#they’d fight about it at first but find common ground when they have to work together etc

[shipping-receiving]

It is endlessly funny to me that Gwen lives her life like a modern AU Jaime and Nik lives his life like a modern AU Brienne.

[stsgluver]

ADORE YOU TODOROKI TOUYA

synopsis. touya struggles to differentiate himself from his father.

wc. 2.01k

tags. slight angst, slight fluff, non-quirk!au, not proofread

the first thirteen years of touya’s life were not happy and joyful and full of memories that every young child should be able to reflect on with peace and nostalgia. they were filled with harsh slaps that left nasty purple bruises, extensive scoldings for minor mistakes and the constant hope that his dad would be too drunk when he came home to even remember that there were five other occupants.

he had been forced to mature faster than other kids his age, often meaning that he had little to no friends as he could never understand or find common ground among his peers. not that he had the time for friends. most days it was him picking up and dropping shoto off at the local nursery whilst fuyumi ensured natsuo made it to school on time. 

enji was smart enough to keep the bruises on his children hidden but never spared rei the same mercy. so often times, after checking off the completion of homeworks, and making a simple dinner from the ingredients still left in the otherwise barren kitchen, touya found himself sifting through the dwindling contents of the house’s first aid kit to cover up any of the newer injuries on his mother.

she cried almost every time, apologising over and over, and promising it wouldn’t be this forever. touya would give her a kiss on the forehead and a tight-lipped smile as he nodded, his hopes of that peace for them dwindling after each altercation with enji. but he was getting older and he was getting angrier and that terrified him because however justified he may have been to feel such rage, it made him question how different he and his father truly were.

fuyumi was different, she coped by trying to understand and do better as if there was any resemblance of a traditional family left to fight for. touya couldn’t comprehend such naivety and hated the way his sister’s hopes would shatter each time he’d crush it with a cruel remark about their piece of shit for a dad. and yet he equally longed for such an empathy towards someone who’d brought them so much suffering because maybe that’s how he’d be able to separate himself and his father as two different coins and not two different sides of one.

it wasn’t till touya turneed thirteen that rei had finally got the courage and means to leave enji. for as long as he could remember, his mum had been working night shifts at the local 24/7 convenience shop, leaving for her shift after enji had fallen asleep and returning before he’d woken up. it wasn’t out of the ordinary for her to return, cash in hand, asking him or fuyumi to hide it in their drawers so their dad couldn’t find it and gamble it away.

despite the physical struggle they’d suffered all their lives with enji, he left the family with little to no resistance – even going as far as to sign away his parental rights for all four of his children. not that that meant anything, he’d checked out of being a dad on day one and touya had been forced to take on that paternal role for his younger siblings.

the transition from their four bedroom house to a two bedroom apartment hadn’t been easy. food was scarce and touya’s heart broke as he watched his mum sacrifice meal after meal and having her own room so that natsuo and touya could share one and fuyumi and shoto could share the other. they had found some peace, but the scars that enji had left them with was as clear as day in the shadow of bruises that still lingered on their skin and mind.

that rage was still there.

touya hated his father, hated what he’d become and what he’d done to their family and he swears if he ever saw that man again he’d–

“found you.”

touya coughs, shaking his head of the thoughts as he splashes cool water over his face. he doesn’t look up as you push the door to the bathroom open slightly more, slipping into the small space to close the distance between the two of you.

“was worried,” you murmur, reaching up to take your boyfriend’s face in your hands as you force him to actually look at you. “you came out here twenty minutes ago. thought you got lost,” there’s a hint of a smile playing at the corner of your lips but touya can’t amuse your gentle teasing right now.

“you can’t get lost in a house with half a dozen rooms and one corridor,” he mutters back, gently pushing your hands away from him as he reaches into the drawer above the sink. there’s an undertone of venom in his voice and it takes everything in you not to feel personally offended by the rejection because you know its not you he is rejecting. they say time heals wounds and yet here he is, five years free and he still feels like that same kid who was pushed down the stairs for not walking fast enough. the same kid who couldn’t protect his own mum and siblings.

you watch as he pulls out a familiar tube that’s almost empty, the one he uses to try and reduce the appearance of his scars. it's curled up from where he's tried to get every last drop of the cream. as if though this his holy grail that could rid him of any trace of enji.

“you’re beautiful yknow that?” you tuck an overgrown strand of his hair behind his pierced ear, clearing the are on his cheak where a thin white line runs across from the corner of his lip. you mean it too. you've always thought he was beautiful, telling him on an almost daily basis just to see the faint blush that starts on his cheeks and fades to the tips of his ears. even the dark black hair was beginning to grow on you (natsuo and shoto had thought it would be funny to swap out his usual shampoo for black hair dye).

he hums, if it's gratefulness for the compliment or the moving of his hair you’re not too sure. maybe both. maybe he just wants you to leave him alone.

“i can do it for you,” you offer when he struggles to get any of the cream out. the tube should've been thrown out four late night breakdowns ago.

touya huffs, leaning against the sink with the tube in his grip, avoiding your eyes as he nods his head in the direction of the door. “go back to bed. i’ll be there in five," his voice is rough and evident with a lack of sleep and you want to grab the closest blanket and coddle him till all the negative thoughts are forgotten by the blissful comfort of cotton.

when his gaze does meet yours you don't miss the redness in his eyes and the tears that stained his skin. he clears his throat, "you've got an early lecture. you need to sleep."

"how am i supposed to sleep without my boyfriend?" you retort and he looks at you unimpressed, like you shouldn't be looking at him as if though he's the center of your universe (which he is) and risk being late to your eight am lecture that you always complain about needing extra beauty sleep for.

you press a gentle peck to the side of his face and take the tube out of his hands, not letting him respond to your rhetorical question. he’s too tired to argue and you refuse to leave him by himself when he’s like this. the hatred touya has for his father still has this tightening choke-hold on him and it manifests in a disliking for any part of him that overlaps with his recollection of that man: his piercing blue eyes, the (former) bright red streaks in his white hair, that rage.

“i’d never hurt you.” touya’s voice is barely above a whisper and your heart breaks at the tears that are welling up in the corner of his eyes, visible even under the flickering bathroom light. “i’m not him.”

“i know that baby,” you promise with another peck, this time against his chapped lips. you squeeze on the tube and get a small drop onto your finger, holding it up for him to see, “you sure you still need this?”

“please,” he nods and your heart breaks a little to see how quiet he can be on nights like these. ones where every time he closes his eyes he's plagued with memories of what used to be to the point where the scar that can hardly be seen by anyone else against his pale complexion, becomes this nasty, ugly, raw gash to him that he’s stuck with. stuck with forever as a permanent taunt that he can never escape his father.

a silence falls between the two of you as you dab the cream into his skin, touya’s eyes watching you intently looking for any sign of disgust as you brush his cheek gently.

“all done,” you smile half-heartedly as you take a step back, screwing the lid back onto the tube for it to be put away. you knew what you were signing up for when you got involved with touya. you’d been volunteering at your aunt’s nursery since before you could remember and you’d seen touya often with his youngest brother. the staff had often gossiped about the state of his family’s affairs and you’d taken it upon yourself to sneaking a few extra treats from the pantry to slip into shoto’s bag, making him promise to share it among his siblings.

touya takes the tube from your hands and returns it to its position in the drawer, gently closing the door. that silence settles again as you both stare at one another, touya’s gaze full of pain and yours wishing you could reach out and kiss him and erase every memory that hurts him. he'd let you try.

he’s the first to break it.

“c’mon,” he murmurs, intertwining his hand with your smaller one as he leads you back to his room. it's the first bit of contact he's initiated as of yet and you don’t hesitate to follow.

you’re the one who pushes back the covers and gestures for him to climb into his double bed first before sliding in after him. within seconds he’s pulled you tightly into him, his hair tickling your chin as his head rests against your chest. one hand wraps around him and you use the other to caress his head as you let him rest. you don’t want to think about the hours and hours of sleep he’s probably missed.

“i love you so so much,” you tell him softly, sifting your hand gently through his black locks, “don’t know what i’d do without you.” you mean every word and touya wants to scoff because how can you need him… but there’s this sincerity in your voice that even he can’t ignore. 

he tilts his head up and you catch a glimpse of those deep blue eyes that contrast against the darkness of the night that envelopes the room. “never leave me.”

“i could never, baby,” the hand that was drawing small circles on the back of his shoulders cups his cheek, “i promise i won’t.” for the first time since he’d been awoken by his past that night, touya finally feels some sort of relief from the tension that had taken over his body.

“i adore you,” touya breathes, knocking his nose against yours lightly as he leans in for a kiss. not just a peck – an actual kiss that personifies just how much he does adore you, his lifeline, his one source of relief in a world that’s shown him no mercy. you mimic his passion, wanting him to know just how much he means to you and how deeply you love him.

[shipskicksandgiggles]

read Eddie, Enamored, and Enlightened also on ao3

Considering recent events in all of their lives, Eddie was actually doing really well. The 118 was back together, his relationship with Marisol was going well, and then there was Tommy.

Tommy reached out after the Uno happened, apparently having gotten his number from Chimney, and asked if he wanted to get coffee. Before they’d taken off, they’d been chatting about the helicopter, and given Eddie’s history, he’d had half a mind to reach out to Tommy first so they could get to know each other better.

Turns out them hitting it off wasn’t limited to just working well together during a disaster. They had a lot in common that wasn’t just related to their careers. One cup of coffee turned into two which turned into tickets to a fight in Vegas, a helicopter ride, movie nights to introduce him to Chris, karaoke and trivia bars, Muay Thai, fixing up cars, and bi-weekly basketball games that Buck never wanted to join in on. It was nice to have someone to share those hobbies with.

Come to think it, Tommy was probably the best friend he’d made since he’d met Buck. Not that anyone could really compare to him, not after everything Buck had done for him and his family over the years, but it was nice spending time with someone who really got him once in a while.

And Tommy? Well, Tommy was always excited to hang out with him.

From meeting him on the tarmac with a smile to matching him hit for hit on the mat, it felt good to be around him.

It didn’t occur to him what that meant for the rest of his relationships until far after he should have realized.

Strange as it was to say it, there was a certain amount of comfort that came along with mind numbing pain.

Eddie was in pain a lot more than the average person was, but that didn’t mean he should be used to it. Not that he was used to it, it still hurt when he tried to move, but he was able to turn that pain into clarity, to best assess himself and his surroundings to be able to take the next step forward.

His ankle pulsed at the very thought of walking. Maybe that wasn’t the best metaphor to use in this particular situation.

Still, with the pain shooting up his leg, he was more aware of his surroundings than most people would have guessed. He heard Chim’s voice cutting through the crowd of people, quickly throwing out potential diagnoses and suggesting next steps. He heard Buck, notably panicked, offering to pull his Jeep around to take him to urgent care. He heard Tommy, calm, cool, and collected, being the voice of reason.

They’d driven together. He was parked closer. Tommy would be the one to take him to see a doctor.

And through it all, Eddie let it happen. He let himself be taken to the car and as Tommy shut the door behind him, he set the sharpness of the pain roll over him again. Tommy’s car reminded him a lot of Buck’s but he knew he wouldn’t find his spare sunglasses in the glove compartment, or one of Chris’ water bottles in the back seat.

Buck’s Jeep was also more comfortable, or at least he was more used to it. He’d rather have Buck drive him, but he had a feeling no one would have heard him out about it, especially when Tommy had so easily insisted on the grounds that they’d come together.

Knowing Buck, the guilt of knocking him over was eating him alive too. Whenever Eddie had been injured before, Buck was the one stopping him from bleeding out, or breaking down his door, or fixing his walls while making sure that he’s okay. It was the same when Buck was hurt, when he was trapped under the engine, when he was throwing up blood, when he was struck by lightning. Eddie was there, making sure he made it to the hospital, making sure he kept breathing, so he understood the anxiety Buck must be feeling.

He should be here, in Tommy’s backseat, or better yet in the driver’s seat because that’s how it always was with them.

“Buck-” he gritted out suddenly, causing Tommy to glance over at him as he started the car.

“Is back with Chimney, probably on their don’t worry, you’ll be able to see him later so he can apologize.”

Eddie didn’t want an apology, he wanted his Buck. Still, he had a feeling any protests he wanted to make would go unheard, so he stayed quiet as Tommy pulled out of his parking spot and onto the road.

He let Tommy fuss over him, getting into the wheelchair he was offered without complaint. Tommy pushed him inside, fetching the paperwork he needed to check-in so Eddie didn’t need to get up.

Tommy had wanted to go back with him.

He’d told him to go home, or even just to go sit in the waiting area. He wasn’t a child. It was ridiculous, he was perfectly capable of navigating the office without help.

The nurses were kind to him, and he did what he could to make everyone’s lives as easy as possible.

Finally, he was wheeled back to get checked over by one of the doctors, and a few x-rays later, he was told his ankle wasn’t broken, just really badly sprained, and he’d need to stay off of it for a couple of days.

It wasn’t long before the doctor was giving him the first dose of pain meds and they were wheeling him back out the door and into the waiting room where Tommy met them.

The thing about pain meds is that Eddie hated them. Logically, he knew that they were supposed to help, to make him feel better while he healed, but he found that the numbness made him foggy and slow. He’d rather have the clarity that came with sharp pain than be slow and stupid under the guise of healing.

The nurse handed his prescription to Tommy, reiterating her instructions to him, to make sure Eddie stayed off the injured ankle. She clearly had experience with stubborn firefighters.

“Your boyfriend is a model patient, but that doesn’t mean we want him to be in here if he doesn’t have to be,” she told Tommy.

Eddie frowned. Boyfriend?

He expected Tommy to correct her, but instead he just laughed. “Thanks, I’ll make sure to pick this up before I get him home. Thanks for everything, I think we were both worried that it would be worse.”

“He’ll be just fine as long as he doesn’t make it worse. Have a good night, gentlemen.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving Tommy and Eddie alone.

Eddie didn’t say much on their way home, dozing a bit as Tommy drove. He vaguely remembered the pharmacy, and then they were pulling into his driveway. He didn’t know why it surprised him that Buck’s Jeep wasn’t in the driveway.

“Where’s Buck?”

“Oh you’re awake, I was worried I’d have to carry you inside,” Tommy said.

Eddie swatted his hand away when he tried to help him out of the Jeep. He repeated his question. “Where’s Buck?”

“Probably at his own apartment, I assumed you wouldn’t want to see him.”

What a ridiculous thing to assume. He told Tommy as much.

“Eddie, Evan hurt you. He caused this, you do understand that right?”

“He didn’t mean to,” Eddie argued, ignoring how foreign ‘Evan’ sounded coming from Tommy’s mouth.

Tommy sighed, depositing the prescription container on the kitchen counter. “How about this,” he said. “I will text Evan and tell him how you are. Then he can decide what he wants to do. Would that be okay?”

Eddie huffed. Tommy didn’t know Buck like he did. He didn’t know that Buck would get anxious and isolate himself until one of them dragged him back out of his shell. Ideally, Eddie would go over to the loft himself, but he knew he was in no state to do anything about that now.

Now he kind of just wanted to take a nap while Christopher was still staying with Pepa, but that didn’t take away from wanting to make sure Buck wasn’t getting in his head about hurting him.

“Fine,” Eddie responded after a moment.

Tommy nodded and pulled out his phone, probably sending off a text to Buck. Then he turned his phone off and knelt down next to Eddie. “You’d rather have Evan here right now, wouldn’t you?”

It was barely a question. They both already knew the answer.

“Look,” Tommy said, standing up and clearing his throat. “I’m going to go. I didn’t mean to take over his place in your life, I probably should have listened when you wanted him here. I really like you, Eddie, but I’m not going to compete for your attention.”

In Eddie’s addled mind, it sounded like a break up speech, but he didn’t mention that. Instead, he sighed. “Just make sure that Buck’s okay. And tell him to relax.”

