wanted a favour from Karen, hadn’t wanted her to look out for something. There could only be one other reason for Frank being here.

“I wanted…wanted to…” Karen patiently waited for him to finish, but he never did.

“You know, it means a lot, that you came. That you came back.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not angry, Frank. I never was. Just…wished for better, wanted better for you.”

Karen moved her hand to his left bicep, holding it there alone until he placed his right hand on top of hers. They caught each other’s gaze and didn’t let go. There it was again, that glimmer of false hope and then it taken away just as soon as she realised it was there. It hurt; it wasn’t fair.

“I don’t know if I can, Karen.” Frank shook his head, looking down at Karen’s hand. Her thumb started to slowly caress his arm, only for a few moments. But it was enough.

“Then-“ She’d respected his wishes, she’d tried to let him go, tried to forget. But that just wasn’t possible. Not for Karen. Frank couldn’t either and he didn’t want to. He wanted to at least try now. He owed her that at least.

“But I wanna try, Karen. I do.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” Karen nodded giving Frank a soft smile. It was OK. Or at least it would be. She moves her hand up to his jawline, the harshness of his stubbles rubs against her, but that doesn’t stop her. Frank retaliates but placing his hand on her cheek, his knuckles press against the softness of her face. Moving ever so slightly, Karen presses her face down towards Frank’s hand, colliding with it. In that moment, she wanted time to stop, she wanted everything else to fade away. Though she knew it wouldn’t, though she knew they would eventually have to stop. That didn’t seem to matter. Nothing her or Frank had ever done had been this close, been this intimate. She was unsure what they would do next, where this would go.

[ambssssssssss]

“I’m so sorry, Lena,” A harsh cough followed the words and Lena felt her eyes begin to fill with water. She was kneeling in the broken streets of National City at Kara’s sighed, mindless of the destruction around them as the injured woman before her absorbed all of her attention. 

“Hold on, Kara, just a few more minutes.” Lena found Kara’s bloody, shaking hand and grasped it with her own. Kara gave her a watery smile. 

“We could’ve had so much time if I hadn’t been so scared.” There’s a strong current of regret in her tone and Lena feels as if she can’t breathe as she pulls Kara’s hand to her lips and presses a kiss against dirty knuckles. 

“We’ll have time now, darling. All the time in the world.” 

“I thought we promised not to lie to each other anymore.” 

A long, uncomfortable pause followed. Kara’s breath grows more shallow by the second, but her eyes remain the same. The deep blue of her iris shines with that same adoration that Lena had always seen in them, and always felt unworthy of. Kara lifted the hand that Lena wasn’t holding on to desperately, ignoring the way her limbs trembled, to carefully cup Lena’s cheek. 

This is the end. They both know it. 

“No, Kara, please,” Lena can hear the desperation in her voice but ignored it just as resolutely as she ignored the tears falling from her eyes. Tears that Kara barely had the strength to gently brush away. “I can’t lose you again.” 

“You never lost me, Lena, not for a single second.” The conviction in Kara’s voice is broken by the blood that slips past her lips as a cough tears through her throat. She collapses back against the broken asphalt after the fit subsides, landing on uneven ground with a pained groan. “I’ve always been yours, even when I wasn’t.” 

The noise around them barely registers in Lena’s mind. The battle had been over for a few minutes at least, but Lena had paid no attention to the chaos around them. Kara, just as she had done since the day they met, commanded all of Lena’s attention. It isn’t until Kara coughs again that Lena realizes that she hadn’t been unconsciously blocking out anything going around them. 

Kara’s cough echoes of the wreckage of a ruined city around them. If Lena had the strength to pull her gaze away from Kara’s slowly dimming eyes, she would have seen the veritable host of people around them falling to their knees as the consequences of this final battle hit home. They won, yes, but none of them thought that the cost would be so high. 

Lena is dimly aware of another person settling on the other side of Kara, taking her hand and nearly gasping out Kara’s name in a choked cry. Even with the addition of Alex with them, Lena doesn’t tear her eyes away from Kara. 

“I know, darling,” Lena grips Kara’s trembling hand tighter, wrapping both of her own around it and pressing a kiss to Kara’s knuckles again. “I think I always have. I should have said something sooner.” 

“Better late than never,” Kara cracked a smile and just for a second, Lena could believe that she wasn’t watching the love of her life die right before her eyes. “Promise me something?” 

“Anything.” 

“Don’t blame yourself, for any of it.” 

“Kara-”

“Promise me, Lena. None of this is your fault, or mine. It happened, and it sucks.” Kara smiled again as Lena released a rueful chuckle. “But you can’t let this stop you. Promise me that you won’t give up.” 

“I promise Kara,” Lena leans over and seals her promise with a trembling kiss pressed to Kara’s forehead. 

“Good.” Kara’s strength left her completely, her head fell to the ground and if not for Lena’s grip on her hand, the same would have been true of it as well. “Remember, I am always yours. Even when I’m not.” 

Kara turns her head then, to Alex who sits on her left. Words are spoken by both of them but Lena doesn’t hear them. She can’t hear anything over the high pitched sound ringing in her ears and Kara’s last words playing on a loop in her mind. 

They should have had so much more time. They should have had years to be together, truly together. Years without lies and secrets pulling them apart. Years of light and laughter and love, so much love that it would be bursting out of them. The kind of love that couldn’t be contained. They should have had it all but now they only had minutes.

They only have minutes and Kara doesn’t know how Lena feels. A sudden panic seizes Lena as she realizes that minutes are quickly receding into seconds and Kaa still doesn’t know. 

“Kara,” even to her own ears, Lena’s voice sounds so far away. “Kara, I love you.” 

There’s no ignoring the tears now, they fall from Lena’s eyes unbidden. But Kara is smiling at Lena, that special, bright smile that always made Lena feel like she was the one who could fly. 

Kara’s smile remains as her eyes fall closed and her body goes limp. Kara’s smile remains as she exhales, whispering Lena’s name with her last breath. 

Supergirl dies a hero, mourned and celebrated by many. 

Kara Danvers dies to the sound of her sister crying beside her. 

Kara Zor-El dies smiling in the embrace of the woman she loves most.

Lena woke up feeling as if that last image of Kara’s smile had been burned into her retinas. The dream, memory, ends in the same place it always does, the moment before the realization of what she had just witnessed sinks in. Lena wakes with soul crushing despair settling deep in her chest so that her breath in a new day is little more than a broken sob. It takes a few minutes for Lena to gather herself enough to climb out of bed and reach for her phone. The move is calculated. Lena knows that if she had reached for her phone first, she wouldn’t have gotten out of bed. 

Every other day, Lena had been able to push herself through it. She could almost pretend that everything was normal, until she caught herself trying to call Kara and invite her to lunch. Even after two weeks, Lena’s first instinct was still to call Kara. The hope that maybe the dream had been a nightmare rather than a memory and Kara would answer when she called had been all that kept Lena going for the past 14 days. 

The day of Kara’s funeral had pulled that hope to a crashing halt. 

There had been a service for Supergirl the day before. It felt like all of National City had been there, human and alien alike. All the heroes that Kara had worked with over the years were there, a few of them people that Lena had only met briefly before the wave of dark matter destroyed all of their worlds. The Flash had a few words to say. Cat Grant had barely held her tears in. Superman openly cried as he said goodbye to his last blood relative. Lena had watched it all with a blank expression, Alex’s hand in hers. 

Lena had made her way to Midvale on her own and was one of the last to arrive at Kara’s childhood home. Eliza had greeted her with a hug and a far too knowing look. Lena had slept in Kara’s bed and refused to cry until she was sure that no one would hear her. 

Now, Lena pulled on the dark outfit she had selected the night before and made her way downstairs. Alex and Eliza met her at the bottom of the stairs and led her to where Clark and Lois were standing with J’onn. Eliza pulled Lena into another hug while Lois looked as if she was the only one in the room who could understand Lena’s pain. Everyone was treating Lena like she was Kara’s widow and Lena wasn’t sure she would ever recover from that. 

She had Kara had never been together. They hadn’t gone on dates or celebrated anniversaries. They’d never even kissed and yet Lena still felt like a piece of her heart had been broken beyond repair. She wasn’t Kara’s widow but she was Kara’s someday and that was somehow worse. 

How could Lena mourn what she’d never had in the first place? 

Kara’s funeral had been short. She wouldn’t have wanted all of her friends and family to spend hours crying over her. Kara had been a ray of sunshine, a becon of joy. Although tears were shed, everyone wanted to follow Kara’s wishes so it soon turned to a memorial rather than a funeral. As everyone had been distracted by Alex’s story of the first time Kara saved her, Lena didn’t think anyone would notice when she stepped onto the back patio. She nearly jumped in surprise when a masculine voice called her name. 

“Sorry,” Clark said as he stepped up beside her. Lena hummed her acceptance of the apology but didn’t say a word. 

They stood together in silence for a few minutes. If it had been any other time, Lena might have made a joke about a Super and a Luthor but it didn’t feel right with her Super missing. Eventually, Lena can see Clark’s shoulders sag and knows that the silence is about to be broken. 

“She was always so much stronger than me.” Clark speaks in a low, haunted voice. “I’ll never be able to thank her for righting my worst wrong.” 

There’s a heavy set to his shoulders and a distant glint in his eyes that makes Lena feel foolish for forgetting where all this conflict had started. Lex had killed Kara, but it was Clark that turned Lex into a staunch believer in the superiority of man. It was Clark who faced Lex time and time again. CLark who wasn’t strong enough to deal the blow that would have ended all of this conflict. It was Clark’s weakness that had pushed Kara into that position, and Clark’s cowardice that cost Kara her life. 

The urge to hate Clark for his inaction is strong, so strong it makes Lena’s stomach clench and her hands tremble. It would be all too easy to blame Clark for losing Kara, but Lena knows that it wouldn’t be fair to him. There’s plenty of blame to go around but Clark doesn’t truthfully deserve any of it. Lex does. For targeting Kara and dealing the fatal blow, but most of them blame falls on Lena herself. For her own war against Supergirl, for the experiments that gave Lex his powers, for not being strong enough to defeat him on her own. 

Kara would still be with them if not for Lena’s failures. 

