#sorry for the onslaught of bad drawings as i try to work my way out of this shit

[10jo10ge]

[skiller0dani]

Old Prison Blues | Spencer Reid

M A S T E R L I S T Criminal Minds Masterlist

smut | dom!spencer x bau!reader requests info w.c | 7.2k summary | when your husband Spencer gets released from Prison, he's much different then you remember.

I have it so bad for this man, enjoy! Also guys this piece made butterflies squirm in my belly lmao this one is so HOT it made me blush. Guys, it made me B L U S H. I need to go dunk myself in holy water to atone for this SIN. (just kidding lmao I'm agnostic).

you can see his bulge in this gif and I can't stop admiring looking at it.

When you were in college you'd been an undergraduate in Criminal Justice, so you were familiar with the effects Prison has on the psyche. In other words, you knew Spencer would come back different. No person could pass through Prison unscathed and frankly you'd be more concerned if he came back and nothing had changed at all. At home, he seemed to be relatively okay, and those 6 mandatory weeks of break had allowed him the rest he deserved. Nothing exciting had happened during those weeks, the only thing you did was curl up on the couch next to him and watch movies. You'd made up for all those weeks in Prison during the evenings when you would cling to him and cry out his name in ecstasy.

Spencer really did seem to be fine, until you returned to work. That's when you started to see all the ways Prison had hardened him.

At first, it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. If you were someone who knew Spencer well then you knew that he wasn't a man who was confident in his looks. When you and Spencer first got married he was insecure, and would be discouraged when you hung out with other guys. You wouldn't say he was jealous because jealously in itself requires a certain amount of anger. But when Spencer saw you around other men he wasn't angry, he was sad. Absolutely convinced you were going to leave him any second, despite you telling him you married him because you love him. Deep down, he always thought somebody would steal you from him even though you consistently reminded him how much you love him. That's just the kind of guy Spencer is.

Or, was.

The darkness that brews in Prison, the violent hatred, the anger seems to have followed Spencer to freedom. It has made a home in his chest, and while you're not worried about Spencer flying off the deep end and shooting an innocent, the anger reveals itself in much more subtle ways. It's in the way he clenches his jaw when he can't figure something out, or the blanching of his knuckles as he grips the steering wheel with a crushing force, it's the agitation in his eyes when he watches Alvez's knuckles brush against your lower back for the 3rd time since you two had arrived at the office this morning. The anger has adapted to civilian life like Spencer has, it's learned. It's subtle. Unfortunately you know Spencer almost better then he knows himself, you can tell when something is bothering him.

You slide your hands over his shoulders, and much to your surprise you feel him tense.

"You okay?" You know it's a stupid question, but you have to ask.

"Yeah, fine." Spencer's tone is clipped, shoulders rigid, back straight. Something is definitely bothering him. You squeeze his shoulders and begin to work at the tightened muscles, slowly easing them to relax. The tension flows out of him as he relaxes back in his desk chair, the frustration ebbing away slightly when his eyes catch your wedding ring. The object that binds you to him.

"Don't shut me out." You whisper, a soft plea in your voice. Spencer's heart wretches when he hears the fear in your tone, and one of his hands comes up to catch yours. He presses a chaste kiss to one of your knuckles before swiveling around to face you. You always find a way to soothe the violent, raging beast inside of him. Spencer's hands find your hips as he turns his gaze up to look at you.

"You're right I'm sorry. Just tense today." He says softly, and while there is a little lie to his words, his statement remains mostly the truth. He just leaves out the part where he pictures enacting varying forms of violence on Luke Alvez. The man who keeps unnecessarily touching his wife. You lean down to press a kiss to his forehead, your head snapping up when Garcia calls from the conference room.

"Got a case folks, and it's an ugly one." Her nose scrunches up into a frown before she turns into the room. You pull away from Spencer, yanking him to his feet by his hand. Luke sends you a playful wink as he trots up the stairs, and while you don't necessarily react to it, it still puts Spencer on edge. Deep down Spencer always knew you were way out of his league, but that never became clearer then when you came to visit him in Prison.

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You were trembling as you lowered yourself into the chair. Dried tears were on your cheeks, and you haven't even seen Spencer yet. The last time you saw him was a few weeks prior after he first got back from Mexico. Seeing his wrists bound in those metal handcuffs had broken your heart in a way you never anticipated. You wrung your hands together, luckily when Penelope had made the visitation Chart she scheduled you as the first person to come see him. The plastic chair was uncomfortable, but what was worse was the plastic guard separating you from Spencer. The clock ticked loudly, it was clearly mocking you. Reminding you of the seconds you were losing with Spencer, reminding you of all the seconds he was spending in Prison.

When you hear the buzzer scream loudly, you nearly come out of your seat you're so excited to see him. You and Spencer got married back in 2005, and you've never been separated from him for longer then a week. It's been over a month now, and each day he's not with you leaves a bigger hole in your chest. You watch him follow the other prisoners out, and the handcuffs around his wrists breaks your heart. His eyes light up the second he sees you, he nearly shoves the other guy over to get to you faster. There are tears in your eyes as Spencer's wrists are released from the cuffs from the guard standing nearby.

"Hey baby." Spencer says softly as he takes his seat across from you. All you want is to reach across the stupid barrier and touch him, hold his hand, anything. But you know the guards will punish him if he does, but being this close to him without being able to hold him is absolutely killing you. You try to blink the tears out of your eyes so that Spencer won't see, but it's all too much. Seeing him in a jumpsuit, with cuff bruises around his wrists, having to sleep in the same building as murderers. The first tear falls and you immediately look away from him.

"Please don't cry." Spencer begs softly. "I'm okay, really."

You wipe your tears before you look back up at him, digging around in your bag for a gift from Henry. You smile when you see the happiness cross onto his face as you pull the piece of paper out.

"Henry drew this for you, it's from when you guys went to the park." You hold it up for him to see and you try to fight another onslaught of tears when you see his eyes misting.

"You know, when I get out of here we should have one." Spencer says it so casually, you almost miss it. Your eyes nearly pop out of your head as you carefully lower the drawing.

"You want to try for a baby?" You can't hide the smile, and you see Spencer's eyes shine for the first time since he's been in here.

"Yeah, I want to have a baby with you." You and Spencer had a brief conversation about kids a few years ago, and you knew Spencer wasn't ready for it back then. His Father ran out on him and Diana when Spencer was just a kid, it made Spencer insecure about the type of Father he would end up being. In Spencer's mind, a fatherless man would never make a good Father. But it seems he's changed his mind. You had no issues agreeing to wait before you had kids until he was ready, you always knew Spencer would be a fantastic Father.

Suddenly from Spencer's right you hear a low wolf whistle. The tenderness that was on Spencer's face is instantly wiped away. His expression tenses, his jaw clenching as he turns his gaze to a large burly looking man covered in tattoos. The man sitting across from him, the one who was visiting, looked similar. Both of the biker looking men were eyeing me hungrily, it made my skin crawl.

"Something I can help you with?" Spencer asks, his voice tense. The tension in the room grows tenfold, and you fight the instinct to try and scoot closer to Spencer. The Biker looks Spencer in the eyes, a taunting smile on his face.

"That your sister?"

"Wife." Spencer snaps instantly.

"Your wife?" The Biker says incrediously, Spencer raises a brow, daring him to continue. "There's no way a woman with an ass that tight would marry a man as scrawny as you."

You expected to see insecurity flash in Spencer's eyes, instead all you saw was rage. Unbridled, violent rage.

"Choose your next words carefully." Spencer's voice was low, and as sharp as the edge of a blade. You almost didn't recognize him. The Biker leaned forward, fueled only by the knowledge that he was getting under Spencer's skin.

"She as tight as she looks? If I wasn't locked up, I'd fuck her so good she wouldn't even remember what your little pecker feels like."

Spencer's jaw clenches, and his fists curl tightly. The Biker is about 2 words away from a broken nose.

"Baby just let it go." You plead, and normally you don't really use pet names in public but right now you needed to show him that you're his.

"I'll tell you what Klein, I'll fuck her for you and tell you how it felt." The other man says, the man visiting. Upon hearing the words come out of his mouth, Spencer is shoving up from the chair but almost instantly a guard is tightly gripping Spencer's shirt and shoving him back into the chair. Spencer is fuming, and there's nothing you can do to calm him down.

"If you so much as lay a finger on her, your friend here will be dead before you can have another visit." Spencer hisses, and the two large men chuckle.

Spencer instantly took you off the visitors list, and while that felt like a blow to your heart you understood why. You didn't want to stress him out by visiting him.

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So, yeah, Spencer knew you were out of his league and when Luke pulled your chair out for you at the table before he had the chance to, it made his blood boil. Why is Luke trying to take care of you? Doesn't he know that Spencer has been released from Prison? You don't need anybody else to take care of you, your husband is more than capable of doing it himself. When Spencer sat down in the chair next to you, he rested one hand on your thigh. You're only slightly surprised, normally Spencer isn't this 'handsy' in public, but in recent weeks he's been more assertive around other men.

"The body of 23 year old Cassandra Richardson was found 2 weeks ago in Lincoln, Nebraska. Her body was mutilated and showed signs of sexual assault. Yesterday another body, 20 year old Francesca Williams was found around the same warehouse district with similar wounds to the first victim." Penelope rushes the words out, almost as though saying them pains her. Various images show on the screen of the two victims, both bloodied and battered.

"Other than similar injuries, what makes the local police think it's the same unsub?" Luke asks, his eyes flickering towards you for the briefest second. While Spencer was locked away, Luke became a shoulder to cry on. Normally when you were upset and Spencer wasn't around, you'd talk to Derek. But since he's been gone you've felt more isolated then you normally do. Luke had found you crying one morning before you had taken off, and ever since he's had an "older brother" protection over you.

"A tattoo on both of the victims thighs, the words 'temerata virginem' which is Latin for 'desecrated virgin'." With the click of a button on her remote, Penelope pulls up a photo of the tattoos. The lines are shaky, although they stay mostly straight.

"It almost looks professional, except the lines aren't perfectly straight. A professional would make the line work perfect." JJ says, examining the photo closer in the folder each of you received. You turn your gaze to Spencer when you feel his hand leave your thigh to examine the photo closer. You could practically see the gears turning in that beautiful mind of his.

"It's possible an outside source is causing a tremble in the unsubs hands, if he is a professional tattoo artist." Spencer mumbles, almost to himself. Sometimes when he's in deep concentration, he nearly forgets other people are in the room with him.

"Could be drugs-" Luke starts but is sharply cut off.

"Actually it's more likely to be alcohol, withdraw from other drugs would be too severe to operate the tattoo machine." Spencer snaps, causing a few heads to turn and look at him. Maybe under other circumstances someone would say something to him, but since Spencer got released from Prison only a few weeks ago, nobody says anything. Luke's eyebrows furrow together as he shoots Spencer a confused look, one Spencer chooses to ignore as his hand returns to your thigh. Spencer knows he's acting like a jerk but he can't help it, Luke needs to know who you belong to. Spencer had everything taken from him in Prison, he won't let anyone take you from him too.

"We've been personally asked by the local police to assist, so wheels up in 30." Emily concludes, shooting one more look at Spencer before everybody rises.

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The tension on the jet is thick, you're absolutely sure everybody can feel it. Hardly anyone has interacted with Spencer, except to ask him a question about the case. You sit back against the couch, Luke sitting in one of the chairs at the table, and Spencer sitting on the arm of the chair next to you. In your hand was a nearly empty cup of coffee, and just as you move to refill, Luke rises with his own empty cup.

"Need a refill?" He asks, offering you a friendly smile.

"Yeah actually-"

"I got it." Spencer says abruptly, standing from where he was sitting. His eyes meet Luke's, silently challenging him. You try to be understanding, but you can't help but feel annoyed at Spencer. If he was acting like this to some random guy then that's one thing, but this is Luke. He's your friend, he's Spencer's friend. Luke, and the rest of the team, put everything on the line to free Spencer from Prison.

"It's cool man, I can do it-" Luke offers again, but Spencer isn't having it.

"I said I got it." Spencer reaches his hand out for your mug, which you instantly give to him. His eyes don't leave Luke's until he turns around and heads to the back of the jet to refill your coffee. Luke pauses for a few seconds, his eyes meeting yours and mirroring the same look of concern before he heads for the coffee pot as well. Luke isn't even upset by how Spencer is treating him, he- like everyone else, is worried about Spencer's psyche.

"What is going on with Spencer?" JJ whispers once she's sure Spencer is out of earshot. You shrug, your worried eyes landing on your husband. His posture is tense, almost defensive.

"Well can you blame him? In Prison, everything that's yours can and will be stolen by the other male inmates. Now that he's free, Spencer is being protective of his wife, someone that is his and can be taken by other men." Rossi says, always naturally a tad protective of Spencer.

"There isn't a man on this planet that would make me leave Spencer." You say defensively, although you know Rossi didn't mean anything by what he said.

"That might be obvious to you, but not to Spencer." JJ says, eyeing Spencer standing back near the coffee machine.

"Doing okay man?" Luke asks hesitantly as he moves to stand next to Spencer.

"Yep." Spencer says shortly, waiting for the pot to brew. Luke feels the tension rolling off Spencer in waves, and it's all being directed at him and he's not sure why.

"Look, if I've done something to upset you, just talk to me about it Reid." Luke's voice is gentle, understanding. Spencer's jaw clenches again as the pot finishes brewing and he refreshes your cup before reaching for the creamer.

"I'm fine Alvez. Really." Spencer says again, but Luke isn't willing to let this go yet.

"No Reid, you're not-"

"Stop flirting with my wife." Spencer's tone is firm, and the look in his eyes tells Luke just how on edge Spencer is.

"You got it." Luke agrees instantly, even though he was never flirting with you. But he knows that right now arguing with Spencer will only make things worse. Seemingly satisfied with Luke's answer, Spencer carries your cup back you, slinging an arm around you.

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Spencer twists his wedding ring around his ring finger, something he does when he's stressed out or tense. You're currently sat in the interrogation room with the male suspect, a tattoo artist attending AA meetings, the tattoo on the first victim was the shakiest because he had just quit drinking. The other, more recent, victims tattoo's were more steady. The longer he stayed sober, the more his trembling faded. In Spencer's other palm is your wedding ring, you fit the physical preference of this killer perfectly, but he only went after single women. Emily thought sending somebody in fitting his victimology would throw him off enough to say something incriminating. In order for the rouse to work, you needed to appear single- meaning the wedding ring had to come off. The thought didn't settle well in Spencer's gut.

"You have to relax." JJ said suddenly from Spencer's right. He nearly ignored her but his frayed nerves were beginning to eat at him.

"I can't. Do you see the way he's looking at her?" Spencer was pacing back and forth in front of the one way glass like a caged animal, unable to take his eyes off of the train wreck happening in front of him.

"She can handle herself Spence." JJ insists gently, almost using a motherly tone to talk to him.

"She's mine!" And suddenly the crux of the issue comes to light, and Spencer pinches the bridge of his nose, releasing a heavy breath. JJ thinks about her words carefully, trying to find something to say that will calm him at least a little.

"Yeah, and nothing is going to change that Spencer. You need to relax, and you have to trust her. You're not in Prison anymore, nobody is going to take her from you." JJ says, looking him in the eyes. Suddenly the sound of metal screeching across a concrete floor sounds from behind Spencer and when he turns around, his blood boils hot in his veins. The suspect, Alan Baker, has shoved out of his chair and has started towards you.

"Spencer-" JJ's voice is distant, and comes too late. Spencer isn't listening to her anymore when his fist curls around the door handle and he nearly rips it off its hinges.

"You need to step back." Spencer snaps, reaching for his gun as Alan Baker backs you into the corner of the interrogation room. You weren't ever truly afraid, you could have handled Alan. Slowly, Alan backs away from you and Spencer instantly reaches for you. He leads you out of the room with a gentle but firm hand on your back. Once you're out of the interrogation room you turn to Spencer.

"What the hell? I could have dealt with him!" You insist, frustration laced in your tone. At this point JJ silently slips out of the room, giving you and Spencer some much needed privacy. Spencer crosses his arms as he leans back against the one way mirror.

"You didn't need to, I did." Spencer huffs and you seriously resist the urge to throw something at him.

"What is your problem today? You could have compromised my entire interrogation, he's never going to tell me anything now!" You snap, anger pinching at your features.

"Good! Now you have no reason to talk to him again." Spencer snaps back, can't you see that he's just protecting what's his?

"Spencer we're trying to save somebody! You're being selfish!" You say to him angrily, trying your best not to start yelling at him. Spencer's selfish possessiveness over you could have just ruined your entire investigation.

"This is why the Bureau was hesitant to reinstate you. They were scared you wouldn't be able to control yourself." You snap at him, crossing your arms.

"Are you saying they made a mistake?" Spencer asks incrediously, suddenly becoming defensive.

"Maybe they did. Because you're acting like an asshole right now. You've been a jerk to Luke the entire day when he busted his ass to help get you out of Prison and back to me! Since when have you not trusted me during an interrogation? What did you think was going to happen? That I was going to let him touch me? I thought you trusted me." You cry out, tears filling your eyes now. Spencer didn't say anything as you turned for the door, anger still laced in his features.

"This has nothing to do with me not trusting you-"

"If you don't trust me, then maybe you should just hold onto my wedding ring for a while. I don't want it." You snap quietly, and you regret the words the second they leave your lips. No matter how mad he makes you, you'd never leave Spencer. You watch Spencer's expression shift from anger to...hurt. He watches silently as you slam the door behind you. Prison has turned him into somebody he isn't, and Spencer doesn't know how to turn off this part of his brain. The part telling him that you belong to him, and that he needs to protect what's his.

Rossi catches the sight of your tear stained cheeks as you move back towards the kitchen in the precinct. You wipe your tears as he comes to stand beside you, and the look on his face tells you that he overheard your fight with Spencer. Rossi bumps you with his elbow gently, a small smile on his face.

"You don't look okay." He says softly and you let out a self-depreciating laugh.

"I'm not. I don't know how to help Spencer, he doesn't trust me." You say sadly, your heart breaking in your chest.

"It's not you he doesn't trust, it's other men." Rossi clarifies, although it does little to ease the pain. You reach up to brush your hair behind your ear when Rossi catches your hand, examining your ring finger.

"Where's your wedding ring?"

"Told Spencer I didn't want it." The words are laced with heavy regret, and when you remember the look on his face when you said it you almost start to cry again. Rossi wraps an arm around you, and you lean your head on his shoulder.

"Deep down, he knows you didn't mean it." He tries to reassure you.

"That's the problem, he probably thinks I meant it."

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Normally it only takes you and Spencer a few hours to smooth things over after a fight. But this time, it's been nearly 3 hours and you haven't spoken a word to each other. You're both working on searching through Alan Baker's financial records without speaking at all. Neither of you have said anything, and Spencer still has your wedding ring. You desperately want it back, but you don't know how to start that conversation. You're angry about how he's been treating everybody, and you feel like asking for your ring is accepting defeat. You're not ready to accept defeat. When Emily comes into the room, her eyes settle on the two of you.

"Okay, what's going on with you guys?" Her arms are crossed.

"Nothing." The word comes from both yours and Spencer's mouths at the same time, and you say it far too quickly. Emily raises one brow at the two of you before closing the door behind her.

"Alright I'm going to have to be a boss now. We are not going to lock this guy away if the two of you are fighting. We need everybody on their A-game. Fix it. Now, and I mean right now." She says, leaving the room but closing the door behind her. There's a suffocating silence that fills the room, both you and Spencer too stubborn to speak first. But you can't take it, you hate it when he's mad at you. You hate it when you guys fight, which isn't often but it does happen occasionally.

"I didn't mean it." You whisper, leaning on the table, facing away from him. Spencer doesn't say anything but you know he's listening.

"I didn't mean it Spencer, I want my ring." He'd be lying if he said he wasn't relieved to hear you say that, his entire world crashed down around him the second you told him to keep the ring. The irrational part of his brain told him you were going to divorce him.

"Can I please have it back?" You ask, barely turning your head to look at him. With a huff Spencer pushes away from the table to move in front of you. His eyes are focused on your hand, he has yet to look at you. Spencer fishes around in his pocket before he finds your ring and gently slides it onto your ring finger.

"You have to stop glaring at any man that gets to close to me, especially Luke." You tell him, but he continues to look away from you. Spencer pushes past you to stand near the windows, his back facing you. The thing about Spencer is that he's stubborn, really stubborn. You take a few steps towards him, nibbling on your lower lip.

"I love you Spencer, I'm sorry. I was an ass, but you acted like an ass too." You tell him, but Spencer only turns his head further away from you. You move to stand in front of him, but his eyes turn to the ground and his arms are crossed tightly. Seriously?

"Please talk to me Spencer, tell me what's going on." You can see the frustration laced in his features, there's something on the tip of his tongue that he needs to say.

"Spencer."

"After you left from your visit, do you know why I didn't let you come back?" Spencer snaps, his hands finding your shoulders to yank your body against his. Your chest collides with his and suddenly you feel a dampness building between your legs. You instantly turn to putty in his hands.

"I didn't let you come back because that asshole told everybody about you. Told everybody what a tight little body you have. Soon the entire cell block was fantasizing about my 'sexy wife'. Do you have any idea what it's like to listen to men constantly talk about fucking your wife?" Spencer's voice is tense, but you can see it. The lust building behind his eyes, the frustration, and the fear of losing you simmering underneath it all.

"N-No." Your voice is breathy, and your eyes are lidded as Spencer's hands slide up your arms to your shoulders.

"It's fucking hell Y/N. Every time I see any man look at you I want to rip his eyes out, and I can't turn it off. I've tried, and the way that Alvez looks at you- it drives me fucking crazy." Spencer snaps, the anger building by the second. Your entire body begins to hum with an intense need, and Spencer can see it in your eyes. Spencer releases you then and he turns for the door, at first you're afraid he's going to leave but instead he locks the door. Luckily it's late, so the police station is more deserted then it is during the day. Turning back to you, Spencer reaches for the blinds next and you can't help but follow his every movement with your eyes.

"Get on your knees." Spencer says suddenly, and you freeze in shock. Did he just say...?

"Get. On. Your. Knees." Spencer says again through clenched teeth, leaning back against the table, heat simmering in his eyes. His hands grip the edge of the table and you feel a throb from between your legs. Quickly you scramble onto your knees in front of him, your hands reaching up to undo his belt. Once the belt is unfastened, you're quickly unbuttoning his dress slacks, your eagerness making your hands a bit clumsy. Spencer has never been this dominant during sex, but you have no complaints. He has your knees weak and he hasn't even touched you. You quickly dip your hand into his boxers to pull his hardening cock out. As soon as his cock is freed, your lips are wrapping around the head. Spencer's head tosses back in ecstasy.

"Your lips look so pretty stretched around my cock. Those bastards could only imagine having you on your knees for them." Spencer snaps, his hand weaving into the hair at the back of your head. You moan softly around him at his crude words, slowly sliding down his cock. Spencer groans when he feels your tongue laving the underside of his cock, along the vein that runs from base to tip. Apparently feeling impatient, Spencer pushes your head further down his cock. He feels his tip right at the entrance of your throat, and with one gentle thrust he breaches your throat and his cock slides all the way into your mouth.

"Fuck," Spencer hisses, and Spencer does not curse often. So the fact that you have been able to draw curses from his mouth is nothing short of a miracle. Spencer's chest heaves slightly as you gag lightly around him, drawing another deep groan from his chest. You feel nearly desperate to please him, you need to make him cum. You want him to fucking pound you, you want him to use your body for his pleasure. You want him to release all of his frustration out on you, you want to be sore when he's done.

"You're mine. This is my body to touch and admire, my tight pussy to stretch open, mine." Spencer growls, thrusting gently to meet your hasty movements. You whimper around his cock, gagging slightly again as spit dribbles down your chin. Your eyes are wide and watery as you look up at him, and the sight of you nearly causes him to blow his load. You just look so fucking beautiful on your knees in front of him, drool on your chin and your mouth full of cock. It's a sight he will never forget. You move your head faster, keeping your eyes locked on his. Spencer squeezes the edge of the table, his head tossing back when his orgasm hits him. You feel his cum shooting in spurts to the back of your throat and you swallow every drop. Once you pull off him, Spencer is grabbing your elbows to pull you to stand.

Spencer's hands are reaching for the button of your dress slacks as his mouth presses messily to yours. Spencer's tongue pushes into your mouth, his hands pushing your pants down and you kick them off. Instantly, Spencer's fingers are sliding into your panties and through your slick folds. You whine loudly against his mouth, your eyes fluttering shut as his palm roughly cradles the back of your head.

"Need to make sure you know who you belong to." Spencer snaps as he pulls away from you, quickly pushing two long fingers into your dripping hole. You cry out before Spencer is slapping a hand over your mouth, your back pressed against the wall. Spencer's slender frame is leaning against you, effectively trapping you against the wall and his body. Your eyes are rolling when Spencer's finger crook inside of you while roughly thrusting into you.

"Gotta be quiet, wouldn't want Luke to catch us now would we?" Spencer breathes in the shell of your ear, sending goosebumps spreading over your skin. You are completely at Spencer's mercy and you wouldn't have it any other way. The pleasure shooting through you goes rocketing up your spine when Spencer scissors his fingers inside of you. You're mumbling incoherently against his palm, desperate pleas not to stop, to please let you cum. Your entire body is flushed, and you feel sweat on your skin like a sheen layer over you. Spencer feels you begin to squeeze around his fingers and he replaces his palm with his mouth, swallowing all of your moans and desperate cries.

Your back is arching as your high approaches, and you climb higher and higher to meet it. Spencer never lets up, his fingers steadily pumping into you and his lips muffling all of your cries of pleasure. The sounds you make are music to his ears, they tell him that you will always be his, no matter what childish fears he has. Your hands come up to unbutton the buttons on Spencer's dress shirt, you need to feel more of him. Before you can finish undressing your husband, his fingers nudge your cervix and you instantly clamp around his fingers, your body convulsing.

"You look so beautiful when you cum." Spencer praises, his cock rock hard again. He needs to be inside of you as soon as humanely possible. Spencer pulls away from you to grasp the base of his cock, no need to bother with protection. The two of you already agreed that you want to try for a baby anyway.

"Please baby, please get inside me. How could you think I'd ever leave you? I love you, and nobody could make me cum like you can." You moan desperately, turning to bend over the table. Spencer's hand runs up your spine, enjoying the way you wriggle your hips in search of his cock. There are butterflies squirming in your stomach as you spread your legs apart wider for him, but he still doesn't bring his cock closer to you.

"Oh c'mon Spence don't do this please. Baby, fuck me." You plead, nearly sobbing as you shamlessly beg. He presses his tip against your soaked entrance and you whine. You hear fabric rustling around and you turn your head just in time to see him pull his tie from around his neck.

"I needed to hear you beg for me, and this is to keep you quiet. As much as I love the sounds you make when I'm inside you, I can't let anyone else hear you." Spencer says, his voice low and rumbling from his chest. You open your mouth to let him tie the silk fabric in your mouth. You try to whimper but you gag around the tie in your mouth, and you see a pleased smile cross onto Spencer's face. Your fingers grasp at the edge of the table as you impatiently wait for Spencer to push into you. You feel his glorious cock nestled at your entrance, the tip barely nudging in. You feel another wave of slick gush out of you and Spencer is running his tip through your already drenched folds. Such a tease.

