#then again i need to pause and remind myself that its a kids show and not worth thinking too much about

[moltage]

Skipper mentions Deutschmarks twice, was he ever involved with the Germans or is it the only currency he knows, i guess we'll never know

[puppym3]

heyaaa!!! if u still do requests, i have a request for minho! if u also havent done this one, but what if u do their song "i like it" about minho ??

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── .✦ 'i love that i like you, but i don't wanna love'

minho x reader

wc: 4.1k

warnings: MDNI! 18+, situationship, fwb, angsty, one-sided pining, minho is an asshole, "i can fix him" reader, awkward, reader is so delusional at the start it's funny, hurt comfort, late confessions, fluffy at end, i heal ur wounds dw, (lmk if i missed any)

a/n: omg anon ur trying to break my heart, as a hopeless romantic this might be my first ever sort of angsty piece. but either way i love "i like it" its literally been on repeat its probs one of my favorites from the album. i loved writing this so much you have no idea, THANK YOU for suggesting!

reminder to not be too delulu, these are just fictional stories that i write to show off my creative writing!! also i have a taglist if you're interested!!!!!

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The city lights glimmered through the window, casting a soft glow across Minho's apartment. The hum of the city outside was a constant reminder of the world continuing on, regardless of the turmoil within. You lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, Minho's arm draped lazily over your waist. The familiar scent of his cologne lingered in the air, a mix of comfort and longing that you had come to know too well.

"Hey," Minho's voice broke through your thoughts. He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you with those piercing eyes that always seemed to see right through you. "You okay?"

You forced a smile, nodding slightly. "Yeah, just thinking."

He sighed, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "You know you can talk to me, right?"

That was the problem. Talking meant opening up, and opening up meant risking the fragile balance you had. Friends with benefits, a situationship, whatever it was, it worked because there were no labels, no expectations. At least, that's what you kept telling yourself.

"Minho," you started, hesitating. The words felt heavy on your tongue, a mix of hope and fear. "What are we doing?"

His expression softened, but there was a flicker of something—uncertainty, maybe?—in his eyes. "We're having fun, aren't we?"

"Yeah, but..." You sat up, pulling the sheets around you like a shield. "Is that all this is? Just fun?"

He ran a hand through his hair, a habit you had come to recognize as his way of stalling for time. "I like what we have, you know that. I just... I,"

You swallowed hard, the words stinging more than you wanted to admit. "And what if I want more?"

Minho's gaze dropped, his silence louder than any answer he could give. 'I like you'—if only it were that easy.

"I can't do this forever, Minho," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I need to know if there's a future here, or if I'm just fooling myself."

He looked back at you, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and confusion. "I'm not ready for anything more right now."

The words hung in the air, a painful confirmation of your deepest fears. You nodded slowly, the ache in your chest spreading. "I understand."

As you got dressed and prepared to leave, Minho reached out, his hand catching yours. "Wait, don't go like this."

You paused, looking at him one last time. "I need to go think."

With that, you slipped out of his grasp, each step away from him feeling heavier than the last. The door closed behind you, the finality of it echoing in the empty hallway.

That night, you cried until your eyes were raw and your head ached until there were no tears left and all that was left was an empty feeling in your chest.

"What are you doing here?"

You saw your best friend standing in your doorway, her brow furrowed with worry. "I needed to see you, you didn't pick up any calls."

You felt the tears starting to form again as she pulled you into her arms. "I'm an idiot," you managed to say in between sobs.

She gently patted your back. "You're not an idiot, he's the idiot."

"He's not an idiot," you said softly.

She held you at arm's length, looking into your eyes. "Then tell me what happened. What has your eyes all puffy at 9 in the morning?"

"He wants to be just friends, that's all." you sighed.

"What?" her brows furrowed. "I thought you liked each other? What's stopping him?"

"I asked what he wants to be, and he said 'he's not ready for anything'."

She groaned, "he doesn't deserve you"

You let out a deep breath. "He doesn't, does he? But, I like him."

"Why are you putting yourself through this?" She said with worry in her eyes as she traced circles on your back.

"I wanted to fight for him, but every time I end up in his bed, I hurt myself more."

"Fight for him?"

You nodded slowly, your resolve hardening as you said the words aloud. "I'm going to fight for him."

She rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "And how are you going to do that?"

You hesitated, realizing that you hadn't thought that far ahead. "I guess I'll... call him? No, no that would be awkward... maybe I'll just stop by his apartment and—"

She raised an eyebrow, looking at you pointedly. "And what, you're gonna sleep with him again? What would that do?"

Your cheeks flushed. "Okay, no. Maybe I'll take him out to coffee? No, that's too casual. Maybe dinner?"

"Dinner would be good."

"Dinner would be good," you agreed, a hint of nervousness creeping into your voice.

Your best friend put her arm around your shoulder and gave you a reassuring squeeze. "You shouldn't be doing this, but I support you."

"Thank you."

She shook her head, laughing softly. "If it doesn't work, we're gonna eat so much comfort food tonight."

That afternoon, you paced around your apartment, phone in hand as you tried to muster up the courage to call Minho. Your best friend's words echoed in your mind, reminding you of the risk you were taking. With a deep breath, you hit the call button.

As the phone rang, you felt your heart pounding in your chest, your palms growing clammy. After what felt like an eternity, the familiar sound of Minho's voice filled your ear.

"Hey, it's me." You paused, gathering your thoughts. "I wanted to apologize for the other night. I was upset and I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

You could hear the hesitance in his voice as he replied, "No, it's alright. I'm sorry, too."

"Can I take you out for dinner? I think we need to talk about things." You held your breath, waiting for his response.

"Yeah... I think that'd be okay," he said after a moment, "When?"

"I'm free tonight," you offered, trying to hide the hopeful note in your voice.

There was a long silence before Minho spoke again, "Okay, I'll see you at 6."

You hung up, the finality of the words hitting you. Was this your last chance?

The minutes passed by slowly, your anticipation building with each passing minute. Finally, 6 o'clock came around, and you made your way to the restaurant. You took a deep breath, steadying your nerves as you pushed open the doors.

You spotted Minho seated at a table, and made your way over to him. He stood as you approached, smiling.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

"Hey." You swallowed, trying to find your words. "I, I've missed you."

Minho looked away, a mix of emotions on his face. "It's been a day."

You laughed, trying to ease the tension. "Oh, right."

There was a moment of awkward silence before Minho finally spoke again, his voice barely a whisper.

"I think I missed you too."

You looked at him, the realization dawning on you. He had missed you too. It was something, he at least thought about you during day. "Minho—"

He looked up, meeting your gaze. "What is it?"

"I just..." You took a deep breath. "I don't want to lose what we have. But if that means being friends, then that's what we'll do. Because I can't stand losing you completely."

He stared at you for a moment, his eyes filled with surprise. Then he nodded slowly. "I don't want to lose what we have as well."

Your chest ached, but you smiled anyway, grateful for the small victory. You would be fine with it. You could be fine with it if that's all you could ever get.

"But," you started, an idea coming to your mind, "if I get a boyfriend, we'll stop whatever this is."

Minho blinked, the words sinking in. He took a moment, contemplating. Then he nodded slowly.

"Okay," he said. "Okay."

His expression was unreadable, was he upset? Or was he fine with the idea of never speaking to you again?

Your heart sank at the thought, did he really feel nothing at all for you?

You forced yourself to smile, trying to hide the ache in your chest. "Thank you," you said softly.

Minho smiled, but you could tell it was forced. You excused yourself and went to the washroom to splash cold water on your face, trying to stop the tears that threatened to spill.

You had to leave, you had to get out of here. You made your way outside, the cool night air helping to calm you.

You leaned against the wall, taking a shaky breath as you tried to hold back the tears. You closed your eyes, taking deep breaths, trying to calm your racing heartbeat.

You forced yourself to come to reality with all of this, you ran home without thinking twice. You had to end all of this now and leave before you ended up in his bed again.

You slammed your front door shut, locking the deadbolt and falling on the ground crying. The tears wouldn't stop flowing, it felt like a river of emotion that was overwhelming you. You were so scared of losing him, of not having him in your life. You sat on the ground for what felt like an eternity, trying to make sense of your emotions.

Getting rid of him now was the only way, the only way you'd survive without being broken-hearted. You dragged yourself to bed and cried yourself to sleep, clutching the pillow and blankets like they were your lifeline.

A week had already passed. You did your best to stay busy, trying to distract yourself from thinking about Minho. You had blocked his number, so you had no idea if he had tried to reach out to you at all.

Your best friend had been beside you to keep you from losing your mind completely or unblocking his number.

The two of you decided to watch movies all weekend long to take your minds off the situation, which helped for a while, but now that it was Monday and you were back at work, you felt like a walking zombie.

Your thoughts drifted to Minho throughout the day, wondering what he was doing, if he had moved on yet, or if he still thought of you at all.

You pushed the thoughts out of your head, trying to focus on your work. But it was no use. He was constantly in your mind, even though you knew there was no point in thinking of him.

You closed your eyes, letting your mind wander back to when things were still good between the two of you, the feeling of his tender hands on your body and his soft lips against yours. You remembered his words, 'I like what we have.' Did he mean it? Did he still think that after everything that happened? Or were they just words?

You opened your eyes, tears forming again as you stared out the window, lost in thought.

The clock seemed to move agonizingly slowly, but eventually, your workday came to an end, and you gathered your things to head home. You took a deep breath before heading out the door, bracing yourself for another long, lonely night.

You walked slowly through the dark streets, lost in your thoughts. You came across a familiar intersection, and you hesitated, memories of Minho flooding your mind.

The two of you used to take this route back to your apartment when he would walk you home from work. You stood in the middle of the empty intersection, staring at the stoplight, debating on whether to continue home or take the long way to your apartment, the way the two of you used to take.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. It was silly, getting hung up on someone that didn't even care.

You crossed the street, heading in the direction of your apartment. You glanced down the familiar route, memories of the two of you talking about the stupidest things.

You closed your eyes and sighed, a pang of longing hitting you. You missed him so much, more than you had ever expected.

You kept your eyes closed, your mind replaying memories of Minho as you walked home. It hurt to think about, but it also hurt not to think about him.

The two of you were inseparable, even when you fell in love with him, he enabled your feelings, kissing you, touching you, and sharing nights with you.

He was so easy to love. And he was so easy to lose.

You opened your eyes as you reached your apartment, the familiar surroundings providing you with a sense of comfort.

You trudged up the stairs, feeling more drained than you had all week. You reached your apartment, the familiar walls surrounding you like a warm embrace.

You threw your keys onto the table, slumping down in a chair and closing your eyes.

You breathed in the comforting scent of home, the ache in your chest still lingering, but you felt a sense of calm wash over you. You were home.

You sat for a few minutes, just enjoying the feeling of being at home after a long day at work. The quiet was comforting, a contrast to the busy, loud environment you'd spent your day in. You sat with your eyes closed for a few minutes, allowing your thoughts to settle.

You heard a faint knock on your front door. Your heart stopped, and you shot up out of your chair, hesitantly walking to the door.

You paused, taking a deep breath before opening it, knowing you couldn't keep it locked forever.

"Minho." The word slipped out before you could stop it, your voice a mix of surprise and pain.

Minho's face was somber, his expression unreadable as he spoke.

"I think I love you."

His voice was soft, the words tinged with sadness. You looked into his eyes, seeing the pain there.

You took a deep breath, your heart aching. You opened your mouth to reply, but he continued, the words pouring out of him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think it would feel so painful to not see you, or hear your voice, or touch you. I just couldn't stop thinking about you, about how you made me feel."

You couldn't hold back the tears any longer as his words filled your ears, your chest aching more than it had in a long time.

You bit your lip, trying to stay calm. Is this real, or are you dreaming? Did he come back to fuck with your feelings?

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mixture of pain and happiness flooding you as you looked into his eyes, trying to see if he was sincere.

His face was pained, his expression vulnerable as he stood in your doorway. You hesitated, trying to find the words to say.

He stepped closer to you, closing the space between you, the proximity causing your heart to skip a beat.

"I liked what we had, that part is true. But I never realized how I felt until you disappeared from my life."

You tried to breathe evenly as he reached out to take your hands, his touch gentle as he spoke again.

"I know I've been selfish this entire time, but I miss you. I miss everything about you."

His words pierced through your heart, leaving you speechless. You were frozen in place, trying to comprehend his words.

Minho closed his eyes, a small smile forming on his face. "I missed you."

The two of you stood in silence for a few seconds, his hands holding yours tightly as he stared into your eyes, his gaze softening as you finally managed to reply.

"I missed you, too."

Without hesitation, you grabbed his face and pulled him in, crashing your lips together as his hands pulled you close to him, holding you as if you would disappear any second.

Your hands moved from his face to the nape of his neck as the kiss grew deeper, his lips parting as the two of you explored each other's mouths.

Minho's hands roamed your body as yours did his, a familiar warmth spreading through your body as you gave yourself to him once again.

You broke apart for air, panting as you tried to catch your breath. The two of you stood there in your doorway for a moment, catching your breaths and staring at each other, neither one wanting to let go.

You were still unsure of where your relationship stood, but as Minho's hand reached for your waist once more and pulled you close, his lips capturing yours again, all your worries seemed to disappear.

He guided you into your apartment, shutting the door behind him and backing you against the wall. Your hands found the back of his head once again as you melted into his touch, his kisses filled with longing.

His hand wandered up your back and into your hair as his other hand rested on your hip, a soft groan escaping his lips as the kiss grew deeper. You wrapped your leg around his, your body pressing against him as you held him close, trying to convey the emotions you couldn't put into words.

After a few minutes, you finally broke the kiss, looking into his eyes as you both panted softly. Your chest was pounding as you looked up at him, trying to read his expression.

He smiled softly at you, his face flushed from the intensity of the kiss. His eyes met yours and held your gaze, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he took in your flushed cheeks and disheveled hair.

He reached up, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb caressing your cheek as he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against your forehead.

You felt a familiar warmth spreading through your chest at his touch, a small smile forming on your lips as you reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck. You leaned into him, your chest pressing against his as you hugged him tightly, your cheek resting against his.

He hugged you back, his arms wrapping around you as you nuzzled your nose against his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. The two of you stayed like that for a few moments, enjoying each other's warmth and closeness, the silence broken only by the soft sound of his heart beating.

The two of you stood in each other's arms for what felt like an eternity, but could have been minutes or hours. Time didn't exist anymore as the two of you held onto each other, neither one wanting to let go.

Finally, you reluctantly pulled away, looking into his eyes as you spoke. "We should probably talk properly."

His eyes searched yours, his expression serious as he nodded, a hint of hesitation in his voice. "Okay," he said softly.

You nodded, stepping away from him and moving to the living room, the distance between the two of you growing again. You sat down on the couch, your hands resting in your lap as you stared down at them.

Minho sat down next to you, his body tense as he watched you.

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes as you gathered your thoughts. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words seemed to get caught in your throat, your voice coming out barely louder than a whisper. "I've loved you ever since we started sleeping together."

Minho's eyes widened slightly as he stared at you, his mouth slightly agape as your words registered with him. You felt a familiar pang of sadness in your chest as you remembered that time.

He looked down, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why didn't you say anything?"

You bit your lip, struggling to find the right words. "I thought you knew. I would always bring up going further with you, but you dismissed me."

You looked down, fidgeting with your hands as you tried to hold back tears. "I just thought things would change if we put labels on things."

The silence in the air grew deafening as you looked up, your heart pounding as you saw tears forming in Minho's eyes. He reached out and placed his hand on your shoulder, his touch light and reassuring.

"But I want those labels now, all of them," he whispered. "I'm so sorry I made you feel that way."

The tears that had been threatening to fall finally began to trickle down your cheeks as you looked up at him. "Minho, I thought you felt nothing for me."

He reached out and gently brushed the tears away from your face, his eyes filled with concern as he stared into your eyes.

Minho took a deep breath before continuing. "I know I've hurt you, but I never want to see you cry again."

Your chest ached as you tried to process his words. It was as if everything you had gone through since the 'break-up' was suddenly erased, as if none of it had mattered. You stared into his eyes, trying to figure out what to say.

Minho's lips curved up into a small smile as he cupped your cheeks, wiping away the tears with his thumb as he gazed into your eyes.

You reached up and wrapped your hands around his, holding onto them tightly as you felt a familiar warmth spreading through your chest at his touch.

"I want to try and start again, as your boyfriend," he said softly, placing a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

You felt your heart racing as the words left his mouth, your chest tightening as he looked into your eyes, searching for your reaction.

You took a deep breath, your eyes closing for a second as you tried to steady yourself, the words that left his mouth feeling almost unreal. "Minho," you breathed. "Is this real? Are you serious?"

A smile broke out onto his face as he nodded. "If you'll let me, yes."

Without saying a word, you grabbed his shirt, pulling him into a kiss as your heart raced, the tears on your face now dried.

Minho kissed you back with equal intensity, his hands cupping your face as your hands tangled themselves into his hair. The kiss was soft and filled with longing as the two of you lost yourselves in the moment.

As your lips parted, you felt Minho's forehead pressed against yours as his hands traced down to the small of your back, holding you close. You closed your eyes and smiled, relishing the feeling of being in his arms once again.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he held you, the two of you taking in the feeling of each other. It had only been a week, but it felt like a lifetime had passed.

"I'm your girlfriend now?" you asked hesitantly, still not sure if this was all real.

Minho laughed softly as he nodded. "You're my girlfriend," he confirmed, his voice filled with affection.

You laughed and leaned back, taking in his expression and memorizing the look in his eyes, feeling a warmth in your heart you hadn't felt for a while.

He suddenly wrapped his arms around your waist, picking you up with ease as you shrieked in surprise. He carried you to the bed and gently placed you down on the mattress as if you were made of glass, the mattress shifting from the weight of his body as he moved to lie beside you.

"What do we do now?" you asked softly as his hands cupped your face, his thumb brushing lightly against your lips as he leaned in for a tender kiss.

When he broke away, you found yourself expecting more, but he simply smiled at you as he laid back down and pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you.

"This is all I want to do," he whispered, nuzzling your neck and kissing it lightly. "I want to fall asleep holding you and wake up beside you in the morning."

His words were tender as they reached your ears, making your heart melt.

"Okay," you breathed, pressing a kiss on his cheek and turning around so your back was facing his chest. You snuggled closer to him as he pulled you close, his hands resting on your abdomen and holding you tightly as he buried his face into your neck, kissing it.

You breathed in deeply, his scent surrounding you as your heart swelled with affection.

"Good night, I love you."

His voice was soft, but you could feel the emotion behind the words. You let out a soft sigh as your eyelids fluttered shut, the feeling of Minho holding you lulling you to sleep.

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taglist for my beauties : @loverbangchan, @reignessance, @imperfectlyperfectprincess1, @armystay89, @ihrtlix, @jiyeonslays, @lovestaysblogs, @jeyelleohe, @celebration88

[prettyboypucey]

Weird ~ G.W.

Summary: George is gorgeous. Charlie is a meddler. The snow is cold. (this summary sucks...just read it) 

Pairing: George Weasley x Y/N 

Word Count: 2,404 (who do I think I am?) 

Warnings: mentions of bullying. mentions of food/eating. george is unknowingly triggering? reader cries. idk? let me know if i missed something. 

A/N: part 2? maybe? translations are for romanian via google translate. do not come for me if they are hella wrong. 

Translations: draga - darling; dragoste - love; tampit - stupid 

     I had never been normal. From the time I was a toddler I had stars in my eyes and dirt on my knees. While the other kids in my grade were playing with dolls and dressing respectably, I was riding imaginary dragons and wearing mismatched socks with dungarees and a butterfly headband. Normalcy evaded me even further when at 11 years old, I got a letter declaring me a witch.

     When I first came to Hogwarts I spent the majority of my time alone. It appeared that even children who could wave a stick around and makes things fly wanted nothing to do with the colorful little girl. Meeting Luna Lovegood in my second year was the best thing that had ever happened to me. Here was a girl who allowed me to be exactly who I was with no judgments. And then she introduced me to Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley, and suddenly that little girl who thought her only friends would always be the rocks she painted faces on, had found her people.

     Of course, being friends with Ginny Weasley meant knowing her many brothers. So after graduation when I went off to Romania to work with dragons it made me feel slightly better knowing Charlie Weasley would be there. He quickly took me under his wing and became the older brother figure I had never had. After working together for three years, and electing to stay at the sanctuary for the last two over the holidays, he had finally convinced me to come home with him. I was reluctant to leave the sanctuary - the one place I truly feel safe (despite the massive fire breathing creatures).

     Charlie had warned me that being with one or two of the Weasleys was very different from being with the entire Weasley clan. Obviously I knew Charlie and Ginny, Ron had always been nice to me, and I had met Molly a handful of times in passing. However, Bill was known to be quite intimidating, Percy was supposedly very no-nonsense, and the twins (albeit never cruel) had a reputation of being hell-raisers.

     Apparating to the edge of a marsh with Charlie by my side I could see the rising structure haphazardly balanced slightly ahead.

     Pausing, I glanced at the back of the familiar red covered head, “I don’t know Charles, maybe I should just go back. I really don’t want to be a burden.”

     Charlie very quickly rounded behind me to continue guiding me towards his home, “No, no, no, no, no. No. You’re not a burden to anyone draga. Keep your head up and if any of them give you grief - remind them of the giant, winged beasts you can feed them to.”

     Quickly placing a kiss to the side of my head Charlie bounded ahead again to open the door and announce your arrival. Before I could toe off the first boot to leave next to the dozen other pairs in the entryway, a pair of arms had flung around my neck.

     “Y/N! I missed you so much!”, Ginny pulled back, keeping her grip on my shoulders, to inspect for any major injuries.

     I held onto her elbows, keeping her close, “Hi Gin, I missed you too. A lot. I’m loving this new look by the way.”

     She reached up to brush the now short locks behind her ears. A grin on her face as the two of us looked the other over for the first time in months. Ginny was wrapped in a pretty baby pink sweater with shades of red and white running through it. The material was soft against my palm as I hooked it around her crooked elbow to follow her into the living area.

     “You know”, she started, “I was starting to think maybe Charlie had let you get eaten or burnt to a crisp in the land of dragons. It’s been so long since you’ve come to see me or left the sanctuary.”

     “I’m sorry Ginny. It’s just that after everything, I had to keep myself busy.”

     Ginny’s smile softened into one of understanding. The war had taken a part of all of us. Although Fred had recovered after many months, that fear of almost losing such a vital part of their family had rocked the entire Weasley family to its core.

     “I get it, I do, but I worry about you. I just want you to know you’re not alone Y/N.”

     I pulled the girl into another tight hug, “I know.”

     Ginny pulled away first, clearing her throat, “Okay! Now that’s out of the way - it’s time to introduce the one and only Y/N L/N to the Weasley’s.”

     I hummed, “Hmmm and which of us should be more scared?”

     “Oh definitely the Weasleys.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~

     Meeting the Weasley family had gone much better than expected.

     Molly had opened her arms and home to me as if I was one of her own children. By the time the night was over she had me stuffed full of warm food and drink and donning my very own coveted Weasley sweater, the lavender initial in the middle marking it as my own. Arthur had been very interested in my muggle parents and upbringing, questioning me about the functions of a rubber duck. Bill and his wife Fleur were the most stunning couple I have ever seen, and not nearly as intimidating as people portrayed them. Fleur was pleased when she found out I spoke a bit of conversational French and promised to have me over to Shell Cottage (apparently they have an amazing collection of wind chimes that I am dying to see). Percy was a bit more refined. Completely polite and friendly but he seemed reserved. Ginny had explained in one of her letters how much guilt Percy carried after the Battle of Hogwarts over how he had behaved in the years leading up to that day.

     The twins were much different than I remembered them being from the few times we were around each other in school. The physical differences were clear - George’s missing ear and Fred’s dragging limp were both signs of the prices they paid in the war. More than that however, they had matured greatly. They were still happy and made sure to pull at least two pranks over the night, poor Molly nearly lost her voice after they blew up the turkey. However, there was something in their eyes that had been dimmed. Especially in George.

     His twin almost died that night, and it reflected in George’s eyes each time he looked at his older brother. It was clear that he was still afraid because whenever Fred left a room George followed, never letting his brother out of his sight, and if he happened to lose track of him a panic began to swirl in his brown orbs.

     I was in the middle of watching as George yet again made his way to Fred’s side, clapping a large hand on his twins shoulder and throwing his head back in laughter.

     “So which one are you staring at dragoste?”, Charlie whispered as he appeared out of nowhere.

     I ignored the burning in my cheeks as I looked away from the scene in front of me.

     “I am not staring at either of them tampit.”

     “Mhmm, sure, absolutely, I believe you.”, after a quick pause he said, “It’s George isn’t it?”

     I turned and scoffed at him, “No!… How did you know?”

     Charlie let out a chuckle, “Because I know you my little dragon. I also know my brother, and just between us, he definitely likes you as well.”

     At this I let out an incredulous laugh and glanced back to where George was now telling a story, his hands moving animatedly. There was no way that George Weasley had even a remote attraction to me. He was kind, strong, clever, and so bloody gorgeous it truly was a privilege to look at him. And I am…me. Nothing special. Just a girl who had more dragon friends than human ones and whose hands were covered in scars and callouses and whose socks never matched and had never even kissed a man before. So no, there was no way that George Weasley would ever like me.

     “Hey. I know that look Y/N. Stop those thoughts right this bloody second.”

     “Charles it really is annoying when you read me like that.”

     Throwing his arm over my shoulder he began to lead me towards the twins, “Yes I know and I am sorry in advance but this needs to be done. Fred!”

     Charlie’s voice had gone from a rushed whisper to a jovial shout when we reached George, Fred, and Ron by the fireplace. George’s smile as he turned to look at us sent a million butterflies off in my tummy.

     “So Freddy, I was hoping you could help me out with a top secret project tomorrow for mum and maybe show me around the joke shop. I heard you added some new displays that I want to check out.”

     “Sure Charlie”, Fred glanced at George as he spoke, “I’m sure we can make some time for our favorite brother.”

     Ignoring Rons protest, Charlie gripped my shoulders and pushed me in front of him, “Actually George I was thinking you could stay here and show Y/N around the area. She mentioned wanting to talk a walk tomorrow and I would hate to disappoint her on her first Christmas out of the sanctuary.”

     “Um-”

     I interrupted the rejection coming from George, “No please, I would hate to be a bother and make you be stuck with me all day. I’m sure Ginny can take me.”

     George smiled and shook his head, “No it’s completely fine Y/N. I would be happy to show you around.”