Tommy laughed, but Eddie knew it was good natured. “I’ll do that. Get some rest, Eddie. You need it.”

~~~

Eddie woke up to his phone vibrating next to his face. He moved to grab it and with the twinge of pain in his ankle came the memories of the last 12 hours. He groaned, but hit answer when he saw who was calling.

“Hey Buck.”

“Eddie? I’m sorry, did- did I wake you?”

“Yeah, but I don’t mind. What’s going on?”

“I just, I wanted to apologize for earlier. I’m so sorry that I hurt you.”

“It was an accident, Buck, you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“No, but I- I pushed you too hard, I pushed us too hard, and now you’re hurt and I don’t think I know how to make it up to you.”

Eddie smiled. “How about you pick up some take out and you bring me dinner. Then we’ll call it even, alright?”

“Okay. Yeah, okay, I can do that. I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Alright, I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.”

“You don’t have to-”

Eddie hung up and swung his body around so he could stand. The crutches that he kept around for moments like these were in the coat closet anyway, so it gave him another reason to get up.

He limped over to the closet and let the pain, still slightly dulled by painkillers, ground him to reality.

A lot had happened in the past day, or really the past month, but the last few hours had been enlightening to say the least.

Tommy wasn’t Buck. He would never be Buck, but Eddie was blind before. He knew where they stood.

He needed to call Marisol before Buck came home. It wouldn’t be a pleasant conversation for either of them, but she at the very least deserved the truth. He wasn’t a good boyfriend to her, as much as he pretended he could be. The realization didn’t hurt as much as it probably should, but it only didn’t hurt because he finally understood what he probably had known all along.

Eddie had everything he needed. He had Chris and Buck at the 118. Why he thought he needed more was beyond him, but none of that mattered.

So when Buck opened the door 45 minutes later, Eddie was waiting for him. There was a case of beer already in the fridge, a movie already queued up on the TV, and a question on his mind.

He already knew the answer, but he needed to hear it first.

“I told you you didn’t need to unlock the door for me, you stubborn son of a bitch.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie waved him off. “You got the food?”

“Obviously. And you’re- you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Buck, stop trying to apologize. If anything, I should apologize to you. I know you didn’t mean it, I was just ignoring what was right in front of me.”

He snagged Buck’s wrist and pulled him into a hug. Buck’s hands came to rest around his waist, and Eddie cradled the back of his head in his hands.

“I’m still sorry I hurt you,” Buck muttered into his shoulder.

“I know,” Eddie said simply. “But I also know that you wouldn’t do something like that on purpose, so we’re going to leave it at that. How does that sound?”

Buck pulled back slightly so he could see Eddie’s face. “That sounds good,” he answered, the ghost of his sweet smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

How could he have possibly missed this?

Eddie stroked the line of Buck’s jaw with his thumb. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it really is.”

Kissing Buck felt like the last piece of a puzzle snapping into place. As he leaned into him, he felt the pain in his ankle radiate all the way up into his leg, and with it came stark clarity. He could see his future clearly laid out, and knew that this was everything he’d needed all along.

[strawbattyshortcake]

Growing Season

Words: 3685

Triel’dra sighs, contented, she and Astarion curled up on the soft, springy mat of tough toadstool caps carpeting the rocky alcove she’d deemed a safe place to... Well, to let their guards down.

She’s a contented kind of exhausted: a day of travel and fighting, the lightheaded numbness of his feeding, the afterglow of their intimacy. The gentle luminescence of the underdark below is a welcome reminder of home, and she could so easily drift off here in his arms like she did in the forest— but, the underdark is the underdark. If they don’t return to camp soon, someone’s bound to come looking. 

Reluctantly, Triel’dra stretches and forces herself up, sets to retrieving the clothing they’d scattered about the clearing in their haste. She finds her trousers, a sock… Astarion’s briefs are draped over a rock, impossible to miss. They’re a bright blue that had seemed funny to her at first, as a choice for him, but blue suits him, and it’s the colour of the sky he loves so dearly. He must miss it down here. 

She’s trying to be helpful when she grabs the briefs but stops before handing them over. She turns them over in her hands, looking for the inexplicable ridges she’d felt. Text. Elegant, embroidered Thorass script in gold thread, beneath the waistband and scrolled across his backside. 

“Astarion?” She was already grinning and has to stifle an outright laugh at the look of mortified panic on his face when he looks up to find her reading his pants. “What is this?” 

“Oh, that’s just… nevermind that. Just give those here, would you?” 

She should. She thinks about it. But the flustered expression isn’t actual distress, and instead she turns her attention back to the unfamiliar script. Astarion tosses his shirt aside and tries to snatch the underpants from her hands. He’s quick, but so is she, even a bit woozy. 

“If you… you’re, that’s… if you are, yes?“ She manages to duck out of the way and dances just out of his reach. “If you are reading this—” 

She takes another hop back but now he has her cornered against the rocky cliffside of the ledge and she has to stifle a giddy shriek when he grabs her around the waist. She’s not sure she’s ever made a noise like that in her life, and gods, there’s no time for this. He makes her like a besotted adolescent. She wasn’t even like this as an adolescent, Elistraee help her. Triel can’t stop laughing as he pulls her close against him, the cool press of his bare skin against her own, and she tries to keep reading. “You’ve managed to bed or b… be ha….” 

She feels a rumble of laughter through his chest, exhaled against the crook of her neck. “Behead,” he prompts, then repeats the word in Elvish for her. “Bed or behead me. Either way, you got lucky.” 

“You put that there?” She feels him nod, feels the sweep of silver curls against her cheek. She knows already that he’s talented with a needle and thread. Everyone in camp trades favours to get him to do their mending, but this is new. “Why?” She’s still laughing, her heart fond and full, as his lips tickle against the column of her neck, up along the edge of her pointed ear. 

“It’s a play on words. You’d have to be lucky to get the better of me in a fight—”

“—of course.”

“—and in Common, idiomatically, ‘to get lucky’  means…. Well, why don’t I demonstrate again?” 

“You are silly.” She lets the stolen underwear fall to the ground as she turns in Astarion’s embrace, draping her arms over his neck and kissing him, her hunt for her scattered clothing abandoned. 

It seems it will be a while longer before she needs them. 

***** 

The Last Light Inn is a welcome respite after the slow, eerie trek through the Shadow-Curse. A safe place to regroup, to rest and eat, to bathe. Triel and Astarion have both decided to capitalise on this opportunity to clean the blood and sweat and dirt from their clothes, wearing outfits scraped together from bits abandoned around the inn.  

She searches for a good place to secure a clothesline as Astarion fills a basin from whichever body of water it is they’re on. Triel has no idea where on the surface they actually are. 

It’s safe within the barrier, but it seems better to be safe than sorry this close to the hungry shadows and everything lurking within them. 

That’s what she’d said, anyway. If she’s being honest, she just looks for reasons to spend time with him. 

Astarion sighs theatrically, looking up at her from the soapy basin with his best puppy-dog pout. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to do this for me, could I? I’ll steal you something very nice in return; you had your eye on something at the Quartermaster’s, I think?” 

“We are not stealing from the Harpers.” 

Astarion bats pale eyelashes. “What if I’m also very beautiful and good in bed, though?” 

“Both are true.” Triel smiles, pressing a kiss to his temple as she kneels to join him at the washbasin. She does it casually, without thinking, and he seems startled by the gesture. He doesn’t stop her though, doesn’t seem displeased, just… surprised. They’ve got their socks in the same load of laundry, somehow that seems more intimate to her than a peck on the cheek. “If you are certain you would like to entrust your washing to someone accustomed to drow spidersilk… it is so very, very resilient. I cannot guarantee that surface clothing will survive my handling…”

A weariness lurks beneath the banter as they attack their heap of bloodied garments in tandem. There’s still a buzz of disquiet from the Harpers and tiefling refugees milling about, even if Isobel is safe and sound and the intruders repelled. Triel’s stomach drops whenever she thinks of the little tiefling girl, of her heartbroken friends left inside. 

For now, rest, recover. Bath and wash and sharpen weapons and fix fletching, and in the morning— or whatever time it will be, this land’s perpetual grey dusk makes it immaterial— they set out on the hunt. 

Triel throws her grey tunic over the line as Astarion, beside her, carefully arranges that linen shirt with the frills she finds so endearing, and something catches her eye. More script. 

It’s in a deep purple, scrawled upside down so it’s visible to the wearer, but far beneath where it would be tucked, in the same graceful hand. She pauses, stops between handfuls of wrung-out clothes, tilts her head farther and farther until she’s nearly upside down as she tries to read it. She hears a breathy chuckle above her (little bat, he says under his breath), but Astarion doesn’t try to stop her as she studies the hem of his shirt. 

“Lamentable is the autumn picker content with plums.” 

“Your Common’s improving, darling.” 

She’s not sure that it has. She’s been able to make sense of the letters, shape them into sounds, into words, but the words don’t make sense. “What does it mean?” 

Astarion laughs again. It’s a lovely sound, rare and genuine. “It’s poetry, my sweet. I can’t just tell you.” He looks at her sidelong, sly. A fox eyeing a rabbit hutch. “What do you think it means?” 

She has absolutely no idea, just the certainty, in the careful stitching, and the intensity in his eyes, that it absolutely means something to him. She can’t put it into words, but it feels… wistful. A yearning. Plums taste like the warmest nights of  summer…. Is it his longing for the sun? There’s something there, but it slips through her fingers. 

“It is hidden,” she says instead. “Your embroidery is so lovely; why is it only where no one can see it?” 

He reminds her of the gold filigree on his padded armour. He’s been repairing that himself for over a century. All of his things are old and held together with careful care and dedication. “Cazador didn’t let me have much.” He always spits that name, like the sound itself is bitter. “It made me want to…. Make what I did have my own. So some things I would decorate, and sometimes I’d stitch these little secrets, jokes…. Just for me. And now,” he pauses, this seems to have just occurred to him, “you.”  

“Have I ruined them for you? These little secrets.” 

He considers this. 

Astarion studies her, those dangerous red eyes so intent on her own, the wry curl of his mouth when he smiles. “No,” he says finally, amused, the impish little crinkles at the corner of his eyes making her stomach flip. “I think I quite like it this way.” 

Triel’dra is so glad he does. She’s not sure when they’ll have time for another wash day— or even if they’ll live long enough to need one— but she makes a note to herself to be on the lookout for more hidden gems when they do. 

*** 

As it happens, the surprises find her. 

She doesn’t think much of it when her tunic goes missing. There’s a pang of loss— it’s the one she was wearing when the illithids took her, one of the last things she has from home, made from her brother’s prized spidersilk in her standard stealthy grey— but in the end, it is just a shirt. She’s found others. 

It must have slipped out of her pack somewhere in Reithwin, or the gods only know what else. She asks the owlbear cub just in case he’d taken it to nest in, but no such luck. 

And then it’s back. When Triel awakes the following morning, her tunic is right there, neatly folded on top of everything else in her pack like it had never left and for a moment she thinks she must be losing her mind. Is the tadpole eating a hole in her brain? Just this drow tunic shaped blindspot? Some bizarre manifestation of the shadow curse that’s taking bits of home? 

She finds Astarion’s handiwork when she goes to put it on. There, between the buttons where they’ll be hidden, are rows of paw prints. Cat’s paws, dog’s, a row of crow prints, and even a stretch of thick owlbear tracks. A little secret, just for her, over her heart. 

He’s already up when she peeks out of her tent, pouring over a book they’d taken from the House of Healing. Seldarine save her, she suppresses a shudder just remembering the day before.

Astarion looks up from his reading and gives her a conspiratorial wink, hidden from the others, before putting on a more suggestive tone for their benefit. 

“Oh, it’s turned up, has it? Such a shame. I was so enjoying that corset top you found.” 

All through breakfast Triel finds her hands straying to the clasps of her tunic, and even once she’s dressed, beneath her armour she thinks of those rows of careful stitches. He keeps catching the furtive glances she sends in his direction, and he smiles at her, clearly pleased with himself. 

A pair of her underwear goes missing next. They return the next morning, little black bats hanging along the waistband, a few in flight towards her hip. She struggles to keep a straight face when she joins her companions at the campfire, especially given Astarion watching gleefully from his pile of pillows as she tries to stifle a laugh into her porridge. “Silly,” is all she says to him under his breath as they set off to look for the Sharran temple. 

Baldur’s gate is visible on the horizon when he next strikes, and Triel has to go back to bed, half-dressed, face buried in her pillow, because she can’t imagine how she would explain the high pitched noises she’s making. She finally calms herself, wrangling her breathing under control with an immense exertion of will, her eyes running and sides aching. It’s been a bleak few days, the stench of death and gore and the Shadowfell still fresh in her mind, and it’s a welcome feeling, laughing again. To forget the weight of everything, if only for a moment.

Triel sighs, swallows another hiccup, and goes back to put on her newly-vandalised bra: Twinkle in immaculate elvish script across the right cup, Icingdeath across the left. That he got the sides right is the thing that nearly does her in. 

Astarion says nothing, but he can tell that it got her, and he’s visibly pleased with himself. 

Around the campfire one evening she catches him carefully embroidering purple beebalm flowers into the corner of a handkerchief, and her heart catches in her throat, the fruits of her misguided courtship gifts laid out in thread and delicate knots. 

“Oh, these? I seem to have developed a sudden fondness for them.” 

He says it so casually, but his smile reaches his eyes and her heart. 

He’s just showing off the morning she wakes to find her trousers draped over the edge of her bed at the Elfsong, vines of familiar round, white blossoms sweeping from the  hem up the calves, where they would be hidden beneath her boots. 

He seems to know why when she greets him that morning by wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in the cool fabric of his shirt, 

“Funny thing about the surface, Moonflower,” he says, and she can feel his smile pressed against the crown of her head. “Traditionally, it would be me courting you, up here. Gifts to prove my devotion and means, et cetera, et cetera. Now, either one of us assimilates— or, and I like this better— we both just keep acting as the suitor and spoiling each other forever, hm?” 

Triel has surprises of her own. Astarion collapses beside her on the couch in the inn room’s little foyer, bruised and exhausted after a vicious fight, desperate for a rest and a meal. But for now, he contents himself by the fire, the rest of the weary travelling party following suit. Shadowheart is sprawled on the floor, Scratch’s head in her lap and his tail thumping against the ground, and Halsin has squeezed himself into an armchair, trying to focus on the wooden duck taking shape beneath his knife. 

“Asta?” He hums in response. There’s something about the scene, the ache in her bones, the warm glow of the fire and the friends around her. Somewhere out there in the city, Cazador is waiting, and there’s such a fierceness in her heart for the man resting against her that she can scarcely breathe.

Killing a vampire lord doesn’t scare her half as much as what may come after. 

 “Uodss valm zhah alurlssrin.”  The words come easily, despite their weight. She means it as she says it. It feels right. 

“Hmm,” Astarion mumbles against her shoulder. Her sweet, witty Astarion whose future is so uncertain. “That’s nice, dear.” 

He doesn’t speak drow… but Halsin does. 

He stops mid stroke, his knife paused mid curl of soft yielding wood, and his surprise quickly gives way to a wide, approving grin. 

Triel can only smile back, silently hold a finger to her lips. Shh. 

A secret. For Astarion to share in, but not yet. Triel knows what she feels, has never been so certain of this love she’d only ever guessed at before. And it feels good, to say it, to speak the words and hear them out loud, but Astarion’s heart is scarred and fragile, and she doesn’t want to rush anything.

He has asked her for time. For patience. 

For now, she’s content to stroke his hair and bask in the firelight and whisper words of love he can’t understand, sweet nothings that mean so much. 

*** 

She hasn’t been seeing as much of Astarion as she would like, but it’s frantic, trying to get everything in place. Their haven is well-defended, well-organised, but the thought of leaving it unattended still terrifies her, even if only for a few days. 

Despite her trepidation, she was determined to go. Even if she weren’t longing to see her friends, which she is, declining an invitation from “Withers” seems… unwise. 

So, to help prepare for their absence, Triel had a handful of her most trusted…. She’s never really sure what to call them. They’ve vampire spawn, certainly, but that feels demeaning and possessive. Her citizens? Her charges. A handful of her most disciplined charges had helped her roll the carcass of a Bulette she’d hunted onto a wheeled trolley and together they’d hauled it back to their stronghold. 

Now, with the help of a chain and pulley system they’d managed to hang it upside down for bleeding. Drow had been keeping deep bats since time immemorial, and she’d tested the methods their keepers used for feeding on smaller prey. It seemed to have worked— the taste was stale, Astarion had told her, but it seemed to keep him going just the same. 

She stands back and watches with some satisfaction as one of her helpers tries to get through the tough skin between the thick plates covering the creature’s throat, to get at the veins beneath. The bulette will provide ample blood to keep their stores full while they’re away and the hide will be extremely durable. She’s sure she’ll find some use for it. 

Triel tries to suppress a sigh. As one of the only people in their haven who eats, she and Scratch are going to be  having smoked bulette for a very, very long time. But if her people can make do, so can she. 

Astarion hasn’t fed on her in a while. It’s strange to miss it, how intimate it was— but he’s trying to lead by example, and that means animal blood with the rest of them. Gods, but she’s proud of him, her heart swells to bursting at how far he’s come. 

No one was there for him in his darkest hours, and here he is, making sure that the vampire spawn they’ve managed to track down have a place where they’re safe, where they’re understood. A community all struggling along together. 

She thinks of the early days of her enclave, the ragged huddle of escaped slaves who followed the first Moonreader to the surface. What an honour it is to attempt the same by his side. 

“Darling?” 

Triel startles. She’s not usually one to be caught unawares, but she’d been so lost in thought, and if anyone can sneak up on her it’s her love. 

She turns to find Astarion watching the bulette with an eyebrow raised. “Stocking up, my sweet? Perhaps a little excessive?” but he’s smiling at her. “I know, I know. Safe and fed, that’s your mandate. Can I borrow you for a moment?” 

Triel looks to her team of helpers, who assure her they have things under control and encourage her off, so she happily follows Astarion inside. He leads her towards their bedroom, and though she’s probably too busy for a diversion she does find herself rather hoping he may have the same in mind. It’s no doubt something logistical. He’s been trying to lay out a set of… bylaws? Something? (Which seems silly for such a small community, but if they manage to track down all seven-thousand…. Well, that’s a city.) 

He’s taught with nervous excitement by the time their bedroom door closes behind them, which does nothing to quell Triel’s amorous fancies. 

Astarion spins on his heel, grin wide, eyes creased mischievously. “In anticipation of this reunion, I’ve been working on something,” he confesses and instead of producing some papers or schedules or ledgers, she notices he’s physically putting himself between her and the bed, blocking her view. “Close your eyes, darling.” She’s confused, but does as he asks. 

His feet are quiet across the floor. She hears a soft swish of fabric, a gentle rustling of their bedclothes. 

A moment later, Astarion takes her hand, and guides it to fine, draped spidersilk. Her fingers trace the smooth fabric —Rhyl’fein’s work, no doubt—  and find shapes. His work. Embroidery, forms she can’t quite make out though she feels the flow of it along the collar and hem. Her eyes flutter open in surprise and she takes in what he has held out for her. 

“I thought, perhaps, you might want something new to wear.” 

It’s breathtaking. 

Triel’dra is a ranger. She knows leather and dust and scuffed boots, and he holds the garment up to her before she can protest— she’ll ruin this, she’s sure. It’s too beautiful to wear, she’s not graceful like he is, rough and calloused and scarred— but those ruby eyes are soft, his expression that naked adoration that always makes her heart skip. 

He’s picked up enough Drow to know what alurlssrin means. Enough to use it. 

It’s a tunic, a perfect marriage of surface and drowish influence. The silk is dyed a deep, warm purple, and it’s trimmed with gorgeous embroidery. It’s a harvest, small enough not to be loud, laid out along the edges of the garment like the last bushels brought in before the frost. Small pumpkins and their vines lay out the path and between them is a bounty of produce and flowers. Apples, green and red and gold; scattered cranberries; parsnips; pears; a pomegranate spilling seeds along the trail of loving stitches. Asters, and chrysanthemums, and violets. 

“Astarion, this is…” There’s something else, something she can’t quite grasp about it. Something beyond just bringing the season to the standstill of the underdark. “No plums.” She says after studying his work for a long moment, as the thought finally clicks into place. 

“No. No plums. Not the dregs left over from summer,” Astarion confirms, careful to lift the garment out of the way before she can crush it in her haste to throw her arms around him. He sets it aside carefully before pulling her in close, her head tucked so perfectly under his chin. “The things worth waiting for. ” 

[drades-lair]

Lost territories and New relationships

fandom: HelluvaBoss

Rating: T

Pairing: Criminale

Running a mob was a rough business meaning sometimes you needed to get your hands dirty even if you’re the boss. Crimson prided himself on owning over half of Greed however sometimes rival gangs thought they could sneak into his territory to slowly take it over, a common strategy where in the gang slowly takes over the businesses while moving into the buildings around the area eventually spreading like roaches till by the time the mob boss learns of it, they’ve already basically taken over the area entirely. Unfortunately for the rivals in Greed, Crimson was far too vigilant of his territories for this age-old strategy to work, literally after only three businesses fell to the rival gang Crim was all over them like a dirty shirt. The intention was to either get the rivals to simply leave or perhaps if things went well, they might join Crimson in favor of loosing their lives but on the flip side they may also simply choose to fight which would inevitably lead to their deaths in the boss’ mind. Talking was going well for the first few moments unluckily the group decided they’d rather risk death by Crimson’s hands then going back to their original employer with the news they’d turned tail and lost the territory. Gun fire filled the streets as more low life’s sprung from the alleyways clearly sent to keep an eye on the groups that had already taken over revealing why they’d been reluctant to sell out to Crimson who was eventually forced to flee the field.

Alessio called for a pickup as they crouched behind a brick building, Ale reloading the tommy gun he’d been using. Crimson cursed under his breath at the way this had gone, not only was he loosing manpower but the rival group at this point basically owned this part of town meaning he’d lost the territory. A black armored car pulled up a short distance away prompting Ale to start shooting again as a distraction to get Crimson to the car, backing up slowly with Crimson behind him. Once at the vehicle Alessio opened the door practically shoving Crimson inside causing the imp to yelp in surprise, looking over his shoulder on his hands and knees with an aggravated look on his features that swiftly shifted when the mobster realized his trusted bodyguard wasn’t getting in the vehicle with him. Scrambling around Crimson reached out with a shout that could have been Alessio’s name if it hadn’t been cut off by the shark slamming the door closed followed by a swift kick to the vehicle’s side panel telling the driver to take off. Ale watched as the armored car disappeared through the winding streets of Greed with a relieved expression on his features, taking a deep breath the shark turned around to find five rival gang members rushing towards him with various weapons in hand.

…

Night soon fell causing a grimy green hue to fall over Greed like moss growing on a log, Ale fell to one knee panting heavily, jacket long discarded leaving his torn dirty red button-down clinging to his slender sweat coated form. Alessio’s pants were in no better shape with tares in the regal fabric while dirt and blood stained the shark from head to toe, some was the enemies, but some was his. Weapons were strewn about the ground amongst the bodies of those Alessio had slain unfortunately he was tapped out on stamina and as a set of shadows appeared on the ground from behind him, the shark prepared for the worst when something hit the back of his head followed by a dull aching pain as his vision plunged into blackness right before he met the ground.

Surprise was Alessio’s first reaction when the world slowly started coming back into view as he’d expected to meet his maker right there in that grimy ally. A dull thrumming pain was constantly running through his head like waves on the ocean of Envy causing his blurry vision to take longer to come fully clear however when it did Ale could see he was in some junk covered area, his arms tied to a massive tree behind his back. Lightly shaking his head Alessio tried to move his tail revealing it was also tied to the tree glancing down the shark noted he was sitting on the ground with his ankles tied together. Looking up three figures stepped out from behind some junk piles brandishing a couple guns as well as a knife, moving slowly towards Ale who took in their features with a judgemental eye. The group were hybrids of shark demons and Envy’s serpent like demons giving them a variety of unique features such as fish frills, bluish hues, iridescent markings, and whip like tails.

“Finally, he’s awake,” The middle hybrid crooned holding a knife in his hand.

“What are we gonna do with him?” The right hybrid asked with a wide smirk.

“Easy, we’re gonna make an example of him,” The middle hybrid answered crouching down to press the tip of the knife to Ale’s throat just below his jaw on the right-hand side.

“Ooh, this is gonna be fun!” The Left hybrid giddily exclaimed.

Ale stared coldly at the three only to wince as the middle hybrid swiped the blade’s tip across the shark’s cheek. The hybrid’s hand grasped Ale’s chin harshly forcing the shark to look at him when he felt the white-hot pain of the blade being slammed into his thigh wrenching a scream from Alessio’s chest that faded to a pained groan.

“Oh yes…so much fun,” The middle hybrid whispered menacingly inches from Alessio’s face.

…

Ale wasn’t sure how much time had passed nor how many times he’d blacked out only to wake up again from agonizing pain. This time Ale awoke from the cooling breeze that carried the scent of rain, moaning slightly his eyes struggled to focus as sharp pain returned to the forefront of his mind, he choked on something filling his mouth, spitting it onto the ground revealing the blackish blue familiar fluid that was his blood. Alessio tried to sit up a little only to yelp as pain shot through his torso forcing him to remain hunched over, yet he managed to look up just enough to see the three hybrids sitting nearby clearly taking a breather from torturing him. Now Ale may have accepted death as his fate after all he did serve in a mafia but that didn’t mean he was just going to give up, glancing around he spotted a glass shard nearby, he also noted the roughness of the bark on the tree behind him. Watching the group carefully Ale started rubbing his wrists against the tree’s rough surface, wincing at the pain that started piercing through them as the bark started cutting into the shark’s skin, yet he kept going because not only was it cutting his skin…it was also slicing through the ropes.

Eventually the group finished their break much to Ale’s dismay as he’d not yet managed to cut through the ropes on his wrists, but he could feel the warmth of blood against his back where they were. The group were delighted to see Alessio awake again, excited to continue torturing him when gunfire caught everyone including Alessio by surprise. A group of sharks came running into the clearing firing at the group of three managing to hit two of the hybrids while the middle one recoiled with a series of curses, scrambling to hide behind the tree Ale was tied to. In an instant Ale managed to finish freeing his hands, heaving himself to the side with an outstretched hand that he wrapped around the hybrid’s ankle causing him to trip sending him face first into the ground. Ale gritted his teeth against the agonizing pain that lashed through his body to grab the glass shard from nearby, cutting the ropes around his ankles as well as the one that held his tail to the tree promptly freeing himself. Alessio tried to stand up only to fall again from the agony he felt, he didn’t know what injuries he’d incurred from these assholes however it was clear they’d done some serious damage, the feeling of warm blood starting to coat numerous parts of his body confirming this fact. The hybrid growled angrily at Alessio for having tripped him, crawling towards the shark with his blade in hand ready to end Ale’s miserable life, the shark slashed at the hybrid using the piece of glass he’d picked up only to have it knocked away. Light glinted off the hybrid’s blade upon him raising it over his head when a gunshot rang out and it was like time froze, the hybrid’s mouth fell open in a silent scream as a trickle of blood flowed from a fresh bullet wound in his forehead while the back of his head had a gaping wound that had spewed blood like a fountain. Slowly the hybrid’s body slumped to the side, rain beginning to fall causing mud to form on the ground creating a wet plopping sound when the hybrid’s body finally hit it. Ale shoved the body off himself as he flopped onto his side with a pained groan, glancing up to see none other then Crimson standing a short distance away still holding the pistol he’d just used to shoot the hybrid with.

Ale thought he was dreaming for a moment after all why would Crimson be here? Why would Crimson have risked his life to come get him? These were questions Ale desperately wanted to ask unfortunately the agonizing pain returned with vengeance as his adrenaline wore off causing a pained cry to escape the shark unintentionally while darkness started swiftly seeping around his vision like the way his blood was quickly seeping onto the ground guided by the rain. The world sounded like when he was under water, muddled and dull as flashes of Crimson running towards him clearly shouting something that he couldn’t make out played between blinks till finally everything faded into that peaceful darkness once again.

Things were unclear from the moment Ale succumbed to the peace of unconsciousness, occasionally waking slightly to the feeling of painful movement, one moment he was vaguely aware of being in a vehicle, was his head on someone’s lap? Either way he couldn’t remain conscious for long during any of these moments. Ale’s next memories were of pain so terrible it defied explanation, blurry figures silhouette by a bright light that he could vaguely recognize as the one in the dining room of the Nolastname mansion. The shark was also vaguely aware that he was screaming however he wasn’t entirely certain on that as everything still sounded as if he were underwater and yet at one point during the chaos his gaze fell on a figure in a doorway off to the right that looked oddly like crimson reigniting Ale’s confusion from previous, why was he here? Why would Crimson save him? Once more these questions would need to wait as the world plunged back into the ebony abyss. 

…

Confused surprise enveloped Ale’s mind for a second time as he slowly felt himself returning to the physical world. Taking a moment to focus on the sensations bombarding his not yet fully conscious mind Ale kept his eyes closed also his head was pounding and even the small dim light seeping through his eyelids was causing discomfort. Alessio could feel the familiar softness of a bed beneath his body, a pillow under his head as well as blankets lightly draped over him then the pain started to rip through every sense he had although it had subsided it was still sharp, coming in waves that faded into dull agony before reigniting all over again. Groaning Ale finally blinked open his eyes to the very familiar ceiling of his bedroom in the Nolastname mansion, there was a distinct water mark that left no doubt about it, was he dreaming? Shifting his head to the right just a little he saw the bedside light he kept on the side table casting a soft yellow glow over the room…his room. A tube laying on the bed caught Alessio’s attention causing him to follow to his right hand then back the other way revealing an IV bag hung on a pole that sat just behind the bedside table which had been moved slightly farther away from the bed to accommodate it. Mind clearing slowly Ale was going to look around a little more when the sound of the bedroom door creaking open interrupted his train of thought immediately snapping his attention in that direction. Another familiar sight greeted Ale, Crimson’s short form stood in the doorway silhouetted by the light from the hallway behind him, carrying a glass of water in one hand.

“Ale?” Crimson’s voice quietly questioned.

“S-Sir…ugh!” Alessio’s voice cracked, throat dry as the pain amped up from him barely moving.

“Ale! Don’t fuckin’ move you dumbass!” Crimson’s tone was so foreign to Alessio, he’d heard concern in Crimson’s tone before just not to this degree and certainly not for him.

“Sir…I-I…don’t understand…” Ale managed to croak out, Crimson’s one hand resting on the shark’s arm as he placed the glass of water on the nightstand.

“You nearly died! That’s all you need to understand. Now here, try to drink some water,” Crimson stated gesturing to the glass.

“Alright,” Ale quietly agreed, reaching out to grab the glass with a shaking hand.

“Sheesh, let me,” Crimson groused, swatting Ale’s hand away from the glass before trotting over to grab a stool that Ale was positive wasn’t in the room last, he left. Climbing onto the stool Crimson grabbed the glass off the nightstand, passing it to his opposite hand so he could slide his arm behind Ale’s shoulders to gently ease him forwards. Alessio grunted in pain, lips pressing to the glass allowing him to sip the water inside till the pain overwhelmed his ability to stay in that position any longer. Crimson settled Ale back down then placed the glass back on the side table, a soft expression of concern settling on his features.

“Nearly died, huh. I should have died,” Alessio commented, staring at the ceiling to distract himself from the pain ravaging his body. Originally Ale thought he was wearing clothing however he was now aware that what he was feeling were bandages wrapped around his body in various locations.