You whine softly, trying to push back against him. Spencer chuckles darkly before his hands grasp your hips to hold you steady. With one firm thrust, Spencer is breaching your folds and sliding deep inside you. You feel heat searing through you, your head dropping to the table as you whimper through the burn. The stretch burns more then you anticipated, and you hear Spencer groaning softly, which sends another wave of liquid heat rushing through you.

"God you feel so good baby, you take my cock so fucking well." Spencer praises, gently pulling out to slowly thrust back in. His eyes are locked on the place where you two connect, watching with hooded eyes as his cock disappears inside you.

"I wish you could see this baby, I love watching you take my cock." He praises through a soft moan, and you drink up every sound he makes. Spencer needed this so bad and you love the fact that you can give him a type of relief nobody else on the planet can give him. Spencer steadily thrusts into you when you both hear footsteps slowly passing outside the room. You expect Spencer to stop, to pull out of you and start redressing but he doesn't. He slows his pace considerably, but he still slowly thrusts into you.

"Shh, I would hate for whoever that is to see my cock buried in your pretty pussy." Spencer whispers as he leans forward to whisper in your ear. You struggle to contain the whimpers, but somehow you remain completely silent as Spencer gently thrusts into you. Once whoever it is passes by, Spencer resumes his quicker thrusts. His pelvis hits your ass with enough force to send you lurching across the table and your fingers scramble to find purchase against the smooth surface.

"This is my pussy, you're my wife, you're mine. Not Luke's, not that dick from the Prison. Mine." Spencer says, punctuating the words with a sharp thrust into you. You wished you could answer him, that you could cry to the heavens that you belong to Spencer Reid- that you never want to belong to anybody else. You settle for squeezing his cock whenever it returns to your velvety warmth, chanting the same word in your head over and over.

Yours yours yours yours yours.

Your forehead presses against the table, muffled and strangled cries escaping your lips every time Spencer hits deep inside you. His cock stretches you perfectly, and always hits places deep inside you. Places you didn't know existed. Soon you feel your orgasm creeping up on you, and you feel lightheaded so you reach up to yank the tie away from your mouth.

"Please make me cum Spence, I'm so close baby please don't stop." You beg, muffling your moans with your palm as he drives his cock into you. You feel sweat covering your entire body and Spencer holds your hips with a bruising force. You feel that coil winding tighter and tighter, and you release a high pitched whine when Spencer's hand snakes around your body to thumb your clit.

"Oh Spencer your cock feels so good, soo good baby. Always feels so good, fuck baby I love you," You're not sure what you're saying at this point, an incoherent mess of praises for the man above you. Spencer loves when he reduces you to this, speaking in a jumble of words and disconnected statements because you can't think with his cock inside you.

"I, shit, I love you-" Spencer gasps, slamming his cock inside you and rolling your clit before you're squeezing around him tightly, your mouth falling open in a silent scream. You cum in hot gushes around him and Spencer can only offer a few more stuttering thrusts before he's cumming with a loud growl, coating your walls in his hot cum. Spencer keeps his cock inside you, ensuring his cum stays inside you. He wants to get you pregnant. His palms gently hold your hips, and all the frustration he's felt all day has completely disappeared. His chest is heaving from the exertion but he feels more relaxed then he has all day. There's a smile on your face and your eyes are closed as your legs finally give out and you collapse against the table.

"You okay?" You hear Spencer's voice, and you can't help but smile when you hear that he's panting slightly. You hum with a smile on your face.

"I'm amazing." You mumble back, feeling Spencer begin to gently massage your back. You love enjoying the afterglow with him, even if you're laying on a table. Slowly Spencer pulls out, but he groans softly when he sees his cum inside your pussy. He reaches to the floor to pull your panties and dress slacks back up your legs and he quickly tucks himself back into his pants. He buttons the 4 buttons you managed to open on his shirt before he's gently pulling you to stand.

"You sure you're alright?" Spencer asks, concern in his eyes. You nod with a smile, but when he releases his hold on your shoulders, you feel your legs tremble and give out underneath you. Spencer immediately catches you and sets you down on the table. You laugh softly.

"Guess you fucked me good."

"Sorry." Spencer says sheepishly, but you press a chaste kiss to his lips.

"Don't be, that had to have been the best sex we've had in a long time." You mumble against his lips and Spencer hums in agreement. Reaching for his tie, Spencer shoves it in his pocket before he pokes his head out of the room you guys just defiled.

"Spencer, I'm so sorry about what I said. I love you so much, I didn't mean what I said about my ring-" You blubber suddenly, drawing Spencer's attention to you. He cradles your head against his chest, pressing kisses to your forehead.

"I know baby, it's okay. I love you." Spencer answers quietly, holding you to him tightly.

"I'm sorry I was a jerk today. I'm just so protective of you. I can't let anything steal you from me." Spencer admits softly and you cup his cheeks to make him look at you. There is a sadness in his eyes that you want to obliterate, you can't stand it when he's sad. It breaks your heart.

"Nothing could steal me from you. I only want you Spencer." You say quietly and you see tears misting his eyes. He presses his lips desperately against yours, and you feel tears cascading down yours and his cheeks. The kiss is wet, but it's passionate and you throw every ounce of love you have for this man into it. When you and Spencer part, your foreheads are pressed together.

"Hey Spence? How am I gonna get to the hotel. I can't walk." You say softly with a giggle and Spencer smiles mischievously.

"I guess I'll have to carry you." He scoops you bridal style into his arms then and you blush deeply when he carries you out of the room and towards the front entrance.

"Spencer! Everybody is going to know!" You whisper into his ear and he chuckles.

"Good."

[merakiui]

hii could we get an angsty scenario/hcs of xiao and scaramouche/any characters you prefer! who are basically head over heels for someone but that person keeps getting with the wrong people and constantly getting their heart broken? Preferably with a good/fluffy ending but it’s up to you!

cw: angst + heartbreak  note - decided to go for scenarios! (❁´▽`❁)*✲ﾟ*

[Xiao] 

One Call Away—

The sudden shout of his name had brought him out into the open, where he finds you sitting in a field of wildflowers, your head hung and quiet sobs racking your hunched form.

“You called?” The gruffness in his voice startles you and your head snaps up. He notices your pained expression and the tears that refuse to cease, and it gives birth to a strange feeling within his chest. “What happened? Surely I am not too late.” And then he shakes his head. “No, I’m never late.”

“Ah... I’m sorry.” You sniffle, pitifully rubbing at your eyes. “I guess your name slipped out. I didn’t mean to bother you. I just didn’t mean to call for you either.”

Xiao raises a brow and then surveys the surrounding area. “Well, it doesn’t look like you’re in any mortal peril. In that case, I’ll leave you to—”

“No!”

Your sudden shout startles the both of you, with you drawing back and Xiao’s eyes widening ever so slightly. He wonders why you’re crying when beautiful scenery surrounds you. Are you truly that pathetic? Are mortals usually this weak-hearted? Xiao can’t wrap his head around the idea of grief; he’s an immortal who has seen plenty of hazardous scenarios worth grieving over. Yet with the passage of time he has learned to let such emotions drift away on a wind current. Emotions are useless to an adeptus.

But now he’s stuck with them.

“No?”

“D-Don’t go...” Your voice wobbles and you wipe at your reddened eyes. “I don’t want to bother you, but could you stay here with me? For a little while, at least. It’s all I’ll ask...”

He feels like he should decline your desperate plea before it spreads its perplexing roots throughout his system. The words are practically on the tip of his tongue and he struggles to verbalize them. If he could, he’d shake his head and vanish from your sight. There’s something about your expression that forces him to stay, and he truly detests the way his emotions run wild at the prospect of something he can’t quite comprehend.

“Fine.”

And so Xiao listens to you. It’s something he does best; his eyes and ears are open as he gives you his full, undivided attention. Half of him observes your reactions as you explain what happened and the other half zeros in on the way your subtle hand motions. While he might not be anywhere near a cupid—and he would never be caught giving out relationship advice to mortals, which is something he couldn’t do even if he tried—he is still a being of immense power. From what he’s able to understand from your explanation, your loved one decided to part from you because they believed it just wasn’t working. And you, having been struck with an immense sadness, failed to call out to them to clear up any misunderstandings.

Eventually, after internally wrestling with his own thoughts and feelings, he asks, “Do you want me to teach them a lesson? Should you need them to feel the same amount of despair you’re feeling—”

“Oh, no! No. No. They don’t deserve to be punished for that. I understand now that our feelings weren’t the same. We really weren’t working and that’s okay. It just...hurts.”

Xiao tilts his head, an innocently childish show of confusion. “Where?”

“It’s not a physical pain, Xiao. I mean, it could be. But...this is more emotional.” Your hand reaches out, fingers wrapping around his wrist. He stares down at your hand and he almost pulls away. Before he can even consider what’s happening, you’re guiding his hand to where your heart is. “In here. It hurts now, but I’ll overcome it eventually. I’m used to it anyways...”

The straight-faced adeptus remains still as he feels the fast-paced beat of your heart. Mortals have always been weak in his eyes: feeble beings who break at the slightest inconvenience. Although you don’t seem close to shattering and that confuses him more than he’d like to admit. Perhaps you are one of the more resilient humans he’s come across in recent years. It’s strange when he feels your heartbeat, so very certain and alive with the sour feelings a heartbreak brings. He’s never understood that either. Heartbreaks and relationships. The differences between friendship and romance. Both can be seen through to the very end, if fostered healthily.

So then why are you so sad?

Truthfully, you’ve always seemed sad to Xiao. As an adeptus, he’s never been able to fully grasp the meaning behind human emotions. They’re insignificant in his eyes, mere flashes of feeling that can hurt and blind. They’re troublesome and useless—certainly not something he would ever want to experience. But those emotions can heal and bring cheer. They’re not all entirely bad, nor are they as evil as he seems to think they are.

Xiao realizes his hand has been on your chest for a while now and he’s been staring at you so much that you’ve begun to shrink away, partially embarrassed to have him analyze you with so much scrutiny.

“Is...something wrong?”

He shakes his head slowly at first before retracting his arm. And then he notices you’ve stopped crying. He’s not sure when this happened, but he’s oddly relieved to see your neutral expression. Somehow your crying face is painful and it wounds him in a way he never would have imagined.

“Thank you for listening to my rant. I know this is probably meaningless to you, since you’re an adeptus and all, but it really means a lot. So I’m glad I was able to get these things off my chest. I feel a lot lighter now.”

“You’re not sad?”

“Ah. Well...” Your gaze flickers, eyes darting to and fro while you struggle to look at him. “I’m still sad, but I’ll get over it! Don’t worry! I’m resilient!”

Xiao’s brow furrows in confusion. As he has thought plenty of times before, mortals are far too complex. Eventually he sighs and says, “It’s okay to cry. Don’t keep that inside, okay? You’ll just hurt yourself even more.” Now he’s avoiding your gaze and there’s a barely noticeable tinge of pink dusting his pale cheeks. He’s really not good at consoling humans.

“Oh, Xiao.” You pull him in for a hug and he stiffens, trying to squeeze out of your arms like a cat near water. But then he feels your fingers digging into his arm and he realizes that you might actually need this hug. Despite the fact that he’s not used to freely giving out hugs—or even cheering up mortals, for that matter—he is definitely out of his element. “Really, thank you. I promise to make you an Almond Tofu as thanks.”

“There’s no need for that.” Hesitantly, as if he’s worried he’ll break you, he wraps his arms around your form. “I’m just helping you because you called my name. That’s all.”

But that’s not the full truth. Hidden in those words is the real reason why he even bothered to stay despite the false alarm. And it worries Xiao when he thinks about the implications. He really does like you and this admiration has surpassed platonic love. As long as you’re okay, though, he’ll swallow his feelings in favor of making sure you’re always happy. It’s one of his duties as your friend.

Friend. A word Xiao never thought he’d ever use, but it feels nice. He likes it.

Yet The Distance Remains Harrowing.

[Scaramouche] 

To Mend a Broken Heart—

You’re spilling your emotional guts in front of the Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers, tears freely running down your cheeks like two faulty water faucets. It’s a pathetic sight, really. Scaramouche witnessed this exact show just a few weeks ago when you were so certain that that fisher was the one. Now, after meeting and getting together with someone else for a short time, you’ve come out of yet another relationship, unhappy and unsatisfied.

He’s jealous. There’s no denying the envy he feels when you talk so highly of these people and then wail about them a few days later. It’s a vicious cycle of mending a fragile heart and then breaking it into pieces all over again. With no end in sight, you fall victim to your own demise in the pursuit of love. He wonders if you’ll ever learn to choose your next partner carefully rather than settling for anything with a pulse.

“This is exactly what I said would happen, was it not?” he says with a sigh. “Oh, woe is you. If you were smarter, this last relationship might have lasted longer.”

“That’s rich coming from you. I’ve never seen you in a relationship before,” you mutter, wiping angrily at your eyes. His eyelid twitches at the not-so-subtle jab. “Ugh!I hate being so unlucky! This is the worst.”

“Rather than your foul luck, I think the problem lies within you and your taste in partners.”

Sniffling, you lower your head onto the table, hoping to just melt into the crafted wood before you end up making even more of a fool out of yourself. It’s rare to be in the company of Scaramouche, considering how often he’s assigned missions that require swift travel and a covert profile. But whenever you do find yourself sitting across from him, indulging in light snacks and tea, it’s always because you’ve lost your latest lover; and your own sadness requires the nullifying effects of Scaramouche’s cynicism.

“They’re good people! I just don’t know why it never works out. We’re happy and we both like each other—it doesn’t make any sense. Am I missing something? Is it my fault? They probably got tired of me because I’m not a good person.“

“Perhaps.” He takes a moment to sip his tea and you muster a weak glare. Only Scaramouche can delight in his beverage while you’re holding back another onslaught of tears. “Your crocodile tears are hardly flattering and your apparent need for consistent affection might come off as clingy. And you have a tendency to find flaws within yourself whenever something doesn’t go your way. Adding onto that, you doubt yourself a lot and you’re always quick to take the blame for things that are out of your control. In a way you are partially—”

“I get it. I’m not a good person.”

“I never said anything of that sort. Now you’re just asking for pity.”

Oh, how close you are to punching that smirk off of his face.

“Then since you seem to know everything, my oh so helpful friend, why don’t you tell me what I’m missing?”

“With pleasure.” His cup finds the surface of the table as he ponders your demand for a moment. “You’re missing someone who meshes well with your personality.”

“That’s not true. Everyone I’ve been with so far—“ His skeptical look makes you stop short. “Okay. Maybe we forced it because we thought it was love. But that’s besides the point! There was still an attraction! I think...” You huff and bury your face in your arms, nearly almost sprawling on the table. You’re too depressed to even consider how impolite your actions look, and Scaramouche scoffs at your poor display of manners. “Where am I even going to find someone who ‘meshes well with my personality,’ hm?”

“I’m sure you’ve already found them.” He clears his throat, tracing a finger along a sanded knot in the wooden table. “You’re sitting across from him.”

Whether he intended for you to hear that whispered part, you can’t say for sure. But your head perks up and you fix him with a lopsided grin. “You’re kidding.”

“Hm?”

“Me and you, a couple?” A small giggle escapes your lips and you swipe the remaining tears out of your eyes. “Don’t joke about that. I’m trying to be sad here!”

It wasn’t a joke, he almost says and he catches himself, suddenly self-conscious.

“I don’t think we’d work out,” you continue, motioning between you and him. “We’d hardly see each other and you don’t seem like the type for romance. Besides, I’m not attracted to you in that way. You feel the same, right?”

Scaramouche stares into his cup before he meets your gaze, a tight smile gracing his expression. “Of course. Your inability to settle isn’t all that attractive.”

Your eyes roll and you finally pick up your own cup to take a large gulp of lukewarm tea. The bitter Harbinger observes your actions with narrowed eyes. There’s a distinct pain that taps at his hardened soul, splitting it apart as your words echo within his spinning head. I don’t think we’d work out. I’m not attracted to you in that way. Why is he suddenly feeling...upset? He’s not one for pitiful emotions; he’s a Harbinger, not a lovesick fool! He ought to glare at you and storm off, demanding the two of you never speak again. But he won’t say that because he doesn’t want to hurt you. Because he cares for you. Because he loves you.

You feel the same, right?

No, that’s not right. This is the love he’s been wallowing in since he first got acquainted with you. It’s strange when he remembers every event that has led up to the blossoming feelings that reside deep in the epicenter of his heart, but it’s even more strange that he can’t find the courage to voice his own opinion.

“We wouldn’t mix,” he reaffirms your statement with a cold tone. There is no warmth in his eyes. “After all, your taste in tea is as bad as your taste in partners.”

And even though he wishes you could see through his walls—just this once he’ll allow you to tear them down for the sake of a half-baked confession—you just sit there and grin, no longer teary-eyed and forlorn. How odd. His heart feels far heavier than it’s ever been before. And you’re already scanning your surroundings, hungry for a love that will never keep you sated. Perhaps you weren’t even sad in the first place.

Upon realizing this, Scaramouche wants nothing more than to disappear into the wood like a feeble worm and never come back out.

You Must Break Another.

[calaofnoldor]

Drug of Choice

Characters: Dean x Reader (gender neutral)

Words: 3,790

Summary: A night of drunken rambling leads to an unexpected change in your relationship status.

Warnings: angst, language, alcohol, feelings of inadequacy, very slight allusions of alcoholism/talk of drug addiction, reader likes the sound of their voice a bit too much when drunk, fluff, implied smut

A/N: written for @deanwanddamons 1st blogiversary and 2k follower celebration challenge! my prompt was “I wish I knew how to quit you“ which is bolded in the fic. congrats on the incredible milestone, sorry this is late! also for @spnfluffbingo and it fills the mood board square for @girl-next-door-writes‘ Make Me Feel Bingo challenge!

Square Filled: Kissed to Keep Quiet

MASTERLIST

It was four in the morning when Dean finally came home, and the bottle of Jack Daniels that sat before you atop the library table was over a quarter of the way through.

The heavy thud of his boots against the bunker floor drew your dark-adjusted eyes toward his shadowy figure, while the alcohol in your bloodstream loosened your lips, "How was she?"

"Jesus- Fuck!" There was a slight commotion before the lights flickered on, forcing your eyes to shut against the onslaught of sudden brightness. "Y/N??” Dean’s gruff, alarmed voice shattered the previously eerie silence, “What the hell are you doing sitting in the dark by yourself?"

Your eyelids lifted an experimental sliver but you kept your gaze directed down at the glass of whiskey in your hands. "It wasn't dark when I started."

Dean narrowed his eyes when he noticed the slur behind your words. "Started what? Are you drunk?"

His second question prompted a dismissive snort from you, "Hunters can't get drunk; you should know that by now, Dean."

"Yeah alright, we need to get you to bed." The man of your dreams began to make his way over to you until your gravelly words ceased his steps.

"I can't sleep... you haven't answered my question yet."

"What question?"

"How was she?"

"Who?"

You looked at him like he was crazy, "You know, the girl from the bar, the one with the curly hair… the one that was climbing onto your lap when I left?"

"I don't- there was no girl," Dean stumbled. His lips were parted and his eyebrows pulled together in an ever-gorgeous expression of bewilderment, but you were too busy examining the way the newfound light danced along the lustrous amber liquid between your fingers to notice.

"Oh," you grumbled in response, sounding a bit disappointed, which only served to deepen those adorable lines of confusion between Dean’s brows. "She sure was pretty though.” There was a pause as you pondered his declaration before blurting out in disbelief, “You really didn't fuck her in the back of Baby?"

"What- No! Y/N, there was never a girl and nothing happened, OK?" He sounded genuinely serious, so you conceded.

"I'm sorry."

"Why- why are you sorry?"

"I know you needed to blow off some steam after today, after I pissed you off by fucking up the hunt." You ventured a glance up at him through your lashes and the unadulterated pain in your eyes almost had Dean reeling back in surprise.

"What are you talking about? You didn't 'fuck up' the hunt," he argued, shaking his head as if to accentuate his point.

"Course I did. I got you hurt and I nearly let that dickbag get away."

A weighted sigh escaped Dean, "Y/N, you have to know that wasn’t your fault, and it’s not like you haven’t done the same thing for me. Besides, I wasn’t pissed off, I was... I was scared, OK?”

You were about to take another sip of your drug of the night when you lowered your glass to let the irrepressible giggle leave your system, “Scared? Since when does the big bad Dean Winchester get scared? And if he did, he definitely wouldn’t be talking about it out loud. Are you sure you’re not the one who’s been drinking?”

“I mean, I have been drinking but that’s beside the point. Look, Y/N, why don’t we talk about this tomorrow, alright? You’ve just gotta sleep this off.”

"Pft. This isn't something I can just sleep off. Trust me, I've tried." There was a tickle in your throat that alerted you of the oncoming word vomit, but your friend Mr. Daniels seemed to be gaining complete control of your tongue; it was all he was ever good for really, “I’ve also tried drinking it away, but clearly that doesn’t work either. There’s just- so much- of it, of you… and now, now you’re in me-“ Dean’s eyes went wide but you were no longer at liberty to stop, “and I can’t get you out. Sometimes I don’t even think I want to. But I don’t think I can keep going like this any longer either… all this waiting, and wondering, and watching.” Some fragment of sobriety within you recognized how ridiculous and melodramatic you sounded and it gave you enough sense to avoid eye contact with the subject of you’re alcohol-induced speech, as if that could help you elude further embarrassment.

“OK, you’ve gotta slow down, Y/N/N. What the hell are you talking about?” At this point, Dean had moved to take the seat across from you, subtly sliding the bottle of Jack out of your reach as he sat down.

A mirthless laugh was your reply, "Of course you don’t know. Why would you?“

“What does that mean? Why wouldn’t I? Y/N, what’s going on?”

But you ignored his questions and answered with one of your own, “Why am I never enough? You know what, don't answer that; that was a rhetor- rhetor…”

“Rhetorical?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, flailing your index finger in his direction, “Yes, that’s the word. See, even your brain is too good for me.”

“What- why would you say that? Y/N, you know that’s not true. And why do you think you’re never enough? You’re plenty enough.” Concern now painted Dean’s features. He hated seeing you this way, broken and depressed, trying to drown your feelings in whiskey; he’d figured that was his trademark amongst the bunker residents. And he couldn’t understand how someone as incredible as you would think themselves unworthy of anything. Whichever son of a bitch made you feel this way would pay, Dean swore it.

“Then how come you never pick me?” you countered simply, deciding it was finally time to call out his hypocrisy.

The accusation floored Dean. He scooted back in his seat as he stared at you with a slack jaw, utter perplexity swirling within his emerald eyes. Over the years, Dean had garnered an inkling that you felt some kinda way about him, but he never really let himself believe, and not once did he think he could be hurting you. On the contrary, he always figured it was his own hopeful heart playing tricks on him. Even now, he wasn’t entirely sure he was hearing you correctly, or that your drunken state could be trusted, though he remembered you once told him that you were always the most honest version of yourself when you drank, whiskey in particular.

“I watch you go out with waitress after bartender after waitress, but I’ve been here the whole time, and you never consider me. It’s like I don’t even exist, like I’m not even an option, like I could never even help you scratch that itch, at least not as good as any barfly across the Midwest could.” You were aware that this was getting out of hand, but you couldn’t seem to find the brakes. “But that’s not even the real problem – I mean, sure, a roll around the hay with you would probably be mind-blowing as fuck – but it would never solve the root of it, never be enough for me.”

Dean had been studying you meticulously as you spoke, your words starting a fire to the embers of his soul, breathing life into a long-forgotten hope that brought him both joy and fear. “What would? Be enough for you, I mean?” His tone took on a raw sultriness that matched the intense, borderline predatory glaze of his eyes. Needless to say, Dean hadn’t expected your sardonic laughter to fill the air, and your sudden frenzied, carefree state certainly took him off guard.

“Nothing!” you laughed, “I don’t think anything will ever be enough for me! C-cause you’re like this drug that I’m hooked on and it’s just so fucking hard to get off… I mean, it’s also hard to get off without you now, or thoughts of you anyway...” Your tangent was quickly overcome when you remembered the topic of your initial spiel, “But it’s like everything about you draws me in! From the way you reference classic literature even though I’ve never seen you pick up a book that’s not about lore, to the way you rebuild Baby from scratch like it’s no big deal, to the way you’re so good with kids even though you never got to be one yourself, to the dumb way you bottle up all your feelings and never let them see the light of day yet still manage to do so much good in the world, t-to the way you get excited over classic rock and crappy horror movies and pie, and don’t even get me started on the way you love Sam! I mean, it’s just all of it! It’s your strength and perseverance through literal hell, it’s your huge fucking heart despite the mask of swagger and charm, it’s that stupid grin you get when you make a dumb joke and Sam rolls his eyes at you, it’s just those god damn lips in general! And then you walk around looking like that!?” you gestured wildly at all of him, “I mean, who gave you the right?!”

Dean looked like he was about to respond, but you cut him off. There really was no stopping your tirade now, “I’m like an addict who can never get enough, and when you leave, I get feelings of withdrawal, and I don’t know how to fucking deal with those either… You’re so deeply ingrained in me; I don’t think I’ll ever be able to flush you out of my system. And I just-“ you took a rare pause to heave a large breath before admitting quietly, “I wish I knew how to quit you. I really do, because as much as I love you, and trust me, it’s a whole fucking lot – God, does it feel good to finally say that out loud – but for every ounce of love that I have for you, for every bit of you that I’ve inhaled, it hurts just as much. Because you don’t feel the same, and you never will, and I don’t blame you, because you’re Dean fucking Winchester and you could have whoever you want with just a wink and half a smile, and you deserve to have whoever you want-”

“Are you done?” Dean was quick to latch onto the brief respite in your monologue, “Fuck, Y/N, you really have no idea what you do to me, do you? What you are to me?” His head shook in disbelief while his troubled green eyes searched yours.

“What I am to you? I’m your hunting buddy, Dean. The one you call when you need an extra hand with a vamp nest or an extra set of eyes to scour the books, the one who stays up with you when you have nightmares about the souls you tortured in hell, the one you sing rock songs out of tune in the car with, just never the one you go to for a booty call,” you finished with a bitter laugh.

Dean’s head had never ceased it’s shaking, even as he got up and walked around the table towards you. “Only because you’re worth so much more than that. Y/N, you deserve so much more than me.”

It was your turn to shake your head. How typical, you thought as you rolled your eyes and stood up to meet his eye line, “Don’t give me that bullshit, Dean. I know you’re trying to let me down easy and that’s nice of you and all, but you can’t fool me. I know you too well, Dean Winchester, and I know there’s no way in hell that- Mmf!“ The rest of your words were intercepted by Dean’s lips on yours.