     “Okay great! It’s settled then!”, Charlie looked rather too pleased with himself and obviously missed the look exchanged by his identical younger brothers.

~~~~~~~~~~

     The next morning the Burrow was a flurry of movement as everyone began their day. Apparently Charlie and Fred weren’t the only ones on their way out. The others still had some last minute gift shopping to do and Ron was spending the day with Hermione’s muggle family. After breakfast, a quick wink from Charlie, and a slam of the front door - George and I were alone in the house.

     The two of us stood facing one another in the living room for a few awkward moments before George spoke, “Well, um, did you want to head out as well?”

     “Oh sure! Yes, let me just grab my boots really quickly.”

     George led me out the door and onto the snow covered path towards the small, iced over river. Nothing was said for a while, the only sound was the crunch of snow under our boots and the occasional sniffle from one of our red noses. I was mentally imagining all the ways I was going to kick Charlie’s ass when he got back for suggesting a walk in the middle of winter when we came to the top of a hill and stopped.

     Everything as far as the eye could see was blanketed in sheets of white. Stomping my boots down into the fresh snow, I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped as the snow gave way underfoot. Feeling a pair of eyes on me I remembered that I wasn’t alone and turned to see George watching me with an unidentifiable look on his face.

     “Sorry, sorry. That was - I don’t know why I did that. I liked the feeling of the crunch of the snow I guess. Sorry.”

     George grinned, “You don’t have to apologize. It was cute.”

     I could feel my face flush at his words. His smile grew even wider at the sight of my heated face. My gaze dropped from his pretty face down to my boots. I could feel the thick socks I had on beginning to grow cold and wet from how long we’d been outside. Looking back up I could see George’s deep eyes glaze over. Assuming it was because he had been apart from Fred so long I glanced out at the view one last time before turning back the way we came.

     “We should probably get back. We’ve been gone a while and my toes are getting wet. I feel bad enough that Charlie forced you to do this anyways without you getting frostbite or something. I’ve had frostbite, it’s not fun. And now I’m rambling. I’m sorry. Sorry”

     George was shaking his head at me and said, “You are so weird.”

     Ouch. My chest tightened and the small smile I had been wearing dropped from my face. If I had been able to see past the tears forming in my eyes that were making my sight blurry, I would have seen George’s face do the same. Unfortunately, all I could focus on was that word. Weird. Strange. Abnormal. Freak. 

     Weird weird weird.

     The walk back was silent. A thick tension surrounded you both as thick snow flurries began to swirl down in the midmorning air. Just as thick was the lump forming in my throat as I fought back tears. I know I shouldn’t let his words affect me. He’s just some guy. But deep down I also know that he’s not just some guy. This is George fricking Weasley. With his stupid perfect face and gorgeous eyes and his loyalty to his family. I couldn’t help but be enamored with him from the moment I walked in the Weasley’s front door. So it hurt to hear the man I liked call me that nasty word that has haunted me my entire life.

     When we finally reached the Burrow, George tried to reach for my arm but I pulled away and ran into the house. I could hear that some of the others had returned and really wanted to avoid a confrontation. Once again, luck wasn’t on my side. Charlie came walking out of the kitchen and saw me in the entryway. His face immediately became concerned at the sight of me and he lowered the sandwich he had from his mouth.

     “Draga?”, Charlie’s voice followed me as I finally reached the stairs and launched upstairs.

     As I reached the first landing I heard him speak again, his voice rough and hard.

     “What did you do?”  

[finelinevogue]

Can you write something about when Harry and Y/N broke up but fans speculate that they got back together and they did get back together. They broke over something stupid, please. You don’t have to do this exactly it can be something like that.

let’s see how this turns out! hope it’s what you wished for?!

The last few months had been rough.

What had started as rumours of a breakup between everyones favourite couple, you and Harry, had turned into an actual breakup.

It had started by Harry spending more time with Olivia, due to press for Don’t Worry Darling. They were always hanging out with each other, even when there was no publicity stunt telling them to. You found it appropriate at first, wanting the movie to gain some form of reputation, but after a while you believed it turned South. It was becoming a definite friendship and not just because they had to. It was the way that Harry would bring Olivia over for dinner without checking with you first, or taking the dog for a walk with her not you, or even staying longer out on stunts than they needed to just because they wanted to.

So you challenged Harry on it. Hell, even the tabloids were challenging you both - claiming Harry had split from you for Olivia. You made him question whether he thought his actions were irresponsible and appropriate or not, to which he thought there was nothing wrong and thought you were being irrational. You didn’t speak to him for the rest of the day, only to find him later on the phone speaking to Olivia about how crazy you’d been acting about it all. So you showed him crazy and walked out.

Until today.

For over a half a year your sister had her wedding planned and Harry was supposed to be your guest. You were nervous about turning up without him, because your family were very judgy. Your sister couldnt help being the smarter and the prettier one, but she also didn’t have to parade it around so everyone knew of it. Your mum and dad thought you a disappointment for the longest time, but once you’d gotten a job and had moved out they were a bit more loving over you. Still didn’t hide the fact they desperately hoped for you to have a relationship. It wasn’t that you were bringing Harry along to prove that someone loved you, but more to prove that they would never fully be satisfied whether you had a boyfriend or not. There would always be a podium stand slightly lower for you to stand on.

However, they didn’t know about the breakup.

“Y/N, nice to see you. Where’s Harry?” Another guest asked you, relatives of your mum. It was the same question over and over again, no one really caring about how you are but instead whether you’re in a positive relationship.

“Oh um I think he’s just running a bit late.” Was your chosen answer to respond to said question. It was repetitive, but it kept people off your back.

The wedding was completely beautiful. It was in a beautiful church and was decorated to perfection. The theme was white and royal blue, something your sister had always dreamed of. Children played amongst the pews and family relatives mumbled to each other about gossip. There was still a heavy sadness to the event. Maybe it was because your sister hadn’t asked you to be a bridesmaid - instead, choosing her best friends instead - or maybe it was because you missed Harry so much.

He’d fucked up. He really had, but it didn’t take away that burning passion for him that spread like a wildfire in your belly. You missed him. You still loved him. Worst of all, you had to pretend everything was all alright in front of your family when actually you were breaking apart inside.

Harry hadn’t messaged saying that he was or wasn’t coming, but after everything that had happened you were confident he was going to be a no show, and you would be the embarrassment of the family once again. Your relationship had been very private and exclusive, but Harry’s fans were so investigative you wouldn’t be surprised if they knew that you’d broken up and were aware that you were at a wedding today without him. Neither of you had made a public statement about your breakup, but neither of your wanted to damage each other even more. Fans suspected though and rumours travel fast.

“Y/N how are you doing? How’s Harry?” Another aunt came and asked you, this time with your mother in tow.

“Oh he’s great, yes.” You smiled forcefully, not actually having a clue how your ex-boyfriend was doing. You didn’t keep up with his social media because you were afraid of what you might find.

“Where is he? Is he here?” Your aunt asked.

“He’s late, apparently.” Your mother answered for you, sneeringly. “You’ll be made a fool of if he’s a no show Y/N.”

“I know.”

“I hope everything goes well for you both.” Your aunt kindly said, before waiting for your mum to say something nice too. That was a mistake though.

“Well it’s unlikely she’ll find someone again!” Your mother laughed and pulled your aunt away from you. You furrowed your eyebrows and let your heart sink low.

What were you thinking, letting Harry go like that? Your mum was right, you were never going to find anyone else again. You were so lucky with Harry. He was so kind and so patient with you, but obviously he’d run out of steam towards the end. It doesn’t surprise you. You’ve always been told you’re a mighty handful and you need a lot of work put into looking after you, so you understand why you were probably too much for Harry. The showbiz life had never really been something you’d completely submerged yourself into, whereas you guess for Olivia it was rooted in her from birth. She understood Harry’s world the same way he did hers. They would match perfectly for each other, if that’s what they wanted.

You watched the room continue as usual, but you couldn’t keep yourself here. There was too much sadness welling deep within you that you wanted to just run and then keep running. So you did, only to get as far as the bench in the front courtyard. The outside felt calmer and more freeing than inside, you sat and absorbed it for a while, not realising that you were crying until your pretty multicoloured dress had grown darker with a pool of your tears.

“Shit.” You tried rubbing the tears out, but only made you cry a little harder. You thought about your makeup running and tried to compose yourself, fanning your face to calm it down from the heat now.

“And here I was thinking weddings were supposed to be happy.”

You stopped fanning your face to look at him. You couldn’t believe he was standing there, dressed in a beautiful white suit and salmon pink shirt underneath to compliment the colours of your dress - the outfit that you’d helped him pick out over a year ago. He’d remembered. He trusted that you’d still be wearing this dress. He was a sight alright. A vision of beauty and love.

“Harry?” You questioned, wiping your under eyes to clear away any running mascara, not quite believing he was standing there.

“So what was it? Bad music playing? No vodka? Or maybe there’s nowhere for you to escape to go read the book I know you have stuffed away in your clutch bag.�� He stood at a distance from you, hands in his trouser pockets, to make sure you were comfortable.

“I brought vodka instead of the book.” You chuckled, reaching into your clutch to prove it to him.

“Lucky for you, i’ve come to save the day.” Harry reached to the inside of his blazer pocket and pulled out a Kindle. You’d always been debating whether or not to buy one, because the feeling of having a book to turn its’ physical pages is a feeling second to none. “Take it, it’s yours.”

Harry handed it out to you and you stood up to reach for it hesitantly. Harry assured you that it was okay and that you’d been reading too many books if you thought it was a trap of some sort.

“Thank you, Harry.” You spoke sincerely. You stroked your thumb over the cover and turned the case lid over to start up the screen. The screen lit up and it was set to a picture of your favourite quote, annotated just as you would have in your own book. You chuckled and let a few tears drop from the kindness of all of this.

“And then…” Harry unlocked the Kindle with your birthday as the password, before clicking on the library so you could discover what was waiting for you on your virtual shelves. Harry had downloaded all your most favourite books, whilst also downloading the ones he knew had been on your to-be-read list. He’d even added a few of his favourite books too, just because you liked reading his recommendations.

You smiled, but felt so lost.

“W-why are you here, H?” You asked, closing the lid and bravely looking up into his enchanting eyes. You had to control yourself not to comment on how wondrous they looked.

“To save the day.” He chuckled in repeat, until he knew you weren’t taking that for an answer. “Because I fucked up. Big league time.”

“Yeah.” You whispered, looking down at your shoes to see that they weren’t that far apart at all. He was so close to you, yet he wasn’t yours to catch.

“And i’ll never forgive myself for letting you walk out of that door. The promotion shit with Olivia? Done. I’ve finished. I explained that the movie isn’t as important to me as you. You,” Harry paused to breathe out, and took the risk of guiding your jaw up to meet your gaze with his soft hand, “you are real Y/N. You’re so important and key to my life and it bloody terrified me, still does actually, to think that you make me feel this way. I want everything with you. Marriage, kids, a home. A life. I was so worried I would screw it all up, though, to the point where I did screw it all up. I lost you and so I lost me. It’s selfish of me to ask whether any part of your heart still wants me, but—”

“Yes.” You quickly interjected before he could say something he’d later regret. “There is, yes.”

“R-really?” He stumbled over his response, not expecting you to react so soon but his words had got to you. His feelings were vulnerable and raw and it reminded you of how much you love him and feel safe with him.

“Why? Would you like me to say different.” You teased.

“No,” Harry rushed, stepping closer towards you, “God now. Stay, please. Forever, if you’ll have me?”

“I can deal with forever.” You leaned up to where his lips were, craving the taste of them against yours so badly. “Can I?” You looked between his lips and his eyes, watching his eyes coo in admiration of you. His arms snaked around your neck and cupped the back of your head, resting his ringed fingers against your skin delicately.

“You don’t have to ask, angel.” And with that you didn’t hesitate to reclaim your clips on his. He tasted as sweet and as soft as you could remember. The hint of mint sweets he kept in his car could be tasted all over his mouth, and he could no doubt taste the vodka on yours. He took no time in rushing to have his tongue exploring your mouth once mouth, biting on your lip when he got the chance to. He wanted you to remember this moment and how much love he has for you, and always will. Just as you do for him.

Hesitantly pulling away you smiled at him cheekily, feeling so much lighter and happier to have him here. With you in his arms so expertly.

“What?” He asked, leaving a quick kiss to your nose, inhaling his scent as he did.

“Just can’t believe you’re here.” You stroked his cheek with your thumb, and he leaned into your touch so comfortably. He had missed you so damn much, and it showed.

“Let you down once before and I wasn’t going to do it again.”

“So you’d have shown up even if I hadn’t?”

“Not happily, but yes.” He laughed thinking about it.

“Why?” You laughed with him.

“I’ve got to make my impression on your family somehow. Need to remind some of them how amazing and beautiful their special Y/N L/N is.”

“Some are going to need a lot more persuading than others.” You sighed, side-frowning over your words.

“No offence, but anyone who doesn’t treat you as a fucking diamond doesn’t deserve you and should watch out for kick up their backside from me.” You laughed over his empty threat and buried your head against his chest, listening to the heartbeat and rumble of laughter that came from within. This moment alone felt like home. Safe and warm.

“I love you, H.”

“Bloody love you too.”

Harry ended up returning to the wedding with you, much to your mothers surprise, and you both enjoyed the celebrations together. You shut yourselves out from everybody and just danced, talked and drank the night away.

You were so in love.

Later, photos got leaked of the wedding and it showed you and Harry dancing away in one of the backgrounds of the photos. It was supposed to be a shot of just the bride and groom, but you two have managed to get caught in it. You looked so caught up in each other that you still weren’t even aware the photo had been taken. You and Harry had determinedly avoided the camera all night, exactly for this reason, but a part of you was kind of happy that this one photo got leaked, because it showed the world that Harry was yours and you were his. It showed that you were together, or back-together as addressed by some FBI fans, and that you were stronger for it.

[atsumiye]

[12:59 am]

➔ suna x reader

➔ angst

➔ word count: 1.1k

part two

“Rin, let's go to the park and have a picnic for our anniversary!” you shout from across his living room. Seated on his couch, you wait for him to reenter from the kitchen to get an answer.

“You want to have a picnic for our four years?” he says as he walks towards you, placing a cup of iced coffee on the table in front of you.

“Yeah, the forecast says the weather will be great, it seems like it will actually be cooler tomorrow.” you say while turning your phone screen to face him, showing him the weather forecast.

“Plus, imagine all the good instagram pictures we can get!” you say in a sing-song voice.

“Okay, whatever you want baby.” he smiles at you while reaching to cup your cheeks.

One year later, and here you are sitting at the same park, in the same spot, looking through your photo album titled ‘rin & me’.

You smile as you swipe through, being reminded of all the wonderful memories you two shared. Placing your phone down on your lap, you see the picture you stopped on, its one of your favorites. It shows you and Suna at the beach, a big grin on your face as he places a kiss on your cheek. You came to this park for a reason, you had a decision to make and you decided that whatever your conclusion was, you wanted it to be at the place where you and Suna shared what was your last happy memory together. And looking at that picture, you make your decision. Something you promised him you would never do again.

You call him.

Clicking on the blue phone icon you press the phone to your ear and wait. From what you remember, Suna had blocked you directly after your breakup, but to your surprise your call goes through as you hear a quiet ‘hello?’

There is a beat of silence as you panic, forgetting everything you had planned to tell him. You hadn't planned for him to pick up, not knowing if you had the ability to actually say everything directly to him. So you just begin rambling out anything you remembered.

“Hi Suna, um- its me, Y/N. I know I promised never to call you again but you unblocked my number so that must be a good sign” you mumble out as you let out a weak laugh.

Looking down at your lap you continue, “Sorry, I didn't really think this through much, I never thought I would get this far honestly. So I apologize if you end up confused by anything I'm saying because I can assure you, I will be all over the place.”

You can only hope he will finally give you a chance to explain the situation and explain your side. You hope he won't hang up.

You smile as you begin, “Today would have been five years together, I thought we would have been planning the wedding your parents kept pushing” you say giggling, “I assumed we would already be discussing our kids’ names.”

You feel your eyes start to water as you bite on your lip to keep the tears in. All of the happy moments you two had, only bring a pain to your chest.

“It sucks we never made it that far, you know? You were my whole future, so for a while after you broke up with me, I didn't know what to do with myself. Which is probably why I called you so much for the first few weeks but I swear, this will be my last call to you. So I'm glad this is actually going through this time.” You pause before you say, “I'm glad you haven't hung up yet.”

“I just felt like I needed to say goodbye and get closure for myself because I got that job in America.” You can't help the smile that grows on your face as you think about how hard Suna pushed you to apply.

“I wish this could be a moment we could celebrate together but I guess that's just how things happen huh?” You sigh, vision getting blurry from the tears you've been holding in.

“I'm moving there tomorrow, and I'll probably stay there for a good while. Staying in Japan, it just keeps me in a bad place. Truly, I think it's time for me to move on and find myself.”

Biting the inside of your cheek you continue, “ I don't really have anyone here, you know how my parents moved a while ago and you were the only person I had so it's been hard the past year.”

“I guess the point of this call was to say, I never cheated on you. I know she told you I did, but it wasn't true. I don't know if you know that now or not, but I thought I should tell you."

"I loved you more than I have ever loved myself. I swear on my life, I would never do something like that to you. I guess I just...I just wish you would have believed me or maybe even listened to me, because maybe then I wouldn't be at the park at 1 am calling my ex and crying during a time I should be celebrating.” You start to fumble with the end of your shirt, trying to pull yourself together long enough to finish the call.

“I still remember the last time we spoke when you told me about the accusations. You said a lot of things that made me hate you.”

There's silence for a second while you compose your thoughts before you continue,

“Well, I think that was the goal but it didn't work. I don't hate you Suna. I could never hate you. And I hope that if there is only one thing you remember from this call, I want it to be that I still love you ”

“I miss you, a lot, but I think getting everything off my chest is a good type of closure for me. I didn't call you to try to convince you of anything, I just wanted you to know the truth.”

“So that's all I had to say. Goodbye Suna, thank you for 4 wonderful years and thank you for loving me.”

You sniffle before hanging up.

Putting down your phone on the grass, you place your hands flat behind you and lean your head back with closed eyes.

You take a deep breath and for the first time, you feel lighter, like a huge weight has been lifted off you shoulders.

You stand up collecting your phone and brushing off your pants.

As you take one last look at the park, you can't help but be overwhelmed by emotion. This place holds not only the good memories, but also the bad.

But it's time to let go.

Turning your back and walking home, you put on a genuine smile, ready to start anew.

[thagantm]

UNDER  DIFFERENT  CIRCUMSTANCES , HE  WOULD  HAVE  GLADLY  QUIPPED  BACK . argued  a  little , back  and  forth , about  it  not  being  fucking  kung  fu . or  about  how  much  more  fun  it’d  be  to  kick  Jeremy  in  the  teeth  instead  of  a  goddamn  alien  bat , no  matter  how  cool  it  had  allegedly  looked . he  could  have  threatened  to  use  Jeremy  as  bat – bait  first  and  Erica  after  if  either  of  them  even  thought  about  holding  him  down  in  any  way  or  form .  .  . but  he  didn’t . instead , Tommy  went  quiet . uncharacteristically so  -  merely  offering  a  half – assed  glare  when  Erica  simply  sat  down  on  his  shinbones , unimpressed  as  ever . last  time  he’d  had  stitches  had  been  in  juvie . nine  of  them ; done  orderly  by  an  actual  doctor , while  he’d  been  given  a  good  dose  of  painkillers  along  with  a  tetanus  shot . strange  world , when  prison’s  safer  and  cleaner  than  the  goddamn  outside  world . upside  down  or  not .

Tommy  holds  his  breath  when  the  needle  first  pokes  through  his  skin  and  needs  a  minute  to  remember  that  it’s  somewhat  essential . knuckles  standing  out  white  where  his  fingers  curl  around  the  bottle , muscles  in  his  jaw  so  tight  they’re  close  to  snapping , and  soon  enough  small beads  of  sweat  sit  on  his  forehead , some  running  down  the  back  of  his  neck . it  hurts . more  than  he  had  anticipated  it  would . nostrils  flare  with  each  controlled  inhale  and  when  briefly  closing  his  eyes  doesn’t  help , a  quick  sip  of  vodka  does . instinct  tells  him  to  slam  the  bottle  into  Jeremy’s  face  and  get  rid  of  the  source  of  that  disgusting  pain , but  fortunately  reason  has  a  say  in  this , too . reminding  him  that  the  kid  wants  to  help . that , without  him , he’d  most  likely  be  bleeding  to  death  right  now . sure , the  threats  to  bludgeon  him  with  the  bottle  slip  out  once  or  twice , but  even  those  come  half – heartedly . hissed  out  between  clenched  teeth .

when  it’s  finally  over , he  doesn’t  dare  look . green , half – lidded  eyes  looking  straight  ahead ; his  freckles  in  stark  contrast  on  his  uncharacteristically  pale  skin . not  the  Mona  Lisa , he  says  and  Tommy  briefly  imagines  a  life  as  the  inner – city  Quasimodo . he  should  rage  about  this . complain , threaten , insult , worry ; show  some  form  of  the  typical , explosive  behavior  that  had  first  granted  him  the  reputation  he  now  holds . instead , it  seems  as  if  fatigue  had  finally  taken  its  toll  on  him  and  Tommy  simply  lifts  the  bottle  to  his  lips  again  and  waits  for  the  pain  to  subside  at  least  a  little . it  won’t . not  really . Erica  gets  off  his  legs  and  out , obviously  needing  fresh  air  after  the  not  so  pretty  display  of  boyscout  competence , and  Tommy  fully  ignores  Jeremy  for  a  hot  minute . one  hand  planted  flat  on  the  floor , he  tries  to  heave  himself  off  the  ground , shake  the  shit  off , and  find  the  others  -  the  whole  trailer  spinning  and  blood  rushing  from  his  head  however  put  a  quick  end  to  that  plan  and  with  a  groan , he  sits  back  down . a  nap  would  be  nice  now . “ do  I  look  like  I’m  gonna  chase  anybody  right  now ? ” he  sounds  as  if  his  vocal  cords  had  been  put  through  a  meat  grinder .

a  few  moments  of  silence  tick  by , long  enough  to  suspect  that  Tommy  indeed  may  have  fallen  asleep , but  when  he  does  speak  up  again , there’s  a  very  subtle  note  of  gratitude  in  his  voice . hidden  perfectly  underneath  thick  layers  of  sarcasm , naturally . “ if  I  can’t  show  myself  at  the  pool  anymore  after  this , Russek , you’re  toast . ” another pause , brooding this time , as if he had to build up to something he didn't particularly enjoy . a hand running through the mess of brown hair that , usually , is so perfectly slicked back . “ you alright? ”

"WATCHING YOU KUNGFU KICK THAT ALIEN bat in the face was pretty fun to watch." Granted it had been followed by them swarming on Tommy like an angry bee hive. Still, in the moment, right before all the gore, it had looked cool. With a sparing glance at Erica, he said, "hold his legs down. He's a kicker." She gave him a disappointed look but obeyed with only some grumbling- did she want his face to get rearranged? Jeremy looked down at his hands, expecting them to be as shaken as the rest of him. By some miracle they remained steady. Maybe this wouldn't be a complete disaster. Maybe stitching someone up really was as easy as mending a shirt. If only life were as simple as the movies.

Jeremy wasn't certain how long he spent stitching up Tommy's side. Long enough for his hands to begin cramping and Tommy to drink his way through a decent amount of the bottle. Not that Jeremy could blame him. Surprise, surprise; stitching a human being was not as easy as knitting a sweater. After several failed attempts to seamlessly weave the needle through Tommy's mangled flesh Jeremy had begun tying off each suture, making the process longer than he had anticipated. To his patient credit, Tommy had only threatened to kill him twice and swatted at him once before finally settling down for good, clutching the vodka like a binkie.

"Well, it isn't the Mona Lisa, but it'll do." The words were spoken to nobody in particular as he tied off the final knot, snipping away the loose thread before unceremoniously discarding the needle into a nearby bin. He stood up, stretching his small frame until his knees and shoulders popped away the stiffness. A wave of exhaustion dragged him down next to Tommy. "What are the odds of convincing your self-preservation not to chase after the others? Y'know, now that you're not bleeding out. Asking so I don't waste my time trying to talk you out of it."

[mochegato]

Even the Losers

Chapter 17

Chapter 1     Chapter 16

Marinette shook her head and tried to hide her giggles. Red Robin had to have thought he was being discrete, right?  Unless he was intentionally making himself known as a way to intimidate any more rogues from trying to get to her.  He was discrete enough that the average person probably wouldn’t notice him, but anyone paying attention, looking for him, would see him easily.

She waited until he was looking down at her again and waved at him.  He smiled and waved back before blushing, shaking his head, and motioning for her to continue. Marinette grinned and looked back at the map on her phone.  The restaurant Jason chose was around here somewhere.  One of the places he just ended up at a lot, he said.  Low key and cozy, exactly the kind of place she needed right now.

After that, he said he was planning on following her around for the rest of the day.  He’d said it in a joking tone, but she knew there was nothing joking about his intent.  He would be shadowing her for the rest of the day. He couldn’t hide the gravity behind the statement.  He couldn’t mask the concerned questions, no matter how casually he tried to play them off. The insistence on seeing her apartment, make sure the view was good enough and the kitchen was stocked enough. The way he casually suggested she teach him how to make a baked good she liked.  

Honestly, she was shocked he let her walk there on her own, but he said he’d be have eyes on her anyway.  She looked back up at Red Robin with a smile.  Clearly, he wasn’t kidding.  White lensed eyes.  The smile quickly morphed into a frown when she couldn’t see him.  He hadn’t been hidden this whole time, so where was he now? She squeaked and whirled around into a fighting stance when she heard someone land behind her.  She barely had time to put her hands down before Red Robin was standing next to her, his hand on her shoulder while he looked around, eyes sharp and calculating.

Marinette followed his lead and scanned the crowd. In lieu of knowing what she was looking for, she kept her eye out for anything that seemed out of place. Everything looked normal though. Nothing seemed suspicious.  There were a few people throwing them odd looks, but nothing that seemed hostile or calculating, instead it seemed more curious and fearful of what having a vigilante dropping down in the middle of the night meant for them.

Red Robin turned back to face her.  “Let’s get you somepl…” his hand went up to his ear. “Shit!”

Marinette’s eyes widened in fear.  “What happened?  Did someone get hurt?”

Red Robin’s eyes looked around them again and narrowed at one of the buildings.  He moved his arm to her back and firmly pushed her toward the building. “Nobody is hurt.”

She looked at him doubtfully.  “But…”

“There’s just an issue that needs attention, but nobody has been hurt,” he assured her, looking down briefly to meet her eyes.

Marinette nodded uncertainly, not feeling calmer with his reassurance.  She couldn’t see his eyes past the white filters to gauge his sincerity, and it was unsettling.  “So my friend and brother, my… the Waynes, they’re… nobody is hurt?”

Red Robin paused almost imperceptibly.  If she hadn’t become used to his constant pressure on her back, she wouldn’t have noticed.  He looked back down at her as they walked, the tense muscles in his face softened considerably.  “They’re all safe.  Your friend and brother and family.  They’re all safe.  I promise. I just need to go assist someone, but I don’t want to leave you alone.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow at him.  “I can defend myself you know.”

Red Robin gave her a deadpan expression. She’s sure if he didn’t have a mask, he’d have his own eyebrow raised at her.  “After last night, you can understand that we and your family are a bit concerned and perhaps a bit overprotective just right now.”

Marinette rolled her eyes with a sigh but didn’t fight him.  “So you’re going to, what?  Hide me in some abandoned office until everything blows over?  That sounds safe.”

Red Robin huffed out a laugh.  “Absolutely safe.  That is our standard approach.  I’m glad you understand how we operate.”  He gave her a look she couldn’t quite decipher with his mask in the way.  “No.  I think your family would hunt me down if I did something so reckless with you.  They’re quite protective, you know?”  

Marinette opened her mouth to say something but shut it quickly.  He was a stranger.  There was absolutely no reason to get into her family dynamics with him.  “No,” he continued, oblivious to her uncertainty. “I’m going to stash you with someone we know we can trust.”

Marinette looked up at him with narrowed eyes.  “A babysitter.”

The corners of Red Robin’s mouth quirked up. “Well, if you’re going to whine like a baby…” he teased.

Marinette gasped dramatically.  “If you want whining, I can show you whining.  I grew up with the most spoiled brat in existence.  I can give new meaning to the word.”  Red Robin actually laughed as he opened the door to the business.  “You know, I’m supposed to meet my… um… br… brother,” she stuttered over the word.  “Jason’s going to wonder about me.”

Red Robin cringed slightly.  “You should probably text him.  It isn’t a good idea for you to go out until this is resolved.” Marinette nodded and shot a text off to Jason letting him know she was okay and Red Robin was putting her somewhere safe for a bit.

They heard movement from the building, finally drawing Marinette’s attention to the business they had gone into.  “Can I help… T… Red Robin?  Marinette?” Roy asked pushing out from behind a motorcycle with its transmission in his hands.

“Hey, I was hoping you could watch Marinette while I take care of something.  You’re a friend with the Waynes right?” Red Robin asked pointedly.

Roy stared at him for a few seconds before realization set in.  “Yeah. Yeah, we’re like fam…” he looked over to Marinette, “well, not family family.  But, uh, yeah.”

Red Robin cocked his head to the side and pursed his lips.  “No, I’m pretty sure you are con…” he was cut off by something in his com.  He paused for a moment to listen before turning back to Roy with what Marinette was pretty sure was supposed to be a glare.  “I’m trusting you,” he growled.  “There’s some madness going on.”

Roy’s face turned serious and he gave him a determined nod.  “I’ll protect her.  Go.”

Red Robin looked between them for a second then nodded and took off.  Roy and Marinette watched him leave for a second before turning back to each other. Marinette gave him a shy smile. “Hi,” she waved sheepishly. “Sorry to just drop in on you like this.”