“What are you talking about? I’m pissed at you for just shoving me in that car then playing some fucking hero bullshit! And you can’t die when I’m pissed at you because I need to be able to tell you off,” Crimson nonchalantly explained not looking at Alessio as he did so instead busily making certain things were in order.

Ale wasn’t certain how to respond to that, staring for a few minutes in disbelief at Crimson before starting to look around the room awkwardly. Another IV was set up on the left side of the bed containing blood that led to Ale’s left hand, finally he glanced down at his battered body mostly wrapped in bloody bandages however the little bits of skin that were showing had a sickly pale hue to them. Curling his lip up in a silent snarl Ale averted his eyes from the sight, irritation rising in his gut at taking such a beating from those low life thugs.

“I need ta change your bandages, I’ll be back,” Crimson commented after a long string of silence between them.

Alessio watched as Crimson left the room, mind swimming with confused questions not to mention feelings that weren’t unwelcomed just he didn’t understand them. A short time later Crimson returned carrying a bag on one arm and a tray in his hands with a variety of objects on its surface mostly consisting of jars. Crimson set the tray on the bedside table allowing him to put the bag on the table next to it revealing it was full of bandages, the imp rolled up the sleeves of his red long-sleeved shirt having not had his jacket on since entering Ale’s room. Alessio remained silent as Crimson grabbed a pair of scissors from the tray then climbed on the stool beside the bed once more, pulling down the blankets to expose Ale’s torso allowing Crimson to start cutting off the bandages wrapped around it. Turning his head to the left Ale winced with a soft groan as his wounds panged from being fiddled with, Crimson looking up at the shark with what could have been a small amount of sympathy hidden behind his flat expression as he tended the ugly wounds that were being revealed bit by bit. By the time Crimson had finished rewrapping Ale’s bandages on his legs the shark was panting softly with his eyes squeezed tightly shut and his hands fisted into the sheets to either side of his body. Seeing the state Ale was in Crimson released a sigh, covering the shark back up before heading back out of the room briefly then returning with a cloth in hand. Climbing back up on the stool he gently pressed the cool cloth to Ale’s face drawing his gaze towards the imp as he tried to compose himself, uncomfortable with Crimson seeing him in such a weakened, sorry state.

“W-why didn’t you just let the doctors treat me?” Alessio wondered, voice shuddering slightly.

"Humph, those fools are barely competent. I only let them patch you up because I didn’t have enough knowledge to do it myself,” Crimson huffed once again giving a nonchalant explanation as he patted the cool cloth around Alessio’s face.

“Oh, I see…” Alessio commented feeling himself getting tired.

“Get some rest you idiot, I’ll keep checking on you,” Crimson instructed with another huff, climbing off his stool to gather the items he’d been using and leaving the room just as Alessio was falling asleep.

…

Alessio felt as though his suffering would never end as days bled into weeks with little in the way of progress as far as his injuries were concerned. Frustrated with his inability to do anything Alessio decided to get up even if he could simply get to the chair across the room that would be something. Gingerly the shark managed to get himself into a sitting position even got his legs over the edge of the bed with relative ease, using the bedside table Ale started to push up from the bed feeling his legs shake underneath him as pain quickly shot through them at lightning speed. Luckily the IV with the blood transfusion in it had been disconnected a couple days ago because the moment Alessio tried to stand on his own the shark’s legs gave out sending him straight to the floor. Apparently Crimson had been making his way to Alessio’s room because a few moments later the imp opened the door to find Ale struggling to get back up, kneeling with his arms on the bed’s edge as he groaned in pain and fresh blood stained some of his bandages.

“Shit! Ale! What the fuck do you think your doing?” Crimson demanded hurrying to Ale’s side, swiftly discovering that he couldn’t help the shark back up. Crimson ran out of the room shouting for one of the doctors that were employed by the mob, a tall slender shark who hurried past the imp into the room straight to Alessio. Ale yelped as the other shark helped him back into bed, Ale’s body shaking from the waves of intense pain washing over him as he panted.

“Why did you try that?” Crimson demanded, getting up next to Ale on the opposite side the doctor was on, currently trying to treat the freshly opened wounds on Ale’s body.

“I-I’m sorry…sir…I’m just tired…of being useless…” Alessio admitted in a moment of weakness brought on by his pain filled state of mind.

“You fucking dumbass! You’re not useless, you’re injured. You need to rest,” Crimson irritably barked, brow furrowed in concern.

“B-but…sir…” Ale began.

“Enough with the sir shit, you know my name,” Crimson insisted catching Alessio off guard.

Silence fell over the room as the doctor managed to get Alessio patched back up after a few minutes and had given the shark an extra dose of Morphine to help ease his pain. Ale was a little surprised at how much Crimson fussed over him once the doctor had left more so when the imp took a seat across the room in the high-back chair to make certain he stayed put this time around.  

…

Three long months later Alessio was finally healed or mostly healed, he stood in front of the standing mirror in his bedroom in a pair of cotton pajama pants staring at his exposed torso. Gingerly Ale’s fingers ghosted over his new scars with a firm frown seated on his features when Crimson entered the room.

“Here’s your new suit, hopefully it fits because that guy I ordered it from was a complete idiot,” Crimson stated carrying a large garment bag over to the bed.

“That’s great, thank you Crimson,” Ale acknowledged, turning around.

“At least your able to stand up again,” Crimson scoffed a laugh as he placed the garment bag on the bed.

“Yeah, I don’t feel completely useless anymore,” Alessio agreed.

“How many fucking times I gotta tell you that you’re not useless, Ale,” Crimson insisted with an eyeroll.

“I’m sorry Crimson, I can’t help it. My job is to protect you and get you everything you need on daily basis,” Alessio explained.

“Humph, you make it sound like I can’t take care of myself,” Crimson scoffed with a dismissive wave.

“Not at all, but it is why you keep me around,” Ale added, running his hands along the garment bag on the bed.

“Huh? That’s not the only reason…” Crimson trailed off with a confused look on his features.

“Oh? Then why else?” Alessio wondered taking his turn to look confused.

“Well…unlike the other mooks I actually enjoy your company,” Crimson retorted with a smirk.

Ale inhaled sharply as heat rose in his cheeks causing him to look away to avoid Crimson seeing the obvious blush creeping across his face.

“Um, that’s good to know…anyways would you mind giving me a moment to change,” Ale coughed slightly.

“Ha-ha, always such a prude. Alright, get changed then meet me downstairs, we’ve got a lot of work ta do if we’re going to get that stolen territory back,” Crimson heartily laughed as he headed out the bedroom door promptly allowing Alessio to change with a smirk on his face.          

[kashlyn]

I'd like to add on to this but I'll probably get ahead of myself and become repeatative (how the f do u spell that word?!) and lose track of what I'm typing cuz it's easier for me to talk when ranting so sorry in advance

@ten-shiriya23 u asked for this lololol

When the Batfam and Phantom fam first meet, I can imagine some awkward tension. The Bats are used to Gotham, where every stranger could be a potential threat, while the Phantoms are much more laid back in how they approach things, having dealt with wild ghosts for years. But once they get past that initial skepticism, there’d be this deep, underlying connection between the two families, forged through their shared experience of living double lives and the constant pressure that puts on them.

Like, Bruce would likely be wary of Jack and Maddie at first, especially Jack’s wild, seemingly reckless nature. Jack is all loud enthusiasm and bursts of invention—completely opposite of Bruce’s calm, controlled demeanor. But Maddie? Bruce would have deep respect for her. Maddie is the brains behind the Fenton Ghost Portal, and I could see Bruce silently acknowledging that she’s someone who can keep Jack’s energy in check. Over time, Bruce and Maddie might have these quiet moments where they discuss what it’s like to raise kids in dangerous environments, with Maddie offering her view on how she tries to keep things "normal" for Danny and Jazz, while Bruce shares his inner worries about how he raises his Robins. (Then again, there's also that weird mirror of Bruce's Brucie persona and Jack, plus Talia and Maddie but that's a discussion for another time)

There’s also the potential for Bruce and Jack to bond over fatherhood in a weird way. Sure, Jack comes off as goofy, but at the end of the day, he deeply loves his family and would do anything to protect them—just like Bruce. They’d probably find common ground over that instinct to protect, even if Jack’s methods would leave Bruce gritting his teeth half the time.

Now onto Jazz and Dick:

These two would hit it off immediately. Both Jazz and Dick are the eldest siblings who had to grow up a little too fast. Dick had to manage Bruce’s emotional unavailability and keep the family together when Bruce couldn’t, while Jazz had to do the same for Danny, all while dealing with her parents’ ghost-obsessed lifestyle (Yeah we've all said it before lololol. "ELDEST SISTER SYNDROME anyone?" She said like she isn't the same). I imagine them swapping stories about how hard it is to be the "mature" one, sharing little tips and tricks for how they manage their chaotic families. There’d be a real softness between them—a mutual understanding that comes from having the weight of responsibility fall on their shoulders at such a young age. Dick would probably take a big-brotherly role with Jazz, even if she’s just as capable, just because he knows how isolating that responsibility can feel. Also, I like the thought of Jazz giving Dick therapy, or at least a watered down version of it to help him cope with his inner anger that he surprises for his siblings due to trauma when he didn't suppress it in the past with Jason as a kid and never really getting to bond with him until Jason died cuz he always ended up fighting Bruce whenever he was around the manor(... I'm a psych major ok? I know Jazz would notice it just like I did!)

Danny and Tim:

This is where the real heart of the crossover lies. Danny and Tim would instantly click because they’re both geniuses who bear so much weight on their shoulders. (Depends on the AU but Like Tim being co-CEO and Danny being Ghost king). They’re the problem solvers of their respective families, always thinking ten steps ahead but often forgetting to take care of themselves. The moments where they’re working together would be full of banter, sure, but also a kind of unspoken connection. Tim would recognize the exhaustion in Danny—trying to balance two lives, being a hero without enough support—and he’d subtly start looking out for him. Danny, in turn, would find someone who gets it, who understands the constant pressure to keep everything together while hiding their struggles from the people they love. (which is probably why Dead Tired seems to be a fan favorite ship in the fandom)

There’s also the ghost aspect to consider. Tim, always one for research, would dive headfirst into learning about ghosts and the Ghost Zone. He’d probably start cataloging ghostly threats, working with Danny to develop tech that the Batfam can use to defend Gotham from any supernatural attacks. Danny, meanwhile, would marvel at Tim’s detective skills, grateful to finally have someone who can help share the burden of his responsibilities.

Dani/Ellie and Damian:

This duo would be comedy gold. Dani is all chaotic energy, rebellious and free-spirited, while Damian is serious, methodical, and a bit of a perfectionist. Their first meeting would likely involve a clash of egos—Dani trying to prove herself by showing off her powers, and Damian trying to assert that he’s the superior fighter. They’d bicker constantly at first, with Damian calling Dani immature and Dani rolling her eyes at his arrogance. But beneath that tension, they’d quickly realize they have a lot in common. Both Dani and Damian are, to some extent, “clones,” Dani being a clone of Danny, and Damian being a product of the League of Assassins and Talia al Ghul’s plans for Batman. They both wrestle with questions of identity, wondering if they’re just living in the shadows of their "originals." Damian is arrogant and calculating, but he’s also fiercely loyal to his family. Dani, on the other hand, is playful, chaotic, and still figuring out her place in the world. They both have this desire to prove that they’re more than just copies of someone else.

As time goes on, their rivalry would turn into a sibling-like relationship. Damian would take on the role of the protective older brother (though he’d never admit it), and Dani would start to respect his discipline and skills, even if she’d still tease him endlessly. In a way, they’d help each other heal—Dani helping Damian loosen up and enjoy life more, while Damian gives Dani the stability and structure she sometimes craves but doesn’t know how to ask for.

The more time these two families spend together, the more they’d recognize how similar they really are. Both families revolve around the idea of balancing responsibility and personal identity. The Batfam is constantly struggling with the weight of Gotham’s expectations, while the Phantom fam is trying to juggle saving the world from ghosts while still having a somewhat normal life.

Extras

Bruce and Danny:

Bruce might initially see Danny as another young vigilante who doesn’t understand the full weight of what he’s doing. But as he learns more about Danny’s life, Bruce would start to recognize parts of himself in the young hero—this relentless drive to protect others, even at the cost of his own happiness. Danny, meanwhile, would look at Bruce and see the future he fears for himself: a life consumed by duty, with little room for anything else. This dynamic would spark conversations about the importance of balance, something Bruce is still learning and Danny desperately needs to understand.

Jazz and Dick, and the Siblings:

Jazz and Dick are mirrors of each other in how they navigate their roles as siblings. Both have a deep love for their younger brothers and feel a responsibility to help guide them. They know what it’s like to be the ones who have to pick up the pieces when everything falls apart, and they both carry the emotional weight of their families. It’d be healing for both of them to find someone who understands that particular burden. Dick could help Jazz realize it’s okay to let go a little, to let Danny find his own path, while Jazz could remind Dick that his efforts aren’t taken for granted.

Dani and Damian:

The parallel between Dani and Damian’s journeys is perhaps the most compelling. Both were created for a purpose—Dani as Vlad’s attempt at a perfect clone and Damian as a product of the League of Assassins—and both are trying to break free from those expectations. They’re fighting to define themselves outside of the shadows of their "originals," trying to prove that they’re their own people, not just a reflection of someone else’s plan. Through their rivalry-turned-friendship, Dani and Damian would learn that they’re more alike than they realize, both struggling with identity but slowly finding their own sense of purpose.

Basically ~~~

The crossover between the Batfam and Phantom fam would be all about exploring how family—whether it’s biological or found—shapes us. Both families come with a lot of baggage, but they’re also fiercely loyal, always ready to fight for each other, even if they don’t always show it in the most conventional ways. Watching them interact, clash, and ultimately learn from each other would be a beautiful exploration of what it means to be a family in worlds filled with danger, secrets, and endless responsibility. In the end, the Batfam and Phantom fam would come to see that, despite their differences, they’re all just trying to protect the people they love—whether it’s from ghosts, criminals, or even themselves.

Jazz, Dan, Danny, Danielle

Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian

Do you see my vision???

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

5 times Merlin does something that requires a considerable amount of strength;

+1 time the gang has time to actually bring it up.

Everyone is baffled, half distracted by Merlin’s surprising buffness and half amused by Arthur’s gay panic:

1)

The clearing fills with the sounds of a brutal fight. 

The Knights of Camelot, along with their King, had given up on trying to figure out how bandits always managed to find them in the woods. It seemed impossible for there to be so many mercenary groups that it was just coincidence for them to stumble upon each other so often, but equally, the knights moved quietly and always covered their tracks well, so... yeah, who knows.

The point is, they’re outnumbered three to one, and all of them were starting to regret not listening to Merlin’s earlier suggestion that they keep riding for another hour or so; their camp was destroyed and the fight was tiring them out.

Three to one weren’t bad odds, especially for knights with such a high level of skill, but it was exhausting and time consuming and they just wanted it to be over. Merlin was having similar thoughts as he stumbles through the middle of the crowd, trying to get out of the way. He was keeping an eye on them of course, but his friends were winning so his magical intervention wasn’t really needed; he was just annoyed that Arthur was almost certainly going to make him clear everything up afterwards.

His attention is suddenly caught when Percival’s voice rings out across the clearing:

“Merlin! Behind you!”

All of the knights’ gazes whip to the servant when they hear the giant’s yell, and they all abandon their own battles to step towards him despite knowing that they were too far away to be able to help in time. The servant takes in a sharp breath at Percival’s warning, becoming suddenly aware of a fast-moving presence behind him; he forms a fist and turns, swinging blindly with all his strength and following through even when his knuckles crunch with surprising accuracy against the temple of a bandit.

The man, not expecting the rapid attack, doesn’t have time to move out of the way, and his head jerks to the side, his entire body following as if an afterthought. He crumples to the floor gracelessly, unconscious before his head makes contact with the trampled undergrowth.

Merlin hisses at the pain bursting through his knuckles and up into his wrist, shaking his hand out as he steps over the bandit’s still form without even blinking, back to focusing on attempting to find a tree to sit behind and sulk, as if nothing had happened.

The knights only have a fraction of a second to freeze in shock before they’re dragged back to their own fights, forced to defend themselves lest they get skewered. 

The battle only lasts a few more minutes; despite being outnumbered, the knights far outmatch the bandits in skill (and sufficient armour) and Merlin was correct in his assumption that they wouldn’t need any of his DIY luck, which is a good thing really, considering how much his hand is throbbing. He peeks his head around the tree when things go suspiciously quiet, getting up and making his way to the abandoned bag of medical supplies when he sees the knights victorious.

The servant runs a quick gaze over them, taking stock of any potential injuries as he makes his way through the clearing, injured hand clenched tightly and held to his chest. He may have knocked the bandit out, but that just meant that the punch was hard enough to do damage to his hand as well as the other guy’s head. When he finds nothing more than the odd bruise on the others, he grabs a roll of bandages for himself, quickly wrapping his hand almost painfully tight, before turning to Arthur with a scowl:

“I told you we were too close to the road, I told you we should’ve kept on going. But do you ever listen to me? No, because you’re-”

He’s cut off by The King stepping towards him and taking his bandaged hand, cradling it gently and looking to Merlin in concern:

“Merlin, are you alright?”

Merlin just rolls his eyes and huffs, snatching his hand back and retreating to check on the horses, thankfully tied and uninjured at the edge of the clearing:

“No, my hand fucking hurts, because, surprisingly enough, these idiots have skulls almost as thick as yours. We need to move camps, like I said earlier. Prat.”

Arthur frowns, looking down to Merlin’s unconscious bandit at his feet, and then glancing back to the other knights, who all just shrug with wide eyes. The King sighs, reluctantly nodding at Merlin’s assertion as he stares up at the darkening sky, deciding that Merlin must’ve... hit a pressure point or... something:

“Everyone pack up, I want to be moving on in three minutes.”

2)

Merlin had foregone his jacket and rolled his sleeves up in the surprising Spring heatwave.

Which was a sight in itself.

But what really made the knights look twice (I mean... Arthur was just outright staring, but Leon had long since glared the others into not mentioning The King’s little... crush) was the way the supposedly wimpy servant had two sets of chainmail folded on one shoulder, his arm curled over them to keep them balanced, and a few odd bits of mismatched armour clutched in his other hand. He was making his way from the training field up to the castle, presumably to find an empty room to sit quietly and clean them.

Elyan waves at him across the field, the movement just about catching the servant’s gaze as he twists around, flashing a bright, sunny grin in place of waving back. 

Arthur gulps, eyes drawn to the vein standing out from Merlin’s uncovered neck; apparently the heat had encouraged him to abandon his neckerchief as well. The King takes a deep breath, sending a scowl Merlin’s way to cover his... surprise, holding in a smirk when the servant just rolls his eyes and turns back to the castle.

His stride was strong, and though his arms were straining against the weight, he looked entirely unbothered, not even breathing deeply as he picks up his pace, jogging up the citadel steps.

Training had all but stopped at this point, the roundtable knights staring in confusion as Merlin carefully pulled the door open, making sure he wouldn’t drop anything, before nudging the door shut again with his hip. Gwaine was the first to break the silence, quirking one of his eyebrows up as he speaks in a slightly surprised tone:

“Didn’t know he had it in him. Wearing one set, when the weight is evenly distributed, is hard enough, let alone carrying two sets. And armour. Up steps. Huh.”

Arthur clears his throat, looking away with a slight blush as he asserts:

“Yes, well, knights carry the same weight in armour and weapons everyday, if not more. If you’re that impressed Sir Gwaine, perhaps you should work on your strength.”

Gwaine turns to him with a smirk, but Leon’s warning glare stops him from teasing, or saying anything else that could be considered treasonous. Instead, he rolls his eyes at the first knight before humming non-committedly and pointing his sword at The King:

“That, Princess, sounds like a challenge.”

Arthur, blush forgotten, looks up with raised eyebrows and a chuckle, noting with satisfaction the way the other knights spread out to form a circle around the two of them, swords lowered and expectant looks on their faces:

“Does it now? I suppose you’ll have to take me up on it then, won’t you?”

3)

The knights were on some stupid (in Merlin’s opinion) quest.

The group was currently making their way through a complicated cave system. They had maps, thankfully, but they were old, and provided by a small village of locals who hadn’t spoken common very well. 

They’d had to trade away half of their supplies in return for the maps, so Arthur was already in a foul mood, but a dotted line on the page across the path they were following was worrying him. The note written next to it was in some old, almost lost native language, so The King had just resigned himself to carrying on and hoping for the best.

Which is why he let out a series of echoing curse words when they turned a corner to find a ragged overhang, about eight feet above the path. The wall curved in on itself before jutting out again at the top, making it impossible to climb, even without armour and swords and packs.

Elyan is the first to break the tense silence after Arthur’s outburst, his tone half amused, half annoyed, as he mutters:

“That’ll be why the locals kept pointing at that ladder then.”

Arthur huffs, glaring at the knight with a rare venom, but Leon gestures to the map in his hand before he can retort:

“We can always go back, or is there another way around?”

Arthur huffs louder, letting out a short growl as he thrusts the maps to Leon’s chest and paces closer to the overhang:

“Feel free, if you can find an alternative route, please, enlighten me. The village is a day’s journey away, we don’t have time to go back.”

Leon covers his annoyance at Arthur’s harshness well, but Merlin scowls at The King openly before moving to stand at the junction between the wall of the corridor, and the overhang in front of them:

“Don’t be an arse, Arthur, it’s not Leon’s fault that none of us can understand Old... whatever it was. And it’s not that high, just-”

With that, Merlin braces his foot against the wall, bending his knees slightly before pushing off and jumping up, reaching out and grabbing the overhang, his feet dangling off the ground. The knights stare in shock, but before they can say anything, Merlin swings his feet forwards, and backwards, and forwards again. When they swing back for the second time, he uses the momentum to pull himself up, his arms locking out straight beneath him as he lifts his knees up, crawling over the edge and onto the floor above them.

Arthur blinks, looking from the floor, to the wall, and up to Merlin again, trying to figure out how the hell his manservant had enough strength in his arms and core to pull himself up; he hadn’t even taken his pack off.

Lancelot clears his throat, tilting his head and frowning as he slowly speaks:

“That was... impressive. But we’re wearing armour, Merlin, I don’t think we’ll be able to manage that with all the extra weight.”

No one mentions that they don’t think they could do it even without armour.

Merlin just rolls his eyes and sits on the edge, his feet dangling below him as he gestures vaguely:

“Well if you just get your hands on the ledge then I can pull you up. Take your packs off and throw them up first if you’re so worried, you can give each other a hand up, and Percival can go last because of how tall he is. Come on, it wasn’t that hard.”

Lancelot shrugs, taking his pack off and throwing it up with all his might. Merlin leans out, catching it with ease and chucking it behind him as he motions Percival to interlock his hands. The knight does so, allowing Lancelot to step on them and throw himself up, just about managing to catch the ledge and groaning at the strain in his arms. Merlin brings his feet back over the overhang, bracing his heels against the stone as he reaches down, gripping Lancelot’s wrists and hauling him up and over the edge.

Lance yelps as Merlin yanks him up, rolling onto his back and panting at the ceiling as he blinks in surprise. Merlin doesn’t pay him any attention, frowning down at the others and gesturing at them to hurry:

“Come on, I thought we were in a rush?”

With that, they all huddle below, taking turns to be thrown up and hauled over the edge. Merlin drags Elyan up on his own, Lance still recovering from his slight shock, but the more people gather at the top, the less work Merlin has to do. Which is good, because he may be strong, but he’s not sure he could manage Percival on his own. The giant has to take a running leap at the ledge, and it takes four of them to pull him up without dislocating any shoulders or throwing out any backs.

When they’re all successfully at the top, Merlin wordlessly picks his pack up, shrugging it onto his shoulders as he begins a quick pace along the corridor as if he hadn’t a care in the world; the knights break out of their stupors and jog to catch up, knowing that Merlin was right and they needed to hurry.

4)

Arthur was glaring resolutely at the floor, trying to psych himself up to confront whatever arsehole had managed to get the drop on him and his six best knights. The others were arguing in whispers around him, trying to figure out some way to escape the dungeon unscathed, though The King kept silent, knowing that the only way out was if someone unlocked these infernal chains first.

They’d only been there for around an hour, so no one from Camelot would have realised they were missing yet; their only hope was that Merlin was making his way back to the city to get help. He’d been off gathering firewood, and he’d already been gone half a candle mark when they’d been ambushed; Arthur would never admit it, but he had faith that Merlin would be able to sort everything out.

The King harshly shushes the knights as he hears the guards begin to yell, but frowns in confusion when he hears “They’re going crazy up there!” and “What the fuck?!” before the unmistakable sound of armoured boots running up the stairs and away from the dungeons reaches them.

The knights all look to each other in confusion, straining against their chains to try and see through the small barred window at the top of the door. A shadow passes through the square of light on the floor, and they all shuffle back against the wall, staying silent. None of them manage to hold in their surprised yelps however, when the door suddenly bursts in, the wood around the lock splintering violently and spreading shards across the dungeon floor.

A strong arm extends out, stopping the now broken beyond repair door from swinging shut again, and the knights look up, taking in sharp gasps when they see Merlin stood there, scowling disapprovingly with a ring of keys in his other hand and one foot in front of the other, as if he had... as if he had kicked the door. Leon is the first to break the silence:

“Merlin?? What are you doing here?”

Merlin’s scowl deepens as he glances down the corridor before stepping into the dungeon, sorting through the keys to try and figure out which one would open which set of chains:

“Well I’m rescuing you lot, obviously. I leave camp for barely a candle-mark and you get yourselves kidnapped. Honestly, how hard is it to not find trouble, for once?”

Arthur is too busy staring at Merlin’s apparently muscled legs to say anything, even when Elyan clears his throat and kicks him, so Percival is the next to speak as Merlin unlocks his chains:

“Why not just... unlock the door?”

Merlin doesn’t look at the largest of the knights as he moves on to the others, unchaining them one by one as he responds, his scowl still firmly in place:

“The key was on a separate ring and I only had time to grab one, figured the door would be easier to break than the chains.”

Arthur finally blinks and shakes his head free of.... distracting, thoughts as Merlin finally turns to him, holding his hands out to be unchained as he clears his throat and says strongly, forcing the waiver from his voice:

“How did you distract the guards?”

Merlin finally smiles at that, standing and reaching into his pocket to pull out a lumpy looking bit of plant:

“Snuck in and pretended to be one of their slaves, laced all the jugs with mandrake root. They’re all going loopy with hallucinations upstairs, a few of them vomited and I think one guy might have shit himself. The guards went to see what was wrong, so we don’t have much time, come on.”

Arthur nods impressed, and was the last of the group to sneak from the dungeon, pausing briefly to run a hand over the splintered wood and warped metal of the kicked-in door, before shaking his head and following the others out of the not-quite-abandoned fort.

5)

It had been almost a year since Merlin had last seen his mother, so when the servant requested two weeks off to visit home, wanting to help the village out with repairs before the winter set in, Arthur agreed immediately, on the condition that he and a couple of the knights could tag along.

Merlin reluctantly gave in, but only after insisting that he wouldn’t be Arthur’s servant, and whoever came would have to dig in and help out. To be honest, Arthur was mentally exhausted after months of work on repealing the magic ban, so Merlin was silently grateful that he was coming; The King needed a break, and Merlin knew how secretly fond the man was of Merlin’s mother, and her simple country life. 

In the end, Leon and Mordred were the only ones who could come; Lancelot and Elyan were left in charge of patrols, Percival and Gwaine were left in charge of training, and Guinevere, Gaius, and Morgana were left to oversee the council and the general running of the Kingdom. Arthur wasn’t worried to be honest, they were only going to be gone for two weeks, and if disaster set in they were only a two day’s ride away at most.

It was chilly, the winter was setting in early so Merlin and Hunith were eager for work to start as soon as possible. There were numerous leaks and fences to fix, and one of the village’s barns needed clearing out so it could filled with grain over the snowy season.

That, and as much firewood needed to be collected as possible so they could stockpile. They normally barely had enough to last them through the winter; Arthur had nodded in approval when Merlin had meekly asked if they could take a cart of wood with them from Camelot, but they still had a lot to gather.

It was the afternoon of their first day, Leon had been sent to a neighbour’s to fix a roof, Merlin was doing something outside, and Mordred was just about to head over to one of the livestock pastures to strengthen a few of the fences. Hunith was preparing the evening’s meal and Arthur stood politely in the doorway as he spoke:

“Merlin said that firewood had to be gathered? I can get started on that if you can point me in the right direction.”

Hunith smiles over her shoulder briefly, and Arthur ignores the warm fuzziness in his stomach at the sight as she speaks:

“Oh don’t worry about that, we’ve only one axe in the village and Merlin is out by the barn chopping wood now. I know there’s a leak somewhere in the basement of the village hall, a few of the boys are already down there if you’re looking for something to do?”

Arthur raises his eyebrow at Hunith’s insistence that Merlin, his lanky manservant, was outside with an axe chopping wood, and he glances at Mordred over his shoulder, who just shrugs, nodding to Hunith’s turned back. The King responds quietly, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice:

“Hmm. I’ll go check in with Merlin and then head down to the hall, if he doesn’t need help.”

Hunith hums in agreement, but otherwise doesn’t reply, mumbling under her breath about herbs and measurements as she stirs something into the pot. Arthur smirks at Mordred and the two of them head out, neither mentioning how Mordred was following Arthur to find Merlin instead of getting to the fences.

They walk in silence, though they both freeze on the spot when they turn a corner to see Merlin, once again with his sleeves rolled up, hefting around a huge lump of wood, a ginormous axe resting on his shoulder. He gets the wood where he wants it, stepping back and wiping his forearm across his sweaty forehead before lifting the axe and swinging it down again. The stump splits easily beneath the sharpened metal, and Merlin wastes no time in repositioning the new pieces of wood, ready to be chopped again.

Arthur doesn’t even realise his mouth is hanging open until Mordred looks at him and smirks, biting his lip before giving in and snorting quietly:

“You’re the colour of our capes, Sire, and you might want to shut your mouth. Don’t want to catch flies, do you?”

Arthur’s jaw snaps shut with a clack, and he frowns as his teeth begin to ache. Mordred chuckles slightly and though Arthur is grateful that the young knight is finally comfortable enough to joke around with him, he desperately wishes he wasn’t at Gwaine’s level of comfort.

Instead of retorting, Arthur just clears his throat and turns around, striding towards the village hall:

“It appears he’s got things handled. Those fences won’t fix themselves, Sir Mordred.”

Mordred only just manages to hold in his giggle, looking up to see Merlin staring confusedly at him and Arthur’s rapidly retreating back. He waves briefly, sending a quick “I’ll tell you later.” over their mental link before turning himself and heading in the direction of the pastures.

He knows full well that he has no intention of telling Merlin about Arthur’s crush; watching them tiptoe around each other was the funniest thing ever, and he didn’t want to ruin the bet that Gwaine had going.

+1)

The fight was vicious, more so than any of the skirmishes the knights had dealt with in the last several months.