“But there is something I can do for her, if you’re willing to help me.” 

It takes a moment for Lena to realize that Clark’s statement had been a request. She looks at him, blinking in askance. 

“Follow me,” Clark, in a move that Lena would never have expected to come from him, gently took Lena’s hand into his own and guided her down the porch steps towards the beach. Agreeing to Clark’s request that she wait there for a moment, Lena tries to settle her nerves. When Clark returns, Lena knows that there is nothing she could have done to prepare herself. 

Clark touches down gently a few feet away from Lena and in the space between them hovers a sleek, grey pod. The black surface on the outside fades to clear and suddenly Lena can see Kara. 

She looks peaceful in death, Lena thinks, like she finally dropped all the weight she had been carrying for so long. 

“On Krypton, when a woman died,” Clark swallows roughly. “It was tradition for the oldest female member of the House to speak Rao’s blessing over them.” 

Clark meets Lena’s gaze evenly. 

“I know that would be Eliza here, or Alura if she had come, but I also know that Kara would have wanted it to be you.” 

“Clark,” Lena hesitated, “Kal, I don’t know.” 

“I know what you mean to her. Meant.” Even though they had been doing so all day, hearing Kara referred to in the past tense hurt deeply and Lena felt the tears welling for what must have been the thousandth time. 

“Okay,” Lena agreed with a shaky nod. Clark handed her a small piece of paper from his pocket and then turned his gaze to the pod containing Kara’s still form.” 

“Whenever you’re ready.” 

Lena was sure that she would never be ready to say goodbye to Kara but there was no sense in waiting. Voice thick with tears and barely above a whisper, Lena began to read. 

“You have been the sun of our lives. Our prayers will be the sun that lights your way on the journey home. We will remember you in every dawn and await the night we join you in the sky. Rao’s will be done.” 

They stood there for a moment with only the sound of the waves crashing against the beach breaking the still air. Then, with a heavy breath like he was steeling himself for the hardest moment of his life, Clark lifted the casket into the air with him. A moment later, Kara returned to the stars that had brought her home. 

Clark returned to the Danver’s household while Lena remained on the beach by herself. There was a fleeting feeling of Lena wishing she had something to hold on to, a memento of Kara’s. The feeling faded only to be replaced with a much stronger wish to simply have Kara there with her. The feeling was strong that for a moment, Lena felt the soft, familiar warmth of Kara’s hand in her own, their fingers resting together easily. As time stretched on, Lena let herself be lost in the phantom feeling of what could have been, until the sound of a car door closing shattered the dream and brought Lena crashing back to reality. 

A reality where Kara was gone. 

Suddenly, the beach felt just as stifling as the house had been. 

Realizing that her moment with the ghost of Kara’s memory was over, Lena turned to make her way back to the house. 

Only Kara’s closest friends remained at the house. Clark, Lois, and Lucy were sitting together on the couch, the two normally argumentative sisters silent in their grief. Barry and Iris were curled together in a chair, Barry staring blankly ahead as Iris watched him in concern. Caitlin and Cisco sat together on the floor in front of Barry and Iris, their shoulders pressed together. Ava sat in the other chair with Sara leaning against her legs, her fingers idly wrapping a strand of Sara’s hair around and around. The other Legends must have gone back to the Waverider. Alex and Eliza sat together on the loveseat and made room between them for Lena. 

It was odd, Lena decided as she took the seat provided for her, to be surrounded by so many heroic figures and not feel even the smallest amount of hope. The Kara shaped whole in the arrangement could not be ignored. No one said a word as Lena sat down and the silence was no less disturbing the longer it went on. 

“It doesn’t seem right,” Cisco broke the silence with a sad voice. “The most powerful person we know.” 

“The bravest and most caring, too,” Barry added just as softly. “She didn’t even ask for help.” 

“You were all busy,” Alex shrugged slightly but Lena could see the tension in her jaw. “You all had your own villains to face and lives to live. She wouldn’t have disrupted that.” 

“She wouldn’t put all of you in danger like that.” Lena’s voice was hoarse from disuse. Not counting her blessing of Kara at the beach, that was the longest sentence Lena had said in two weeks. 

“I did, with the Dominators and Crisis,” Barry’s expression shone with guilt. “She answered every time.” 

“She was like Oliver,” Sara said, leaning further into Ava as she spoke. “More of a hero than any of us will ever be.” 

“All these powers, even time travel, and we still can’t save everyone.” Iris sighed and dropped her head onto Barry’s shoulder. Barry pressed a kiss against his wife’s forehead. 

“We would if we could.” Barry said. “I’d go back in a second if we didn’t have to worry about another Flashpoint. An event like this is too big to go back and change.” 

“Flashpoint?” Lena asked curiously. Alex looked at her with the smallest bit of surprise and a hint of question in her eyes. 

“One of the first times I travelled back in time on purpose, to save my mom. I ended up changing everything,” Barry explained. 

With everyone reluctant to leave, it took little prodding to get Barry to continue elaborating. A conversation about the difficulty of preserving the timeline arose between the members of team Flash and the two remaining Legends in the room. Lena listened with half an ear but her mind was stuck on the comment that had started this conversation. 

It didn’t feel right without Kara in the room, not only in the sense that Lena personally felt as though she was missing an essential part of her being, but in the sense that something about all of this was fundamentally wrong. The only thing about Kara’s conflict with Lex was that Lex was gone. It doesn’t make sense for him to have taken Kara out with him, especially not without Kryptonite. Lena remembered the final blow in sharp detail. The beam that had exhausted Kara was golden, not green. 

A comment about the natural order of time caught Lena’s attention and she pondered the implications of it. The natural order of time ensured that everyone was at the correct time and place, whenever that happened to be in the linear timeline of their own lives. Barry and the Legends are able to move through time as long as they don’t disrupt the natural time. There were few rules for time travel, but the most important was that one could not be in the exact same place and time as they had been before. A person cannot physically be in one specific time and place more than once. 

But, there were ways to send other things through time. The Legends used a ship, and Barry had once sent a message back in time to himself, warning of things to come. The beginnings of an idea began to form in Lena’s mind. Physical time travel was limited, but that didn’t mean that other forms had the same limitations. Unfortunately, Lena was kept from following that rabbit any further down the hole by the group finally breaking apart for the night. Lena forced the questions and ideas from her mind until she returned to National City. 

[sit-down-and-shut-up]

time- a. hotchner

SUMMARY: you get kidnapped lol

WARNINGS: kidnapping (duh), some injuries but everyone lives, aaron being m a d, and reader being a freaking baddie

WORDS: too many 6604

A/N: sorry that it’s been a hot minute since i posted, im lazy

Aaron glanced up as the workday finally drew to a close, watching you wave goodbye to the team and stroll towards the unit chief’s office, just in time to see JJ as she ascended the steps on her way to the room as well. You started to wave, but JJ murmured something you couldn’t make out and you stopped. Aaron’s blood ran cold, and he mentally cursed himself for being naive enough to believe that things would work out for once. He turned to look at Emily and Morgan through the blinds, who’d been talking near Emily’s desk, and saw their eyes trained on you and JJ. Emily swore under her breath, then headed to the conference room with Spencer and Derek not far behind.

+++++

Aaron sat down next to you in the conference room, meeting your eyes and giving you a halfhearted smile. You returned the gesture and went back to scanning the grisly photos before you. He zoned out as JJ spoke, giving the rundown on each of the girls that had been abducted, then murdered mere hours later. The murders seemed somewhat random, with the exception that the victims were all girls in their upper 20’s. In fact, they were all 29, just like you were.

Something clicked in your mind, but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions. You could feel Aaron’s steely gaze on you, and you wondered briefly if he could tell what you were thinking. You were lost in your thoughts, to the point where you didn’t hear Aaron’s deep “Wheels up in 30.” After everyone had left the conference room, Aaron turned back to see you still staring at the photos, searching for something you couldn’t quite name among the blood spatters and empty faces. He walked over to you and gently tapped your shoulder, causing your head to whip up to face him. Realization washed over your eyes, and you mumbled an apology.

Aaron shook his head in response, saying “I’m sorry. I was hoping we’d actually get to go out tonight.” You sighed, then replied.

“Who knows? Maybe the unsub will be caught by the time we get there and we can go get dinner or something.” You laughed as you said it, but your laughter was tinged with a resigned sadness Aaron despised, wishing he could take you somewhere you’d never be forced to feel this way again. Aaron watched you for a few seconds longer, as your face darkened and you grabbed your files and left the room, heading to his office, where both of your go-bags were. He wanted to tell you so much, but wasn’t sure how to start. He wanted to tell you that he’d been planning to propose this evening, that he wanted to be with you forever. But he couldn’t.

+++++

Aaron noticed you lost in your thoughts again on the plane ride while the rest of the team went over the case. The sheer amount of bodies was enough to give someone pause. In addition, the unsub took a girl each Thursday, but never kept them for more than a few hours. Why?

The plane ride felt fairly short. You were hit with a wave of nostalgia as the plane touched down in New York, where you’d gone to college years earlier, and worked before you were transferred to the Behavioral Analysis Unit and moved to Quantico. As you walked into the FBI field office with the rest of the BAU, you couldn’t stop your mind from remembering the last time you’d been in the building, when working a terrorism case alongside Agent Joyner four years earlier.

She’d been killed immediately by a bomb in your SUV, and metal had been lodged in your left leg, cutting the femoral artery and nearly causing you to bleed out. If not for your Aaron, you would’ve died there, on the cold pavement. When Aaron came to visit you while you recovered from surgery, you managed to slur out that you loved him. At the time, he blamed it on the drugs you were on, until he showed up at your hospital room again a few hours later, to drive you home. You’d suffered hearing loss as well, and coupled with your leg injury, you couldn’t go in the field or on the plane for a while. As he helped you up and handed you the crutches you’d be relying on for nearly a year, you met his eyes and said confidently, “I meant what I said earlier.”

He’d paused for a second, before his lips spread into a rare smile, and he said, “I love you too.” You’d always known the relationship wouldn’t be easy, considering his recent divorce and your unconventional jobs, but you were fine with it. Being with Aaron was good enough.