The feeling was unexpected but not at all unwelcome. There was an urgent force behind the kiss as he pushed his mouth against yours with gentle yet firm ferocity, bracing your head with large hands cupping both sides. It felt as if he was desperately trying to convey a message to you, to disprove your woeful words of self-pity, or perhaps he just wanted you to shut up. You, of course, responded with tremendous enthusiasm regardless of his intent, grasping blindly at his forearms while slotting your tongue and lips around his in an increasingly frantic manner. You didn’t care if the kiss wasn’t good for him; this might be your only chance to take what you need from Dean Winchester, if only a tiny fraction of it.

When he finally pulled back, you were both panting for air. Dean still held your head in both hands as he leaned forward to rest his forehead upon yours. “Dammit, I shouldn’t have done that; you’re drunk... Do you at least believe me now?”

A slight grimace contorted Dean’s features as his mind was suddenly bombarded by a multitude of conflicted thoughts and feelings, feelings of desire and regret and bliss and unease, but when he caught the dazed look in your eyes, Dean made up his mind, “Ah, what the hell, you’re probably not gonna remember much of this anyway. Look, Y/N, you’re wrong. I do feel the same way about you; I have pretty much ever since I saw that magnificent ass of yours.” Pausing to chuckle at his own words, Dean licked his lips, still able to taste the whiskey from yours.

“The only reason I fucked around with those other people was because I couldn’t stand not being able to have you,” he continued through closed eyes and gritted teeth before filling his chest with a deep breath, “Like today, when I saw that fucking werewolf come at you, I nearly lost it. The thought of anything happening to you scares me shitless, and I didn’t know how to process that feeling, so I let that girl at the bar get close. I was trying to fill the hole you created but it was pointless cause in the end, just like every other time, I couldn’t go through with it. Every time I try to forget about you, your face shows up in my head,” he growled in that low, throaty tone that always seemed to reverberate down to your nether regions.

“But I- I wasn’t lying when I said you deserve more than me. Y/N, you know me. I’m a broken, twisted, shell of a man. I’m-“

“Poison, I know,” you finally lifted your head away from his so that you could look directly into his dazzling eyes. Dean’s hands slid down along your neck and landed on your shoulders while yours remained on his forearms, not willing to lose all contact. “I know what you’re gonna say. You think you’re poison, that being with you puts a target on my back, that loving you is a death sentence… Did I get that right?”

Dean gave you a miniscule nod and a look of resignation as he reluctantly released you from his hold, forcing you to let go as well when he took a large step back. You suddenly felt extremely sober, the effects of the alcohol and that kiss all wearing off instantaneously, “And you hate yourself. No one hates you more than you, Dean.” Your voice was hardly a whisper now, “But that’s OK, cause I hate myself too, for never being able to make you realize that you are so much more than you give yourself credit for, that you deserve all the things you think you can’t have, that you can have them all and still be Dean Winchester.”

You watched as Dean’s eyes began to water and when a single tear rolled down his cheek, you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. Approaching him as slowly as you would a nervous animal out of its natural habitat, you stopped directly before him before cautiously raising your arm to wipe the offending tear away with your thumb. Your eyes seemed to be locked in a silent exchange of colossal magnitude, expressing everything mere words could not, from harrowing regret to agonizing self-inflicted torment to desperate desire. It was the yearning in his shimmering eyes that gave you the courage to speak your next words, a runaway tear of your own joining the whispered plea, “Please, let me show you.”

When your eyes fluttered open the next day, they were greeted with the most beautiful sight you'd ever awoken to. Dean’s face was barely a foot away from yours, and the man himself was already awake, staring directly at you. He was lying on his back with his head turned towards you, while your body was twisted to face his. A bedside lamp was on, allowing you to marvel at the breathtaking perfection in front of you, and despite the booze having long since evacuated from your veins, your mouth still imparted the first thing that came to your mind, “You know, I've always wanted to count your freckles,” you murmured honestly, “Maybe map them out like tiny constellations so I can memorize them better, so that one day I could trace them even with my eyes closed.” Your fingertips moved of their own accord as you spoke, gliding softly over his cheeks and across the ridge of his perfect nose.

Dean caught your hand in his and kissed it repeatedly as his magical olive eyes continued to bore into yours, never once leaving your face. His pouty lips curved into the slightest smile as if he were afraid to rear hope yet couldn't fight the peaceful thrill you were bringing him by simply lying next to him. “You’re not still drunk, are you?”

“Not unless it counts to be drunk on you… Sorry, that sounded a lot less cheesy in my head.” You cringed but Dean’s smile broadened.

“And no hangover?”

“No, I told you, hunters can’t-“

“Get drunk. Yeah, I heard. So does that mean you remember everything?”

“I don’t think I could forget that kiss if I wanted to; my brain wouldn’t let me.” You glanced down at his gorgeous mouth before meeting his gaze again, “I meant it all, you know? Everything I said was the truth. Every word.” You moved your thumb to graze his lower lip and he puckered his lips to kiss it.

“So did I, every word… Especially the part about that sweet ass of yours.” The hand that wasn’t holding yours roamed down to grab at your butt cheek with a hefty yet tender squeeze, causing you to squeal in delight. When you settled down, he moved your hand to place it above his heart, “You know I’m no good at chick flick moments, but you can trust me when I say I’m addicted to you too.”

The sincerity in his voice sent butterflies through your stomach and your smile felt invincible. “I hope you know that when I called you a ‘drug’ I didn’t mean it in a derogatory way. Some drugs are good for you. Some drugs can save your life,” you whispered as you fisted lightly at the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

“I wouldn’t go that far, sweetheart.”

“Isn’t that what you did yesterday?” Dean was about to retort but you sent him a raised brow and a look that said ‘don’t test me, I’ve got loads more evidence where that came from’ so he simply looked down with a small grin. “Does it still hurt?” You motioned to the white bandage on his shoulder where the werewolf had scratched him up yesterday when he jumped in front of you.

Dean shook his head, “Right now I can hardly feel it. Actually, it hasn’t hurt at all since I kissed you.”

The corners of your mouth lifted some more at his words. “See, that’s what I mean. To me, you’re like coffee on an early morning, morphine when I’m hurting, tranquilizers when I’m freaking out, Zoloft when the world’s got me down, mixed with a shot of ecstasy, and quite possibly the most potent form of Viagra known to mankind.” You might have lingered a moment to chuckle at your own joke, thinking ‘it’s funny cause it’s true’. Dean belted a guffaw himself and you were quite pleased as you continued, “You’re everything I’ve ever needed, all wrapped up in one beautiful, self-loathing man.” You stroked his stubbled jaw and caressed his cheek, letting your words waft softly across the distance between you, hoping he could sense the veracity within them, “And I just want you to let me love you, let me get high on you, so I can show you how good you are. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

A wave a sadness flowed through Dean and he lowered his gaze from yours. “This could end bloody.”

“I know,” you nodded, “But it’s so much better than the alternative... It was getting a bit too hard to bear, even if you were only eye fucking all those other suitors. Besides, if it means I get to kiss you whenever I want, it’ll be worth it. And if it means I get a chance to prove to you how worthy you are, then it’ll be more than worth it.”

“I was only staying away because I wanted to protect you from me, but I didn’t realize it was hurting you. I never wanted to cause you pain; Y/N, I need you to know that.” Dean’s warm, calloused palm ran up your arm, it’s gentleness in stark contrast to his fierce tone, while yours continued to cup his cheek.

Astounded by the passion behind his words and the utter beauty of his face, you whispered in awe, “How are you so perfect?” Seeing the cogs begin to turn in his brain, you quickly moved your index finger to press against his plush lips, “Shh, just let me say it. Baby steps, Dean.”

He took your finger and guided your arm to wrap around his wide shoulders, careful of his injury, then reached out to pull you snugly towards him until your bodies were completely flush, your chest heaving against his. “Well do we have to take baby steps with everything? Cause now that I’ve finally got you in my bed, I was kinda hoping you’d let me take you for a spin in it. Maybe find out if it’s really – how did you put it again? – ‘mind blowing as fuck’ I believe were your words?” That signature smirk of his that always brought you to your knees came out to play.

Your laughter fanned across his face, and the smile on your face was effervescent, “You really are one hell of a drug, Dean Winchester.”

thank you for reading! as always, feedback is marvelously appreciated!

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[ohheyitsokay]

before tomorrow

Pairing: Javier Peña x (f) reader

Wordcount: 2.1k

Warnings: mentions of sex, strong language, a touch of angst

Summary: a classic fake dating undercover mission, with a healthy dose of miscommunication

>>

“Hey, Peña, can we talk?” Your head popped into Javier’s office and an annoying … feeling spiked in the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah,” he gestured for you to come in, pushing some papers aside to give you relative attention. The door closed behind and you sunk into the chair across from him.

There was a comfortable smile on your face, these visits to his office becoming frequent over the past few weeks. He could see you thinking, knowing full well this was one of your first undercover missions, and he almost heard your words before you said them.

“About tomorrow,” you started, but there was something in your eyes he didn’t recognize.

He waited.

The weekend was something he figured you both were looking forward to. It was... an honest to goodness fun mission. Like the ones you’d see in movies. Intel, appearances, earpieces, and playing parts. Out of the heat, no takedowns or chances of innocent people getting hurt. More than that, it had felt like, these past few weeks, that neither of you would mind getting the chance to just hang out together, even for work. No watching eyes, no paperwork to get to, no opportunity for another one of the guys to shoot his shot with you.

At least, Javi had been looking forward to those things. He liked you. You were clever and pretty and you cared about people, genuinely.

“Can we make some rules?” Your tone wasn’t shy, but definitely a bit vulnerable. There was subtext there, and in your sharp eyes, but that was another thing he wasn’t quite sure of.

“Okay,” he said, slow, curious.

You chewed on your words again, Javier’s brown eyes not leaving yours for even a moment. The top button of his shirt was undone, and the humidity was making the ends of his hair curl just a touch.

There was no way you could promise you weren’t going to fall in love with him so you settled for something different.

“No pet names, no messing up my hair,” you held his gaze, trying to match his confidence. Months of banter and comradery should’ve prepared you for that much, at least. The corners of his eyes crinkled just a bit as you counted on your fingers. “And no kissing.”

“Alright, fair enough,” he said, a faint line between his eyebrows forming as he wondered what prompted this.

“Obviously, I’ll follow your lead, and…” you leaned towards him a little bit, a glint in your eye. “If I catch you looking at my butt I get your gun.” You almost cackled at the look on his face as you got up, waving before you left, not even waiting for his response.

Javier ran his hand over his jaw. What a set of rules. You following his lead, telling him not to look, not to kiss… it almost made him wonder what exactly you did want. If kissing was the only physical affection off the table, he could definitely work with that… He shook his head. If he didn’t know any better, that interaction almost made him more excited for the night to come.

-

It didn’t exactly happen like he had hoped.

He spent the morning preparing his bag – he had most of a weekend to pretend to be your lover at an elite conference – and overthinking your rules.

It was no secret that he was a ladies man. Even if he’d stopped talking about the women who once occupied his bed, the office gossip hadn’t. But the idea that you could potentially be bothered by that reputation left a bad taste in his mouth. This was his chance to show you he wasn’t that guy, at least not any more.

That personal mission promptly got in his way. When he picked you up, you were stunning. Sexy. He nearly choked, trying to compliment you, explain to you how gorgeous you were without sounding like goddamn creep.

The rest of the night was the same, Javier cursing himself for tripping over his words and feet. You could feel something was off, too. He was trying so hard to … make this seem like a date that he completely lost his cover.

You’d managed to get part of the Intel you need, thank goodness, but the narrowed eyes of the other guests followed the two of you around the room.

Lovers did not keep each other at arms length, with hovering, respectful hands. When they found themselves molding into each other’s sides, they did not jump apart, flinching, not fully meeting each others eyes. And then certainly did not avoid kissing when the lights were soft in the corner of the room, and the music and drinks were flowing.

No one present questioned you outright, and Javier’s heart protested when you got a message from headquarters and had to slip away.

Tonight, for him, was nice just being with you like this. He was enjoying the flush on your face, and the way your fingers felt, clinging to the fabric at the elbow of his suit. If it were a first date, it would have been perfect, the process of slowly becoming comfortable with each other, close to each other.

But it wasn’t a date at all.

It was a mission. And you were the rookie who had been flustered by your partner and almost cost them all the effort put into the invites, the placements, the whole weekend.

At least, that was what they told you.

It took you long moments to articulate your plan to do better, to reign the butterflies, and to rebuild your walls, but you did it. The nature of the conference and covers dictated you share a hotel room. As you went to find Javi – no, your partner – there, you focused on stripping yourself of the electric heat his hands had left on your skin.

Javier Peńa didn’t have eyes for you. He made eyes at most people, but it was just fun and games and he was good at his job. That was all that was behind those tender touches and adoring looks. He was good at his job, and you just needed to get it together.

But Javier's heart ached a little when you walked into the room. He was already set up on the couch and he almost jumped, standing to greet you.

“How’d that go?” he asked, before anything, the neutral look on your face feeling unfamiliar.

“It’s fine, it’s too late to pull me out anyway. I’ll get it together for tomorrow,” your professionalism was hard to maintain when his eyes were holding yours. They were deep and dark and even here, long hallways away from prying eyes, they seemed like they cared for you.

“And… forget those rules I made.” Now, your gaze was stuck on the floor. There was a small stain by the end table, the maids had tried to cover it with a rug.

Javi wasn’t sure what to make of that.

Still flying high from the feeling of you on his arm, his mind wandered to his previous thoughts about your rules. His mind was occupied for a moment, indulging the idea that maybe this was his chance.

Images of you – under him, gasping, fingernails curling into his skin – short circuited his brain.

“No rules, cariño?” Javier stepped into your space, eager at this off chance he could show you how much he liked you.

No pet names.

His touch started gentle, brushing a strand of hair back before combing it in with his fingers. Broad fingers slid through until he was palming the back of your head, by your neck.

No messing up my hair.

You were still as a statue, your eyes finding his like magnets and metal, and you could feel him draw close, his breath in yours.

The gentle bump of your noses was the a yank, back, back, back to your senses. Heart racing, you pulled away, a white hot feeling tearing through you. One hair closer and you would’ve been done for. This was Javier Peña. He had probably used those same touches to get countless girls and if they were anything, they were proof that you were not special.

“Tomorrow,” you all but spat at him. Turning, you shoved yourself towards the bedroom, hissing under your breath, “I cant believe you.”

Javier watched you go, dumbfounded. And then the realizations hit him one after another, sharp pain with a healthy onslaught of panic.

You thought he had been getting close to you for the job. You thought it was your fault, that you had to do better because this was professional.

He had misunderstood everything, tried to come on to you when you were giving him a chance to be respectful and he ruined it.

Cursing, he wished fruitlessly he could punch himself. Had he done anything, anything at all to make it clear to you he adored you? That if you’d kiss him, sleep with him, it would be a damn honor? That it had nothing to do with the mission?

Fuck.

He figured he had roughly ten seconds before you remembered to close the door and it would be all over.

Pushing into your room, he saw your expression and felt physical pain shoot through his chest.

Hot, angry tears were carving paths down your face, and they almost drove him to his knees. By the door, he tried to make himself look smaller, trying to tell you on face he hated himself for being so blind tonight.

Speak, words, now. His mind yelled.

“Querida, please, I'm sorry,” he was talking fast, desperate. He told you as quickly as he could how much of an idiot he was, how he didn’t mean to get you in hot water. You stared at him, wide eyes, tears drying as he tried to explained how much he liked you, how he was trying to do this thing right and screwed it up. How the last thing he wanted was for you to think you were just another opportunity hook up.

When he was done, he was almost breathing hard, forcing himself to wait for you to process before he risked shooting himself in the foot again.

Slowly, almost as if you were in a trance, you reached behind you and grabbed an overstuffed pillow off the bed. Javier was nervous you were going to hit him for a moment before you held it to your face and groaned.

“Of all the stupid, emotionally incompetent men in the whole world I just had to go and pick you,” your voice was muffled but the feeling the words gave Javier was clear as spring water. He was fine being stupid, knowing you ha picked him.

“Get out, we can figure this out tomorrow,” your face was visible again and then you threw the pillow at him and he retreated. A goofy smile was growing on his face. He had made a fool of himself, then apologized and confessed and still you picked him.

You picked him.

The idea of going back out into the field tomorrow became more than exciting. Javier felt like a damn teenager in love. He was still confused, but at the same time he wanted to go to sleep quickly, so he could skip to the part where you were near to him again.

There was a lot left to figure out, but he felt light now that you were no longer mad at him. Settling into the couch, he was already half dreaming of the next day, playing at your lover for real this time, and … and kissing you.

That thought made him slow down, and wake up again. Something felt off, and that feeling carried him back towards your room.

His knock was quiet, nervous you wouldn’t hear, and nervous you would.

When you opened the door, you looked soft and confused and he knew.

“Querida… our first kiss shouldn’t be undercover, it should be now,” he said, with determination. Before the night could end, he had to show you, prove to you that he was serious. “Before the mission starts again,” he added, and he watched the understanding fill your eyes.

“Do you mean that?” your voice was small, but equally determined.

And he nodded, swallowing.

He was offering to do this, for real: not for the game or the job or anything else, because none of those mattered here in your hotel room. It was hard for you, an hour before, to let him apologize. To let the wall that said he was in a category of men who would only hurt you. But you had, had deconstructed your self preservation and now…

The man in front of you was asking for permission to fall in love with you.

And when he kissed you, solid and gentle, you both knew you’d let him.

<<

Taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost

[yongtxt]

turn back time [taeyong]

word count: 6.2k words

characters: amnesiac!taeyong x girlfriend!reader ft. doyoung

genre: angst [meant to be just melancholic so no crying !]

warnings: few mentions of a car crash and some wounds. taeyong suffers from amnesia.  it’s a couple trying to learn how to love again.

author’s note: yesterday was my first year anniversary here on tumblr and i give you a short angst fic of the first nct member i wrote for as a present. anyway. i need a break from angst after this also i need to stop writing people getting hurt/wounded???? [stream turn back time by wayv later <3] / unedited

Taeyong awoke to harsh fluorescent lighting filling his vision, a throat so dry it could compare to a desert, and the muffled cries of his lover.

His arms ached, muscles extremely sore that it hurt him to even lift his limb. He wanted to reach out to you, to run his fingers through your hair, and to tell you that everything was gonna be okay—he would work it out with you, together.

You had Taeyong’s hospital gown clutched in your hands, soaking the fabric with your weeping. WIth your face buried into his blanket, it took you a second to realize that your boyfriend had already woken up from his deep slumber. Your cheeks flushed at his intense gaze, dropping your hold on him almost immediately as if it was hot to touch.

“You’re awake!” You exclaimed, voice cracking. Fumbling to wipe your tears, you scrambled to your feet. “Let me grab some food, okay? You must be hungry.”

Taeyong did his best to shake his head, “No, you don’t have to. Please just stay beside me.”

A beat passed and you could only stare at him. The hesitance you exuded didn’t pass unnoticed, you sat back on the stool beside him and stayed tight-lipped. Taeyong sighed through his nose, a bubble of nervousness growing in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t even look you in the eye, his attention darting everywhere but to you.

“How are you feeling? Do you think you can move better now?” You asked, soft and wary—afraid of what his response would be and he didn’t like the sound of it not one bit, but he didn’t let it show.

“I can move my head better than yesterday.” Taeyong pointed out, craning his neck enough to prove it to you. You couldn’t help the smile on your face and his chest floods with an unfamiliar warmth. He added, “My joints just hurt since I’m kept on bed rest all day.”

“Well, you’re getting released tomorrow.” You said, subconsciously outstretching your hand to brush off the fallen lock of his hair from his forehead. He blushed at the contact of your fingertips and you immediately retracted it back. “Uh, your doctor wanted me to tell you that you should start walking around again if you can to avoid using crutches.”

“I’ll try to go for a walk tonight.” He nodded his head, staring at his lap as if it was the most fascinating thing in the room. “Can you help me drink some water?”

“I’m sorry, of course.” Your cheeks reddened the same way his were, fumbling to punch in a straw inside a bottle of water as you propped it up for him to sip on. Of course he was thirsty, he had been asleep for almost half the day.

Your fingers were trembling, he noticed. Before he could point it out, the door slammed open and you were forced to draw away his drink. You haven’t been told of anyone visiting so it came as a surprise to see your boyfriend’s childhood best friend panting in the doorway, holding himself up on the frame while he gawked at Taeyong’s wounded form.

Bruises of varying sizes littered across Taeyong’s pale skin and a bandage was wrapped around his forehead, his bleached hair peeking out from the bloodied cloth. A large gash can be seen trailing along his jawline and although it had been healing nicely, a mark remained. He had dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks were sunken from fatigue and a lack of nutritional intake, much like you.

He didn’t look well, Doyoung thought with a pitiful gaze Taeyong was already too familiar with.

“Aren’t you gonna come in?” Taeyong chuckled, grinning at Doyoung who frowned at him. He rushed to his side and mindlessly took him into an embrace, cradling his bandaged head into his shoulder. You felt hot tears pool into the corners of your eyes but you blinked them away before they could see.

He berated him, the way he always would when Taeyong got himself into trouble that could’ve been easily avoided if he would just think straight. The blizzard, Doyoung kept bringing it up, he shouldn’t have driven when the weather was too dangerous.

“I’ll try to remember that next time.” Taeyong said, reassuring him before Doyoung could burst into tears. He wouldn’t know how to handle him if he got too emotional, he doubted you’d be able to.

“Why were you driving, anyway? What was so important that you had to risk your life to travel?” Doyoung huffed and you rose from your seat from instinct, about to insert yourself into their conversation when Taeyong grasped your fingers.

You stared at him and you were suddenly reminded that he must’ve put himself in pain to stop you. You sat back down and he smiled, he wanted to say it himself and you could only respect his wishes. You hadn’t been able to inform Taeyong’s friends about his car crash as it had been only a week since it happened, all of your time was spent tirelessly tending him back to health. You didn’t have the time to share the unfortunate news.

“Apparently, I was on my way back to Seoul from visiting my family.” Taeyong said, gently grazing your skin away from his best friend’s sight. At Doyoung's confused knot on his forehead, he continued, “My mom told me that they couldn’t make me stay because it was the night of my anniversary with my girlfriend.”

“Taeyong, why are you talking like that—”

“The doctor said I hit my head on the steering wheel pretty badly.” Taeyong laughed mirthlessly, and you subconsciously squeezed his hand. “Bad enough that my memory got a bit fuzzy. Retrograde amnesia, I think that’s what they called it.”

Doyoung blinked, lips gaped at Taeyong who only smiled at him. He looked up at you, a sudden onslaught of anxiety coursing through him that you could just see him almost shake in worry. He whispered to you, “Amnesia? How far back can he remember?”

You bit your lip, turning away and loosening the grip you had on Taeyong’s hand, but he held it tighter with a strength you were sure he was only forcing. You said, “The beginning of third year in college.”

“What?!” Doyoung choked on his spit, leaping from his seat in shock. You offered him an unopened bottle of water but he shook his head. “You’re already a working man, Taeyong! We graduated two years ago, man!”

You did your best to calm Doyoung down, much to Taeyong’s appreciation. You knew where his emotions were coming from so you had to explain why it happened in a manner he would understand. You said that the blizzard was so strong that the roads had iced up and due to the speed he was driving, the car had slipped and crashed into a tree. He hit his head and the sheer impact caused trauma to his brain and made him lose his memories.

The doctors diagnosed him with retrograde amnesia, a form of memory loss that occurs from a traumatic brain injury. It prevented Taeyong from remembering what happened prior to his accident. His recovery was supposed to be gradual, it will take time for him to regain the memories he had lost but it wasn’t assured.

Taeyong doesn’t like telling what happened because people’s first reaction to his amnesia was to resort to aggression. As if their anger and frustration could magically make him remember what he had lost. You didn’t think of it that way, on one quiet night you told him that maybe it was just their desperation to bring him back to the person he was.

He thought it was selfish of them, but you kept your lips shut and refused to tell him that losing two years was a big deal to some people. Although he was still himself, quirks and habits are the same as you’ve first witnessed them, little aspects of him were different; some just different enough that others would do a doubletake to make sure it was really him. The person he is now just wasn’t exactly the person he used to be.

A slightly-off Taeyong, he grimly made a joke about.

You wanted to reassure him, comfort him that he didn’t need to try so hard to be who he used to be. You know despite all of his nonchalance and soft smiles, he was hurting. He instilled it in himself that he disappointed his loved ones by being a person they weren’t accustomed to. But you couldn’t, you weren’t in the place to when his last memories of you were when you have only first met during the anthropology class in your third year of college.

“God, that means you can’t even remember your own girlfriend.” Doyoung mumbled, mostly to himself but you heard it clearly enough as if he personally made it a point to stomp on your heart. Taeyong frowned.

“Shut it, Doyoung.” You grumbled, tears threatening to spill again. You and Taeyong have been so emotionally exhausted that having another person in the hospital room usually would lift both of your spirits, but Doyoung proved himself to be a disturbance instead.

Hours were spent lounging around with Doyoung talking Taeyong’s ears off with stories that he had missed in the past two years, how he was the one who had forced him into the class he shared with you and how coerced him into asking you out before he graduated; a bunch of stories that it almost made Taeyong wish that everything could just go back to the way it was.

He wasn’t the Taeyong they speak so fondly off, he was merely just the shell of him. Still, Doyoung had brought out a smile that you had been unable to make and for that, Taeyong gave him his thanks. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye and sniffled.

Doyoung left not too long after, but he promised to visit soon. He knew you needed the support. You were left alone with your boyfriend again and the silence envelops you whole. When you excused yourself to grab a much-needed coffee, Taeyong sank to the hospital bed and succumbed to his tears.

This was his last night in the hospital and it had felt like the longest. He was out like a light but you stilled in your chair beside his bed, fumbling with the ends of his blanket in worry of tomorrow. Not much had progressed in your relationship with him. He was still embarrassed, timid in how he acted around you. You asked if he wanted to go home with you and he reassured you that he would be fine with it, but the panic you felt was still prominent.

Morning came and after what seemed like hours of finishing what was left of Taeyong’s documents in the hospital, it was time to finally leave. You hailed a taxi and you couldn’t help but notice your boyfriend’s sudden rigidness inside the vehicle. Swallowing your reluctance, you took his hand and forced his attention on you throughout the entire drive. He was thankful that you were able to distract him.

The apartment you shared with Taeyong was small but humble, the third unit in an old building that you swore was built in an era before the current. Thin walls and a poorly constructed floor, it was all both of you could afford when you’ve decided to move in together fresh out of college. Despite its imperfections, it was home as long as you had him with you.

With the creaky sounds your front door made, you heard the familiar sound of soft thudding of feet run across the wooden floors to welcome your arrival. Your heart leaped at the sight of Lala, the three-year-old Labrador you adopted with Taeyong, bolting towards your direction with her tongue sticking out.

Taeyong trailed behind you, drinking the place in. His gaze kept on darting from one place to another, his lips parted in amazement at the thought that he really had the courage to move out of his parents’ house to live with his girlfriend. It looked lived in, bits of his and your personalities showing in the way it was decorated and cluttered. The clashing of color schemes and wood tones almost made him want to laugh over how it was clearly furnished purely on indecision and compromise.