They were vastly outnumbered, and the addition of four powerful sorcerers to the enemy ranks meant that Merlin and Mordred were quickly running out of energy, having to focus on both the magical aspect of the fight, and trying to keep everyone else alive.

The metallic scent of blood was almost overwhelming, and the constant clang of metal on metal mixed with the whooshing echoes of sorcerous fire and vines was deafening. The fight went on a lot longer than Merlin had thought it would; the enemy was clearly more skilled than predicted, but the Camelot knights did prevail eventually, Percival ending the fight with the smooth slice of his blade across the last mercenary’s throat.

Merlin wastes no time in running his gaze over the knights, giving special attention to Arthur as he searches for any injuries that need seeing to immediately. The last of the sorcerers had managed to escape, so they needed to get out of there as soon as possible: there’s no way they’d survive a second attack if he came back with reinforcements.

Merlin was relieved to see nothing too serious; Lancelot had a gash on his temple that would need a thorough cleaning and a few stitches, and Gwaine was holding his wrist to his chest in a way that told Merlin it was likely broken, but everyone was on their feet and no one was crying. That’s a good start.

Merlin relaxes, but his shoulders quickly tense again as Mordred’s voice echoes weakly through his head:

“Emrys... I’m... I’m tired...”

Merlin whips around quickly, his eyes wide and panicked as his frantic gaze lands on the young knight. He’s leaning against a tree, his eyes hooded and focused on the floor. Merlin leaps towards him, catching him just before his head lands harshly on a boulder, and pulling the collapsed younger man into a more comfortable position as Arthur rushes over:

“What’s wrong with him? I don’t see any blood, was he hit with magic?”

Merlin waves him off, checking Mordred’s pulse and breathing before he relaxes again, sending a tired, but relieved smile up to The King:

“He’s fine, just exhausted. This is the first time he’s used this much magic in years, he’ll need a little while to recover his strength, but we need to get out of here in case they come back.”

Arthur lets out a relieved sigh and nods, leaning down to take one of Mordred’s arms and waving Gwaine over to pick his legs up, but before either of them get even close, Merlin stands up, dragging Mordred with him and settling the armoured knight across his shoulders. He looks to Arthur next to him, not seeming to notice The King’s shock as he quickly says:

“I know you’re The King and all, but would you mind carrying my bag?”

Arthur nods dumbly, picking up Merlin’s dropped medical bag without taking his gaze off the Warlock, who wanders around double checking that the other knights were ok and that all the bandits were dead as if he didn’t have about 240 pounds of man and armour dangling from his shoulders.

Leon catches Arthur’s eye, nodding pointedly towards the path they needed to take, trying to pull Arthur back into the present before the others notice him gawping. Arthur gulps, blushing as he nods his thanks and moves away from the battlefield, Merlin’s bag secured on his shoulders as he confidently speaks:

“Merlin’s right, we need to get as far away from here as we can. I saw a cave about two hours’ back North, we can make camp there before heading back to Camelot in the morning. Gather as much as you can carry, we’ve no hope of finding the horses before nightfall, hopefully they can make their own way home.”

The knights all nod, following Arthur’s lead as he steps carefully through the underbrush, trying not leave any obvious pointers to their direction. He keeps his gaze resolutely ahead as he hears Percival ask:

“You alright, Merlin? Sure you don’t want a hand?”

Despite keeping his gaze stubbornly forward, Arthur strains his ears to hear Merlin’s response, refusing to acknowledge the sudden weakness in his knees at what the Warlock replies with:

“Nah, it’s fine, he’s not that heavy.”

Leon subtly sidles up to walk next to The King, glancing behind him before leaning in close, talking quietly as they moved:

“Perhaps you should... let him know of you affections, Sire?”

Arthur’s blushing gaze quickly finds the older knight’s before he looks away again:

“I don’t know what you think you’re implying, Sir Leon.”

Leon just raises his eyebrow in an unusual display of amused defiance:

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Arthur. He’s been by your side for ten years, you’ve been through the unspeakable, both with each other and for each other. That, and he has a surprisingly... admirable physique.-”

Arthur’s blush deepens and he clears his throat, crossing his arms petulantly and staring resolutely ahead. Leon puts a hand on The young King’s shoulder as he continues:

“-You’re...-”

The knight sighs and bites his lip again, debating with himself over whether he should say it or not:

“-you’re head over heels for him, Sire, perhaps it’s time to do something about it? Gods know he feels the same, and the Gods also know that he’ll never make the first move. He’s still... nervous, about messing things up, I think. His-”

Leon glances over his shoulder again to make sure no one could hear him before dropping his voice to a whisper:

“-his magic being outed put him... on edge, even after all these months. He won’t do anything that he think could push you away or anger you.”

Arthur sighs and nods, before turning to him slowly with an embarrassed scowl on his face; he doesn’t shrug off Leon’s hand, which the knight takes as a good sign:

“Not a word to anyone, Leon, I swear to the Gods.”

Leon holds his hand up and uses his other to wave a cross over his heart:

“I swear, Sire. Though I feel the need to tell you that... at least three of the other servants, and I do believe Lady Bronwyn and Sir Galahad, also have... uh... their eyes on him, as it were.”

Arthur’s scowl gets impossibly deeper as he huffs, muttering to himself:

“They do, do they? Well, we’ll see about that.”

Leon just smirks again and rolls his eyes fondly before falling back to walk with Elyan.

~

They finally make it back to the cave, though it took them even longer without horses. Merlin had requested they stop around a candle mark in so he could remove some of the heavier bits of Mordred’s armour, passing them off to the other knights, but he had once again rejected any offers of help, saying that he was slowly siphoning his own magic into Mordred so he would wake sooner. Apparently they needed to be touching for that to happen, and though Merlin had been teaching them, none of them had enough knowledge on magic to know whether that was true or not, but they did know that Merlin was incredibly protective of the young Druid, so they let it be.

A fire was lit quickly and supplies were laid out. A map had been saved, thankfully, so they could figure out roughly where they were and how long it would take them to get back home as Merlin quickly treated Lance’s gash and Gwaine’s wrist.

Mordred begins to stir just as Percival serves up food, groaning slightly and rubbing at his eyes before struggling to sit himself up. Merlin had rushed to his side as soon as he felt the Druid begin to wake, and helps prop him up against the cave wall, handing him a water-skin as he stares at him with concern. Mordred takes a long drink, nodding his thanks and clearing his throat before speaking, his voice gravelly and slow:

“This... this is the cave we passed a few hours ago...”

His voice trails off, and Arthur answers the question in his tone:

“Hmm. We had no horses, so we were never going to make it back to the city, but we couldn’t stay where we were.”

Mordred nods, yawning widely and rubbing his eyes again as he asks:

“How did you get me this far without horses?”

Arthur clenches his jaw, blushing slightly as he looks away, but thankfully Gwaine butts in, answering with a grin on his face before anyone notices The King’s flush:

“Merlin here is stronger than he looks. Carried you the whole way, didn’t use magic or anything.”

Mordred turns his incredulous gaze to Merlin and he just shrugs absentmindedly:

“You don’t weigh that much, it was fairly easy.”

Elyan laughs and shakes his head, joining in on the conversation quickly:

“Are you kidding me? I mean... sure, I could’ve carried him for maybe an hour, if I was at full strength and it was easy terrain. You carried him for three, only took his armour off in the second hour, down what could barely be classified as a path, in a barely tamed forest, after a pretty hefty fight. That’s... impressive.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, looking around the room in bafflement as he realises that everyone is staring at him with varying levels of impressed confusion:

“You guys... you guys know that I grew up in the country, right? I spent my childhood climbing trees and running away from predators, and my teenage years chopping wood, building things with barely any help, and fighting the odd bear. I then arrive in Camelot, only to immediately be given a job that involves carrying a shit ton of heavy stuff, including, but not limited to: armour, luggage, hunting equipment, and the occasional unconscious idiot.”

Arthur sits up straight and scowls slightly when Merlin gestures to him instead of Mordred:

“You have never had to carry me anywhere.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, gaze sinking to the floor as he smirks and coughs out something that sounds suspiciously like “Sophia”.

Arthur’s blush deepens and he jabs an accusing finger in Merlin’s direction:

“That. Didn’t. Happen.”

Merlin bites his lip to stop himself from laughing, but his dimples still show through despite his best effort and he holds his hands up in surrender:

“Whatever you say, Sire.”

Arthur just clenches his jaw and sits back against the wall with eyes focused on his food and cheeks red, stubbornly ignoring the knights’ curious stares as everyone eats their food. Merlin fusses over Mordred for a few more minutes but is quickly waved away by the younger man; the Warlock huffs and rolls his eyes, but gives in to the fact that Mordred did not need, nor want, to be babied. He moves subtly around the cave to sit down next to Arthur, barely a foot of air between them despite the abundance of space elsewhere.

Arthur forces his blush down at Merlin’s proximity, refusing to think of anything but his food and the difficult journey home, desperately keeping his gaze on his meal instead of Merlin’s strong legs stretched out next to him.

The King doesn’t acknowledge him, but doesn’t move away either, which Merlin takes as a good sign as he settles in, wrapping himself in a blanket to protect his body from the impending cold.

The other knights have long since finished their meals, scarping the lot in a matter of seconds in an attempt to gain back a little energy after the hours of riding and fighting and walking; they quickly settle into the blankets and cloaks and bedrolls they had managed to carry, though Leon seems to deliberately move slower, waiting for Arthur to glance up at him so he can give a pointed look to Merlin, just finishing his food, before laying down and attempting to sleep.

Arthur blushes with wide eyes, but Leon turns around before he has time to glare at him, and The King huffs quietly, risking a glance to a shivering Merlin next to him. He quickly frowns, not moving his gaze away like he had intended to, instead whispering softly:

“Cold? Can’t you use magic to warm up?”

Merlin looks to him tiredly, leaning his head back against the wall as his eyelids droop slightly:

“Hmm. I gave most of my reserves to Mordred, he was worse off than I first thought so he needed a lot more magic than I realised to keep him alive long enough for his energy to build up again.-”

Arthur widens his eyes at the fact that he was so close to losing one of his knights, but then shakes his head, huffing as he glares at the Warlock disapprovingly, but Merlin closes his eyes and continues before he can get told off:

“-I’ll be fine by morning, I just need-”

He’s interrupted when his body is wracked by a particularly strong shiver:

“-I just need some sleep.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, shuffling into a more comfortable position before opening his arms, spreading his cloak wide as if they were a pair of majestic wings:

“Come here, you idiot. I can’t have you freezing to death because you refuse to look after yourself.”

In normal circumstance Merlin would’ve argued, but he really was cold, so when he cracks his eyes open to see Arthur ready and waiting, he doesn’t hesitate to crawl hurriedly over. Arthur ignores the flush rising on his cheeks as Merlin clambers over one of his legs, settling between them and shoving his head under the blonde’s chin; he wraps his cloak around the two of them and rubs his cheek into the Warlock’s soft hair. 

He can feel Merlin grin against his collarbone, and it’s enough to distract him from the surprising, but not unwelcome, weight of Merlin’s muscled form against his chest:

“You know, Arthur, if you wanted to feel up my muscles so badly you just had to ask. You stare far too often to think you’re subtle.”

Arthur’s flush deepens and his body goes rigid as Merlin giggles. He clenches his jaw and lands a punch, far softer than he would normally go for, on the other man’s shoulder, but that just makes him giggle harder, and Arthur has to hush him in fear of waking the others. Merlin looks up at him through thick eyelashes, blinking tiredly with a satisfied smile on his face:

“Just let me know if you ever want carrying around, I’m more than happy to help.”

Arthur gulps, refusing to make eye contact as he stares resolutely at the opposite wall and not acknowledging the red hue of his cheeks:

“When we get back to Camelot, I’m hanging you for treason.”

Merlin snorts quietly, re-burying his face in Arthur’s chest and curling up tightly in his lap to stave off the cold:

“Whatever you say, Sire.”

Arthur gives in, smiling slightly and rolling his eyes as he tightens his hold on the other man. He lets his cheek fall back to rest on his soft hair as he closes his eyes, allowing his exhaustion to take over and descending into an easy sleep.

~

THE END!!

We stan Arthur gay panicking and all the knights (bar Leon of course, who handles it as tactically as he’s able) ruthlessly taking the piss :D

I hope y’all enjoyed reading this, I certainly enjoyed writing it! Thank you anon, I loved writing this!!!

Same as always, someone wants to write it up in full, go for it!! Drop me a message and credit/tag me :)

[thatgrainfellow]

desert duo role swap au(in which grian is the cold blooded red and scar is his bumbling, prone to death squire who somehow still hasn’t died)

-scar is the one to blow grian up, he was trying to hit the creeper and knocked it right into grian

-scar is the one to pledge his life to grian, also out of guilt. grian only accepts because a life debt is useful sometimes, especially in a death game like third life

-they live out of grian’s hobbit hole for a bit, while they’re both yellow and green and maybe they can have a little bit of peace

-scar still goes around and tried to sell meaningless pieces of paper to others and grian still guards the hobbit hole now with the threat that he can go red at anytime

-but then grian falls while trying to push scar away from a ravine and he’s red. red now

-somehow, scar manages to convince grian to up and move their entire base of operations to the desert because that would be a sound financial decision and we can have a monopoly, grian. think of all the sand we could sell.

-the desert is hot and uncomfortable for grian, but seeing that damned smile of scar’s while he (unsuccessfully) tries to chase and nab a rabbit makes it all worth it. and—since when did scar’s smile start to make grian go so soft?

-then grian gets bloodthirsty and ropes scar into his plan of blowing up dogwarts. it’s a sound idea and scar agrees.

-scar is still the one to distract ren and martyn and grian is still the one to rig up the tnt and everything works(well except for the part that it didn’t go off at first) but they got a triple kill. they got a triple kill, grian

-and scar is so caught up in his excitement that he swoops grian up and hugs him. grian is too in shock to push him away but when he does come to, he realizes he doesn’t really mind, at least not when it’s scar.

-on a short lapse of common sense, scar steals dogwart’s banner and the red king declares war on monopoly mountain but scar declares war right back and says that they can take them easily. because of course he can when he has grian, his netherite sword and an armload of tnt. (grian thinks they can’t, but who is he to object)

-so they start preparing for the battle ahead. scar builds a bunker, grian rigs the tnt traps and, somehow, scar manages to rope an ally into this mess: jimmy and scott

-then the battle starts and everything is going too fast for grian to process. he stays in the bunker and scar is the one to go outside and die. and now he’s on his yellow life, jimmy’s dead too, but oh god scar is on yellow now, and grian is so scared of losing him

-but scar stays, saying that he’s in too deep to ever leave now

-they take a day to rest and then it’s the final battle with dogwarts, scar says that this is were they show they’re true allegiance—to each other, and each other only—and grian can’t find it in himself to say no

-battle is won, the red king is dead and his blood is on grian’s hands, but the only thing he cares about is scar’s cheers, they’d won

-and then they’re the only three left, grian throws a no kill pass on the ground and hopes that it is scar that picks it up but it isn’t and now he has to kill scar

-GoodTimeWithScar was slain by Grian

-scar is so so angry and he’s been betrayed and it was grian who—

-scar was coming back, grian knew it. he has a plan

-they’re standing waist deep in the pond and he can’t bring himself to kill scar but scar can’t either, and he doesn’t deserve this forgiveness. what he wants, more than anything, is to have a life with scar where they don’t have to kill or maim or obey the the rules of whatever cruel god’s realm this is. is that so much to ask

-the ghosts want a fight and that’s what they’ll get

-they’re throwing sorrys and punches aimed at eyes and noses and where it needs to hurt. scar throws a feint and grian sees it because he knows scar’s fighting style so well.

-midway through the fight, he realizes that there’s a way they can still win this, together. so maybe his punches have a little less power and he dodges a little half-heartedly. and maybe scar is the to beat grian to death this time and he doesn’t mind because scar is the one to win and he can live

-scar jumps off the cliff

[mercy-burning]

Your Favorite — Part 1

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: When Y/N comes home from college for the summer to meet her mom's new boyfriend, she finds herself in a rather tough spot when she can’t stop thinking about him— And it seems he feels the same... Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Adults w/ age gap, masturbation (female and male), minor exhibitionism kink, oral sex (male receiving), penetrative sex, breeding kink (kinda? i think? 😅) Word Count: 7.3k (do you see now why I had to make it a miniseries? alsdjfdk)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | MASTERLIST

DISCLAIMER: In this story, Spencer is dating Y/N’s mom while also having a sexual relationship with the reader herself. Because of that, there are obvious undertones of cheating, alongside some perv-y tendencies when it comes to a partner’s daughter. That being said, Spencer and Y/N’s relationship is consensual. However— If any of what I just forewarned is something that you think will make you uncomfortable while reading, please do not read! If there are any more disclaimers you think I may have missed, don’t hesitate to tell me! There is another post I made HERE with some disclaimers as well if you want to know more about what this story will entail.

NOTE: This intro is already too long, so I’ll just get this out of the way: you can find visual nsfw inspirations for this story over at @mercy-midnight, I’m working on a playlist for this story on my Spotify @/mercyburning, and I don’t know when part 2 and 3 will be out, but you can assume they’ll be here within the next few weeks.

———

JUNE 5th

I hate my mom's new boyfriend.

For the past three months she'd been telling me about this new guy who's "The One" as if "The One" hasn't been like four other guys in the past two years.

And as much as I'd love for my mom to find someone to spend the rest of her life with, I don't believe she'd ever find Mr. Perfect at this rate. Unless she spent more than a few months with them at a time before dragging me home from college for a weekend to meet them, I really don't see it happening.

It just sucks. Because every time she does this, every time I return home, I see the glimmering hope in her eyes and the diminishing spark in his, and I know. I know it won't last, and her heart will be utterly broken within the span of a few months.

I always thought maybe she just had terrible taste in men.

But this time around, when I begrudgingly walk through the door of my childhood home for the summer and see my mother clinging to a man who returns that glimmer in her eyes, I know she's picked a good one.

And I hate him.

His name is Spencer Reid, and he's a retired FBI agent who teaches full time at local colleges now.

He greets me with a bona fide, radiant smile, unlike all the others before, and it sets my insides on fire. And when we sit down for dinner, he's polite (but not in a fake way,) and he seems genuinely curious about my studies and my personality and my relationship with my mother. And when dinner is finished he offers to clean up while Mom and I settle in the living room.

I see the way he looks at me as I leave, a gentle, closed-mouth smile and eyes that linger a little too long on my exposed legs before averting, a glint of shame pooling within them, and it only spreads that fire in my belly.

Maybe I'd been imagining the whole thing, because deep down I wanted him to look at me the way he had... But it's hard to tell when my brain is mostly setting off sirens, blaring "THIS IS WRONG! THIS IS WRONG!" on a loop with blinding lights.

And they're even louder when my mom wraps her arm around me and lays her head atop mine. "Well, what do you think? He's great, huh?"

She's so lovesick, it hurts. It hurts even worse knowing that all I can think about is his big hands wrapped around my throat while he fucks me into the squeaky twin-sized mattress in my bedroom upstairs.

But I can't tell her that, obviously.

And so I decidedly hate him. And I have no choice but lie to her face, embracing her joy and hoping that I'll be able to survive this summer.

"Yeah, Mom. He's really great."

JUNE 19th

It's been two weeks and I can barely stand to be in the same house anymore.

I try to keep myself busy by going outside, to the beach or for long walks in the park; but it's too hot for my liking, and our town is so small that unless I want to spend my time in the grocery store or one of the three bars on Main Street...

I'm stuck either outside where it's hot and uncomfortable, or in the house where it's also hot and uncomfortable.

We have air conditioning, of course, but that's not the problem.

It's Spencer.

I thought by now my little crush on him would have gone, but the longer he hangs around the house, the stronger my feelings for him grow. They're not romantic—nor do I think they ever could be given the fact that if anything serious really were to ever happen between us, my mom would disown me for the rest of my life and murder Spencer with her bare hands—but that doesn't make it any easier on me.

Every day he just exists, right in front of me with that tug-able mop of hair, those warm honey eyes, and his hands that never stop moving. I swear, it's like every time he breathes, his hands are breathing too, challenging me to try and stop them.

But I refuse to touch him. Because I know the moment I do, all will be lost. I won't be able to control myself anymore. And if I don't drop to my knees and try sucking his dick at the dinner table, I'm sure I'll blurt out how I can't handle it anymore and that I need him, and either way I'd be royally fucked.

Right now he's in the dining room, teaching my mom how to do a disappearing card trick. She thinks it's utterly charming that he can do it at all, but mostly that he's patient and willing enough to teach her. And normally I'd agree, but I can barely look at them without wanting to waltz over, grab his wrist, and suck his fingers into my mouth.

It's truly pathetic.

So I try to focus on the television just a few feet away. It's one of those rare instances where I wish our house was bigger, because while I don't mind having less wall-space between rooms, I do mind not being able to watch TV without the kitchen table in my periphery at a time like this. And I think about going up to my bedroom instead for a moment, but I'd have to go past the kitchen, and I just know Mom is going to ask if I'd want Spencer to teach me his magic trick.

And I most definitely do not want that.

In another life, maybe, where he isn't a hot professor and rather an average-looking dude who's way too into fantasy football... But not in this lifetime.

So there I sit, concentrating so hard on Family Feud that my face hurts.

When I hear a flutter of cards and joyous giggling from the other room, it's more than my face that hurts.

It's also my chest, churning and tensing at the hands of the green devil.

Fuck!

I barely even know this man... I haven't really talked to him because I'm afraid that if I try to hold a conversation I'll snap. He's literally just some hot older guy who's dating my mom, and still, my whole body twists and aches with envy when they do anything together, and it fucking sucks. Not only because of the jealousy, but it's also the fact that my mom deserves to be happy.

This time it's different. This time, she's really found someone who returns her every loving gaze, who makes her laugh, who's kind and genuine and not a total douche. She's happier than I've seen her in years.

And the one time she finally finds "The One", every waking second of my life is spent longing for him fuck me.

But it's only been two weeks.

And it's also been nearly two years since I got laid, so maybe that's just my issue...

I figure it can't hurt, so in a spur of the moment decision, I turn the TV off and sprint towards the stairs, right past Mom and Spencer before they can ask questions.

———

I hardly even register the dimness of the light inside the house by the time I glide up the steps, fumbling with the key and trying to make my entrance as quiet as possible. Though, because I'm so used to the dark by this point, the light—no matter how dim—nearly blinds me. The door shuts louder than I'd have liked, and I cringe inwardly, pausing as if that will keep anyone from seeing or hearing me. Not like it'll matter, considering Mom and Spencer are the only ones that are staying here and they'd also been the only ones aware of my plans for the evening.

Well, somewhat, anyway. I told them an old friend invited me out and I probably wouldn't be home until late.

Regardless, that instinct of trying not to get caught coming in late at night is stronger than common sense. Throw a little cheap beer and some shots into the mix, and it almost feels like I'm a teenager again.

The only thing different now is that I have a pool of some stranger's cum soaking my underwear and a man in front of me who stands like an angel. An exhausted, almost scruffy-looking angel more like, but my point still stands.

"You're up late," Spencer observes. It's a simple enough statement— not really judge-y, but I can tell that regardless of his knowledge of my coming home late, he seems shocked to see me coming through the front door right now.

And it's hard to look away from him. Just like it has been for the past two weeks. Still, I try, just barely avoiding his eyes as I cross my arms and fight the urge to clench my legs together. "I'm a whore. What's your excuse?"

Maybe not the best thing to say. But like I said, common sense? Gone.

"O—oh... Umm..." Spencer stumbles through his words, obviously stunned by my response, and the look in his eyes kind of makes me want to curl up in a ball and die from embarrassment. Still, I stand my ground and wait for him to continue.

He settles on a short, "I can't sleep," and then there's nothing else.

"Ah," I express. One syllable. I don't draw it out, I don't exaggerate it... This is the first real conversation I've had alone with him, and I've made it extremely awkward, so I sigh and take a few steps forward, trying to walk past him. "Okay. Goodnight."

I only make it a few steps before he stops me, his hand reaching out to tap my shoulder. "Wait—"

The touch makes me jump, and he pulls it away immediately as I turn to face him. My heart is racing at the speed of light, my panties are soaked through, and if I'm not careful that whole 'no common sense' thing is going to bite me so hard in the ass I won't have one left.

"Can I talk to you?" His voice is barely audible, and the gentle rasp it has to it seems to make me even more wet.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

"Look, I um... Your mom has been totally transparent with me about her relationships, so I know that she's been through a lot of them in a short amount of time... And I know that must be a little difficult for you. Especially now that I'm here... And you've been... distant. And I know that I don't know you that well, so forgive me if I'm assuming anything, but I just want you to know that I don't have any intention of making things difficult for you and your mother."

Too late, pal, I think bitterly, the gentle authority in his tone setting my insides alight. I'm positive that voice could get me to do so many things...

That's the alcohol and sex talking, Y/N, just shake it and move on...

He starts again, but I cut him off with a short wave of my hand. "Look, I... I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I had a really long night, and I'm exhausted. I just wanna shower and go to bed."

I expect more resistance, but Spencer only nods. I still can't bring myself to look him in the eye, though this time I catch his hands clenching at the bottom hem of his shirt. "I understand. Sleep well."

Without another word I turn on my heel and walk a little faster towards the stairs, and I'm about to take my first step when I realize he's followed me. His voice calls out my name softly from a few feet behind, and it stops me in my tracks regardless of my desire to get out of there as fast as I can. And then I turn around and finally look directly at his face.

Big mistake.

His eyes are on my legs again, trailing slowly upwards until he reaches my face. The light over here is dimmer, barely noticeable at all, though I swear I can see red forming on his cheeks.

"I like your dress," he says softly. It's almost meek, like he'd been afraid to say it but took a chance anyway.

It's such a random, small compliment, but with the alcohol and endorphins flowing through my body after the night I'd just had, it nearly makes me quiver.

It also makes me incredibly stupid.

An amused, almost sensual grin forms on my face as I make eye contact with him, and I feel myself throb at the way I can just barely see his throat move. He looks like a deer in headlights, afraid to make one sudden move.

"Turning to flattery to try and win me over, are we?" I say slowly.

I almost think he'll stumble over his words once more, but again he surprises me with a full answer. It's only three words but it's clear, and his voice is deep, and I want to fucking jump his bones right then and there.

"Is it working?"

This has to be the alcohol making me imagine things... I swear I didn't even drink that much tonight, but it has to be an obvious lapse in judgement. The drinking mixed with the sex mixed with the dirty thoughts I've been having about this man lately have to be what's making this feel real. It's all culminating into this one big fantasy (or delusion, more like), and all I need is to shower and sleep it off.

That has to be it.

So because there's no other reasonable explanation that my brain can conjure up, I take a chance and throw Spencer a wink before turning and sprinting up the stairs.

And it's that same seemingly undeniable reasoning for this illusion that doesn't keep my hands from wandering in the shower. Even though those warning sirens in my brain keep blaring, telling me that the common sense is still there for me to utilize, they're drowned out by my thrumming heartbeat and the repetition of Spencer's soothing, authoritative voice, guiding my movements.

Keep rubbing your clit for me, baby... Just like that, nice and slow...

Warm water cascades down the front of my body as I lean back into the wall of the shower, but that's not why I'm so warm. This heat radiates through my insides, spreading like wildfire and bringing out small whimpers and mewls that I know I'll have to contain in fear of waking my mom from her bedroom right next door.

But then the thought of her hearing me next door as I cry out her boyfriend's name only excites me more. I keep it quiet still, but just knowing that someone else is in the house while I'm having these thoughts right now (one of them being the object of said thoughts) is what finally brings me over the edge.

I finish my shower on weak legs, definitely overstimulated now, but also feeling even more tired. I know that the moment I lay down on my bed, I'll be pulled into the sweet, soft surrender of a deep sleep.

Nothing else has ever sounded so pleasant.

———

When I woke up that morning after, I was feeling surprisingly calm. Realistically I knew that my whole 'this has to be an illusion' montage had been less truth and more inebriated babble, and the longer I sat on it the more I thought it'd all turned out for the better.

Turns out, tipsily masturbating in the shower to thoughts of your mom's hot new boyfriend was a surefire way to get it out of your system, right?

Wrong.

It really had been okay at first. I thought about Spencer almost immediately, and yeah, he was still hot as fuck—But there wasn't this overwhelming desire within me to jump his bones when I saw him that morning, his hair messy and his hands clutching a cup of coffee while Mom made breakfast behind him.

But that good feeling I had about all of this? It lasts only about a split second.

Because the moment he looks up and sees me, the mug falls out of his hand and shatters to pieces. His eyes stay glued to me, even as my mother darts over to pick up the pieces of the ceramic that are scattered about the table and the floor. And when she turns back to grab a paper towel, he still stares at me, once again at my legs.

It takes me all of four seconds afterwards to remember that not only did I talk to him briefly last night, but I also flirted with him after he complimented me.

That whole part seemed to have slipped my mind when waking up, and now that his gaze is bringing me back to that moment, that 'this has to be an illusion' montage is starting to become larger than I'd remembered.

It isn't until he finally snaps out of it and starts to help my mom clean up the mess that I snap out of it, too, going back upstairs to clear my head and cool the heat radiating over my skin.

———

There's a knock at my bedroom door about an hour later, and it sounds different than my mom's usually quick two-knock succession. That means it's someone else, and unsurprisingly, my stomach tightens at the thought of seeing him again.

"Yeah?" I call out, turning in my desk chair and meeting Spencer's figure in the doorway. He's changed, a rather nice pair of slacks and a white button-up shirt clinging to his limbs.

"Can I come in?"

"Mhm," I say. I still don't know if I entirely trust myself to say anything more than a few words to him, and as he enters the room and sits on the foot of my bed, I wonder if he can tell.

He tries, really tries, to look me in the eye, but I know that it's hard. I've been in the same spot. And then he takes a deep breath before folding his hands in his lap.

"Y/N, I want to apologize... When we... talked last night... It was kind of weird, and then this morning wasn't really any better..." He can barely get out the words 'talk' and 'last night'... And then he avoids my gaze altogether, staring at the floor and trailing off, trying to put his thoughts together it seems.

And that's when it starts to click into place.

There's one thing that both last night and this morning have in common, and I've noticed it almost every time I've caught him staring at me. At my legs. It's happened almost daily since I've met him. And then, the night I come home clearly having just been fucked, waltzing past him, entertaining his fascination with my legs and then masturbating to thoughts of him in the shower, he finally starts dropping mugs.

He must also really feel something here. Something similar to my own feelings. And really, that should be a red flag, because he's my mom's boyfriend, and it's a goddamned fucking mess...

But fuck, it excites me.

I'm still wearing my pajama shorts, silky and lavender in color, and I use them to my advantage, slowly crossing one leg over the other and just barely gaining Spencer's attention back.

"Yeah, what was that, anyway?" I ask him, amusement dripping off my tongue.

I can tell from his reaction that he wasn't expecting me to ask. A few times he opens his mouth to speak and then closes it , stumbling before panicking. He's been pretty good so far at coming up with answers and explanations, so the fact that this time I finally seemed to have broken him down makes it all the more clear.