Present-day Aaron subtly placed a hand on the small of your back, a sign of encouragement he’d adopted over the years. You glanced up at him and nodded, silently letting him know you were okay. He dropped his hand, and held it out to the new director of the New York field office: Agent Milenka, an enthusiastic but imposing woman you’d met at the Academy when you were younger. You caught Morgan glaring at her for a second, reminding you that Morgan almost got that job. Still, you knew that Morgan loved you all too much to leave the BAU for a job directing the New York field office. The team was his rock, the weight that tethered him to reality when he was at his lowest. Aaron introduced Milenka to the rest of your team, until she cut him off when he got to you.

“I know her,” she declared loudly, “I was her firearms trainer at the Academy, but she had to show me up and be better with a gun than I am.” Spite dripped from her words, but the mischievous smile on her face told you she wasn’t really upset. Aaron nodded slightly, caught off-guard by her remark, then interjected to ask where his team could set up.

Agent Milenka led all of you to an empty conference room, with the case files already arranged neatly and a blank evidence board at the front of the room. She turned on her heel and stared firmly at the team. If you hadn’t known her for years, you’d assume she was going to attempt to assert control over the case, but instead she said, “My agents have come to see this office as a family, and probably won’t take too well to the fact that I’ve called you in. If any of them give you hell, tell me, and I’ll make the devil look like a cuddly teddy bear.” She pivoted on her heel to leave, then turned back around. “Agent L/N, my office.”

+++++

You were shocked, to be honest. This woman could bring grown men to their knees, and now she sat in front of you, spinning in a swivel chair, teasing you over your obvious infatuation with Aaron Hotchner.

“Really, Milenka, I gotta get back to the team,” you sighed, rubbing your temples.

“Fine”, she grunted, making a shooing motion with her hand. “But here’s what I meant to tell you. I’m guessing you and your team want to know why it took this many bodies for me to call you in. I mean, I’d be wondering that, too. The bodies were all dumped two days ago, even though they’d all been dead for various amounts of time, so I’m guessing the unsub wanted to make sure I had to call you guys. Keep that in mind. He knows how this works.” The humor and mischief was gone from the agent’s voice, and in that moment you knew how she’d risen through the ranks of the FBI so quickly. Something about her made you want to do everything you could to solve the case as quickly as possible. She wasn’t someone you could let down.

You grimaced, then nodded, unable to say anything, and left her office, getting coffee from the espresso machine for you and your teammates as you walked back to the conference room. As you passed around the cups, Aaron watched you expectantly, obviously waiting for you to relay whatever information Agent Milenka had told you, and so you did. The reactions among the team members were the same, set jaws and darkening eyes. You didn’t know where to start with the case, until you remembered the idea you’d gotten back in D.C. You leapt from the black desk chair you’d just sat down in and practically ran to the evidence board, grabbing a red dry-erase marker and organizing the victim’s pictures from the first to the last to be abducted. You circled the eyes on some of the pictures, the hair on others, the widow’s peaks on some, and other various defining features.

“He’s working up to someone specific,” Spencer muttered as you worked. You whipped around, pointing a finger at him and downing the last of your coffee.

“Yes! Okay, so, look at this: The first and last girl are wildly different, but when you look at the chronological order of the victims, each one gains another characteristic that the next one didn’t have, like he’s working up to getting one specific girl, and kept killing those that looked increasingly similar to his real target!” You blurted the words, and watched as your teammates looked on in a mix of awe and horror, at both the board and a piece of paper Spencer had messily written on. Aaron, who was usually so emotionless, looked especially horrified, and scared. You shot Spencer a questioning look, and he held up the paper he’d shown the rest of the team. He’d taken the first letter of each woman’s name, and when lined up, they spelled out a message.

Your name.

+++++

“You’re off the case.” Aaron said, crossing his arms over his chest as you paced around the empty office he’d practically dragged you to.

“What? If some psycho is after me, I want to be the one to catch him!” You spoke firmly, almost yelling but not quite.

“If some psycho is after you,” Aaron started, sounding much calmer than you had, “I want you to be safe. Sending you out to hunt him down isn’t keeping you safe.”

You scoffed, then yelled, “As long as he’s out there, I’m not safe! If you let me help, we’ll find him faster. I can’t- no, I won’t- just sit here doing nothing while this man kills women just because he’s got some sort of vendetta against me!”

Aaron’s resolve broke down. You could tell from the way his back slumped and he pulled you into his chest. You wrapped your arms around him, basking in the feeling of calm it brought. Your anger dissipated when he held you like that, and he knew it.

He murmured, “I can’t lose you,” into your ear, and your heart broke from the way his voice cracked from fear and sadness. Aaron pulled away far too soon, and gave you a look that you knew meant to stay put, and pulled out his phone to call Penelope Garcia.

A few moments later, Spencer walked in, hands in his pockets. He looked unsure of himself, and you couldn’t figure out why until he said, “Hotch wants me to drive you to the hotel.”

You stared at him silently for a second, then mumbled curses under your breath and stormed out of the room to find your bag. Spencer put an arm out to stop you, then said, “He said he’d bring it for you tonight.”

You glared at him for a moment, before averting your gaze to the suddenly interesting polished linoleum beneath you. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your fault. I shouldn’t be mad at you.”

Spencer gave you a small smile, and replied, “It’s okay. You’re stressed. We all are. Hotch just wants you to be safe.”

You nodded, and he led you from the building to the shiny, black SUV parked outside. Aaron jogged out of the building towards you, and grabbed the handle of the vehicle before you could. You met his eyes, and he murmured, “I know you’re mad at me, but I need you to stay in the hotel room, okay? Lock the door, and I’ll be there tonight with your go-bag.” You nodded, and he paused a second before saying, “I love you.”

Your pride got the best of you, and you simply muttered, “I know.”

+++++

You’d been sure that the SUV’s tires were full when you’d arrived in New York, but the flat passenger tire begged to differ. Spencer pulled into a nearby gas station to fill up the tire, something you were fairly sure he’d never done before. You couldn’t help but laugh when he called Morgan to ask what to do, who responded that it would be easier for him to come fill up the tire himself. You mouthed that you had to go to the bathroom, and Spencer nodded as Morgan’s laughter came through the phone. You stifled laughter as you walked into the gas station, grimacing at the smell of sweat and cheap hot dogs.

+++++

Aaron wasn’t sure if he’d ever been so mad. No, mad wasn’t the word. Was there a word that could encapsulate the unadulterated fury coursing through his veins? He paced the conference room like a caged lion, practically screaming at Spencer and Derek through the phone.

“What the hell happened?”

Spencer was crying, he could tell that much from the muffled sobs, and Aaron couldn’t help but think that he might never see you again. He slammed the phone onto the table with nearly enough force to break it, and looked up to see Emily, Rossi, and JJ already halfway out the conference room, before he’d told them what happened. The four of them slid into the two remaining SUVs. Aaron screeched out of the parking lot, gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. Rossi kept shooting him worried glances he pretended not to notice.

“We’ll find her,” Rossi said, “But you need to stay calm for us to do it.”

Aaron nodded. He didn’t trust his voice to work right now. If he tried to speak, he knew he’d probably cry. He pulled into the gas station just before Emily and JJ, and a voice in his head reminded him that this might be the last place you’d ever see. Rossi hopped out of the car, giving Aaron a sympathetic look as he did so.

+++++

The team had been at the gas station for almost three hours, interviewing customers, collecting evidence, and talking to workers. Multiple people reported seeing a woman similar to who Aaron described enter the bathroom, but no one saw her leave.There was a window in the girl’s bathroom that had been broken from the inside, with blood on both the window and the glass. The forensics team ran the blood, and it was all from the same person.

Aaron didn’t need to hear the results to know whose blood it was. Spencer tried to help, informing him that she hadn’t bled out because women had approximately 4.5 pints of blood and that was at most half a pint, but Aaron cut him off. He couldn’t hear it, couldn’t listen to everyone talking about his girlfriend, the love of his life, as though she was already dead. He knew the odds, knew that she was almost certainly going to be dead within the first 72 hours, considering how the unsub had killed the other women.

He was going to find you alive. He knew it.

Because he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he didn’t.

+++++

Everything was fuzzy and painful and oh my god what is that stuff coming out of your side and out of your hand and holy crap you can’t move you’re tied up what are you tied to what’s going on and-

“You’re even prettier than I remember.” The voice sounded familiar, but the only thing your brain could fully focus on at the moment was the excruciating pain. You felt a hand on your side, and then a searing pain that was somehow worse than the pain you’d already been feeling.

“You got a piece of glass in your side. I’m getting it out.”

You felt pressure on the spot, and forced your head to move so you could see what was going on.

He was wrapping your waist in some sort of bandage to staunch the bleeding. You forced yourself to look around the musty room you were in. You were seated in a chair, with your arms tied to the back of the chair by a coarse brown rope and a metal chain and heavy shackle attached to your left ankle. Your eyes followed the chain, to where it connected to a silver hook jutting from the wooden floor, which was coated in a layer of dirt.

Dirt.

You must be in a barn, or shed, or something. You definitely weren’t in New York City anymore.

You vaguely remembered what had happened in the gas station bathroom. There’d been a man waiting in the first stall, who jumped on you, shoving your head against the mirror hard enough to crack your skull. You figured that you’d blacked out, and he’d jumped the window with you in tow.

Then another memory washes over you like a tsunami, flooding you with regret.

Aaron said he loved you, and you didn’t say it back. Now, you might never get to tell him that you love him again.

+++++

Aaron removed himself from the case, leaving Rossi in charge. He knew he’d only slow everyone else down with the torrent of emotions dancing inside his skull. So now, he’s resorted to sitting in your hotel room alone, wishing he hadn’t told you to go to the hotel. He’d been crying for the first time in years.

Aaron had no clue what to do, and it gives him newfound respect for the families of abducted victims that he speaks to. He pulled the sparkling diamond ring he planned on giving you tonight out of his bag, staring at it and imagining it on your ring finger. It doesn’t make him happier, instead it just turns the steady stream of tears into a storm.

+++++

Morgan, Rossi, JJ, and Emily, seated at the silver table in the conference room, were going over every last piece of evidence they have, while Spencer made a map of the abduction sites as Agent Milenka told him the addresses. They already established that the victims were high-risk due to their above-average athleticism, and each victim was taken from a high-risk location. Spencer looked for any sense of a pattern in abduction sites, but couldn’t find one. Eventually, he sat down next to Morgan and Emily, defeated.