He was too busy familiarizing himself to notice that Lala had jumped on him. Your heart squeezed at the sight.

You crouched down to your knees, reaching over to scratch the back of Lala’s ear. You chuckled at Taeyong’s confusion on how to approach the hyperactive puppy, “Her name is Lala, she’s three years old. We adopted her on your birthday last year.”

Taeyong nodded with widened eyes, getting down to your level to attempt to pet her. He commented offhandedly, “Good girl, Lala.”

“She definitely prefers you over me, too.” You mumbled, watching Lala cave into Taeyong’s touch. She hadn’t seen him in a while so you wondered if her attachment to him would waver but it seemed to only grow stronger, the same way you were with your boyfriend. “I had my friend take care of her while we were gone.”

Taeyong kept his quiet and you swallowed the lump in your throat. His doctor told you to treat him especially kindly since he was in a vulnerable state, but you should instill a sense of normalcy. You were instructed to treat him as you normally would, he needed to be reminded of the lifestyle he used to have little by little.

The idea of having to consume copious amounts of medicines every day was already exhausting and gruesome, he even had the bandage around his head to deal with. He had a lot on his plate, you wouldn’t dare add to it by pressuring him to become the adult he doesn’t remember that he was. In his mind, he was still twenty years old and was living in a rickety dorm with Doyoung; it will surely take time for him to grow out of it.

You told Taeyong to go sit down on the stool across the island, to make himself comfortable while you prepared dinner—attempt to prepare dinner. Racking all the recipes his mother had taught you over the years, you wanted to cook a meal he would enjoy and reminisce over.

“Doyoung told me you didn’t like cooking very much.” You heard Taeyong’s voice said, a voice free of malice and full of genuine interest. He said, “It makes sense that I should be the one making food for us right now. You know, for all the trouble I’ve caused you the past week.”

You shook your head firmly, turning around so your back faced him. You didn’t want to let him see your ever-growing frown. You sighed, “Don’t worry, I can handle this. Do you want some coffee?”

“Yeah, sure.” He mumbled, pressing his cheek against the palm of his hand. He wished he could do more for you, but you weren’t letting him; you had your wall up as high as he had his.

Shuffling to where your coffee maker was, you quickly fixed a cup of coffee for him as if you moved purely on instinct. Taeyong watched you in amusement as you slid a blue mug to his way. The paint of its design was chipping off the edges and it had a small crack on the handle, it definitely had seen better days but he felt oddly drawn to it.

You saw him eyeing it out and you chuckled, “We went out on a pottery class for a date once and I made that mug for you. You refused to drink coffee without it, but I think it’s time for us to throw it out and buy you a better one.”

“No!” Taeyong interjected almost immediately, waving his hands to dismiss your idea. “I like it. We’re keeping it.”

Your chest ached, but you were unable to pinpoint the feeling that made it so, “If you say so.”

Taeyong was a picky man when it came to his coffee. He wasn’t an avid drinker of dark and rich brews, often preferred the sweeter and creamier side of the spectrum. The drink you made for him tasted just right, the perfect balance, and he was overwhelmed with gratitude. It made him laugh, how his taste in college didn’t seem to change in his twenty-three-year-old body.

“You can go look around while I cook.” You remarked, jutting your chin towards the rest of the apartment that he has yet to see as you run your hands under the running water. He followed your gaze and shook his head. You quirk an eyebrow, “You sure? It’ll take a bit before these noodles cook.”

Lala encircled his feet before cozying herself on top of his shoes, refusing to leave his sight. He laughed, bending down to pick her up and place her onto his lap. With his hands deep into the puppy’s golden fur, he asked, “Is Lala supposed to be a reference to the Teletubbies?”

You turned the stove on and plopped in the boxed pasta you retrieved from the pantry, “Your nephew loved the Teletubbies at some point so we made him name her.”

A visible twinkle appeared in Taeyong’s eye at the mention of his nephew. He’d only seen photos of him recently, the last he remembered of him was that he was only an infant cradled in his sister’s arms. And as if a barrier was put down, he asked if you could tell him more about what he had missed in his personal life. If Taeyong from the past trusted you enough to move in and adopt a dog together⁠—which he couldn’t believe he was able to do in college, he had to trust you, too.

You gladly entertained his curiosities while you prepared a mediocre version of his mother’s Jajangmyeon. As obscure some of his questions were, you were as honest as you could be. From how he managed to pass his senior year to how he got the job at his company, he asked it all while stuffing his face with dark noodles.

In your eyes, he looked like a kid who wanted to know what his older brother did, to follow in his footsteps and be just like him. He wanted to absorb so much information, it almost pained you to look at him listening to you with an expression so clearly resembling envy.

He cut you off and called out to you with a voice lower than before, sadder but still hesitant. You glanced at him in worry that you were rambling too much. He averted his attention away from you, “You’re crying.”

Raising a hand to your cheek, it was wet. You coughed in embarrassment, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He mumbled, meekly offering his half-empty drink to you.

You hopped out of your seat beside him, carrying your empty bowl to the sink. You stayed a bit longer away from his line of view, wanting to keep your emotions in check for Taeyong’s first night back in the apartment. You didn’t want to scare him away, he was getting more comfortable and you succumbing to your feelings would ruin everything you’ve worked so hard for.

You turned the tap on and cracked your neck, “I’ll clean up here while you can go take a bath. The bathroom is next to the bedroom.”

He let out a breath and nodded, lingering for a moment before ultimately deciding that it would be best to leave you be. He didn’t know how he could comfort you when he was the reason for your distress, it would only hurt you more if he tried to console you of things he didn’t know of.

He spotted a box on the coffee table on his way to the bathroom, a bright red box with doodles scribbled onto its sides. Glancing at you, he was about to ask what it was inside when he clamped his mouth shut. He sat down on the couch and let his curiosity get the best of him, reaching to fiddle with the latch that sealed it closed.

Inside were piles of polaroid films, photos were not only of you and him but also of his friends from college and people he had yet to remember. An assortment of knickknacks filled it to its brim, variations of trinkets that included movie tickets and receipts. It was a box made to help Taeyong remember the memories he had lost, the connections he had with people that he had forgotten.

Taeyong bit the inside of his cheek, it must’ve been your doing. You probably asked around for others to help assemble the box, his heart swelled at the thought. You were working hard to make himself and his environment feel normal after losing a good chunk of his memories, he had to work hard as well.

His fists were shaking, his knuckles turning a shade paler than it already was. Lala snaked into the crook of his arm and whimpered at her owner’s change of composure. He laughed humorlessly, scratching her belly in appreciation.

Shutting the box closed, he sighed. He made his way towards the unfamiliar bathroom and filled the tub. Doyoung always told him that a bath could melt all of his troubles away, and how he wished it was that easy.

Taeyong came out of his long bath with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, blushing as he hastily pulled on the clothes you had prepared for him in the bedroom. You remained unfazed as you waited for him in a change of sleepwear, he realized that you might’ve already seen him naked before and the thought of it only worsened the state of his cheeks. He perched on the edge of the bed once he was finished.

You grabbed his ointment and attended to the injury on the side of his head, a gash that the doctors had sewn back together. You had a light hand, he noted, but the ache persisted. It burned when the tip of its applicator grazed along the stitches. He reached out to toy with the hem of your shirt, to divert his attention from the pain. You wrapped a bandage around his head as quickly as you could.

You mumbled, “It’s all done.”

“Thank you.” He smiled up at you and you returned it halfheartedly. “Let’s go to sleep, yeah? I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“No, don’t! This bed is yours, too.” You said, holding onto his wrists before he could make a home on your busted couch that functioned as Lala’s chew toy half the time. “I know how much your back hurts because of the hospital bed so please, sleep here.”

Taeyong looked at you with a conflicted expression on his face but after seconds of contemplation and mental debate, he relented only if you’d use the bed as well. You sighed and caved in.

He crawled to his side of the bed, making you wonder if there was an inkling of a chance that he remembered how much he preferred his half that faced the windows. You shuffled to your side, mindful to not cross any boundaries. This would be his first time sleeping next to you and you didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable by being too close for comfort.

You switched to your side, away from his sight. The awkwardness was suffocating you, it seemed like you were the only one affected by it because soon you felt his side dip as he made himself more comfortable while you were frozen like a statue. You were nearing the edge of the bed, so far the end that one wrong move would make you fall out of it.

“Taeyong, are you asleep?” After an hour of silence, you spoke up but in hopes that he was already sleeping.

Unfortunately for you, he hummed in response. You could feel the blankets shift, making it known that he was facing your direction now that you’ve called him. At your lack of reply, he must’ve thought you didn’t hear him so he cleared his throat, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, look. I just want to say that if you want to break up with me, I’ll understand.”

“What?” He slowly sat up in confusion, hefting himself up with his elbows. You refused to look at him, gnawing on your lips and your eyes squeezed shut as if you were a kid caught by your parents awake past your bedtime.

“This situation we’re in, you don’t have to force yourself to be with me if you don’t want to.” You managed to choke out, choosing your words carefully. “I want you to continue living who you are now, I’ll just hinder you from moving on if I only remind you of the memories you lost.”

He called out your name, much sterner and different from the gentle tone he always used on you. You were suffering worse than he was, that he knew, but he didn’t know just how much until you’ve finally cracked—the insecurities and worries you’ve hidden from him, pouring out all at once and he didn’t know what to do with it.

You were sobbing into the sheets and he could only rub circles onto your back as a failed attempt at comfort. He wanted to tell you so many things, to reassure you that he wasn’t thinking the way you assumed he would be.

Taeyong thought of you so highly. You were someone who carried all of his burdens and stories that made him the person that he was, someone who had so much love for him despite not having it reciprocated back, someone who just wanted him to forgive himself for not being who he was and to start living again. You weren’t just some stranger to him, but the world had robbed him of you.

He ignored his hesitance and whispered under the blanket of the night, “You might’ve lost the Taeyong that you love but I promise I will spend the rest of my days proving to you that I’m worthy of the same love you’ve once given to me.”

“Taeyong—”

“It’ll take some time and I can’t assure you that things will be the same as it was but I swear, I will never forget you again and we’ll be happy.”

There were a lot of things to do, but none of those things were as important to him as lying here next to you, to pick up what remained of you from his ruins. He knew full well that he wasn’t the only victim. He was aware that you were also trying your best for him, to hold onto what’s left of the pieces you used to love about him.

“I really want this to work out.” You admitted amid your hiccups and sniffles, his heart broke at the sound of it. “I know I haven’t lost you yet.”

“Thank you for not giving up on me.” He mumbled, running his nimble fingers through the locks of your hair as a serene silence filled the room as you didn’t say anything back. After a week of being in the hospital, your heavy breathing was enough to lull him into his sleep.

You glanced at him for the first time since you had laid down, observing his furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips. A small smile appeared on your face, he looked tired even though he was already deep in his sleep. You whispered in the dark, “Sleep tight, Taeyong.”

The cold of the night renders you restless once again, your eyes brimming with a bright red hue and utter exhaustion. You swung your legs to the side of the bed, careful enough to not wake your boyfriend who was already asleep. His gentle snores filled the room and you made your way towards the balcony connected to the bedroom with your phone in hand and a blanket draped around your shoulders.

It was another starless sky, you looked up and the absence of the twinkling lights comforted you. You pulled on the blanket closer as you fiddled on your phone, tapping on an option that directed you to a phone call.

“Don’t you know that it’s two in the fucking morning? What do you want?” Doyoung’s voice replaced the monotonous ringing, sounding raspy from what you assumed was his sleep.

“I wanted someone to talk to.” It was your honest answer and you knew he wouldn’t judge you for it.

He yawned, and for a moment you felt a twinge of guilt but it dissipated the second after, “How is Taeyong doing? You brought him back home earlier, right?”

“He’s okay. He’s passed out on the bed right now.” You said, stealing a glance at where Taeyong was sprawled across the bed. A weak smile tugged at the corner of your lips, you haven't seen him more at peace. “It kinda sucks, you know? I want to be strong for him but I don’t know how long I will last.”

“You love him, right?”

“I do. So much.”

“Then just be patient, please. You’re the only person he can truly rely on right now.” Doyoung sounded like he was almost pleading with you, entrusting his best friend to you for a second time with the first was when you agreed to be Taeyong’s girlfriend. He said, “The love you shared is very strong, it conquered many hurdles and it will overcome this.”

You nodded your head, but you remembered Doyoung couldn’t see you. You whispered, “I’m scared, Doyoung.”

“Of?” He asked as quietly as you were being as if you wanted the conversation to only be a secret between each other.

“What if he never loves me again?” Your nail was shoved in between your teeth, your leg anxiously bouncing against the floor. It was a thought that had flitted about your mind but you have shoved it so far back in an attempt to ignore it but it demanded your attention, to face its possibility.

He scoffed at the other end of the line, “It’s Taeyong we’re talking about here. If he could fall in love at his first sight of you in college, he could easily do it again.”

You let out a shaky breath, “Thanks, Doyoung. I needed that.”

“Alright, good night. Take care of yourself.” He said, dropping the call when you didn’t return his farewell.

You bent over the railing, tilting your chin up to face the night sky once more. You scoured the endless dark for even just a glimpse of a shooting star, for a chance to wish upon the universe to end this nightmare of yours. Your boyfriend was right there with you, but you have never felt more lonely.

Shutting your eyes closed, you let out another sigh. You were so tired of crying but it felt like the only thing you could do. You wondered just how much an average person could cry, maybe you’ve exceeded their record.

You left the balcony not too long after, padding back to the bed with a heavier heart. You sat on your side and twisted your body to face Taeyong. His mouth was parted and his cheek was pressed onto the pillow he held onto, a chuckle rolled off your tongue. Before you could even think of stopping yourself, you leaned onto him and placed a kiss onto his forehead.

A familiar heat rises to your neck at what you have done, you jumped from where you sat and raised a hand to your lips as if you’ve been burnt. You hadn’t been this intimate to him since the accident happened.

You grabbed your blanket and bolted to the living room, making do with the couch for the rest of the night as you forced yourself to sleep. Lala sleepily watched you in confusion.

Days passed and things have gone relatively the same as the first time Taeyong returned from the hospital, but you noticed the tension has lifted ever-so-slightly. You finally stopped crying yourself to sleep and eventually he has grown enough courage enough to express his affection—discreetly holding your hand and tugging you into his arms late at night to cuddle.

He was forced to stay at home for the remainder of the month while he recuperated, family and friends have visited from time to time to keep him company while you returned to your job. All the stories he’d heard about the two years he’d forgotten about, all of them were linked to you one way or another and it sparked a familiar surge of jealousy he had over his own self; that his past self made so many good memories with you that he could not never experience again.

His feelings for you were growing steadily, dare he said that he may have grown a crush on you. He could never admit it aloud for how pathetic it was, to have a crush on your own girlfriend. But it was your soft hair, your gentle hands, and your never-ending love and patience for him—these were some of the things he could not believe he had forgotten the existence of, how loved it made him feel, and he was ready to drown himself in it again.

Taeyong received a package when you were still at work one day, the label of his hometown address stamped at the right-hand corner indicated that it was from his parents. He ripped off the packaging tape with Lala nuzzling into his side.

He looked inside and saw his luggage. When he was rushed in an ambulance after his crash, his parents were the firsts to arrive at the hospital so the nurses had entrusted to them his belongings that were found in the wreckage. They failed to return it to him once he regained his consciousness as they hurried home soon after you had arrived, unable to stay much longer for personal matters.

He supposed that he only had clothes in it for he was told that he came from his hometown for a week-long visit. Rummaging through his clothes, he was surprised to see a velvet box hidden underneath the pile.

He took it out and gaped at it with owl-like eyes, he fumbled to flip it open. A shiny sparkle of a diamond reflected a faint rainbow from the sunlight that poured from the nearby window, he stared at it for what seemed like an eternity. Chuckling softly, he held the engagement ring close to his chest with a newfound source of encouragement.

You returned home that day to a romantic dinner. Candles of different scents were lit up and a torn picnic blanket covered the dining table, you took off your shoes and followed the scent of your boyfriend’s familiar cooking and spotted him in the kitchen. He donned a suit but he had on an apron to protect his front, busy with whatever meal he was preparing to see you peeking in from the doorframe.

“What are you doing?” You asked, and Taeyong swore you had on the brightest smile that he had seen in a while.

He turned off the stove and threw aside his apron, he strode his way to you and wrapped his arms around your waist. He placed his chin on top of your head and said, “I want to get to know you better.”

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“But I want to take you out on a first date—well, not out out, but you get what I mean.”

You giggled, pressing your cheek against his chest but you suddenly drew back, the worried expression you had taking him by surprise. Raising a hand to his forehead, you asked, “Your heart is beating really fast. Are you okay? Do you want to sit down?”

He stared at you incredulously before bellowing a laugh, a hearty laugh you’ve never heard before. Shaking his head, a small hint of a smile appeared on his lips. He gently pried off your hand from his face and placed a kiss onto the back of your hand. He said, “I’m okay now.”

You were unconvinced that he was, but his sudden affection made it easy for you to ignore it. He leaned down and stole a chaste peck onto your reddened cheek. He put his hand inside the pocket of his suit and nervously fiddled with the velvet box.

Taeyong lost so much of his memories, but he was ready to make new ones as long as he was with you. He will learn to love you again as much as he did before, if not more as long as the universe allowed his heart to.

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Sixteen ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 3021

Warnings: None

A/n Every chapter, you all make me smile so much <3 Thank you!

Haldir leaves and I let out something halfway between an exhale and a groan.

What. Was. That.

My room, which is a very respectable size, felt like a matchbox as the space between Haldir and I minimized. He went from weeks of keeping a consistent physical barrier between us to ghosting his hands over my arms, my hips, my waist…It’s…new.

And when he held me close, his chest so nearly brushing against my back—

I shake my head against the onslaught of scenarios that run through my mind.

I should not be thinking of him this way.

Haldir is a friend, a guide, an instructor, nothing more.

I let out a deep breath and begin to pace, trying to work off this newfound energy. Haldir and I trained for nearly two hours, I should be exhausted. Instead, I feel wide awake, invigorated, jittery, like I couldn’t possibly go to sleep. I groan, taking my hair out of its bun and letting it fall around me. I stop in my tracks, glancing at the spot where Haldir and I stood so close together just moments ago.

I cannot stay here.

I tear through the open door, turning right and taking the staircase that leads to the first floor. I turn left and, before I know it, I’m standing in front of Alex’s closed door.

I knock.

The door creaks open. “Hey,” he greets, opening it wider to allow me in. “What’s up?”

“I uh,” I purse my lips, having not really thought through my plan. I do need a distraction though, and being out of my room is already helping clear the fog from my brain. My eyes catch a pile of books on his nightstand. “I came to help you research, if that’s okay.”

His face lights up. “Yeah! Yeah, of course. I’ve read those three so far,” he gestures to a small stack by the window, “and there’s nothing helpful in them. Everything else in English is fair game. Is there anything specific you want to look into?”

“Fæs.” I’m surprised that the answer comes to me so easily, but as soon I speak the word, I know it’s true — I do want to learn more.

Alex nods slowly. “Yeah, okay, I think I’ve got a couple books on that here. Let me….” He trails off, spinning in a circle as he searches for a specific volume. “Ah.” He squats down and grabs a book near the foot of his bed, reaching it up to me.

An image of Haldir, crouched on the ground, hand warm against my ankle, staring up at me with such intensity, so much confidence—

Alex stands and I look to the ceiling, trying to will away the image and the feelings that come rushing along with it.

“What makes you want to learn about fæs? Isn’t that an elf thing?”

I purse my lips, stalling until the embarrassment fades enough to look Alex in the eye. “Haldir mentioned that humans have their own version of a fæ — a little weaker, a little different, but generally the same concept.” An idea begins to take form, and I roll with it. “I was wondering if—assuming that our fæs remained unchanged between our homeworld and Arda—well, if we could use it somehow, tap into it and reclaim our memories. If anything were to remember, wouldn’t it be our spirits?”

Alex nods slowly, a grin tugging at the edges of his lips. “That’s actually not a bad idea. Great thinking! Let me know if you find anything.”

He settles into the couch, leaving the bed for me. Gratefully, I cozy up against the pillows. I open the book, skimming the introductory chapter, which is basically just a summary of the core concepts Haldir has already explained to me. When I’m on chapter three, the sky passes firmly into night, and even the plethora of candles Alex has lit aren’t enough to keep my eyes from straining.

I pull my knees to my chest and lean forward, glancing over at my friend. His cheeks — which had been gaunt when we first reunited, now take a healthy shape. His shoulders no longer hold vestiges of tension — they lean relaxed, leisurely, against the back of the couch. Even in the limited light, he squints his eyes and continues to read, seeming intent on soaking up as much knowledge as he can.

I rest my chin on my knees. “I need to ask you something.”

He looks up, his eyebrows drawing together in concern. “Okay?”

“Are you alright?”

He sighs, shifting in his seat. “Cosima…”

“No,” I protest. I don’t care if it’s uncomfortable, he needs to talk about things. He’s been bottling it up since he arrived in this world and it hasn’t done anyone any good. “I mean it.”

Alex groans, shaking his head. “Fine, okay. It’s…strange.” He pauses, but I wait, holding out hope that he’ll continue. He does so, slowly. “I’ve…gotten myself to accept that I’m in a different world, but I can’t wrap my mind around the how. That’s stressful. We don’t have a solid plan to return home, nor do we know if we’ll find one. That’s depressing. And, I have flashes and snippets of memories, but otherwise, I feel like I don’t know who I am.”

My heart breaks. Here my friend is, hurting, lost…

And I’ve left him completely alone.

Alex tilts his head to the side, contemplating. “But I do feel better than when we arrived, or even just from a few days ago. Having things to do, feeling useful and like I have agency for the first time…it’s really good for me. And, well,” he dips his head then raises it again, leveling his eyes on me. “It’s helped me realize something else — that I owe you an apology.”

I blink in surprise. I’ve been the one that has pretty much abandoned and ignored him. I should be apologizing.

“On the road, I said some pretty mean things, and I isolated you from your friends and tried to take control. I didn’t mean for it to be like that. I was…” he sighs, shaking his head, “scared out of my mind. I already felt like I couldn’t do anything to fix the problem, and then on top of that I felt like you had completely given up and it was my job to save us both. And I know now that’s not the case, but for a while…” He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. “You’re just more adaptable than I am, I guess.”

I push myself off the bed, cross the room, and sit next to him on the small couch. Automatically, he throws an arm over my shoulder, the movement so familiar and easy that he must have done it a thousand times before. I lay my head on his shoulder, the bone there pressing against my ear.

I take a deep breath. “If we had really been kidnapped, or injured, or anything more realistic than what actually happened,” he gives a small, tired laugh, the movement shaking his shoulder, “you would’ve been the one to get us out. I know it. Even now, you’re the one putting in all the hard work to get us home. I’m sorry I’ve pretty much left you to handle it alone.”

He squeezes my upper arm gently. “I appreciate it, but I don’t blame you. I get it.” He shrugs again, a measure of sadness creeping into his voice. “It’s not like you remember anyone enough to miss them. If you have people you like here, of course you’d focus on them.”

I feel my lips pull into a guilty frown. “They like you too, you know. You all just need to spend some more time together—”

“Nah,” he shakes his head, pushing a smile onto his face. “It’s okay, honestly — we just don’t click. But I have you, and Baranor and I get along well, and I have this project to work on. It’s enough for me.”

I sigh, resting my head against his chest. I hope that’s true.

{***}

At breakfast, Lavandil and I make plans to meet at her shop. She gives me directions and I hurry up the stairs to my room, changing out of my tunic and leggings and into something a little more fun for my first day of work. I settle on a dark purple gown, one that billows down my arm in puffy gossamer sleeves and has a slight, sparkly train. I’m probably a bit overdressed, but knowing Lavandil’s extravagant wardrobe, I’ll fit in just fine. I bound down the staircase, eager to discover the market and the shop. I turn left, intent on exiting the building.

And crash into the middle of someone’s chest.

Hands grip my upper arms, steadying me as I stumble back. Once I’m righted, I look up, and my mouth falls open.

“Cosima—”

“Haldir—”

Both of us freeze, having spoken at the same time. I purse my lips, waiting for him to go first. He raises an eyebrow, evidently expecting the same of me.

But I can’t make the words happen. His hands on my arms send my mind right back to the tension of last night, to the room that started light and open and turned more intimate than it should as the night went on.

Haldir’s arms fall to his sides. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you turning the corner. Are you alright?”

I nod, my eyes darting from his chest clothed in a cobalt blue tunic up to his eyes. The intensity from last night is gone, now replaced with a noticeable degree of hesitance.

Interesting.

Did he feel something last night, too? Or does he know I did, and now feels awkward around me?

That last thought sends a wave of stress through me. Was I horribly obvious? Have I messed everything up?

“Are you off to Lavandil’s shop,” he inquires, pulling my mind away from these anxiety-inducing thoughts.

“Yes.”

He quirks a smile. “Then I imagine you will be seeing a lot of my brother today. He has a tendency to hang around there.”

“Probably a result of him being in love with the shop-owner,” I quip, voice going high with nerves.

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I suppose that would do it.”

We fall into awkward silence.

Haldir clears his throat. “Well, enjoy your day.”

“You too,” I nod, crossing paths with him to exit the building.

Once outside, I take in a gulping breath.

Did I create all that weirdness? Or is he struggling to figure out how to act around me, too? And why?

Things have never been strained or awkward between myself and Haldir. Once he got over his initial suspicion of me, we got along easily. I feel like he understands me better than the others and, if I had to pick a favorite, as Rumil prompted me not so long ago, it would be, without question, the supposedly-stern Marchwarden leading our company. And, based on the amount of time he spends with me of his own accord, I would say he enjoys my presence, too.

So, that begs the question, what could have happened to turn all that ease on its head and replace it with stilted, awkward, unsure interactions? We were fine until last night—

I suck in a breath.

My brain, apparently useless until I looked the issue straight in the eye, starts piecing together instances of my time with Haldir, forming a terrifying and exhilarating picture.

Sleeping between me and the entrance to our camp so I wouldn’t be frightened. Spending hours alone with me lying on a blanket staring up at the stars. The way he panicked and looked after me when I had my migraine. Big things like that and smaller ones, too — the way he teases me, the way he always makes sure I’m cared for, whether that means sharing from his canteen or sending me with food when I’m likely to miss dinner. The way he’s conscious of my fears—heights, orcs, you name it—and provides support without coddling me, enabling me to handle and face them on my own. The way his arms, so gentle yet so secure, held me close, even for just the smallest of moments.

Could we…have feelings for each other?

Could this rapid and strong attachment to an ellon I met mere weeks ago be something other than friendship?

With a sinking feeling in my gut, the momentary rush of excitement falls into something much more sinister. Something that, in any other world would be a wonderful, thrilling feeling—the one I am developing feelings for maybe, potentially, might see me the same way—is here, horrifying.  

Because elves live forever and love only once.

And a human lifespan is dismally short.

Rumil’s face after our conversation yesterday, crestfallen and saddened, comes to my mind.

If my mere friendship with these ellyn will cause them grief when I’m gone, then even entertaining these thoughts about Haldir….