He must have heard me in the shower.

Right?

I'm almost completely positive that's what this is about. And there's one way for me to get the confirmation I'm looking for.

"So you heard me, huh?"

I try to keep my voice as plain as I can as not to give away my motives, and with my luck Spencer is so flustered that he probably wouldn't have even noticed it at all. He looks up at me, his eyes desperately trying to find something he can use to make up a lie, but in the end there's no use.

I've caught him. And he knows it.

"Yes," he whispers. He looks exhausted, guilty, and also a little like he wants to cross the barrier and kiss me.

Okay, maybe that part's just in my head. I really can't tell. But I do know that hearing me call his name out in the shower last night is what brought him to this point of severe distress. As much as that excites me, though, it also embarrasses me a little. Maybe if it hadn't happened we could have avoided further destruction.

It must read on my face, because Spencer perks a little. "Oh! Y/N, I'm not... I'm not mad or anything. I really didn't mean to overhear and invade your privacy... Really, I-I'm sorry."

The fact that he's apologizing to me right now, rather than acting all grossed out that I even did it in the first place, tells me he either feels guilty for not being able to help himself from hearing me, or he's just a good guy who loves my mom and doesn't want to ruin it because of a little mishap.

Either way, it's frustrating, because I don't know what to do.

Well, I know what I want to do, but I don't know if I should hint at it.

But then he does something. It's small, and no one would have noticed, but I've been fascinated with his hands since the moment I met him, so my eyes are instantly drawn there.

They're clenched so hard, his knuckles are nearly white.

He's nervous.

To ease his mind a bit, I hold off on poking the bear harder (though it's really tempting to see what will happen if I don't) and nod, trying to make myself look as apologetic and small as possible.

"It's okay... I... I won't make it awkward if you won't?"

His shoulders slump, and his body seems to relax. "Y–yeah. Yeah, deal."

He gets up off the bed and blurts one final apology before heading for the door, but that part of me that wants to poke the bear further makes me stand up and follow him.

"Spencer?" I call out.

He freezes and turns to face me, and I don't think he quite expected me to be as close as I am. I have to tilt my head up to look at him, and the angle gives me an added layer of this innocence I'm trying to achieve.

"I'm sorry, too..."

No the fuck I'm not.

Whether he can sense my lie or not, he doesn't show it. But I think he at least knows that I'm pitching my voice a little higher on purpose, and if that doesn't give it away, the way I'm staring at him sure should.

Still, he only nods and retreats.

All there's left to do is see what happens.

JUNE 25th

For someone who agreed not to make things awkward, Spencer sure can't keep his eyes off of me.

To be fair, I have tried to keep things fairly normal. I only really interacted with him if I had to, I kept my distance, and I saved my skimpier clothing for the strangers I was regularly going out to see almost every weekend.

My lustful feelings for him aren't as strong now that I've been getting some on a semi-regular basis and keeping myself occupied. I've been doing my part.

But I still can't shake him entirely.

Whenever he spends the night (which is surprisingly most nights), the occasional wet dream about him gets me frustrated when I know he's just down the hall and sleeping soundly next to my mom. On those days I try to cut as much interaction with him as I can, though it doesn't keep me from seeing the occasional stare he throws my way.

I wish I could say that I hate it.

But I don't, and it increasingly gets worse. It's only been a week, so there's still time, but honestly, I don't think there's any shaking him.

Today especially is one of those days where it's hard not to give into the incessant need to tease him and coax some stronger reaction out of him.

I talked to Mom earlier this morning about getting some new clothes, and she had this brilliant idea to have Spencer take me. "It would be a good chance for you two to bond a little, don't you think?" she insisted, nudging him in the side and silently pleading with her eyes for him to agree.

I could tell from the look on his face that he really wasn't ready to be alone with me again, but that only excited me.

"Yeah, I think that's a great idea," I piped up, positively beaming.

Mom was so excited for us to 'bond' and also that I was gladly inclined to go through with it that Spencer couldn't have said no to her even if he wanted to.

And I was pretty sure he didn't want to.

Yet here we are, sitting in the car, the air conditioning so strong it's blowing some of my hair into my eyes. I think it had been his way of punishing me for choosing today to wear a short skirt, something I usually refrain from nowadays unless I'm going out, and it makes me smile. I can't help it.

I also can't help the way my fingers play with my skirt, dying to tease him some more. I just want to see, to know for sure that I'm driving him mad.

"No offence, but you seem weird today... Is there something wrong?" I ask him, lifting my skirt just a smidge. The air from the car blows the fabric in waves.

"You're acting this way on purpose."

Well, I hadn't been expecting that answer... All this time he'd hardly been confrontative, and now he's full-on calling me out. It's plain to see that he's finally snapped, and I would have felt sorry about it if I didn't find it extremely sexy.

"What do you mean?"

"Y/N..."

My name on his lips is a warning. He's clearly annoyed, exasperated, and I'm loving every second. "Don't act oblivious. I'm not stupid, and neither are you. I don't want to make you hate me or anything, but you have to know where I'm coming from. I was willing to let the shower thing slide... And you said you were too, for that matter, so I don't know what's changed, but it has to stop now. Understood?"

Oh, all I want is to argue with him. I want to point out that none of this is really my fault because he's the one who hasn't been able to stop staring at me all summer so far. I want to tell him that if he wants this to stop he has to make it stop.

But that isn't going to give me any of the answers I'm looking for or further proof of my theory that he wants me just as badly as I want him. And I am not going to fuck this whole situation up by making a poorly-timed move on him.

I have to know for sure.

So, I fold my hands neatly in my lap, sigh, and look dead ahead. "Right... We said no awkwardness. I'm sorry."

Spencer seems to accept my apology and continues down the road.

When we make it to the mall I think he's calmed down. At least, he seems a little more comfortable around me, and honestly I'm okay with it. As much as his spiel in the car turned me on, it also exhausted me to the point of silence.

Even as we walk around each store in the mall, I just lead and he follows, not saying a word when I pick out a top or a pair of pants or whatever else I need. And when it comes time to pay, he takes the basket from me and pays for it with no question.

Near five bags of clothes later, I figure I could get used to this new dynamic.

But then we pass a lingerie store, and I remember that the main thing I'd needed was new underwear. I start to turn into the store, but stop suddenly, pausing awkwardly and deciding to go straight ahead instead.

"You don't want to go in?" Spencer asks.

I shake my head. "No, it's fine. I can just pick some up later, it's not a big deal."

He sighs then, nodding his head towards the sign. "If you need to go in, you can... I'll just wait out here if you're uncomfortable."

I really want to call him out, ask him if he's the one who should be worried about being uncomfortable. But so far this afternoon has been pretty decent, and I really don't want to make things any weirder than they have to be.

Besides... If my theory is right...

"Sure. Thanks. Uh, how am I gonna pay, though?"

"O—Oh... I'll uh... I'll just watch the counter and come in when you need me."

"Orrrr, you could just give it to me?"

This time I get a laugh out of him. "Not a chance. Go in, I'll wait."

I smile at him and hand him the bags to hold onto while I leave, and it fills me with absolute amusement that he'd just given me one more ounce of proof that I'm right.

He's gonna have to come inside and pay for what I bought. He could have just given me the card, and maybe he truly doesn't trust me with it (which I don't know why he wouldn't honestly), but he chose to come inside all the same.

I browse happily then, going through the displays and picking out things I need, but also things I know Spencer will like.

Specifically, I stumble on a pair of lavender panties, embroidered with flowery trim up top. The pattern from the outside is lace, but there's a thin layer of cotton underneath designed to be more comfortable to wear.

I've noticed that he can never seem to look away when I'm wearing anything, really, but it's more intense when I wear one of two things. Florals, and any type of purple. And these fit both of those bills perfectly.

Now there's just one more bill to take care of.

I stride over to the counter and turn around, finding that Spencer's caught my eye immediately. Either he truly had been paying attention to the counter the whole time, or he'd been watching through the glass, following me with his gaze to the best of his abilities. Either way, he blinks a few times and looks like he's gathering the courage to go in before actually taking any steps.

I laugh to myself, eager to gauge his reaction to this next step.

Surprisingly, he holds up well. The air between me, him, and the cashier is obviously awkward, but he doesn't say anything and barely looks at what she rings up. (I say barely because he tries extremely hard not to look at the purple pair I picked out, inadvertently adding another checkmark to my list of proof.) She tells him the total, he hands her the card, and within a minute, everything is in our possession and we're leaving the mall entirely.

I don't think there are any more steps to my plan today once we get in the car and I tell him thank you. (To which he responds a short and simple, Sure thing, and turns the radio on.)

But then there's a note taped to the front door, and it instantly gives me another one.

My Sweethearts,

I got called in on a work emergency and won't be back until 7. I would have called but I figured you were having a nice time and didn't want to interrupt! I'll bring home dinner, and then maybe you can tell me about how your day went. Can't wait to hear it!

XOXO,

Eve/Mom

I check my phone, seeing that it's almost 3.

Perfect.

But I don't want to give myself away too quickly, so I thank Spencer again for taking me out and tell him that I'm going upstairs to make sure everything fits right. He nods and lets me go, though not without lingering eyes. I can feel it.

The smile never leaves my face as I try all my clothes on. Once each article has been fitted, I throw it in a laundry basket and move to the next, until I get to the last piece.

The lavender panties.

As expected, they fit perfectly, and as I look at myself in the mirror I picture what Spencer would look like when he sees me wearing them.

That's right. When.

I throw back on my earlier outfit and grab the basket, acting as bored and normal as possible to find him sitting at the kitchen table, reading a book.

"Hey," I greet him, setting the basket in front of me once I reach the bottom of the stairs. "Everything fits good, I just need them washed now. Could you run these down to the laundry room for me? I think I'm gonna make something to snack on before Mom brings dinner."

It doesn't surprise me to see him look at my legs before my face, even if it is brief. I want to smile, but I hold back, watching him nod with a tight smile of his own.

"Sure."

He disappears and then I wait.

One...

Two...

Three.

I sneak as quietly as I can to the laundry room once I hear the washer door open. I hadn't specifically asked him to put them in the washer for me on purpose, and it looks like now he's doing exactly what I thought he might.

My head peeks around the corner, barely in his range of sight as I watch him empty the basket. He takes one item of clothing at a time and throws it in the washer, and halfway through the basket he stops, just to place a pair of my new underwear on the dryer beside him.

My heart races faster the more I wait for him to get to the end of the basket. Once he does, he pauses again, and I think I know exactly what he's looking for.

Still, he sets the basket aside and picks up the stray pair of underwear, a simple black cotton pair that I'd been getting for years, and drapes it over his hands. My thighs instantly clench, and I try so hard to remain where I am so I can see where he takes this.

He takes it straight to hell, apparently, tentatively pulling his dick out of his pants and gripping it firmly. I can barely see since his back is partially turned, but I see enough, and god he's so fucking pretty. My underwear dangle from his left hand while the other works slowly over his erection, a soft sigh falling from his lips.

I fight to let one of my own slip as my hand sinks down the front of my body, past the lavender cotton and lace that I know he just wishes he had right now.

And then, a few seconds later he's already coming, using my brand new underwear to catch each rope of it, and the sight nearly has me on my knees.

And because I want to catch him in the act, I quickly draw my hand away from myself and step into the room, barely giving him time to recover.

"You come fast."

Spencer looks utterly devastated when he turns to see me standing in the entryway to the laundry room, arms crossed and an amused smirk adorning my face.

"Y/N... I—I... I'm so sorry, I didn't... I..."

"Don't worry about it," I say, taking a step towards him and shrugging. "You heard me, and now I heard you... We're even. Besides, I... figured you might be looking for these."

He's still stunned, but he looks down all the same, watching my hands slip under my skirt and glide the lavender panties down my legs. I step out of them and hold the garment up on one finger, a soft smile still on my face.

"I picked 'em out just for you, you know," I tell him, tossing them past his face and into the washer. "I've noticed that you like purple."

This time he's quick to respond. "Y/N, we... We can't... This isn't right."

"Says the man holding my underwear soaked in his cum..."

He looks panicked again, extremely guilty, but if this isn't going to end in a total disaster, then I have to reassure him that I'm okay.

"Spencer, I'm not mad..." I take another step forward, and it feels much like trying to approach a wounded animal. I can see in his eyes and in his posture that this conflict is killing him, so I decide to show some rapport. "And I know... I know this is messy... I love my mom... And I'm sure you care about her a lot... But are we really going to ignore this? We tried that, remember? And now look where we are."

"I..." He swallows, shaking his head and trying to avoid my eyes. "I can't stop thinking about you... I can't..."

My hand finds his arm, and the light touch has him sighing out, an incredulous, breathy laugh escaping him. "Y/N, please... Don't."

"Don't what?" I ask softly, praying he won't turn me away. If he does, we're just back to square one, only the square is jagged, sharper than ever before, and in serious danger of injuring someone.

When he meets my eyes, I see nothing but a desire for something he knows he can't have. "Don't want me."

Now it's my turn to laugh. My knees start to wobble as I go down, keeping my eyes locked onto his, and I swear I see them dilate fully. I scoot in closer, sliding my hand up his leg and finding the words in my heart to finally say out loud.

"It's too late for that..."

My face moves closer, and the hand of his that doesn't currently hold my underwear flies down to gently tug at my hair, keeping me in place.

"If you do this... God, Y/N, I won't be able to stop myself..."

A smirk dances over my lips as I lean in, breath fanning gently over his exposed skin. "Don't."

He swallows. "Don't what?"

"Don't stop yourself."

I barely get the words out before his hand is completely pulling me towards him, and the second my lips press against the silky skin of his hard cock, he loses it completely.

His fingers thread through my hair as I kiss and lick my way softly up to the tip. Once I'm there, I swirl my tongue out and taste the small beads of cum that had remained after he came, a low, satiated hum radiating through my body and making him shiver under my touch.

And then I wrap my lips fully around the head of his dick, and there's no stopping the most beautiful sound I've ever heard come out of his mouth. It's a broken, desperate whisper of my name. The crack in his voice when he says it spurs me forward, and I take him deeper into my mouth until he hits the back of my throat.

That's when he tosses my underwear in the washer and uses both of his hands to grab my head, roughly guiding me along his cock and fully taking control of my actions.

The fire in my belly doesn't ease up, not even once he's decided that he can't take it anymore and pulls me off of him harshly.

And that's only because now he's fully turned over, finally given into these desires that have been plaguing him presumably from the moment we met.

"I want you stripped and in your bed, on your hands and knees within the next five minutes."

I get up off the floor and walk up to him until our bodies are flush, my arms reaching up to wrap around his neck.

"What are you gonna do to me, Spencer?"

He searches my eyes, and his own grow dark with the purest form of sin I'd ever seen. And when his hands come up over the back of my legs, and under my skirt to grab my ass and pull me even closer to him, I can't help the little mewl that slips past my lips.

He smiles, and if it hadn't been for the grip he held on me, I would have fallen to my knees. "Little girl, when I'm through with you, you'll have to come up with some excuse to your mom about why you can't walk straight... Is that what you want?"

The mention of my mom should send me running in the opposite direction, but his threat only prolongs that fire in my veins and makes me want him even more.

I tilt my head up and press a gentle kiss to his lips.

"Do your worst..."

———

Turns out he was very true to his word.

Sitting at the kitchen table is somewhat of a relief, but I try not to walk around as much when Mom gets home. She'd asked me almost immediately if I was okay, and I told her I was just hungry and needed to eat something.

She seemed to have bought it, rushing to the kitchen to unpack the fast food she'd ordered for us. Over her shoulder, Spencer gave me a sly smile, and it took everything I had within myself not to crumble.

Through bites of food, I only half-listen to Mom telling us about the stuff she had to do at work because most of the words I'm hearing are in my head— A loop of endless dirty talk that plants deep into the soil of my stomach and spreads out through my whole body. It infects me, like the most beautiful poison, and I never want it to stop.

"Tell me, sweetheart, you ever let a man come inside you before?"

His weight on top of me coupled together with the heft of his voice has me whining out in pleasure, each snap forward of his hips over my ass as he pounds into me from behind the most delectable burn I've ever felt.

"Uh huh," I answer happily, twisting my head to feel his cheek against my own. "That night you heard me in the shower... I walked through the door with a stranger's cum soaking my panties... And you know what?"

He grumbles, his hips hitting into me harder as he waits for me to continue.

"I wished it was yours..."

My legs clench together under the table and I take a large gulp of water.

I feel something graze over my bare shin, and I already know it's Spencer's foot, a silent reassurance of his presence and that no matter what, he'll always be here.

"Here's what's going to happen..."

He has me on my back now, my legs hoisted over his shoulders and bent back so I'm nearly folded in half. His hips are flush against mine and I can feel his cock throbbing as he comes into the condom.

"You're gonna make an appointment to make sure you're clean... You're gonna make sure you're on good birth control... And then the next time I fuck this pretty little pussy, you're gonna really know what it feels like to have a man come inside you."

Right... Like I really need a reminder of his presence.

I can practically feel it still inside me, taking up every inch of space my body could provide. And no matter how long I go without seeing him, I have no doubt that it'll always remain.

"But that's enough about me, I'm sorry." Mom's voice shifts and breaks me out of my fantasy. "So, how did your day of bonding go? You have fun?"

Spencer and I share a look, a smile spreading over his lips that makes me smile in turn.

"Yeah, Mom," I say. "It was great."

He nods in kind. "Yeah... We'll definitely have to do it again."

His foot grazing over my leg under the table cements the unwavering smile on my face, as does the way my whole body burns at the memory of him fucking me upstairs only hours before.

I don't even flinch or get sick to my stomach when Mom reaches over and gives Spencer a kiss.

———

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[just-another-blog-of-fluff]

A Cozy Evening

Word count: 2800

Warnings: just a sticky sweet little fluff bomb for you all to enjoy 😉

You were all going to have to wait for this til tomorrow but @writingfics-passingtime is just good at striking a deal to get things early so… here it is! A nice bit of fluff to contrast the ruthlessness she’s posting 🙃

This is part 3 to An Embarrassing Secret, as requested by @sweetxnertickle - I hope you enjoy!

Thank you to those who submitted plot ideas! I went from zero ideas to too many ideas, so now it looks like I'm going to have to continue this multi-part fic for a little longer

Read first: Part 1 An Embarrassing Secret, Part 2 A Difficult Question

Movie nights were quite common in the Avengers tower. It was a great way to bond with the team, gathering everyone in the same room for something other than saving the world from certain doom. Sure, the team did other fun group activities together from time to time, but there was just something so cozy and homely about curling up on the couch with a blanket in your pajamas and watching a movie while trying to stay awake.

It was also a great excuse to sit close to Loki.

You were feeling a little extra cozy tonight, putting on your favorite pajama shorts and t-shirt and wrapping yourself in the fluffiest fleece blanket you owned. Thrown around your shoulders, the edge of the blanket just barely grazed the floor as you walked. The fabric was soft as it brushed against the bare skin of your calves.

Maybe you’d been feeling a bit touch-starved the last few days. It had been a few weeks since you’d worked up the courage to ask Loki to tickle you (or, rather, he’d forced your hand, so you’d have no choice but to ask. The audacity.) Since then, you hadn’t really had the opportunity to physically be close to anyone. Sure, there was the occasional high-five after a skilled move on a mission, or after a successful sparring match, but outside of those moments you pretty much kept to yourself. It wasn’t in your nature to ask for affection, even when you craved it. So, you did the next best thing, and surrounded yourself with soft, fluffy fabric.

You were disappointed to find that Loki hadn’t arrived yet in the common room when you headed in to find your seat. Usually, you tried to time your arrival so you would get there just after he sat down so you could conveniently choose the seat next to him. Now, you had to rely on him wanting to sit with you; or, at least, you had to hope there were no other seats left in the room by the time he arrived. The god had you feeling like you were back in high school crushing on a schoolmate – it was both a terrifying and giddy feeling.

Choosing a spot on the open two-seat sofa, you lay down on your side with your head resting on the arm and stretched your legs across the cushions. If someone asked you seriously to make space, you knew you would do it without hesitation, but you’d be dreadfully disappointed that you weren’t sitting with Loki. Each time someone new walked in the door, you held your breath, hoping they would find somewhere else to sit. You were so focused on making sure no one besides Loki sat with you that you didn’t actually notice when the lanky, dark-haired Asgardian himself strode into the room.

“Move.”

You looked up to see Loki hovering over you, waiting expectantly for you to move your legs to make space for him to sit. Glancing around, you noticed there were still a couple other seats open, which made your heart flutter. He actually wanted to sit with you, he chose to sit with you. But maybe you wanted to push his buttons a little bit.

“Not until you ask nicely,” you bargained, smirking. His eyes flashed, a slight upward curling to the corner of his lips.

“Move, or else.”

You feigned a gasp, stretching your legs out a bit more. “So rude! You’re not making me feel very generous, Loki.”

The look he gave you next made your stomach flip. The intense, mischievous eyes… the barely-there smirk… you knew you were in trouble the moment the words left your mouth.

“Move, or I’ll make you.”

Becoming a bit flustered already, you pulled your blanket up over your mouth and nose to hide your boiling cheeks and shook your head, holding your ground. He looked down at you with an expression of pity.

The logical thing would have been for him to move your legs. Clearly it would be no trouble to him, with his godly strength. But when you tried to cross Loki, he had to make a statement. So, instead, he reached down and lifted you effortlessly by the shoulders, forcing you to sit up enough so he could slide into the seat where your upper body was previously positioned. You scrambled to sit up all the way, feeling very shy at the idea of laying your head in his lap, but as you shifted he snaked an arm around your waist and tugged you toward him to lean with your back against his side and chest. He grasped the corner of the blanket closest to him, dragging it across to steal some for himself. It was large enough to cover you both, so long as you kept your knees slightly bent.

“Comfortable?” he asked teasingly, his lips startlingly close to your ear.

“Mmhmm,” you nodded stiffly. Your face was on fire now, more than a little bit flustered at the position you were in now. Loki’s arm was still wrapped around you, his hand resting on the side of your belly beneath the blanket. It would have been incredibly comfortable, if it weren’t for your anxiety brain telling you that you couldn’t relax too heavily into him, or hewould be uncomfortable.

The lights turned off, the screen turned on and a film began to play on the television. The room fell silent, save for the sounds of the music playing over the opening credits. A few strands of your hair shifted with every rise and fall of Loki’s chest behind you, his soft breath fanning over your forehead.

“Are you certain you’re comfortable?” he whispered suddenly, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Yeah, why?”

“You’re quite stiff.” If you could see his face from where you were leaning against him, you’d have noticed the glint of mischief flashing in his eyes. “Maybe you just need some assistance.”

You let out a soft gasp when you felt his fingers suddenly graze against your side, tracing random patterns against your t-shirt. Your hand instinctively darted to grasp his tickling fingers, but you quickly released them with a rush of heat to your face.

“Loki!” you hissed.

“Yes? What is it?” His fingers began to sweep along your side again, maddeningly gentle. You bit your bottom lip, shifting a little to lean more heavily into him.

“Ok, I-I’m relaxed now,” you insisted.

“Oh, but I’m not finished yet.” His fingers found the hem of your t-shirt, curling up underneath it to ghost along the skin of your belly just above your hips. Barely withholding a shriek, you reached up to pull the blanket up over your nose again, clamping a hand over your own mouth.

His soft, barely-there touch was agonizing. Making things worse, you had to fight to hold in your laughter and squirming to prevent the others from realizing what he was doing to you. At best, they’d realize he was tickling you beneath the blanket, and they’d tease you for it later. At worst, they’d think… well, their minds may stray elsewhere. Neither option was one you were willing to risk. But gods, if it didn’t make every swipe of his fingers tickle ten times more knowing you had to try not to react to his touch.

And, if you were being honest with yourself, this was exactly what you needed to cure your touch-starved mood.

It was quite the dilemma you were in. Allow him to continue with this sweet torture and risk your reactions giving something away to the others. Or, tell him to stop and feel the inevitable sense of loss when he obliged. The choice was obvious – you had to risk it.

When his fingers traveled up to the skin in the middle of your belly, right above your bellybutton, you began to reconsider your life choices.

Your abdomen twitched helplessly under his fingers, shoulders shaking in silent, breathy laughter. A sudden burst of air from his nose told you he was enjoying himself, laughing as he tore you to pieces with the mere flick of his fingertips against your bare skin. You weren’t even sure what movie they’d put on, and you didn’t care. The only thought in your brain right now was trying to contain your reactions despite your desperate desire to giggle out loud.

“P-please,” you whispered in desperation.

“Please what?”

“M-move s-somewhere e-else,” you pleaded.

“Alright.” You let out a slow breath as he slipped his hand out from beneath the hem of your t-shirt. Your reprieve was short-lived, though, as his fingers wrapped around your side and began lightly pinching and kneading rapidly. You couldn’t help but let out the tiniest of squeals, moving your other hand on top of the first to cover your mouth with both hands. “What’s wrong, love? You’re awfully jittery this evening.”

You couldn’t curse at him with your hands over your mouth, so instead you reached out with one hand to grasp his forearm and squeezed, trying to distract yourself from the agonizing sensation.

“Oh – I’m sorry, does this tickle?” he whispered in your ear. You turned your head slightly to throw a wide-eyed glare in his direction, startling yourself with the proximity of his face to yours. He responded with a widening smirk, his fingers beginning to ascend toward your ribcage. Shaking your head wildly, you pushed down against his forearm, trying to prevent his tickling fingers from crawling any higher. “Why are you fighting this? I thought you liked it.”

“Loki-eep!” you lowered your hand from your mouth for only a second to scold him, jolting when his other hand slipped beneath the blanket and latched on to your other side. Luckily your squeak was hidden beneath a sudden surge of volume in the music in the movie. Something important must be happening. No matter, you had bigger things to worry about right now.

He knew exactly what he was doing to you. Flustering you first by pulling you in close and then tickling you senseless to top it all off. Maybe he had noticed you fading into yourself a bit more these days, rubbing a hand along your own shoulder or resting your hand on your knee absentmindedly while sitting by yourself. It was likely that you, yourself didn’t even realize what you were doing. But Loki was perceptive, especially when it came to you. And if he was being honest with himself, he needed the closeness as much as you did tonight. He’d have been satisfied just to hold you in his arms, but he wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t relish in the feeling of you squirming under his fingers, cuddling in closer to him as a result. And the fact that you enjoyed it as much as he did made it all the more fun.

Feeling your silent, shaking laughter against his side, he let his fingers rest along your ribcage, adding a bit of weight to his touch to avoid tickling you. You took in long, slow, deep breaths, trying not to gasp in air and resultantly make a loud noise. Glancing around anxiously, you didn’t see anyone looking inquisitively in your direction. Good – you didn’t want to have to answer any awkward questions from your teammates later.

Gradually, your breathing shallowed to a more normal respiratory pattern. Still, Loki’s fingers rested heavily on your sides, unmoving. You shifted a bit to lean more firmly into his side, hoping he’d take the hint that you had recovered enough to start again. You were keenly aware of the location of each of his fingers along your ribcage, waiting with bated breath for them to suddenly spring into action and start scratching between your ribs again.

If there was one thing you should have learned about Loki by now, it was that he enjoyed teasing you. He knew what you wanted. But you were going to have to find a way to ask for it.

Releasing a short huff of frustration, you tilted your head backward to look up at the dark-haired Asgardian who had made himself your pillow for the evening. You could barely make out his features by the glow of the TV screen, the light dancing across his face as the movie continued to play. He glanced down at you when he realized you were looking at him. You softened your eyes, jutting your bottom lip out the slightest bit. He let out a breath of a laugh through his nose at pouting expression, raising his eyebrows and tilting his head in a look that asked what you wanted without words. You frowned, brow furrowed, trying to will him to just read your mind. He shrugged, letting his expression harden and feigning ignorance as he turned to look at the TV screen once again.

Suppressing the urge to whine, you reached your hand up to where his rested on your side, tapping it gently. You saw a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but his hand remained still. You had one last trick up your sleeve, though. You shifted yourself to turn your upper body a bit, allowing that to be a distraction as you moved your hand over to the side you were resting against, latching your thumb and index finger onto his lower ribs and pinching a few times in rapid succession. You weren’t even sure if he was ticklish, but the sudden jolting gave you your answer.

His hand clamped down around your wrist, prying it away from his side as he turned his head to look at you with narrowed eyes, a look that screamed ‘you’re in trouble.’ Your stomach swooped in anxious and excited anticipation.

His grip around your waist tightened, pulling you closer against his side to hide his own vulnerable areas using your back as a shield. He latched both hands on your sides, his long, slender fingers reaching well across your belly, and began to claw into the soft skin through your shirt. It was all you could do to suppress a burst of laughter from exploding from your chest, clamping your hands over your mouth and nose but resultantly leaving your torso unprotected. Apparently you’d succeeded in getting under his skin, because he was no longer trying to go easy on you, thumbs digging into your sides just below your ribs as his four fingers scratched across your belly.

You were glad he at least had mercy enough to not target your weaker spots, because the effort it took to suppress your laughter was making you want to explode. Tears of mirth collected in the corners of your eyes as you let out small, short bursts of air through your nose, shoulders shaking. Loki was precise and unrelenting tonight, continuing to torment that same spot for what felt like an eternity. You finally couldn’t take it any longer, moving one hand away from covering your mouth to push at his hands. Instead of stopping, he merely allowed his hands to slide down a bit to dig into your hips.

In all your years on earth, you’d never been tickled in that specific spot, although you knew supposedly it was terribly sensitive for some. You never imagined you were one of those people.

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

Your eyes grew wide as you arched your back against his devilish touch, pressing the blanket into your face to muffle your tiny screams. His thumbs dug into the spot just above your hipbones while his fingers clawed into the front of your hips, emitting ticklish shocks through your entire torso with every squeeze of his fingers. He chuckled softly at your reaction, easily covered up by a round of laughter from the others as some comedic stunt occurred on screen. You tried to tap out, frantically pushing at his hands with one of your own. He ignored your silent pleas for a few more moments, clearly proud of himself for having made you a giggling, squirming mess in his arms.

Loki, like you, was not interested in answering questions from the other Avengers, and so he finally relented when he realized your struggle was beginning to become more violent. You melted into his side, taking sharp, shallow breaths as you came down from your state of euphoria. It was precious to him, how you collapsed so heavily into his arms after he’d just tormented you. He wrapped his arm around you further and tugged you to sit up a bit more comfortably against his side, resting a firm hand on your belly. You reached over and covered his hand with your own, brushing your thumb along his knuckles. Leaning your head back into his chest, you let out a deep, contented sigh that made his heart skip.