“So all we know is that he’s obsessed with Y/N, and that he wasn’t remorseful about the murders of the other women.” Derek sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“Well, if he was able to subdue her, he most likely had the element of surprise. So, he probably isn’t physically strong, and needed that advantage to knock her out.” Rossi added, and Derek nodded.

Spencer looked up from the crime scene photos. “There’s no ligature marks.”

Derek nodded. “Yeah, we went over that. So?”

“Why knock the women out and transport them if you’re just going to kill them immediately instead of holding them somewhere? Why not just kill them wherever they already are?”

Emily’s mouth fell open. “Practice. So that when he had Y/N, he knew exactly what was going to happen. But he didn’t want to ruin the rest of the fantasy by taking someone else where he’s planned to keep Y/N. He wants that to be special.”

“So we know he’s going to be holding her somewhere secluded, then,” Milenka chimed in.

After a few moments of silence, the phone rang in the center of the table, and the team members all stared at it for a few moments before Derek turned to the computer next to him, where Garcia was currently on a video call with the team.

“Can you trace this call, babygirl?”

Garcia nodded. “I don’t have a trap and trace set up yet, but I can get one, honey. Just gimme one second.”

Derek’s hand hovered over the button on the receiver to answer the call, and when Garcia affirmed that she was ready, Derek pressed the button. Instantly, a somewhat timid male voice filled the room.

“Where’s Agent Hotchner? I want to speak to him, not any of you.”

The team shared a perplexed look, and Emily asked, “How do you know who is here and who isn’t?”

“The window’s open.”

JJ ran to the window, then turned. “He’s there,” she said, pointing to a man directly underneath where the conference window was with a phone to his ear.

The rest of the team sprinted down the stairs and out of the field office, with JJ not far behind. By the time they got to where the man had been, he was long gone. No one near the area said they’d seen him, either.

Derek turned and punched the wall out of rage, while Emily cursed loudly. The rapid darkening of the sky didn’t help with trying to catch an unsub, either.

Dejectedly, the team returned to the conference room, where Garcia excitedly said, “Your man forgot to hang up for a few minutes! I don’t know entirely where he went, but I know the direction he was headed!”

“Where, Garcia?” Spencer asked, desperate for a lead.

“Straight west.”

Spencer looked to Emily, who said, “Let’s go.”

+++++

The team knew the unsub needed somewhere secluded to keep you, but couldn’t figure out where. He’d been on foot when they’d seen him, so it had to be somewhat close. Or maybe he’d had a car in a parking lot somewhere? There were too many variables. They needed Hotch.

+++++

“Drink.”

The man held a cup to your lips, but you kept them closed tight. After trying to force you for a while, he gave up. Sighing, the man ran a hand through your hair, forcing your head upright. For a serial killer, he was surprisingly gentle.

“You need your strength,” the man murmured, but you looked away when he picked up the cup again. He set it down, shaking his head, then pulled a knife out of the back pocket of his blue jeans. You knew better than to scream. It was likely that he craved your pain, so allowing him that satisfaction would coax him to continue. He walked behind you, to where you wouldn’t see him. You closed your eyes, praying for a quick death, praying Aaron would find you, praying you could see your team one last time.

But you didn’t need to.

The man cut through the rope binding your wrists, then left the room. He was rarely in the room with you, and you wondered what he was doing outside of it. For the first time, however, he came back within a few minutes of leaving. You could theoretically move if you wanted to now that the rope was gone considering how long the chain attached to your leg was, but you were weak and hurting. The last thing you saw before your vision went black yet again was the man standing above you with a syringe.

+++++

Aaron was with the rest of the team, visiting each abduction site for something, anything to help the profile, when the unsub called him.

“This is Hotchner.”

“I have her, Agent Hotchner, and I treat her better than you ever could. You think what she needs is a big strong man to control her,” he mocked, “But you don’t truly love her. No one could, except me.” Although the man’s words were confident, he sputtered out the words like an old truck engine. It sounded like he was reading a script, as though he’d had to plan out what he was going to say beforehand. As soon as the unsub finished speaking, the tell-tale click of the phone hanging up sounded.

Emily, who’d been walking next to him, stopped, pulling out her phone to contact Penelope.

“Can you get the rest of the team on the line? I think Morgan and Reid are at the Central Park crime scene, and JJ and Rossi are probably still by Times Square.”

Emily could practically hear Penelope’s smile as she responded, “Can do, gorgeous.”

A few keyboard clicks later, Penelope stated, “You’ve got me, Morgan, Rossi, Reid,and JJ.”

Emily took a shaky breath before saying, “We think Y/N knew the unsub.”

“What do you mean, knew?” Reid’s voice sounded.

“He claimed that he loves her more than Aaron ever could. He thinks he knows her better than us, so he probably knew her when she used to live in New York.”

“She went to college here, didn’t she?” JJ responded.

Penelope chimed in, exclaiming, “She went to John Jay College of Criminal Justice. Graduated top of her class.”

Morgan cleared his throat, then added: “Maybe the unsub didn’t know her, but thought he did. He could’ve been stalking her when she lived here, then kept tabs on her when she transferred to the BAU years ago.”

“He probably found out about Y/N’s relationship with Aaron recently, and that’s his stressor.” Rossi added.

Emily stared into the distance. There was something off about this. The theory made sense, but at the same time, it felt, well, wrong.

Agent Milenka, who’d been surveying the crime scene Emily and Aaron were at, sauntered over.

“I know who did this.”

Aaron met her firm gaze, confused and intrigued.

“Who?”

“There was this guy she met at John Jay, didn’t talk much, but he ended up applying to the FBI just because she did. He made it in a few months after her and got a job as a forensic analyst at our field office here. They worked together pretty often, and he was never too strange, but you got the feeling there was something off. He started acting weird after Y/N’s transfer to the BAU. I ordered another psych eval for him a few months ago, and he failed. I fired him, and I haven’t seen him since.”

Aaron and Emily shared a look, both hopeful and sad.

“What’s his name?”

“Ian Foster.”

Aaron nodded, murmuring a quick thank you, then turned back to Emily.

“Call Garcia. We need all the information we can find on Ian Foster.”

+++++

Your head hurt. You were somewhere different now; the dirty brown floor had been replaced with plush white carpet, and the chair you’d gotten used to was gone. Your left leg was still shackled, but this time it was attached to a shiny metal spike in the center of the room. You surveyed your surroundings, noting the vast difference between your current location and your past one. The chain attached to your ankle was long, probably meant to give you full access to the room you were in but keep you from leaving. The walls were white and spotless, along with the queen-sized bed behind you and the dresser and vanity along the far wall. You knew you must look out of place compared to the neatness of your surroundings, with your frizzy, dirty hair and torn, wrinkled, and stained clothes. You realized that you’d never checked your holster for your gun, and in doing so, found it empty.

Great.

Sun shone through the window on your right, and birds chirped happily, as if mocking you. They were telling you that they’re free, while you’re locked in this stupid white room.

Your captor walked in soon after you woke up, and you knew he must be watching you through a camera hidden somewhere.

“Drink.”

Your eyes searched his face, trying to understand who he was, now that you had enough light to see.

“Foster?” You managed to croak out through your parched throat.

Ian nodded, then grabbed your face with one calloused hand, forcing you to open your mouth so he could pour water in, which you promptly spat into his eyes. Instead of causing him to stumble, all it did was make him laugh.

“I see you’re still as fiery as ever.”

You clamped your mouth shut, pursing your lips and staring him in the eyes until he left. After he was gone, you tried to move your arms as much as possible. Your limbs felt heavy, like you were attached to weights, but moving was somewhat possible, a little bit at a time.

For now, that would be enough. You just had to pray that Aaron could find you.

+++++

Ian Foster’s paper trail was a series of dead ends, but Penelope Garcia, being the lovely omnipotent being she is, was able to find two properties owned by his dead uncle in upstate New York that he was likely using to hold you.

Aaron couldn’t describe the relief that wrapped itself around him, like a soft blanket, when Garcia chirped that she’d found where he was. He’d refused to allow himself to think that you might be dead, and the knowledge that now he had your location was sweeter than any candy could ever be.

He wiped a tear from his eye that threatened to fall, and cleared his throat, nodding at Emily and Agent Milenka, wordlessly signaling her to join him as he ran towards the SUV they’d been using. Emily followed, calling JJ and Rossi to give them the address as she ran. The first property, an old farmhouse, was about 40  minutes away from their current location, while the second one, a pretty two-story house, was about three hours away. Hotch, Emily, and Milenka, being farthest from both locations, were driving to the house, while the rest of the team would check out the farmhouse first then meet them there.

+++++

There was this feeling, blossoming in your chest, comforting you, whispering that Aaron was on his way. You’d learned over the years that your instincts rarely lied to you, and you hoped to whatever God there was or wasn't, that this wasn’t one of the times they misled you.

So you knew what you had to do.

You acted nice every time Ian came to visit, roughly every half hour.

Then, after five visits, you drank the water he offered willingly. Gently, Ian helped you up off the ground, a gesture that would’ve been comforting had he not been a serial killer. He moved his hands until they were lightly situated on your waist, and gazed into your eyes with the crazed fanaticism of a deranged man. He leaned in for a kiss, and the second he closed his eyes, you drove your right knee directly into his crotch.

Serves him right for being dumb enough not to fully restrain you. While he doubled over in pain, stepping back, you set up for a roundhouse kick that you placed to the back of his knee, knocking him onto the ground in an ungraceful heap. While he was on the ground, you punched him in the throat with enough force to knock the wind out of him, leaving him gasping for air on the ground like a fish out of water. Sending another kick to his temple for good measure, rendering him unconscious, you searched his pockets for anything that could remove the shackle from your leg. Eventually, you settled for a wire cutter that you used to cut off the attaching chain, but your clumsiness left an angry gash in your leg in the process. Limping from exhaustion, you ran from the room as fast as you could with the pain in your side from the glass that had been lodged there and the blood from the cut in your skull dripping down your face and neck. Your head felt fuzzy and faint, and you knew you were likely to pass out from blood loss any second. You repeated Aaron’s name in your head like a mantra, telling yourself that you needed to get back to him first, then you could pass out from pain. Every part of your body ached, screaming at you to give up as you stumbled down the creaky carpeted stairs, leaving a trail of blood in your wake.