Roy gave her a welcoming smile and motioned to the garage bay.  “Not at all. I guess you’re just visiting sooner than we anticipated.  Can’t say I’m upset at all.”  He moved some parts off of a stool and motioned toward it for her to sit.  “I should say sorry that you have to hunker down here. You definitely look like you were going somewhere a bit nicer.”

Marinette looked down at her outfit analytically, a blood red, long-sleeved blouse, black skinny jeans, and black heeled boots. She’d wanted to wear ladybug colors after the previous night in the Riddler’s facility and the Wayne dining room. Ladybug colors always reminded her of the strongest, most resilient parts of herself.  She looked back up at him, her eyes catching on the coat rack behind him.  “Excuse you. All I need is that jacked over there and I’d fit right in.  In fact, I’d match your baby.”

Roy looked to where she was looking, seeing his black leather jacket hanging up.  He blushed slightly at the idea of her wearing his jacket.  He could picture it on her, the jacket hanging loosely off of her significantly smaller frame, her clinging to him as they rode on his bike… He looked back at her with a soft look. “And you would still be too classy to be here.”

Marinette pouted at him.  “You say that like I don’t fit in.”  She didn’t want to say the ‘with you�� that was running through her head.  Did he think she wouldn’t fit with him?  “I can fit. I can even be helpful.”

Roy shook his head.  “No, not at all just…”  He motioned to his own clothes, an old tee, stained jeans, and a backwards ball cap that was just as stained with grease as his jeans, and then motioned to her.

Marinette looked between the two of them and grinned. “You underestimate my ability to get dirty.  Give me a few minutes and I’ll be as dirty as you.”

Roy’s eyes snapped to the wrench in his hand. Based on the complete lack of amusement or sultriness in her eyes, she did not at all realize what she just said. He took a few seconds, it may have been minutes, to calm his heart and mind.  “Okay, how about you prove it?”

Marinette raised an eyebrow at him.  “Prove what?”

“That you can be helpful.  Roll up those sleeves and help me with this engine.”  He motioned to the transmission on the workbench next to her.  “I can also get you some coveralls so your outfit won’t get dirty if you prefer.” He looked back at her with an amused glint in his eyes.  “They’ll be a bit big on you…”  Marinette narrowed her eyes at him but his eyes danced with even more amusement at her reaction.  “Since you’re so litt…”

“You know what…” she cut him off, standing to get in his personal space.  She stared up at him, her eyes meeting his for a moment before her cheeks burst into color.  She looked away and cleared her throat.  After a second to recover, she motioned to the transmission as she rolled up her sleeves. “Just tell me what you’re doing and how I can help.”

Roy grinned and twirled the wrench in his hand. “Yes, ma’am.”  

He leaned over the transmission and started loosening one of the nuts holding the piece together.  His hand faltered for a fraction of a second when Marinette leaned next to him, close enough for him to feel her breath as she let out a sigh, close enough to feel her body heat.  Close enough he could easily wrap his arms around her and pull her against him.  He had to tighten his hands to keep them from reaching over.

He took a breath to focus.  Now was not the time.  She had just been kidnapped and people could take a bit of time to recover from something like that, especially considering the things she had said about having a breakdown.  He flicked his eyes over to her trying to assess how she was doing.  Her eyes were intently watching his hands as they moved around the transmission.  They were sharp and her body seemed to be relaxing the longer she watched him work.  If he didn’t know better, he’d never know she had been kidnapped and threatened the night before.

She looked up at him questioningly when his hands stilled as he analyzed her.  He gave her a small smile and motioned toward the tool box.  “Um… I need… Can you, um, get me the, um… 5/16th wrench, please?” he stuttered.

Marinette jumped up to search through the wrenches in the box.  She frowned, her lip jutting out as she searched.  “I don’t see it here.  Is there somewhere else it could be?”

Roy’s face scrunched as he tried to remember where else he might have used it.  He’d been working on the bike almost all day.  He looked back at the motorcycle trying to remember what he had done with it. He was broken from his concentration by Marinette’s light giggle.  He looked over to her with a raised brow.  

Marinette looked away quickly, another blush on her cheeks.  She followed where his line of sight had been and searched around the motorcycle, focusing her energy on her search for the wrench instead of the adorable face he made when he was concentrating and the way his nose wrinkled up in thought and his lips quirked to the side.  After a minute of looking she shook her head and held her empty hands out for him to see.

“Any other ideas?” she asked as she came back over to her stool.

Roy sighed deeply and scanned the workbench. He had a backup set of wrenches, but he knew he had used that one recently.  It couldn’t have gone too far. His attention was brought back to Marinette when she giggled again, her giggles turning into full blown laughter.  He gave her a confused look which made her laugh louder.  She reached over the workbench, almost climbing onto it to grab the wrench that was behind the transmission.  She held the wrench out to him triumphantly with a smug, teasing smile on her lips.

Roy fought choking on air at the sight of her climbing onto his workbench and all the images that immediately flooded into his mind involving that particular scenario, especially in his jacket… and nothing else.  He took the wrench, hoping she believed the blush he knew was on his cheek was from embarrassment rather than where his thoughts had gone.  “Thanks,” he managed to mutter out.

“Anytime,” she grinned back.  “See?” she motioned to herself.  “Helpful.”

Roy chuckled and shook his head fondly. “Guess I’ll have to keep you around then.”

Marinette chuckled and let her focus settle back on the part he was working on.  She watched his hands move effortlessly and confidently over the pieces.  “Flathead screwdriver,” he asked, holding out his hand for her.  She quickly grabbed one and slapped it in his hand like he was a surgeon.  He looked up at her with a grin.  “Thanks, nurse.”

Marinette shook her head and let her gaze pass over the garage bay.  She quirked her head to the side when her eyes settled on a bow leaning up against the wall by the door.  “What’s with the bow?”

Roy’s head jerked up.  His eyes immediately found his bow and quiver.  He looked back at her with an almost natural smile. “Oh, I just… like to shoot.”

“It’s yours?” she asked perking up.

“Yeah… I just pulled it out… recently.”  His eyes flicked to the cut on her cheek quickly before returning to the transmission.

Marinette looked back at the bow.  “That sounds fun.  I always wanted to learn.  How did you learn?”

Roy’s eyes took on a far off look and a sentimental smile spread on his lips.  “My father, my adopted father.”

“Oliver?” Marinette asked, confusion clear in her voice as she tried to reconcile the sentimental smile with his description in the bar.

“Ah, so you know,” Roy said quietly, eyes suddenly in focus and pointed at the transmission.

Marinette gave him a sympathetic smile.  “Sorry.  Damian… he um… thought I knew,” she stuttered out.  She really didn’t want to get into that conversation right now.  She was sure Roy would be upset and it was just something she wanted to leave between her and Damian, not someone else.  “He just mentioned it yesterday.”

Roy nodded and flicked his eyes up to her for a second, gauging her reaction, waiting for the questions.  There were always questions.  Questions about Oliver, questions about their relationship, questions about their money.  The exact combination might change but they were always there.  “Sorry for bringing it up,” she said quietly.

Roy shook his head, with a small smile.  “No.  It isn’t your fault.  No not Oliver.  It was before Oliver.  My birth father died saving me from a forest fire and a man named Brave Bow adopted me. He raised me.  He was a really good man.  He taught me how to be a good person and how to shoot… and just about everything else I know.”

The smile on Roy’s face made Marinette smile too. “He sounds like a good father.”

Roy nodded.  “He was,” he said quietly.  He looked over at her hesitantly before focusing back on the piece he was working on. “How are you feeling?”

Marinette quirked her head to the side.  “Feeling?  Not as useful as I could be.  A burden on you more than a help, if I’m being honest,” she shrugged.

Roy snorted.  “Sorry, I’ll try to get you to do more of my work for me.”  He sent her a smirk that got an eye roll out of her.  “And I would never call you a burden.  In fact, I’d fight to keep you nearby,” he added quietly, no longer meeting her eyes.  He tried to focus on the transmission but he could feel her eyes on him, making it impossible to think of anything else.  

After a few seconds he cleared his throat.  “I mean after,” he motioned toward her face, his hand still grasping the gear he had just removed.  “How are you handling it?  The Riddler’s no joke.”

Marinette scoffed and picked up a wrench.  She spun it in her hand as a distraction while she spoke.  “He really isn’t.  I didn’t find him funny at all.”  Roy gave her a flat look and returned to working on the part, letting her decide to continue discussing it or not.  “How did you know?” she asked quietly.

“He broadcast it to all Gotham.  Everybody knows.  Everybody saw you deliver the verbal smack down of the century,” he grinned at her.  “It was inspiring.  You were amazing.”

“I was pissed is what I was,” she grumbled.  She looked away and sighed, running her hand over her face and grimacing when she accidentally touched her cut.  “I forgot everyone would see that.”

She stared at the wrench as she twirled it in her hands.  She knew the Waynes probably knew she was taken.  She’d called Jason to let him know she was fine, but had pretended she had to go talk to the police and cut the call short.  She really didn’t want to talk to them after the scene at dinner. She didn’t want to have the conversations she knew they were going to want to have.  She just wanted to move on.  It didn’t have anything to do with them, especially the kids.  It was her past, one they had no way of knowing about and no way of helping with.  There was no reason to hash through it all again.

But she hadn’t realized they would get to see the full video.  She frowned at the thought.  She’d said so much while she was yelling and she couldn’t remember what all she had said. It was a moment of weakness that now the entire city, possibly the world now knew about.  Thankfully she was positive she didn’t mention anything about the miraculous so to anyone watching she would have looked like any other normal, non-miraculous wielding person.

And on top of it all, she wasn’t sure if she was grateful or upset that M. Wayne hadn’t reached out to see if she was alright. All of the kids had even Lucius had, but not him… or Alfred.  After the way she left, he might not feel like he’s allowed to.  But still… he hadn’t bothered to check on her at all.

She looked up with a weak smile.  “Guess I’ve truly experienced Gotham now.”

Roy grimaced.  “Sorry about that.”  He watched her as she seemed to work through her feelings on the matter, going from annoyed to hurt.  He returned his attention to the engine part.  “I think I need to start calling you Fire Flower.”

Marinette looked up at him curiously.  “Fire Flower?”

“Yeah,” he looked up briefly with a spark in his eyes. “It’s like a fire cracker, but cuter. More impressive to look at.” Marinette blushed and looked down, accidentally dropping the wrench she had been playing with.  Roy grinned widely at her before focusing back on his work. “You sure you feel safe?” he asked, still focusing on the engine.

Marinette nodded.  “I have Adrien and Max.  We might not look like we can protect ourselves, but we’re pretty good at it.” Actually incredibly well.  She was possibly the best protected person in the world right now, but he didn’t have any way of knowing that.

“I’m actually pretty surprised Adrien isn’t with you right now or Max.”  He looked over at her with a raised eyebrow.

Marinette nodded.  “You’re not wrong.  They would be but Max just started work and couldn’t really take a day off immediately and Adrien had a job interview in Metropolis today.  And this is the one he’s really excited about.  I was supposed to go with him and check out Metropolis, but then I wouldn’t have had anyone with me while he was in the interview and that made them a bit too nervous.  Here at least they know I have the bats following me at all times so, they were pretty confident I was safe.”

“The bats are keeping an eye on you, huh?” Roy asked with a secretive grin.

Marinette nodded.  “I’m not sure if they’re trying to be subtle, but yeah.  I don’t know what kind of relationship they have with the Waynes. They mentioned… the bats certainly act like they talk a lot and know each other well.”

Roy froze for a second.  Well, they certainly weren’t being as discrete as they normally are, it would seem.  Although after last night, he could imagine they were pretty flustered.  He had been and she was just an acquaintance to him. He wanted it to be more but… that wasn’t the point.  But at this rate, she was going to figure it out before they told her and he didn’t imagine that going well for them.  “So you’ve caught them a few times?”

“Caught is a liberal term for it.  Is it catching if they aren’t really hiding?  I think Red Robin might have been trying… maybe, but Batman was on our balcony, standing vigil all night last night.”

Roy glanced over for a second.  “Batman was watching over your apartment last night?”

Marinette nodded.  “Markov said he was there until Red Robin took over some time around breakfast.”

Roy paused for a few seconds then tapped the screwdriver against the workbench.  “And… Bruce? Did Bruce check in on you?”

Marinette looked away and licked her lips before pursing them.  She twisted the wrench around a few more times, focusing entirely on that, not meeting Roy’s eyes.  “No,” she finally said in a falsely calm voice.  “I… I didn’t…  Dinner didn’t go so well.”

Roy moved closer to her until he was close enough to reach her comfortably but still gave her space so he wasn’t crowding her. He ducked his head to try to meet her eyes.  She yielded quickly and met his eyes.  “He’s worried about you.  I guarantee you he is.  He’s just… shit at emotions and reading a room.  

“If you guys fought, I promise you he isn’t less worried about you, he’s just afraid that seeing him or hearing from him will upset you more.  I promise you he’s finding out everything he can about how you are from anyone that will tell him.  He cares. Your fight didn’t push him away. He’s just a fucking idiot.  And an asshole, so there’s like a 97% chance if you did fight, it was his fault.  And he probably knows that, just not how to make it up to you.”

Marinette huffed out a laugh despite her eyes suddenly turning glassy. “I don’t need him to make it up, just… it’s not even his fault.  It was mine really.”  She fiddled with the wrench in her hands, testing the strength, trying to bend it, focusing on that as if it was the most interesting thing in the room.

“I doubt it.”  He sighed and readjusted his cap as he tried to come up with the right words.  “I’ve found that when bad things happen at the manor it’s almost always because Bruce was being a controlling little bitch.”  Instead of laughing, she frowned at the wrench. Right, calling her father, she’s trying to connect to a ‘controlling little bitch’ probably isn’t really helping. He sighed and looked back up trying to figure out how to remove the frown.  It didn’t look right on her face.  She should be smiling.  Always. “Do you want a hug?”

Marinette finally looked up from the wrench in surprise.  After a second she gave him a weak smile and shook her head, returning her focus to the wrench.  “I’m fine.”

Roy lightly placed his hand on the wrench to stop its motion. “That’s not what I asked,” he said gently.

She blinked at him a few times before a smirk quirked her lips up. “I mean… I’m not going to object to a handsome man wrapping his arms around me,” she answered slyly, throwing his words from days earlier back at him.  Roy grinned and wrapped his arms around her, gently at first but holding her tighter as the hug went on.  His arms were strong and reassuring, giving a sense of warmth and safety and Marinette quickly found herself melting into his embrace.  She nuzzled into his chest and dear God, she could feel his muscles moving through his shirt with every minute movement.

She tried to hide her frown when he pulled away after a few minutes. But, it turned into a smile when he stopped after a few inches, just enough to look down at her.  Roy smiled softly and rubbed her cheek with his thumb a few times.  Marinette leaned into his hand, captivated by the feel of his hand on her face.  He started to lean down but jumped away with the sound of clattering right next to them.  Roy moved in front of her, caging her in behind him as he looked for the source of the sound.

Marinette grimaced and leaned down to pick up the wrench that had slipped through her fingers when she was looking at Roy.  He chuckled awkwardly and moved back to his transmission. He started working on it again a lot slower than he had been before.  His hands were shaking slightly.  He could still feel the traces of her on his fingers and around his chest, trilling through him.  “Can you… um… the.  Can you hand me the Phillips head, please?” he stuttered, unable to get his mind settled.

Marinette stared at him for a few seconds, her cheeks still bright red, as her mind tried to kick back into gear.  She looked at the tools in the toolbox and back to him. “Is… that’s a tool, not like a horror movie thing, right?”

Roy blinked a few times before breaking out in laughter.  Marinette smiled at his laughter, beyond grateful for the change of topic.  “The one with the cross for a head,” he said motioning toward the screwdrivers.

“Oh,” Marinette nodded in understanding. “Tournevis cruciform,” she muttered to herself as she searched through the tools for the right screwdriver. “Americans and their naming things.”

Roy grinned at her outrage.  “And what do you call it?  The cross screwdriver.” he teased.

“That is literally what it translates to,” she deadpanned.

Roy puckered his lips in an attempt at keeping a smile off his lips and make his annoyed wrinkled brow more believable.  “Oh, well I bow to your superior naming capabilities,” he snarked with a fake bow.

Marinette nodded graciously and passed the screwdriver to him.  “Thank you. That’s all I ask.”

Roy laughed and returned to the transmission, pretending like he could focus on that instead of the kiss they almost had. Marinette watched, almost transfixed as he moved the gears synchronously on the transmission, creating intricate and ever changing patterns.  She pulled her sketchbook and pencil out to capture a sudden idea.

“The wrench?” Roy called out, not looking up from the transmission.  He held out his hand and waited for a few seconds before adding, “Please?”  He waited a little longer before repeating it a bit louder.  “Wrench, please?”  He finally looked up when she still hadn’t handed it to him.  “Marinette?”  He looked over to her concerned.  His face immediately softened when he saw her.

Marinette’s face was frozen in intense concentration on her sketchbook as she drew confidently and without hesitation.  She held the sketchbook out and tilted it slightly. She narrowed her eyes at it and tilted it a different way.  Her mouth curved into a satisfied smirk before she added in more details and notes. Her eyes lit up with inspiration, bright and clear.  She shook her head to get a stray strand of hair out of her eyes, hands too busy committing her inspiration to paper to waste time with such trivialities.  Roy shook his head, mentally berating himself for having backed off before.  She had been right there and leaning toward him.  Maybe Jason and Dick… and Tim and Damian, were right.  He was an idiot.

Before Roy realized what he was doing, he had reached out to tuck it behind her ear, being careful to avoid her cut as his fingers brushed her face.  Marinette jumped at the unexpected contact.  She looked up at him wide eyed but a sheepish look quickly overtook her expression. She looked down in embarrassment, but that only pressed her face further into Roy’s hand, which made her embarrassed blush deepen but not due to embarrassment this time.  “Sorry.  Did you need a tool?”

Roy shook his head.  He smiled and moved his hand slightly so it was cupping her face this time.  “It’s fine. I was enjoying watching you get caught up in inspiration.”

Marinette looked down again and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.  It is probably the most embarrassing face.”

Roy smiled softly at her, his eyes shining with sincerity and fondness.  “No. It wasn’t.  It was cute.”  He took a step closer to her and leaned a bit closer, more intimately.  “I wouldn’t mind seeing it more.”

“More of my too distracted to pay attention to you face?” she smirked and leaned closer to him.

“Any version of your face you’ll let me see. Although I would prefer to see it with fewer cuts,” he frowned at the cut on her cheek as he rubbed a soothing line just below the bruise that had formed around the cut.  He leaned closer to examine the cut until his lips were centimeters from her cheek.  He flicked his eyes to her half lidded ones and leaned to close the distance.

“Hey, guys!” Dick boomed as he came into the room. Marinette and Roy jumped apart, or rather Roy jumped away and Marinette straightened up on the stool, grabbing the workbench to keep from falling off.  “Sorry I’m late.  And sorry I’m here instead of Jason.  He got… caught up in the attack.  Not personally!” he rushed to assure Marinette when her eyes widened and body stiffened.  “I meant he’s dealing with the fallout.  Jason is fine.  He’d just be really, really late and asked if I could come over here instead.  If that’s okay.”

Marinette nodded, but her eyes were still slightly widened.  “Of course. But you’re sure Jason’s okay?”

“Absolutely,” Dick shot her a charming smile.  “He’s just going to need a bit of time to deal with things,” he lied smoothly.  He looked between Marinette and Roy with narrowed eyes and moved between them as he hugged Marinette.  “He really, really wanted to be here with you today.  I think he’s planning on attaching himself to you tomorrow though.”

Marinette chuckled lightly.  “That’s okay.  We’ll have fun doing something.”  Her face suddenly sobered.  “Oh, no, wait.  I have lunch with Duke and Cass tomorrow.  I mean… I think I have lunch with them.  We had planned it, but that was before…” she trailed off, not wanting to go into detail at all, but especially in front of Roy.

“I’m sure you still do,” Dick assured her.  “They’re probably just waiting to get confirmation from you in case the last few days were a bit much and you wanted a break.”

“No!” Marinette exclaimed.  “No.  I’ll text them.  Thanks.”

“But I get you for tonight.  How do you feel about a movie marathon?” he grinned widely, already planning a full night’s marathon with her, Adrien, and Max.  She had to love Disney movies, right?  Who didn’t love Disney movies?

“I like movies,” Roy chirped with a teasing grin.

“No,” he answered sharply.  He turned back to Marinette with a mock sympathetic smile. “You must have been so bored here.”

Roy narrowed his eyes back at him but Marinette jumped up to defend Roy.  “Not at all. It was interesting watching him working on the bike.  I got some good inspiration too.”

Roy raised a pointed eyebrow at him with a smug grin.  “Motorcycles remind her of her grandmother.”

Dick looked back at Marinette who was looking back at Roy with a surprised expression.  “Good memory.”

“I remember important things,” he shrugged.

Dick glared at him.  “Uh huh.  But not to check if things are loaded.”  He looked back at Marinette.  “You’ve got something just there,” he motioned to the cheek Roy had stroked earlier. “You might want to get that grease off.”

“Oh!” Marinette exclaimed grabbing her cheek, almost succeeding in covering the blush that flushed on her cheeks.  “Do you have a bathroom I can use?”

Roy nodded and motioned toward the bathroom. “Just right over there.”

As soon as the door closed, Dick punched Roy’s shoulder.  Roy frowned at him.  “What?”

“What the Hell are you doing?” Dick hissed and motioned toward the bathroom.

“What?” Roy answered rubbing his shoulder.  At least it was just Dick.  If it was Jason, he’d be rubbing his jaw right now.  “Tim dropped her off here.  What was I supposed to do?  Ignore her?”

“You were supposed to not hit on her,” he grumbled.

“That’s just unreasonable,” Roy rolled his eyes and leaned back against the workbench.  He motioned to the bathroom.  “Have you met her? She’s smart and sassy and really sweet.  She's funny and obviously gorgeous.  Who doesn’t want to hit on her?”

“Yeah.  I’ve met her. Didn’t hit on her.” Dick let out a long suffering sigh. “Jesus, Roy!  I’ve had her as a sister for like a week.  I don’t want to lose her because I’m in jail for killing you.”

“You’re her brother, you don’t count in the hitting on her count.  And please,” Roy scoffed, “you’re too good to go to jail for it.”

“True.  Just…” he narrowed his eyes at him and pointed at him threateningly, “if you mess around and hurt her… I’ll choose her over you.  And I won’t forget to load the magazines and Jason will be more than happy to use them.”

“That’s hurtful,” Roy groused.  “One time.  I forgot to load the magazines one time.”

“Yeah, in the middle of a mission!” Dick whisper hissed.

“You survived,” Roy shrugged.  “Stop being such a baby.  But I get it.  I’d choose her over me too.  Or you. But if you were going to kill anyone for hurting her, Riddler wouldn’t still be alive… or Bruce.”

Dick pursed his lips at the reminder of how Bruce had treated Marinette, of everything that had come up the night before. His anger quickly deflating.  He looked toward the bathroom, his eyes softening. They really needed to work harder to support her, to assure her they weren’t holding her at arm’s length. Maybe talk to Bruce about telling her the truth.  That seemed like the only possible way to salvage this.  “How does she seem to be doing?”

Roy shrugged and watched the bathroom door to make sure she wouldn’t walk in on the conversation.  “Actually doesn’t seem too bothered by the Riddler incident.  She’s more anxious about the family knowing.” He pursed his lips and picked up a transmission piece, pretending to examine it.  “Bruce hasn’t said anything or made any attempts as far as she knows.”

Dick sighed and massaged his temples.  “That should surprise me more than it does.” He let out a heavy sigh.  “Last night… dinner didn’t… some things came out that Bruce didn’t know.  Things she had to go through.  He’s beating himself up over it.  Too ashamed to talk to her.”

Roy sighed and shook his head.  Bruce was going to lose her before he even had her at this point.  “That have anything to do with why she’s so unaffected by having been taken captive by one of the most dangerous rogues in Gotham?” Dick’s resigned sigh was enough confirmation for him.  “Fuck,” he grumbled.  “She thinks it’s her fault he doesn’t want to bother with her anymore.”

“Damn it,” Dick grumbled, drawing out the words in frustration.  He ran his hand over his face and collapsed on the stool she had been on earlier.  “Good to know.  Thanks.”

Roy nodded and threw the part back on the workbench.  “How’s Jay doing?”

“He’ll be okay.  Tim got there in time to stop him from going too far, but he’s going to need a few hours, maybe the night to let the Pit Madness recede.  And I think he’s really nervous about showing any part of that to Marinette.”

They both snapped their attention to Marinette when she came back.  “My cheek look better?” she turned her cheek for them to see.  “I mean obviously not the cut.”

“Yeah, you look beautiful.”  Roy assured her and handed her purse to her.  

Dick glared at Roy.  “Could you stop hitting on my sister for five seconds?” he hissed low enough for Marinette not to hear.  He turned to Marinette before Roy could respond.  “Ready to go?  I don’t know about you but I’m hungry.”

Marinette rolled her eyes.  “Yeah, yeah, okay.”

Dick walked ahead of her, pretending like he didn’t notice her lag behind. When he was almost out the door, she turned to Roy and gave him a lingering kiss on his cheek.  “Thank you for babysitting me today and for the tour the other day.  I’ve had a lot of fun.”

Roy nodded and handed her his phone with a spot for Fire Flower already started in his contacts.  “If your plans ever get canceled again or you need to hide out or you need to borrow a jacket so you fit in, give me a call, Fire Flower.”

Marinette put her number in and passed it back to him with a grin.  “You have extra you can just loan out?”

Roy grinned back and nodded.  “A few jackets, suit coats, shirts, ties, clean pants, even a few pairs of coveralls, none of which would fit you, but if you ever need them… Or even if you don’t need anything, just want to talk or hang out, let me know.”

“Marinette!  I thought you were ready to go?” Dick yelled.

Marinette shook her head and sighed.  She waved to Roy as she rushed out.  “Thanks again!”

Roy watched her leave until he couldn’t see her anymore.  He let out a deep sigh and collapsed against the workbench. He looked at his phone and quickly sent a text with a smile.

Tags:

@maribat-bdbwm @jayjayspixiepop @redscarlet95 @alice-hazelwood @deathssilentapproach-blog @unoriginalmess @alyssadeliv @emotionalsupportginger @frieddonutsweets @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @toodaloo-kangaroo @colorfulmongerpsychicranch @iloontjeboontje @wolf-for-life @maribatserver @aespades @prettylittlebutterflie @imarivers8  @ certainmuffinbagelcalzone @ritacrow-blog @unoriginalmess @demonicbusiness @kking13 @lady-bee-fechin @blur-of-colours @kittenmywaythrulife @kashlyn @loysydark

[helloalycia]

my patient’s neighbour [three] // wanda maximoff

summary: your relationship with Wanda gets a little bumpy when her work life crosses over with your personal life.

warning/s: implied kidnapping, mentions of anxiety

author's note: so the ‘i love you’ confession was actually inspired by an incorrect quote on @aquamarinescarlet’s page! i thought it would be cute aha

part one | part two | part four | part five | part six | part seven | masterlist | wattpad

It was two months into our relationship when I knew I'd fallen in love with Wanda. I can't remember the exact moment when it hit me – I guess it had happened gradually over time – but I remember the embarrassing moment when I told her.

She'd brought me as her date to an Avengers party thrown by Tony Stark. I'd been to one of them before, about a month into dating her, as she'd wanted me to meet her friends from work AKA the freakin' Avengers. They were actually really great and (somewhat) humble people. I didn't expect to become 'friends' with any of them, more just be friendly whenever I saw them through Wanda. To my surprise, I became quite good friends with Natasha Romanoff.

We had the same dark sense of humour, both had an unexplainable obsession with horror films and she was genuinely just really easy to talk to. I wasn't expecting it, but it was nice to gain a new friend in addition to a new girlfriend.

So, I was at my second Avengers party with Wanda by my side, but the party had ended about half an hour ago and I may or may not have been drunk.

We were sat on the couch, conversing with the other Avengers, and I was sat between Wanda and Natasha. The others were involved in their own conversations and I was too dazed to realise what I was doing until it happened.

"Wanda has no idea I'm in love with her," I said (not-so) quietly, leaning over to my left, into Wanda's ear unknowingly.

Wanda, who was playing with my fingers in her hand, paused and glanced to me with bright eyes, a surprised expression on her face.

"You're in love with me?" she asked, lips twitching into a smile.

I blinked, her words settling in, before I licked my lips. "Oh, sorry." Turning to my right, I moved to Natasha's ear, whispering loudly, "Wanda has no idea I'm in love with her."

Natasha glanced to me with a quirked brow, amused smile on her lips. "She doesn't? You sure about that?"

"You're in love with me?" Wanda repeated, sitting forward and earning my attention.

I gasped, wondering how she knew, before slapping Natasha's arm and looking to her with a frown. "You told her?! I trusted you!"

Natasha ignored me, instead looking to Wanda with an encouraging look. "I'll leave this one to you. Good luck."

She stood up, heading over to Thor and Bruce Banner on the other couch, and I booed her as she left.

"Yeah, run away, you secret-give-away'er!" I called after her with a pout, before crossing my arms.

"I think it's time I take you home," Wanda said decidedly, trying not to laugh as she pulled me up off the couch.

"I don't like Natasha anymore," I mumbled, allowing Wanda to take me away.

She bid her goodbyes to her teammates before leading me to the lift. I don't really remember what else happened until we were suddenly at my house – well, my parents house, but they had given it to me as they travelled the world with their retirement money. She was leading me inside and to my bedroom, getting me dressed like the sweet girlfriend she was, before tucking me into bed.

Of course, being the clingy drunk I was, I pulled her on top of me and didn't let go as I wrapped my arms around her.

"Stay," I mumbled into her shoulder, closing my eyes.

She chuckled, trying to pull away. "Y/N, you need to sleep, c'mon."

"I will," I whined, not letting her leave. "If you stay with me."

She paused, before giving in with a sigh. "Fine."

Tiredly, I smiled. "Yesssss." I patted the spot next to me. "Right here, please."

In the light of my bedside lamp, I saw her roll her eyes playfully, before turning off the lamp and jumping under the covers with me. I sighed with relief, cuddling into her side without hesitating.

"I love you," I mumbled, barely thinking about it.

She tightened her embrace and I felt her kiss the top of my head. "You're probably gonna forget you said that in the morning. But I'll remind you. And if you still think it, then I'll reply."

Her words went into one ear and out the other. I hummed in response, not knowing what I was answering to, and let myself get lost in her scent as I drifted into a peaceful slumber.

When I woke up the next morning, I quite liked the idea of sharing bed with Wanda and waking up to her dishevelled hair and our intertwined legs, even though I didn't remember inviting her to stay. Of course, I also had a banging headache and felt like someone had hit me with a train, so I didn't get chance to appreciate it much.

"Fuck," I mumbled, pulling the duvet over my head to block out the sun streaming through the slit in my curtain.

Wanda, who was shuffling beside me, yawned and stretched her arms. Suddenly, I heard quiet laughter, before she spooned me, wrapping her arms around my stomach and pulling me closer. Her leg raised and clung to my waist, and as much as I appreciated the way she fit perfectly against me, I was still in pain.