There would be questions after the movie, but not because anyone witnessed the sweet torture Loki had put you through. It was hard not to notice how you’d buried yourself against his side for the entirety of the movie. And, more importantly, it was hard to ignore the foreign, soft smile on Loki’s face.

Part 4: You are Wonderful

[dauntless-gothamite]

Prove Them Wrong [3/?]

Fandom: Divergent Pairing: Eric Coulter x Fem! Reader Summary: Y/N is a Dauntless transfer from Erudite, and she has a drive, an ambition that sets her apart--it always has, even back in Erudite. She brings her perseverance (and need to prove others wrong) to Dauntless when she transfers, and she uses her mind to make her way through the initiation process. Along the way, she makes friends and enemies, and she finds herself comfortable around the man most people in Dauntless avoid at all costs: Eric Coulter. A/N: I like what I did with the end of this one, putting a (hopefully) comedic/unique twist on a trope and adding something original :) feedback is very much appreciated, happy reading

When you walked into the training room the next morning, everyone avoided looking at your face, specifically, your neck. Instead, people looked at the ground. You knew you had bruises around your neck from where Peter had grabbed you, but you hadn’t expected a group of dauntless to be so touchy about it; bruises were common here. 

“Alright, listen up!” Four yelled. “We are doing some target practice today, so line up and get throwing,” he said, pointing to the line of targets against the wall. At least you weren’t fighting today; your body could use a break. That fight with Peter really had worn you out, and since you guys had thrown knives a couple times already, you were starting to get familiar with the technique. 

You walked up to a free target and looked over the knives positioned on the table before you, holding one and turning it over in your hand. “Well? Are you going to throw that knife or just stare at it all day?” the gruff, aggressive voice of Eric asked. You turned to look at him, and a part of you was pleased to notice that he was looking you in the face, not avoiding your eyes and neck like everyone else around here. 

One side of your mouth quirked up in the beginning of a smile before you replied, “I’m about to throw it.”

“Then get on with it!” Without hesitation, you turned your body to the target, and you positioned your feet similar to how you would if you were throwing punches instead of knives. Gripping the handle, you drew the knife back, aimed, and twisted forward, releasing the knife as you traced an invisible arc over your head. The knife stuck to the target with a thud, but it was a little lower than you’d hoped it would be. Eric nodded and said “Get that figured out before I get back, and maybe I won’t yell at you,” before walking away to stand behind some other initiate, most likely to stress them out so much that they’d miss the target completely. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t yell at me very much, you thought to yourself. Because I don’t break under the pressure of his judgemental stare. After taking many math tests with teachers walking around the room, looking over each student’s shoulder as they frantically scribbled down answers, you were used to being watched and assessed. 

Picking up the next knife, you lined yourself up just like you did before and repeated the motion, letting go of the knife a bit earlier this time. The knife landed at the height you wanted it to, but it was a little far to the side. Grabbing for the next knife, you made sure that this time you didn’t twist as much, but you did everything the same way you did before, and the third knife landed just a few millimeters from where you’d aimed, but you were satisfied. Smirking to yourself, you looked to either side before walking forward cautiously to grab the knives from the target. As you grabbed the first knife’s handle and pulled it out of the target, you heard the sound of a knife flying through the air near your head, and in an instant, said knife embedded itself just a centimeter above your head in the target. 

“What the fuck!” you yelled. Whipping around to glare at whichever person’s knife had gone so far off course, you saw Eric standing where you had been standing to throw the knives with a smirk on his face. 

“Just testing you,” he said nonchalantly. You scowled in response, eyeing the knife he still held in his hands. You locked eyes with him, and his smirk grew wider as you backed up against the target, knowing what would come next, right before Eric’s second knife landed between your arm and your torso. You turned back around to grab your knives, and Eric said “Grab mine too, initiate.” While you were turned around, you rolled your eyes, but you did retrieve his knives for him, passing them back to him curtly. He grabbed them out of your hands, fingers brushing ever so slightly in the process, before turning around to torment someone else. 

--

At dinner, just as you were about to take a bite of your hamburger, Will asked, “How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Get Eric not to hate you!”

“He doesn’t like me,” you scoffed.

“At the very least, he doesn’t yell at you every five minutes,” Tris butted in, to which Will and Christina nodded fervently. 

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Luck, I guess?”

“No way, luck could not possibly get that man to be even a little bit nice to anybody,” Christina countered. 

“Ok, maybe not, but like I said, I don’t know! Maybe it’s because I don’t crack under pressure or something.”

“Something like that,” Will conceded with a sigh before turning on Tris. “Your turn; what’s going on with you and Four?”

“Nothing!” Tris replied. 

“Come on, don’t lie to us,” Christina said. You badly wanted to say something to try and get more information out of Tris, but you refrained just in case they decided to turn back on you and start asking about Eric again. 

“I don’t know,” Tris said. “He’s cute, though,” she admitted with flushed cheeks. 

The banter between you all went on like that for a little while as everyone ate their dinner, until Will got up and said, “I’ll see you guys back at the dorm; I want to get there early and hit the showers while everyone is still at dinner. Get a little privacy for once,” and stood up with a smile. 

As soon as Will was out of earshot, you leaned across the table to Christina and said “So, when are you finally going to tell Will you like him?” you smirked. 

“What? No,” Christina said.

“Come on, Tris, back me up here,” you said.

“She has a point,” Tris said with a nod. 

“You guys are unbelievable!” Christina said and stood up, prompting you and Tris to do the same, and then you all headed out of the dining area together to stroll through dauntless for a little while before going back to the dorm so as to give Will some privacy. 

“You know, I think I’m going to try and shower early as well,” Tris said as the three of you walked. “But don’t worry, Christina, I won’t look at Will,” she winked and laughed before peeling off towards the dorm.

“Hey!” Christina yelled after her as you stood next to her, doubled over in laughter. 

“Will, can you calculate the speed at which my fist hits the punching bag? Can you--” you teased Christina.

“Stop it!” she shrieked, her blush deepening.

“Just admit that you like him, it should be easy for an ex-Candor!”

“Fuck off!” she said, but there was no malice in her tone. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, and that was the last straw before Christina gave you a hard shove, making you stumble as you laughed at her expense. Then your body collided with something solid. You heard whomever you had just crashed into growl in frustration as you stared at their black boots. Eric’s black boots. Your laughter died in your throat as you stood, taking note of the numerous pages and folders that were undoubtedly full of important files in them scattered across the floor. You made eye contact with Christina’s, who at least had the decency to look guilty as she retreated down the hallway, as Eric said “Well, initiate. I don’t know what you were doing, nor do I care, but the rest of your evening will be spent reorganizing the files you just scattered everywhere.” 

You nodded as you made eye contact with him before bending over to pick up the pages on the floor. Once you had picked everything up, Eric started walking and you followed up three flights of stairs and down a hallway, eventually coming to a stop outside a door which he unlocked. You followed him inside as he turned on the lights, and looking around, you knew this was his office. “You will sort these pages by category and date, then leave them on my desk when you’re finished, understood?”

“Actually, I have a question,” you asked as an idea occurred to you. He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“What?”

“Wouldn’t something physical be a better punishment? Just because I happen to be good at sorting, this feels like it’s--”

“No,” Eric said. “I know what you’re doing. Trying to get an advantage by extra training and building it into something you already have to do. I’m not an idiot, Y/N.”

Nervous to push him any further, you decided to throw one more thing out there, and if he didn’t take it well you would shut it and sort the files. “Well, of course not, you are from Erudite originally, so--”

“Who told you that,” Eric asked, annoyed. You weren’t sure, but you thought you saw a glimpse of something else in his eyes for a moment. 

“No one, it’s just that Ms. McKimmerer talked about you all the time.”

“That old math teacher? He asked incredulously”

“Yeah, she always said ‘Eric Coulter memorized more digits of pi than any other student in his year, try to be more like him’ and ‘It’s a shame he left Erudite’ when she taught us about pi.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Eric scoffed. “And don’t mention that to anyone, initiate!”

“I won’t!” you said, slightly amused. After a brief pause, you said,  “But you should know, there is even a picture of you from that year on her desk, with your hair combed back and a blue collared shirt.”

Eric paused for a moment, and you did your best not to break, but eventually you howled in laughter; his wide-eyed reaction was just too funny.

Scowl in place, Eric schooled his face into a calm, if annoyed mask, and said “get to work on those files. I will check back in a bit to see if you’re done sorting them.” Then, he walked out and shut the door behind him. Chuckling to yourself, you got to work on the large stack of paper before you.

--

The door opened loudly and you woke up to the sound of Eric Coulter clearing his throat. “Did you finish sorting the files before falling asleep at my desk, initiate?” 

Sitting up, slightly embarrassed, you nodded. “Good. Now get out of my office and go eat dinner.”

You stood from the desk, hesitating for a minute. “I actually wanted to ask you something,” you said, turning to face Eric. 

“Yes?”

“Well, I noticed you have a few books in here, and I was wondering if I could borrow Mental Conditioning: Getting Your Mind and Body On the Same Page. I wasn’t looking through your stuff, it’s just on the self over there--”

“I know where my own damn book is,” he said, walking over to it and grabbing the book off the shelf. “Here,” he said, handing it to you. “Return it when you're done, and it better be in the same condition it is now when I get it back, understood?”

“Yes, thank you!” you smiled at him, pleasantly surprised that he was letting you borrow the book.

--

That night, when you got back to the dorm room, you read a few pages of Eric’s book before going to bed. It was a little hard to focus with all the noise--you’d find a better spot to read tomorrow--but you were happy nonetheless; while dauntless was great, you had missed all the books that were available to you at Erudite. As your eyes grew tired, you reached into your bag under your bed, which held your few belongings--every initiate got one--and pulled out a napkin you had been doodling some tattoo ideas on during lunch, placed it between the pages to act as a bookmark, and put the book away in the bag. You closed your eyes, surrounded by your friends, mind calm from reading, and for a moment, despite the lingering pain around your neck, you were completely at peace as you drifted off to sleep. 

Tag List: @shykoolaid, @taina-eny​, @parabatai-winchester​, @marvel-ousnesss​

[subwaysurf45]

Winter Makes Ice (Ep.5)

Summary:  you’re captured after a brawl at the Avengers building, Bucky and others must save you before Hydra makes a new Winter Soldier out of you, Bucky has given up that title.

Words: 4344

Episode: five

Warning: violence, nudity, needles, descriptions of injury

Masterlist! Winter Makes Ice Episode: Four

Time: unknown

Date: unknown

You knew they had full control over you. There was nothing you could do even though you were conscious all the time, your body did what they wanted but your brain screamed against it. There were times where they’d ask you to do the impossible, they’d make you climb the tallest tree in the forest that surrounded the building and then make you jump down without anything to catch you, you’d land and your ankle would break; the worst was when they told you to break it back in place. 

It was like you were sat in a large chair as you watched your life unfold in the cell, your wrists were strapped to this imaginary chair so you couldn’t reach out to block the punch, ankles were clasped so you couldn’t run away. You never became lucid, it was always you watching through the shell of your body. Crying yourself to sleep wasn’t an option, you weren’t allowed to cry, or laugh, or scream, or smile; you were dead on the outside. The feeling of control was so close but yet so far away. 

There was a moment, just a moment. More I.C.E. had just been injected as you hung from the cuff restraints, you swung lightly as you dangled there. The cell door closed and the silence you were left with was getting louder by the second, your brain starting to pound like it always did and right at the back of your head near the bottom began to pulse, like you were being stabbed. The pain, hunger, exhaustion built up until that one moment, your eyes were slowly closing but as they closed you could see something right in front of you, something was moving. You couldn’t reach out to touch it because you were chained but as you crossed your eyes all you saw was a little black thing slightly swinging with you. 

It was the tip of your nose. 

Your fingers had also begun to blacken, it was about to hit your first knuckle. 

That was when you let the control fully go to the I.C.E. flowing in your veins, the power to keep yourself above water was only getting more and more tiring. No one had tried to save you so they probably were never going to come. Part of you thought Bucky would be there in less than a day, he’d break walls and towers for you, but it might have just been words to make you think he loved you, just sounds put together as a fake. 

Time: 6:10am

Date: October 3rd 2024

“Darling, It’s me, It’s Bucky, you’re safe now.” Bucky spoke softly, he flickered between your eyes and nose. You didn’t say anything, just looked right through him. “I will not fight you, but we need to get out of here, we have to go.” He urged, right when he finished talking you stepped forward, he was shocked to see you move, it was rigid and robotic. “Baby, explain what’s going on, please baby?” Bucky stepped forward and reached out, his hand lightly touched your shoulder but he studied your face as he did so. Your nose would have scrunched up but with the lack of that it was just your eyebrows that pulled together. Bucky looked around the room to try and find any sign of how to get you out of your trance; the papers he flicked through were now getting thoroughly read through. All you did was stare at him, waiting for a command. 

“Bucky, it’s all clear down here, some got away though,” Steve breathed heavily as he spoke through the coms. “There's this guy who looked to be the head and he got away, didn’t get a good look at him.” 

Bucky turned to you, “who’s the leader here?”

“No one gave their name.” You answer quickly. 

“What did he look like?” Bucky left the papers and walked to you, he grabbed a lab coat on the way to cover your scared and naked body. 

“Slick black hair. Black eyes. Heart shaped face. No facial hair. Slit through his left eyebrow. Hydra ring on his finger.” Your eyes closed as you computed the man who poured the ice water on you multiple times. “Height: six foot. Weight: around one eighty. Scars, markings, tattoos: none.” Bucky watched you in shock, “any other specifics, James?” 

“N-no, well done.” He nodded and threw the coat around you, “we’re going to leave now, okay?” Bucky took your hand and led you toward the door. 

Your feet tread silently while Bucky’s combat boots echoed three times down the grey hallway, it scared you every time he’d step. With every loud sound came a hard punch, it was a way for you to brace yourself when they’d catch you talking about your past life. As you walked closer to the doors your fingers found their way to the walls, still grey like the floor but clean, the floor was covered in dead bodies and blood from the invasion. 

The doctors and agents you knew were slumped over against the wall or splayed out in the middle of the hallways, some people’s blood had congealed while others still created a larger pool around the Hydra operatives. The smell of death didn’t read on your face but it did on Bucky’s, the smell of the inside of your cell just carried out here it seemed like. You were unaware of your smell, part of you thought it was the lack of nose but the other knew it was the lack of fresh air and being surrounded by copious amounts of blood. 

“Where to, Sergeant Barnes?” the feeling of someone holding your hand was foreign, his thumb kept swiping back and forth.

“Call me Bucky,” he looked back with sorrow in his eyes. You stopped walking and lowered your head, “what are you doing?” he asked. 

“Waiting for punishment,” you spoke softly, knowing they went easier on you if you knew you messed up. There’d be times where you’d push your luck and stare them down but once you grew tired of being tough you head would bow and you waited for the strike, it was now a reaction to any type of dissatisfactory.

“No, no punishment anymore,” his eyes filled with tears and he brought you under his arms, his lips kissed the crown of your head as he opened the doors. He kept you under his arm as he opened them, metal arm gripping right on your forearm. 

The sun was barely meeting the surface and yet you had to squint to adjust, everything had a hue of red. The grass felt foreign under your bare feet as you stepped off the tiles and into nature, your toes gripped the leaves and grass as they walked. Your lungs felt like they were about to explode with the intake of fresh air, your nose could still work but it was slightly harder to breathe, the cool wind blew into your mouth and gripped the back of your throat which made you double over to the cough. Your knee popped out of the front slit on the closed lab coat, you were used to feeling naked and vulnerable; Bucky was the one to close it again. 

Steve, Wanda, and Nat all stood by the jet.

Wanda screamed your name and ran up to you, her arms pulled you into a tight hug but you curled in and waited for the strike. She pulled away and the feeling of rigidness, “y/n?” She questioned, her hand coming to cup your cheek but you stepped back and held your hand up for protection. Wanda brought her hands into her chest, she looked between Bucky and you but Bucky just shook his head with a few tear tracks present on his face; Wanda was beginning to develop her own after she looked back at you before turning away. 

You didn’t really know why everyone was crying, “Scarlet Witch, Wanda Maximof.” your head slightly bowed, you looked over her to see the others behind her shoulder, “Captain Steve Rogers and Natasha Rominoff, a pleasure.” Their faces seemed worried and Nat looked disgusted, she brought her hand to cover her mouth as she walked up the steps to the jet. 

Wanda got your attention again, “hello, we’re going to take you home, alright?” Wanda took your hand, “do you remember me?” 

“From?” was all you said as you made it into the jet. Wanda covered sob with her hand as she turned away from you to sit beside Nat, she was also crying.

Steve didn’t even look at you, he walked straight to Bucky. Steve caught him right as Bucky’s knees were buckling, Bucky caught onto Steve and they both slowly made it to the ground. It seemed like they guided each other, both holding onto one another for dear life. It was a common understanding, grief was written on both of them. 

“She’s fucking gone, Steve!” Bucky cried into Steve’s uniform, the blue turning navy with the tears. “She called me James! She doesn’t know who I am, I can't- I don know- what did they-”

“Bucky, it’s alright,” Steve calmed him as Bucky began to hyperventilate, “we’re going to get her back, I promise.” Steve gripped onto Bucky’s shoulders and they both stood, a little wobbly but both were extremely tired and light headed. “I’ll handle everything,” they walked to the jet, “just be there for her and I figure everything else out, alright?” Steve made Bucky look at him. 

“Sure…” was all Bucky could muster. 

They all made it to the jet, you were placed in a room off to the right. Bucky went right in there to see you curled on the ground when there was an examination table in the middle of the room, he kneeled beside you and ghosted a hand down your shin to try and get your attention. 

“It’s Bucky, let’s sit up on the table, okay?” Bucky eased but you didn’t move, his eyes closed as he fought with himself. He didn’t want to abuse your injected substance, but he really needed you on the exam table to check your wounds. “On the exam table.” he didn’t speak harshly or yell, it was just Bucky’s normal tone. 

You shot up instantly and sat on the edge of the table, your legs hung off it and the lab coat was forgotten, it was still around you but it seemed you were told to be naked so often it became second nature. Bucky turned toward you and stood between your legs so he could get a good look at you, he could tell you were staring deep into his eyes, he didn’t want to look in yours yet, he wanted to look you deep in the eyes and have you pull him in for a kiss, maybe it was selfish but he needed it. 

“I’m going to do something called a head-to-toe check,” he informed but he knew you knew what this was. He slipped on the disposable gloves, “I know you have cuts and scars but I need to find active bleeding first, alright?” Bucky held up his hands to show nothing was on the gloves. “Tell me if I’m making you uncomfortable.”

“Nothing is-”

“That’s an order.” Bucky added, “I’m commanding you to tell me if you don’t want me touching somewhere,” he knew he had checked you, there might be a way you could find a loophole in his command and get him further from a checkmate but he was making progress. 

His hands gently tapped all around you, he was asking questions as he did so but you didn’t answer any of them. You were now looking straight forward, when Bucky looked to your face for any sign of his girl you’d give no hints or answer. His hands worked down to your chest, he hesitated over your breasts but you gave no indication that you were uncomfortable, when he looked for bumps, bruises, or blood he didn’t find much, just scratch marks that looked old. He did the same when he hit your waist, not a lot of touching but looking, it wasn’t thorough but he knew you wouldn’t say anything and he might trigger you again. 

His gloves weren’t picking up much, most cuts were partly healed and the bruises were very noticeable. Part of a head-to-toe check is seeing how the victim reacts to the pressure, if you tap their stomach and they flinch it could be internal bleeding or a broken rib, but you weren’t giving any sign of hurt. He knew you could feel the broken bones and the bruises but you would never tell him in the mindset you’re in. he watched for little twitches in the eye or some type of pull away from him wherever he touched, Bucky wanted to reach in and find your brain so that you could tell him what hurts; he wanted to help you so bad. 

“Do you know how long you’ve been gone?” Bucky asked as he picked up your left leg, turning and examining it. He found a deep red mark on the edge of a purple bruise on your ankle, there was the exact same one on the other and on your wrists. He pushed away your hair and moved the lab coat back to find a massive bruise with cuts all around your neck, it was impeccable your vocal chords weren’t fried after being put in that cuff contraption. 

“Gone from where?” you asked robotically, you didn’t even look at him. 

Bucky was taken back by your answer, he stumbled with his hands as he switched legs. “F-from home, y/n. Shield, home?” 

“Hydra is my home, it was where I was created.” your head turned to allow your eyes to lock with Bucky’s. 

Part of him wanted to scream and shake your head so hard it might knock a memory back in place, he wanted to tell you of your story and how you both grew. Bucky wanted to tell you about the drawings you do with Steve or the boxing in the early mornings, he wanted to overflow you with emotions but he knew they’d hit a brick wall. 

Bucky finished his exam but he needed to keep you for himself for a little longer, he pretended to check your pupils and pulse three more times but all he wanted was to feel the warmth of your skin. His eyes would catch the tip of your nose swinging as he moved you slightly, he had an entire set of questions just for that. But he just kept looking at you for no reason. He’d ask if you’re cold and you’d say no, he’d ask if you were hungry and you’d say no. he’d ask if you were thirsty, you’d say no. 

So he stopped asking, “drink this water.” He pulled the little water bottle from the back of his belt loop, the little tear drop shaped bottle fit perfectly in her hands. 

You grasped the frosted bottle, it seemed familiar to you. You never got water in your cell, you’d have to suck on the floor after the doctor left; they’d always wake you up by dumping ice water on your head. Calloused fingers gripped and felt the bottle, something was happening in your brain that you couldn't quite understand, you were feeling something deep within you. 

“Drink.” Bucky said again. 

“Wait,” you whispered, all you saw was black form shutting your eyes so tight. You didn’t see Bucky’s face as he waited to see if this water bottle would trigger something from right before you were taken, this was the water bottle you had introduced to the group. 

A picture was unfolding in your head, it was a big room with people all around. There was a couch that some were sitting on while one stood in front of them, the one standing was smiling. The people on the couch were leaned in to listen, some held their chin in their hand as they too, were also smiling. The little bottle of water you were holding was also in this picture, the one standing seemed to be presenting it like a game show host, showing it off as if it was new. The picture began to move and the people standing took a seat next to another person, they cuddled close and began whispering to each other with iggles in between. A pen made its way across the couch and ended up at the two who looked like a couple, one wrote a heart next to their name while the other did it normally. 

Your eyes shot open at the sound of the pop, you were squeezing the bottle so hard it exploded. Your eyes frantically searched around and when they landed on the other set of eyes in the room you lunged for a hug. 

“Bucky!” you screamed, “thank you!” You wrapped your arms around him so tight. Bucky hesitated before clinging to you like a life source, “I thought it would’ve taken you longer,” you sighed into his touch. 

“We left you there for too long,” Bucky whispered, his face his deep in your neck.

You pulled away with tears in your eyes, you looked to him but he kept looking down, “is there something on my nose?” you asked, Bucky was looking between your eyes and nose. Your finger went to touch but pulled away at the feeling of something dangling, “what is that?” you screamed and felt it again. 

“It’s the injection side effect, I think.” Bucky added he felt around your face to try and see if you were actually real or if this was some sick joke Wanda was playing on him. 

“What injection? They just took my blood once so far,” you shrugged and felt the back on your head, “there was a scab there before, it hurts like crazy, like a pulsing thing.'' You brought your other hand back to try and find that scab you felt what seemed like hours ago. Your hair felt dirtier than the last time you remembered, it was one big clump when you moved it.

“Sit down.” Bucky said, you moved back on the seat without a second thought.

With wide eyes you looked up to Bucky, “I didn’t want to sit...Bucky what did you do?” you asked, it looked like you were glued there as you tried to get off. 

“What day is it?” Bucky asked cautiously, his hands coming back to cup your face. 

“September twenty third, I didn’t hit my head it’s not a con-”

“It's October third.” Bucky breathed out, “oh my god…” he whispered and pulled you into another hug, he gently rubbed your back as you stayed rigid in his hold. 

The plane began to drop and Bucky knew it was just landing but with everything rushing against you like a title wave it felt like the plane was crashing. Bucky held you tight as you slashed around in his grip, pleads to any higher power you could think of to keep you alive didn’t seem to work. The plane froze and you stayed gripped to Bucky, he brought you out of the medical room. The three others just looked at you, not wanting to get their hopes up. But when you ran over to them and asked what day it was they seemed to be more disappointed, they just pulled you in for a hug and tried to calm you down like Bucky did. 

All at once medical staff open the jet doors, people rushing to you and you. Bucky was trying to cut through the crowd to get to you but medical staff were getting in the way and holding him back, he could see your frantic search for him. 

“You’re gonna trigger her, s-stop, this isn’t-”

A medical staff member flew back and knocked a few others over, everyone began to calm down and slow their moments. You were right over the person you pushed trying to help them up, apologizing profusely, they kept moving back and away from you. 

“Y-you were holding a needle, I’m sorry.” you eased. 

“Sedate her!” another yelled. 

You ran down and out of the jet to try and get away from the many needles that, what seemed like, every medical member was holding. There was just noise surrounding you, vision began to tunnel right when the pounding in your ears began, at the back of your head there seemed to be a knife stabbing you. 

“Get a gurney!” the voice cut through the shouts and chasing. 

Everything stopped and you froze from your worried state to complete your mission, someone ordered you to find a gurney, you must complete it. There was one waiting outside, you walked over with your back straight and your chin up. There was no need to look behind you shoulder but you did so anyway to make sure no threats were also in need of the gurney, everyone behind you was just still and watched you. This must be a test, after that realization you did everything quickly and efficiently to avoid punishment. 

When you brought the gurney to the voice who shouted it they told you to get on as well, Bucky was by your side and offering an arm to help get on but you didn’t take it. People were shouting orders to one another and you kept trying to get up to fulfill the command but Bucky kept holding you down. Some medical staff were trying to shove him away but he stood his ground and kept a hand holding you.

“Why do I keep wanting to do all these things?” you frantically aske as you tried to stand again.

“I’ll explain later, don’t worry,” he squeezed your hand as you made it into your exam room. Hands felt all around you, the lab coat was long forgotten so you sat on the table naked. Bucky was right against the wall and kept an eye on you, though your brain was next to scrambled eggs he could still read you like a book.

“We need to take some blood, might also need to give something to sedate her.” it was, what looked like, the head of this team that spoke.

Another picture flashed before your eyes. The needles and this blue liquid that went into you. Bucky had told you something called ‘ice’ but you didn’t know what that meant. Blood would be taken from you then without you looking, they would stick whatever serum Bucky was talking about in your arm. Voices and sounds rushed into your head as these pictures moved and changed to show that you weren’t there for as long as you thought you were, in your mind a different doctor repeated the same motions over and over and over again. You were covered in water and somebody was talking over you from inside of the cell, their voice seemed as though they too were underwater so you couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but one part stood out. They were saying how they did this all without you noticing, how you were too confident, how you were strong and yet you’d look away from the needles when they were stuck into your arm. 

All of these people who you failed to remember that were surrounding you now, all had needles and some had already taken your blood, but you were going to be cautious now, you were going to be aware because you didn’t want to forget everything again. Before anyone could stick anything else in you, your arms flew out to the side and gripped as many syringes as you could, they were smashed to the ground and the clear liquid spilled and dripped on the floor. People were beginning to hold you down but you broke free from their dead grass pushing away the velcro straps that were about to go around your ankles and wrists.

Someone managed to get a strap on your left ankle without you noticing, that sensation of being cuffed made another picture float in your mind. It was a large metal contraption with silver Cuban links and five cuffs, two around your wrists, two around your ankles, and the final one went around your neck. Once they were all attached to you, you were suspended in the air as your entire body weight was being held up by your limbs and neck, even though only one bound was attached to you now, you could still feel the weight of all of it crashing back onto you. 

With one large tug the Velcro cuff snapped, you tried to get up and off the table to run to Bucky, he was the only one left in the room that you knew and trusted. He was also trying to make his way to you simultaneously, reading the fear etched deep into your eyes. No medical staff was trying to hold him back so he ripped through all of them and got to you quickly, you couldn’t really hear what he was saying because the pounding in your head that was pinpointed right at the back of your neck was starting to pound into your ears. But you could make out his lips that were moving, you can remember faintly kissing them, the feeling was on the tip of your tongue but you couldn’t quite make out what it really felt like. He was telling you it was going to be okay, at one point he said that you could sleep now and that he’d be there when you wake up, you really didn’t want to trust him but you were so tired and your head hurt so bad.

You didn’t even see or feel the syringe plunge deep into the crook of your neck as he held your face and made your eyes look right into his.

Winter Makes Ice tag list: @small-death-and-codeine​ @commonintrest​ @buckyys-doll​  @lil-baby-nor 

let me know if you want a tag!!!

[youssefguedira]

What if I sent you a Kaysanova prompt that was "No! Don't touch him!" with Nicky saying it? What then? (In all seriousness, I love your writing and I'd be obliged if you did write this 🤗🤗🤗)

anon i am SO sorry this took so long but here you go! have some early years pre-relationship kaysanova with some hurt/comfort! strayed a little bit from the original prompt but you know. it's still mostly there

[content warnings: mentions of torture, nothing happens on screen but just to be safe]

Yusuf is still not sure if he trusts Nicolò.

They had reached some kind of tentative truce after Yusuf set aside his weapon and offered Nicolò his hand instead, tired of fighting. At some point, they’d agreed that they had to leave - it had taken a long time, and they’d only managed it because Nicolò spoke just enough Sabir for Yusuf to explain. Still, it had involved a lot of pantomiming, and Yusuf had been surprised his meaning had come through at all.

They have been travelling for weeks now with no clear destination or reason: only the knowledge that they are bound together by something far too large for either of them to understand, and that they cannot return home.

Nicolò has not attempted to hurt Yusuf since they had walked away from Jerusalem, but Yusuf cannot forget the feeling of Nicolò driving his blade through Yusuf’s chest, slitting his throat, cracking his skull open. They travel together, but they do not speak often, both due to the language barrier and the uncertainty of their relationship. Their truce feels fragile, and Yusuf is not sure what to make of it. Or Nicolò.

That night, they set up the campfire together without really speaking aside from what is necessary. Yusuf is fully prepared for another night of almost silence, until Nicolò looks at him from across the fire, its light reflected in his eyes.

“I am sorry,” Nicolò tells him quietly. His Arabic is careful, as if he’s practiced it - perhaps he has. “For…” Nicolò mimes slitting his throat. That is not all he has done, but Yusuf understands.