As you neared the foyer, you heard the engine of a car, along with footsteps. The door flew open, with Aaron directly behind it, followed by Morgan, Emily, Spencer, Rossu, and a few agents from the New York office. Aaron’s eyes scanned the room before settling on you, bloodied and bruised, and he ran to you, gathering you in his arms while you whimpered like a child. He whispered things in your ear that you couldn’t make out as you let the blackness at the edge of your vision take over.

+++++

Lights. Murmuring voices. Were you still in that house?

You opened your eyes to see two people, one man and one woman, leaving the room you were in. There was a pressure on your hand that scared you, and slowly, you turned your head to see the source of the sensation, and you were greeted with what was quite possibly the best view you’d ever laid eyes on: Aaron Hotchner asleep at your side, desperately clutching your hand.

“Aaron?” You murmured. He was a light sleeper, so you knew the sound would most likely wake him up. When it didn’t, you squeezed his hand while murmuring his hand again. His head jerked up, and his tired eyes met yours.

“Y/N.” His voice was filled with so much anxiety, grief, and regret that your heart shattered, as he reached up to ever-so-gently caress your face, then kissed you softly.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.” His words took the broken pieces of your heart and smashed them again with a hammer, until you were sobbing against Aaron’s chest. He held you, and let you cry, becoming painfully aware of his inability to help in times like this. His specialty was catching criminals, not helping people through the trauma, and he entertained the thought of asking JJ to talk to you for a fleeting moment, before deciding that he couldn’t let you out of his sight for the time being.

After a few minutes, you sniffed and lifted your head to wipe away your tears, but Aaron did it before you could. You stared down at your side for a moment, watching the blood that seeped through the bandage every time you took a breath, while you gathered enough courage to speak without your voice wavering.

“I’m sorry. You told me you loved me, and I didn’t say it back, and that could’ve been the last-”

Aaron cut you off with a kiss, murmuring against your lips, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You sat in silence with him for a while, leaning your head against his shoulder as he stroked your hair. Eventually, Aaron broke the silence.

“I saw what you did to Ian.”

You choked out a laugh despite the pain that ripped through you while doing so. “Yeah, I left him in pretty bad shape, didn’t I?”

Aaron nodded, smiling. “I’m proud of you. Most people wouldn't be able to escape a serial killer.”

“Well, I’m not most people, Hotchner.”

“That’s for sure.”

+++++

The rest of the team left for D.C. the next morning, but Aaron stayed to drive you home once you were discharged from the hospital. First, however, he dropped you off at the FBI field office to talk with Agent Milenka while he called Jessica to ask if she’d mind watching Jack for a few more days, explaining what happened to you. She practically viewed you as a sister, and after recovering from the initial horror, was happy to agree.

“Hey, Y/N! You’re alive!” Agent MIlenka called brightly as you limped into her office, bumping your crutched on the doorframe.

You chuckled. “Sadly, I am. Aaron told me it was you who figured out Foster had taken me. How’d you know?”

Milenka shrugged. “I may not be a profiler, but I sure as hell can tell when someone’s not right. The guy went almost crazy when you left New York. It just made sense.”

“But if that was his stressor, he would’ve started murdering earlier.”

“We thought at first that finding out about you and Agent Hotchner might’ve been the stressor, but it was impossible to tell when he’d found out, so we switched gears. I fired Ian a few months ago because he’d just been getting worse and worse, and eventually was a liability on cases. The last straw was him failing his psych evaluation. Maybe he felt that losing his FBI job meant he lost his last chance to be with you if he’d been hoping to transfer to your unit someday.”

You nodded slowly. “That’s around the time the kidnappings started, isn’t it?”

Milenka nodded. The two of you stood in her office in comfortable silence for a bit, until she stood up from her desk, crossing the distance between you and engulfing you in a nervous hug. She pulled away fairly quickly, most likely out of fear of hurting you, and awkwardly patted you twice on the shoulder. “Take care, Agent.”

“You too, Milenka.”

You turned to go, but stopped when you heard Milenka call, “One more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Hotchner’s a good guy. Don’t let that one get away.”

You merely offered her a smile, then strode out of her office as elegantly as one can with a limp.

+++++

The ride home was nice, full of easy discussion, laughter, and a few guilty looks that Aaron snuck at your stitched-up side, wishing he’d listened to you.

You made a joke he didn’t hear, and leaned over in your seat so you could wave a hand in front of his face, calling his name in a sing-song voice.

“Aaron, you good?”

Aaron shook his head slightly, rubbed his eyes, then turned towards you. “Yes?”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

You hummed in affirmation, then turned towards the window. The rest of the drive was spent in comfortable silence, until you arrived at Aaron’s house. You spent practically all of your time there. Honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d stepped foot into your apartment. Aaron helped you into the house and to your shared bed, where you passed out immediately. You vaguely heard a soft whisper of “sleep well” before you were out cold.

Aaron watched you for what felt like hours, feeling pent-up stress and anger roll off of him in waves as he silently stroked your hair, grateful beyond words that you’d lived. You murmured something in your sleep that sounded suspiciously like “I love you,” before rolling over to curl against his chest, nuzzling your head against the crook of his neck. And for the first time in days, he allowed himself a smile. Aaron basked in the rare feeling of relaxation, thinking about how nice it would be to bottle up this feeling and keep it forever, until sleep finally pulled him into its soft clutches. And for once, with you safely nestled into him, he slept easily. He still hadn’t proposed, but that was okay. Now that you were safe, you two had all the time in the world.

[free-pancakes]

WRITE A LEVIHAN FIC ADTER THE FIRST WORD YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU SEE THIS LETTER: H

Alright moon, i thought of H for Hawkeye. Not sure if you're a Marvel fan, but here goes. I got a little carried away bc I love an AU where Hange is Hawkeye and Levi is Black Widow.

hope you like it <3

Levi held the tesseract in his hand, staring at its mesmerizing, light blue glow as he held it up to his face.

“Looks like we’re here for the same thing, huh, Mr. Ackerman?”

Levi quickly pulled the cube close to his chest, revealing someone standing on the other side of the room, staring right back at him. Her big brown eyes glowered behind thick-lensed classes, brown hair tied messily in a high ponytail. She swiftly reached back to reveal a bow and arrow, now pointed directly at him.

“If you hand it over, I promise I won’t kill you!” She said playfully.

Levi frowned and grit his teeth in annoyance.

“Are you mocking me, Four-Eyes?”

She laughed heartily— “Well, people usually call me Hawkeye, but you know what? I’ll let you call me that instead!” With that, she launched her arrow at him, Levi’s reflexes so fast, he dodged it right on time. However, he didn’t expect the arrow to explode.

The blast blew Levi off to the side, and soon Hange already had a hand gripped on his arm. He twisted to grab it, throwing Hange down right on her back. Levi reached for his gun, but she was too quick—Hange punched upwards to launch his handgun from its holster, sending it across the room. Levi quickly countered with a kick, sending Hange’s bow sliding across the tiled floor.

Off they were into hand to hand combat, each punch caught by the other, every kick countered with a dodge. Levi was thrown for a loop. He’d met his match.

It was the most frustrating fight he’s had for awhile, yet, he found himself smiling—and he could have sworn he saw a smile on her face as well.

Suddenly, explosions sounded from the ceiling, confusing Levi. Hange had already set the explosives prior to meeting him.

While he was distracted, Hange grabbed the tesseract, but Levi countered quickly, sending the cube flying. Levi ran as Hange scrambled for her bow. When she turned, a huge chunk of debris came falling towards Levi.

“Levi—wait!” She yelled. Luckily, she sent an explosive arrow towards it, blasting it and preventing it from crushing Levi. Smaller pieces showered down, but to Hange’s dismay, one piece of debris was still much too big. Levi stared up and it hit him straight on the head, his vision going black.

Levi woke up suddenly, quickly sitting straight up. His heart raced, and sweat beaded on his temple as he tried catching his breath. Disoriented, he looked around fast, blinking the sleep from his eyes. Once he came to his senses, he gasped and stared downwards—Hange was still asleep, her head rested on his lap. Safe.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he leaned back, staring up at the walls of the metal air vents they had been hiding up in for the last 5 days. Little scratches in the walls of word games, tic tac toe, stupid things to fill the time as they waited on the go from Erwin.

But Levi’s thoughts quickly switched back to dwelling upon his dream—clearly the first time he met Hange had been on his mind, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. They went from enemies to… whatever this was, real fast. This was their 10th mission together, and here they were, stuck hiding out in a small space inside the air vents of a subway station in Budapest. After finishing this mission, Levi would be taken in as a trusted agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. It was crazy how fast the tables turned for him—in a good way, for once.

He looked down, and rubbed the back of his hand against Hange’s cheek to wake her up. Her eyebrows furrowed as she woke, turning up to face Levi, giving him a little smile. Levi ran his fingers over the side of her covered eye, scratching away at the dried blood clinging to her skin.

“Get up, Hange. We have to change the dressing on your eye.”

Hange stretched sleepily, and sat up. Levi grabbed some supplies, and knelt in front of her, peeling the medical tape and gauze away carefully. He brought an alcohol pad, wiping away the dried blood.

“Can you see?”

Hange opened her eye.

“Yes, don’t worry! Though I’ll probably just have a nasty scar to remember this mission together forever!” she exclaimed with a tired laugh. Her persistent optimism never failed to surprise Levi.

“There’s been something on my mind, Hange.” “Oh, and what’s that?”

Levi hesitated, but continued with his burning questions—they spilled out of him so fast he couldn’t control himself.

“Why did you choose to save me that day? Why didn’t you just take the tesseract and run? Why did you think I’d be someone that should work as a part of S.H.I.E.L.D.? Why—“

Hange laughed. “Suddenly so talkative, Levi!”

Levi grumbled. “Just, can you answer??”