"Why did you let me drink that much?" I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut.

"I believe that was your own conscience decision, dorogoy (darling)," she said in that know-it-all voice of hers, and it was hard for me to be annoyed at her because she had a raspy, morning voice and her accent was especially thick with fatigue and damn, Wanda Maximoff was pretty sexy in the morning.

"Whatever," was all I said, but I placed my hand on hers and joint our fingers together.

"You know," she started, tucking her head comfortably into my neck, "I quite like waking up to you like this. You're very cute, even if you're cranky."

Despite aforementioned crankiness, I cracked a smile. "I like this, too."

It was very domestic, something I didn't get the privilege of experiencing with Wanda because she worked a lot, and it felt good.

After hanging around in bed for a little while longer, I got up and showered whilst Wanda offered to make me some breakfast – "Pancakes are a hangover's cure! Or at least according to Tony". After getting ready, I came downstairs to find a stack of pancakes and maple syrup waiting for me.

"You are a Godsend," I told her, pressing a haste kiss to her lips before sitting at the table with the pancakes. "Thank you."

She chuckled, grabbing her own pancakes and sitting opposite me. "Anything for you."

After I dug in, complimenting her on how delicious they tasted, a comfortable silence fell between us. Well, until Wanda spoke up cautiously.

"So, does anything from last night ring a bell?" she asked, making me look up to see her staring eagerly.

My content expression fell. "Shoot, did I do something embarrassing?" I facepalmed. "God, what was it? Did I fall asleep on somebody?"

She smiled with adoration, eyes twinkling in the morning sun. "No, nothing like that."

I could tell there was something though, judging from her hesitant expression. I scrunched my face with regret.

"What did I do?" I asked, unprepared to hear it. "Did I say something to you?"

She played with her fork, twisting it around in her plate nervously, which was very unlike her. "Yeah, actually, you did."

I waited, feeling like the silence was deafening the longer she stayed quiet.

"You said you were in love with me," she said, voice so soft and quiet that I barely heard it.

I felt my heart drop to my stomach. "I what?"

"I mean, technically you said I had no idea you were in love with me, but I think you were supposed to tell Nat that," she continued, eyes avoiding mine. "Then you told Nat and you got mad at her because you thought she told me."

I facepalmed for the second time that morning. "Oh, God..."

"Then you invited me to stay the night and told me you loved me before you fell asleep," she finished rambling. "I just, er, wanted to check if you meant that..."

I raised my eyebrows with disbelief. "Are you kidding?" I reached over the table to grab her hand. "Wanda, of course I meant that! But I hoped to tell you at a better time than by accident whilst I was drunk."

Blue eyes flickered to mine, excitement creeping onto her face. "You meant it."

I breathed out, realising what exactly I'd just said. "I– yeah. I meant it. I'm in love with you, Wanda."

Her smile widened. "I'm in love with you, too."

My heart fluttered in my chest as I relaxed my shoulders. "You love me."

She giggled, squeezing my hand. "We just did this."

"Right! We did," I said, shaking my head, grin forming on my lips. "Sorry. I'm just so happy right now."

"Me, too," she said in agreement, thumb stroking the top of my hand.

I didn't think things could go wrong from here. I was on top of the world! But of course, the world had a funny way of ruining things.

—

Dating a superhero had its pros and cons, I suppose, but neither really showed themselves to me often as it was as if Wanda's superhero life was separate to the one we shared. When she and I were together, it was just us. And she would leave for work and I wouldn't think about it. Then she would return and it would be us again.

If I took a moment out of my day to stop and really think about where she was, what she could be doing, the danger she could be in... I just couldn't do it. Even when she would show up to our next date with a fresh bruise from training, or a broken bone from a mission gone too far, I'd worry about it for the time being then try to let it go. Those weren't superhero perks, those were reasons to be concerned. And I couldn't handle imagining the time when she'd come back to me in a worse state, or to not even come back at all.

So, her superhero life rarely overlapped with our shared one. And I was happier that way. Until it did.

I was running errands one day, little things that required me to run around the city – dry cleaning, grocery shopping, picking up some DIY stuff for my house. It was a pretty relaxing, fun day. I'd treated myself to lunch, was soaking in the sunshine and planning to unwind with some Netflix on the couch.

"Hold on, I need to unlock the front door," I mumbled into the phone. I was talking to Wanda, catching her up with my day as I returned home.

"Try not to drop your phone this time," she teased from the other end, and I could just imagine the smirk on her face.

"So funny," I said with an eye roll. "Real comedian."

She laughed as I placed my phone in my pocket, not quite hanging up. Pulling my keys from my shopping bag, I fiddled with them, attempting to find the key for my front door.

Suddenly, something metal and cold pressed to my back and I jumped, dropping my keys with surprise.

"Don't draw attention," the person said, and I went rigid, looking up to see a reflection of someone unrecognisable in the glass of my front door. "You're going to leave your things here and come with me."

"Who are you?" I asked, trying to turn around, but the object pressed harder into my back, making me wince.

"Leave your fucking things here and give me your hand," the man ordered, ignoring my question. "Phone included. And don't even think about making a call."

I swallowed hard, panic settling in as I listened to the threatening stranger. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I realised that the stranger had no idea I was already on a call. With an Avenger nonetheless.

"I'll put it down," I narrated my actions, soon coming to realise that the object behind my back was in fact the barrel of a gun.

Hoping Wanda was still listening in and could hear the exchange, I put my phone on the ground and placed my shaking hand in the man's outstretched one. He tucked his gun back into the waistband of his jeans before tugging me down the steps and to a black van parked opposite my house.

Too paralysed with fear at the sight of two more strange men getting out the van, I felt my throat go dry and words get stuck at the bottom. Looking around, I hoped to find a neighbour's eyes or dog-walker's lost gaze, but nobody was here. Whoever these men were had timed their entrance perfectly.

When we reached the van, the back doors were opened and the man spun me around roughly before placing a bag on my head and shoving me inside. Hot tears ran down my face as I squeezed my eyes shut, wondering what the hell was happening and who these people were. But mostly, I hoped Wanda was already on her way.

—

The whole incident was over soon. That's what we were calling it now. The 'incident'. Of course, it could have been called other things... the kidnapping, the abduction, the capture. But we settled with the 'incident'. It was less explicit, as if minimising how utterly terrifying the whole experience was.

I never did find out who those men were. Wanda offered to tell me, feeling a need to explain herself and blame herself and drag herself down in the dirt to make me feel better, to bring me out of my silence and give me something to feel good about. I recalled her mentioning they were after her, getting to her through me – her girlfriend.

She rescued me quite quickly. Being tied up and locked away and left to cry like a child, wondering if I was going to die any minute at the hands of captors whom I had never met nor done anything to in my life, wasn't fun. People always wonder what they would do in those situations; maybe they would square up and put up a fight; maybe they would scream and shout and get everyone's attention; maybe they'd even retort with sarky remarks and go out with a blaze of glory.

I never imagined what that would be like, but I discovered I could do neither of those things. I just let them take me, let them threaten me and point their guns at me and tie me up and lock me away and–

I let myself cry and feel terrified and shake and lose my words and imagine the worst. Some would call that giving in, but this wasn't something you could prepare for. Surely my response was justified? I wasn't sure. I just knew that when Wanda burst onto the scene, taking out the men with ease and taking me out of there, taking me home, I was momentarily safe.

But then as she began to ramble off her explanations and apologies and regrets, I found myself turning in on myself, unable to hear her out. I didn't blame her one bit, but I also couldn't listen to one more second. So, I tuned her out.

I sat on the couch, staring at the way the thread was coming loose on one of my cushions. I thought about how quickly the whole 'incident' had happened. How one minute I was sat in a cell and now I was sat on my couch. How I was then shaking with fear and now I felt nothing.

"...you listening? Hey, are you okay?"

I only tuned back in when she sat on the cushion I was looking at. Her fingers rested on my cheek, guiding my head upwards so I was looking her in the eyes, glassy and red and swollen from crying. I probably looked the same, though I was all out of tears.

"I promise you nobody will be back here," she said with certainty, thumb stroking my cheek. "There's S.H.I.E.L.D. agents posted all along the street. And I'm happy to stay here if you need me to. You're safe now."

I knew I was. And despite my calm exterior, my heart was still racing in my chest, adrenaline still pumping through my body as if expecting to make a sudden break for it.

"What are you thinking?" she muttered, eyes flicking between mine curiously. "Talk to me. Please."

I shook my head, looking away. "I'm okay."

"It's okay not to be," she said quietly, squeezing my hand.

"I know."

So, we kept that bit up for a few more days, maybe a week. Me pretending I was okay, though still distant from Wanda as if she'd caught the plague, and her pretending she knew I was telling the truth.

But I knew she sensed the nightmares I had, waking me up in cold sweats. I knew she saw the way I tensed when a shadow cast along the wall from a moving object. Or the way I never faced the front door when unlocking it to get inside.

I guess she couldn't take it anymore at some point, possibly a week or two later, as when I was mixing my soup in a bowl after heating it up in the microwave, she sighed loudly.

"You okay?" I asked, glancing up at her. She was stood by the counter, seeming tired.

She'd been staying with me since the incident happened, obviously, and it was nice having her around so much, despite the circumstances. But I knew she was worried and had been keeping it in. I just didn't have the energy to acknowledge it.

"I'm fine," she said quickly, though her fingers still drummed on the countertop.

I let it go, shrugging, before paying attention to my soup. Her impatience was obnoxiously loud, filling the house with a discomfort she was dying to express. Eventually, she did.

"I'm not fine," she decided, and I stopped stirring my soup as I looked to her tugging on her sleeves distractedly. "I'm not fine because you're not fine."

"I've told you I am," I said monotonously, eyes boring into hers.

"I know you're not," she said, crossing her arms and hugging herself. "I've noticed you and..."

I quirked a brow. "And?"

She frowned, eyes softening with empathy. "Don't make me say it, Y/N."

I pressed my tongue to the back of my teeth as I looked down to my steaming soup.

"Talk to me," she pleaded, rounding the counter and leaning beside me, searching for my eyes. "I just want to help."

I swallowed hard. "I have nothing to say, Wanda."

"A really scary thing happened," she began hesitantly. "The fact that you don't have anything to say– that you've not said anything, isn't right."

"Well, I guess there's something wrong with me," I said dismissively, before grabbing the pepper grinder before me and using it.

"No, there's not," she reassured, not giving up. "You just need to talk.”

I set the grinder down, turning to face her abruptly. She straightened up with surprise, taking a small step back.

"What do you want me to say?" I asked, voice calm but full of unintentional malice. "Huh? What do you want me to tell you? That I'm terrified somebody is watching my house, waiting for a quiet moment to break in? That I have to follow you into every room you go in because I don't want to be left alone? That I can't fucking sleep because I'm scared that when I close my eyes, I'll be locked in a nightmare I can't escape? Is that what you want me to tell you? Does that make you feel better, Wanda? Because it doesn't make me feel any better. It just reminds me how fucking terrified I am."

I pocketed my shaking hands, blinked away the tears that threatened to fall, swallowed down the lump rising in my throat. She watched me, unsure what to say at first and I didn't blame her. It was an outburst waiting to happen.

"I'm–"

"Don't say you're sorry," I snapped, before flinching at my tone. "I know you're sorry. And I don't blame you for what happened. I just– I don't know what to do anymore."

Her eyes were studying me like green lasers burning holes into my skin and I hated that I couldn't meet them. I hated even more that I couldn't leave the kitchen out of anger or frustration because I was too scared to be left alone without her by my side.

So, I leaned against the counter, turning away from her, and let out a shaky breath, eyes burning and heart thumping in my ears. Her arms suddenly wrapped around me without question, and I let her take me into her chest, squeezing me so tight so I knew she was there.

Closing my eyes, I felt tears rolling down my cheeks, but no sound came out. I struggled to breathe, unable to take in air through my nose as I stuffed my head so hard into her shirt that I couldn't see a thing except darkness. I knew I'd eventually be okay, that I'd eventually get back to some sense of normalcy. But for now, having her here with me was okay. And I found it much better to just be with her then have to go over and talk it out.

She was warm and strong and smelt like home and God, I loved her. I was lucky to have her.

—

It took about a month and a half to get over the incident. And after that, we never brought it up again. It was just easier that way. We continued on like usual, falling back into our old routine of having a separate us and her separate superhero life.

At some point, I thought it would be nice for her to meet my parents. They were back in town for the week, wanting to check in and see how I was. It was nice having them around and I was excited for them to meet Wanda, who I'd mentioned in some of our Skype calls.

"We don't have to make it a thing," I said as I proposed the idea. We were cleaning around Anna's apartment as she napped in her bedroom. "It's not like an 'oh, meet the parents' thing. They just happen to be in town and we're having a dinner, so I thought you might want to come. If you don't, it's not a big deal. I haven't told them to expect you. Not unless you say yes. Which you don't have to."

She chuckled, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Dorogoy (darling), calm down. Breathe."

I neatened the cushions on the couch with a bit too much force. "Am I not breathing? I'm pretty sure I'm breathing."

Her hands slipped into mine as she spun me around to face her. An amused smile on her lips, she said, "You need to relax. If you're like this now, then who knows what you'll be like on the night of the dinner?"

It took me a second to realise what she'd said and when I did, my eyes widened. "Wait, the night of the– does that mean you're going?"

She laughed, tugging me closer to her. "Yes, I'm going. I'd love to meet your parents!"

My shoulders relaxed as her fingers played with mine mindlessly. A smile appeared on my lips as I said, "Thank you. I– it'll be fun. No pressure. Just a dinner."

"Just a dinner," she confirmed, before kissing my forehead gently. "Can't wait."

And so on the day before my parents left for Scotland, yet another trip on their never ending retirement travels, I waited for Wanda to pick me up so we could go to a restaurant to meet my parents, who were already there after spending the day shopping in town.

She arrived at the door with a beautiful smile and bright eyes, looking me up and down.

"Just on time," I teased, tilting my head to the side, before being serious. "You look amazing tonight, Wanda."

"As do you, moya lyubov' (my love)," she said sweetly, leaning forward to kiss my cheek, before stepping inside. "Also, these are for you."

She removed her hand from behind her back as I closed the door, revealing a gorgeous, colourful bouquet of flowers.

"I saw them and thought of you," she began to explain without even realising how cute she was; a smile crept on my lips as she continued, "but then I realised I've never gotten you flowers before which is very dumb of me because a pretty girl deserves pretty flowers, right?"

There was no doubt that my face was heating up from the attention, flustered yet honoured at her words.

"Wanda, I love them," I said, accepting the flowers and meeting her gaze. "And to be fair, nobody has ever gotten me flowers before."

"You're kidding," she said with disbelief, stepping forward and wrapping her arms loosely around my waist. Reading my serious expression, she added, "Not even for your birthday? Or a celebration?"

I shook my head. "Nope."

She gave me a knowing look. "Well, that's very unfortunate. But I'm glad I could be the first."

I held her gaze, amusement dancing in her smile. Mirroring her expression, I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her nose, making her scrunch it up delightfully.

"Me, too," I said, and I meant it.

"Come on, we should get going," she said, squeezing my waist before letting go. "Don't want to be late, do we?"

"We do not," I agreed, before putting the flowers in a vase of water and leaving them by the door.

"You ready?" she asked, holding open the front door.

I intertwined our hands and met her smile with my own. "I'm ready."

Taking the girlfriend to meet the parents. What could go wrong?

[strawberrymilkgeorge]

Part Seven. Cooties, Discall, and Flirting

warnings: swearing, also I used the word “flirt” so many times it no longer holds meaning so beware word count: 4k 

behind the screen (irl dream x f!reader) series masterlist ultimate masterlist

A/N: putting it up here this time!!!! i liked this chap so i hope you do too!!!!! if you didn’t see the missing dms from part 3 (which are now actually in part 3), bugsy agreed to a minecraft date with dream in exchange for karl touring her on his smp!! anyway, enjoy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**********

The frosty air bit at Y/n's skin as she hurriedly shut the car door behind her, starting up her car in an attempt to find warmth as quickly as possible. "Why do I live here?" she asked through chattered teeth, causing Naomi to laugh.

"It's not that cold!"

"I don't know how you're okay with this."

"Do you want me to drive? You're so stiff you'll crash,” Naomi offered as she looked at Y/n.

"I'm fine, I just need to warm up for a second," Y/n assured as she rubbed her hands together in front of the heater.

Naomi giggled and took her hands, rubbing them to help heat them up.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Now hurry up, I have a work meeting in like 30 minutes."

"What?" she gasped, quickly putting her gloves back on. "Why didn't you tell me? I wouldn't have spent so much time looking at Christmas decorations!"

"I'm just kidding. But Karl will be mad if he has to wait for his food any longer."

"You're seriously the worst." She smacked Naomi's arm and started driving, much less panicked than a few moments prior.

"You love me."

"Whatever. How's your internship going by the way?"

Naomi sighed. "Good. It's really hard to be motivated to go since it's unpaid but it's the last thing I need to graduate so I have to do it."

"But you enjoy it, right? I mean it's what you want to do."

"Yeah, no, I love it. I just wish I was getting paid so I didn't have to work at the grocery store too. I wish I could get paid to play video games like you."

Y/n deflated slightly. She hated when people put it like that, it made her sound like it wasn't a real job but it was challenging in its own way. "I'll teach you how to pvp and you'll be on your way to the top."

"Maybe then I could actually meet George myself instead of waiting around for you to do it."

"Wait!" Y/n gasped. "Did I not... did I not tell you about the other night?"

"Uh... I guess not? What happened?"

Y/n squealed. "Dude! Make a Discord account right now. Get your phone out and make one."

"Why? What is that?"

"It's the thing we all use to voice call during streams and in private and stuff. Come on!" Y/n used her right hand to urge Naomi to grab her phone. "George said you can't have his number but you can have his Discord."

"Wait, really??" Naomi gasped. "Wait, what does that mean!? I can talk to him on it!?"

Y/n laughed. "Yes, yes! You can text or voice call or even video call but I don't suggest that right away. Don't scare him away."

"He really said he'd add me back? Wait, when did you talk to him about me?"

"On Dream's stream. After the movie, I went and talked to them for a few hours."

"Is that why I heard you giggling at four in the morning?"

Y/n felt her cheeks heat up. "Okay, well, that was just with Dream. George and Sapnap left the call around one and two."

"Date."

"Sounds to me like someone doesn't want GeorgeNotFound's Discord..."

Y/n saw Naomi cower shyly. "Sorry. Please give it to me."

"I don't know it off the top of my head, silly. So be nice for the rest of the car ride and I'll get it when we get home."

"Is Karl meeting us at our apartment or his?"

"Ours. Can you tell him we're almost there?"

"I don't know if I have the strength to... talk to someone who's such good friends with... my love..." Naomi started with a dramatic sigh, "it just reminds me of the pain I go through daily... without him..."

"If that were true, you couldn't talk to me. I'm also good friends with Mr. Not Found."

Naomi threw her head to glare at Y/n, who just laughed. "Come on, text Karl. Please. His food will get cold."

Y/n watched as Naomi typed away on her phone. Soon, the two pulled up to their apartment complex and headed upstairs. Y/n turned the corner and walked down the hall to see Karl standing at their front door.

"KARL JACOBS! WE HAVE FOOD!"

He looked up quickly from his phone and beamed at them. "My heroes!"

"What are you doing outside, silly?" Y/n asked. "Don't you have a key?"

"Naomi made me give it back after I pulled that prank on you guys last month," he explained as Y/n unlocked the door.

"Well deserved. I still find glitter everywhere."

Y/n set the food on the counter and the other two crowded around. "Thank you, mother, for lunch," Karl joked and kissed her cheek loudly, his love language of physical touch jumping out of him. Y/n grimaced playfully as she wiped her cheek on her shoulder.

"GROSS!!! COOTIES!"

Karl pouted. "I thought we were best fwends, Y/n . Best fwends don't have cooties."

"You do. You're a boy."

Y/n's phone lit up as Karl started going on a joking rant about how Y/n  always is so mean to his affections and he can't help wanting to show his friends he loves them and how she's so mean and, "Y/n you're not even listening to my complaints how are we supposed to be best friends when you're too busy talking to your boyfriend all the time and—"

"Boyfriend?" Y/n looked up quickly, worried he had seen the text from Peter that she just read. He was still trying to convince her to talk to him even after she bluntly told him no and why.

Karl walked over to the couch with his food and sat next to Naomi. "I was just joking... why, is there someone?" he giggled. "Dreeeaam maybe?"

Y/n shook her head, and her lack of defensiveness made Naomi and Karl look at each other. Normally she turned bright red and stumbled over her words when they joked about anyone being her boyfriend, but she was stone cold silent as her phone continued to illuminate her face.

"Y/n... What's up?" Naomi asked. "Is it Peter again?"

"Peter?" Karl's eyebrows raised and his food almost fell out of his mouth. "He's been texting you?"

Y/n sighed, locking her phone and sliding it in her pocket before finally joining her friends on the couch. "It's nothing."

"No, it's not."

"He wants to talk," Y/n mumbled.

"What?" Karl asked genuinely.

"I said he wants to talk."

Karl just stared for a few moments before looking at Naomi, who nodded, then back at Y/n. "You're not going to, right? Right? You've got to be kidding me, Y/n, he's a selfish dick and he's just going to keep hurting you. Why do you keep giving him the benefit of the doubt when he's proven time and time again that he's nothing but a fuc—"

"Karl!" Y/n interrupted. "I'm obviously not going to talk to him."

Karl's face flushed, probably embarrassed that he had assumed the worst and ranted. He sighed, exasperated. "Why don't you just block him already?"

Y/n shrugged. "He's harmless now that I don't let his words get to me."

"I'm just glad you finally decided not to meet up with him," Naomi said.

Y/n  shrugged like it was an obvious choice, but deep down she couldn't help but think about the exact reason she had come to that decision. Besides all the pain he had caused her, how could she consider getting back together with her ex when she finds herself giddy about talking to someone else over Discord? Simple: she couldn't. The possibility of liking Dream briefly crossed her mind, and she knew that in the few weeks she had talked to him, the faceless man she had never met in real life made her feel better about herself than her ex-boyfriend ever did in the two years they dated. She wasn't sure quite what that meant, but she knew it was something.

"Can I have George's Dis...call or whatever it's called now? Please?"

Y/n laughed at the failed attempt at remembering the name of the application and pulled out her phone, directing Naomi on where to add friends and listing off his name and hashtag. Naomi then gave Y/n her name so she could tell George who to add back. "There, now leave me alone about George for the rest of your life."

Naomi giggled giddily before going to her room, eyes glued to her phone for the moment he would add her back.

"I'm sorry for being so bossy when it comes to Peter," Karl muttered.

Y/n shrugged and cuddled into the couch, hugging a pillow to her stomach. "I get that he was awful, but you have to trust me to know what to do."

"I do! I promise I trust you but..." Karl paused to groan, "but he just makes my blood boil. I've never hated anyone in my life but I would love to slice his head off if I ever got the chance."

"Thank you for being protective, but I promise I can handle myself."

Karl looked at her sadly. "Why did you stay with him for so long? Even after he cheated on you and said all those horrible things?"

She shrugged shamefully. "I had no one else."

"You had me and Naomi! Y/n, you've never been alone."

"That's not what I mean, Karl. I love you guys so much but it's not the same as dating someone, you know?"

"I guess..." he sighed. "But wouldn't you rather be alone than with someone who's so possessive you're afraid to tell him about your real job?"

Y/n dropped her shoulders. He had a point. She really shouldn't have stayed with Peter as long as she did. He was scary. "Yeah."

A scream from the other room snapped them out of their serious conversation. "HE ADDED ME BACK!"

Y/n laughed and Karl shook his head. "Poor George. He's about to regret so much," she predicted.

"Noooo... I'm sure he and Naomi will get along great," Karl argued. "They'll be friends at least."

"Maybe. Hey, any updates about cameragirl?"

Karl blushed immediately and Y/n smiled.

"Is that a yes??"

"I... may have... finally spoken to her. Y/n, she's so cute. Like, she's so nice and I want to protect her from everything."

"What did you guys talk about?!" Y/n gasped, sitting up quickly.

"You're going to be so disappointed in me..."

"Did you talk about Sonic the Hedgehog again? Karl, I swear—"

"No! But I only said like two words."

"What two words?"

"Um, I said hi, and then she asked how I was and I said good."

"KARL!"

"I know!" he said as he buried his face in his hoodie sleeves. "I'm the worst! I don't know how to talk to her! She's so cute!!!"

Y/n laughed endearingly and pulled his hands away. "My offer still stands, I'll teach you how to flirt if you want."

"No, I still don't believe that you can actually flirt."

"I totally can, but fine. Ask Naomi to help you if you don't trust me. She'd teach you if you want." Y/n looked down at her phone as it lit up with notifications from Twitter.

As if he knew by the smile on her face who it was, Karl challenged, "Flirt with Dream to prove you can."

"I have nothing to prove to you," Y/n mumbled, standing up. "But he wants to call me so I'm going to my room. You're welcome to stay here or go home since Naomi's still in her room too."

"Mkay," Karl said. "I'll just stay here for now. Thanks again for the food."

"No problem, dude." Y/n disappeared to her room and opened Discord on her computer, waiting for Dream to call her. She answered when he finally did.

"Hi, Dream," she smiled into her headset.

"Hi, Bug. What are you up to?"

"Nothing. I was just explaining to Karl how good I am at flirting because he doesn't believe that I'm good."

"I don't either."

"What?" she laughed. "Why does no one think I can? Have you seen all the thirsty people flirting with me on Twitter? You included."

"Yeah, but you hardly flirt back. You just insult us."

"I can flirt when I want to."

"Prove it."

"...I don't want to."

"Why? Because you can only flirt with your boyfriend?"

"Are you trying to get me to admit I have a secret lover?"

"Yes."

"Well too bad, I don't."

"Interesting... so you," he paused, careful with his words, "so you decided... not to listen to whats-his-face?"

"Mhm," she hummed, not trusting her voice to stay steady. Why was she nervous? She crossed her fingers hoping that he wouldn't ask how or why she came to that conclusion. She didn't have a lie ready to hide the fact that it might have something to do with Dream.

"Then there's no reason you can't flirt with me."

Y/n sighed dramatically but still smiled. "Why did you call me? Just to make fun of my flirting abilities?"

"No, I called because I'm bored."

"Wow, so I'm just a backup when GeorgeNotFound and Sapnap are busy?"

"Actually, I called you before I tried either of them."

"Interesting..." she mocked him and he scoffed.

"Stop changing the subject and flirt with me!!! Give me your best pickup line!! Why won't you?"

"How about because I reserve flirting for people who deserve it?"

"Oh, it's that good, huh? You have to be on a VIP list to be flirted with by you?"

"Yeah," she laughed, completely joking. "It's life-changing."

"How do I get on that list?"

"Why do you want me to flirt with you so bad, you weirdo?"

"Because you said it's life-changing! And because I just don't believe that you're good at flirting."

"Why? What about me screams that I'm an awkward mess?"

"Everything!" he laughed. "Every time I've witnessed anyone flirt with you you just get all embarrassed and change the subject. Or on Twitter when we flirt with you, you almost always just reject us outright. People like that aren't smooth."

"Fine. I'll flirt with you, Dream. Not now but when you least expect it and it'll leave you so speechless that you'll never question me again."

"Good. I'm excited."

She snorted lightly and shook her head. "You're ridiculous."

"Oh, hey, you know how I said Sapnap, George, and I wanted to do a big hangout thing with everyone?"

"Yes! Is it happening??"

"Yeah! We still don't know exactly when but George mentioned he thinks New Year's Eve and New Year's Day are stupid holidays so we want to get everyone together in person for that to prove it's a great holiday."

"I mean... I'm kinda with George on this one," Y/n agreed.

"What?! How? It's the start of a New Year! It's an excuse to kiss someone and you start the year with all your friends and loved ones and-"

"It's literally just another day. The only thing that changes is people accidentally put the wrong year when they write dates down for the first month."

Dream laughed. "That's stupid. No. It's a good holiday."

"Whatever. You'll just have to prove to me that it's good."

"I will."

"And the thing you said about having an excuse to kiss someone is stupid. If you wanna kiss someone, just kiss them."

"That easy, huh?"

"Yes."

Dream hummed thoughtfully, a mischievously playful tone to it that made Y/n change the subject slightly to spare her heart from beating too hard.

"So he's coming for New Years'?"

"Okay, yeah, so he doesn't know exactly what date but we're trying to get as many of our friends as we can to come so we have to plan around everyone. Also obviously you and Karl and Naomi are invited."

"Oh, Naomi too? Good, because I think they're talking to each other right now."

"They are," Dream laughed. "George texted me when she added him and he panicked because he doesn't know how to talk to girls."

"What?!" Y/n gasped in offense. "That's his and my thing! Why didn't he text me panicking??"

"He said he was going to text you but since it's your friend he felt awkward."

She grunted. "Fine. I guess that makes sense. Except, I know her better than anyone so I'd be waaay more helpful than you."

"You saying I don't know how to talk to girls?"

"I mean, you've used so many pickup lines on me on Twitter and I'm still not wowed, so yeah, I'd say you aren't as smooth as you'd like to think."

"Bug! What?! I'm totally good at talking to girls," Dream tried to defend, pulling excuses out of his ass. "I just haven't used my best tactics because you're easier to scare away than most. As I said, you can't dish it or take it so I have to use special moves."

"They still haven't worked." The quick beating of her heart and shaking of her hands informed her that that was a lie. Every time he replied to her tweets, the painful grin on her face proved it was a big, fat lie. Maybe she was a little impressed at his "special moves" but she wasn't going to ever admit that to him.

"Whatever, you liar. Anyway, we were thinking of renting a cabin on a lake or something like that for everyone to stay in."

"Oh! Yes, that sounds so fun! I love lake houses so much."

"Good. I'm gonna talk to George and the other brits and see if that's doable. It's gonna happen. I promise. I'm tired of not seeing my friends."

"Wait, how many people are you guys thinking? I'm still nervous about showing people my face..."

"It's a rough list but basically Sapnap, George, Quackity, Karl, Wilbur, Niki, um, Tubbo, Tommy, who else.... I think that's it right now. We'll make sure you know them and are comfortable with them so you don't feel pressured to show strangers who you are."

She nodded to herself. "Okay. I could also just not come if I'm not comfortable with someone—"