“I am sorry too,” Yusuf tells him. After all, he had killed Nicolò too.

Nicolò nods, and they fall back into the silence Yusuf has grown accustomed to. But this time, it is not as uncomfortable.

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

Slowly, things begin to change. They begin to teach each other their own languages. Yusuf knows a few words of Ligurian, and Nicolò has learned some Arabic, which gives them just enough common ground to start from. Nicolò struggles with the unfamiliar sounds on occasion, but his eyes light up when he gets it right, and he is so infectiously pleased with himself that sometimes Yusuf cannot help smiling too.

After that, they begin to talk more. They piece together what little Sabir and Greek Nicolò knows, and Yusuf’s very limited Latin - which is very bad, and sometimes makes Nicolò huff with laughter - and what they are learning of each other’s languages to create their own strange dialect. Conversation is stilted at first, with long pauses while one of them tries to remember a word and the other one tries to guess it, often resulting in both of them forgetting what they were trying to say in the first place. Eventually, though, it begins to flow more.

Nicolò is Genovese, Yusuf learns, and had been a priest before coming here. Yusuf tells Nicolò about his home and his work as a merchant before.

Yusuf isn’t sure if they’re friends yet. But they’re on their way.

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

At the next town they reach, Yusuf runs into a burning building to save a child from the fire. He gets the child out safely, but some of the people nearby see his burns heal in seconds. When he arrives back at the inn they are staying at, Nicolò wordlessly offers him a cloth to clean the ash and dried blood from his skin and nods when Yusuf tells him they have to leave. Yusuf does not know what will happen if people find out they cannot die, but he is not eager to find out.

They leave quickly and quietly, and it is a week before Yusuf lets his guard down. Of course, it is then that they are ambushed.

Their attackers strike at night. Yusuf wakes to the clash of steel and Nicolò’s warning shouts. He stumbles to his feet - Nicolò is standing between him and their attackers, his sword drawn. It gives Yusuf enough time to reach for his own weapon and join him.

They have a clear advantage, but there are too many. Besides, their attackers have the element of surprise. One of them manages to disarm Nicolò, a few others manage to restrain him. The others corner Yusuf, and he cannot find a clear way out of this.

“Demon,” one hisses, and Yusuf flinches. So they had seen him heal.

He fights as best he can, but it feels as if they keep coming, relentless in their assault. One of them wrenches his sword from his grip, another pins his arm behind his back.

Nicolò is screaming now, thrashing in their grip, screaming no and don’t touch him and Yusuf-

The man closest to Yusuf grabs Yusuf’s blade from where it has fallen on the ground. He drives it through Yusuf’s chest, and Yusuf chokes on the blood that rises in his throat. Darkness clouds the edges of his vision.

The last thing he hears before he dies is Nicolò, still screaming his name.

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

The room he wakes in is small and cold. HIs hands and feet are shackled, and there are three men before him.

Where is he? Where is Nicolò?

The men are speaking quickly, but he understands their meaning well enough - they have seen him heal. They want to know how he does it.

He is not sure how long they keep him there, but it is a long time.

The only light he gets is when they come and bring their torches, but as time stretches on, those occasions become increasingly rare. Eventually, they seem to stop altogether, and Yusuf is left in darkness.

They do not feed him, nor do they give him water. He dies of starvation and thirst more times to count, so much so that he lacks the strength to move anymore. Instead, he stays slumped against the wall in the corner, his eyes half closed.

They kill him. Over and over again. They burn him, they break his bones, they cut out his heart and wait for it to grow back. When he yields no answers about how he always comes back from death - how can he, when he does not know himself? - they grow angry. They kill him again. He cannot give them answers. They kill him again. He begins to wonder if it’s just sadism by this point.

How long has he been here? Days, weeks, months, years, he has no way of knowing. He cannot see the sun in this place.

He wants to go home. Perhaps he could get out of his shackles, but he is not strong enough. He wonders if Nicolò had gotten away. Had they taken him, too, or did he escape and continue on his way alone?

When the people keeping him here die, what will happen to him? Will he rot away here for however long he will live? Will he ever see the sun again?

Footsteps nearby startle him out of his thoughts. He is long past scrambling to his feet when they come, so instead all he does is lift his head. The footsteps draw closer, and soon the faint orange light of a torch appears at the top of the stairs.

But it’s not one of them. It’s Nicolò.

“Yusuf,” Nicolò says, setting his torch into a bracket on the wall and crossing the room to kneel before him.

Yusuf is overwhelmed with relief - Nicolò hadn’t left him. Nicolò had come back.

“Did they hurt you?” Nicolò asks.

All Yusuf can do is nod as Nicolò sets to work on the shackles around his wrists. He must have gotten the key from somewhere, and he gets them off without much difficulty.

“Can you stand?”

“I don’t know,” Yusuf says. His voice is hoarse from thirst and disuse.

Nicolò slings Yusuf’s arm around his shoulders and lifts him to his feet. Yusuf has to lean on him heavily, but they make it up the stairs and out of that small hell, and Yusuf sees the sun for the first time in what feels like an age.

The men who had taken him prisoner are dead, their blood drying on the floor. Nicolò remains impassive, staring straight ahead as they walk by the bodies.

There is a horse tied to a fence outside, and Nicolò half-drags, half-carries him towards it. It takes some effort for Yusuf to get himself seated, but he manages it in the end, and Nicolò swings himself into the saddle behind him, his arms tight around Yusuf’s waist to keep him steady.

Yusuf relaxes back into his hold and falls asleep almost immediately.

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

When he wakes, he is lying on a bed in a room he does not recognise, and Nicolò is watching him. He manages to sit up, but it’s a monumental effort.

“Here,” Nicolò says gently, offering him a cup of water. “Drink.”

Yusuf takes it and drains the cup almost in one go - it’s been so long since he’d had water. Or food.

“How long?” he asks when he finishes.

Nicolò’s eyes darken. “Two months. It took me too long to find you. I’m sorry I couldn’t find you sooner.”

“But you found me,” Yusuf says. He hadn’t been sure anyone would find him, and yet Nicolò had. And he’d searched for him for two months.

“After they killed you, they killed me,” Nicolò tells him. “When I woke up, you were gone, and they’d taken almost everything. All I could do was follow them back to the town we’d left, but when I arrived, they’d already left. So I kept following them, until I overheard someone bragging about a demon they’d trapped, and after that…”

“Thank you,” Yusuf tells him.

Nicolò looks as if he is going to say something else, but decides against it. “Come with me.”

Yusuf is slightly steadier on his feet now, but he still has to lean on Nicolò as Nicolò guides him through to a small bathroom with a bathtub in the centre, already filled.

“You’re covered in blood,” Nicolò says by way of explanation. Neither of them acknowledge the reason the blood is there.

Yusuf’s hands shake as he tries to unbutton his shirt, so much so that he glances at Nicolò, almost apologetically, and Nicolò reaches out to help him. Nicolò, who had once driven a sword through Yusuf’s chest, now handles him like he’s made of glass, carefully helping him into the bath. Nicolò, who had caved in his skull with a rock when he’d lost his sword in the fight, now gently works the blood from his hair, careful not to pull too much and apologising when he does. Nicolò, who had been so quiet at first, now talks constantly, filling the silence with a string of soft reassurances in Arabic, Ligurian, Greek, Sabir - every language they share.

“Where do we go after this?” Yusuf asks, closing his eyes.

“Malta, I think,” Nicolò says. “We will be able to get away from all this once we are there.”

When the blood has been cleaned away, Nicolò helps him into clean clothes and back into the room, then disappears momentarily to go find them food. He returns with two bowls of stew. Yusuf has to go slowly, at first - it’s been so long since he ate anything - but Nicolò is endlessly patient, and Yusuf manages to finish his whole bowl. After that, he’s too tired to do anything but fall back into bed, his eyes closing almost the moment his head hits the pillow. Nicolò settles himself in the seat between the bed and the door, pulling his sword onto his lap to clean it.

“You’re not going to sleep?” Yusuf asks, blinking at him.

“You sleep. I will keep watch.”

Yusuf is too tired to protest. He falls asleep not long after, knowing that whatever may happen next, he is safe as long as Nicolò is with him.

[kohanayaki]

.:Time and Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 7

Severus looks back on everything that went wrong.

tw: non-consensual kissing/harassment, trauma responses

LINKS:   CH 1   CH 2    CH 3   CH 4   CH 5   CH 6   CH 7   CH 8

________________________________________________________

Ch 7 .:Things Unforgivable and Things Left Unsaid:.

Graduation day at Hogwarts was supposed to mark the beginning of a new adventure for you. Instead, it marked the day you decided that whatever it was between you and Severus Snape, friendship or otherwise, it was over.

Or at least that's what you had thought. Of course, the universe just loved making things more complicated for you. You were working with Charlie in Romania when you had gotten word that Severus defected from the death eaters and was now working as a double agent at Dumbledore's behest. He continued teaching Potions at Hogwarts, and was even indited as a member of the Order. If anything, that only solidified your decision to go to America instead of staying in London. You didn't even know what to think. Of course you trusted Dumbledore, confusing as the man was, but you didn't know if you could really trust Snape again. You had worked towards forgiving him; over time you moved past what happened, but it was difficult to really say it was 'resolved' when you quite literally haven't spoken a word to each other in over a decade. You didn't even know where to start.

For the entirety of your seventh year, you didn't speak a word to Severus. It was hard to imagine that such a tight knit trio like the one you, him, and Lily had formed could crumble in an instant, but that's exactly what happened.

The end of your sixth year at Hogwarts was a quarter Snape would never forget, no matter how hard he tried. It was when everything fell apart. . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   1976  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“James!” you yelled, running to the top of the hill where he and the rest of the Marauders had Snape held upside down.

“What are you doing?” you said, immensely hurt and trying to keep your voice steady, “You said this would stop, you promised. . . you swore.”

“(Y/n), I. . .” James trailed off, immediately feeling guilty. As he turned to you Snape dropped to the ground, attempting to scramble to his feet but finding his ankle twisted.

Sirius moved towards you to say something but you put your hand up firmly.

“No,” you said, “not a word out of you, Black.”

Sirius stared at you, wide-eyed, shrinking back as you called him by his last name for the first time in a long while. Not Sirius, not Pads. Black. As if your whole friendship had just been reset.

“And you two,” you said, addressing Remus and Peter, “how could you let this happen?!”

All four boys looked at you in shame, none of them daring to verbally respond.

Suddenly, Lily came running up the hill, having fallen behind you in your quick pace.

“Severus!” she panted, rushing over to him, “are you alright?”

Snape was in an angered daze, not even registering the words being said around him. The blood rushing through his veins felt like lava, his heart pounding in his ears, his chest, his tongue. His face burned with humiliation and hatred. Pure fucking hatred for James Fleamont Potter. For Lily to see him like that. . . for you to see him like that, pathetic, helpless, in need of your help once again. He wouldn't have it. He was a master of the dark arts now, he didn't have to fucking take this. He would curse Potter into the next century, he would—

“Severus!”

Snape's eyes snapped open, not even realizing they were closed. The world came rushing in around him and he was suddenly acutely aware of Lily's hand on his arm. He reeled back at her touch as if he'd been burned.

“Don't touch me!” he screeched, startling the redheaded girl. Her eyes were filled with concern, but all Snape could see was pity.

“Sev—“

“I don't need any help from you, you filthy Mudblood!”

And everyone in the clearing stilled.

The color drained from Snape's already pale face as he realized what he'd just said.

“Lily. . .” Severus whispered; pleading, desperate.

“Don't come any closer,” Lily said, her voice stone cold as tears welled up in her eyes.

“I'll kill you,” James said lowly.

“Prongs, no—”

“I'll kill you, you slimy bastard!” James growled, Remus moving quickly to hold him back.

You stood in the middle of it all, staring at Severus. Severus, who'd always told Lily that blood status didn't matter. Severus, who you and Lily always stood up for no matter what. Severus, who you thought you had feelings for up until this exact moment.

Without even thinking you stepped forward, grabbing Lily's hand.

“Let's go, Lils,” you said, your expression unreadable as you looked down at Severus. Lily squeezed your hand back gratefully, fighting the sobs racking her chest as she turned around and took off with you.

“(Y/n), wait—” Snape tried to get up but found himself shoved back down to the ground by Sirius.

“No,” he said sharply, “you don't get to say anything to either of them, you hear me?”

“I—”

“What?” James spat, “you're sorry? Well sorry doesn't cut it! You say a word to her after what you called her and you'll wish you'd never have been born.”

Snape's head hung low, that wish already present in his mind.

“Leave him,” Remus said, this time not out of mercy, but malice; letting Snape wallow in his own misery as he left with his friends, looking for you and Lily.

Soon, Severus was left alone. Just as he began, and just as he should have never hoped for anything different. Was this it? That's how it was going to end? One mistake, and the only two people he'd ever cared about were ripped away from him.

No. He decided he had to apologize properly, consequences be damned. If those Marauders wanted to beat him to a bloody pulp afterwards, that was fine by him. He just needed to talk to Lily one more time. To tell her how deeply sorry he really was.

He took off down the hill, sprinting towards the castle and completely ignoring the burning pain in his ankle. He rushed through the grass, ignoring the looks he received from the other students walking by. He ran past the oak tree, through the castle gates, flying through the corridors and cutting across the courtyard when he skid to a stop at what he saw.

Lily and James stood in the center of the garden, her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as his lips captured hers. Her eyes were still wet with tears, the tears that he had caused. Severus didn't do a thing. His presence remained unknown to them as he slunk away back to his common room, heart silently breaking.

He was too late.

Nothing was the same after that.

Lily insisted that if you wanted to remain friends with Snape, as she now referred to him, she wouldn't hold it against you, but she made it very clear that she would never forgive him herself. But it wasn't as easy as wanting to stay friends with him or not; he'd changed that day.

After some time to let things settle down you tried to approach him, but he only became more and more hostile towards everyone, including you. You hardly saw him anymore. The only time you occasionally spotted him was when he was walking around school with Malfoy, Mulciber, Wilkes, and Avery, unable to look you in the eye lest you see the utterly crushed expression on your face as he fell deeper and deeper into the dark side.

You held your books tightly to your chest as you made your way to Hagrid's hut for one of your last Care of Magical Creatures class. You were being paired up with a few lower classmen to teach them the ropes for feeding all the creatures Hagrid kept in the meadows. You were a tad late, having been preoccupied at lunch, speedwalking to try and arrive on time when you saw a flash of silver-blue light emit from inside the forest. You could hear warbled shouting and laughter coming from the same direction, and your instincts told you to run.

However, because your nerves were on high alert, that also told you someone in there was in danger, and you couldn't just walk away from that. You drew your wand, abandoning your books by a rockface and moving towards the commotion, the distorted shouting soon becoming words.

“Oh come on, you little runts, you lot can do better than that!” you recognized Mulciber's voice.

A young girl shrieked as a giant acromantula barred its fangs at her, its front legs raised and poised to attack. Her friends were huddled in a corner, more students who couldn't have been older than second or third years, being forced to watch by Avery and Wilkes.

“How's this for Care of Magical Creatures, eh?” Mulciber taunted as he walked over to the other students, pulling a young boy out from the group.

“No!” the girl cornered by the spider cried, “please, don't!”

“Aw, how cute,” Mulciber drawled, “is this your little boyfriend, huh? Shame.”

The boy screamed in fear as he was suddenly lifted into the air by his ankles, forced to hover right above the spider just out of its reach. You wanted to wretch as you watched the scene unfold, unable to keep yourself hidden any longer.

You leaped into the clearing, a quick flick of your wrist relieving Mulciber of his wand. You did the same to Wilkes as he turned to you.

“Well well, why am I not surprised?” Avery scoffed. Right behind him stood Severus, his expression vacant.

“Grab this, and get to Professor McGonagall immediately,” you shouted to the younger Gryffindor students, tossing them a gold galleon. As soon as they touched the coin, the portkey shot them all back to the castle.

“Why are you always the one spoiling our fun?” Mulciber sneered.

“Someone's gotta do it,” you said, putting up a brave front although you were under no illusion as to your situation. You weren't fourth years anymore, and you were alone this time. They'd been studying the dark arts for the past two years. You knew you were outmatched, even with your dueling skills.

“Oh, come on, (Y/n), don't be a bore.”

You turned around at the sound of the familiar voice to see Rosier, an easy grin set into his face. Your heart dropped.

“So you too, huh?” you chuckled bitterly, “and here I thought you were one of the few good ones left.”

“You're not really that naive, are you?” he tutted, “you had to have known I would be inducted eventually. Might even get Barty to join us, even if he is a little nutty.”

You went for a stunning spell but found your wand spinning out of your hand before you even saw him move.

“Not so fun to be on the receiving end, is it?” Rosier said, “you're not the only one versed in non-verbal magic, (Y/n). In fact, I'd even go so far as to say we've surpassed you. Lucius will be furious, but I like you a lot, so I'll re-extend his old offer for him. Join us.”

You had no wand, no backup, no way out of this, but you stood your ground nonetheless.

“Eat shit,” you seethed. Rosier glowered at you, taking a few menacing steps forward. He grabbed your jaw firmly and you grit your teeth.

“I don’t think you heard me—”

He reeled back as you spit right in his face,

“You bitch,” he growled, wiping his face in disgust, “clearly no one ever bothered to train you.”

Without your wand you were really only left with one option, ready to defend yourself by revealing your animagus form, but you never got to take the first step forward.

“Imperio!”

You stopped in your tracks as a veil of what could only be described as pink fluff drifted over your mind. A smile immediately appeared on your face, and a giggle rose in your throat.

Severus looked at Rosier with horror, the rest of his crew looking among themselves uneasily.

“What do you think you're doing?” Snape hissed, “are you trying to get us all expelled?”

“So what?” Rosier said, “we've used the killing curse loads of times.”

“On insects, you loon,” Snape shot back, hoping his concern for you was masked enough.

“Don't worry, I'm not gonna hurt your precious (Y/n), Sev.”

The nickname made his stomach churn. You used to call him that. Lily used to call him that. No one else did. No one else got to.

“Release them,” he said, raising his wand, “now.”

“Put that away,” Rosier's eyes narrowed, a smirk sliding back onto his face as he got an idea, “hey, (Y/n)?”

“Yes?” you answered, your voice dripping with honey.

“I don't think Severus likes you being under this spell,” Rosier said, “but you like it don't you?”

“Mmm hmm,” you nodded, your head feeling like it was floating, “it feels so nice.”

“You know what else would feel nice?” Rosier goaded, “if you gave our friend Sev here a kiss.”

Severus' heart dropped to his stomach.

“You're sick, Rosier,” Snape said, his voice close to tremmoring.

“You don't have to act like you don't want it,” Evan chuckled, “we've watched you putz around (L/n) like a fool for years. Besides, they want to. Isn't that right, (Y/n)?”

“He's right,” you said, your voice deceptively melodic, “I love you, Severus. I've always loved you.”

And in that moment, Snape had never hated himself more. Because he didn't care that Rosier was making you say the things you did. He didn't care that you were under the influence of a curse. All he could hear was the words he longed to hear spill from your lips, over and over like a skipping record.

I love you, Severus. I love you, Severus. I love you, Severus.

He played the words on repeat in his head. His heart was beating almost painfully in his chest, so much so that he hardly even noticed you slowly walking towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck like Lily had done to James. And when you leaned forward to kiss him, his selfish desires held him in place.

It had lasted a fraction of a second, but he didn't pull away. It was the greatest regret of his life that he didn't walk up to Rosier, break his nose, and curse every single person in that clearing instead of doing nothing, knowing full well you had no control over your actions.

When his eyes drifted open and met yours and his stomach twisted into ugly knots, fear and panic wracking through his spine. Your eyes were completely empty, irises a vacant white, and in that moment it felt as if he were kissing a corpse.

Suddenly the color returned to your eyes, and fear immediately filled them. Snape grunted as he was shot away from you, unable to move when he hit the ground. The other Slytherins looked around for the assailant, but they had no time to react when every single one of their wands was pulled from their hands. McGonagall stood there, expression the same as ever but clearly brimming with fury.

“(L/n), come,” she said, ushering you over and taking you protectively in her embrace, “we'll get you to Madame Pomfrey.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she regarded Snape and the rest of their group, “As for you,” she said, “Mr Filch, secure them in the dungeons until the Headmaster calls for them. And put all of their wands in the lockbox.”

“With pleasure,” Filch said, almost blending in with the trees behind her.

“Are you alright?” McGonagall asked you as she helped you back towards the castle.

“No,” you said, honestly, “n-no, I don't think I am.”

“No amount of apology could ever equate to the remorse I feel that this happened to you, (L/n),” she said earnestly, “I am truly sorry. This was completely unacceptable, and I will see to it that the proper measures are taken for their punishments. Expulsion would suit just fine, but even if the Headmaster disagrees, I will personally ensure you never come into contact with any of those boys again.”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice sounding hollow in your own ears.

You didn't remember walking the near half-mile to the infirmary. Madame Pomfrey's words felt so far away, as if she were speaking underwater. You just remembered laying down in the hospital wing bed as she checked you for any lasting damage, and as soon as she'd turned her back you'd just wept.

________________________________________________________

That night, Snape found himself in the Prefect's bathroom, leaned over the sink and watching the water rush into the drain. His hands clutched the marble sides of the basin so hard his knuckles turned white, every breath catching painfully in his chest before he forced it out to take another shaky inhale. He was an idiot, he knew. There was no fixing this. Not really. First Lily, now you. Was he just predestined to lose everyone in his life?

He paused. No, he didn't deserve to think like that. Everything that had gone wrong was his own doing.

When he heard the door to the bathroom open he whipped around, ready to curse whoever dared to interrupt him until he saw you standing there, your eyes red from crying and the Marauder's Map clutched in your hands like a vice. He was half certain you were a hallucination, but as soon as he pulled himself to the present, he rushed to apologize. You had to know how horrible he felt about what he did, even if you would never forgive him. He made the mistake of being too cowardly to properly apologize to Lily, he wouldn't make that mistake again.

“(Y/n), I'm—”

“I know you're sorry,” you said callously, “and I know you mean it. That's not the issue.” you took a breath to collect yourself before you continued. This was so much harder than you thought it would be. Maybe this wound really was too fresh right now. You thought you'd be able to handle this conversation, but your prior feelings weren't making this any easier.

“Why did you do it?” you asked quietly, “Better, why did you do nothing? You were my friend, Severus.”

Whatever was holding back the flood of emotions in him, it snapped at your words.

Were. Past tense.

“I don't know what I was thinking,” Snape said in exasperation, though it came off more as anger directed at himself. His hands threaded through his messy black locks, his eyes nearly manic. You'd never seen him unravel quite like this. He was desperate to fix this, to keep you in his life. “No, I wasn't thinking at all, (Y/n). I couldn't, not when you were . . . not when I. . .”

Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it—

“Not when I've fancied you for years.”

Snape knew immediately that he had made a mistake. The expression on your face made his stomach twist, and he knew there was no taking back what he said.

“No,” you said, tears welling in your eyes, “Severus Snape, don't you dare say that. What, do you think that just makes this all okay? You're an oblivious idiot, you know that?”

Your heart ached so bad it felt as if you couldn't breathe.

“Do you know how many times I wished you would have kissed me?” you said shakily, not bothering to hide the hurt in your voice.

Snape was sure his breathing had stopped, eyes wide with shock. He couldn't have heard that right. Did you really feel the same way about him? But reality hit him in the face when he saw your expression. This was no heartfelt confession on your part.

“For you to just. . . for it to happen like that,” you said, still struck with betrayal and disbelief, “If you've ever respected me, you never would have let that happen. I was under a curse, Severus. And you took advantage of that— of me. All because you were too much of a coward to just tell me how you felt. And then you go on and say you've liked me this whole time as a last ditch effort to save our friendship? How the hell did you expect me to react?”

He had nothing to say to that. He blamed himself entirely. Every verbal blow you struck he gladly took, he would have sat there still as stone if you hexed him, but you refused to draw your wand at him. You just stood there, staring straight through him with unbelievable hurt in your eyes.

“I can't do this, Severus,” you said, “please, just. . . just leave me alone. I'm not saying I'll never forgive you, but right now I can't even begin to think about that. Not now.”

You looked like you wanted to say something more, but your mouth snapped shut, and Severus saw the finality in your eyes. He stayed glued to the spot where he stood long after he watched you leave, his eyes trained on the door you'd slammed shut.

If you thought Snape had made himself scarce after what he said to Lily, after what he did to you he practically vanished. He no longer sat underneath the tree that had become so symbolic of your former trio. He no longer roamed the Slytherin common room, or even the Great Hall for meals. Instead he would walk through the forbidden forest alone, or hole up in some empty corridor purposely hiding but hoping you would walk up to him. You never did.

The people who did find him in the few days that followed were the newly named Marauders, though incomplete as they arrived without you. As he glanced down at the parchment in Lupin's hand he had no questions about how they'd located him. Snape grimaced, not bothering to get up from his seat beneath the stone pillar. Anything they did to him was what he deserved.

James stepped forward from the group first. His expression was unreadable, but Snape saw the way his jaw was set firmly in place, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. The Slytherin had expected Potter to come at him guns blazing, sending a flurry of verbal attacks and hexes his way. However, James Potter simply stared down at his former enemy with a look that met in the intersection of barely contained anger and utter disappointment.

“You didn't deserve them,” he said coldly, his voice oddly level.

“I know,” Snape glared, but not feeling very self-righteous.

“No, you don't,” James said, his voice rising steadily, “you will never know what you put them through. You sat there while your lunatic friends used an Unforgivable Curse on them, and you took advantage of them. I don't care if you know, I'm going to throw it back in your face, because it's what you deserve.”

“I think it's clear that (Y/n) doesn't wish to speak with you any longer,” Remus said, “if for some inconceivable reason they want to in the future, they'll approach you. Don't you even think about going about it the other way around before they're ready and willing to talk. If they ever are.”

“It's settled, Severus,” James said simply, “you're officially not worth our time anymore.”

Snape blinked up at him, trying to recall a time when Potter had ever called him by his actual name.

“Don't get us wrong,” Sirius glared, “the only reason we aren't throwing you to the Womping Willow is because we know the last thing (Y/n) would want is her friends getting expelled because of them.”

“We'll leave you alone now,” Peter said grimly, “just like you've always wanted.”

And they were telling the truth. They left him completely alone, not speaking a word to him after that; 'they' now including you and Lily, which destroyed him more than any amount of bullying had before. He watched from afar as you grew closer and closer to the Marauders. . . no, you were a Marauder. It was only natural that you became almost like a family in your seventh year. You, James, Peter, Sirius, Remus, and Lily had become as inseparable as Snape thought you, him, and Lily were, but he'd ruined that. He had ruined every good thing that had ever happened to him and pushed away every important person in his life.

The last time he saw you was graduation day. Everyone was running around excitedly, dressed in the ceremonial jewel-toned robes of their respective houses as they awaited Dumbledore's speech. You had been sitting with your group as usual, now having carved out your own spot at the Gryffindor table, when you noticed that Snape was nowhere to be found.

You frowned, wondering why he of all people had to slip into your mind on a day like today.

“You alright, Fangs?”

Sirius' voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, I'm fine. . .”

His handsome features contorted in concern, but that easy grin slid back onto his face as he nudged you with his shoulder.

“What, you worried you're gonna miss us?” he smirked, “this isn't goodbye, you know. We'll all see each other at the Order meetings—”

“Which you always seem to talk about at an extraordinary volume,” Remus shushed him pointedly. Sirius brushed him off with a roll of his eyes.

“(Y/n), are you sure nothing's wrong?” James asked from across the table.

“I'm alright, Prongs,” you said, “I just. . . you know what? I just remembered I left something in my dorm, I'll be right back.”

Your friends exchanged worried glances as you got up from the table, taking off towards the Slytherin common room. It wasn't a total lie, but your intentions went against your better judgment. After today there was a very, very good chance you would never see Severus again. What he did wasn't okay by any means, and it would take more than an apology or a simple conversation to forgive him, but you needed closure at the very least. Not for him, but for you. You deserved that much.

You swiped the map off your bedside table and opened it fully, your eyes quickly picking out Severus' name near the cellars only a few rooms away from where you were. You took off quickly down the hall, reaching the intersection where all the dungeon's corridors converged when you spotted him. Your heart stopped.

His left sleeve was rolled up to his elbow, as was the person's standing across from him, their back to you. Even though you couldn't see the second person's face, you recognized who it was immediately.

Evan Rosier.

He wasn't on the map before. . . how had he gotten in?! He'd been expelled after the day he cursed you. Did he somehow find a way to bypass the anti-apparition charm?

You felt your breathing hitch, fear creeping under your skin. There, on both of their arms, was a tattoo of a skull, a serpent weaving its way through the mouth and eye sockets in an undeniable pattern.  You stopped breathing all together. You knew Severus had fallen into the dark arts, but to actually be a death eater? To be proudly showing off that awful display of radicalism along with the person who had used an Unforgivable Curse on you, who had invaded your free will and taken over your body. . .

Severus must have felt you even from the opposite side of the hallway, because something pricking at his skin told him to look up, and when he did he wished he never had. You were looking at him for the first time in over a year, your eyes full of terror. Rosier followed his gaze, but when he looked over his shoulder there was no one there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Severus sighed, trying to push the less than pleasant memories out of his head. He knew by now he was likely the last person left in the house besides you, Harry, and Sirius who were all staying here. Something like hope had sparked in his chest when he saw the faintest ghost of a smile on your lips as you saw him for the first time since graduation. He wanted to talk to you, to tell you he knew he deserved nothing from you, but he would spend the rest of his life trying to make it right if you would only give him a chance after all this time. In truth, he missed his friend. With Lily gone, you were one of the closest things he had to that left.

Against his better judgment, Severus made his way up the stairs, silent as a thestral as he headed for your room, but he stopped in his tracks when he reached the top. Sirius' door was cracked open the slightest bit, and what Snape saw inside made his blood run cold. You were sitting next to Sirius on his bed, your head resting gently on his shoulder. As you craned your neck to look Sirius in the eyes, that's when Severus saw it— the way the Marauder looked at you. The way his face seemed to light up, the spark that returned to his gray eyes, the utter adoration in them.

And just like that, Snape was a seventeen year old boy again, transported right back to that courtyard garden, watching Lily and James share their first kiss on the day he had made one of the biggest mistakes of his life. His heart shattered silently, though his departure was not so quiet as he took off down the stairs as quickly as he could. He grimaced at his own feelings, ones he knew he had no business owning.

As he was about to open the front door to leave, his instincts suddenly screamed at him to turn around, and he was just barely able to cast an invisibility charm as you began to come down the stairs. He held his breath as he looked at you. He knew he had no right to think so, but you were still beautiful like this; dressed in pajamas, hair disheveled, eyes still sightly puffy and red. He saw you look around, knowing you had no doubt heard his rather noisy descent of the staircase, and he cursed himself for not leaving sooner. Your eyes searched what should have appeared to be the empty space in front of you, but he saw you look him in the eyes, and he knew that you knew.