Hange grew silent for once. She thought back to when she was tasked to learn everything she could about Levi, following him all over the world. She remembered when her turning point was—a time when Levi planted explosives in a building, but rushed back in when he realized three innocent children had been lurking around where they shouldn’t have been. And that was when she learned something the world didn’t—Levi Ackerman wasn’t truly the cold-blooded killer everyone thought he was.

And she took her chance on that.

“Hm, well, I could almost say the same to you! Why did you choose to trust me? Why did you decide to stay with us? You had every chance to leave, it’s not like we had you imprisoned or anything this entire time?”

Levi thought about their first meeting—how he had never met someone else that matched an equal combat ability to himself. It grasped his attention quickly. But what really drew him to stay, was that Hange genuinely trusted him, stood up for him… believed in him. No one had ever done this for him since he was a child—only his mother ever did.

Levi laid the new set of gauze on Hange’s eye, and taped it down snugly.

Their true thoughts lingered in their heads, but neither of them could bring themselves to say their reasons out loud. Their eyes met for a moment.

A beeping roused them from their trance.

“Oh, must be Erwin,” Hange said with nervous laughter, trying to ignore the intimate moment they just shared.

She read the alert message. “Levi, it’s time to go,” she said with a serious tone.

“You ready to take down Zeke once and for all?” She said with a devious grin.

Levi smirked. Of course he was ready to fight with Hange—fighting back to back with her might actually be his absolute favorite thing in the world.

“Let’s do it.”

[holylulusworld]

Her substitute (4) - Back Home

Summary: Once you were her best friend. Now her widower seeks shelter in your arms. 

Square Filled: Bonham Walker for @walker-bingo​​

Ship: Cordell Walker x fem!Reader, Cordell Walker x Emily Walker (widowed)

Characters: Bonham Walker, Stella Walker, August Walker, Abeline Walker

Rating: Mature

Warnings: angst, language, mentions of loss of a loved one, remorse, awkward situations, idiots in love, Walkers family is the best, arguments, implied smut

Word Count: 1,6 k

Her substitute masterlist

2021 Walker Bingo masterlist

Divider by @firefly-graphics​​

<< Part 3

“Y/N,” Stella clings to you, refuses to let go of you. The moment you got out of your old truck she jumped at you, crying as you came back. “You’re back.”

“Yeah,” you swallow thickly when Stella tells you how much she has missed you. For now, you will hide you still don’t know if you will stay or go back to New York. “How have you been? I know my departure was—sudden.”

“It was his fault, wasn’t it?” she chokes out, looking up at you. “Why can’t he just admit he wants to go out with you? Dad should stop being so stubborn.”

“Your father and I, we are friends and partners. It’s complicated, you know. Maybe it would be easier if I wasn’t your mom’s best friend. I think Cor—I mean your dad doesn’t know how to express his feelings. And I don’t know if it’s a good idea that I stay here.”

“Why? You are family, Y/N. Please don’t leave us again. August, he doesn’t show it but he’s missing you too. He’s as stubborn as dad,” Stella sighs when you run your hand over her hair. “Dad is an idiot for not seeing how much you care about him.”

“There she is, the long-lost daughter,” Bonham smirks when you walk toward the house, Stella hot on your heels. She refused to leave your side since you are back in town, even followed you home when you tried to change clothing.

“Hi,” you let Cordell’s father wrap you in a hug. “How have things been since I’ve been gone? Do you still drive your wife crazy?” he snickers at your words.

“So, you’ve become an important FBI agent now?” he looks at you, searching your face while hoping you will come back. “I heard about Cordell and you. Why didn’t you tell me you are about to become our new daughter-in-law?”

“Bonham,” you sigh, shaking your head lightly, “this is all a misunderstanding. Cordell and I are only friends and partners.”

“Do you want to tell me you left your home, your family for a job you don’t want out of the blue? I know about the blind date and that you left town right after you canceled, the party,” he slings one arm around your shoulders to lead you into the house. “I am an old man, not blind nor stupid.”

“Love is out of the question for Cordell and me,” Bonham doesn’t say a word. He guides you into the house, biting his tongue. “Emily was the woman he loved, and it will always be her for him. I don’t think he will be able to open his heart for someone else.”

“How about we save the heavy topics for later and have dinner? Abeline made your favorite, and she made a pie to die for, Y/N,” you hate to say no to Bonham, so you nod silently, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You know, if he doesn’t man up and asks you out, I’ll handle this for him.”

“Bonham,” he laughs when you try to stop him from playing the matchmaker for you and his son. “Please don’t try to change his mind. Cordell is—”

“A stubborn man, but he has feelings for you, my dear. He’s like his old man,” Bonham ends your sentence. “Y/N, he’s a good man, with a broken heart. He just needs a little push. Let me push him if I must.”

“That’s delicious Abeline,” you try to break the awkward tension in the dining room. While Stella and August won’t stop asking questions about New York, the FBI and your training Cordell sits opposite you, frowning anytime you say something, “as always.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” Cordell’s mother gives you a soft smile, offering another slice of the pie to you. “You are always welcome to join us for dinner. Cordell should invite you more often.”

“Mom,” Cordell clears his throat, eyes drifting toward you again. Tonight, he sticks to water, doesn’t even touch the beer his father offered to him. “Y/N will come around when she finds the time. She has her own life…maybe even in New York.”

“Dad,” Stella drops her fork. She grimaces, pointing her finger at you. “Do you want her to leave town again? Why don’t you ask her out? If you can go out with that other woman, you can go out with Y/N!”

“Stella,” August tries to spare you another hurtful scene. He’s grown for his age, and you give him a weak smile. “We talked about this, didn’t we?”

“Fine,” grasping for her water Stella glares at her father. “If she leaves all of us because of you, I will never forgive you.”

“I think that is enough,” Bonham speaks up. “Y/N doesn’t owe you anything, Stella. She is important to all of us, but this doesn’t mean she must stay in town and work as a Texas Ranger, not when she has the chance to become an FBI agent.”

“Grandpa,” Stella sniffs, looking at him, pleadingly. “Please. I don’t want to lose her too. He can’t ruin everything for us. Mom died because—”

“Enough,” this time you drop the fork. “It was my fault too. We arrested that man together. I was the one not wanting to give up and your mom and Jason paid the price. The guilt almost ate me up and your father was the one catching my fall,” you admit, pushing the tears away.

“What?” Stella inhales sharply. She always believed you are like Wonder Woman. Invincible and strong-willed. “But—but you seem so strong and…”

“Even the mightest people fall sometimes. It’s no shame to accept help from someone,” you clear your throat, eyes drifting toward Cordell. You know he’s ashamed Geri called you and that you saw him drunk once again. “Some people might say you are even stronger for accepting help.”

“Hi—erm, can I help you?” watching you clean the dishes Cordell awkwardly stands in the kitchen. “Mom said the dishwasher needs fixing. Let me lend you a hand.” He stands behind you to subtle sniff at your hair.

You can feel his chest press against your back when he tries to take the first plate out of your hand. “I—I can do this,” voice a little shaky you try to focus on the warm water soaking your hands, not the heat coming out of Cordell’s body. “How about you go back and chat a little or something.”

“Y/N, will it always be like that from now on? I want you to look at me the way you did before you left for New York,” he begins. “Please at least look at me. Even if you give me a dirty look. Just talk to me.”

“Do you think you are the only person thinking about shit all the time,” you place the plate back into the sink. “I think about Jason and Emily all the fucking time,” you turn around to jab your finger into his chest.

“Baby girl,” you whimper at the pet name. “I’m sorry—” he runs his large hands up and down your arms to calm you. “I should have stayed away from you, but I can’t. Y/N, I feel guilt too.” You huff at his words, not believing he feels sorry at all.

“Oh, you feel guilty for fucking me?” you retort, letting out a frustrated huff. “Do you know why I feel guilty, huh?” he shakes his head, swallowing thickly when tears well up to your eyes. “I feel guilty for getting them killed. I feel guilty for fucking my best friend’s husband. I feel guilty for hiding whatever we have from our families and friends. And I feel guilty for wanting you so bad that I can’t think straight when you are close to me.”

“Baby girl,” he gently cups your face, stroking your skin with his thumbs, “I’m so sorry for being an insensitive asshole. I should’ve told you how I feel a long time ago.” His lips softly press against your forehead, and you sigh deeply, hating he makes you feel weak all over again. “Please, give me a chance to show you I can be better.”

“I need to…I need to go,” you duck under his arm to escape the painful situation. Before you flee out of the house you look back over your shoulder to give Cordell one last glance. “Give me a few days to sort my thoughts, Cord. I just can’t be with you right now.”

“Hey, Ems,” you sit in front of your friend’s grave. “Do you think I should go back to New York? I-I know it’s wrong to love your husband, but I can’t stop my heart from beating only for him.” you sniff, wiping your eyes. “Shit, I can still feel his hands on me. He’s just—fuck. Cordell gets under my skin, Emily.”

Silence is a good friend tonight, so you sit there in front of her grave, drinking your favorite beer. “Do you remember when we first met? I thought you hate me, and you believed I am too cool to hang out with you. But the truth is, back then, I thought you are the coolest girl I ever met.”

“Shit, I wish you were here with me, Emily. I swear, nothing would’ve happened between me and Cordell if you were here. I could’ve never done such a shady thing,” you sip at your beer, sighing deeply.

“...and even now, I think about him and his fucking hands. God, his hands all over me and his lips against my throat. I love when he calls me baby girl. It drives me crazy, and I believe that I will lose my mind.”

“Coming,” Cordell grumbles, reluctantly opening the door to his house. “Y/N?” he gasps when you grab his shirt to bring him down for a messy kiss. “Baby girl.”

“Just shut up,” cupping the back of his neck, you kiss him again, this time slow and gentle. “I-I don’t know what to do. I only know that I want you.”

“I want you too—” you find yourself in his arms, your legs around his waist as he carries you inside his house. “Let me show you how much, baby girl…”

>> Part 5

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[anonymousfiction211]

(reader is from asgard) After Loki faked his death, he transforms into the smallest creature and watches over the avengers tower only to see his childhood only friend and crush fall in depression. The others try to help but her anger is so much for her that she almost destroys everything with the powers she didn't knew she had. She admits to them how much she loved him and only then he realizes. I can't think of an ending. Also, sorry if this is too specific!