"What?!" he asked loudly, genuinely surprised. "Wha— no. We just wouldn't invite them."

"But—"

"I'd way rather have you there than anyone else. Hell, I'd kick George or Sapnap out if you didn't want to show them your face."

"Wait, really?"

"No pressure but I really want you to come and I want to make sure your comfortable."

"What if I don't want to show you my face?"

There was a long pause and Y/n knew he was trying to control his voice so she didn't know he was disappointed or slightly offended. "I mean... I don't know. I guess I... wouldn't go."

Her heart cracked at the sadness in his voice.

"I really don't want you to be pressured into—"

"Dream," she said. "It's okay. I'm probably most comfortable with meeting you over anyone else."

"Really?"

She didn't trust her voice not to sound too sappy and giddy. She didn't trust it a lot when she was around Dream. "Mhm."

"I'm glad," he said happily but softly. "It will be fun. Also, give me your phone number."

"So forward of you, Dream."

"Shut up, I wanna make a group chat."

Y/n laughed and told him her number. "I'm really excited now, Dream! I haven't hung out with people in so long and it sounds like a fun little vacation."

Dream laughed at her excitement. "I just want to hug the shit out of George."

It was Y/n's turn to laugh loudly. "Have you met him in real life yet?"

"No."

"I doubt he'll even let you touch him. He doesn't seem touchy."

"I don't think he is but I don't care. I am very touchy so he won't have a choice but to hug me."

"Ugh, another touchy person. Gross."

"Are you not?"

"Not really. Karl is the touchiest person I have ever met so he's kinda rubbed off on me a little over the years I think, but in general no."

"Oh, yeah, he's already threatened to kiss all of us as soon as we meet," Dream said with a laugh.

"Best to just let it happen. He pouted earlier because I wiped my cheek after he kissed it."

"That doesn't sound like something someone who can flirt would do."

"Because I'm not flirting with Karl!" Y/n groaned but a laugh was behind her words. "What is with you guys?"

"You just can't be on Karl and my level of flirting if we don't see it! Can't be in the gang if you don't show us your skill."

"Just you wait, Dream. You'll see."

"Wait, what about our Minecraft date?"

"What about it?"

"When we do that, you have to flirt with me!"

"No, I don't," she protested with a loud laugh.

"Um, I'm pretty sure it's very rude to not sweet-talk your date. You have to flirt with me then."

Y/n giggled. "Oh yeah? And what if I don't?" She hadn't meant for her voice to come out laced with something suggestive, but if Dream noticed, he thankfully didn't show it.

"Well, we'll just have to keep going on dates until you do."

"Pretty sure forcing someone on dates is illegal, buddy."

Dream laughed. "You agreed to it!!"

"I agreed to the first one," she corrected. "I agreed to one date in exchange for you letting Karl tour me around your server. One."

"Don't worry." Unlike Y/n's, Dream's voice was purposefully laced with something suggestive as he told her, "after our date, it won't take much for you to agree to more."

"Oh whatever," she scoffed, trying to cool her face down with her icy hands. Even they were no match for the heat on her cheeks. "When are we doing this stupid thing anyway?"

"Ah, the smooth talking has begun, I see."

"Dreeeamm..." she whined, growing increasingly tired of the butterflies in her stomach. Why did she suddenly feel so nervous around him? It's not sudden, she told herself.

Dream's cute laugh interrupted her thoughts. "What about tomorrow?"

"I'm streaming Among Us tomorrow."

He groaned. "You never make time for me."

"I cannot stand you," she joked, laughs slipping through her annoyed voice and blowing her cover. "You're the one who said you were too busy to join my lobby. So really you don't make time for me."

"No, no, no," he protested. "I'd make time for one-on-one time with you, just not a game where I hardly get to talk to you."

"Oh my gosh." She rolled her eyes. "How did you turn this around to sound cute again."

"Aw, Bug, you think I'm cute?"

"You ruined it by asking. What are you doing tomorrow anyway?"

"I have to finish a plug-in by tomorrow night so George and I can test it. There's still a lot to fix so it'll probably will take all day."

"Oooh," she cooed. "What's it do?"

"It changes the world every time we take damage," he explained with a hint of pride in his voice.

"What the! That sounds awesome!"

"Thanks," he said shyly, proudness gone now that he was being complimented. "Anyway, George is really busy next week so we have to test it tomorrow night so we can record the next day."

"You probably should finish it then."

"Or you could cancel your stream and we could go on a date."

"Dream!" She laughed. "No! How about next week. Between you editing the video you record, we go on a Minecraft date. How's Thursday?"

"I guess I could fit you into my schedule..."

"I hate you."

His cheeky grin could be heard through his stupid words. "Keep telling yourself that."

PREVIOUS | NEXT

A/N: *sniff* *sniff* yall smell a hater in those twitter screenshots?? hmmm..... 

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[bonjour-rainycity]

Making Amends

Summary: Five years, you thought he was gone for good. After the War, he disappeared. Now, after months of zero contact, he shows up at your bridal salon. A somewhat bitter Reader and a post-FATWS Bucky

Pairing: Bucky x F!Reader

Word count: 2381

Warnings: Mentions of past violence and killings, adult language

I sigh, securing the train of the dress so it doesn’t drag against the floor. The dress is stunning, as they all are. This one—pouffy, ivory, grand—has a bateau neckline and falls to the floor in a long, glittering train.

The glitter gets everywhere.

I bend down, trying to wipe some of it off my pants leg, then work on my blazer. Every day, only black clothes. It’s tradition, but a stupid one — the glitter stands out on my clothes more than it does on the white dresses.

“Miss, someone’s here to see you.”

I grit my teeth, digging my hands into the fabric of the dress. The receptionist is young — barely out of her teens, really — and still quite new at her job. She, like others, disappeared on that awful day five and a half years ago.

The day I lost everything.

And she’s here today because of my friends’ sacrifices.

I try to remind myself to be patient. “We’re appointment only, Lydia. Tell her to call, make an appointment, and come back then.”

“R-right,” she stammers, and I can hear the bottoms of her heels scraping against the floor as she shifts her weight. “It’s just—well, he said it’s really important, and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

That gives me pause. He?

As a product manager at a bridal salon, my day is mostly spent in the company of women. Brides, their mothers, bridal parties, wedding planners, etc. There’s the occasional fiancé, father, brother, friend come to support, or a groom shopping for a dress, but overall, men tend to stand out.

“Fine, send him in,” I allow. It’s obvious he’s not listening to Lydia, but I know I’m more intimidating than she is. I’ll tell him to schedule an appointment. “And then do me a favor — there’s a list of designers on my desk upstairs. Can you give their offices a call and update the contact info for each brand representative?”

She sounds relieved. “Sure, no problem.”

As the sound of her heels meeting the ground fade away, I breathe in the sweet, floral-scented air. We’re under-booked today. There are only a few brides occupying our east fitting rooms, so I’ve decided to spend my afternoon in the west, making everything look perfect for the weekend ahead. Having this section alone — just me, the soft piano music playing over the speakers, and the dresses — is almost peaceful.

It would be peaceful if I were anyone else.

I continue to straighten the dresses. Everything needs to be perfectly spaced, meticulously tucked and folded to make each dress impressive in its own way. There’s no room for imperfection, here.

The sound of heavy boots clicking on the floor rings through the empty room. “Hey, Doll.”

My body runs cold.

That voice. I know it well.

My mind flashes to late nights, stealing smiles and kisses, tight hugs, adoring eyes.

And then falling to the ground in grief. Changing outfits to attend my second funeral of the day. His. And, after years of grieving, healing, and suffering through, one chance to fix it all. The joy of having him back. Locking eyes on the battlefield.

And then nothing.

Nothing.

All my air leaves me in one, quick, sigh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I turn, both dreading the sight and longing for it.

And just like that, standing between two rows of eggshell and pearl and ivory, he’s here.

Dark denim jeans, a deep blue shirt—long sleeve, knowing him—a grey button-up open on his chest, and two thick gloves, despite the summer heat.

I cross my arms.

He purses his lips together and raises his eyebrows, crossing one foot over the other casually. “So, bridal, huh?”

I feel my jaw clench. “I’ve got to make a living, don’t I? Evidently you do, too.” I can’t stop the bitterness from seeping into my voice.

He sighs that long-suffering sigh, one that tells me he’s more resigned than upset. “I wanted to come back.”

I turn my attention back to the dresses, walking down the row of gleaming white. “No one was stopping you.”

He turns to face me as I continue my inspection of each and every gown. “It’s not that simple. I—I was working hard. I had to get freed from him.”

I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to feel something. But of course, I do. Ever since I’ve known Bucky, he’s been wrecked by the things he’s done and terrified he’ll be called to do them again.

Terrified that he’ll lose his mind once again to the assassin.

When I saw him on TV, in a random news report from months ago, I’d broken down into sobs. I’d fallen to my knees and said prayer after prayer of thanks. Because the clouds had faded from his eyes. The fear, the ever-present dread, was gone. He stood taller, more assured —

Happier.

I knew then, that somehow, he’d gotten the Winter Soldier out.

I bend down, fluffing layers of crinoline in a ballgown. “You’ve been in the news.”

He hears the accusation in my voice. You’ve been back for months.

He approaches me slowly, coming to stand in front of me as I straighten. “I had a job to do.”

“What, the new Captain America doesn’t allow cell phones?”

He ignores the jab. “Doll, I had to wait to make sure, to be sure, but I’m safe, now. I’m not him anymore.”

“Bucky, I always felt safe with you,” I whisper, the emotion nearly winning. “I loved you more than anything. And despite what you said — that you loved me, too — you just left. Five years I waited for you. I didn’t think there was any way I would ever see you again, and then by some miracle, after so much loss, you came back! We fought in a war together. We killed. And we won. And then you disappeared. It’s been six months! I-I mean, I hate to think the worst, Bucky, but I really thought—” I cut off my words then, unable to continue without dissolving into tears.

His jaw tightens in that heartbreaking way it does when he’s sad, and he reaches forward. When I don’t protest to his gloved hand on mine, he pulls me into a hug. I want to melt into him. I want to collapse under nearly six years of unresolved grief, stress, worry, and let him hold me up, let him bear this burden for just a few minutes.

But that’s not the way I’m made.

I’ve entrusted my heart to him too many times.

And every time, I’m left alone and broken.

I push myself out of his arms, wiping my tears away quickly. Once again, the dresses act as my anchor, my distraction. I gather one in my arms, crossing the aisle to re-hang it in its proper place.

Bucky watches from a distance.

His hands are tucked into his pockets, and he looks at me sadly for a while before his eyes turn to the ground.

Silence falls between us. The only noises are the coos of elated brides and their adoring guests coming from the east side of the building.

After a while, Bucky raises his head towards me. “Does working here make you want it?”

I sigh. He can’t do that. Can’t come in here after so much time away with zero contact and then casually ask me stupid questions. “Want what?”

“You know,” he shrugs, leaning against the receptionist’s desk. “It. A wedding, a marriage, a…life.”

I purse my lips, shaking my head. I reach to adjust a hanger slightly out of my arm span, trying my hardest not to sound sad. “I’m not the kind of girl you marry, Buck. Not anymore.”

He scoffs, making a face. “What does that even mean?”

I turn on him, more than done with this conversation. “Exactly that! I see it every day — brides come in here, all starry-eyed, happy, innocent. They’ve got love, or at least the excitement of planning their ‘big day,’ and they just glow with all the life in them. I don’t have that, not anymore. I—” I lower my voice, gritting my teeth against the emotion that attempts to fight through. “I’ve killed people, Bucky. For a long period of time, that’s all I did. And, look, I’m really, really happy for you being able to heal and move on and be freed, but I can’t do that. I can’t come back from who I turned out to be.”

“That’s bullshit. You did what you had to do.” He pushes himself off the receptionist’s desk, adamant. “Every life you took was to stop the slaughter of others. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“I can.”

We stare each other down.

He’s always had a good stare.

Steady, intimidating, unwavering. It’s like he can see into the depths of your soul and know he can outlast you.

But I work with furious mothers of the brides.

I raise an eyebrow, showing him I will not back down from this challenge.

He blinks and moves his gaze past my right shoulder. Something shifts in his eyes. “You’ve got a client.”

I force my expression to soften, maneuvering around Bucky to grab the clipboard from the receptionist’s desk. I give him a look that clearly says do not move, and hurry to the front door to welcome the bride and her guests in. Amidst the flurry of excited chatters, gushing about wedding plans, and a clear description of what she does not want, I check them in on the clipboard and take them to the east wing to meet a consultant. When I return, Bucky is exactly where I left him.

He smirks at me. “What the hell was that? Your voice rose like three octaves.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s called customer service.”

He shrugs, leaning against the desk in a way I should not find ridiculously attractive. “Well, why don’t I get any of that?”

I grit my teeth. “Because they are going to buy a dress, which will pay my salary, which will make me happy. You on the other hand, have caused me nothing but anger, sadness, and worry.” I blink, absently shocked that all that truth escaped despite my best efforts.

Something flashes in Bucky’s eyes—regret, maybe—but he covers it well, tilting his head to the side and keeping his playful tone. “Really? Nothing but that? Gosh, I must have been a terrible boyfriend.”

I dig my teeth into my lower lip, staring down at my clipboard. It’s been six months. You may as well continue with the honesty. You don’t know the next time you’ll have a change to talk to him like this. “Buck…” I approach him slowly, buying myself time. Too soon, I come to stand in front of him. “You were a great boyfriend. I…” I sigh, shaking my head. “I thought you were it. I didn’t want anyone else. And we were happy, overall. You know—up until you disappeared without so much as a text and ignored me for six months.”

A muscle twitches in his cheek. He leans forward, locking his eyes with mine. “We were good together. I loved you, more than anything, I—well Doll, I still love you. And look, I know I’ve messed up. In more ways than seems is humanly possible, but I,” he sighs, shaking his head. “I’m as clean as I’m ever gonna get. I shouldn’t have disappeared without warning. I should’ve called when I left Wakanda. I should’ve let you hear from me rather than seeing me on the news. I should’ve come back and done the work to rebuild what I broke. I’m sorry. I really am.”

I feel the clipboard digging into my stomach. I don’t move. I stare at him, terrified of the way his words, the honesty in his eyes, makes me react. Too easily, my walls are coming down. “What did you come here for?”

“I—just,” he digs his hands into his pockets, sighing lowly. “I’m back in town. And I’m here to stay for a while. If you’d allow it, I’d like to try to make amends.”

Don’t do it, I beg myself. Don’t set yourself up for more pain.

In the face of my silence, he nods slowly, taking on a look of sad understanding.

“I work till seven.” The words rush from my mouth before I can stop them, before I can think of the consequences. I grip the clipboard even tighter.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, the start of a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I nod, my heart racing at the prospect of being with him again, of maybe fixing things. “I live in the same apartment.”

He grins fully now, but at my stern look, attempts to wipe it off his face. I’m still mad at him, he shouldn’t get too comfortable yet.

But the light doesn’t leave his eyes and, despite my fear that this will all turn out terribly for me, I feel my own lips threatening to turn up.

He pushes himself off the desk, standing closer to me than I think either of us intended. “Can I take you out?”

I release a long breath, not moving from my spot despite our proximity. “Yes.”

He nods slowly, not pulling his gaze from mine. “It’s a date.”

“It’s a trial period,” I correct, unable to keep myself from teasing him a little.

He tilts his head to the side, laughing indulgently. “Alright, I deserve that. Then, sure, I’ll pick you up at eight for our trial period.”

He smirks cockily at me, winking in that way he knows makes my knees weak, before turning and swaggering to the door.

Despite our play, he’s not getting off this easy. There’s a lot we have to work through, and we might not even be compatible anymore — he knows that, too.

But for just this moment, I allow myself to enjoy feeling comfortable with him, joking like we used to. When his gloved hand reaches for the doorknob, I call after him, keeping my tone light. “You’re on thin fucking ice, Barnes.”

He turns his head to mine, nodding solemnly in a way I didn’t expect. “I know, Doll.”

A/n Whoops, couldn’t get this one out of my head after seeing Bucky in FATWS, so here’s some angst, bitterness, and hopefully a little hope! 

|masterlist|

[imkylotrash]

Meet Me In The Hallway (3)

Pairing: Sky x reader

Summary: Stella is losing patience and when you follow Sky into the forest to find the Burned One, she lets part of your secret slip as a warning. 

Tagging: @grey-girl @intoanothermind @bitchwhytho @music-of-melody

Series Masterlist

“I thought I saw you leave Sky’s room and then I thought… That can’t be true. Y/N wouldn’t be stupid enough to do that when they know what I know.”

You really hate Stella. Slowly, you turn around to face her preparing yourself for the venomous smile she no doubt has plastered on her face. Barely anytime has gone by but you’re already getting very tired of having her threaten you.

“Silva is hurt. He needed someone to comfort him. That’s all.” You’re dog-tired wishing for a peaceful sleep but Stella has other plans.

“If Sky needs comforting, I will make sure he gets it. Not you.” It baffles you how she claims to care for him when all she does it look after her own needs. Frankly, you don’t care who gets to comfort him as long as he’s not alone. You’d give up just about anything to make sure he’s happy but Stella seems to think it’s him who should give up everything for her. 

“Are you really that selfish you’ll put your own happiness above his?” you dare ask tired of her games. 

“I’m going to give you one last chance to fix this,” she starts completely ignoring your question. 

“I have to stay away from him. I get it,” you interrupt her about to turn around and walk away when she stops you. 

“I want you to convince him to go on a date with me. He’s been too occupied sulking over you to show any interest in me. I want you to make him realise that I’m the obvious choice.” She must’ve lost her mind. For a whole minute you simply just stare at her taking her words in. She wants you to convince Sky to fall in love with her. In the middle of everything going on with Silva. Is she completely mental? 

“Did you hear me or do I need to repeat myself?” In an attempt to act unbothered, she checks her nails but you see right through her. All the insecurities and abandonment issues shine bright in the dark and you briefly pity her. Everyone has heard the rumours of her mother and the way she’s been treated, but you came from a horrible life too and you didn’t turn into a bitch. 

“I heard you.” 

“Great. You can tell him I’ll be waiting in my room.” She walks past you not even bothering to ask how Silva is doing. Despite your need for some proper sleep, you decide to head down to the greenhouse. Mr. Harvey is adding a fresh coat of the herb mix to Silva’s wounds. 

“Sky is sleeping,” you quickly say to easy Silva’s mind. He sits back down revealing the pain he’s in. 

“Can I help with anything?” you ask needing something to occupy your mind from what Stella asked of you. How can you focus on that when Silva could be dying? 

“Maybe you could cool me down again? It really helped me rest.” You oblige placing your hand on his forehead and channeling just the slightest magic into the palm of your hand. It’s an instant effect when the ice hits him. Slowly his skin returns to a normal shade rather than the hot red it was mere minutes ago. 

“Thank you,” he whispers lying down on the table again. It must be really bad if he’s so willing to show weakness. In the time you’ve known Silva, he’s never shown weakness about anything. You know it would be a different story if Sky were here though. He’d never want Sky to know just how much pain he’s in and you can’t blame him. It would crush Sky. 

“No problem. I can come back in a few hours to do it again?” You look to Mr. Harvey for signs whether that’s a good idea or not. He gives you a quick nod before continuing his work. You mean to head to your room but you spot a blonde boy who’s sneaking out the backdoor. 

“Are you kidding me?” With a sigh, you follow him outside realising that he’s heading straight for the forest. 

“Sky, where are you going?” you ask and the sound of your voice stops him dead in his tracks. 

“I’m going to find the Burned One that got Saul. I can’t just sit around and do nothing.” He’s not looking at you. Probably because he knows you’ll try to talk him out of it. 

“Please stay. Marco is out looking as we speak and I’m sure he’ll find it.” You’re desperate to keep him protected within the barrier but you’re always painfully aware of the fact that Sky is one of the most stubborn people you’ve ever met. You’re not sure you’ll be able to convince him especially now that you’re broken up. 

“I’m not waiting for someone else to save him. Saul is all I have left.” It’s a brutal reminder of what you took from him when you ended things and it tugs at your heartstrings just how badly you hurt him. 

“Then I’m coming with you.” If he’s going out there, you need to be there too. You’d never forgive yourself if something happened to him and you had the chance to stop it. 

“You’re not going with me,” he says as if he has any say at all. 

“If you’re going, I’m going. Package deal, remember?” It’s something you started saying after Riven kept commenting on the fact that you never went anywhere without each other and up until recently you never have. He doesn’t look pleased but he also doesn’t say no. He just hands you a small dagger for you to hold onto to. You grab hold of the water drops lying on the grass and freeze them before levitating them in the air. 

“I think I’m good.” He takes the dagger back without a word and proceeds to the forest. It’s a long trek but you don’t complain. You asked to be here and as much as you hate the uncomfortable silence that’s formed between the two of you, you’re glad you’re here. There’s no point in the search because it’s impossible to figure out what direction the Burned One headed but all you can do is keep a lookout and hope you get lucky. 

“Stop,” you whisper grabbing hold of his sleeve. He stops moving but you feel the shiver in his arm where your fingers grazed his skin. 

“Sorry,” you mumble letting go of him. A little further ahead, you see something move. Sky pulls out his sword and you channel your feelings ready to freeze it in place. It’s not the first time you and Sky has worked together, but it is the first time it’s been outside of training. 

“I freeze, you stab.” He nods hardly moving a muscle. You direct your power at the Burned One freezing every part of it to keep it from moving. You hold it in place feeling the fire inside of it trying to beat your ice but as you see Sky run towards it, you feel more motivated than ever to win. He stabs it right through its core and when you feel its resistance die out, you let go of control. It falls to the ground officially dead. 

“We did it,” you say out of breath. How you haven’t passed out from sleep deprivation yet is beyond you but it’s catching up to you now. 

“I’ll call Silva,” you say ignoring the need to fall asleep right here on the ground. It takes two rings before he picks up shouting about how irresponsible you are for taking off and hunting Burned Ones yourself. He doesn’t say thank you, but you know it’s hidden between the lines. 

“He’s definitely feeling better,” you say once he’s done giving both of you an earful. He demands you both return to school at once and now that you’ve killed the right one, you can oblige easily. 

“Thank you for coming with me,” Sky says on your way back.

“Of course. I know what Silva means to you.” This time the silence is comfortable almost as if nothing went wrong between the two of you. But Stella’s ultimatum is still weighing heavy on your mind. 

“Can I ask you to do something without any questions?” you ask him right before you reach the barrier. 

“What is it?” he asks but you need him to promise you before you tell him. You know he’ll never agree to it otherwise. 

“Promise me,” you say pausing just before the barrier. From here you can see the school and the students training out on the grass as if it’s just a normal day. But to them it probably is.

“I promise.” 

“I need you to take Stella on a date.” His glare might just pierce you from pure anger. 

“No questions. You promised!” He’s about to protest but stops himself. He’s a man of his word even if he hates it right now.

“Fine.” He starts walking leaving you behind. The second people spot you, they stare at you like you just arrived with the circus. 

“Is that them?”

“Do you think it’s true?” 

“Are we in danger?” Everyone is whispering and pointing fingers making you feel incredibly uncomfortable. You notice Musa not too far away and head over to her. 

“What’s going on?” Before she has a chance to tell you, a first year taps you on the shoulder. A bunch of girls are watching from afar making it obvious that the first year in front of you is here on a dare. 

“Is it true?” she asks continuously looking back at her friends. 

“Is what true?” you ask confused ignoring the sneaking suspicion you feel. 

“Is it true that you’re a changeling?” 

[ragingbookdragon]

Each Word Gets Lost In The Echo PT. 1

Roy Harper x Batbrother!Reader

Word Count: 2.9K Warnings: Explicit Language, Mature Themes

Author's Note: I had way too much fun with this but PT. 2 is going to be angsty and y'all are gonna hate me for it. >:) Enjoy! -Thorne

********************************************************************************

So, are you planning on getting us together soon?

He hummed in response, pulling out the pan and spatula. “I dunno. With Gutierrez’s wife giving birth, I want Esmeralda to have some time with her daughter before we pull out again. I know her Samantha wants her home.”

Understood, but…what’s happening in Syria…it’s not going to get better on its own.

“I know it won’t, Nadeen. But until we get a mission from somebody overseas, we can’t exactly go out.” He pulled a few eggs from the refrigerator, cracking them on the rim of the pan, watching the yellow yolks fall in. “Besides, it’s the first week of a three-month leave.” He smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re already bored.”

Are you kidding me? Um and Ab have grounded me from flying. I’m stuck here, (Y/N).

“How is your family by the way? Wasn’t your sister attending the Cairo University?” he asked.

Yeah, and Um is so proud of her.

(Y/N) chuckled, whisking the eggs in the pan. “Someone’s jealous.”

Well, I can’t exactly tell my parents I work for an illegal black ops squad. Kinda puts dampers in relationships.

“Nadeen, we’re not an illegal squad. We’re government sanctioned.”

The fuck we are. They just don’t bother us because they know they can’t kill us all.

Grabbing the pepper, he ground some into the pan. “Jesus, take a vacation, Nadeen. Go to France or something.”

Fuck France. I’ll go to Saint Petersburg first. Oh shit, speaking of SP, have you spoken to Vitsina yet?

(Y/N) frowned, setting down the pepper grinder. “Why? Is something wrong?”

What? No. I was just wondering if you had. She really needs to get a hobby. Hey, maybe I can get her and Walker to come hang out with me at home.

“You’re not going to get Walker out of his flat, Nadeen. You know how he is when he gets on leave.”

And what about Nakamoto?

“You know they’re both paranoid. Remember to—” something clanged down the hallway and he stopped, mid-sentence, going silent.

Hello? (Y/N)? Captain, you alright?

He frowned and turned off the stove, opening a drawer at the far end of the counter. Pulling out the Glock, he cocked it and murmured, “Asghar, lemme call you back.”

Ten-four, Captain. Be careful.

The line went dead, and he crept to the edge of the doorway and paused, inhaling sharply before he peeked around the corner, gun ready. Nothing. (Y/N)’s frown only deepened as he moved down the hallway, quiet and breathless. He got to the first room in the hall, his study and he shifted against the wall, listening for movement. When he heard nothing, he moved slightly, gun pointed into the door as he swept the room. Empty.

Exhaling deeply, he started to move when he heard the noise again and he peeked out the door to his bedroom. There. (Y/N) crept along the wall again until he was at the doorway and he leaned against the frame, listening carefully. Something was in there. Something or someone, he didn’t know what, but he did know.

(Y/N) waited until the noise got closer then turned the doorway and moved in. Someone’s hand shot out, grabbing the gun and he grunted, throwing up his elbow into their jaw. The intruder cried and with their free hand, grabbed (Y/N)’s shirt and yanked; they went tumbling to the ground, the gun falling away, but he didn’t waste his chance, scrambling atop the stranger as he went for the Strider he had in his back pocket.

He flicked it out and brought it down when the person beneath him grabbed it with one hand, the other ripping off the hood he wore. “(Y/N)! It’s me!”

“Roy?”

The archer sighed and went slack beneath him. “God, yes, it’s me!”

(Y/N) relaxed and tossed the knife to the side, hanging his head down. “Jesus Fuck Roy, I thought you were an assassin.”

“Get those often?” he shot back and (Y/N) glowered at him.

“Yeah, I do actually.” He rolled off Roy and got to his feet, holding out his hand for him to take.

“God, remind me not to sneak up on you again.” He let himself be tugged up and rubbed his jaw. “I thought you dislocated my jaw for a second.”

(Y/N) shoved a finger in his face. “You’re lucky you managed to grab the gun because I almost shot your ass.” He bent down and picked up his Glock and knife, putting the latter back in his pocket after he’d flicked it shut. “Are you some kind of idiot? Why the fuck didn’t you just knock on the door? What possibly justified sneaking into a mercenary’s bedroom through the window?”

Roy shrugged. “I thought you weren’t home yet.”

He opened his mouth to retort, then shut it and nodded. “Alright, that’s actually not a terrible excuse.” Sighing, he shoved past Roy and walked down the hall into the kitchen, the archer following him. “But don’t do it again.”

“Why? Worried you were gonna shoot your boyfriend?” Roy teased, wrapping his arms around (Y/N)’s waist, nuzzling into his neck.

“Yeah, I was.” He put the gun back in the drawer and lugged the archer towards the stove where he flicked the burner back on. “Next time just text me and ask if I’m home.”

Roy hummed, pressing a kiss just above the mercenary’s collar. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well,surprise me you did,” (Y/N) griped. “I seriously thought I was about to have a firefight in my own damn apartment.” He paused, seeming to remember something and said, “I live in a penthouse.” Glancing at Roy, he questioned, “How the fuck did you get up here?”

“I’ve got skills, babe,” Roy grinned, waggling his brows and (Y/N) rolled his eyes before tapping the Bluetooth headset at his ear.

“Call Nadeen.” It pinged for a few moments.

Captain, you’re back. Everything good?

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Roy was in the apartment.”

You live in a penthouse? How’d he get up there?

“His ‘skills’ apparently.”

Nice. He still going around with your brother?

(Y/N) nodded forgetting she wasn’t in front of him and reclined into Roy as the eggs started cooking. “Yeah. Got a new gig as Red Hood and Arsenal.”

Roy blinked. “Wait, does your squad know…about you know…”

He waved and (Y/N) completed, “That my family and friends are vigilantes? Yeah. Why?”

“Isn’t that a breach of security?”

He snorted. “You act like my squad is friends with every government in the world, baby.” He shook his head. “I trust my team with everything. And in return they trust me with theirs.”

Aww, Captain you do care.

“Does your dad know that they know?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Probably. But he doesn’t tell me how to live my life and I don’t tell him how to live his.” He scrambled the eggs. “Nadeen, go hang out with Vitsina for a week or two if you’re really that bored.”

She’s back in Russia right now, isn’t she?

“I think so. Said she had a loose end to tie up with Antonovich.”

Oh shit, she’s gonna fucking kill that guy. She might need air support then.

“Hence why I said go hang out with her.”

Wanna come along? You could bring your boy-toy?

“Did she just call me a boy-toy?” Roy blurted. “Excuse you, I am not a boy-toy. I am a boy-man.”

Well, from the pictures Captain’s showed us, you are in fact a boy-toy, Roy.

He blinked and looked at (Y/N). “What pictures did you show them?”

“Nothing,” he coughed. “Nadeen, shut up.”

The ones with the red lace and matching heels.

“You didn’t.” Roy breathed. “You showed them the pin-up photos?!”

(Y/N)’s mouth fell open and closed as he vaguely gestured around. “I didn’t directly show them. Nakamoto hacked my phone like the nosy asshole he is and found ‘em.”

“So that means you still showed them because you apparently didn’t stop them from seeing!”

Oh, look at that, Captain, Ab is calling me. Talk later!

She hung up on him and (Y/N) huffed a laugh, pulling the device from his ear. He set it aside and shrugged out of Roy’s arms, pulling two plates out of the cabinet beside them. He plated the food, smirking at the flush across Roy’s cheeks. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re embarrassed, baby?”