It’s deplorable.

From the heart of the city, the bell chimes. I’m late to meet Lavandil.

I shove down the ache that makes my lips quiver and hurry down the path that will lead me to the market.

The distraction of working with Lavandil will be my lifeline.

I cannot allow my feelings for Haldir progress any further. So, though I’m not sure how effective I’ll be, I swear not to think about him for the rest of the day.

{***}

“What happened last night between you and Haldir?”

Damn.

I made it two hours.

I swallow, trying to seem busy as I hang a tapestry on a display. “What?”

Lavandil comes up beside me, using her height to hang the art properly. “Rumil told Orophin who told me that Haldir came back from training with you and seemed quite flustered.”

My body runs hot. “Did he?”

“Mhm,” she nods decisively. “Apparently he returned to the room in a rush, wouldn’t say a thing, and then spent over three hours at the training grounds, sparring quite harshly with some of the guard.”

Even though the tapestry is hung, I pretend to fuss with it, not brave enough to meet Lavandil’s eyes. “Nothing happened. Maybe he just wanted a better workout — I can’t imagine I was much of a challenge.” I try for a joke, and mercifully, she gives me a pity laugh.

Her demeanor softens. “Cosima, you know there’s nothing wrong with having an attraction, or even feelings.”

“Of course there’s something wrong with it,” I shriek, much louder than I meant to. I look at her with wide eyes, surprised by my outburst.

Thankfully, no one is in the shop, and Lavandil only regards me with calm eyes, no judgement in them.

“I’m sorry,” I hurry to apologize, sitting myself in a chair at a nearby table. On top of it sits a beautiful garnet tablecloth — Lavandil’s work. She sits across from me.

“It’s alright,” she smiles kindly, resting her elbows on the table to mirror me. “I had a similar disposition when I realized I loved Orophin.”

“I don’t love him,” I correct quickly.

She puts her hands up in the sign for surrender, though her bottom lip pulls like she’s trying not to make a face.

“I don’t,” I insist, putting effort into keeping my tone non-angry. I lower my voice, worried, perhaps irrationally, that Haldir himself will go waltzing by and hear my dreadful confession. “It’s, at most, an interest, and probably not even that. Likely more of a curiosity.”

“Well, interests are nothing to be ashamed of.” Her tone matches my low volume and carries in it a gentleness I could never hope to emulate.

“Yes, they do!” My voice drops to nearly a whisper. “Lavandil, he is an elf. You know I’m human. The two don’t mix well.”

She huffs. “There’s nothing to say that. An elleth here, Arwen—”

“Is walking into a tragedy,” I cut her off.

Lavandil’s eyes narrow. “Too many people see it that way, and it is getting quite old. Do you know what I see? Two souls in love. Though their futures are bleak and incompatible, their presents are filled with joy and love and the connection that can only come from two fæs who want each other so badly finally bonded. They would still face pain if they ignored their love for each other — so why not give themselves what joy they can?”

“But she will die—”

Now it’s Lavandil’s turn to interrupt. “Arwen is fully grown. She is wise, and I trust that she knows herself well enough to make the choices she has. Her life is ultimately her own. She can spend it how she pleases.”

I press my lips together, head falling to stare at the deep red tablecloth. Despite Lavandil’s conviction, her words do nothing to allay my fears.

The only thing that awaits an elf bonded with a human is grief and death.

Arwen may have made her choice, but so have I made mine.

“Rumil said elves can take centuries to fall in love. Is that true?”

Lavandil pauses, caught off guard with my change in topic. “I-in some cases, yes. More that it could potentially take that long for an elf to admit they are in love. Often, even if they are not ready to accept it, their fæs know. And even then, that is the timeline in the most rare of cases. You know, for Orophin and I it only took a matter of—”

I raise my eyes to her, pleading. “Lavandil.”

She sighs, staring at me like she wishes I had asked her something else. “Fine, yes. Elves fall slower than humans.”

I take in a deep breath, nodding.

Good.

Because if I have only just noticed these feelings, chances are, if Haldir were to follow suit, he is way behind. The instance Lavandil described from last night, the other hints that show he might be feeling something…I can end them now.

I have time to stop this.

I have time to save him.

A/n So, funny thing, @errruvande got pretty close to guessing Cosima’s reaction to realizing her feelings for Haldir, so shout out to Liza!!! Seriously though, love her, love her blog, I’d definitely recommend checking her account out! Thank you all for reading! 

|next part|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande 

Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @ordinarymom1 @my-darling-haldir @sweet-bea-blossom @moony-artnstuff

[phis-corner]

demon’s daughter

Uh- this is my first time attempting a multi-chaptered fic, so bear with me. There is no canon. Just saying.

Masterlist [Chapter 1] Chapter 2

Marinette Al Ghul was very, very angry.

Half the League had staged a coup, killing many of the members still loyal to the Demon’s Head. Her mother, Talia, was in a watchtower, rapidly shooting down the helicopters assaulting the compound.

And Ra’s Al Ghul, the Demon’s Head, lay on the floor in front of her, his body horrifically burnt. He was alive, but just. The work of Slade, his trusted right hand man. 

Marinette hurries to Ra’s’ side as her twin draws his sword and attacks the traitor, anger fueling every one of Damian’s attacks.

“I am sorry that I was never good enough, Ra’s, but I am not sorry that you will be dead soon.” She murmurs. Marinette stands up, the rage of the Pit burning inside her. These people want to kill her. Kill her brother. She refuses to let that happen.

She flips open her two steel fans and bares her teeth in a snarl as Slade swings at Damian, who blocks the blow, but the force of it sends him crashing into the building.

Marinette charges the man, fans glinting dangerously in the light. She dodges the first swing and delivers a swift kick to Slade’s stomach, one fan slicing a cut across his right cheek. The second blow is intercepted by her fans. She is pushed back, her slim eleven year old body no match for a full-grown, very well-trained assassin.

Damian joins her and the onslaught of attacks from both of them sends Slade flying across the courtyard.

“So you’re Talia’s little bastards.” He sneers. “Not bad for children, but no match for me.”

“We shall see about that.” Marinette hisses. The Pit rage inside her grows even larger, and she lets the madness control her movements. The steel fans whirl through the air as she flicks her wrists, spinning and kicking, pushing the man back under a balcony.

Damian understands her motive and slices through the support beams with his katana, sending a large amount of wood crashing down on Slade. When the traitor bursts upwards, Marinette feels satisfaction as Damian thrusts his blade into Slade’s right eye.

“And now, your heart.” He snarls. Slade parries Damian’s blow and intercepts Marinette’s swing with his armor, eliciting sparks. 

Three spheres roll to a stop at Marinette’s feet. They spew out black smoke, and the twins reflexively cover their noses with their sleeves as Slade makes his escape.

“I’ll make you two suffer for this. Next time.” Slade’s voice rings all around them as they search blindly through the haze.

The smoke clears in time for them to see Slade being lifted out of the compound by a helicopter, with a man they recognize crouching in it, smirking.

“Ubu.” Damian growls. Marinette puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Do not worry, akhi. We will make him pay.” The helicopter sails away and they follow it out of the building.

Her brother raises his sword. “Come back and finish it, cowards!”

The remaining traitors also throw smoke bombs as they are picked up by the helicopters, leaving the twins in front of a burning building, surrounded by smoke, corpses, and blood.

“Grandfather.” Damian remembers, running back into the burning building. Marinette follows, not about to let her brother go alone anywhere. Not after what just happened.

“Damian!” She hears Talia call. “Marinette! Wait!”

She ignores her mother and charges down the stairs that lead to the Lazarus Pit, then freezes at the bottom. Damian releases a shaky breath by her side as Talia stops behind them.

Ra’s’ burnt corpse lay in front of them, outstretched hand just mere centimeters away from the green water.

Damian walks towards the body, sword falling to the ground.

“Damian.” Talia says. Her brother tries to pick up the corpse, heaving with the strain.

“We have to get him into the Lazarus Pit.” He says desperately. Damian picks up the body, but Marinette runs in front of him, blocking his path, stuffing down the tiny spark of elation at seeing her oldest, and largest tormentor dead.

“Akhi, you know the Pit cannot heal bodies this damaged. Ra’s is gone for good.” Damian sets the corpse back down and bows his head, tears glimmering in his eyes but refusing to fall.

Talia puts a hand on each of their shoulders. “You did your best.”

“I failed.” Her brother says. Marinette lets her hand rest on top of his, offering him silent comfort. We both did.

“We can’t think about that now. We must move.” Talia says. “Damian. Marinette. Come.” 

Marinette stands obediently, but Damian stays a moment longer. “Damian. Now!”

Marinette gently grasps her brother’s wrist and pulls him to his feet, following her mother out of the room.

“...Where are we going?” Damian asks.

“Gotham City.” Talia replies. “It’s time you meet your father.”

.o0o.

The ride to Gotham City is tense. Damian repeatedly polishes his katana, while Marinette continuously opens and closes her fans.

Their father is Bruce Wayne. World’s richest man, known for his work in many charities and for his ‘playboy’ reputation. At night, known as Gotham’s Dark Knight. In other words, their father is Batman.

Talia leaves them on the boat, choosing to track down their father and bring him back herself.

Marinette turns to Damian once she’s sure her mother is gone. “I would like to spar you, akhi. It would be a good outlet for both our feelings right now.”

Damian scans at the space around them. “As much as I want to agree, this space isn’t nearly large enough for a productive spar.”

Marinette huffs. “You are right. I shall meditate instead. The Pit rage has not completely receded yet from the fight.”

“Remind me why Mother wants us to stay behind this curtain again?”

“Officially, it is because she wants to keep us hidden until she is sure he will accept us. Unofficially, I think it is because she would like to seduce him first.” Marinette replies.

Their mother comes back not long after, with the footsteps of a tall man trying to be as silent as possible. Batman.

“Would you like a drink?” Talia asks.

“Last time that didn’t go so well.” A deep voice responds.

“Oh, you’re right. If I remember correctly, I put a little something in your beverage.”

“Same way I remember it.”

Damian and Marinette exchange a look. So this is how they were born.

“It made you romantic.”

“It made me do what you wanted.”

“Was it all bad, Beloved?”

A pause. “...No. It wasn’t.”

Marinette tunes out after that until Talia says “And now this man wants to kill us.” Her heels click closer to the curtain.

“Us?” Batman asks.

“Not you.” Talia replies. “Me.” She draws back the curtain, letting Damian and Marinette step out of the shadows.

“And your children.”

“Children?” Batman says, only the slightest change in tone indicating his surprise. “You expect me to believe this?”

“I assure you, they’re yours.” Talia says easily.

Damian, always the more confident of the two, walks up to their father and eyes him up and down. “Don’t look so stunned, Father. I thought you’d be taller.”

Marinette raises an eyebrow at her twin. “Akhi, he is six feet and four inches tall already. Any taller, and he would be a tree.”

Batman stays silent, choosing to glare? Stare? Do something that Marinette didn’t know because the white lenses hid his eyes and his facial expression doesn’t change.

.o0o.

The boat drives away, leaving Marinette and Damian with their father.

“You didn’t know about us.” Marinette states. 

“No.” Batman is not known for his eloquence.

“So Mother has made us your responsibility.” Damian snarks, but there is an air of seriousness to it.

“Something like that.”

Marinette squeezes her brother’s hand for reassurance. “This isn’t necessary. We can both do fine by ourselves.” 

“So do I. But things have changed. Your mother thinks that the two of you are better off with me for the time being.”

Damian raises an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

“Better than with the League of Assassins.” Their father replies.

“They taught us how to fight.” Damian says hotly.

“And I take it, not much else.”

“Actually, Father, that is not true.” Marinette jumps in. “In addition to learning many forms of martial arts and how to wield plenty of weapons, Damian and I are years ahead of a normal curriculum and we are both fluent in twenty languages. We can also play multiple instruments. My brother prefers piano and violin, while I tend to favor woodwinds such as the flute and oboe.”

Batman grunts and presses a button on his belt. The Batmobile opens, and the twins follow their father towards it.

“I’ll drive.” Damian says.

“No.” Their father grumbles.

“I know how.”

“No.”

“Can I drive then?” Marinette asks.

“No!”

Once they’re settled in the car, Batman hits the ‘Call’ button for someone named Alfred.

“Alfred.”

“Yes sir?” The butler has an impeccable British accent, much like Marinette and Damian’s. She can put on an American accent at will, but she preferred the sound of the British one. It was more structurally elegant.

“We’re going to have company. Prepare two rooms.”

“A sleepover? Oh, goody.”

“Actually, we would like to share a room.” Marinette says. “It would make us feel more comfortable.”

“I shall prepare a bunk bed then.”

“We don’t have a bunk bed. Alfred, where-” The call hangs up.

The Batcave is everything Marinette has ever imagined. Dark, yes, but full of state-of-the-art technology, vigilante costumes, and a medbay off to the side. Plus, a lot of bats.

An elderly man greets them when they exit the Batmobile. “Welcome back sir. I presume this is the young man and lady of whom you spoke?”

Damian strides up to the man and tries to stare him down. “Hello, Pennyworth. I’ve heard about you.”

Alfred bows. “At your service, Master Damian and Miss Marinette.”

“Would you prefer it if we called you Alfred, Mister Pennyworth?” Marinette asks.

“If you are comfortable calling me Alfred, then yes, I would prefer it.”

Damian looks around the cave. “Where are the rest of the servants?”

Alred raises an eyebrow. “I am the sum total.”

“You have only one servant?” Her brother says condescendingly to Batman, who looks a little awkward.

Marinette squeezes his hand. “Akhi, do not be rude. Our father was gracious enough to let us stay, although he did not have to. It would be counterproductive to his nightly activities if there were too many people who knew about it.”

“He’s not a servant.” Batman says. “He’s a friend.”

Marinette smiles at Alfred. “Pleasure to meet you, Alfred, friend of the Dark Knight.” She curtsies with perfect posture, the way she was taught, eliciting a smile from the man.

Damian sniffs and walks over to the Batcomputer. “So this is the fabled Batcave. Grandfather told me all about it.” Her brother sits down in the chair, inspecting the computer, then turns around and folds his hands, looking every bit like their grandfather.

“I, too, have heard about this place, but never from Ra’s or Mother. It was Lady Shiva who informed me instead.”

Damian frowns. “It is not your fault that Grandfather was always disappointed in you. He was… biased against women.”

“Ra’s has been disappointed in me since the day I was born. I do not care for his opinion.” Marinette says easily.

She walks up the stairs to the loft with the vigilante costumes and grimaces. “Father, what is the meaning of these atrocities?”

Batman is nonplussed. “What?”

Marinette gestures to the Robin costumes. “This. Why are they colored like a traffic light? What happened to Gotham’s Dark Knight, the epitome of stealth? Why were your proteges such eyesores? What exactly is the function of a bright yellow cape in the city of darkness?”

“This one does not even have pants.” Damian says tiredly. “Why would one fight criminals without pants?”

“Master Dick was a boy when he wore that.” Alfred says. “As for Master Jason and Master Tim, the Robin colors are now tradition. It is a legacy, the mantle being passed from boy to boy.”

“Never very peacefully though.” Damian comments. “The first Robin became Nightwing after a falling out with you, father. The second one took on the mantle not long after, and when he died, the third one, who found out your identity, essentially blackmailed you into taking him on. When the second Robin came back as Red Hood, he attempted to kill the third Robin on multiple occasions, did he not?”

“Akhi! Do you not have any tact? The death of family members is always a sensitive subject!” Marinette hisses, in Icelandic. It is highly unlikely that they will understand it.

“You don’t seem too sad about Grandfather’s death, ukhti.” Damian retorts. 

“Ra’s holds no special place in my heart. He sent me to train with Shiva from birth. You and I may have both grown up fighting, but you were treated like a prince, akhi. I was the lowest of the low. You endured hardships, yes, but you have never died. Nobody dared to kill you in training. I did not have such luxuries.”

“Would you like to see where you’ll be sleeping?” Alfred asks. “It is getting late.”

They follow him out of the Batcave and into the Manor.

“Are the others sleeping?” Marinette inquires.

“Hopefully. Master Dick is returning from Bludhaven tomorrow night. Master Jason currently at the Manor, recovering from some fractured ribs, and Master Timothy will likely be out for another six hours after Master Jason sedated him so he could get a full night’s sleep. Miss Cassandra should be asleep as well, though I think she will now be awake from the sound of our voices and our footsteps.”

“Cassandra Cain, correct?” Marinette says thoughtfully. “Daughter of Lady Shiva, Batgirl. A master at reading body language, capable of beating just about anybody in a fight. I was trained to match her, but my skills are nowhere as precise as hers.”

“Yes. Miss Cassandra is very proficient in reading body language. She knows a lot more than she lets on.” Alfred stops in front of a door.

“This will be your room. You will obviously have free run of the Manor, although I would suggest not going into any of the other bedrooms without the occupant’s permission. The door on your left leads to a bathroom, and the door on the right leads to a game room.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” Marinette says, when it is clear that Damian will not be saying anything polite. “If it is alright with you, we would like to be alone now.”

“Of course, Miss Marinette. Goodnight, Miss Marinette, Master Damian.” The door shuts behind him.

Damian immediately gets to work, searching the room for any bugs and finding none. Marinette opens the closet and pulls out two sets of pajamas: one in green and one in lavender. She grabs the lavender ones and lays the green ones out on the bottom bunk for Damian.

“Akhi, I am going to take a quick shower. It has been far too long since the last one.” 

 “I am claiming the bottom bunk, ukhti. I will investigate Ubu’s location while you are gone.”

Marinette heads into the massive bathroom and turns on the shower. Hot water comes streaming down immediately, and she marvels at the sight. Damian, being the heir to the Demon’s Head, would be used to it, of course, but as a female, she was seen as far below his status and was treated as such. She didn’t even know she was an al Ghul until after her first death.

Marinette knows that her twin brother was always treated with much more reverence, resulting in much more confidence and arrogance on his part. Damian has been exposed to the Pit, but he has never been killed. When she returned to Nanda Parbat at age nine, Damian was condescending at best. He did not believe her to be worthy of his time, no matter the blood bond between them. Just like Ra’s al Ghul, the man he was trying to grow up to be.

She changed that when Talia ordered them to spar, with Ra’s as a witness. They traded blows for hours, evenly matched, and it became evident that neither would lose unless the other collapsed from exhaustion. Ra’s decided to end the spar, and Marinette left the room tired and sweaty, but satisfied.

Damian was a lot more willing to talk to her after that, and she finally got to bond with her brother, even if he was rude at times.

Ra’s was not so easy to please. Marinette spent the rest of her time at the compound trying, but he would not acknowledge her no matter what she did. She would never be good enough anyway, so Marinette stopped trying. It wasn’t like she couldn’t take on any assassins he tried to send her way. (She killed six in the year she spent at Nanda Parbat.)

She and Damian bonded fairly easily after that. They never slept in the same quarter, but Marinette requested that they be put in the same room at the Manor for a couple reasons. One, so they could have some familiarity in this new city, and two, so they could plan Ubu’s demise without arousing suspicion.

Marinette stares at the mirror as she dries her hair. Tan skin, littered with lighter scars of all shapes and sizes, not noticeable unless one looked for long. Her eyes are the same shade of blue as her father’s, unlike Damian’s piercing green. Her midnight black hair was chopped short for practicality in combat. She slips on the pajamas and heads out of the bathroom.

Damian is sitting on the bottom bunk, clad in the green pajamas with a laptop on his lap. “I found Ubu’s location. He’s also in Gotham.”

“Good.” Marinette says coldly. “That means we can get him ourselves.”

“I shall make sure he dies a painful death.” 

“Only after we get the information, akhi.” 

That was another difference between them. Damian had no qualms about killing. He saw it as the only way to defeat someone in a fight, unless it was a spar. Marinette, while fully capable of ending a life, hated it. She did not kill unless absolutely necessary, or when the rage of the Pit overtook her, which did not happen almost at all. She had gotten a lot better at controlling the madness.

“Ubu does not plan on moving for quite a while. He is certain that he is safe here. We do not have to make a move tonight.” Damian shuts the laptop. “You should sleep, ukhti. It has been quite a long day.”

Marinette gives him a small smile. “It has been a long day for you too, akhi. We both have to sleep.”

She flips off the lights and climbs up to the top bunk. “Goodnight Damian.”

“Goodnight, Marinette.”

Marinette closes her eyes in the unfamiliar bed and lets the darkness overcome her.

Next

Update: the tag list for this fic is now closed. Everyone who either asked or commented has been put on the list! Thanks for your support! 😊

[hermannsthumb]

Could you please write #43 grandparents/neighbors one?

43. we’re having our family meal at my grandparents’ house this year so fingers crossed your parents still live next door and you grew up to be even hotter

from winter writing prompts here

oh god this one got so long. sorry everyone! thank you to @k-sci-janitor for the alien bit because it was so fucking funny

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

Holidays have gotten a little weird to manage since Newt transformed into a fully-fledged adult with an apartment and a job and stuff, so while he hasn’t made it to the big Geiszler celebration in Germany every December since starting college out of elementary school, he still tries to make a point of dropping by his dad’s for dinner and a movie or something to fill his holiday quota. It’s fine by him; he loves his family, but they’re definitely overwhelming, and trying to submit final grades and work on syllabuses for the next semester all while distant relatives ruffle his hair and ask him when he’s going to hit his growth spurt is not his idea of a relaxing time. It’s a constant point of contention between him and his dad. This year more than most, apparently.

“Your grandmother misses you!” he tells Newt sadly over their Chinese takeout. “She calls me every week to ask how you are, and why you never visit with them. Every week.” He waves a fork at Newt. “You’re breaking her heart.”

“I’m in the lab, like, twenty-four-seven, dad,” Newt sighs. It’s a well-rehearsed conversation at this point, but it doesn’t get any less tiresome. Especially because he knows his dad is lying about the phone call thing—Newt is a great grandson and texts his grandmother plenty, thank you very much, he would know if he was breaking her heart. “I’m working straight through winter break this year. Seriously.”

“That’s what you did last year,” Newt’s dad says. “And the year before that…” Newt turns the volume up on the TV to cut his dad off before he can segue into the next part of his argument, which is (usually) that Newt needs to work on his personal life, maybe settle down, produce some grandkids of his own. Or at least adopt a cat. Also well-rehearsed.

He’s not sure why he says what he does next—maybe in a desperate attempt to distract his dad further. Maybe because of the sudden onslaught of childhood memories the mention of his grandparents’ house brought on. “Hey, do you remember that boy who used to live next door to grandma?” he says. “He had the weird haircut and always dressed kind of funny?” Old-fashioned, and a little too formal for the sort of things that little kids tend to do, climbing trees or playing in the mud—sweatervests and polished loafers and starched-white knee-highs.

Newt’s dad blinks at him. Newt half expects him to declare that Newt is nuts, and that he has no idea what he’s talking about, like this is one of those horror stories where the childhood friend turns out to be some ghost who died fifty years prior. The clothing would match up, he guesses. But he smiles in recognition a moment later. “You mean the Gottlieb boy?” he says.

“Gottlieb,” Newt echoes. It sounds familiar enough. “Hermann, I think. When I’d stay with grandma for the summer we would play together every day. I wonder what he’s doing now.” Hermann was a smart guy, a real geek like Newt; he used to carry a graphing calculator around in his pocket and build the most goddamn pristine model spacecrafts Newt had ever seen. Hermann’s dad shipped him off to a prestigious boarding school the last summer Newt spent there, when they were around twelve or so. Newt started at MIT not long after. “Dude’s probably designing rocket ships by now or something.”

“You could ask him yourself if you came with me,” Newt’s dad laughs. “The Gottliebs never moved away, and their children actually visit. I’m sure your Hermann visits, too.”

“Ha,” Newt says. “Yeah.”

It’s snowing by the time Newt and his dad finish their movie, and Newt (fearing his dad’s driving even in ideal conditions) declines the offer of a lift home to trudge his way through it to his T stop instead. It’s nice to have the chance to be alone with his thoughts, anyway, because he can’t seem to get funny little Hermann Gottlieb out of his head. What is he doing now?

A quick Facebook search on the train produces a few Hermann Gottliebs, but none of them promising—none of them have the brown eyes or strangely angular face (devoid of any baby fat even that young) Newt remembers, none of them are from the right German countryside, none of them went to a preppy English boarding school. Google (utilizing the information Newt does have) is a little more rewarding, and by the time Newt presses the button to request his stop, he’s scrounged up a decent amount of info: Hermann Gottlieb has a doctorate in astrophysics, Hermann Gottlieb publishes papers at a slightly terrifying rate, and Hermann Gottlieb turned out kinda hot.

As Newt stares down at a slightly grainy current photograph of his old friend—haircut and clothing unchanged, a cane in hand, some round librarian glasses perched on the end of his nose, wide mouth twisted into a scowl—he suddenly recalls another thing about Hermann Gottlieb: the summer Hermann was sent away to boarding school was the summer that Hermann kissed Newt goodbye, shyly and tearfully, under the shade of the tall maple tree in his yard. It was the last time Newt ever saw Hermann. It was Newt’s first kiss.

“Oh, boy,” Newt says.

He texts his dad when he gets back to his apartment. When do we leave?

Newt feels like the belle of the fucking ball when he steps into his grandparents’ house a week later, snow dusting his shoulders, small suitcase clenched in his hand. His cheeks are kissed; his scarf and hat and leather jacket are brushed off and tossed onto a coat rack; his hair is in parts smoothed down (too messy!) and ruffled (too flat!); he’s hugged more times than he has been in the entire last year, probably. “Still playing around with bugs in the dirt, eh, Newt?” his grandfather booms, tucking Newt into the crook of his arm with enough force to knock Newt’s glasses off.

“Actually,” Newt squeaks, scrambling for both what he remembers of his very rusty German, and his glasses before they can hit the ground, “entomology isn’t really my main focus at—”

“Newt’s studying jellyfish now,” Newt’s dad declares proudly. “He went on a diving expedition this July.”

“Diving? How exciting,” Newt’s grandmother says.

“Yeah,” Newt says. He pushes his glasses back on. “Yeah, it was fascinating, I was lucky to get the funding for it. You wouldn’t believe the sorts of—”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Newt’s cousin says.

“My little Newt’s a daredevil!” Newt’s dad says.

“It’s not that dangerous,” Newt says. “As long as you’re—”

“What happened to that nice man your father said you were dating?” Newt’s grandfather says. “With the, the what was it, the poetry? The poet? We thought you’d bring him!”

Newt flushes. Trust his dad to talk up some random guy Newt dated in March like it was a long-term affair and not an elongated one-night stand that fizzled out after three weeks. Though maybe that one’s on Newt—it’s not like he mentioned the one-night stand part to his dad, after all. He definitely didn’t mention that the guy ended it with a poem, too. “We broke up,” he says, weakly. He wriggles out from the throng of the crowd. “Look, it’s so great seeing you all, but I’m actually, like, really tired, soooooo…?”

“Oh, of course you are,” Newt’s grandmother says. She pats his head. “What a long flight you must have had! We’ll send someone up for you for dinner—you can have your old guest room.”

“Cool,” Newt says.

He scurries up the stairs.