Word count: 2.026 words A/N: This story is set between Loki’s fake death in Thor 2 and the end of the movie. Hope you like it! Warning: Angst

Watching over you You were stirring in your sleep again. Something you did often lately. From behind your closed eyes tears started to flow over your cheeks, wetting the pillow underneath you. Right now, Loki wanted nothing more than to wake you and hold you close to him, hoping to comfort you. Tell you that everything is going to be okay. But he couldn’t do any of that. He was dead, or at least that is what everyone thinks. Plus, he had to change back to himself, and he couldn’t risk that either. It was safer to stay in this form. He wasn’t even supposed to be here, he should be in Asgard, planning the best moment to strike against Odin. But he couldn’t help himself, he had to see how you were doing. Even with dark circles under your eyes and in lazy/comfortable clothes, you still were beautiful to him. Something he would have told you, he wanted to tell you for so long, but every time you looked at him his tongue had failed him. You finally fell back in a peaceful slumber. Loki decided he would stay for one more night and then get to work. He flew to the ceiling above you, looked one more time at you sleeping form, before falling asleep himself.

Next morning

The sun was already shining brightly trough the windows. Loki had been watching you all morning. You hadn’t bothered setting an alarm clock, and when you woke up you grunted and turned around. There was a knock on the door.“(Y/N), time to get out of bed!” Natasha said. When you didn’t respond she entered the bedroom. It was her day today. You didn’t know it, you hadn’t even noticed a pattern. But some of the Avengers divided days among them to look after you. They were worried about the state you were in. Barely coming out of your room, not eating, not showering, and not wanting to talk about it. Not everyone agreed to it, however. Since not all people could understand that it was losing him what was causing you to act this way. To be honest, Loki never anticipated that you would be this much affected by his death. The two of you were friends since you were kids. You were one of the few people that somehow got him to open up. It didn’t take long to develop a crush on you, but he wasn’t the only one. A lot of guys in Asgard had, how could they not? You were beautiful, kind, patient, and the way you laughed sounded like Valhalla itself. Even tough you had a lot of friends, you always made time for him. You truly were the kindest person he had ever met.

Loki’s thoughts were interrupted when he heard you yell. “Just leave me alone!” He was shocked. In all the time that he’d known you, he never heard you yell. You never even raised your voice. Always staying calm, because no matter how angry you were ‘raising your voice was a sign for people that you weren’t in control of yourself anymore’ you once said to him. Natasha somehow got you to agree to get out of bed. The Widow is rather good in manipulation, Loki had to admit. “Once you’re ready, meet me in the training room. Oh, and don’t forget to open a window. You’re starting to attract flies.” Natasha said while she was leaving your room. You turned around and were staring at the fly on your ceiling for a few minutes. Loki thought you were about to cry again, but you held back your tears and got out of bed. If only you knew it was him on the ceiling.

Once you were gone, Loki in his fly-form, buzzed towards the training room too. Settling on the top of a punching bag, giving him an excellent view over the whole room. Your training with Natasha was hilarious to watch. He loved to watch you kick someone’s ass, and as a trained warrior Natasha didn’t stand much of a chance. Tough she held up against you longer than Loki would have guessed. “So, are you liking Earth, or ehm.. Midgard as you say it, so far?” Natasha asked you. “It’s fine” you replied rather uninterested in engaging in a conversation. “Thor hoped bringing you here would distract you a bit. Is it working?” Natasha went on. “Look, I get what you all are trying to do. And it’s not that I’m ungrateful, but I just want to be alone right now” you replied while making your way to the exit. “(Y/N), we can help you” Natasha tried one last time. When you turned back Loki saw different emotions on your face. It went quickly, but he noticed the sad expression with tears forming in your eyes. You blinked to vanish the tears, and your expression changed from sad to angry, and he swore that in between he saw regret. Why regret? Regret for what? he wondered. “Stop, just stop okay. You all hated him, so don’t for a second pretend that you even care” you spat back, angrily slamming the door on your way out.

The rest of the afternoon, you got your wish. Nobody bothered to see how you were doing or to get you out of bed again. This angered Loki much, but then again it was his fault you were feeling this way. While you were crying, Loki was lost in thought again. He should, he really should go back to Asgard after today. But how could he, knowing you were hurting. He couldn’t leave you like this, but he also couldn’t bare to watch it for much longer. If he knew how much his death would affect you, he would have thought of another plan to avoid going back to his cell. Even when he was locked up, you visited him often. You weren’t angry with him, just glad he was still alive. To his surprise you got guards to agree to let you into his cell. Playing games, reading, and laughing together. He thought he would never see you again after his failed attempt to rule Midgard. Even tough he never truly wanted to rule Midgard, but had to fulfil his assignment, and saw no way of escaping his faith. That was something he couldn’t tell people. He had almost told you, the first time you visited. He really wanted to, he couldn’t stand the thought of you thinking of him like everybody else did. But he was struggling with the words and then the guards came to tell the two of you, that the visiting time was over. Before you left his cell you gave him a kiss on his cheek. “When you’re ready to tell me, I’ll be there” you had whispered. That kiss on his cheek was the best moment of his life.  

In the end of the afternoon the Soldier had entered your room. He convinced you to get out of bed and took you to the living room. Loki, of course, flying right behind the two of you. Most of the team was already sitting in the living room. Thor was still on Asgard, and Loki noticed that Tony and Clint were also missing. You sat down, staring at the floor. “(Y/N), we really think you should get some professional help. We are getting worried about you” Steve began this little intervention. He was getting on and on about mental health, grief, and your sudden anger outbursts. If Loki were able in this form he would have rolled his eyes at the boring lecture. Before you got a chance to reply that door of the living room burst open. A very intoxicated Tony walked through them, going straight to the bar to pour himself another drink. I should have killed that men when I had the chance Loki thought.

Steve cleared his throat “Do you mind?” he said, clearly irritated by Tony’s behaviour. “Come on, is she still moping around because he’s dead” You looked up and gave Tony a murderous look. “Tony, stay out of this” Natasha warned him. Instead of taking her warning, Tony walked towards the group. “Come on, we all know the world is a better place without him” he continued. You stood up from your chair, balling your fists. “It’s not. Now, shut up” you yelled. “He was arrogant, egotistic, a murderer and just evil” Tony said while raising his voice. “Why would you even miss him? Why would anyone even care?” The anger was flaring through your eyes. At this point you were screaming. “He was not perfect, but who is?! He was kind, funny and incredibly smart. And given what he had to deal with in his life he is a better man than you ever could be!” You fell back in your chair, and noticed the tears falling from your face.

There was a long silence. Then Natasha broke it “You were in love with him” she said. Everyone looked at you. Loki began to grow very nervous and was holding his breath, waiting for you to react. “I am” you whispered. “Did he know?” she asked. “I- eh, no… Right before he and Thor would leave I wanted to tell him. But I got scared and decided to tell him afterwards.. and now..” you cried. “Maybe if I had, he would have stayed, or things would be different” you went on. Loki couldn’t believe what he was hearing. You were in love with HIM? Why? How long? And why hadn’t he noticed or told you that he felt the same way? He really was the stupidest man alive right now. Wait, what? You’re blaming yourself for his death?

“How could anyone ever love that monster?” Tony said. Before Loki could keep track of his thoughts you were on your feet. A sudden energy blast flew across the room, knocking Tony to the wall, he was laying unconsciousness on the ground. Everyone, including you and Loki, were in complete shock. Bruce went to Tony and confirmed that he was okay. “You have powers?” Steve asked. You were standing in pure shock, staring at your hands. Loki was also in shock, he recognized that kind of magic. It was the same as his. All this time he’d known you, he never sensed that you had magic. How could he never have known all these things about you? How could he have been so stupid? So blind? You ran towards your room and Loki flew as fast as he could. Maybe he should reveal himself, after all the only other known person for her magic was his mother. But she wasn’t alive anymore. He was, he could teach you everything he knows. Before he had a chance to decide the Soldier walked in your room.

“(Y/N), are you okay?” he asked. Stupid question, she thinks the person she loves is dead, she just discovered she has magic, a underappreciated trait from where she’s from and is currently crying Loki thought. After your stopped crying you finally spoke up. “How’s Tony doing?” you asked meekly. Loki couldn’t believe that you would even consider his wellbeing, but also loved you for it. “He will be fine, he had it coming. He is an ass when he is that drunk” Steve said. “Thor comes in next week, and we will figure something out. Maybe he knows someone who can teach you” he went on. “Do you guys want me to go back to Asgard?” you asked. Steve gave you a reassuring smile “You’re welcome for as long as you like” he said. You started to cry again, and he put his arms around you, holding you close. Loki felt jealousy stirring inside him. He wanted to be the one who could hold you in his arms. Not being able to watch anymore he flew away. He had work to do. He had a throne to conquer and think how he was going to make up for everything he is putting you through. He couldn’t wait to have you rule by his side. His queen.

[author-morgan]

more halfdan, please? 🥺 he needs more love. could you maybe do something for Halfdan where he's traveling and meets and stays with a fem reader?

bless i am not alone in the simping. have a little fluff for Halfdan, as a treat. Halfdan x fem!Reader

THE HOUR IS late, but the storm raging outside makes it seem far later. Lightning streaks across the sky —Thor striking his hammer on anvil, the clash of iron echoing over the sky. The winds howl, and winds lash, shaking the planks and shingles of the wood and earth home. It’s been years since you’ve endured a storm such as this, and it shows no signs of stopping, having raged on since midday. It would be nearing sundown soon by your reckoning. You pity the poor souls who must endure Thor’s wrath without shelter and a warm hearth.

There’s a deceptive lull in the bedlam, the lightning and thunder subsiding though the wind and rain do not. Pausing in an attempt to tidy up after dinner, you take the moment to urge your daughter to bed. Þóra protests, with it still being so early, but there’s scarcely anything else to do on a dark and stormy evening. It takes a small bribe with half a honey cake and a tale of the gods for her to settle in, eyelids drooping shut —curling into the raised cot lined with wool and pelts. With a long sigh, you rise, having pressed a kiss to her brow.