���You showed my nudes to your black ops squad. It’s hot. Ridiculously hot. But also embarrassing.”

“If it makes you feel any better, they were very impressed with them.”

Roy tried and failed horribly to hide the grin coming over his lips. “…They were?”

(Y/N) set down the plates and got up in Roy’s personal space and flirted, “Oh absolutely baby. They were so stunned at how pretty you looked all dolled up in that red teddy, your lips painted crimson.” He gripped Roy’s hips and pulled them flush together, and while Roy was about five-eleven, (Y/N) had a couple inches on him. He smirked when he felt the definition in Roy’s jeans. “Wanna know what my favorite picture is?”

Roy swallowed thickly, one hand coming to grab at the island behind him, the other grabbing (Y/N)’s shoulder. “Which—which one?”

He pressed a kiss to the underside of the archer’s jaw, trailing his lips to his ear where he breathed, “The one where you’re bent down on the bed…” he reached up behind Roy’s back and tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck. “Your ass is up in the air and...”

“Uh huh, what else?” Roy begged, hips canting forward.

“God, you’ve got that pretty red flush across your cheeks.” (Y/N) whispered. “You looked incredibly ravishing.” He breathed in Roy’s ear. “We were on that mission in Kazakhstan for two whole months and all I could think about was getting back home and drilling you into the mattress until you couldn’t walk.”

“(Y/N)…” the archer groaned shamelessly. “Babe, please.”

He smirked, pressing a kiss to Roy’s cheek. “I didn’t show them that one though,” he said, pulling away without a second thought, picking up the plates. “I kept that one to myself. It’s still in my wallet if you wanna go check. I look at it a lot.”

(Y/N) wandered towards the living room and plopped down on the couch, propping his legs up on the coffee table. He snorted when he heard Roy’s moan of frustration followed by the man stomping into the living room with the other plate in his hand, the free one adjusting the front of his jeans.

“I hate you.” He scowled, sitting on the other end of the couch. “I hate you so fucking much it’s not funny.”

(Y/N) shrugged and picked up the remote, switching the channels until he found a football game to watch. “You snuck into my penthouse and almost made me shoot you point blank.” He shot Roy a grin. “I guess we’re both doing things to each other we don’t like.”

“I thought you weren’t home!”

“Mhm. Punishment is still a punishment, baby.” He turned up the volume and dug into his eggs. “Jason know you’re in Gotham City?”

Roy swallowed the food in his mouth, answering, “Told him I was in the area.”

“You know he’s gonna wanna see you.” (Y/N) replied. “If not to hang out, to make sure you’re not into trouble.”

“Are you saying I’m trouble, babe?” Roy retorted and he chuckled.

“You’re my kind of trouble.”

The archer went silent, and his cheeks flushed. “…That was a low blow.”

(Y/N) winked. “Uh huh.” His side vibrated and he reached down, pulling his phone out.

“Who is it?” Roy asked.

“Alfred.” He slid his thumb along the bottom and put it to his ear. “Hello, you’ve reached the answering machine of your favorite grandson. How may I assist you today, grandpa?”

You’re absolutely hysterical, Master (Y/N). You should go into comedy.

“I would but it doesn’t pay that well unlike merc missions.”

Hmm…how are you today, Master (Y/N)?

He smiled. “Not too bad Alfie. Could’ve eaten a perfect parfait with fresh fruit and granola, but beggars can’t be choosers, huh?”

You did miss an excellent breakfast if I do say so myself. Nevertheless, it is Sunday morning. Shall I expect you later tonight for dinner?

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Alfie.” (Y/N) agreed.

Wonderful. I shall set out an extra plate in case you decide to invite Master Harper. Have a good day. Until tonight, sir.

The line clicked and (Y/N) pulled the phone from his ear, staring at it in confusion. “Babe? What’s wrong?” Roy questioned.

He shook his head. “Alfred knew you were here.”

“What? He did?”

He looked up at Roy. “Yeah…said he was going to set out an extra plate for you tonight at dinner in case you wanted to come.”

“I get to come to the Wayne Family Sunday Night Dinner? Really?” he seemed awfully excited.

“Dude, it’s just dinner.”

“That you guys do every Sunday night and don’t allow anybody to tread on,” Roy retorted with a glare. “This is special.”

(Y/N) rolled his eyes. “Are you that eager to be introduced to the family?” he dodged the pillow Roy threw at him. “But…if you wanna come, you’re free to.”

“Really?” Roy doubted. “You want me to come over? I thought you wanted to keep this quiet?”

He sighed and pulled his legs from the table, setting the plate on it. “It’s not that I want it to stay a secret. It’s just…I worry about it.”

Roy set his plate down on the coffee table and scooted close. “What about?”

“I don’t know, Roy. I’m just worried that the more people that know about us the more danger I put you in.”

“Babe…” Roy started, placing a hand on the other side of (Y/N)’s cheek so he could turn his face to the archer’s. “We both live dangerous lives. There’s always going to be danger surrounding us.”

“I know,” (Y/N) sighed, leaning into Roy’s hand. “I still worry though. About you…about us.” He met those evergreen eyes. “I’m just worried that every time I leave, it’s going to be the last time we see each other.”

Roy chuckled. “Afraid I’m going to get offed?”

“No,” he murmured, turning his lips into Roy’s palm. “That I will.”

The archer gaped at him. “(Y/N)…why haven’t you told me about this?”

“Because I’m a super soldier who was trained to keep my emotions under control by an anal retentive, over glorified kitchen scale of a father.” (Y/N) deadpanned, then heaved an even bigger sigh and rested his forehead against Roy’s shoulder. “You’ve got enough on your plate.”

“Yeah, Jaybird keeps me pretty busy with missions.”

He chuckled. “Gonna have to tell my little brother to let my boyfriend have a break.”

“Break smeak.” Roy quipped, pressing a kiss to (Y/N)’s temple. “Listen to me, you’re a strong man, (Y/N). You’re probably the best out of your family. Smart and skilled off the charts.” He ran his calloused fingers down his lover’s neck. “If anyone is going to get out alive on a mission, it’ll always be you. Always.”

He sighed, turning his nose into Roy’s neck as he whispered. “You think so?”

Roy smiled, gripping his chin lightly to pull his head up. “I don’t think so, babe. I know so.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to (Y/N)’s. “I love you,” he murmured against the soldier’s lips. “So much.”

(Y/N) hummed and pressed a hand to Roy’s chest, shoving him backwards onto the couch and he crawled atop him. “I love you more,” he replied and pulled his shirt off his body before pressing his hand to Roy’s chest, except the archer hissed and he let up. “What’s wrong?” he worried, and he shook his head.

“Nothing.”

“Roy.” He warned, cocking a brow. “Where are you hurt?” he asked, pressing the same spot again.

“Ow! Stop that!” Roy grunted. “It’s tender.”

“What’s tender?” (Y/N) inquired and Roy sighed.

“I got a new tattoo.”

He narrowed his eyes and gazed down at him. “Of?”

“Nothing.” The archer muttered, though pink was coming across his cheeks and he sighed.

“C’mon Roy. Talk or I’ll tease it out of you.” He shot him a glare. “And you know I will.”

They stared one another down for a minute then Roy sighed and pulled his shirt off and (Y/N) peeled away the bandage. His eyes went wide when he saw the silver spartan helmet atop the black shield, the gold lettering underneath.

“Is this…”

“Your squad designation?” Roy offered. “Yeah…thought it seemed right.”

(Y/N) traced the raised flesh, eyes flashing to Roy’s when he shivered from the calloused touch. “I can’t believe you got my squads symbol tattooed on your chest.”

“You don’t like it?” he sounded hurt.

“I love it,” (Y/N) huffed, gesturing to his own tattoo on his ribs. “We match now…though you forgot to put your name inside the shield.”

“Well, I’m not technically a Spectre, (Y/N).” Roy said.

“Maybe not, but that’s still where your name goes.” He retorted and smiled. “It’s awesome, baby.”

Roy’s thumb brushed his hipbone. “So does the tattoo get me out of punishment for sneaking in?”

(Y/N) smirked down at him. “It just might.” He reached down and tugged the front of Roy’s pants. “Why don’t you show me how sorry you are for it? I just might decide to forgive you before subjecting you to dinner with my family.”

A multitude of emotions flashed through Roy’s eyes. Arousal, desire, need, and then surprise. “Oh shit, I forgot about dinner.”

“Seriously?” (Y/N) blinked, unsurprised. “God you’re such a man.” He crawled out of Roy’s lap much to the archer’s dismay and groaning.

“Where are you going?”

He paused and looked back at him. “I’m not fucking you on my couch, Roy.” He started towards his bedroom. “Hurry up or I’ll start without you.”

Roy rolled off the couch and to his feet as fast as he could.

[illyaana]

Cursive Ink - Yamaguchi Tadashi

Collab: Pain Tolerance by @haikyutiehoe

Thanks for making this collab, hun! the idea of pierced and/or tatted anime characters got me squealing~! Do check out the other works involved in the collab in the link up there~

Tags: Yamaguchi's POV, Angst, Fluff, Yamaguchi x Tattoo Artist! Reader, Binaural

Synopsis: Love never really goes the way we plan it to be - and Yamaguchi was no exception. His failed confession to his former best friend left him heartbroken. However, his decision to go to a tattoo parlour may have been the best (and craziest) choice he's ever made in his life. (I also believe Yamaguchi is pansexual, so don't get so confused XD)

Word Count: 2552

A bit of context: In Japanese, 'Yama' means mountain, 'Tsuki' means the Moon

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“Yamaguchi, no,” Tsukishima said, pulling his hand away from my hand.

“Why are you lying to yourself? I know you feel the same way, Tsuki - don’t lie to yourself.”

“I don’t, Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima said, eyes turning cold, “I am not gay - I am a straight, heterosexual male. I love women and women only.”

Lies.

You are lying to me.

You are in love with me.

You are already mine, Tsuki - just wake up and see it.

I know you can.

what was that kiss under the tree when we were kids?” I whispered, not wanting my voice to break, “If you never loved me, why kiss me, Tsuki?”

“We both agreed that it was a mistake, didn’t we?” The blonde male said, anger rising, “We both agreed - not just me.”

I said yes - I know I did.

That doesn’t mean I meant it.

You know me, Tsuki - I’ll agree to everything you’ll say.

Why aren’t you realising it?

I’ve waited for so many years for you to ask me out, but you never did.

I’m here, right in front of you, asking you to be mine - just say yes.

I don’t want to wait anymore - it’s too painful.

“I lied, okay?!” I scream, “I loved you ever since we were kids, Tsuki. I want to be the one you come back to when you leave, the only one you kiss, the only one you hug, the only one you dream about - I want to be that to you. Is that so hard to believe?!”

I hugged myself, not wanting to break down anymore.

That small hug was the only thing stopping me from letting all hell break loose.

I had kept this in ever since I knew Tsuki - ever since he saw him in that park.

I knew everything about the tall male. The way he smiles, the way he hides his anger when he wants to be respectful, his secret love for dinosaurs, his soft side, his small quirks - I knew it all like the back of his hand.

I knew what he needed to be the middle blocker’s lover, and I was willing to sacrifice myself to be the best thing for Tsuki.

One thing was clear in my head; Tsuki felt the exact same way.

“Yamaguchi, I’m sorry. I don’t love you the way you want me to,” Tsukishima said, kneeling beside the green-haired male.

“I don’t believe that.”

I forced his lips on Tsukishima’s.

I closed my eyes, trying to memorise how the lines of his soft and pale lips felt on his - how it softly caressed my lips without even responding to the intimate kiss I was trying to initiate.

I felt Tsukishima trying to push me away, but I didn’t let go of the male’s collar.

He already took my first kiss - what is the difference if I took another?

The second our lips left each other’s, Tsukishima punched my nose.

Blood dripped from my nose, but I couldn’t care less.

“Don’t you fucking call me Tsuki ever again, dumbass. Better yet, don’t call me.”

My last day of high school ended with blood and tears, but the pain in my heart from losing my best friend hurt more.

⁜

⁜

⁜

I stared at the stars, lying down in the little treehouse we made as kids in my backyard.

I tried to cry it all out, but I couldn’t.

I feel cheated by you, Tsukishima Kei.

You made me make you my everything.

My voice was tuned to calm you down.

My hands we moulded to keep you warm.

My life was made to keep you safe, but you don’t need me to be you.

But I do - I need you to be me.

One-sided crushes are the worst form of love, aren’t they?

You give it all for that one person - to please and cherish them.

They just think it’s just a form of showing how strong your friendship is, but you want more.

You are the only one who wants more.

You are the one crying at night about how you wished they were by your side.

You are the one craving for their touch.

You want them, but they don’t want you.

I don’t care about you bruising my face, Tsukishima-san.

I care about you fucking me up like this.

I will no longer wait for your messages.

I will no longer look at your tweets and be the only one giving reactions.

I will erase you from my narrative, Tsukishima-san.

You can wonder about how much you’ve hurt me when I have reached somewhere you can’t even touch me.

⁜

⁜

⁜

“You are absolutely sure about this, right?” Hinata said, worry laced in his words.

I open the doors to the tattoo parlour and I was instantly mesmerized. The walls were filled with such intricate designs - sizes ranging from as small as a finger to as big as my whole body. The smell of fresh ink slowly hit me, reminding me of my schooling years.

“I am sure, Hinata. I was planning to do this ever since I was small, either way. I just wished it was under better circumstances,” I reply, eyes locked on all the flower motifs.

I always wanted a tattoo - it didn’t matter how big or small it was. I always thought of how beautiful the idea was - to have something permanently inked on your skin to remind you of who you were. Flowers drew with such hidden meaning, curved lines speaking words of poetry, ideas brought into life - tattoos are an artist’s masterpiece meant to paint on my skin as a canvas.

“Do you want me to stay? I don’t mind waiting here with you - ��

“Weren’t you supposed to meet up with Kageyama later today?” I remind him, chuckling.

“That man is late for everything. I think he can handle me coming late for once.”

“I’m seriously okay, Hinata! Go get ready, I’ll send a picture when it’s done,” I say as I push him out of the shop.

“Okay, okay - make sure to send me that picture!” He said as he ran out of the shop.

Why follow me if you’re itching to leave?

“That friend of yours has really bright orange hair - is it dyed or natural?” I hear someone say.

Holy shit, you’re hot.

“Oh - uh- um- It’s natural,” I say, forming some space between us.

Holy shit, you’re hot.

You tied half of your hair in a small bun, showing me the small, intricate designs on your neck. Flowers decorated your soft skin, moving down under your shirt’s sleeve. Small golden piercings decorated your ears. They were encrusted with gems of various colours that shifted under the soft lighting gracing your skin.

You looked so beautiful I couldn’t stop staring.

“So, do you have an appointment?” You asked, breaking my train of thought.

“N- no.”

Stop stuttering, Yamaguchi Tadashi.

“First time, huh?” you smiled, “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. The pain is different for everyone, but I think you can handle it.”

“T-Thanks.”

God, stop stuttering.

“God, you’re cute,” you laughed while looking at my frazzled face, “Don’t worry, my dearest client - you’re in capable hands. Come - let’s discuss your design, shall we?”

You grabbed my wrist and brought me to your corner, leaving me blushed mess.

Cute.

They called me cute.

I’m breathing, right?

Okay, I’m breathing.

As we were walking, I got to see the back of your neck - more specifically, a part of your tattoo.

It was a blossoming rose - a huge one. It had vines that grew from it, encircling your whole neck, moving down your shirt and reaching the tips of your fingers. Smaller roses grew from it, branching even smaller vines surrounded by leaves.

I wanted to know the story behind that tattoo. It looked so beautiful yet so dark. The thorns that came from certain vines alarmed me, but I kept my thoughts to myself. My attention was brought to your piercings - more specifically, the design of the encrusted jewels. They were flowers, as well. In the middle of each jewel held a line of gold that branched out, just like the vines of your tattoo.

“Oh, you’re looking at my tattoo and piercings, aren’t you?” You ask, eyebrow raised.

“Is it okay if I am?” I ask, worried.

You laughed.

“Of course it’s fine. Who would get a tattoo and not prepare for all the staring? Not going to lie, here - these piercings and that tattoo help me fuel my ego. After all, everyone’s staring at them,” you joke, playing with your hair.

You sit on your chair, pointing at the one opposite you.

“What are you waiting for? Sit.”

⁜

⁜

⁜

“So, you want some small vines surrounding a moon, right?” You ask as you brought out your tablet.

“Yeah, on my middle finger.”

I had enough of his little orders - I’ll twist his words into something much more meaningful. If the Moon isn’t willing to dance with the mountains, let the vines make the Moon feel the mountain’s pain from its rejection.

“That sounds really pretty,” you say, smiling at me, “Give me a minute - I’ll do a rough sketch and you can tell me if it’s to your liking.”

You took out the tablet’s pen tool and began to sketch. I eyed your eyes as you continued to sketch what would be my tattoo.

Thanks to the light from the tablet, I could see a part of another tattoo hidden under your shirt.

It was multiple birds flying across your collarbones, but there was one bird that moved to your neck. It was a smaller bird - much, much smaller. However, its wings were bigger - bigger than the other birds’.

“My family isn’t very appreciative of my more artistic side,” you began, knowing I wanted to know the story behind it.

“I love art - all types of art. Writing, drawing, painting - I loved how you could make a whole new world just with a few lines. My family…” you paused, “As much as they loved me, they couldn’t see a world where I could make a living from it. They tried to throw away this side of me, but the more they pushed it away, the more I needed it.”

You raised your tablet, showing me your sketch.

I loved it.

It was a crescent moon, wrapped in vines. Vines grew both upwards and below, accompanied by stars. Small buds were growing from the ends of the vines, leaves surrounding them.

I don’t know how you did it, but you captured all I felt about him in a few minutes - it astounded me.

“I took a few creative liberties, but-”

“It’s amazing - don’t change it.”

You’re amazing.

You smiled, getting off your chair.

“Head to that room,” you pointed to the smaller room right beside us, “I’ll get all the tools ready.”

⁜

⁜

⁜

“You ready?” you said, placing the pen right above my middle finger.

Why did I choose my middle finger for my first tattoo? It’s literally right on a bone, it’s going to hurt like hell.

“I guess…” I whisper.

“It won’t be that painful - trust me. People overexaggerate,” you say, trying to calm me down.

People weren’t overexaggerating - it hurt.

It hurt a lot.

I bit my lip, holding back the scream on the end of my lips.

“Hold on,” you said, removing the pen.

You soon came back with candy and began to unwrap it.

“Open your mouth, my liege.”

After chuckling, I opened my mouth and you plopped the sweet in my mouth.

Ooh, mango.

“Focus on the sweet, okay?” You said, patting my back.

It felt less painful, surprisingly. Focusing on the sweet rolling in my mouth helped reduce the pain significantly.

I raised my head slightly so that I could see your intense focus on my finger. You were biting on your lower lip as you slowly moved the pen on my finger, following the temporary tattoo you made earlier as a guide. You were annoyed by a strand of your hair that refused to stay behind on your ear - your anger-filled expression said it all.

Using my other hand, I pushed it behind your ear to help you focus.

A soft thank you came from you as you continued.

Blood rushed to my cheeks the minute those words left your lips.

So cute.

“You didn’t finish your story…” I asked, trying to end the awkward silence.

“It was that interesting to you?” you smiled.

You’re interesting, Y/N.

I nod.

“I asked them if I could draw again. I didn’t want to lose that skill I finetuned all my life - it felt so wrong. They thought I’d never succeed in life if I focused on ‘these useless hobbies’ and shouted at me. I remember crying for hours, but they didn’t care,” you say as you turn off the pen, wiping the tip.

“I began to spend more hours in school just so that I could scribble and draw. They’d never know what I did there - all the drawings I did, all the stories I wrote, all the songs I sang. I am not like my parents. I strayed from the thought of ‘art is useless’- I am the bird moving away from the flock,” you said, turning your chair towards me.

“Why did they hate art? It’s something that makes you happy - If it’s something you like, you should do it,” I said, slightly pissed.

Thank God they didn’t listen to them.

“Best part - they have paintings all over the house,” you snickered.

You sighed, stretching your arms in the process.

“I don’t really care about their opinion about it, anyway. I’m no longer under their wing - I’m my own person. I get money by doing the thing I love, and that’s so fulfilling. The only thing they’re paying for right now is my college education - that’s it,” you said as you pressed a wet cloth to my new tattoo.

“Wait - we’re the same age?”

“Yeah, we are,” you smiled.

“I expected you to be way older,” I say, embarrassed.

“I am utterly offended, sir,” you say, feigning sadness.

“Come on!” I say, laughing.

“I am expecting a tip,” you say, walking towards the door.

You’re amazing, Y/N. I just wish I met you earlier…

⁜

⁜

⁜

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Yamaguchi Tadashi,” you say, closing the cash register in front of you.

“And I you, my friend.”

I walk to the door, gripping on the door handle.

I want you in my life, Y/N. Even if we spent just a few hours together, you’ve made me so happy. If you are open to the idea, I want to be friends with you - and who knows? We might become something…

I walk back to the cashier.

“Oh, did I forget something?” You ask, worried.

“No, no…”

Come on, say it.

“Hey, wanna exchange numbers? I wanna hang out with you - of course, only if you want to,” you say smiling.

Holy shit.

“Yes, please.”

You held back your laugh the minute you saw my face.

How many times have I made you laugh just by you looking at my face?

“Here’s my number,” you passed me your card, “Message me so that I get your number, too!”

“Okay!” I smile.

Holy shit. I did it.

“See you again, ‘guchi.”

⁜

⁜

⁜

[winter-fox-queen]

Dragon’s Lair

Here’s a quick little Writer Wednesday thingy…I have not had time to write on the three things I desperately WANT to write on, but this popped out. It’s not great, but hopefully it will make someone happy.

SUMMARY: Frankie (single, no kid) is feeling out of sorts post the events of the movie, but doesn’t want to start replacing other addictions with drinking too much, so he looks for another hobby, where he meets you. You is written in the third person. No real description Save she is female and closer to Frankie’s age.

Food is mentioned. Video game type violence. Meet cute. Not even kissing…some light hand holding.

Thanks as always for #Writer Wednesday @autumnleaves1991-blog & @clydesducktape

Not bet’d

Frankie needed a new thing — the bar was dangerously becoming another addiction, he could watch sports at home — he needed something to make him go out.

Then he saw the flier for the Nostalgia Bot Arcade.  “Not just for kids!” The flier declared in oddly childlike comic sans.  But Wednesdays through Saturdays it was open for 21+ only.

So why not? He thought, as he showered and dressed.

Because I’m not a dumb ass kid anymore.  He answered, as he pulled into the mall parking lot.  The Nostaliga Bot was in what used to be the major department store for the mall.

You’re allowed to have fun.  He reminded himself, as he pulled open the door.  The mall was mostly quiet, but the Nostalgia Bot was bright and lit up.  He shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered through.

He bought a game card and put some money on it.  The guy at the counter smiled and Frankie smiled back, trying to make the voices in his head that told him he wasn’t allowed to be here, that he was a creepy old man shut up.

There were fought simulators.  He put his hand on the round ball of the joystick and looked at it with fondness and longing tinged with regret.  He let his hand fall away.  He watched a couple of kids play Mortal Kombat for a bit.  See, that’s how you know your old.  Mortal Kombat looks too violent to you.   He shook his head when they offered to let him play, and moved on.

He sat down on the shooting sim, Deer Hunter.  He had to play something — he’d put in the money.  He shrugged and put in his card and followed the instructions.  He scored high…didn’t miss a beat.  Typing his name in with the buttons…Fish…didn’t make him feel any sense of accomplishment or victory.  It just made him feel tired.

“This was a stupid idea.”  He pulled himself out of the sim.  He didn’t want to pass the Mortal Kombat kids, so he decided to complete the circuit.

There, in the back, was Dragon’s Lair.  Stupid, cheesy, hilarious Dragon’s Lair.  He grinned despite himself…he’d loved the cartoons as a kid.

Someone was already playing it.  She turned and gave him a cute smile.  She was wearing a black tee shirt with a kitsune that say Zero Fox Given and jeans.  She was closer to his age but she seemed…free.  Like she genuinely gave zero f’s.

“I used to see this game all the time at the pizza joint my dad would take us to,”. Frankie said without thinking.  “He never let me play, said all these games were a damned waste of money.”

“Well…nothing;s stop;ping you now, honey,” she said in a soft, gentle voice.  “Unless you don’t join me?”

He stepped up to the right set of controllers.  “Tell me what to do…”

She says her name, prompting Frankie to introduce himself.

“Let’s start from the beginning,” she says.  And the Dragon Lair screen and intro started.

They played for way too long.  They ran themselves out of money on their cards, and ended up going to the snack bar.

“I saw you when you first came in,” she says, then takes a sip out of her Coke float.  “I thought, he’s going to leave the second he can.”

He nods, playing with the label on his rootbeer, peeling at it.  “I felt stupid…I mean, I’m…in my 40’s.”  He blushes a little.  “I should know what to do with myself, by now.”

“Says who?  I don’t…I started a business based on the idea that people might — just might — like to lose themselves in pretty colored lights and nonsense graphics for a bit.”

He’s impressed.  “This place is yours?”

She nods.  Steals a French fry out of his basket.  “My sister and her girlfriend handle the food, I handle the games.  I fix them when they go bad, mess with the card machine when it stops working.  I have a whole bowling alley I got at auction for cheap, and I’m trying to get it installed, but…”

“A whole…bowling alley?”

“Well.  You know.  The lanes, the machine, the chairs and the scoring thingy.  I can do the software set up, but the making the bowling machine work is sort of out of my league.”

He pauses.  “Was that a pun?”

She kicks him lightly.  “What?  And I supposed to leave the puns to the 40-something DILF’s I meet?”

He blushes again, then looks at her, right in the eyes.  “I’m not a dilf.”

She grins back.  “Good to know.”

He clears his throat.  “I’m good with mechanics.  And building things.  We find a manual…I can make it work.”

“Really?”

He nods.

“I’ll pay you.  And feed you.  And, like, give you all the cards for the machines you want.”

“We’ll see.”  He finds that he’s really enjoying the idea.  His day job was boring — it wasn’t flying.  He liked the idea of solving the puzzle, making something work again.

She takes his hand…more, rather, wraps her fingers around his thumb…and pulls him towards the back.  “Let me show you what I have.  You can totally back out…but the men’s department is towards the movie theater side?  And so the bowling alley has its own entrance, and…”

He followed her, grinning at her enthusiasm…and at his own, sudden, brilliant optimism.

[9tzuyu]

children of tragedy [pt.2]

note: hi. i totally did not mean for this to be a filler chapter but thats what it ended up being :(. i hope you guys still like it though. this is mostly natasha x reader (platonic), so maybe that’ll make up for it? lmk your thoughts!

mistakes are mine as always.

warnings: talk of alcohol abuse

pt. 1 | pt.3

🏷 @peggycarter-steverogers @blackxwidowsxwife (tagged since its nat centric)

when you left in the middle of the night while wanda slept in the other room. you didn’t bother waking her to say your goodbyes, instead wanting things to be quick and simple. telling wanda goodbye would only prolong that process. 

you did, however, leave one last sticky note on the kitchen table for her to see when she woke up. it was nothing over the top, just a reminder to make sure she ate and took care of herself.

(and of course your signature smiley face at the bottom of the paper. she loved your odd little version of a smiley face.)

you packed a bag separate from everything wanda put together and stuffed it to the brim with bare necessities. clothes were replaceable. what you had with wanda was not. besides, she probably wouldn’t mind keeping a few of your sweatshirts. they were always her favorite.

rummaging in the side pockets of your jacket you found the last twenty dollar bill you had and used it to catch the next bus across town. 

in all honesty you would’ve texted natasha to tell her you were on your way, but your phone had been dead for three days and you didn’t bother charging it after last night’s conversation. natasha wouldn’t mind though, you’ve been friends with her for over seventeen years. she was the only person who knew about your upbringing and all the abusive relationships between. she’d been there countless times to pick you up from the hospital your exes put you in, never once blaming you for what happened.

similarly to wanda, natasha never judged you for your decisions or ways of coping. she worried just as much as wanda did, but knowing you hated having to talk about things she kept silent. there were only a handful of times natasha could think of where you talked to her about what happened.

with a deep breath in, you slung your backpack over your shoulder and stepped off the bus. the walk to natasha’s house from your drop off area was only about fifteen minutes, but within that short amount of time you managed to get worked up over wanda. your thoughts were so loud that by the time you made it to natasha’s door step you had tears streaming down your face, your nose red from wiping it with the sleeve of your jacket. 

natasha was quick to answer, but she hadn’t expected you of all people to be standing right in front of her. snapping herself out of shock, she pulled you in for a hug before moving back to check you for any signs of bruising. 

there were a few, but they were fading nicely against your skin. and the cuts she found looked like they had been treated with care, which only confused the redhead. she hadn’t heard from you in over eight months, so it wasn’t surprising that she missed out on hearing about wanda. 

what a shame, you thought to yourself. she would’ve loved her.

natasha closed the door behind you and brought you over to her sofa. you laughed remembering that you were in this very same position last night; although it wasn’t like natasha could break up with you or anything of the sort. 

“stay here, i’ll be right back.”

you glanced at the clock on natasha’s wall seeing that it was three in the morning.

it was only when natasha came back when you noticed her disheveled hair and chapped lips. it was clear she was sleeping prior to you knocking on her door. she immediately noticed the guilty look on your face and quickly went to stop you from overthinking.

“none of that now, i don’t care at all that you woke me up at three in the morning. i haven’t seen you in over eight months, i’d be angry with myself if i hadn’t heard you knocking.” unsure how to reply, you nodded solemnly. 

she smiled, “are you hungry?” you licked your lips, food hadn’t crossed your mind in hours. “very.”

you followed her to the kitchen where she brought out a can of soup and set it to cook on the stove. 

“i don’t have much, i keep forgetting to go to the store.” she shrugged, leaning against the counter top.

“s’okay.” 

you awkwardly stood in the middle of the room, arms folded as you stared off into space. natasha took this opportunity to really get a look at you.

she could see the outlining of a bruise on the side of your cheek, and judging by the size, you had to have taken a pretty bad hit. there were also a few bruises around your neck as if someone had tried to choke you. 

she bit her lip, wincing internally at the thought of you getting choked so violently that it left marks as dark as the nail polish natasha once used as a teenager. it hurt her even worse knowing that this person was supposed to love you. 

you caught natasha’s gaze and shifted yourself further away from her. she tried not to frown, but you saw the slight downward movement of her eyebrows before she had a chance to look unbothered. 

“the soup, tasha. it’s going to burn.” you reminded her. 

“ah!”

she stirred the liquid content with a spoon and brought it to her mouth. “just right.” you watched her pour a safe amount into a bowl before giving you a spoon she hadn’t wrapped her lips around.

“lets go sit down so you can eat, yeah?” 

you followed her like a lost little kid back into the living room. if it hadn’t been for such serious issues at hand, natasha would’ve commented on how adorable you looked clutching the bowl with two hands while you unconsciously bit the insides of your cheeks because you were scared of breaking something. 

she gave you time to finish eating. you ate slower than she remembered, but she didn’t think too much of it. the last bite was when natasha when noticed the large scar across your hand. 

(god did she hate herself for not seeing it sooner because what the hell?) 

you moved to go put the dish in the sink, but natasha stopped you, gently grabbing the scarred hand to keep you from leaving. 

“don’t worry about that right now. set it on the coffee table and i’‘ll take care of it when we’re done here.” her voice was soft enough for you to feel safe, an affect only one other person could do. 

natasha didn’t say anything else, she wanted you to feel in control, to feel comfortable enough to talk about it.