“Severus?” you called his name out softly, and the sound felt like a strike to his face.

He wanted nothing more than to say something to you, talk to you, hold you. But his mind flashed back to the way you had been with Sirius, and his words died in his throat. He said nothing, trying to remain unphased at your hurt expression as you turned around to walk back up the stairs. As soon as your back was turned to him, he left, unable to bring himself to do anything more.

Once again, he was too late.

Read chapter 8 here!

Taglist:  @sleep-i-ness, @blackpinkdolan, @parker-natasha, @ornella0910 @undertaker1827 @thatwierdo-koemi @nxstalgicnxbxdy @calaryssia @aleksanderwh0r3 @juggysgirlfriend @beautifulsweetschaos @kattirin @mialupin1 @crazy-obsessed-fangirl, @youcantbesirius​

[kouomi]

Golden Touches

Summary: Everyone is born with marks that turn gold when your soulmate touches you. How could meeting someone for the first time turn into meeting your soulmate? (F!Reader x Tsukishima Kei)

Warnings: none!

Word Count: 1,558

A/N: sorry for getting this out late! I don’t think this is my best work as it’s the first thing I ever wrote for Haikyuu but here it is!

My Masterlist

Posted: March 26 2020, 6:15 PM EST

(Pic that inspired this)

Everyone was painted with colors. Each individual was their own canvas that had splotches of paint splattered across their skin that almost looked random had you not known what they meant. That’s how your parents explained it to you, at least. When you’re born your marks are black which are how most people’s are, but when a specific person touches them they turn gold; this specific person being your soulmate. The marks were where the hands of your soulmate would touch you for the first time. The most common mark people had was small streaks on their hands or arms where their soulmates hand would graze their skin temporarily, some had their palm painted black along with the shadow of fingers on the back of their hand, and some even had a hand print or knuckles painted on their cheek where they’d inevitably be hit. Everyone’s was unique to them, and they each held their own future story.

You stated at your marks everyday, always wondering if today would be the day they’d go from black splotches to lovely sparkles. Your marks were much less generic than most, a large handprint angled with the tips of the fingers towards your shoulder splayed across the front corner of the base of your neck, your collarbone, and the top of your chest. It was rather unusual and the way it was positioned made it seem like they’d be behind you which confused you even more. You were happy to have a unique mark as it made the moment you’d meet them feel more special, but it constantly left you wondering about the conditions of when you’d meet, what situation you’d be in where that would be the first place someone would touch you.

It was a rather warm day as it was nearing summer so you’d left the top buttons of your uniform unbuttoned and let your jacket slip off of your shoulders and hang loosely around your elbows. Your eyes lazily skimmed over the crowds of your classmates, jealously spiking in you every time you saw someone with gold splashed across their skin instead of black. Very few people met their soulmates in high school and you envied those that were so lucky as to do so.

“Y/n!” You look up and find Yachi waving a hand in front of your face. “Can you come with me to the volleyball practice after school?”

“Hm? Why?”

“So we can work on the project after school,” She reminded you and you inwardly cringe at the mention of it, “We still have to finish it before tomorrow.”

“Sure, I’ll be there.” You answer, watching as a wide smile crosses the blondes face.

“Great, see you there!” She waves before heading down the stairs and getting lost in the crowd.

A heavy sigh leaves you as you pull out your phone and put in your earbuds, clicking on your playlist and letting the noise of your favorite song fill your ears. You did your best to ignore the stares of others as you made your way to the cafeteria, though you always knew they were there. You’d gotten used to being stared at by people who were examining your soulmate mark but it never made it any less annoying. You’d had some of these “admirers” come up from behind you and not so graciously lay their hand on your chest trying to match up to your mark, always landing a slap to the face after they did so. You didn’t know how many times you’d had to tell them off that it couldn’t be justified just by what they claimed was curiosity but it never changed anything.

“Hey Y/n, what’s up?” Hinata asks with a small wave.

“Hi Hinata, Kageyama.” You greet, slowing your pace for a moment so they can catch up to you. “I’m gonna be at your practice today.”

“Why?”

“Yachi and I have a project,” You reply “what, do you not want me there or something?”

“What? No!” Kageyama exclaims making you and Hinata laugh.

“Calm down I was joking.”

The three of you continue to poke fun at each other all the way to the cafeteria, especially you and Hinata making Kageyama mad as it was easy to do so with the quick tempered setter.

“Do you two ever stop fighting?” Another voice says as they approach your table. You turn around and find two boys, one a very tall blond with glasses and an annoyed look on his face and the other a more timid looking boy with green hair and freckles.

“Who’s that?” You ask your friends as the new boys sit down.

“This is Tsukishima and Yamaguchi.” Hinata says, “They’re on the volleyball team.”

“Hi!” Yamaguchi greets with a welcoming smile, “nice to meet you.”

“You too.” You reply with similar smile.

The other boy, Tsukishima, doesn’t say anything, only glances at you before looking back at his food. He seems like to be the quiet type, his silent judging stare would probably warn off anyone else but you found it amusing. Your eyes scanned them for their soulmate marks, finding them after a few moments. Yamaguchis was mostly covered by the sleeve of his shirt but you could slightly make out the edge of a black mark around his wrist and on the back of Tsukishimas hand you could see a smaller black hand print, the mark going around the side of his hand so the thumb was on his palm.

“Do you make a habit of staring?” The blonde asks, making you look up from his hand as he pulls it away, hiding it out of sight under the table.

“Curiosity’s natural.” You shrug in response, smirking when his expression flashes to shock before he covers it with slight disgust. He clicks his tongue, his eyes temporarily flashing down to look at your mark before he looks back to his food.

After lunch your evening classes dragged by, none of your teachers words sticking to your brain as you watched the clocks hands slowly tick by. Finally after what felt like hours the last bell rang and let you out of your final class, filing into the stream of students exiting the school. As everyone else left you stopped at your locker, leaving your books inside before heading towards the gym where volleyball practice was held. You stared down at your phone as you walked so you couldn’t see anything else around you, the world around you practically lost to your senses.

“Watch out!” A voice yells, forcing you to look up and see a volleyball flying towards you.

You freeze up as the ball cuts through the air, your feet planted in the ground though you knew you should move out of the path of the object. You’re suddenly yanked to the side by someone who was behind you, your phone being knocked out of your hand and to the ground by the sudden movement. Their hand was firm on the front of your body as their arm was crossing your body having pulled you into themselves just as the ball slams into where you were standing seconds before. Your hand flies up to grip theirs, your heart pounding at the close encounter.

The person behind you quickly retracts their arm making you turn around, surprise taking on your expression as you see who’d saved you.

“How could you be so stupid as to not move out of the way of the ball flying at your face?” Tsukishima asks with a scoff, leaning down to pick up your phone. You were about to snap back at him, a rebuttal on the tip of your tongue though it’s quickly lost when you see the once black hand that was on his had turned gold.

“Are you just gonna stare at me again?” He scoffs as he reaches out to hand you your phone, his eyes widening when he sees a flash of gold on your chest.

Almost simultaneously you look down at yourself and he looks at his hand before you look back at each other’s marks and finally at each other.

“No fucking way.” You whisper to yourself, seeing the shocked look in his eyes.

It’s dead silent between the two of you for what feels like a lifetime, his hand still holding out your phone as you both try to figure out something to say. How could he be your soulmate when you’d only met this morning? Had the universe somehow made a mistake?

Tsukishimas eyes bare into your from behind his glasses as for once he finds himself at a loss for words, trying to piece together how this was his soulmate. He doesn’t know you. There was nothing forcing him to talk to you or start a relationship solely based off of the marks. Yet,

Yet there was something pulling you towards him. Something in you was drawing closer to him, taking your hand and dragging you along. There was some part of him that had sparked something in you, and whether it was just the surprise of your soulmate marks or it was a genuine feeling, you found yourself giving into it, a smile crossing your face.

“Tsukishima, right?”

“Uh, yeah.” He responds, still processing what had happened, “You’re the weirdo duos friend.”

“It’s Y/n. We’re...”

“Soulmates.”

You both smile.

“Soulmates.”

[illegal-spiegel]

Voice Sweet as Caramel

Pairing: deaf!Katsuki Bakugo x gn!reader Genre: fluff, slight angst? Warnings: none Summary: You meet Dynamight and don’t know that he’s deaf. Luckily for him though, when you find out, your quirk comes in handy Word Count: 5.1k words A/N: I did a lot of research to make Bakugo’s experience seem as real as possible. If there is smth that I did wrong, worded incorrectly, etc., please don’t hesitate to inform me. Thank you and enjoy!

It didn’t really bother him at first. Being deaf, I mean. He didn’t have to listen to a bunch of nonsense all the time, he could sleep in peace, villains trying to goad him on and agitate him didn’t work anymore, and so on. 

It didn’t take him long to realize just how many downfalls there are with that though. He started to fall behind in class because he could no longer hear his teachers. He wasn’t able to hear plans of attack or hear an enemy sneak up on him. 

He can’t hear your voice. 

He became deaf in the middle of his third year. It happened in the middle of a fight with the league of villains and he didn’t really have time to panic about it at the time. When school let out and he became one of the top heroes, he tried not to be bothered by it and for the most part, it worked. His other senses heightened as time went on but that doesn’t mean it made the reality that he’s deaf any easier. There were still the setbacks that will always hold him back from reaching top potential. Because of this, he’s the number three hero, right behind Deku and Todoroki. 

That’s what really crushed him. 

He never shows anyone, heroes, friends, and villains alike, that being deaf is a struggle for him, even when he gets used to it. He wants to hear the villains he defeats beg for mercy. He wants to hear his friends laugh when someone does something stupid. He wants to hear the praise of civilians when he saves them. 

He wants to hear your voice but he’d, obviously, never tell a soul that. 

He didn’t meet you until a year after he graduated.

You showed up when he was fighting some villains, and he’ll never admit that he was struggling a little bit. Somehow though, villain after villain suddenly couldn’t see him and they panicked. They’d run into buildings and each other before Bakugo beat them all to a pulp. 

Seeing as how you’re the only one else there with a hero costume on, he assumes you had something to do with it. As he hands the villains over to the police, you come over with a warm smile aimed directly at him. He stares at your lips as you speak, his ears ringing with the silence that he’s grown used to. 

He doesn’t really understand why you’re trying to talk to him, seeing as how everyone knows that the great hero Dynamight is unable to hear. So, why are you wasting your time trying to talk to him? Maybe you think he can read your lips. That is, after all, a common misconception about deaf people.

Without a word on his part, he turns and walks away from you. He doesn’t hear you stop in the middle of congratulating him. He doesn’t hear how you scoff a bit. He doesn’t see you frown at how rude he is. 

You walk into the building with a bright smile already on your face, excited for something you literally do every day of your life. It doesn’t matter how many times you do it though. This will always make you happy. Plus, you just came to Japan from America a couple of weeks ago. You haven’t been here in years. You are excited to use your improved quirk to help others. 

You greet the lady at the front desk as you grab your sticker name tag that the staff makes for you every day. You then go to your first stop, gently knocking on the door and coming in once you get the go-ahead. 

“(Y/n)! You’re back!” the little girl squeals, a large smile coming to her face. Your smile stretches out further as you walk over to her. 

“Hi, Keiko! How have you been?” you say as you move your hands slowly for her to read. She watches them attentively before perking up, her mother beside her smiling softly at the interaction. 

“I’ve been really good! I’m glad you're back!” she says happily, her ‘accent’ coming through more now that she’s calmed down and isn’t shouting. 

“I’m happy to be back too,” you agree, your hands moving with your words. 

“(Y/n),” the mother says, grabbing your attention, “Thank you for coming back. You have no idea what this means to me. To us. After the villain attack...” Her eyes are watery as she speaks, her hand coming up to pet her daughter’s head. 

You smile softly at her, coming over to sit in the empty chair by her bed. “Don’t even mention it, Mrs. Suzuki. It’s an honor to be of use to you and your daughter,” you reassure. You then look to Keiko, seeing her body impatiently wiggling around as she waits for you to work your magic. 

You chuckle as you raise your hands, her eyes widening, despite knowing what you were doing. She turns to look at her mom as she shouts, “Mommy! I can hear again!” You read her lips and smile as she wraps her arms tightly around her mother. You watch with a soft look in your eyes, trying to ignore your oncoming sadness that will come when her hearing comes to an end again. 

“Keiko, I noticed that you are getting better at JSL. You must be studying so hard!” you praise, watching her chest puff out at the praise. 

“You bet I am! It’s so easy and my tutor says I’m really good at it!” she brags while using her hands for you to read, a chuckle escaping you at how proud she is. She has every right to be though. 

“That’s so cool! Can you show me what else you’ve learned?” 

You stay with the girl and her mother for their hour before slowly taking away her hearing again. She doesn’t seem to mind though. Even at her young age, she’s grateful for the opportunity that others don’t get to have and she knows that you can’t let her have her hearing back forever. 

You walk down the hall and walk into the next room after knocking. “Daiki? It’s (Y/n),” you greet softly, not wanting to spook the teen. He perks up at the sound of your voice, a smile coming to his face as he turns to face you. 

That has to be the best part of your quirk. You bring all of these smiles to these unfortunate people whose lives were changed at the hands of villains. 

“(Y/n)! I’m surprised to have you come back so soon!” he greets, holding his arms open for a hug. You happily accept it, returning his sight as you pull away. He brightens up more as the life returns in his eyes, your eyes catching the sight of his gums showing from how big he’s smiling before your own vision goes dark. 

“I’ll never get tired of seeing your pretty face,” he playfully flirts, making you chuckle as you take a seat by his bed. 

“You’re such a flatterer.” When visiting Daiki, he prefers to use his time wisely. He likes to memorize the faces of loved ones, read, watch tv, and other things that he can’t do.

When his time comes to an end, he sighs as he closes his book he was reading, a sad smile on his face. “You really are my hero, (Y/n),” Daiki says softly, his eyes roaming your face to now memorize it without your knowledge. 

“I’m just doing what anyone else would do with my quirk,” you reassure, giving him a sad smile as you slowly take his sight away again. He sighs and picks up the same book from before but with braille instead of typed words. 

“Still. See you next week?” 

“You betcha,” you say softly before kissing his cheek and leaving. 

Your quirk allows you to eliminate or heighten the five senses. You can only do one sense at a time though. You can do it in increments too, meaning you can completely eradicate or heighten a sense, or you can do it partially. For example, you can increase someone’s smelling to 100% and they can suddenly smell ten times better than a bloodhound. Another example, if someone is getting a headache by a smell, you can remove someone’s smell by 50% and leave them able to smell but not as strongly as they normally would be able to. Also, when you use your quirk, that sense is completely removed from you but only while you’re using it on someone. You also can’t use your quirk on yourself. 

It’s when you’re leaving the RCV, the Recovery Center from Villains, you notice the fight between a hero and multiple villains. You raise your hand to one of the villains, removing his, and your, sight. When you hear a loud explosion and a cry of pain, you turn off your quirk to find the villain you used your quirk on laying on the ground. You repeat this process with the other villains until there was none left standing. 

When the hero hands them over to the police, you run over with a grin. “Hi, I just wanted to say that you were incredible! I know you probably didn’t need my help but I just wanted to-”

You cut yourself off with a scoff when the blond suddenly walks away from you, a frown coming to your face as you watch him go. Well, that was rude. Especially after you just helped him take down four villains! 

“Excuse me. Were you the one to help Dynamight?” an officer asks. You give her a kind smile as you nod your head, turning to face her now. 

“Yes, ma’am. I have a senses quirk, so I eliminated their sight so, uh, Dynamite could get the upper hand,” you explain. She smiles at this, becoming more fascinated by the second as you explain what happened. You answer any questions she has, noticing the sun is starting to go down. 

“Well, it’s getting dark. I’ll let you go! Have a great day—oh! What’s your hero name?” 

“It’s Esthesia,” you say before saluting and walking away. 

On your walk home, a guy gives you an unseemly smile as his eyes flicker up and down your body. “Hey, baby. Where you going?” You give him a bored look as you raise your hand, taking his, and your, sight away as you continue to walk straight. He begins to panic, your ears listening as he runs around frantically before crashing into a brick wall. When his body hits the ground, you return both of your vision with a smirk. 

“Have a nice night!” you sarcastically call to his groaning figure. 

The second time you meet Dynamight—you learned from the news how it’s actually spelled—it was under pretty much the same circumstances. You stay by the sidelines, appearing as a civilian to everyone which is exactly what you wanted. 

You raise your hand and remove the villain’s sight, listening for signs that the villain is defeated. When you return your vision though, you find a villain coming from above to attack Dynamight. 

“Dynamight!” you shout in warning, pointing up for him to see what your warning is for. He never looks at you though, allowing the villain to attack him from above. You quickly remove that villain’s sight, hoping that you weren’t too late. Why did he just ignore you like that? Is he that stubborn?

When your vision comes back, you find that he has taken out all of the villains again. You charge towards him once you see this, coming up behind him. “Why did you ignore me? You could’ve been killed!” you shout, afraid for the hero’s life. He keeps his back to you though, his eyes moving from villain to villain to make sure that they will stay down. “Hey!” you shout as you lightly shove him to gain his attention. 

“Hey!” he copies as he catches his balance and spins around, his eyes alight with an inferno that’s normally directed at villains. When he sees it’s you though, that inferno shrinks to a flame. “What is your problem?” he screams. 

You scoff as you cross your arms over your chest, a glare of your own staring right back at him. “My problem? My problem is that you keep ignoring me! I was trying to help you back there and you didn’t even turn to acknowledge me! You could’ve avoided that attack altogether!” you shout right back, your eyes moving to the wound on his shoulder that he received from that villain. Your eyes return to his face when he huffs and looks away from you. 

And just like before, he walks away from you, causing your jaw to drop open. “Hey! You don’t get to do this to me again!” you shout, running to stand in front of him. You notice that the police have arrived to take the bad guys away, which Bakugo also notices. 

“Get out of my way,” he snaps, moving to go around you until you just block his way again. 

“No! This is the second time I’ve helped you! You can at least thank me!” He doesn’t react to your words. He doesn’t even have an expression on his face anymore. He, again, just moves around you and walks away. This time though, you let him go. 

“Fine! That’s the last time I help you then!” you declare. 

It’s not. 

He just seems to have an invisible sign that you can’t see that says, “Come attack me! I’m alone! Please beat me up!” You don’t understand why he never has backup. Well, besides you, that is. 

After helping out several times though, you finally come across him in battle with another hero. About time. Where was he the last six times you’ve helped him?

You watch from afar, only helping if one of them seems to be struggling a bit. You notice that the other hero acts differently around Bakugo. Their body language is different and he never calls out to him. Does he not like him? Cause you sure don’t. 

After the fight is over and the police have escorted the villains away, the heroes leave after interacting with the civilians for a bit. You notice that no one talks to Dynamight though. How is he the number three hero but isn’t popular amongst the civilians? That makes his situation even odder to you. 

When they finally leave, you quickly catch up to them. “Hey! Hi, sorry! I just wanted to say that you guys did a great job!” you congratulate with a grin, not even looking in Dynamight’s way. 

The guy with flaming red hair, named Red Riot you believe, gives you a toothy grin. “Oh, thanks! You’re Esthesia, right? I’ve seen you on the news with Bakubro a couple of times.” You raise your brow at the nickname but realize he’s talking about Dynamight. 

“Oh, yes! It’s nice to meet you! You’re Red Riot, right?” At this, his smile gets even brighter, if possible. 

“Sure is! You can call me Kirishima though! This is Bakugo,” he introduces. It takes everything in you not to scoff. 

“Yeah. I’ve saved his ass a time or two before,” you say as calmly as possible. Kirishima looks to Bakugo and finds that he’s not even looking at you. 

“Sorry about him. He can be so moody.” You raise your brow when Bakugo doesn’t come to his own defense, seeming to just take the playful blow. 

“That’s one word to describe him. Anyway, I don’t want to keep you guys up. I just wanted to congratulate you,” you explain with a warm smile. 

“Oh, it’s no problem at all! It was nice to finally meet the hero who has saved Bakugo’s ass so many times! Say, how about we meet up sometime? It’d be great for you to meet some of the other heroes. Your quirk is really useful!” You blush at this but nod nonetheless. 

“Oh, that would be great! I love helping where I can!” You pull out your phone for Kirishima to put his number into your phone, this finally grabbing Bakugo’s attention, but he remains quiet. 

“Super! I’ll text you when some of the others are free. We can all get drinks or something,” he says as he hands your phone back to you. 

“Can’t wait! It was nice meeting you!” you say cheerfully before you leave the duo to go to the RCV, which is where you were heading before you stopped to help. 

About a week later, you get a text from Kirishima asking if you’d be free Sunday night. You agreed to meet him at a restaurant and you couldn’t help but grow excited at the chance to finally meet other heroes in the area. 

Sunday night came in a blink of an eye it seemed, your heart beating faster with each mile you get closer to the meeting place. You park your car and double-check that your outfit is in order before heading inside. You look around for spiky, red hair, and it only takes you a second to find him. 

“Kirishima!” you call as you near the table. Everyone but a certain blond turns at the sound of your voice. His eyes look at his friends before finally looking at you. You make eye contact with him for a moment before looking at Kirishima. 

“Hey, (Y/n)! You look great!” he greets, standing up and pulling out the only empty chair. 

“Thank you,” you say with a blush, slowly taking the seat, to which he pushes the chair in for you once you’ve sat down. 

“Everyone, this is (Y/n). (Y/n), this is everyone,” he introduces playfully as he takes his own seat. Once he’s settled, he properly introduces you to everyone, to which you happily greeted them all. 

“And finally, Mr. Grumpy-Mc-Grumpy-Pants over there is Bakugo, which you already know,” he says as he taps Bakugo’s arm. Bakugo turns to look at Kirishima before following his finger to you. 

“It’s nice to officially meet you,” you greet with much sarcasm. He, like always, remains silent and looks back down to his menu. You huff and decide to open up your own menu, trying not to be bothered by being shot down by the handsome male. 

For the rest of the evening, weird things occurred. Kirishima always taps him when someone says his name, Bakugo’s eyes roaming the table until he focuses on the person speaking. Kirishima taps him again when it’s his turn to order. You’ve seen people talk with their hands, both literally and figuratively, but these people really seem to get into it, making wide and crazy gestures. 

It wasn’t until your waiter came to your table with your food that you finally realized what was going on. 

“So, (Y/n), tell us about your quirk. Bakugo hasn’t shined any sort of light on what your quirk is and Kirishima seems a little lost at what your quirk actually is,” Mina says with a smile. 

Before you can reply though, your waiter and another worker bring your food to the table. “Who got the kung pao chicken?” the other worker asks, looking around the table. Kirishima was checking his phone when the question was asked, Bakugo not letting the waiter know that it’s what he ordered. 

This is when it hits you. 

The tapping. The blank, bored look. The quiet replies. The crazy gestures. 

He’s deaf. 

God, you’re such an idiot! You work with deaf people all of the time! How did you not realize until now?

“He got it,” you inform with widened eyes, your eyes staring at the blond. His eyes squint at you for pointing at him before realizing that you were just showing the waiter where his food goes. Once everyone has their food, you clear your throat. 

“So, um, Bakugo is deaf?” you shyly ask. This causes everyone to pause and stare at you for a moment. 

“Uh, yeah,” Kirishima answers, “Sorry, I assumed you knew…” he apologizes. 

You shake your head, turning your gaze to Bakugo as you continue. “But why does he act like that?” you ask. 

“Like what?” Kaminari asks with a furrow to his brows. 

“I work with deaf people all of the time. A lot of them are decent at reading lips to some extent and most know, or are learning, JSL. Bakugo seems...like he doesn’t care or that it doesn’t bother him? Does he know JSL?” you explain quietly despite the fact that the man you’re talking about can’t hear you. 

Kirishima sighs as he sets down his chopsticks. “Bakugo has been deaf for about a year and a half now. He knows JSL and uses it when necessary, but for the most part, he doesn’t like using it or when others use it to talk to him. It makes him feel....belittled, if you will. Like he has to have special treatment or something. I do my best to help him but I’m not perfect,” he explains, the last part being directed at what just happened. 

You slowly nod your head as you take this all in, a small frown coming to your face. “So, you guys don’t know what my quirk really is, right?” you ask softly, a smile starting to come to your face. They all look confused in your change of subject but nod along anyway. 

“Yeah, I was asking you about it before our food came. Kirishima says you can make people blind, or something?” Mina pipes up. You confuse them more when you begin to grin, all of them sharing a look amongst themselves. 

“Do you want to see something amazing?” you ask, your eyes flickering over to Bakugo. 

“Please don’t make me blind,” Denki begs, starting to ramble about needing to be able to see pretty girls. Jiro shushes him and then focuses back on you again. 

You raise your hand to Bakugo, taking a deep breath before slowly giving him the ability to hear. Everyone looks to him when he drops his chopsticks, his hands shaking as he stares wide-eyed at his plate. His chopsticks landing onto the table is the last thing you hear before your own hearing is gone. 

“I’m confused. What happened?” you read from Sero’s lips. You remain quiet and just keep smiling, your eyes focused on Bakugo. Bakugo’s eyes snap to Sero when he speaks, something seeming to lodge in his throat. 

Before he can stop it, he’s tearing up. 

“Bakubro! What’s going on?” Kirishima worriedly shouts, looking between you and him. “(Y/n)! What did you do to him?” Kirishima asks worriedly. At the mention of your name, Bakugo finally looks at you.

“I can hear,” he mutters, his voice barely being heard from how thick his throat feels. When everyone starts to say that they didn’t hear him and to repeat himself, he rubs furiously at his eyes and takes a deep breath. “God, I forgot just how annoying your voices are,” he complains, trying hard not to smile. 

Everyone freezes at this. 

“What?”

“You can hear?”

“What’s going on?”

“My voice is just fine, thank you!” 

Everyone starts talking at once, bombarding him with their voices. A small smile comes to his face despite his best effort, looking at all of them fondly. He looks to you again, eyeing you up as the others continue to chatter on. 

“Well, you being able to do this would’ve been nice to know a long time ago,” he grumbles. You stare at his lips, doing your best to read them. The average deaf person can only understand about 30% of what someone is saying based on just their lips though. 

“Sorry, can you use JSL?” you ask politely before picking up your chopsticks to begin eating. 

This causes everyone to freeze once more. 

“Huh?”

“But why?”

Seeing their confused faces, you realize that you never explained your quirk. You give them the rundown before finishing with, “When I use my quirk on someone else, I lose the sense that I’m taking away or giving. So, in this case, I gave Bakugo hearing so now I can’t hear. This is all temporary, of course.” 

The table vibrates with Bakugo’s hit, making your eyes widen as you look at him. “Take my hearing back away,” he demands, not using JSL despite your wishes. Your brows furrow at this, luckily understanding what he said anyway. 

“What? Why? You were so happy just a minute ago,” you reply confusedly. 

“No, I wasn’t! I’m perfectly fine being deaf! I don’t want your pity!” he shouts, grabbing the attention of nearby customers. With him talking so fast, you weren’t able to catch what he said. This is when an idea comes to mind. 

You simply look away from him and down at your plate, starting to eat without another word. “Hey! I’m talking to you!” Bakugo shouts, realizing too late that, duh, you can’t hear him. “Don’t ignore me!”

Ah, the irony.

The others eventually get him to calm down, bright and warm smiles on their faces at seeing him act like his old self. Don’t get them wrong, he still acts like this all the time but there’s this...new fire to him that hasn’t been there in a while. 

When he finally lets it go, you all start eating. The others use JSL to talk to you, seeing as how they all learned it for Bakugo, despite the fact that he didn’t want them to use it. It was a nice dinner, really. 

When the night comes to an end, you all stand up and walk out of the restaurant together. “So, when will Bakugo lose his hearing again?” Kirishima asks curiously, signing out the words for you.  

“Well, I can only use my quirk for so long before it starts to become dangerous, just like when you guys use your quirk for an extended amount of time. Because I use my quirk so much though every day all day, he could stay like this all night. I’m assuming we are all going our separate ways though…” 

“Oh, okay. Well, we all really appreciate what you’re doing for him,” Kirishima signs with a kind smile. You smile back at him, not seeing Bakugo say ‘I don’t.’ 

“It’s no problem at all, really. I just wish I knew about it earlier, so I could help him sooner,” you apologize, turning to look at Bakugo now. By the look on his face and the way his mouth moves, you’re assuming he scoffed.

“Do you think we could hang out again soon? I think it would be good for Bakugo to-”

“What’s with that crazy idea? I’m going home,” Bakugo snaps before turning to leave. Seeing him leave, you slowly raise your hand and switch both of your hearing back. You bite your lip when he stops, the sounds of cars going past on the road and the chatter of people nearby suddenly going silent for him once more. 

He almost feels like he’s going to be sick. 

He turns back around, wondering how he can get you to give his hearing back without actually saying he wants it back. His eyes widen in surprise when all of the sounds come back, a small smile coming to your face. 

“Not everyone has the opportunity to get their hearing back, even for just a little while. So, be grateful.”

It took a while for Bakugo to finally warm up to you but after a month or so, he finally accepted your presence. It took him three to actually refer to you as a friend. It took half a year for Bakugo to admit to himself that you’re his best friend; he’d never tell you or Kirishima that though. It’s been a year and he still can’t admit to himself that he likes you more than as a friend. 

Bakugo takes a bite of the food you made, his face scrunching up in mock disgust. “What did you put in this? Rat poison?” he jokes. It honestly didn’t taste half bad but he wasn’t about to admit that out loud to you. 

He watches you dance to the music that he can’t hear, your lips moving as you sing. He wishes he could hear it. He watches you stop and turn to look at him at his insult, your mouth showing your scoff. 

“Do you want to die?” you ask as you swipe your thumb across your neck. He smirks at you as he makes a show of taking another bite. He doesn’t hear you hum but he watches as you sign, “Yeah, that’s what I thought, chump.” He’s the one to scoff now, his eyes rolling with his annoyance. 

He’s told you time and time again not to use JSL but you never listen. He secretly appreciates it because he doesn’t have to piece things together when you use it. He still acts peeved when you do it though. 

“I’m not a chump. You’re the chump,” he snaps. You set your food down before walking over to the big speaker on your kitchen counter that is currently playing one of your favorite songs. You stand in front of it and place your hands against it before raising your other hand over to Bakugo.

His ears are suddenly greeted with the sound of the music, a frown coming to his face as he looks at you. While he appreciates being able to have his hearing back, he hates that you lose yours in the process. He’s pulled out of his train of thought when you start singing, his eyes becoming wide. You use the vibrations emitting from the radio to keep tempo, singing in sync with the artist.

Talking without hearing was easy for you but you’ve never tried singing without your ability to hear before. This shows as you softly sing, your voice shaky and out of tune at some points. 

It’s the most beautiful thing that Bakugo had ever heard. 

Your voice is as sweet as caramel. He watches you with a soft smile on his face, not even realizing that it’s there. When the song comes to an end, you bring your food over to the speaker and eat while your free hand remains pressed against the speaker to ‘hear’ the music. 

To his surprise, one of his favorite songs comes on after a couple of minutes and you grew so excited when you realized this. You belt each word with immense confidence, not a sign of hesitation or worry in your voice. 

This is when he realizes that he’s in love with you.

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MASTERLIST

More with Katsuki Bakugo

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