Stripping down to your linen shift, you sit on the edge of your bed, fingers combing through the knots in your hair —watching water drip down into a bucket at the edge of the room, a leaky roof in need of fixing. You barely hear the knocking above the wailing wind, but when you crack open the door, you find a man looking up from under the hood of his oiled leather cloak. “Refuge from the storm?” The stranger asks. His stringy blond hair clings to his face —hiding part of the dark tattoos on his cheek and forehead— and his dark eyes are warm but dangerous.

Snapping from a trance, you move aside, opening the door farther for him to step into your home. “Of course,” you nod, offering a kindly smile. The gods often showed themselves as weary travelers. He steps over the threshold, untying his cloak, hanging it on an empty hook by the door. Out of the night and the storm, you recognize him as the brother to King Harald —Halfdan the Black— as he stands with water running off his sodden clothes and dripping from his hair. “I’ve some spare clothes,” you tell him, quickly moving behind one of the partitions blocking your bed from the rest of the home.

Rummaging around in the chest kept bedside, you return with a dry tunic and pair of britches in hand. Clothes you have no need of any longer but haven’t the strength to give away yet, so you keep them tucked away with part of your heart. “Please, take these” —you hold them out for Halfdan to take— “elsewise, you’ll catch your death.” He lowers his head in thanks and begins working the ties of his tunic and britches loose. Turning, as not to stare at the lithe muscle spanning his chest, you set the table with a bowl of the pot of stew still simmering over the hearth and a cup of ale. A warm meal always did the belly wonders after being soaked to the bone.

You motion for Halfdan to help himself to the stew and ale, taking his sodden clothes to string up to dry on a line spanning the low hanging rafters. “Far better than pickled fish and salted deer,” he jokes when you slide onto the bench opposite him.

“It’s been years since last I saw you and your brother,” you tell him, pouring a cup of ale for yourself and refilling his cup. You’ve rarely returned to Tamdrup in recent years, and the few times you had gone to market to trade livestock or buy fabric, Harald and Halfdan were scarcely around —too busy conquering and unifying the petty kingdoms under one crown. Once, you might have called the two brothers friends, but those days were long past, and many friendships were lost upon your marriage.

“Harald is why I am caught in this torrent,” Halfdan laments, none too happy about it. The two brothers are rarely parted from one another, but there are times when Harald only trusted one person, aside from himself, to deliver word and accept oaths of fealty. This is one of those times. It’s ill luck that his journey back to Tamdrup has been plagued by storms and exiles who unwisely mistook him for a simple vagabond.

“Well” —you reach across the table, resting your hand over his— “you are most welcome here, Halfdan.” His lips twitch upwards, his hand loosely curling around yours.

“Móðir?” A small voice calls, and then there’s the patter of small feet on the rough wooden floor.

“Þóra,” you sigh, knowing it was a fool’s hope to think she would sleep through the storm and night, especially given the arrival of an unexpected guest. She potters to the table dragging a ragged blanket behind her. Þóra stops, looking between you and Halfdan. Her wide amber eyes are glassy and still heavy with sleep.

“A little shield-maiden,” Halfdan notes, flicking his hair away from his eyes, the smallest of smiles pulling at the corner of his lips. Þóra grins, giggling, swaying on her feet. She’s been bugging you of late about training with her cousins —pointing out if she’s to become as famous as Lagertha, she needs a sword and shield. “Or maybe a princess.”

It surprises you when she goes to him, but Halfdan doesn’t hesitate to lift your daughter onto his knee. He’s not particularly versed with children or women, but he tries his best to be decent company, at least. You see the sharp flash of light through the crack under the door; a heartbeat later, the house rattles —it sounds as though Ragnarök is upon you. Þóra jumps. “It is only Thor, little one,” Halfdan reassures her.

“Is it just the two of you then?” He queries, eyes darting around the single-room home for any signs of Þóra’s father —your husband. His quick search yields nothing besides hastily made arrows, a rusty sword, and a shield with fading orpiment and hematite paint. You glance at your hands —the first wrinkles beginning to show among rough patches from years of doing the duties of both a mother and father.

“My family is not far,” you answer, meeting Halfdan’s curious stare, smiling. It’s a rare occasion when your brothers do not come for a daily visit and to help with the farm labor. Your sister and her husband make sure to come weekly too, bringing their children for Þóra to play with. It’s not always easy, but you make do. Halfdan glances down at the little girl, holding her blanket tight as her head rests on the center of his chest, almost asleep once more. He’s met with your smile, wider than the last, and a silent thank you, though you still see the question lingering in his eyes.

“My husband was killed in the raid on Paris,” you explain, remembering how you waited in the central street of Tamdrup to see your husband return, only to hear he was taken to Valhalla. It was not a day you were like to forget, especially given the little girl holding tight to your hand, waiting to meet her father for the first time.

Halfdan nods. Many women were made widows by Ragnar’s pursuits against his brother. There’s a tingle at his shoulder as he remembers the crossbow bolt that could’ve killed him and the scar it left behind. “He waits for you in Valhalla then.” The encouragement somehow lightens a weight on your chest —that one day you and your beloved will be reunited, but until then, you must care for Þóra and maybe, in time, find someone to love as you once loved your husband.

Þóra is fast asleep by the time you and Halfdan finish reminiscing about the days when you were both younger and twice as foolish. Halfdan lays your daughter down in her small bed made of wool. “Thank you,” you breathe, lightly touching his arm before kneeling to cover her with a wolf pelt and her cherished blanket, parting with a kiss upon her cheek.

“I’ll take the floor,” he offers, reaching for the wool blanket and the pelt draped across your arms —he’s slept in far worse conditions than a warm and dry home.

You shake your head, extending your hand toward the bed. He has been on the road for many days and still has at least four more before. A good night’s rest would do him well. “You are my guest, Halfdan, I insist.”

Halfdan looks between the bed and down at himself —he’s never had the same breadth as other warriors, not even the same as his brother and given the size of the lumpy mattress. There’s mirth shining in his eyes. “I do not take up that much room,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. You laugh softly, knowing this back-and-forth banter could go on the rest of the night. Instead, you fold back the blankets, sliding between them, and gesture for him to take the space next to you.

THERE’S A GLIMMER of light and a low rumble of thunder —the storm is dissipating or at least moving farther away. You stir, feeling a heavy warmth draped across your middle. It takes a moment to remember Halfdan lays next to you, occupying a space that’s been empty for years. You’ve woken him too, or he has failed to find rest. His eyes shine with the embers still glimmering in the hearth, a warm amber —like dark honey or fresh soil. “What is it?” He asks, voice rough and low, hand curling unwittingly around your hip, warm breath hitting your neck and shoulder.

Your heart leaps at the thoughts crossing your mind, but you’re quick to shake them away —it would be improper. “It’s silly,” you whisper. Halfdan raises his brow, and though it’s dark, he can see the flush on your cheeks. “I haven’t shared a bed with anyone since my husband left for Paris,” you admit, eyes flicking down, unable to hold his intense gaze. A piece of him finds it difficult to believe —if he recalls, you had a fair number of willing suitors. He imagines the number has not dwindled should you wish to remarry. Halfdan’s fingers uncurl from your hip, tracing a long line up your arm until he pauses, cupping your cheek —thumb running just under your bottom lip.

He’s so close and warm and handsome, and you can’t help the fluttering in your chest or how your stomach twists. You press your hand against the bare skin of his chest exposed by the tunic’s open neck, unwilling to back down from the newfound boldness. “Halfdan?” He moves closer as if anticipating your next words. “Will you kiss me?” His dark eyes flit down to your lips, and he does. The hand on your cheek slides back into your hair until he leans your head back and kisses you, softly at first, then with a swift increase in intensity that makes you cling to him. His lips are warm and soft, opening you to his insistent mouth, parting your shaking lips, sending wild tremors racing through your veins, and you kiss him back with the same fervor and longing.

You part with a hazy smile —it is good to know you remember how to kiss a man. He presses his forehead against yours, fingers still trailing through your hair. For a moment, you draw back, tracing the intricacies of the blue-black tattoo on his brow and down his cheek, until Halfdan pulls your hand away and draws you into his arms, repaying your kindness by taking away the deep-seated loneliness plaguing your heart, if only for the night.

HALFDAN SLIPS FROM your arms at first light and dresses in his dried clothes, laying the borrowed tunic and britches at the foot of the bed. When he turns back, Þóra is awake and staring up at him with eyes that mirror his own and blond hair to match. Is this what my children will look like? He wonders, crouching down, level with Þóra, and lifts a brow as if to question her intentions. She grins, shoving him back and off-balance, and so begins a silent tussle with kindling stacked by the hearth as swords. “Our battle cries are heard,” Halfdan proclaims from the floor, seeing you emerge from behind the partition. He sits up, brushing back his dirty-blond hair. “This one is a fighter,” he says with no uncertainty. “She should have a sword and shield.”

Þóra clambers over to you, giggling, and you scoop her up into your arms as Halfdan rises, brushing the dust from his shoulders. “We’ll have to see if one of her uncles can fashion her a sword and shield that’s her size,” you concede, seeing no use in denying her dreams. She could be both a farmer and a warrior —just as her hero, Lagertha. Þóra wraps her arms around your neck, hearing the decision.

You share a simple breakfast of smashed berries and brown bread and soft sheep’s milk cheese made in yesterday’s morning hours. And afterward, Halfdan readies to leave, buckling his sword belt and replacing the cloak on his shoulders. He musses Þóra’s hair, leaving her laughing and grinning. “Maybe another storm will bring you back,” you think aloud, leaning against the doorframe, each of you looking at the clear skies left in the wake of the gods' anger.

“Only the gods know,” Halfdan tells you, a glimmer in his dark eyes. He steps toward you, his hand extended —the backs of his fingers brushing across your cheek. It’s unspoken when you both move at the same time, closing the distance. His lips brush yours, hesitant then firmly —unwavering. You draw him closer, hand at the back of his neck, thumb following a raised scar wrapping around his neck. “Though, I do not think it will take Thor’s wrath for me to return,” he whispers upon parting. Smiling, you watch him step back, turning down the path that will lead him to his brother and Tamdrup and the same path that will lead him back to you.

[ taglist: @elizabethroestone @naaladareia @charming-merlin (because i know you like Halfdan) ]