The guest room he slept in during those summers is almost exactly the way he remembers it, but a little dustier—the floral quilt on the bed, his grandma’s sewing table crammed into the corner, the bookcase stocked with a weird combination of kid’s books and illustrated encyclopedias that Newt used to pore over for hours as a kid, often with Hermann. Newt draws back the embroidered curtains and peers out the window at the Gottliebs’ snow-capped house next door. Hermann’s window was directly across from his. It still is, technically, though the curtains (these navy blue and embroidered with little constellations) are pulled tight, and Newt has a feeling that Hermann hasn’t set foot in his old room in well over a decade. Two decades, probably.

He remembers the one summer he showed Hermann how to make a soup can telephone, and they managed to string it all the way across between their windows before discovering it kinda didn’t work as well as Newt said it would. He remembers when Hermann’s dad banned him from the Gottlieb house for tracking water all over their front hallway after he and Hermann went wading in the creek, but it was really Hermann who did it, because he forgot to take his shoes off and they got soaked, and Newt just took the fall for it so Hermann wouldn’t get in trouble. And when Hermann asked Newt to play astronaut with him, and Newt insisted on being an alien and mimed the chestburster scene from Alien, and Hermann freaked out so bad he fell in a mud puddle and got grounded for ruining his clothing, and Newt got grounded for that and for watching Alien when he wasn’t supposed to, and they spent the following few days staring sadly out across at each other before Newt’s grandma finally got tired of his moping and sent him to work weeding the garden. He remembers knotting a little friendship bracelet for Hermann out of embroidery thread he found in his grandmother’s sewing basket and Hermann vowing to keep it until he died.

Newt’s half of the soup can phone is still on the windowsill, though the string snapped and crumbled apart years ago. He picks at the peeling Chicken Noodle label, so distracted that he almost doesn’t notice the light suddenly seeping through at the edges of Hermann’s curtains, or the way they’re pushed open—almost.

Hermann—real, live, adult Hermann, botched haircut and round glasses and all—stares out at Newt with a shocked expression on his face. Newt drops the can with a clatter.

Then he waves.

“Hey, Grandma?” Newt says, poking his head into the kitchen. Tonight’s dinner is a massive pot of soup boiling away on the stovetop, dessert a mountain of cookies and tiny pastries on serving platters on the counters. Newt hasn’t had food that looked this good since he moved out, to be honest. The intersection of Newt’s sad lack of cooking skills and his attempts at vegetarianism means he eats a lot of boxed mac-and-cheese and frozen Vegetable Lovers’ pizzas. “Are you—?"

“Oh, Newt!” Newt’s grandmother says. She sets down her wooden spoon. “Are you feeling rested, then?”

“Yeah,” Newt says. “Grandma, I was wondering, could I—uh—maybe run some food over to the Gottliebs? To be…neighborly? We just have so much, and—”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Newt’s grandmother says. “They keep to themselves, mostly, but I can’t imagine they’d turn it down. You might even see your little friend again! What was his name? You were so fond of him.”

“Hermann,” Newt says, quickly shoving cookies into a red-lid plastic container. “Thanks, Grandma.”

He tucks the tupperware under his arm and nearly wipes out on the icy front path he runs to the Gottliebs’ so fast. Before he can so much as catch his breath and knock, their door swings open; Hermann, dressed in a tacky Hannukah sweater, arches an eyebrow at him. “I saw you sprint over here like a bloody madman,” he says, in blessed English. He must’ve remembered how shitty Newt’s German was when they were kids. “Hello, Newton. What’s so terribly important?”

His voice got deeper—expected—and he swapped out his German accent for an English one somewhere along the way. Probably at his stuffy boarding school. He also got taller—he’s got a few inches on Newt now, but Newt admits that’s not exactly hard. God, he’s even hotter in person. “Uh,” Newt says. Why is he here? Oh, right. He thrusts out the tupperware. “I brought some cookies over for you?”

Hermann peers down at the offering over his glasses. His forehead wrinkles. “How considerate,” he says. He pulls an olive-green parka on and steps out onto the porch, tugging the door shut behind him. He taps at a peeling porch swing with the end of his cane. “Just leave them there. Would you like to take a walk?”

It’s freezing, and snowing, but for some reason, a walk sounds like the best idea in the world right now. “Yes, please,” Newt says, and chucks the cookies onto the swing.

“I must say,” Hermann says, after their meandering walk around the Gottliebs’ yard takes them to the old maple tree. The branches are bare, but thick, and shield them from most of the falling snow. Hermann’s breath puffs out white in front of his angular face. The last time I stood here, Newt thinks, he kissed me. “I really did not expect to see you.”

“I didn’t expect to see you, either,” Newt admits. “From what I remember, you and your family weren’t—uh—well, very close. I didn’t think you’d be coming back to share in the holiday cheer with them, is what I mean.”

The corner of Hermann’s mouth twitches up. “That’s certainly one way of describing it. Yes, I suppose you’re right—my father is a bit of a bastard, isn’t he?” Newt laughs awkwardly, unsure whether to agree or attempt to weakly the defend a guy who openly hated him for being a bad influence on Hermann most of his childhood; he’s grateful when Hermann continues and saves him the choice. “This is the first year I’ve come home in a long while. My brother’s just had a daughter, you see, and I thought I should start getting used to playing uncle.”

“Oh, congrats,” Newt says. Hermann shrugs, and Newt has the distinct feeling that this is Hermann’s older brother, who used to dissemble Hermann’s telescope and hide the pieces around the house when Hermann annoyed him, and tattled on Newt and Hermann to Hermann’s parents the one time Newt snuck in to see Hermann after he got banned. He always made Newt thankful that he was an only child. “Same here, actually. Not the uncle thing—I mean I haven’t visited since I was in college. Too busy.”

“I know,” Hermann says, and then adds teasingly (in a way that makes color flood Newt’s cheeks and his heart beat just a little faster), “I’ve looked you up online. Er—quite a bit recently, in fact. I was curious. You’ve made quite the name for yourself, haven’t you, Dr. Geiszler?”

“I,” Newt squeaks, and then coughs. “I mean, I guess? I like…science.”

“I oughtn’t be surprised,” Hermann says. “You were always giving me bugs, and salamanders, and funny little frogs—”

Newt liked bugs, and salamanders, and frogs, but he liked Hermann more, and the gifts had a lot more to do with the latter than the former, because what kid wouldn’t want bugs or salamanders or frogs, right? Not that Hermann ever appreciated them—especially not the worms Newt would pluck from the sidewalks after rainstorms. He thinks he got grounded for that one, too, because his grandma wouldn’t believe that he really wasn’t trying to terrorize the poor Gottlieb boy. “And what about you?” Newt says. He pokes his elbow into Hermann’s side. “Dr. Gottlieb? Guess those model rockets paid off.”

(“No, Newton,” Hermann would snap at him on the rare occasions he would allow Newt to watch him piece one together, “the glue hasn’t dried yet. You have to be patient, or else it’ll fall apart.”)

“Not yet,” Hermann says, “but I hope soon.”

Hermann smiles at him. A snowflake catches in his eyelashes—his long, pretty, dark eyelashes. “Do you remember when you kissed me here?” Newt blurts out.

“It’s hardly the sort of thing I’d forget,” Hermann says. He reaches out and tucks a piece of Newt’s hair up into his hat. “I like your tattoos—I saw the photographs on your social media accounts. They suit you.” Newt wonders if this means Hermann saw the shirtless selfie he posted on Instagram. “I’m also pleased to see you’ve gotten your braces removed. It wasn’t a very pleasant experience last time.”

Then he leans in and kisses Newt. Again, technically. It’s so light and brief Newt hardly believes it even happened. Their glasses clack together, and when Hermann pulls away, he straightens out Newt’s.

“I confess,” Hermann says, “that I’m wholly pleased to see how you’ve turned out. I hope that wasn’t too forward of me. I’ve been thinking about doing it all night.”

“Jeez, dude,” Newt says, blinking at him, his head swimming just a little. Hermann looks smug. “Not, uh, not too forward. So. Uh. You wanna get dinner or something this week and catch up?”

Hermann snorts, and nods.

[internalsealpanic]

Do It Yourself Hauntings

Summary: You and Terry get extremely bored while on a group date as you walk through a haunted house. Terry has a brilliant idea that’s sure to chase away your boredom. 

masterlist

a/n: Guess who is flagrantly avoiding homework to write a fic? So this is Cat!Reader x Terry McGinnis. Reader is still as gender neutral as I can make them so I went with the name ‘Stray’. A tid bit I could not write in organically is that reader is painfully shy in their civilian identity but has little to no inhibitions when in their night time persona. Another clarification is that this is the outfit I had in mind. It was legit the thing I had my heart set on when my lizard brain said Catwoman character.   

Warnings: Adult language, clowns, clownery, and this maybe a tinsy bit spicy at one point (I tried) (kind of? Look, I just don’t want anyone going all mother superior on me. Just in case. ).

You were incredibly, stupidly, magnificently bored.

You shifted on your heels, letting them click and echo trying to distract yourself from the thrum of excess energy surging through your body.

It-It didn’t work.

The clicking only made you more anxious, plucking at your taut nerves like well-tuned guitar strings.

It probably didn’t help that you just came back from a dazzling night of heists and getting shot at. Adrenaline still flowing through your veins like molten ichor. Heart still floundering in your chest as if- at any moment- the cops would come rushing in and you would have to make your daring, if not dramatic, escape.

Between this and the sorry attempt at jump scares the poor underpaid actors subjected you to, your head started aching and your mood plummeted into something vile. Thankfully, your group was none-the-wiser unless all of them spontaneously decided to master micro-expressions then you were the picture of an apprehensive young adult trekking through a cheap haunted house.

Why did you agree to this again?

Pulse still pounding loudly in your ears and content with letting the others have their fun, you silently fall into the back of the group. There was a higher chance that you would encounter the cringe-inducing scares but you weren’t too concerned. Nope. You were more worried about the very real possibility that you might deck Nelson or Chelsea or Blade or whoever the fuck decided that girls need to play scared to make guys feel cool. Ok, yeah, the last one.

When Chelsea did another ill-timed flinch, scrabbling for Nelson’s arm, and Nelson ate it up, you swore your eyes would roll their way out of their sockets. Whoever popularized this needed to be shot. Twice.

There was always a possibility that they weren’t faking it, that they were genuinely terrified but you highly doubted it considering if anything actually scary happened, Nelson would be the first one to run.

Neck deep in your musings, you hadn’t noticed as Terry slowed to keep pace with you. He leaned down close enough to brush his lips against your skin and blew a light gust into your ear.  You jumped clutching your ear feeling the heat spread through your body. You twitched away. The memory of his lips against your ear making your stomach dance. Your skin prickled with curiosity-

 You glowered at him. You prayed that the embarrassment plain on your body language did not dampen the venom in your eyes.

“Told ya I could be scary,”

He winked.

You sighed.

Of course, he hadn’t let that go.

You rolled your head to the side and shrank into your puffy leather jacket trying to hide the bright flush of your cheeks. From the absolutely smarmy grin he gave you, he was enjoying this. Was this payback? It was probably payback. Payback for all the slag you said over the comms, the flirty little touches, or all the little kisses you dealt him every time you encountered him in the field.

Here’s a novel concept! Maybe don’t dish out what you can’t take.

“Compared to this place? Yeah,”

“Ouch, what’s got you in a mood?”

You leveled him a look. Terry leveled you with his own. You tilted your head ever so slightly to show the bruise blooming on your collar bone. He winced. His jaw clenched.  You instantly regretted showing him when his brows were carved with guilt. Normally, you liked looking at Terry. Easy on the eyes kind of handsome. He only looked punchable in the Batsuit. But you could never stand the guilt and worry on his face, especially when you were the cause. It wasn’t even his fault. You took the blow knowing your armor wasn’t quite as enforced. That was on you.

You sucked in a breath and rolled your shoulders contorting yourself away from the ever-present need to apologize. Instead, you waved your hand vaguely at the cheaply constructed haunted house. “Admit it, this place is-” 

“isn’t that-” He looked around rubbing the back of his neck. “-bad?”

“Terry, the scariest thing about this place is how many credits I wasted,” you deadpanned looking down at your, now, lighter wallet. It wasn’t physically lighter but you were a drama queen and you had a point to make.

Terry chuckled at your antics and rolled his eyes. “It’s got its charms,” You raised your brow and crossed your arms. His shoulders slumped then straightened, a teasing quirk to his lip curling.   “Still better than doing that family studies paper,”

Ok, that you could agree on.

The rest of the walk was marginally bearable with you and Terry providing quiet commentary on each scare. It was hard to hold back laughter. Your body shook, nearly falling into a giggle fit several times. You got dirty looks from the others several times for the transgression of ‘ruining’ the mood.  You were a little impressed that they had managed to make a mood for you to ruin. After all, what’s more romantic than zombie clowns and warehouses?

 Your sides ached. You really wanted to just let out a laugh, a real full belly laugh but you hated your laugh. Terry, you thought, was aware of your broken plate laugh. Why did he keep trying to draw it out?

Your group made it into a large clearing. Your anxiety immediately ratcheted up with the wide-open space but relaxed after scanning the room. There was nowhere to put

Creaking and scraping of old rusty metals resonated in every corner.

Terry nudged you and pointed upward, directing your attention to the silhouette moving around in the rafters.

Your heart stopped momentarily but picked back up again as soon as you saw the graceless way the figure moved around.

A clown covered in gore and shards of metal jumped down from the rafters landing in the middle of your ragtag group. You scattered. You heard a few gasps. You even saw Nelson flinch. You took some petty satisfaction in being right.

You yawned less concerned with the crazy act he was putting on and more with how the hell he hasn’t landed on a single patron. You made your boredom plain. You’ve seen crazy.  Your sides throbbed in protest of the reminder.

You looked down to distract yourself only to be met with the sight of floppy red clown shoes. Genuine, floppy, red clown shoes. You pinched the bridge of your nose and bit your lip. Your body trembled from trying to contain the laughter roiling in your stomach.

The man continued to spout something about keeping you all here for his entertainment. Blah. Blah. You crossed your ankles and leaned ever so  slightly into Terry’s space, cocking your head to the opposite side.  You yawned into your hand muffling the sound as best you could in an attempt to be polite. Terry had other ideas.

Terry leaned down into your ear making an exaggerated snoring sound.  An ugly snort tore its way out of your nostrils loud enough to be heard over the clown’s overly dramatic soliloquy. You felt everyone’s eyes on you. You clamped your hand over your mouth to stifle the onslaught of snorts rising up from your chest. You narrowed your eyes at Terry who, at the moment, was also fighting his own fit of laughter. You couldn’t keep the smile off your face as you, in solidarity, tried not to laugh too hard at the expense of the wannabe Shakespeare actor.

You kind of felt bad.

Maybe.

Ok, you did. But not nearly enough to actually stop laughing. In your defense, Ace had more acting chops than this guy. But kudos, he was really into the bit.

He lunged at the two of you, fuming with smoke coming out of his ears. Terry grabbed you pressing you to his side and wrapping a protective arm around you. You let out an embarrassing little squeak. You witnessed as he cataloged it into the ‘stuff y/n is never gonna live down’ part of his brain. ‘Cute’ he mouthed silently. You cursed yourself. You turned to cuss at Terry-

The clown lunged at you again, murderous intent plain as day on his face. He snarled as you two dodged him easily with a quick sidestep. In the corner of your eyes, you could see the other actors look on in bewilderment.  One of them shook her head clearly exasperated. Ok, so you unintentionally pissed off one of the actors. Great. Now, what?

The man lunged for you again. Dodging gracefully, you two turned on your heels and bolted leading him away from the group. You could hear the group collectively cheering him on behind you as you made your escape.

Technically, you could just knock him out and maybe go back to the group. One of you was the goddamn Batman while the other was Stray, thief extraordinaire, after all. But between the gasp of laughter and the playful grin stretching across Terry’s face like hell that was happening.

You two ducked into a corner tired and panting. You press yourself against the cool metal of the wall with Terry shielding you from view.

“You ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,”  You whisper, shrinking into your leather jacket feeling keenly aware of your lack of undershirt as the heat radiating from his skin pressed against yours. He leaned against you, closing the gap between the two of you.  His panting breaths fanning against your skin, lips brushing against the bare skin of your collar.  You bit out a curse as the color on your cheeks darkened. You swallowed a lump, heart floundering again. You felt him smile against your skin.

You like to say it was anger that flared up in you. You really would but the heat suffusing in your body said otherwise. You pushed at him weakly. “We have to get back,”

Terry stepped back giving you space. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

“You sure you want to? Bozo is still looking for us. That and you’ll probably still be bored,”

You tapped your foot and tilted your head considering it. You looked into his face searching for something. You sigh inwardly. “Yeah, no. I really don’t wanna go back. The scariest thing is still the amount of money we wasted and I have yet to be scared shitless,”

He smiled at you victoriously. “I have an idea,”

You blinked at him.“Ok, great job! Now, I’m pissing myself with fear,” You teased. You weren’t a fan of Terry’s ideas half the time but hell if they weren’t entertaining.

Terry rolled his eyes at you holding out his hand. “You brought your goggles, right?”

“McGinnis, I didn’t exactly have time to go home and-” You stilled, feeling his eyes trail down your chest before darting back up. Normally, when you were in costume, you left the zipper of your jacket open showing tantalizing glimpses of your soft flesh. Terry was absolutely not opposed to your costume choice unless you were in danger which was rare (thank you very much). This was what led to your current blushing predicament not that the other aspects of your costume were any less complementary. You sighed inwardly before stammering out “Yeah, I have my goggles,”  Fishing them out of an inner pocket of your jacket, you waved them around half-heartedly. 

“Schway! Come on follow me,” He said grabbing your wrist before you could see the flush creeping up his neck.

You rounded a couple of corners before stopping at a beam. He looked from left to right brow furrowed. He tapped his foot twice then somehow decided to go left. How the hell Terry managed to find his way around in the dark was a complete mystery to you. Your first guess is echolocation but the second, more logical guess, was that Bruce was a paranoid old man. Like a normal human, you were entirely dependent on the night vision mode of your goggles. 

You stopped when Terry stretched his arm out in front of you. You squinted seeing another group of bored-looking patrons. You turn to Terry who was looking at them and seemingly analyzing the group and it clicked.

“Oh,” you whispered quietly as you understood what he was planning. He threw you a playful smirk knowing you wouldn’t be able to resist this golden opportunity to fuck around.

“I would like to go on record and say this is a terrible idea,”

“And yet you’re going along with it,”

You were about to protest but couldn’t really think of a good defense.

“You know, if you really wanted to scare them you could have just dressed up as old Brucie,” 

You huffed and put your goggles on before crouching low. He followed suit bending low.

“Weeell, sorry. Your gremlin mug was the best I could do on short notice,”

You made a face of mock hurt which made him chuckle. “Am not,”

As it turns out, two vigilantes well-trained in sneaking around are actually pretty good at scaring people. In the last 5 minutes, you’ve scared four different groups of patrons all with varying reactions but all equally hilarious.

“Yanno we could probably scare Nelson,” Terry hummed innocently trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. You answered him with a vicious smile. “You just want payback for the prank he pulled yesterday,”

“And you want to see him  piss himself,”

This was true.

“Ok, fine. What’s the game plan?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Terry chuckled knowing he’s got you hook, line, and sinker. You scoffed but let him lean closer to you to whisper his maniacal scheme.

“If this works I am going to cry-” You crowed ducking behind another row of boxes as you quietly trailed your group.  “-Hand me your jacket,”

Completely avoiding your outstretched hands, he draped his jacket over you like a strange leather veil before giving your head a quick pat. “Hope you brought tissues then,”

“Like slag, this is gonna work,” You said quirking your brow and tilting your head to make the doubt plain on your face. Even with your vision impaired by your new headpiece, you could still admire how nice he looked in his shirt. Not that you let it show. You hoped.

“Just watch and learn nonbeliever,”

“Oh god he thinks he can pull off miracles now,” You sneered climbing on to his broad shoulders.

“Shhhhhhhh”

You pouted down at him crossing your arms. He shrugged his shoulders, the movement drawing a surprised yelp from you in turn making him snicker. You were about to open your mouth when your smoke trap was triggered.

Ok, this was a blatant abuse of your equipment but who was gonna tell you off? Bruce? Probably but the man was allergic to fun so being at a Halloween fair was, likely,  safe.

Thick waterfalls of white smoke cascaded down from the rafters, blanketing the floor with a thick mist of curling smoke. The group stopped almost mystified by how well-timed the eerie effect was. You had to hold back a derisive snort when they all turned to each other confused.

Because, yes, this is what your hours of booby trap training have been leading up to.

Truly, a magnum opus of spite.

You could already see Nelson readying himself to bolt even as Blade and Chelsea hung off his arms. Petty satisfaction bloomed in you.

Ok, you may be a gremlin.

You threw your voice in a shrill cackle letting it echo and bounce in the room over the too slow circus music playing in the background. It was a chilling sound, the kind that rattled in bones and traveled up the spine. One that you’ve only ever used for pranks during long nights at the lab. You even felt Terry freeze up beneath you. His grip on your thighs getting tighter. How on earth you didn’t yelp or squeak or make any other little noise at that was the true miracle.

“Wha- what’s going on?“  Blade squeaked, pressing into the group.

"Didn’t we just pass the last attraction?!”

“Are you sure it was the last?”

“I don’t know man!”

The group shrank in on itself as the conversation grew more panicked. You felt Terry shaking from holding in laughter. You nudge him softly with your heel. He took a breath and nodded to tell you he was fine.

“Oh children, there’s no need to fuss,” You coo sickeningly sweet. You see them swallow taking in your presence heavy as it was.

“The fun’s only just beginning!” You shriek flicking on the orange lights of your goggles. Your shrill, shrieking voice transmuting over the speakers filling the room.

They screamed, scrambled, and scattered. Your nearly 10-foot silhouette hovering over them. They tripped over each other. Some of them pulling at each other. Some stepping over feet in their haste to get away. Pure terror etched themselves on their faces.

You let them all sprint to exit, watching their forms all disappear before bursting out into laughter.

“Did- Did you see their faces?!”

“Please tell me you were recording,“

“wait-” You choked grabbing for your goggles. You made a show of checking and letting your shoulders fall in disappointment.

Terry looked crushed. A vicious grin carved across your face. “Relax, I was,”

Terry’s slumped against the crate as he leaned back. He ran his hand through his black hair and began to laugh again.

You put your goggles back to your jacket pocket. You clutched at his jacket letting your ugly laugh tumble out of your lips. Terry planted a kiss on your nose making your breath hitch. 

"What was that for?!” Your hands flying to your nose. Your fingers traced the small patch of skin he touched.

“You were just too cute,” He laughed ruffling your hair.

How do you respond to that? How could he say things like that so casually? Does he not know how many heart attacks it gives you?

“Jerk”

“PFFFFT”

“Don’t ‘pfffft’ me!” You bit out, throwing his jacket at him.

“Pfffft”

He stuck his tongue out at you.

“I-”

“Ahem!”

You both looked up to see a security guard and Bozo glowering down at you. You gave them both what passed for a sheepish, but not exactly, apologetic look.

The burly guard picked you both up by the scruff of your necks and hauled you out of the building. He tossed you out back as Bozo yelled “stay out” from the comfort of the guards back. 

“Kick us out yourself, coward!” Terry yelled, shaking his fist like an old man. You slapped your forehead in an effort not to encourage him. Bozo glowered at him from behind his meat shield. Terry snarled. You grabbed his arm to stop him from doing anything stupid.

“I knew it was you two,” Max sighed, hand on her hip.

“How’d you guess?”

“Circus music,”

You looked at her uncomprehendingly before remembering your well-documented discomfort with circuses. You slapped your hand against your forehead. Terry, helpful as usual, snickered at you.

 But before you could throw hands, Max spoke cleared her throat.

“You dumbasses are lucky they don’t press charges,” Max aggravated pinching the bridge of her nose. You had the decency to look a little sheepish at the accusation but Terry looked pleased which earned him a chastising look.

“Sorry, ma’am” You both grumbled as she pulled you both up. 

All three of you walked in tandem.  Max let up the responsible act.

“Not the worst group date you’ve been on, right?” Terry nudged.

 “No, guess not,” You scoffed, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Stiiiiill not as bad as that time you got us caught by the Joker Gang~”

“That wasn’t even my fault,”

————————————–

Thanks for reading! Also please do not do this in real life. They will get mad at you even if their haunted house does stink.

taglist:  @batarellabatarella (YOU BITCH I GOT ANOTHER BATBOY FOR YOU), @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders (I wanna drag you into Terry hell), @l-horizon11

[wefoundloveunderthelight]

Waterfall Memories by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Chapter 4/9

Read on AO3: | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly

Chapters titles are based on the lyrics from “Stubborn Love” by The Lumineers

Chapter 4: So Pay Attention Now

“You’re going to be a beautiful bride.”

“But I’m just not sure he’s the right man for me, mama.”

“Emma, of course he is. You love him. Don’t you?”

She sat up with a start, her head hurting and her leg throbbing. What was she dreaming? There was a name…what was the name? She squeezed her eyes shut trying to remember the conversation she was just having in her sleep with the dark-haired woman. What did she call her?

Dammit. It was gone.

“You’re awake.” She looked toward the door to see the man standing there, holding a mug in his hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Cold.” She whispered, dragging the covers up over her. Realizing that she was back in her or his pants again.

“Here, drink this.”

“No thank you, the last one knocked me out.”

“That was the pain that knocked you out, not the rum. But this isn’t rum.” He handed her the warm mug and she looked down into the glass at the dark liquid steaming. “It’s cocoa. Figured you might be cold.”

She took a sip and reveled in the warmth that filled her tummy. “Thank you.” She said quietly.

“No problem, Swan.” He turned to walk away.

“Sorry, what did you call me?”

He looked back at her, his hand immediately brushing his ear which was turning pink. “Um… Swan. Figured it was a suitable nickname until we figure out who you are.”

“Ok, but why Swan?”

He smiled warmly before looking away from her. “Uh, you have a birthmark on your inner thigh.” He coughed and exited the room.

She lifted the covers and examined her thigh. She immediately flushed at the thought of him examining such a personal area. She reached under the covers and lifted her pants trying to see in the dark whether he was teasing her or not. She couldn’t see anything and exhaled loudly before taking another sip of her cocoa.

They fell into a quiet routine, Killian would bring her breakfast, lunch, and dinner in bed. He would check her wounds, change her bandages, and ensure that she was feeling alright. Jolly never left her side to the dismay of the man. She was sure she had heard him curse under his breath each night that he called the dog and instead he curled into her side and went to sleep instead of following him into the other room to bunk with him on the couch.

She was beginning to feel better except for the fact that she still had no idea who she was. She hadn’t dreamed again since that night after he set her leg. No clues were coming to her while she stared out the window at the continuing onslaught of rain that fell day and night. She had watched through the window as Killian piled sandbags around the cabin, keeping the pooling liquid from invading their dry space.

He would return soaked to the bone, tearing his shirt from his body before entering the bedroom to find dry clothes, his cheeks turning red as she stared at him from her spot on the bed. She didn’t have to know who she was to recognize that he was an extremely attractive man.