the crack of your knuckles could be heard after a few short seconds of silence. there was no reason for you to feel so nervous. it was just natasha after all. she would never hurt you.

(you were brave. you were okay. you can do this.)

“she was so good to me, nat.” the redhead scoffed, but you were quick to defend your now presumed ex. 

“she was! this time i really mean it, and i know that sounds redundant but i would put the love i have for you as a friend, as a sister, on the line.” she seemed to believe you after that. the look in your eyes told her everything she needed to know. 

“what happened?”

your lip started to quiver, “i ruined it.” natasha moved closer to you, wrapping her arms around you so that your body rest against hers. “how’s that?” 

“i can’t stop drinking, couldn’t, and she had to do the right thing for herself.” her grip tightened around your frame. she hated not knowing you were drinking again. the first few times weren’t too bad, but she had a feeling this time was more than she could help with.

“she was so good to me, tasha and i ruined it. i fucking ruined every bit of it because i’m too weak to-”

“stop. do not finish that sentence or else i’m going to give you a sisterly lecture for the next three hours about every good thing that makes you who you are.” her threat came off as a joke, but if needed, natasha would actually hold herself to her own word.

you sighed and visibly deflated, natasha allowing the tiniest smile grace her lips from behind you. 

“what was her name?” your eyes found their way to natasha’s hands and the rings that clung to the base of her fingers. “wanda.”

“how did she treat you? i mean really treat you.”

you fiddled with her rings, twisting them back and forth absentmindedly, “she used to bandage my wounds with like, five layers of gauze, i swear. i always thought she was just being over dramatic, but sometimes the bleeding would even seep through that.” 

your breathing began to slow down. “she would always come when i needed her, whether that be when i blacked out from drinking or if i was sick and needed help taking a bath.”

“she sounds like a good person.”

“she is.” 

natasha hummed, “you really scared me, you know?” you moved to try and face her, but she kept her arm wrapped securely around your torso. “i didn’t hear from you in over half a year and now you’re here. you’re my best friend and i thought you were dead.” there was a crack in her voice. god knows she didn’t want you to see her cry.

(that’s why she held you in place, but most of all because she missed having you close.)

“i’m sorry, tasha...” 

“just don’t ever do that to me again or i will kill you myself.” you rolled your eyes at her reply. “i’m not, i promise.”

you moved off her lap, turning your body so you were face to face with her. “where do i go from here, nat?” 

she thought dor a second, “can you make it through tonight without a drink? or will withdrawls be too bad?”

you paused, surely you hadn’t gotten to the point where withdrawls were as serious as you’d seen in all the medical shows and documentaries. “i think i’ll be good.”

natasha nodded in approval, “do you want help?”

it was the question of the century for you. the answer should be a simple yes, but it never failed to amaze you how much weight could be carried behind a three letter word. there was a chance for you though, something you might not ever get again. and honestly, natasha’s heart couldn’t take another relapse like this. eight months of not knowing if you were alive or not was bad enough, she couldn’t imagine not seeing her dearest friend for the rest of her life.

“yes,” you exasperated, “yes, i wan’t help.”

[twistedtummies2]

Green-Eyed Devil

A silly piece of Sherliam fluffiness; nothing kinky, just sweet foolery. Summary: William James Moriarty always thought that Sherlock Holmes & Dr. Watson made a good pair...but he finds himself getting very jealous over just HOW good a pair they might be.

In Other Words: Liam goes into “jealous boyfriend mode.” ‘Nuff said. :P

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Another busy day in London. People bustled to and fro in the cool, semi-drizzly afternoon’s yellow-gray light. Paupers held out their hats in hopes of alms, while the gentry chattered, unconcerned by the rain pattering onto their umbrellas. Hoofbeats clip-clapped upon the cobblestone streets as carriages and hansom cabs went back and forth, carrying their passengers quickly but carefully through the mild downpour.

One particular carriage turned a corner onto Baker Street: a black carriage, with strange red-tinted lamps on its sides, which matched the dark, blood-colored lining of its inner cushioning, barely visible through the windows of the coach. The same deep red was painted on the wide wagon wheels. It was a nobleman’s coach, something that turned many eyes, as it was rare for a nobleman to hurry along Baker Street. While the road was by no means a slum, it was not one of the grander parts of the city either: a decent middle-class zone. Those who knew the street best smirked, already having a guess as to where the carriage would stop. They were correct...but not for the reasons they expected. In the driver’s seat of the coach was a young man, dressed in a dark blue suit, with a matching tie and hat, and wire-rimmed spectacles upon his fine nose. His blonde hair fluttered at the sides of his head, half-hiding the nasty scar upon his cheek; the only thing that marred his otherwise handsome, youthful face. A pair of strange red eyes which seemed to dimly glow in the shadows of his hat brim stared resolutely onward...until the carriage neared its destination. “Whoa there!” the man in blue called to the twin horses that pulled the carriage, and tugged on the reins, slowing the stallions to a stop. They whinnied softly and shook their heads as the driver tied the reins off, then hopped down from his seat and opened the door to the coach. “Brother William,” he said to the one inside, “We’ve arrived.” There was a pause...then, a lone figure stepped out of the carriage. He was tall and thin, his stance as elegant as his choice of clothes as he adjusted the gray top hat on his head and tucked a silver-topped cane under one arm. He wore a rich brown suit, and white kid gloves; over this was a thick black overcoat. His countenance was almost identical to that of the other man, with the same blonde hair and unusual red eyes...although his eyes glowed much more brightly, and the whole face seemed narrower, sharper, more mature and almost predator-like in shape, while still having a pleasing, downright attractive demeanor. His expression was serene and gentle, magnetic in the way the features were fixed; a cool, effortlessly composed face that seemed unperturbed by the rain, or anything else, for that matter. The lips on the endlessly calm face stretched ever so slightly into a satisfied smile as he saw the address plaque on the door only a few feet away: 221B. “Brother?” The man in brown turned to the man in blue. “Yes, Louis?” he responded, his voice the same practiced, even calm that could be seen on his face; pleasant, yet unbreakable. Louis James Moriarty squirmed a bit; he looked nervous. “Is this really wise?” he asked, and looked to the door as well. “Asking HIM to join you for dinner, I mean.” “Why not? The Cafe de L’Europe serves fabulous suppers.”

“It’s not the food that worries me,” Louis said, somewhat blandly, and gestured with a toss of his head towards the building. “HE, after all, is simply meant to be a part of your game. And if he figures out the truth through frequent contact…” Louis trailed off. William smiled a little wider. “Ah. Are you afraid the White Pawn might take the Black King, Louis?” the man in brown asked, almost teasingly. “That’s part of it, yes,” Louis answered, in a slow, careful way. William let out a puff of amusement through his nose...then reached out with his free hand, placing it on his brother’s shoulder. Louis turned quickly to face him. “Holmes is a powerful piece in our grand puzzle,” William said softly, making sure not to be heard by any passers-by. “One must know the enemy in order to reach the endgame properly. The more I study him, the more I can learn.” He paused, looking towards the door once more. His eyes narrowed as he seemed to peer through the door. “Besides,” he murmured, and his voice quivered ever so faintly with emotion. “I find him interesting. He seems a clever man...and a lucky one.” Louis narrowed his own eyes and said nothing. He paused before speaking again. “William,” he said, and the genius in brown raised an eyebrow at the use of his name as he gave his younger sibling a sidelong glance. “I don’t like it. I really don’t.” “Holmes’ interest in me, or mine in him?” William checked, voice even and seemingly uncaring. “Both,” Louis confessed. “The more time you spend with him, the more dangerous the game becomes.” “The game was always dangerous, Louis,” William said with a light chuckle, and his red eyes twinkled deviously. “Now the game is just more FUN.” “That’s my point,” Louis responded. “You’re literally flirting with trouble; you could be dining with disaster. I know you, brother. Don’t think I didn’t realize what was going on during the train trip to Durham, or the way you smiled when you spoke of his visit to the university.” William’s smile flickered, showing weakness for the first time, though he kept his eyes on the door. “Louis,” he said at length, “I know you’re looking out for what’s best for me. And I appreciate it. I do.” He turned back and smiled to his younger brother. “I will ALWAYS appreciate you, little brother,” he promised, his voice filled with firm meaning. “That is never going to change, no matter what happens in the future - in our plans, between myself and Holmes - you will always be my light. Having said that, I am not the sort of person to allow my emotions to ruin my strategies.” Louis seemed to relax...and a small smile of his own fell onto his face. His cheeks seemed to turn a bit pink. “If you say so,” he said, his own voice a bit shaky, before his eyes hardened again. “But after Enders in January, Hope in February, and the business with Mr. Bonde in March…” He trailed off, taking a deep breath before stiffening his back. “...If he continues to incommode us, I will remove him myself.” William’s smile was affectionate. He nodded. “I would ask no one else to do it, brother,” he said, sounding pleased to hear it...then added, very quietly, seemingly more to himself than to Louis, “I’m not sure I would have the stomach for it now…” There was an awkward pause, which was interrupted by Louis giving a nigh-imperceptible shiver. William perceived it, however. “How thoughtless of me, keeping you standing in the rain!” he smiled anew, and patted his brother on the shoulder. “Why don’t you take the carriage somewhere dry and get yourself a meal? I can take a hansom up to meet you.” Louis nodded and told William where he was going, then drove the carriage off. William watched his brother go, then marched up to the door of the flat house at long last. He could feel the rain speckling his own clothes, and had no desire to be soaked. He took the brass knocker and, without another moment’s hesitation, he knocked upon the door. Almost immediately, he heard footsteps coming to the door...then, a woman - a little older than himself, but not by more than a few years - answered. Her eyes were the color of emeralds, her hair an auburn shade, tied into a bun. She was dressed in a very proper-looking pink tea dress, a cream-colored apron draped over her front. The woman tilted her head slightly as she blinked up at William. “Hello?” she greeted, curiously. “May I help you?” William doffed his hat; the drizzled rain felt cool and soothing on his golden scalp. “Good day,” he greeted, in his most dulcet voice. “My name is William James Moriarty. I am a Professor of Mathematics at Durham University. I take it you are the famous Miss Hudson?” The woman’s cheeks turned almost as pink as her clothes, and she smiled. “Only thanks to Dr. Watson’s stories,” she chuckled, then frowned and mumbled to herself: “I really need to remind him it’s MISS Hudson, not Missus...yet…” She shook herself out of that thought and stepped aside, opening the door wider. “Come in!” she said cheerily. “No need to stand out in the rain!” “Thank you,” Professor Moriarty said with a short, respectful bow of his head, and stepped into the parlor of the flat house. He offered his cane, his hat, and his black overcoat to the landlady-slash-housekeeper, who graciously smiled as she put the items up on a rack… ...Then scowled as Moriarty began to walk across the room towards the stairs. “OI!” she suddenly snapped. William stopped short, eyes wide, a little alarmed...although the carefully constructed evenness of his voice never once gave that away. “What’s the matter, ma’am?” he asked, politely. Miss Hudson took a breath to calm herself. “Nothing, sir, nothing,” she mumbled. “Just...you forgot to wipe your feet on the mat.” William blinked, and looked down at his shoes. He admitted he felt a flutter of embarrassment as he saw he had left rain-soaked footprints on the floor leading up to the staircase. “Oh,” he whispered to himself, and smiled apologetically, his voice as graceful as his movements as he stepped back, retracing his steps carefully, and did so. “My apologies. It quite slipped my mind.” “Never mind,” huffed Miss Hudson. “I’m sorry for snapping at you, Professor, just...at least you LISTEN, unlike that stubborn, skull-wearing…!” She took another breath and sighed. William’s smile became more akin to a smirk. “I take it Mr. Holmes is as trying as Dr. Watson’s publications would lead one to believe?” he puzzled. “No,” Miss Hudson droned. “He’s even WORSE. I’ve never had children, sir, but after Sherlock Holmes, I think I know what it’s like to raise one, and I don’t think it’s fun.” Moriarty chuckled. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he soothed, and cocked his own head. “Is Mr. Holmes in, by the way? May I see him?” “He is, and I suppose that will depend upon Mr. Holmes,” Miss Hudson answered, and stepped in front of the young Professor, leading him back to the stairs. “Not that I imagine he’d have any objections. He speaks of you often, you know.” William paused at the foot of the steps. “Does he now?” he questioned, seemingly more to himself than Miss Hudson, but she answered anyway. “Yes, almost as often as he rambles on about how important tobacco ash is in an investigation,” she mumbled, with a wry chuckle. “He gets so wrapped up in the little things!” “Well, the little things are often the most important,” Moriarty defended as the pair made their way up the stairs to the upper floor of the building. “That’s what he says,” Miss Hudson shrugged. “I’ve never understood it myself, nor how many different types of ashes he claims there are! Something like one hundred different varieties-” “One hundred forty, actually.” Miss Hudson froze on the steps and looked to the Professor, whose uncanny smile never once faltered. He hadn’t sounded like he was bragging or patronizing, he just...said it. “Yes,” she murmured, and nodded slowly. “That’s exactly right, I remember now...have you read that monograph he published?” Moriarty gave one of “his smiles”: the masks of pleasant sweetness where his eyes closed and his lips curved perhaps a little TOO wide to be genuine looks of happiness. “We’ll say yes,” he answered, in a chirping sort of manner. Miss Hudson raised an eyebrow at the cryptic reaction, then shrugged and led Moriarty up the steps. The Professor followed at a polite pace and distance as she approached the door at the top of the stairs, leading into the rooms of her most popular tenant. She knocked on the door, sharply rapping it with her knuckles. “Sherlock!” she called. “Go away!” a voice from the other side of the door called back. William couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath as Miss Hudson flushed with indignation. “What’s that kind of talk for?” she shouted. “You have a client!” “Tell them to go away, too; I’m busy,” was the snorted response. Then came a new voice: milder, more genteel. “Ah, Miss Hudson...ask them if they wouldn’t mind waiting? We won’t be too long, I should think…” “No more than an hour,” added the first voice, and the Professor was almost certain he heard the other voice hiss angrily: “Not helping, Sherlock!” “I don’t mind waiting,” Moriarty said, placidly. And he didn’t; there was no rush to his visitation. Miss Hudson, however, was incensed, and would hear none of it. “Like HELL you will!” she snarled, causing William to quirk his brow at her language before she glared at the door like it was the source of all the trouble in her life. “Sherlock, you cannot keep a gentleman like Mr. Moriarty waiting! He is-” “Mister WHO?!” came the first voice. “Moriarty! Professor Moriarty from Durham!” Miss Hudson answered. Scarcely had she gotten out the last word, however, than the door burst open, and Miss Hudson jumped aside with a yelp as an excited figure all but jumped through the doorway. William’s smile softened and took on a shade of amusement at the sight of Sherlock Holmes, who looked breathless and almost manic, his smile stretched wide across the handsome but angular proportions of his face. His dark blue eyes (which Moriarty noticed were slightly baggier than usual) gleamed as his dark hair - unkempt as ever - sprung out in every direction, from the curlicue cowlick to his untidy ponytail. He was dressed in his usual garb: not the deerstalker and inverness cape the public knew from the illustrations in the Strand, but a dark blue coat and trousers, along with brown leather shoes that had seen better days, and a white shirt with its top button undone. Moriarty couldn’t help but give a passing glance at the glimpse of a strong chest and collarbone that were visible through that partition… The gangly detective grinned widely, as if his whole day had just become a little sunnier, and extended a hand to William - the one that wore his silver skull ring. “LIAM!” he boomed with a jovial laugh. “You couldn’t have come at a better time! I was just about to get started on a chemical experiment, come in, come in!” Before either the Professor or Miss Hudson could stop him, the detective all but dragged the mathematician through the door. Miss Hudson blinked at the closed door after it slammed shut...then sighed and shook her head, before sniffing primly and heading back downstairs. “Mad as a hatter; he always will be,” she muttered. Meanwhile, the Professor brushed himself off briefly as he stood in the entrance area of Sherlock’s flat. Holmes smirked, tucking one hand into his pants pocket, the other scratching his chin as he eyed William critically. “So, Liam...how was your ride over here? You took your own coach, didn’t you?” “Bumpier than I would like, but not too bad,” shrugged William, not at all bothered by how easily Holmes guessed. “Well, with the weather, you might have found the trains easier. Did our case on the Paddington line make you that squeamish?” teased Sherlock. William gave another of “his” smiles. “Perhaps a little,” he lied in a sing-song way. “Ah...how do you know he came in his own coach?” Blue and red eyes turned to look at the third person in the room: another young man, in his twenties - roughly the same age as both the sleuth and the schemer - dressed in an olive-colored jacket and trousers, along with a brown vest, a neat-looking off-white shirt, and a burnt-yellow-colored ascot. His skin was very lightly tanned, his eyes were the same shade as his vest, and his hair was a sort of pale grayish-blonde color. The eyes were very wide and bright, and peered between the two geniuses with curious interest as he stepped closer. “Elementary, My Dear Watson,” Sherlock chimed, and then looked back to Moriarty. “I don’t think you properly got introduced, did you?” William shook his head, and then looked to Watson with a smile, extending a hand. “A pleasure to see you again, Doctor,” the Professor greeted in a warm but casual voice. “William James Moriarty, at your service.” “It’s nice to meet you, officially,” Watson smiled back with a nod, and shook the hand of Professor Moriarty. “John H. Watson. Thank you, by the way, for helping Sherlock with the Hawthorne case.” “Oh, please,” Moriarty chuckled, lifting his other hand in a dismissive gesture. “Say nothing of it. I’m simply glad I could help an innocent person and see a criminal brought to justice. It was exciting, playing detective, really. I’m surprised you didn’t publish that one.” “Sherlock talked me out of it,” admitted Watson, and gave an accusing look at the detective. Holmes shrugged. “It was a simple case. Too simple, too quick,” he said, boredly. “You two were the only things that made it interesting. I figured your adoring readers would like something more interesting.” “Sure they would,” Watson muttered, then looked back to Moriarty, huge eyes burning with interest. “Now...about your ride here...do you know how he guessed it?” “He didn’t guess it,” insisted Moriarty. “He DEDUCED it, Doctor. And I think I know.” “Oh?” Holmes spoke up, and smiled challengingly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Prove it. Go on, Liam, what were the clues?” “Three clues, really: it was all a question of sight, recollection, and smell.” “Huh?” Watson spoke up, brow furrowing in curiosity. “What do you mean?” “First, recollection,” Moriarty explained, and began counting off the points on his fingers. “Mr. Holmes knows I live in Durham. To say that’s a bit of a walk from here is an understatement, and I do not own a bicycle. So there was no other way to get here beyond covered transportation, especially in this weather: the rain may be light sprinkling, but with that much ground to cover, I would have been soaked to the bone. This leads into sight: if I had even come in a dogcart, for instance, the mud and rainwater would have been splashed onto me.” “But you could have come in a cab!” “That’s where the smell comes in, John,” Holmes interjected, pulling up the sleeve on one of his arms and scratching at a spot there before rolling the sleeve back down as he elaborated. “No driver would take someone from Durham all the way to Baker Street; too much of a distance, and the Moriarty household is much too remote to simply hail a passing cab. Liam either would have had to catch a cab or a horsebus from the train station, or take his own carriage directly from his house. And as there is no scent of smoke from the steam engines or any crowds on him, as you would expect from the former scenario, that leaves only the option of him making the full journey in his carriage.” Watson blinked...then let out a slightly nervous chuckle. “Well...it...sounds kind of obvious when you put it that way,” he admitted, sheepishly. “That’s because it is obvious,” Holmes boasted. “Indeed,” slithered William. “Just as it is obvious Mr. Watson has been diluting your cocaine solution from seven to five percent.” Holmes gaped and Watson gasped. “H-How...how did you guess that?!” sputtered Sherlock, who looked mortified. William’s smile was simple and innocent. “Elementary, My Dear Holmes,” he answered, in a gently teasing tone...and pointedly said NOTHING else. Holmes gulped thinly, and gave a tight sort of smile. “Liam, you rascal,” he hissed under his breath, eyes dancing. “You’re GOOD at this game.” “Thank you,” Moriarty purred, with a slight bow, then looked towards the chemistry set. It was prepared on a table near the window. “So, what was the experiment you mentioned, if you don’t mind my asking?” “Oh!” Sherlock Holmes exclaimed, snapping his fingers, and gestured for both Dr. Watson and Professor Moriarty to join him as he sat down at his chemistry set. Watson stood to his left, while William paused at his right, both watching the detective check on the items he had gathered, to make sure everything was in place. “Part of a case?” William guessed. “Yep,” Holmes popped the word out with his lips before continuing: “A man in Cheshire - John Vincent Harden by name - came to us with the problem yesterday.” Watson nodded, and pulled from his coat pocket a piece of paper. On it was a list of items, untidily scrawled. “Mr. Harden’s friend is currently in the dock under suspicion of murdering the family butler,” the doctor explained. “This piece of paper - which includes the murder of the butler as part of a number of surly deeds to be done - is the only clue that can prove he might be innocent.” “I see,” William murmured, looking at the paper briefly...then nearly jumped as Sherlock snatched it away. The sleuth glanced over it before scoffing through his nostrils. “Offhand, I can deduce very little,” he muttered, placing the paper on the table and squinting down at it. “Only that the paper comes from Mongolia and has no watermark, that the one who wrote this is a drinker, and that they are probably not very rich.” Liam grinned, looking proud as a plum, and was about to comment...but Watson beat him to it. “The odor of cheap brandy, plus the weight and texture of the paper, right?” he smiled hopefully. Holmes grinned. “Very good, John!” he chuckled, and nudged the doctor’s shoulder with a light punch, making Watson squeak like a mouse before gripping his shoulder. Watson gave a blushing, shy smile as he rubbed his shoulder and Holmes all but sang out: “You’re getting better at this every day!” Watson shuffled on his feet. “It was...really nothing; you can smell the brandy part, easily,” he mumbled. This was the moment where Professor Moriarty’s usually marble-carved smile flickered faintly, and his red eyes seemed to shine a bit brighter...and not in a pleasant manner. He slowly looked Watson over, taking in the way the surgeon and former soldier stood and smiled at Sherlock. He could sense the doctor’s heightened pulse even from here...the way the pupils dilated as he watched Holmes work… It could just be happiness at being praised - the rather wide, almost childlike small on John’s face could make that clear - but, of course, it could also mean something far, FAR more meaningful. William glared...but then shook his head, clearing it. No. Not a chance. There was no reason to get worked up. Not yet, anyway. “Liam,” Holmes spoke up, catching Moriarty’s attention as he handed him the paper again. “Is there anything you can see that I haven’t noted yet?” “Black dust,” William said, without taking the parchment piece up. “The ink half-hides it; the man either works as a lamplighter, or frequently goes somewhere where gaslights that require coal are plentifully found.” Holmes nodded, humming softly in thought as he pulled his magnifying glass from his coat pocket and inspected the letter closely. As he did, Watson inched closer...and Moriarty felt his own chest tighten almost imperceptibly as he saw the doctor lean against Holmes, his head in the crook of the detective’s shoulder and neck. It was a casual sort of movement; something intimate, but not necessarily sensual. The same went for the affectionate smiles the two shared before looking back at the paper. All the same, William suddenly sensed the way his own fists tightened at his sides. He felt strangely cold, and he didn’t like it. “Well, until I put it through the chemical test, I can’t say much else,” Sherlock sighed at last. “So far, none of this helps Mr. Harden’s friend: he works at a theater with gaslights, and is, in fact, a frequent patron of a local pub.” So saying, Holmes stood up and held out a hand to Watson, flexing his fingers in a beckoning motion. “Light, please,” he ordered. Watson rolled his eyes but obligingly pulled and struck a match from his waistcoat pocket. Holmes plucked up the match, and then, grinning widely, lifted the paper, preparing to set it ablaze… “STOP!” Holmes jumped at Watson’s shout. “What now?” “You can’t just burn the whole thing!” John protested. “I can, and I will,” huffed Holmes. “He DOES need to reduce the paper to ash in order to conduct the experiment,” Moriarty put in. “Thank you, Liam!” Sherlock nodded. William smiled, a light glimmer of victory in his expression...but the victory was squashed when Watson spoke up again. “Well, burn a small portion of it then,” John suggested. “After all, this is your only sample: if something goes wrong, and you burn the whole thing, you won’t be able to conduct the experiment again, properly, will you? Plus, you’ll be ridding the courtroom of evidence!” Holmes opened his mouth to snap back something...then closed it...and blinked. “...Oh,” he murmured. “I...somehow did not consider that.” He smiled with friendly admiration. “John, what would I do without you?” he chuckled. “Well, you need SOMEONE more normal to tone down that insanity of yours,” John smirked back. Holmes laughed. William’s smile remained fixed...but his eyes narrowed. “You two are even closer than I realized,” he observed, quietly. Sherlock had just asked John to fetch him some scissors. As the doctor returned with the cutting blades, Holmes nodded. “Well, yeah. We’re pretty much inseparable.” “Yes, like two peas in a pod,” Watson agreed, as Sherlock cut a small portion of the paper off the rest. He then tilted his head and added: “I suppose more like two cherries in a bunch, actually. I’ve never liked peas.” “Neither have I!” Holmes exclaimed. “What a remarkable coincidence!” Watson grinned brightly. William felt his molars grind against one another very slightly. He breathed through his nose to relax; externally, he looked thoroughly composed, his smile still set...but inside, he could feel something bubbling up inside him, like magma in a volcano. He wanted Holmes to smile at him that way. He suddenly wanted to be the one there with him constantly. It wasn’t fair that someone else got to be around his nemesis so often. “I always knew you two made a good pair,” he thought to say, as Holmes burned the cut piece and then carefully brushed the ashes into a small bowl. “John has helped me on nearly all my cases since Jefferson Hope,” Sherlock smiled. “Honestly, it’s hard to imagine a time before he came around.” “Aww,” Watson mumbled, blushing once again. “Thank you, Sherlock.” “Oh, don’t think anything of it,” sniffed Holmes, as he poured the ashes into a beaker filled with a curious blue liquid. “After all the times you’ve bungled things, I have to stroke your ego a LITTLE bit.” “Oi! I do not bungle things!” Watson cried out. “Oh, no?” smirked Holmes sitting back and crossing his legs and arms with a supercilious smile. “And what about that case with Miss Stoner? You were so proud of yourself when you found footprints outside her bedroom window...only for us to find out they were OUR footprints the whole time!” “That...I...a-anyone could have made that mistake!” Watson sputtered, withdrawing childishly as he rubbed the back of his neck with embarrassment. “Not me!” chirruped Sherlock Holmes. Watson glared. “Oh, no?” he retorted, mimicking Holmes’ voice and posture as he smirked deviously. “Then how about that time you let those counterfeiters go because you accidentally set the house on fire?” “IF LESTRADE HAD BEEN THERE ON TIME, THEY WOULD HAVE BEEN CAUGHT!” Holmes shouted, and pouted like a sulking child. “I thought we agreed never to speak of that again!” “How do you set a house on fire with a spoon, Holmes?” Watson ribbed. “Clearly, another of your many talents.” Holmes growled...then reached up and pulled Watson down - “C’mere, you!” - giving the gray-blonde soldier a noogie and making him shriek and laugh. William watched the shenanigans with utter apathy. Or at least, utter external apathy. Internally, he wished he could have such an open, joking friendship...in truth, Moriarty had never really felt he HAD a true friend till Sherlock Holmes. He’d understood what friendship was, but beyond his family, he tended to see most people - even his closest subordinates - as pawns for use in his grand scheme.                                                                                                                                                                                             “Ahem,” the Professor cleared his throat, and the pair froze...before jumping away from each other like singed cats. The reaction was so much like two young lovers being caught kissing in private that it almost made Moriarty squirm. Almost. “As amusing as these hijinks are...what about your experiment, Holmes?” “Ah!” Sherlock exclaimed, smacking his own forehead. “Thank you, Liam, for reminding me. Watch carefully, both of you…” So saying, Holmes placed the beaker under a large contraption on the table: it consisted of a glass flask, with a burner under it, and a long curlicue tube - which was patched in several places - stretching from its open top. The beaker was set under the end of the tube, and Holmes switched on the burner. The flask was filled with a bright green liquid. It bubbled and fizzed, and soon began to rise in the glass chamber, pumping into the tube. Slowly but surely, it began to make its way through the piping. Holmes watched the fluid flow intently, his feet tapping on the floor like an excited, eager child, his hands drumming his knees impatiently as he muttered to himself. “Yes...yes, good, good...c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon...hmmm, yes-yes-oop! No, no, bad, bad-yes! Good! C’mon, c’mon-ah! That’s it! C’mon, c’mon...yes, yes, yes…!” Both William and Watson leaned close as the fluid reached the end of the tube...and, after an excruciatingly lengthy wait of exactly three seconds...PLIPP. A single green drop plopped into the beaker. FWOOMPH! A puff of smoke burst from the beaker as the fluid turned red...then purple...then changed back to blue. There was a pause...then, Holmes grinned wider. He began to chuckle...and the chuckle became a giggle...and the giggle became a loud, roaring laugh as he jumped out of his chair, throwing his arms up in joy. “IT WORKED! IT WORKED, JOHN!” he almost screamed. Before either of them could comment, Holmes suddenly slapped both hands down on William’s shoulders. Moriarty stiffened almost imperceptibly; he felt his heart almost stop as he looked into the earnest, happy blue eyes of the detective. “Liam...Liam, it worked!” he gasped out. “I knew it! I KNEW it! You knew it, too, yes? Right?” Moriarty blinked a few times; for a moment his mask fell away. His eyes were very wide and seemed to sparkle faintly...but finally, he recomposed himself, and licked his lips thinly before speaking. “I did,” he confirmed with a nod. “Distilled sodium chloride, yes?” “Exactly! EXACTLY!” Holmes cheered with an extremely hyper nod. “Um...wh-what just happened?” Sherlock turned around fast to face Watson. Moriarty felt a pang in his blackened heart as he realized he missed the warmth and closeness. “Oh, you don’t know?” Holmes blinked. “Would I have asked if I did?” Watson reasoned. “Hmph. Touche,” shrugged Sherlock, and pointed to the beaker. “It’s simple, John: that reaction could only have happened if the paper was, at some point, exposed to a great deal of salt water vapor.” Watson gaped. “Then the person who wrote the paper came from somewhere by the sea. Most likely the dockyards!” Watson realized. “Precisely!” Holmes said, with a clap of his hands. “And you know what that means, don’t you?” “That Mr. Harden’s friend is innocent! He lives in a spot far, FAR from the docks; on the other side of London, in fact! Well done, Sherlock!” “Yes, indeed,” William spoke up, a little more forcefully than he usually liked. He wasn’t at all liking the closeness of the pair, in any sense of the word, in that given moment...and, he realized, he had yet to present his invitation to his nemesis. “Now, Mr. Holmes, since you’re experiment’s done, I wanted to know-” “Sherlock!” Watson exclaimed, and Moriarty realized - with no small amount of affrontation - that neither had been listening to him. Watson, however, immediately backpedaled and smiled nervously at the red-eyed guest. “Oh, sorry, Professor…” “No, no. Go ahead,” Moriarty purred, trying not to clench his teeth as he spoke. He barely succeeded. Watson nodded, and looked back to his dark-haired partner in crimefighting. “How about we celebrate with some dinner? My treat!” “Excellent suggestion, John; I didn’t eat at all yesterday, I could use something now,” Holmes admitted, somewhat sheepishly. “You need to watch that,” John warned. “I will try,” Holmes laughed weakly. “Where should we go?” “Why not the Bugle Tavern?” Watson suggested, in a tone that suggested there was some significance in the spot. William James Moriarty was by no means a snob: his upbringing and his philosophy prevented that. But with that said...he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of superiority flood through him when he heard John Watson’s suggestion. He knew the Bugle; he’d taken a witness there for interrogation during the case of the Earl of Argleton. It was not a BAD place, but it was on the seedier side of the city; the food was decent but cheap. Compared to where he planned to take Holmes, it was hardly an even match, and as the detective was his intellectual equal - a man of many similar tastes - it seemed unlikely he’d ever- “A perfect choice, John!” Holmes declared, and William’s perfect poker face very, VERY nearly broke apart at the seams. “We’ll have a quick dinner, then head to the station to speak to Gregson.” “Right,” Watson nodded as he headed to the door and picked up his bowler hat and cane. “Perhaps with the help of our evidence, and a few very simple charts and graphs, we can convince him that night follows day.” “Yes, and that two plus two will inevitably equal four,” Sherlock snickered, and pulled a cigarette from his pocket as he started to follow Watson… ...Then froze...and slowly turned around to look at Moriarty, who still stood beside the chemistry set. “Oh, ah...Liam...I’m sorry, was there something you needed?” he asked. Moriarty blinked slowly...then, gave another of his far-too-happy-looking smiles. “Oh, it can wait till another day!” he sang. “Off you go! Enjoy yourself!” “Thanks, I will,” Holmes chuckled, and turned to Watson, extending the hand that held his cigarette. “Light, please? Again?” Watson obligingly lit the cigarette. Sherlock took a long drag from it, and blew a smoke ring at the ceiling, before leaving the flat. “See ya, Liam!” he called over his shoulder with a quick wave. Watson smiled politely and tipped his hat to the Professor, before using his cane to shut the door as they departed. The instant both were gone, Moriarty’s expression became cold as ice. He slowly turned his head to look out the window - almost the way a snake might turn its head when charmed from a basket - and watched as he soon saw Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson walk out into the soft shower and down the street. He saw the doctor’s arm squeeze Holmes’ shoulder...saw the way the two inched closer… William’s red eyes blazed like burning coals from the pits of Hell. He briskly marched out of the room and down the stairs. “Ah, Professor, there you are!” Miss Hudson greeted, with an oblivious smile, and handed him back his overcoat, hat, and cane. “Did you get what you needed?” Moriarty swung on his coat and carefully placed his hat upon his head. “No,” he said, very, very softly - so softly Miss Hudson wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly - as he took the cane, gripping it so tightly the hidden sword within nearly rattled. “But I still might.” He tipped his hat and left, saying nothing else but “Good day, Miss Hudson,” as he departed the flat house and went to hail a cab.

Miss Hudson wasn’t sure, but she almost swore the red eyes had turned green.

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The following day, at the Moriarty Mansion, William was sitting alone in the study, poring over a quaint and curious volume of Egyptian lore. Louis had prepared tea and sandwiches, and the mastermind - currently dressed in his fine, gold-and-burgundy robe - was sipping from a cup of Earl Gray while he read. A knock came at the study door, and Moriarty glanced quickly at the portal before placing the thin silk bookmark on the page he was focused on. He then shut the leatherbound tome and put it to one side. “Come in, James,” he called out. The door opened, and James Bonde’s turquoise eyes soon connected with William’s. The master spy was dressed in their usual garments: a light gray suit and small homburg hat, a neatly-pressed lavender tie elegantly bound around their throat. Bonde smiled, the beauty mark at the corner of one eye crinkling slightly as they removed their hat and swept some loose strands of corn-colored hair out of their face.

“How did you know it was me?” “Two very good reasons,” William smiled. “First of all, because I was expecting you, and second of all, because I heard your footsteps in the hall, and your step is unlike any other in England.” The Napoleon of Crime waved a hand towards the seat across from him and simply said, “Please.” James Bonde took the hint, and sat down, hands in his lap, legs crossed, chin held up with cocksure pride. “I take it you have a mission for me?” “Should you choose to accept it,” William confirmed with a nod, and lifted his teacup again, stirring the tea with elegant, slight turns of his wrist. “In your...ahem…‘past life,’ you spent some time with my appointed nemesis, yes?” “Yes,” smirked Bonde, a twinkle in their eye that called back to the days when Irene Adler planned her plots. “I guess that means I have the advantage of being the only agent in our organization who’s slept with the enemy.” Moriarty froze, red eyes latching onto Bonde. “Or, at least, in enemy territory,” James corrected quickly. Moriarty smiled. “James,” he said, far-too-sweetly. “You know how I really feel about him, don’t you?” Bonde nodded slowly, their own smile faltering a bit in confusion. “Well then, please don’t make jokes like that again,” William went on, in a voice that indicated he was a hundred times more aggravated than he chose to let on. James gulped nervously as William sipped his tea far, FAR too crisply. He could almost imagine the unspoken words from the Napoleon of Crime: If you do, they’ll never find your body. “...I’m, uh...I-I’m sorry,” Bonde stammered out with uncharacteristic fear. “It’s fine,” William said with a light sigh, and shook his head as he put his teacup down. His smile settled into a look of sincere apology. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bonde. I’m...feeling a little testy today, that’s all.” Sensing he was out of danger, James nodded and smiled back sympathetically. “I take it your nemesis is what my mission concerns?” the spy said, and then turned serious, frowning. “Is he getting in the way too often?�� “Not often enough,” mumbled Professor Moriarty, and shook his head again, this time in answer. “No, James, it’s not that. And it’s not Mr. Holmes I want you to deal with.” James raised an eyebrow. “Dr. Watson, then?” Bonde guessed. “As a matter of fact, yes,” William said, and sat back in his seat, steepling his fingers. “I want you to keep an eye on the flat for two weeks. I want you to pay particular attention to Watson, and whenever he and Holmes leave together for any reason, follow them. I don’t care if they’re simply going to shop for tobacco at the market: keep tabs on them both. Next Friday, you will make a final report on anything suspicious you encountered.” “Suspicious? In what way?” Bonde frowned. “You’d expect US to be the ones up to no good, after all.” Moriarty chuckled. “I will let you be the judge,” he purred, smoothly. Bonde looked confused, but nodded slowly. “Very well, I’ll take the job,” James said, and cocked his head. “But...William...why?” Moriarty shut his eyes, pausing as he tried to decide on his words. “Let us simply say,” he answered steadily, “That I’m concerned about their relationship. Take careful stock of all you see, while I deal with the plans for our next caper, and the rest deal with other matters.” “As you wish,” Bonde said, and stood up from his chair, replacing his hat. “One other thing, James,” Moriarty added, lifting a single finger in instruction. “This mission is particularly special: I’d like to keep it between us. Tell no one else: not any other member of the gang. Not even my own brothers.” James frowned, narrowing his eyes; he wasn’t sure what was so important that had William this worked up...but clearly it mattered a great deal to the Professor. The True M. “Yes, sir,” Bonde said, and tapped his hat brim. “I’ll do my best.” “Very good. You are dismissed; if you need help, inform me. Good day, Bonde.” “Good day, Professor,” smiled James, and exited promptly. The moment the door shut behind James Bonde, William sighed to himself, bowing his head quietly in musing thought. “I suppose,” he whispered to the empty room of books, “That it’s quite wasteful of me to use my Knight for such a menial job in the grand scheme of the game...one should never misuse resources…” He paused...then smirked as he lifted his teacup again, and took another sip before picking up his book to continue reading. “...Then again,” he chuckled lightly, “I’ve committed far worse sins than a little self-indulgent espionage. I AM the Lord of Crime.” He glared as he hissed under his breath: “If anyone is stealing a heart here, it’s going to be ME.”

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James Bonde stared somewhat dully out the window of the empty house across the street from 221B Baker Street. Teal-toned eyes kept a careful watch in the night on the one lit room in the house. He could see the silhouette of Sherlock Holmes, fiddling away on his violin. He could hear the detective playing, too...a nostalgic smile came to his face; he could almost remember hearing those tunes play him to sleep, in another lifetime… Bonde shook his head and lightly slapped his own cheek (more of a rough pat) to keep himself focused. He’d been instructed by William, to watch them from the moment they awoke to the moment they went to bed. The doctor had evidently retired some time ago, but Holmes was still up and about, playing his violin and tinkering with his contraptions. It had been a few days since Bonde started his mission, and Holmes had been given a case by one Mr. Cubitt from Norfolk, involving a mysterious secret code. Bonde had followed Holmes and Watson every which way they went, but so far, nothing of particular unsuality had occurred; Holmes refused to travel to Norfolk till Cubitt sent more information, and so much of their days were spent in the flat, simply trying to puzzle out what they had been given so far. As a result, the past three days had really been quite boring for Bonde. A part of him felt a pang, as it always did, and he wished William had given him a different job; the side that was still Irene Adler wished she could walk across the street and just...tell Holmes the simple fact. Certainly, he guessed she was still alive, but...that was nothing to a direct encounter. James Bonde was a professional, and held out: whatever purpose William had for this mission - be it personal, or something related to the Great Problem - his job was to keep a close eye on things and keep track of any interesting movements: from before they woke up to the moment they both clocked out. Right on cue, Holmes’ silhouette disappeared from the window...and not but sixty seconds later, the light in the room went out. Bond sighed softly, and stood up, stretching; the room in the Empty House was small, dark, and not very large. It was lonely, too: aside from getting meals, Bonde stayed here all day, and could not focus too much on any great amusements, such as reading, lest he lose focus. All he had was solitaire; Moran had been teaching him how to play cards, and it was better than nothing. Bonde grumbled to himself about the slowness of the case as he began to pack up his playing cards...but no sooner had he tucked the box back into a pocket in his jacket lining...than he froze, as he saw the front door of 221B open. From his spot in the window, Bonde watched intently, wondering what was going on. The unmistakable figure of Dr. Watson crept quietly out the door. He shut it silently, and glanced from side to side, as if checking to make sure no one on the street was watching him. The street was silent and quiet; lonely on that dark night. The Doctor twirled his cane, propping its length against his elbow, and began to stroll down the street. Bonde could make out Watson’s brown eyes; they furtively darted from side to side in a ferret-like way. Unlike Moriarty, Dr. Watson had an absolute lack of anything resembling a poker face. Bonde continued to watch as Watson approached an alley...then, after checking once again, slipped into the passage between the buildings and vanished. Suddenly realizing he’d lost track of his target, Bonde cursed under his breath and raced downstairs and across the street… ...But by the time he reached the alley, Dr. Watson was nowhere to be found. “Damn,” muttered Bonde...then took a breath, and straightened his tie and hair, which had been tousled in his quick sprint. There was nothing to be done now; the question was, whether to report this to William now, or wait? After pondering for a moment, Bonde walked off down the street back towards his own lodgings. He would wait. It’s what William would want. For all he knew, this was a one-time affair; whatever had Watson acting so sneakily, it could be resolved by morning. Then he would have no reason to worry at all. Right?

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“Six times?” Professor Moriarty repeated, blinking quickly in surprise. “Yes: six times in just two weeks. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, in fact,” nodded James Bonde, standing almost like a warrior at attention as he made his private report. He was standing near the threshold of William’s room in the manor. William James Moriarty was dressed in his usual clothes, minus his brown coat, which currently hung loosely on his bedpost. “And you’ve lost him every time?” William frowned; he didn’t sound angry, or even disappointed. He was simply checking his facts. “Not exactly,” Bonde claimed, and hastened to elaborate: “The past two times, I was able to catch up with him, but I can’t follow him beyond a certain point.” “What do you mean?” “He’s been visiting a noble’s house.” William’s eyes widened. “He’s what?” “To the Forrester estate,” clarified Bonde. “He climbs over the wall at a certain point, leaps into the yard...then, every night, after a couple hours, crawls back up and high-tails it back to Baker Street.” “Hmmmm,” Moriarty murmured, placing a finger to his lips in thought as he looked down at the floor, brow furrowing. “Have you seen what happens when he goes over the gate?” “This last time, yes,” nodded Bonde. “He doesn’t enter the house, but instead runs to a gazebo in the courtyard. He clearly knows the residence well; he knows when the night watchman comes around with his dog, and avoids them.” Professor Moriarty scowled and made a sour sound in the back of this throat.. Things were more serious than he thought: behavior like that wasn’t just sneaky, it was literally criminal. It appeared that a stolen heart was far from the worst thing he had to fear from John H. Watson. “What do you think he’s up to, William?” James asked. “I haven’t the foggiest idea. Yet,” Moriarty responded. “But I intend to find out.”

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That very night, being a Friday, Professor Moriarty lay in wait behind a tree, in a park area across from the Forrester Estate. He wore a long, black, hooded cloak over his usual suit, and gripped his sword cane tightly in one hand. His red eyes glowed in the dark as he kept his focus zeroed in on the high stone walls of the mansion spot. The Forrester Family was not a bad one, nor even the most noble: they were gentry, people in the upper-middle class, who qualified among the elite but lacked the status of proper Lords and Ladies, Knights and Dames, and so on. With what they had, they were generous, and most considered them friendly. William had nothing against them, and while he sought to destroy the social order...that didn’t mean destroying the good in it. What he wanted was to eradicate evil through his own means… ...He wasn’t sure whether or not to hope he would have to do that tonight. He saw the glare of a bullseye lamp through the grates in the black iron gate that closed off the estate. The distant shape of a man with a large, black dog on a leash walked past and then disappeared: that was the night watchman James Bonde had mentioned, no doubt. Almost on cue, not long after the watchman passed, Moriarty saw a familiar figure - dressed in a green coat and a dark blue bowler hat - trot around a corner. Moriarty narrowed his eyes as Dr. Watson flattened his back against the wall. His expression was tense, worried...almost scared. He glanced from side to side, and sighed with relief; he hadn’t noticed William, and was glad to find apparently no one had spotted him yet. “It’s alright,” William heard Watson say. “What he doesn’t know, won’t hurt him…” Moriarty felt his own eyes blazing as he suspected who the “he” Watson referred to was. “Soon,” Watson added to himself, adjusting his tie and then looking up at the wall. “Soon...it will all be over…” Then, without another word, the Doctor jumped up and grabbed hold of the wall’s edge. He let out a sharp yipe, and bit his lip to silence himself; as he scrambled up to climb over the wall, the sounds and motions he made reminded William so much of a big, dumb dog trying to clamber over a fence, he nearly laughed. Nearly. Not quite. From what he was hearing, he was beginning to have grave worries. Once Watson disappeared over the wall, William took his turn to check and make sure there were no witnesses nearby...then - cloak fluttering about him as he went - he raced to the wall, and leapt over it with the grace of a gazelle. The courtyard was lushly kept, with grass, small topiary trees, and little yellow flowers all around. Quaint and tended to with perfect decorum. Across the lawn of green grass, Watson saw Dr. Watson racing towards a distant red-and-blue gazebo; it was octagonal in shape, and was a closed-off affair; no door, but with thick, tinted windows on seven of its eight sides. William was about to dart forward...when he heard the barking of the Watchman’s dog. Quickly, he dove into the bushes, and crouched low. The Watchman and his dog soon hurried to the spot; both looked around, then the man mumbled something to the black hound...and the pair continued on their way. William waited till their footsteps faded...then, stole across the lawn and made a dash towards the distant gazebo, stealing across the courtyard with such silence, he might as well have been a part of that black night. The Master Criminal only paused once more; this was when he noticed he had to run past an open window, and the light was still on. Inside, he saw Cecil Forrester - the lady of the house - speaking with a maid. Both were fair women with chestnut-colored hair. The two left the room, and Moriarty continued towards the gazebo, keeping low and moving with quiet quickness; one might have mistaken him for a wolf, stalking its prey. Moriarty traced a wide path as he drew closer and closer to the gazebo; he had no desire to be spotted when he got too close. Once he reached it, he flattened himself quietly against the glass-paneled walls, and sidled closer to the open entrance. As he moved nearer, Moriarty could hear a voice; it was tremuluous, faint, and he couldn’t quite make out properly who it belonged to or what they were saying. Once he was right beside the door, that voice stopped...and he picked up the unmistakable sound of John Watson’s voice. Now, he could most certainly make out the words… “It’s too soon. I don’t want to take any risks. This is a delicate operation; one false step, and everything could be ruined. But don’t worry...if worse comes to worse, I can handle him. He won’t be a problem. We’ll get everything we want...nothing is going to stop us. I swear it.” William narrowed his eyes into crimson slits, and prepared to draw his cane sword...before whipping around the side and spinning into the gazebo. “‘Hell is empty. All the devils are-’” The melodramatic quote was stopped short as William froze in place and his eyes went wide at what he saw. Dr. Watson - who had just kissed the lips of the person with him - gasped and backed away fast… ...Leaving a young, beautiful lady standing alone in the center of the gazebo, her indigo eyes wide and bright with surprise. Her hair was the color of brass, and she was dressed in the prim, proper outfit of a governess. Moriarty and the young woman stared at each other, each equally stunned. It was Watson’s stuttered, scared exclamation that broke them out of their momentary stupor. “P-Pr-Pro-Professor M-Moriarty!” he managed to cough out...then, impulsively, he moved forward again… ...And held the young lady close, in a protective, caring way. She coiled back against him, looking startled and more than a little scared by the red-eyed stranger that had swooped into the area. “What...what are you doing here?” Watson asked, a little accusatorily. Moriarty soon regained his composure, the look of utter speechlessness leaving his face as it slid back into his usual, blank, mask-like features. “Following you,” he answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and pointed his cane at the young lady. “Who is this, and what is going on?” Watson squirmed a bit uncomfortably at the Professor’s blood-eyed stare. He held the woman closer and then answered. “I...this is...my fiance,” he answered, and turned rather pink in the face. “Her...her name is Mary Morstan.” Moriarty blinked. His expression didn’t shift an inch. “Fiance?” he repeated, not sounding surprised, but simply questioning. “Y-Yes,” the woman answered. William realized he was still holding out his cane...and, not wishing to frighten the young lady any further, lowered his secret weapon. Mary smiled and sighed gratefully before going on: “I work for Mrs. Forrester; I live here. It’s, um...i-it’s a pleasure to meet you, ah...Mr. Moriarty.” William paused, before giving a single nod. “Mutual,” he responded, but his voice was still quite frosty, then looked back to Watson. “Is this why you’ve been sneaking out three nights a week?” Watson blanched. “H-How did you…?” “I have my ways,” William answered, smoothly. Watson flushed and shuffled on his feet. He hugged Mary close with one arm, his other hand holding hers as she embraced him. He smiled bashfully before looking back to Moriarty. “I...we proposed in secret,” he admitted. “I met Mary thanks to a case. I’ve been...I’ve been keeping this secret from Sherlock.” “Why?” William wondered. Watson frowned and looked askance. “Because I’m not sure if Holmes would approve,” he admitted, quietly, a sad look in his eyes. “He...the two of us have been inseparable, since we met, and...I’m worried about how he’ll react when he finds out about Mary and I.” “So you’ve been meeting her in secret; to rendezvous under the stars,” Moriarty romantically surmised. Watson blushed more and Mary giggled. “Something like that, Professor, yes,” Miss Morstan confirmed in a saccharine sort of way. “Is that what you were whispering about?” William presumed. “Saying you weren’t ready, that you could handle him?” “Yeah,” Watson chuckled, and scratched the back of his head. “I, uh...I-I guess wording like that could sound kinda suspicious, huh?” William sighed through his nose as Mary giggled again. “Very,” William agreed. His face remained blank, his lips still set in a straight line as he then went on: “If I may advise you, Doctor...I think you should tell Holmes soon.” Watson frowned and lowered his head; he looked amusingly guilty, like a little boy caught with his hands in the cookie jar. “Well...I know I SHOULD, but...I don’t want to make him mad,” he admitted, almost meekly. “Not about this. I still want to work with him, and...and he’s my friend, so…” “So,” Moriarty interrupted, “Shouldn’t you be used to sharing secrets with him?” Watson looked up, a little startled. Moriarty’s expression had become a thin, taut smile. “If Mr. Holmes is truly your friend, he should be able to handle something like this,” he reasoned. “Perhaps he’ll be jealous or untrusting at first, but that is to be expected. But behavior like this is dangerous, and it could lead to more bad than good. You shouldn’t be afraid to admit to Holmes things like this.” Watson bit his lip, and looked at Mary, who nodded back to him. He smiled, then looked back up at the Professor. “Yeah. That...I guess that’s right. I’ll...I’ll see about telling him soon. And...and no more of these...these midnight liaisons.” He looked back to his fiance. “We’ll meet on our own terms, without all this roundabout racing. Right, Mary?” “Of course,” she responded, and kissed his nose, making the doctor give a bashful, red-faced smile. Moriarty looked the pair up and down as they hugged...then turned on his heel. “Well,” he said, shortly and sharply. “Now, with that issue settled, I’ll be on my way.” Watson watched as Moriarty left the gazebo and began to walk back towards the wall. His brow knitted itself into a knot, and he paused, whispering “One moment” to Mary before kissing her forehead and hastily hustling out of the gazebo. “Professor!” he called out, and Moriarty paused. His red eyes glittered like rubies as he turned back over his shoulder, expression chilling. Watson didn’t seem scared. He smiled in a kind, amiable manner. “Why DID you follow me?” he asked, simply and bluntly. Moriarty said nothing. Watson paused before taking a guess: “Were you concerned about Sherlock?” Moriarty nodded, still saying nothing. Watson chuckled and smiled gently. “You don’t need to worry, Professor: when I hide things from him, it’s nothing sinister. Sherlock his my best friend, and one of the most fascinating people I know.” “I’m glad you think so.” “Oh, I know it’s so. Just like I know the reason why you looked so jealous when I asked him to join me for dinner.” Moriarty’s eyes widened...then narrowed again. Watson smiled humbly. “I AM getting better,” he said, in a faint, cheeping sort of voice. “You won’t tell him, will you?” William checked, voice staying even, conveying neither worry nor rage. Watson smiled a patient smile; he placed a hand on the young Professor’s shoulder, causing Moriarty to stiffen with surprise. “You just told me that, if he’s really my friend, I shouldn’t keep secrets from him,” Watson stated. “I think the same is in reverse: whatever you feel for him...I think he needs to hear it from you. No one else.” William paused...and his bangs hid his eyes from sight. “And if he doesn’t feel the same?” he queried, in a strangely business-like tone. “I think he will,” Watson chuckled. “You two are practically made for each other: you’re both extraordinary. You both live for the game. You’re both intelligent. You’re two of a kind! I know it’s not the kind of relationship our society smiles upon, but...if it’s the true way you feel, why should that matter?” He patted Moriarty’s shoulder, and then finished: “You’re two sides of the same coin. You belong together...Liam.” William was silent...then, a slick smile slithered over his lips. “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll remember that. But please...don’t call me Liam.” Watson pulled back quickly and let out a nervous laugh. “Ah...heh heh...s-sorry, I won’t.” “Thank you,” Moriarty repeated, and gave a mock salute with his cane. “Goodnight, Doctor. And do apologize to Miss Morstan for me: my unseemingly dramatic entrance no doubt gave her quite a fright.” “You can say that again,” mumbled Watson, and returned the mock salute with a real soldier’s stance. “Goodnight, Professor!” William smiled a little wider...and then walked forward. His dark cloak allowed him to easily slip into the shadows...and soon he was gone. As he prowled through the city back towards home, William James Moriarty couldn’t stop smiling. He hadn’t felt this good in a while.

The Devil swore the lightness in his heart must have been what Angels felt every day.

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“Married with two children. Native of Suffolk. Works in a public house.” “The shoes gave it away?” “Yeah, yeah. Invalid husband; dismissed from the army for his injuries four years ago.” “Three.” “Oh, yes, of course, three! Lastly, at least one of them has a drinking problem.” Sherlock Holmes took a swig of ale from the pewter cup he held and sighed, smacking his lips as the woman he’d been scrutinizing disappeared. He then turned to the party across from him with a daring smile. “Your turn, Liam!” William James Moriarty smirked cunningly, and looked out the window. His blazing, cat-like eyes soon caught sight of his chosen prey. “Bachelor by choice,” he began, noting a gentleman in a stovepipe hat who was passing by. “Scholarly by nature; a frequent visitor to the library. Smokes far too much. Works at a very fine hotel, most likely in an administrative position.” “Birth and residence?” “Lancashire for the former, Yorkshire for the latter. I believe he’s visiting London for the sake of family, but he doesn’t much care FOR said family. I speculate his bachelor status might be the reason-ah! He’s gone. That’s all.” William smiled back at a beaming Sherlock Holmes, drumming the fingers of one hand on the table as his chin rested on the other. “How was that, Mr. Detective?” he purred. Sherlock laughed and applauded. “Liam, you excel yourself!” “I try,” shrugged Moriarty, without much modesty, and lifted his own pewter cup before taking a drink. All around the pair, the bustle and hustle of the Bugle Tavern buzzed and hummed and bellowed...but neither gave it much attention. “I’m so glad you accepted my invitation to dinner,” William said, sincerely, folding his hands on the table with a quiet smile. “Eh,” Holmes shrugged, stirring his drink in its mug as he spoke. “When we met for lunch in Durham, you were busy grading papers. I’m glad we could just have a meal together. Although…” He paused, and then gestured with a careless wave of his free hand around the establishment. “...I am surprised a nobleman would choose to eat HERE.” William smiled a bit wider, and glanced about. A few people were giving him odd looks; it was rare someone so well-to-do showed up in this place. He shrugged again and smiled to Holmes. “I am full of surprises,” was all he said. “Isn’t that the truth,” chuckled Holmes and took another drink. Moriarty watched the detective for a few moments, eyes scanning him. His crimson irises flickered vulnerably for a split second before he spoke again. “Mr. Holmes...may I be very frank with you?” “Sure,” Holmes drawled. “What’s up?” “I’m very glad I met you.” Sherlock blinked and froze, his smile fading. “Eh?” he tilted his head. “Why do you say that? I mean...I’m flattered, obviously, but...what brought this on?” “It’s...hard for me to say,” William admitted with a very soft laugh, before going on. “It’s just...while I have my fair share of friends, and a family of my own that cares for me...I’ve always felt this...disconnect from the world around me.” He glanced out the window as he went on, watching people go by. “Like you, I can look at a person and analyze everything about them...and I can do it very rapidly. While on the surface I am placid as a still lake, my mind is always racing out of control. The sheer amount of mental exertion I go through just in the span of taking a single breath can be exhausting. The rest of the world moves...so slowly. Too slowly. Everyone going about their lives, making differences in small ways or simply shambling around…their minds so rarely used to their fullest...” He tilted his head downwards. “...There are so many days where I feel...I’m totally alone in the universe. Where the mental strain becomes too great.” He paused...then looked back up at Sherlock, once again flashing one of “his” smiles. “It’s relieving to know there’s someone even more mentally fractured than I!” Holmes snorted with laughter. “Well,” he muttered, taking a drink, “We all have our problems, don’t we?” He paused...then licked his lips of some foam as he put down his ale and leaned forward on the table. “I...I have to admit...it’s good to be able to talk to someone who can work on my level,” Sherlock said, with a surprisingly tender smile. “Someone who isn’t my obnoxious control freak of a brother, I mean. I…it’s like...” He paused, biting his lip, hesitantly...then sighed and ran a hand through his hair with a shake of his head. “Ahhh...I’m not good at heartfelt confessions,” he mumbled, and gave an almost sheepish smile. “I guess...I’m trying to say I feel the same way. And...it...it honestly feels really good to hear you...say all that, even in such a teasing way.” The pair smiled at each other, their eyes seemingly magnetized as they found themselves leaning and inching closer across the table. “...Holmes…” “Yes, Liam?” “I...feel there’s something else I should tell you.” “Yes?” was the breathy response. William’s lips were quivering as he moved nearer. “I...I think I might be in lo-” “GENTLEMEN!” Both shot back, sitting straight up in their chairs as a fat waiter with a bristly moustache waddled over to their table, and placed their meals - two plates of steak with baked potatoes - upon the table. “‘Ere’s yer food, gents!” he boomed. “I ‘ope ye find it t’yer likin’!” “I’m sure we will,” Moriarty smiled with a nod, his composure so fully complete it was as if nothing had happened. “Thank you, sir.” “Talk to ya later, Pete!” sniggered Holmes with a wink. The waiter winked back, nodded to Professor Moriarty, and then trundled off. “What were you saying, Liam?” Sherlock asked, as he began to cut into his steak, sawing off a huge chunk and stuffing it into his mouth. William much more elegantly carved a tiny square off his slab of beef, and hummed happily as he savored the juices upon popping it into his mouth. “I forget,” he lied through his teeth...then gave a challenging smile as he glanced to each of their pewters. “Say, Mr. Holmes…” “Mm-hm?” Sherlock grunted through a full mouth. “How much can you drink in a single sitting? Before you collapse?” Sherlock paused mid-chew...then smirked around his stuffed chompers, chewing a few more times, slowly, before gulping down his food. He stifled a burp in his fist and gave a cocksure smirk. “Probably more than you, fancy-pants,” he bragged. “Would you like to make a wager?” Moriarty crooned. “Sure! We’ll make it a race! First to finish twelve straight rounds without falling over wins!” declared Holmes. “Think you can handle that, Mr. Mathematician?” “As long as you can count that high,” was the sharp response. Holmes cackled and lifted his pewter. “You’re on, Liam! May the best man win!” William James Moriarty put down his fork and knife, and lifted his ale. As he clanked it against Sherlock’s, he answered the dare with one of his own, his eyes sultry as he slithered out his response. “Catch me if you can, Mr. Holmes.” Sherlock Holmes shivered almost invisibly, and quickly took a drink. As Liam’s seductive red glare caught his azure eyes, the criminal mastermind had no idea that the one thought on his mind was being copied by the other man at the table. Someday, I’ll tell him I love him. Someday.

The End