She had to remind herself at times to stop staring at him, getting lost in the blue of his eyes when he would bring her food. He never stayed with her while she ate, choosing to disappear from her sight to eat on the other side of the house.

She finished her current meal and sat the plate beside her, sitting up and spinning her legs to hang off the bed. She hadn’t tried to stand in days. How long had it been? The days and nights seemed to blur together as the rain never relented and the sun breached the clouds. She put weight on her unharmed foot. Reaching out she braced her hand against the wall, stepping down lightly on her injured leg. She winced but was able to hop across the floor to the other side of the bed. She peered out of the door; the rest of the tiny cabin wasn’t much bigger than the room she was sleeping in.

Standing at the sink, the man was washing the dishes in the large basin. He set something in the drawer beside the sink, and then he paused. His shoulders were tense as he stared into the drawer, the running water was the only sound traveling through the cabin as he seemed locked in a trance.

“Can I help you?”

Killian jumped, cursing, and slamming the drawer shut before turning around to face her. “Bloody hell, woman, why are you out of bed?”

“I can’t stay back there forever.” She complained as he rushed to her side, grabbing her by the arm and turning her around. “Please. I don’t want to be in there alone.”

He paused. “Fine, but you need to sit down.” He helped her to the couch and moved a few pillows before he helped her down onto the seat.

Jolly jumped up beside her and rested his head in her lap.

“Damn dog.” The man cursed under his breath. Standing and looking around the room. “Can I get you anything?”

“Killian, you don’t have to do that. I’m fine. Sit.” She watched him contemplating whether to comply or put up a fight. “Please.” She added.

He sat on the other side of the dog, staring toward the window. “I keep thinking the storm is letting up, but it seems to find new fury each day.”

“Is it normal to rain this much?”

“Storm of the century.” He shrugged.

“Just my luck I guess.” She said sourly.

“You still can’t remember how you go out here?”

“Not a clue. I had a dream a few days ago. I think it might have been about my life but…” She exhaled anxiously. “I couldn’t remember it when I woke up.”

“Well, as soon as this storm lets up, we’ll figure it out.” He said flatly.

“But…” She paused, biting her lip. “What if someone bad is out there. You know, looking for me.”

“Why would you think that Swan?” She blushed lightly at the sound of his pet name for her.

“Why else would I be out here in that…outfit.” She added with an air of disgust. “Maybe someone did kidnap me, and I got away.”

“Or you were out here with your boyfriend and had a mishap.”

“Ok but why hasn’t he come looking for me then?”

“I’m pretty far out here. It would take a skilled hiker to find the area, honestly.”

“But I got out here.”

“It is a mystery, I must admit.”

“How did you get out here?” She inquired and she could see the way his body tensed at the personal question.

“Just wanted some peace and quiet, I suppose.” She knew he wasn’t telling the truth. His body language might as well have just pointed a sign over his head that said, I’m lying.

“A lot of people want peace and quiet, that doesn’t mean they live in the middle of nowhere. Surely you have a better reason for it than that.”

“Says the woman who doesn’t even know her name.”

“I have time. I’ll wait.” She smirked, petting the dog between them.

“You really are stubborn, aren’t you?” She thought about it. Was she stubborn? She had no idea honestly. It made her head hurt. “Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to…”

“It’s alright. I just don’t know why I can’t remember anything.”

He chuckled. “That large knot on your head might be the cause.”

She slipped her hand into her hair, reaching back to touch the spot on her head that was still swollen and painful Her fingers got caught in a wad of tangled hair. “Ugh. I don’t have to know who I am to know that my hair is a wreck.”

“I suppose now that you’re feeling better, a bath might be a good idea.”

“God yes.” She groaned, closing her eyes imagining warm water and clean hair. When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her, his jaw tense. He swallowed before looking away from her.

“I’ll draw you a bath.” He stood quickly, walking out of the room.

While he was gone she took a moment to look around the cabin, it was very simple, not a single photo or painting adorned the walls. She couldn’t get a single read on who the man who had been taking care of her was.

He returned to the room after a few minutes, reaching down to take her hand. “Alright Swan, let’s see if you are able to get into the tub.” He helped her up from her spot and walked her to the bathroom, pausing as they stood in front of the tub. She laughed at the height of the walls of the tub in front of her. There was no way she was going to be able to lift her leg into it.

“Well, that’s not going to work unless you want me to fall into it.”

“Ok Swan, watch the attitude.” He smirked, turning toward her, and staring down at her pants. “Just take them off.”

“What?”

“Are we going to do this again? If you take off the pants, I can lift you in and then you can take the rest of your clothes off after I leave.”

She looked between him and the tub and realized she had no other option. “Fine.” Bending over she dropped her pants to the ground, tugging her shirt so that it covered her lower half. Before she had a moment to feel uncomfortable he leaned over, sweeping her into his arms and depositing her into the water.

“Towels are right there.” He pointed to a chair next to the tub and then walked out, cracking the door. “I’ll just be out here.”

Emma undid the buttons on her shirt, dropping it to the floor and sinking down into the tub. The hot water was divine as it covered her body, heating her up from the outside in. She closed her eyes, her head resting on the edge, trying to think about her life. Blurry images seemed just out of reach, words on the tip of her tongue. Why couldn’t she remember?

She ran a hand into her hair, leaning her head into the water and slipping below the surface. Reaching for the shampoo she rubbed it into her hair, struggling to get it through her hair by only using one hand. She was never going to be able to do this alone. She looked around the room with a groan.

“Killian.” She called out and she heard his voice outside the door.

“Swan, are you alright?”

She rolled her eyes, peering down her body at the birthmark very high up on her thigh. “I need help but um…”

“Help with what?”

“I’m trying to wash my hair and I can’t do it with one hand. Can you…can you do it with your eyes closed?” She bit her lip.

“What?” His voice cracked.

“Can you wash my hair with your eyes closed.”

“Are you bloody serious?”

“Please?”

~*~

Killian stood outside the bathroom door wondering what he had done to get stuck in this situation. He just needed this woman to get out of his cabin and now she wanted him to wash her hair? He was Killian Jones, ex-convict, murderer, he didn’t wash strange beautiful women’s hair.

“I’m coming in.” He groaned, closing his eyes, and immediately bumping into the tub. “How am I supposed to do this? I can’t see anything.”

“That’s the point.”

“Bloody hell woman, it’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.”

“That’s not the point.” She protested. His eyes opened and she wrapped her arms around her breasts. “You weren’t supposed to look.”

“If you want your hair washed, then I’m going to need to use my eyes to do it.” He reached over and took the shampoo bottle in his hands, squirting the liquid into his palm. Bending over, he plunged his hand into her hair, rubbing the shampoo into her blonde locks, massaging each strand between his fingers. His eyes slipped from her hair, roaming down her soapy wet skin. He tried to stop at her neck, but he found himself roaming her chest, the way her hands cradled her breasts with her fingers splayed out against the moist skin. He could barely make out the milky white flesh hidden in the water, bubbles of soap blocking his view from seeing the expanse of her inner thigh, the delicate swan birthmark hiding in the heated water.

She let a soft moan leave her lips as he continued to massage her scalp in his hands and his elbow almost slipped into the water from the distraction. Bloody hell the woman was a goddess. He stilled his hands. “Alright, love, down you go.” She slipped down into the water and he ran his fingers through her locks, ensuring the soap was gone from her hair as she emerged from the water like a sexy siren. Fuck.

His tongue darted out across his lips as her pert nipples dripped with fresh water, her skin glistening. “Um, yeah so do you have it from here?” He asked nervously, jumping up from his spot on the floor and walking out the door without waiting for an answer, closing it quickly behind him, his head falling back against the wood the moment it clicked shut. His hand slid across the front of his pants, feeling the extent of the woman’s effect on him. He cursed himself internally and walked into the living room, stepping outside of the house, and shutting the door to the cabin.

Standing outside under the porch eaves, the rain dripping down into the mud that had become his front yard, he shut his yes and took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind from the thoughts that were threatening to destroy him.

~*~

Emma lay in the water, her breathes coming out uneven. She couldn’t remember anything about her life, but she was sure that she had just gotten the most erotic hair washing she had ever experienced. The thoughts and images that came to mind as he worked his hands against her scalp had to be illegal. Suddenly she could just imagine what he could do with those fingers.

She was being ridiculous. For all she knew she had a husband or a boyfriend or someone who cared about her. She looked at her hand, there was no ring on her finger. Of course, that meant nothing, she was being ridiculous. But God if she didn’t almost lose it from the way his eyes roamed her body. She ran her hand over her face, wiping the sweat from her brow. Looking around for a towel she tried to stand and realized there was no way she was getting out of this tub alone.

Dammit.

“Um, Killian.” There was only silence through the house. She grabbed the edge of the tub and pulled herself to a standing position. She could do this. She leaned over and grabbed a towel while balancing herself on one leg. Wrapping the towel around her she tried to step out and slipped, a scream leaving her throat.

The door swung open, and Killian rushed to her side. “Sorry, Swan. I realized you may not be able to get out of this bloody thing. Are you alright?”

She smiled. “Yes, I’m fine.” In one move, he bent over and gathered her into his arms, lifting her out of the tub and carrying her to the bed.

“Let me get you some fresh clothes.” He went through his drawers, pulling clothing and tossing them to the bed. “I found these yesterday, I think they will keep your feet warm.” He held up a pair of thick socks and sat down on the bed reaching for her feet. Slowly he pulled the socks onto her toes and up her ankles. He patted her leg and smiled. “There, that should help.” Their eyes met and she felt her throat go dry, the blues of his eyes boring into her. “I’ll uh, I’ll let you get dressed.”

He stood and stepped out of the door. She pulled the shirt over her head, inhaling the scent that smelled of the mysterious man who had taken care of her. Dragging the sweatpants up her legs, she pulled them onto her waist. When she finished drying her hair she hopped to the door, opening it and seeing him sitting on the couch, a book in his hand. He looked up and started to stand.

“I’m good. Stay there.” She smiled and hopped to the couch, lowering herself down onto the seat.

“Feel better?”

“Oh God yes.” She laughed. “I feel human again.”

He smiled at her, the dimple in his cheek causing her to blush. She had no idea why he was having an effect on her. She didn’t even know him, except for the fact he had saved her life. Saving someone’s life is sexy as hell, right?

“So…” She said, letting it hang in the air. “Since I have no idea who am I, maybe you can tell me about yourself.”

He tensed. “Not much to tell.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“About six years.” He said simply without adding any additional details.

“You’ve been out here for six years?” She said, her eyes wide with shock. “Alone?”

“Aye.”

“Why?”

“Long story.” He supplied.

She laughed, looking out the window at the storm. “Don’t think I have anywhere else to be.”

“I uh, had a life in Boston once.” He stared off in the distance. “But uh, things didn’t work out, so I ended up here.”

She waited for him to continue when she realized he was done she snorted. “Wow, that’s the shortest long story I have ever heard.”

He stood from the couch, “Are you hungry?” She tried not to feel insulted by how quickly he wanted to be away from her, from the conversation. She knew he was hiding something. She pushed herself up from the couch.

“Only if I can help.”

“That’s not necessary, Swan.”

She stood anyway. “Too bad.” He rolled his eyes, and she was sure she heard him mumble the word stubborn under his breath, but he allowed her to stand from her spot and he guided her to the kitchen, leaning her against the counter.

“You can cut the vegetables.” He said, resigning himself to her assistance.

Emma smiled and took the onions and peppers from his hands, leaning against the counter she sat them down and looked around for a knife. “Do I tear them with my hands, or do you have a knife?” She teased.

“First drawer by the sink.” He gestured behind her.

She turned around, sliding the drawer out and looking down for the knife. Instead, she was met with smiling faces. In the broken frame were three people, the man standing beside her, a woman, and a small girl all smiling at the camera, their arms wrapped lovingly around each other. She reached around the frame and pulled the knife out of the drawer, sliding it closed without a word.

[honeypiehotchner]

i knew you (Bucky Barnes soulmate AU) -- part four

This one is a little shorter than usual, so I wanted to go ahead and post it. It’s mostly a set-up for what’s about to happen (eek). We’re officially in the Civil War timeline now!

two years later

You meet Steve and Sam at Heathrow airport. The first thing you do is wrap your arms around Steve’s neck. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. You have no idea how badly he must be hurting. To be taken away from his soulmate, thrust 70 years into the future to find her still alive, only to have her taken away from him again all too soon. You don’t know how he hasn’t collapsed from the pain. 

Steve hugs you back tightly, sighing into your shoulder. “Thanks.”

The funeral is quiet, not like you were expecting it to be anything but. 

The biggest shock of all comes when Sharon Carter reveals her relation to Peggy. Steve had mentioned Sharon in passing to you, something about her being a cute nurse that lived across the hall from him. You later found out that she was an SHIELD agent, but now she works for the CIA. 

Afterwards, when you’re standing with Steve, keeping him company in the church now that everyone has gone, he starts talking about Peggy. 

Anything and everything he can think of. Some of it inaudible from his tears, but he gets it all out and off of his chest, which is what he needed. He’s a mess, holding onto the church pews for stability that he knows he’ll never feel again, not with Peggy gone. 

You gather him in your arms again, fingers splayed at the back of his head, holding him close. Moments like this make you miss Bucky even more. Not only is he your soulmate, but he’s Steve’s best friend. The person who, alongside Peggy, is who Steve needs most right now. 

The good news is that Bucky’s feelings have been relatively normal lately. He hasn’t been the Soldier since he left D.C. that day. You would’ve felt it, and what you’re feeling, is nothing like before. 

Exiting the church, you see Sam standing under a tree, his phone pressed to his ear. You know he’s talking to your best friend, that’s for sure. She wasn’t able to come because of work. You also see Sharon glancing over at Steve, so you quietly slip away to join Sam, giving Steve the chance to talk to Sharon like you know he’s been dying to do. 

Sam continues talking to your best friend and you try not to eavesdrop, but mostly, you’re just feeling.

You think it’s because Bucky hasn’t been himself — without the Soldier’s mindset — in a very long time, but for the past year or so, you’ve had moments like these where all you can do is feel. Take it all in. 

You haven’t felt any overwhelmingly happy emotions from him by any means, but you’ve felt...peace. He’s anxious almost constantly, which you understand, and you desperately wish he was here for you to help him. Right now, he seems to be at peace. You’re not sure what caused it or how, but you hope, if anything, that he’s sleeping. 

In your most recent dream of him, that’s exactly what he was doing. Sleeping peacefully next to you. And when you shifted, he woke, only for a moment, to wrap his arm around your waist and pull you closer. Nuzzling your neck with his nose, he fell back asleep, but not before placing a kiss there. 

You woke that morning with sweaty palms and a stupid smile on your lips. 

“Are you signing it?” You vaguely hear your best friend ask through Sam’s phone.

You blink, tuning back into their conversation. 

Sam shakes his head. “I don’t like it. Steve doesn’t like it either.”

“What? What’s going on?” You ask, patting his arm to get his attention.

“The Sokovia Accords,” Sam explains lowly. “We wrecked shit—”

“I heard,” you grimace. “Not a good look for you guys.”

“Yeah, the Secretary of State didn’t think so either,” Sam scoffs, arms crossed over his chest. “Anyway, they slammed us with the Accords and it’s— They want us to sign our rights away, basically.”

“What?” You nearly yell. “You’re serious?”

“Deathly,” he nods. “Rhodes thinks we’re being dramatic, Tony too.”

“Great,” you groan. “Who else is signing?” 

“Natasha. Vision. I think that’s it.” Sam shakes his head. “Steve and I seem to be the only bastards with our heads on straight, but obviously they don’t see it that way.”

“That’s...I’m sorry,” you groan. “What’s this about, anyway? You took the bad guys down in Sokovia, wasn’t that the point? I know there was a lot of collateral damage, but...that happens no matter what. Avengers being there or not.”

“It’s not just Sokovia,” Sam sighs. “New York, too. And others. The guy had a whole damn presentation.” He shakes his head again, clearly torn up about it all. “They want to oversee us. Control us, basically. Tell us where we can and can’t go. And I just— I can’t do that. If I feel like someplace needs our help, we have to go. But if we sign that, then the government can tell us not to — or arrest us if we do. It’s not right.”

“I hear you,” you assure him. “I wish there was a way to amend it. They didn’t let you talk about it?”

“Nope,” he says. “Just slapped the book down on the table and said we had until today to figure out what we’re going to do. But basically said if we don’t sign, we’d be going to prison.”

Your eyes widen. “Prison?”

“If we go somewhere, which is inevitable. They’d be able to get us with anything. Probably bring up old charges just to get a headstart.”

“Fuck, Sam,” you say. “This is shit.”

“You’re telling me,” he mutters. He says goodbye to your best friend, her break from work ending way too soon for his liking -- you can tell by the frown he wears after he hangs up. “Anyway. Want a drink?”

You shake your head at his sudden subject change, and the fact that it’s still the early afternoon, but you agree nonetheless.

+++

The drink doesn’t happen. Well, you make it to the bar, but when you do, you’re met with the onslaught of news stations reporting a freak bombing in Vienna.

“Shit,” Sam cusses. “Where’s Steve?”

“He was with Sharon,” you explain, trailing behind him.

You share a worried look before starting to jog, back to the hotel they’re all staying at. He finds Steve by the elevator with Sharon -- interrupting a moment, by the looks of it, which you feel bad about, but you shove it away, reminding yourself of what’s just happened.

Sharon paces in her hotel room, on the phone, trying to get some answers. The TV screen shows a scene fit for nightmares. The UN Complex was bombed. The same complex that the signing of the Sokovia Accords was supposed to occur in today.

“Officials have released a video of a suspect, who they have identified as James Buchanan Barnes, The Winter Soldier.”

Your heart stops. 

You stumble backwards, nearly falling on your ass if it weren’t for Sam reaching out to steady you. 

“That’s impossible-- It-- I would’ve felt him turn,” you swallow around the lump in your throat, the bile threatening to rise. “I-- That’s not him. I don’t know who that is, but it’s not him.”

“It’s his face,” Sharon says quietly, not intending to be rude at all, you hope, but that’s how you take it.

“I know my soulmate,” you argue, shaking your head. “That’s not him.”

The room is quiet. Steve glances your way, but you don’t meet his eyes. He doesn’t believe you. You know he doesn’t. Why would he? The proof is clear as day, right there on the TV screen. It’s obviously Bucky’s face.

But it’s not him. You don’t know how, but it isn’t. You’re sure of it.

You knew it was him two years ago in D.C. You have to trust yourself again.

“I have to go to work,” Sharon breaks the silence, looking at Steve. “I imagine you’re coming too?”

“Yeah,” Steve nods, then looks at you.

You glare right back at him. “I’m coming. Don’t argue with me.”

He doesn’t.

+++

An hour passes and lands the four of you in Austria. Sharon takes off to work while Steve, Sam, and you figure out your plan.

Steve talked with Sharon and made a deal. She’s going to give you the best head start she can, but she said she can’t promise anything. 

You and Sam find a random cafe to fall into, ordering something to eat to blend in while Steve talks to Natasha.

He comes back ten minutes later, looking less than pleased.

“She tell you to stay out of it?” Sam asks.

Steve is quiet. That’s a yes.

“Might have a point,” Sam shrugs. You almost hit him.

“He’d do it for me,” Steve replies firmly.

“1945, maybe.”

“Sam,” you warn, giving him a fierce look.

“I just wanna make sure we consider all our options,” Sam defends. “The people that shoot at you, usually wind up shooting at me. And since we’ve got a tagalong--”

“Shut it, Wingman,” you do hit him this time on the back of the head. “I’m coming. You act like I don’t have any gear on me right now.”

Both men turn to look at you.

You give them an incredulous look back. “Come on. After what happened in D.C. you really expect me not to walk around with a bullet proof vest on?”

“You got a gun?” Sam asks, taunting.

“Snuck right past airport security,” you mutter, tapping your hip with his leg so he’ll feel it. “Shut up about it.”

“You’re the one who brought it up.”

“Because I’m tired of you acting like I’m some fourteen year old. I’ve been taking daily self-defense and combat courses for the past two years. I had to take care of myself somehow. I’ll be fine. And I’m coming with you. End of story.”

Both men share a look before shrugging, admitting defeat. Finally.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you see Sharon walking into the café. 

She steps in next to Steve at the bar, talking straight ahead to not draw any attention. “Tips have been pouring in since that footage went public. Everyone thinks The Winter Soldier goes to their gym. Most of it’s noise. Except for this.” She gently slides him a pack of papers. “My boss expects a briefing, pretty much now, so that’s all the headstart you’re gonna get.”

“Thank you,” Steve says quietly.

“You’re gonna have to hurry,” she whispers, avoiding your eyes. “We have orders to shoot on sight.”

Chills run down your spine and spread out through your hands and toes. Fuck.

“We have to go,” you say evenly, not looking at Steve or Sam.

We have orders to shoot on sight.

Not if you can help it.

[teamhappyme]

my world is grey without you

pairing: nick amaro x reader

warnings: tissues. this is not happy.

word count: 1.7k

a/n: this is pure sadness. i am so sorry, it is all hurt and the smallest pin point of comfort. my first nick amaro fic, and it’s gonna be ~heartbreaking~ but this idea has been in my head for weeks. hope you enjoy some of the pain im serving. 

****

You think Mother Nature must be in tune to your emotions, when you wake up that early May morning. The clouds were grey, rain pouring from the sky, collecting in puddles on the cracked sidewalks of New York City. If you had to describe to someone how you were feeling today, you would just tell them to look outside. You felt as gloomy as it was in the city today. 

Normally, your walk to the coffee shop was bright and full of sunshine, especially during spring. The flowers were starting to bloom, the sun was staying out longer, and the weather finally started to reach past sixty degrees. Instead it was filled with droopy tulips and black umbrellas covering everyone’s faces. 

You got your usual order, and one black coffee to go, hailing a cab across town to your destination. You planned on walking yesterday; the half hour walk would help clear your head and calm your nerves. But today, it would only leave you wet and cold.

Once you pulled up to the brick apartment building, you paid the driver and quickly ran up the stoop and into the entrance. You buzzed apartment 3G, and after a few seconds, you were let in. You rode the elevator up to the third floor, your foot tapping against the linoleum floor the entire time. 

You stepped out and took a right down the hall, stopping at the fourth door on the left. After three knocks, the door swung open, and there stood the man of the hour.

“Hey, Nick.” you gave him a small smile, lifting the black coffee you got for him on your way here. “I know it’s early, but I figured this may help you with any last minute packing.”

“I,” he started, running a hand through his hair, “what are you doing here?”

“What, you think you can just leave without a proper send off from your partner? Besides, I’ve owed you this coffee for three years. I had to pay up before you left.”

That got a smile out of him, as he reached for the coffee, and opened the door up a little wider. 

“Come on in,” the foyer of Nick Amaro’s apartment usually greeted you with an onslaught of pictures of Zara and Gil, accompanied by many drawings and art projects from the young girl. Now on his last morning here, the walls were stark white, void of anyone ever living here.

“I can’t believe you got this place packed up so fast. It took us a whole day just to get that giant brown couch into the apartment.” You said, as your eyes looked over what was once the living room. 

“Well, that’s what movers are for.” He followed in behind you, taking in the apartment he called home for the last two years. He moved in to the first place he could find, not wanting to spend another minute thinking about living without his baby girl. “I would offer you a seat, but my furniture is in a u-haul, probably crossing Kansas right about now.”

You smiled, as you crossed your ankles and sat criss cross applesauce on the hardwood floor. “That’s alright. I prefer the floor anyways, keeps me grounded.”

You were ready for the pointed stare you got from him, only making you laugh harder at your awful pun.

“Three years we’ve been partners, and you still have awful jokes I’ve never heard.”

“Hey, I gotta keep you on your toes, Amaro.” he sat down next to you, leaning back on his hands and crossing one foot over the other. You knew there wasn’t much time before he had to head to the airport; you purposely gave yourself a small window to minimize the hurt. “How long do I have you for until you head for the sunshine?”

He looked down at his watch, letting out a small sigh as he checked the time. “My cab will be here in about twenty minutes.”

“Alright. Then we have twenty minutes to make the best cop movie script out of our careers together.”

And for the next twenty minutes, you remembered almost every moment you spent with Detective Nick Amaro. From the first day you met, which had a rocky start, to the day he turned in his papers to be with his kids. There were stories of stakeouts that always included pizza and blaring rock music to keep you awake, monday morning bets on who would be in the precinct last, and endless amounts of coffee runs to keep the other person going. 

There was a lot of trust built between the two of you over the last three years. Nick had been through hell and back in the time you were partnered together, and there was no choice but to trust each other. At work, he needed somebody he could trust without any doubt, and you made it so easy for him. The kindness and empathy you treated him with from the beginning, even when he didn’t deserve it, made a difference in his life. There was no one else he’d trust with his life more than you.

After some time, you two were in sync with one another. You always knew what the other person needed, whether that was a coffee, space, or comfort, the two of you knew what to do. It made work that much easier, it made the bad days that much better, when you didn’t have to tell them how you were feeling; they just knew.

You had just finished the story about your first undercover op together, when his phone lit up.

“My ride is five minutes out.” he said, the trip down memory lane coming to an end. Your smile morphed from a shiny grin, into a small close mouthed line. It was time to say goodbye.

“I’ll walk you out,” you got out, barely above a whisper, as Nick stood up. He held his hand out to you, helping you onto your feet. 

You watched as he grabbed his backpack from his room, patting his pockets to double check he had his phone, wallet, and boarding pass. He took one last look around the place before walking out and closing the door behind him for the last time. 

The elevator ride down was quiet, you spent those thirty seconds regulating your breathing and swallowing the growing lump in the back of your throat. This wasn’t about you.

Once the doors opened to the lobby, you felt soft fingers inching their way into your palm, lighty holding you together. You looked over at Nick, slowly, but he was looking straight ahead. You saw the twitch in his jaw, and the bob of his adam’s apple, and you knew he was holding back his own tears.

Moving your hand the slightest bit, your fingers fell into place with his. You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, before following him out.

The rain had subsided considerably since you arrived, the downpour now more of a spring mist. You stood at the edge of the sidewalk with him for a few minutes, until he got the notification that the car was only five blocks away.

“Well, are you ready to turn into a Cali boy?” you asked, finally turning to see his face. 

“I’m ready for no more New York winters. I am gonna miss just about everything else, though.”

“But you’ll have Zara, and Gil, and that’s all that really matters.” you said with a smile, while gently letting go of his hand. “Besides, I’ll make sure to send you endless videos of me shoveling myself out of my apartment building, just to let you know you made the right decision.”

“Please, please keep that promise and send me those videos. There is nothing more amusing than you swearing at snow.” you rolled your eyes, and nudged his shoulder in annoyance. 

Instead of bouncing back off his body, you felt his arm snake around your waist. You leaned into his touch, letting your head rest on his shoulder. You felt the exhale of his breath before you heard it, along with the rapid beating of his heart.

“I’m gonna miss you, you know,” he started, as you focused on the way his fingers were moving up and down along your hip. “I wouldn’t have made it through everything without you.”

“I was your partner,” you said, the past tense already tasting like bile on your tongue. “I would’ve done anything for you. And I know you would’ve done anything for me.” You turned your head the slightest bit, just enough to see his face. “I’m gonna miss you too. More than I already do.”

He looked down at you, his brown eyes full of emotion and tears. His eyes flickered to your lips for the smallest moment, and you nodded, giving in to the moment, and the man you cared so much for.

His lips met yours in a chaste kiss, just long enough for you to remember what it felt like to hold Nick Amaro this close. 

He pulled away, gently resting his forehead against your own. You let the moment last as long as it could, before the inevitable beep left Nick’s phone. They were here.

You pulled away from him, your waist growing cold without his arm wrapped around you. There was a beep from a blue car a few cars up, and you let out a sigh.

“Your ride’s here, Cali boy.” you said with a smile, wiping away the stray tear that traced your cheek. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“I won’t. Call me, whenever you need me, alright?” you nodded, trying to memorize the smile on his face. He found your hand one last time, giving it a comforting squeeze. 

“I will. Now, go, you’re gonna miss your flight if you hit any lunch traffic.” He looked up the street to the cab, before looking back at you.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, and then your lips one last time. 

“I’ll see you later, y/n/n.” he said, and you watched him walk down the streets of New York City for the last time. 

But you knew you would cross paths with Nick Amaro again one day.

****

tags: @hurricanejjareau @qvid-pro-qvo @crazyshannonigans

[tiredkeys]

Strider Bros with an s/o who’s very used to pain, but laughs it off

i have a request, if that's ok!! the strider bros with someone who's very used to pain and getting beat up and covered in bandaids/bandages daily?? but she laughs it off and no matter how hurt she gets, she's always so kind and trusting towards others and very physically affectionate. she acts pretty memey and breezy alot of times, but she will try and fight back if someone tries to hurt those she loves,,ahh sorry if this is too much, i kinda projected here,,,sorryy

Requested by anon

Oops this one is really long, I really enjoyed this and got a little carried away...

Requests are open!

Dave

Oh man

Oh man oh man

He got this exact same treatment from bro and he is devastated you have so many bandages on you all the time

Like? You both are out with some friends and someone twists their ankle

And you, at the speed of light, have some bandage out and their foot is fixed up in no time

On god, he almost starts crying on the spot because only boy scouts are supposed to know that and he knows you needed to know how to patch yourself up but you shouldn’t have needed to repair yourself so quickly and GOD

Honestly, he’s convinced you don’t have a right elbow because it always has a colorful bandaid on it

Speaking of bandaids, sometimes he’ll draw stars or hearts or just doodle on ones that cover paper cuts or that are wrapped around your fingers

He always asks first and he’s just so careful

When y’all first got together, you learned very quickly that he is NOT physically affectionate

He loves you so so much, and he hates it that his instinct is to flinch away when you brush up against him or go to hold his hand

It takes him quite a while, waiting for you to initiate and several sweaty palms that he doesn’t quite know what to do with, but when he does get comfortable showing affection around you? He’s so touchy

He’s not a huge fan of PDA (the cool kid facade is still strong) but in private, he just want cuddles and he wants them now

But he’s so so gentle, especially when you have new injuries

Often times, he will hold your arm and trace some older scars you have while y’all watch movies

And even when he accidentally puts too much pressure on a new cut, or his pointy elbows hit a soft spot, you’re smiling at him and cracking jokes while he apologizes for the next ten minutes

He’s baffled by you in the best way possible

He sees someone you care about being bullied for something and you are up and defending them SO FAST

It looks like you’re a hair’s breadth away from throwing punches 

And he’s astounded

The change in you demeanor was so fast

And his first instinct is to be worried, then the bully leaves, and he’s still worried

But god he is so proud of you

I mean, he’s seen some of the bruises you have

But you just are so trusting and nice and soft towards others, you have no bitterness in your heart and he has no idea how you do it

Your constant vulnerability so revolutionary to him 

One time, he accidentally walked in on you touching up your bandages

This beating was particularly bad, injuries stretching from just below your collarbone to around your ribs into your lower back

And he cannot move

He’s stuck in the doorway for a solid minute before you notice him

Shooting him your most convincing smile, some sluggish finger guns and a quick jipe you’re back to fixing yourself

“All these colors are really making me look like a piece of art, aren’t they?”

Oh my god he doesn’t know what to do

He just stands there until you’re done

“Who did this to you?”

Whether its a guardian, bully, or just a stranger, his heart still drops

He’ll make sure you are as comfortable as possible, in bed with snacks, drinks and a book or movie

He’ll crawl in next to you and pretend to be invested in whatever you are doing

But he’s crying

It’s hard to tell because he still has his shades on, and you don’t actually notice until you see him swiping at his face

You have to push his glasses up into his hair so he will look you in the eye

Y’all talk a lot that night

You wake  in the morning and bathed in the sunlight and Dave wrapped around you like a blanket of protection

And you are safe

Dirk

I mean, he’s had his fair share of fighting robots so he’s pretty scared up right along with you

He’ll totally be up for comparing scars and stories about them

You got any you’re insecure about? He might not know how to comfort you but he will most definitely sit down with you and try and distract you

He sometimes forgets that you are as used to pain as he is and it's like a cold slap when you get hurt and shake it off

I mean, your pain tolerance is through the roof

You get hurt, say something like, oh this is nothing and he’s like so?? We are getting you patched up

And he will pick you up and will not let you move until you are fully bandaged, even if he knows you can do it yourself

On the flip side of that, when he gets busted up, he is always starstruck when you pull out the proper medical equipment and heal him up

Fixing up his twisted wrist, and he’s just staring at you because you’re just so gentle and caring with him, he feels so safe

Whenever he makes his own bandages and splints, he always ended up wrapping them up a little too tight, not enough to actually cut off blood flow, but enough that it was always more uncomfortable than it needed to be

Once, someone tried to pick a fight with him, and he just kinda squared up and went “ight i'm going to get decked this time”

And you BUST DOWN to DEFEND HIS HONOR and it's so scary

The offender? Flees so quickly at the sight of you, in a rage, and this anime character lookin dude, about to be in a rage because that kind of passion is contagious 

But he’s so oblivious to your advances it isn’t even funny

He’s a little caught in his self-hate to even consider that you might be into him

Because what on Earth would you ever see in him?

Also, he is not a touchy person!!

He has -5 experience with physical contact and he will literally jump out of your arms he is so perturbed

You go into hug him one time and he zips off so fast and you don’t see him for quite a while

Did you move too fast? Did you hurt him?

Nope, he’s just cooling himself down

Despite his best efforts, he can not keep a cool face around you

Even when you’re gently punching his arm or touching his shoulder as you brush past, he will get so flustered so fast. There's just nothing he can do about it

One time, you cornered him about it

Not even flash stepping could save this fellow from your onslaught of questions

Does he hate you? You stopped your bigger physical affections long ago and while you know that he really doesn’t get a lot of that but would he like you to stop? It’s alright if he does, you’d just like some verbal confirmation. I mean, you really really like him and your love language is touch, but if he isn’t okay with it he isn’t okay! And if he doesn’t reciprocate your romantic sentiments towards you, it’s all alright! He shouldn’t feel pressured to do anything he doesn’t want and... Man, you’ve really gotten off track here. You’ve said far too much but you mean all of it. Is he okay?

Even with the added defenses of his tinted glasses and his rock-hard demeanor, you can see he’s shaking

This, to you, is not a good sign and you begin to backpedal like HELL

While you’re chattering away, he is going over his options in his head after it stopped yelling and the list looks like this:

You’re lying to him and this is a joke

You’re not lying, but would be miserable in a relationship with him

You’re not lying and both of you would put the effort into a relationship and it would be beautiful

He decides to take his chances

Grasping your wrists to effectively stop the word soup spewing out of you, he lets you know how he feels

He also really likes you, like… you know… but it terrifies him, just like you do! You’re always beat up and those weak excuses really won’t work much longer, and you care so much and that’s so scary, so breathtakingly scary, and you’re so funny and easy to talk to and he knows he’s not used to touching people, or just people at all, but if you'd like to teach him, that’d be okay. Someone has to watch your back, anyways. 

And that’s the whole story right there, folks

Stay safe! Thank you for reading!

[lokidrabbles]

Stop, And Think of Me (Loki x Reader)

After an incident at work, Loki provides reader with his own comforting methods

A/N: Another quick oneshot dealing with some work related stress, Loki fluff and smut. Again, thank you all for the follows and likes on my little stories :) As always, Gender Neutral Reader!

Warnings: Implied smut, lewd imagery, but fluff n’ stuff too!

A worker, the one Maria Hill, who still held some ambivalence towards Loki, was the one to inform him of what had happened earlier that day and why you had been dismissed.

The details of the situation were scattered. Your workplace at the facility had provided you with a sudden wave of paperwork, meetings, drills and overtime needed after another inter dimensional threat was discovered. Luckily no catastrophic worldwide panic was caused, as the Avengers meticulously took care of business. Through the midst of it all, there was some ongoing entanglement between the lower departments of the facility, with certain protocols having gone ignored and undetected by supervisors and authority figures. Whatever, or whoever had majorly fucked up, had decided to use you as a scapegoat to evade any type of consequences, throwing you in as the ‘newbie’ who had gone over everyone.

Loki admired your ability to defend yourself well with your own ability of verbal intervention, using your sharp tongue as weapon against anyone wronging you or him. You were quick witted, confident, and unafraid to speak your mind towards anyone. Whatever fool had wanted to try at you in this way wouldn’t have gotten the chance to defend themselves.

Never did he actually expect you to have utilized you own physical strength to justly give this person a broken nose.

Hill described the brawl being very brief as security was immediately called in to break you up. Luckily, no charges were pressed and Mr. Stark took the situation casually, finding it normal for seeming coworkers to punch the crap out of each other in this line of work. A good way to say no one was fired.

You were promptly sent home to ‘think about your actions’, but most importantly to cool off as you had become quite shaken up. Normally a situation like this wouldn’t have warranted his attention as it seemed things worked out on their own. You were an adult, who was more than capable of taking care of themselves, and probably wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon in privacy.

Despite these thoughts, Loki knew he’d find you in your home, and a certain obligation tugged at him endlessly. After all, what type of man would he be if he didn’t?

He would soon make way to your home (entering with complete disregard), and would find you shriveled up in your bed. From your dampened hair, he figured you had taken a much needed, life altering bath. The pressure of it all must have been to much for you to bear. Loki had noted how your gaze became hollowed, barely looking up to see him enter your bedroom.

“I guess you heard about my little episode.” You said flatly.

“Indeed. I have to admit, I’m quite impressed at the damage you left behind. Remind me to never get on your bad side.” He said while sitting at the edge of your bed.

You groaned, turning around for your back to face him. “What was I thinking? I totally lost myself back there.”

Loki inched up closer to you, beginning to meticulously straighten out your wet locks of hair. “You were defending yourself, were you not? I know you to be a level headed individual most of the time. I’d take it this person really hit a nerve.”

“Yeah, they were totally out of line! Calling me out in front of our department supervisor and calling me a ‘newbie’. Dickhead.”

“Oh, how I much I would have loved to see your pretty little knuckles land on this fool’s face.” He said teasingly, while still threading his fingers through your hair.

“It was totally awesome, don’t get me wrong. But I still feel like garbage.”

“Care to elaborate?”

He felt your chest rise with a deep inhale, and slowly fall down as you released. “Because, I shouldn’t have done that. I lost control over my temper again. I mean, it’s been a while but I didn’t think it would go like this.”

He noticed how your voice became smaller. This was something more than having an altercation with a coworker. This was something much more internalized, and Loki had come to know and understand your telltale signs very closely. You’d turn away, avoiding to see him in the eyes. You’d begin to take in deep inhales to control your breath. And your voice would begin to crack as the discomforting lump in your throat began to rise.

Loki wasn’t alien to comfort. In his childhood, Frigga would be his stone and the bearer of his doubts and worries. There were still times where Loki would remind himself of her sweet aroma and soft hair, caressing him dearly with intent and love. The memories of the late queen would forever linger with him, perhaps as a lesson for whoever would capture the Asgardian’s fondness.

A sniffle broke his thought process, and soon he saw how your body wracked with an onslaught of sobs and tears.

There was instinct which rose within Loki, a mixture of fury, protection, hesitation and warranted worry. His first flashing thought was to find the person responsible for causing you this pain, and swiftly burying a sharp object into their neck, but due to ‘certain restrictions,’ this would only make things much more difficult. Instead, he would provide you with what you needed at the moment.

“(Y/N),” He began, speaking carefully. “Turn around.”

You did as you were told, and you turned around to come face to face with the dark haired prince. Giant droplets dripped downwards, falling almost beautifully at the edge of your jaw. Uncontrollable sobs made it difficult for you to breath and articulate any type of explanation to him. Loki didn’t need you to explain however, as he knew exactly the conflict going within you. Loki understood sadness and shame very well. And perhaps, these were the most human emotions to use in efforts to connect to you.

He cradled your head justly into the crook of his neck, unbothered by the wetness coming from your face and nose. His arm cradled around your shoulders, holding you tightly and secure against his chest, close enough for you to feel the heavy beating in his chest. He encouraged you to drape your legs over his lap to support your whole weight onto him, as well as leading your arm around his shoulder. Your shudders continued, and he allowed you to experience everything within his embrace. He tenderly kissed your temple, murmuring sweet nothings and words of protection until your sobs stabilized.

“I don’t like seeing you this way.” He whispered into your ear, as if it would be only confessed to you.

“I'm sorry.” You said in between trembling lips.

“Stupid human. Don’t apologize for being upset.” He snarled.

“Ugh.” You let out an unappealing groan. “I c-can’t go back like this.”

“You won’t, because you will only show your vulnerability with me. Understand?”

He meant it. It made him physically uncomfortable to see you in this state, however it also sickened him to the core at the possibility of someone else wrapping their arms around you and allowing you to pour your tears onto them. For you, to have to resort to someone unworthy to bring you contentment? Unthinkable. As far as he knew, Loki was the only one who would witness this, and the only one who would provide you with the tenderness and care you needed. 

“This individual was fortunate enough to only obtain a bloody nose from you.” He continued. “I’m sure I would be back in handcuffs and some type of cell if I was there.”

“Hmm?”

“I would have murdered them.”

You chuckled in between sniffles, and Loki could only imagine a small smile forming over your cheeks. “That’s horrible to say.” “Perhaps.”

You shifted within his embrace, just enough for your tear stained face to come close to his own. Loki felt your lips softly brush past his, and then return for a much needed kiss. He felt your small hand push the back of his head deeper into your taste, to which he eagerly reciprocated. You coaxed him to lay over you, and soon he would lean forward into you, pushing you softly onto your bed. You wrapped your arms justly around his neck as moans of contentment escaped the corners of your mouth. He returned these with his own guttural groans, taking in the sweet nectar of your mouth. He felt the heat rise in your face and his mind began to cloud with lewd details of his drippings all over your bare body. Indeed, no other individual would be able to bring this level of pleasure to you, or even begin to comprehend just exactly what your body needed. Only he was capable of such comprehension, and only his fingers, hands, lips and body were good enough to draw out the poison in you and replace with pure ecstasy and reverence.

He broke the kiss temporarily, catching his breath. He gazed at your glassy eyes, full of desire, and practically begging him to resume exploring your mouth.

“Feeling better, are we?” He asked with a satisfied smirk.

You nodded slowly, licking your lips over his remaining spit.

“Do you wish for me to continue? You know once I begin, I won’t stop.” He said, as if warning you for what was about to come.

“I know.” You responded self-assuredly. He loved it, your willingness to completely be pleased by his own doing and allowing whatever carnal desire he held back to be released onto you.

“Little human.” He began, trailing kisses from your salty cheek, and then all the way down your neck. “You will forget about all your troubles from today. I will fuck you endlessly, because you deserve a good fucking.”

“Loki, I-” You began, but he interjected immediately.

“No. Listen to me well. There will be no more hesitation with any of that. All I want to hear from you are those obscene sounds coming from your lips as I bury myself deep in you. Do you understand?”

“You’re gorgeous.” You said in a breathy manner.

Loki took you for the remainder of the day, lovingly and longingly. Your two bodies would join each other, sharing each other’s heat and sweat, providing you with the necessary distraction from your own turbulence, and providing Loki with a self-fulfilling deposition. You were his and no other man or woman could even possibly come close.

[danco110]

If you ever start thinking “Hey, maybe I have too many Commander decks,” let me tell you: you don’t. I do:

WARNING!!! EXTREMELY long post below, describing each deck and a brief summary of its strategy in overly abbreviated and nerdy Commander lingo. I mean, I’m talking a real wall of text, here. I mean it! Read more at your own risk!

——

——

THE A-TEAM: These decks have all been around for a while, and have all seen their fair share of wins.

-Jhoira, Weatherlight Captain. Artifact storm, and probably the closest I’ll ever come to cedh. WARNING: my Mana Crypt is in here!

Gisela, Blade of Goldnight. OHKO tribal. Seeks to blast people wide open with either Embercleave, Kaya’s Onslaught, or Uncaged Fury.

-Bruna, Light of Alabaster. Voltron that can either play nice and fetch Eldrazi Conscription, or not, and grab Spectra Ward.

-Sigarda, Heron’s Grace. Human tokens tribal, and the rightful recipient of my only Doubling Season.

-Admiral Beckett Brass. Pirate tribal. Taking commanders and wincons is fun. WARNING: somewhat unfun to play against!

-Gishath, Sun’s Avatar. Dino tribal.

-Hallar, the Firefletcher. Kicker tribal.

-Syr Gwyn of Ashvale. Knights and equipments and equip 0 Colossal Hammers.

-Nikya of the Old Ways. A creatures-only deck that probably has more interaction than most of my other decks!

-Atemsis, All Seeing. Azor’s Gateway / Twiddlestorm / Untap shenanigans. WARNING: somewhat unfun to play against!

-Gnostro, Voice of the Crags. Flicker tribal with a non-Narset commander so as to not draw too much heat.

-Imoti, Celebrant of Bounty. Cascade / big spells / Simic is broken change my mind / tribal

-Aragon, Roar of the World. Cat tribal, and my first-ever Commander deck!

——

THE B-TEAM: My decks with fairly good performance across their games, independent of wins and losses

-Halana, Kessig Trapper and Alena, Kessig Ranger (Partner). Big bodies / EtB tribal.

-Khorvath Brightflame and Sylvia Brightspear (Partner). Knights and dragons tribal.

-Virtus, the Veiled and Gorm, the Great (Partner). Quietus Spike / force block shenanigans. WARNING: somewhat unfun to play against!

-Linvala, Shield of Sea Gate. Azorius party aggro.

-Zagras, Thief of Heartbeats. Phantom Rakdos party control.

-Tazri, Beacon of Unity. 5C party +1/+1 counters.

-Kazarov, Senior Pureblood. “I can’t play against Krenko anymore today” Pyroclasm tribal.

-Liesa, Shroud of Dusk. Angel and demon tribal (NOTE: no synergy there, I just wanted to stick to the flavor of “alliance with a demon lord”)

-Orah, Skyclave Hierophant. Clerics tribal that always tries for an Angel of Destiny win before it (always) defers back to aristocrats.

-Bruna, the Fading Light. Angel tribal that tries to meld Brisela every game.

-Anafenza, the Foremost. +1/+1 counters tribal, and the deck that made me realize Outlast really should’ve been instant-speed.

-Samut, Voice of Dissent. Exert tribal with vigilance, untap, and extra combats.

-Juri, Master of the Revue. Sacrifice tribal, with a burn subtheme.

-Kalemne, Disciple of Iroas. Big tribal, and the deck that made me realize Experience counters were busted. Run Suncleanser, people!

-Quintorius, Field Historian. Reanimate and blow up your graveyard. Also, Purify the Grave is hilarious!

-Vaevictis Asmadi, the Dire. Chaos warp tribal, and a Primal Surge deck that doesn’t have Primal Surge because that card is extremely boring.

-Ishkanah, Grafwidow. Spider tribal that seeks to make opponents forget about Ishkanah’s activated ability until it’s too late.

-Omnath, Locus of the Roil. Landfall and elementals.

-Savra, Queen of the Golgari. Grave Pact tribal. WARNING: somewhat unfun to play against!

-Feather, the Redeemed. Haha, combat tricks go brrrrrr!

-Adeliz, the Cinder Wind. Wizards spellslinger aggro. Also one of the few decks of mine that actually uses cantrips!

-Aryel, Knight of Windgrace. Knights tribal with a removal/control subtheme.

-Aurelia, Exemplar of Justice. Mentor + Double Strike tribal. I only built this deck because I pulled a borderless Outlaws’ Merriment, ok?

-Araumi of the Dead Tide. Self mill encore, and the deck that made me appreciate the singleton rule in Commander.

-Kaza, Roil Chaser. Big spells. BIG! I mean, Electrodominance for 10, into a Karn’s Temporal Sundering, big!

——

THE C-TEAM: My decks that just don’t cut it at a lot of pods, sometimes even against those at appropriate power levels. That being said, however, these tend to be my more storied decks, that I still enjoy playing.

-Syr Alin, the Lion’s Claw. Mono-White go wide, with commons and uncommons only. Part of my cycle of Eldraine uncommon legendary knight decks, 1/5.

-Syr Elenora, the Discerning. Mono-Blue Voltron + draw power, with commons and uncommons only, 2/5.

-Syr Konrad, the Grim. Mono-Black aristocrats...kind of...? It’s complicated, but with commons and uncommons only, 3/5.

-Syr Carah, the Bold. Mono-Red storm, with rares and mythics for Underworld Breach and Past in Flames, because I feel like storm needs those, 4/5.

-Syr Faren, the Hengehammer. Mono-Green infect, with rares and mythics for Phyrexian Swarmlord, because I really wanted a deck that could run that, 5/5.

-Jodah, Archmage Eternal. Avengers Assemble! legendary tribal. I had a lot of bulk legends at the time, and wanted to make something of them!

-Abomination of Llanowar. Literal elf ball. Built in response to my irritation at someone’s Lathril, Blade of the Elves deck.

-Licia, Sanguine Tribute. Lifegain is good, I swear, built in response to my disbelief at the $200 price tag on a store-built Licia deck. Mine costs maybe $100, if you count the sleeves and box?

-Thalisse, Reverent Medium. Tokens tribal that breaks Anointed Procession even further, which made me wonder why green gets all the token doublers *cough*adrixandnev*cough*

-Hamza, Guardian of Arashin. +1/+1 counters, with commons and uncommons only, built because someone at my store wanted to play commons and uncommons only with an uncommon Commander. Thanks for getting me into Artisan Commander, Will!

-Siona, Captain of the Pyleas. Enchantress, with a tokens subtheme. Built because I and a friend both commented that she looked like Wonder Woman.

-Mina and Denn, Wildborn (NOT Partner). Landfall aggro, with all the creatures that pump on landfall.

-Ghired, Conclave Exile. Populate and tokens. Built because I was bored one Saturday and saw I had an extra set of sleeves.

-Obuun, Mul Daya Ancestor. Landfall tribal, (again? Sheesh!) built the same lazy Saturday as Ghired, above.

-Armix, Filigree Familiar and Eligeth, Crossroads Augur (YES Partner). Artifact tribal, with a super janky 4-piece Marionette Master loop wincon! Built because Eligeth turns Preordain into “Draw 2 cards, then draw a card.”

-Akiri, Fearless Voyager. Equipment tribal, with an asymmetrical boardwipe subtheme. Built because I pulled an Akiri from a pack, and someone said “ooh, sorry,” from over my shoulder.

-Exava, Rakdos Blood Witch. Unleash counters tribal. Built because I found a Chaos Imps in my bulk!

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THE MEME-TEAM: These decks...are. Yeah, they are. Not necessarily good or bad. Just...are.

-Kenrith, the Returned King. The game plan is “Get to Trostani’s Summoner, and either flicker it or make a bajillion copies of it.” One day, I found a card named Trostani’s Summoner, and it was love at first sight! My Demonic Tutor went in here!

-Phylath, World Sculptor. Landfall tribal...with 99 basic land cards.

-Rograkh, Son of Rogahh and Keleth, Sunmane Familiar. (Partner) Kill one guy and die tribal.

-Etrata the Silencer. The “I wanted a non-Koma Mirror Gallery deck” deck. Also with a guest appearance from flicker!

-Lazav, Dimir Mastermind. Literally just “Oops! All Control!” Draw, counter, and remove. WARNING: don’t play against this.

-Ravos, Soultender and Livio, Oathsworn Sentinel. (Partner) War of attrition, etb and control. WARNING: don’t play against this. It has like 15 boardwipes!

-Valki, God of Lies / Tibalt, Cosmic Imposter. (NOT Partner) “I want to piss off the table” tribal. It mills your opponents, it plays their stuff, and it removes the stuff it doesn’t play. WARNING: don’t play against this. It runs Jokulhaups, Obliterate, and Decree of Annihilation!

-Svella, Ice Shaper. Colossal Dreadmaw tribal, as in, anything that’s roughly 6/6 makes the cut! It’s actually won games!

-Brion Stoutarm. Hijack and fling tribal. “You know, I’ve never had an Eldrazi titan before. Can I borrow it? Well, see, I wasn’t exactly...asking...?”

-Grumgully, the Generous. Non-human “uno mas” tribal. Tries to run all the counters cards like Renata and the Rhythm of the Wild.

-Subira, Tuzuldi Caravaneer. Small tribal. Just think “mono-r blitz in Commander,” and you’ll get the gist.

-Neheb, the Worthy. Minotaurs and discard tribal. Not as oppressive as Tinybones, or as explosive as Nath, and that’s a good thing. Trust me.

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THE ALL-RAVNICAN REJECTS: These decks are... *sniff* no longer with us. They were broken down for pieces, for sleeves, or because I slept through each time I played them.

-Najeela, the Blade Blossom. Boring warriors extra combat steps. Broken because I wanted her tri-lands, and I wanted some of her warriors for my party decks.

-Golos, Tireless Pilgrim. Maze’s End lands. Golos is broken and we all know it. Broken for sleeves, and because my first land tutor was always Field of the Dead because of the incoming hate, and not Maze’s End, and I wasn’t happy with that.

-Arcades, the Strategist. Walls. As it turns out, not a lot of decks can contest 3-mana 8/8’s. And against those that could, the deck was put in the ground extremely quickly. Broken because it just wasn’t fun to play.

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THE DRAWING BOARD: These decks are in the works. Will they see the light of day, and the protection of sleeves? Well, we’ll see, will we not?

-Borborygmos. Go wide and SMASH! My first attempt at a pile of cards; I’m trying for a goblins/saproling hybrid tribal, because both make lots of tokens, but we’ll see how well that translates into actual play.

-Jor Kadeen, the Prevailer. Thopters and artificers and myr, oh my! All joking aside, I just wanted a deck that wants to run cards with Fabricate, because I thought it was a really cool mechanic!

-Garna, the Bloodflame. Reanimator/sacrifice, AKA corpse carousel. It’s a revolving door between the graveyard and the battlefield, yknow, and most of my store’s meta does not run graveyard hate.

I tried to warn ‘ya!